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I Want You (She's So Heavy) ✥ Remmick

Chapter 3 ✥ Lil' Friend

Other Chapters: ✥1 ✥2✥3

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-chapter summary: In which Remmick meets the family. Or well, *a* family member. .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- chapter warnings: mentions of the Klu-Klux-Klan (again)

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- story summary: The Smiths have long borne sons and daughters of hunters for centuries, tracking and eradicating the cryptids that ran through the Mississippi Delta like blood roots; thus, it would only be assumed that [F/N] Smith should take the legacy on as well. However, her passion for music-- her gift and inclination of it ran within her, deeper than any blood and any 'fate', and so she took her bearings up to Chicago, indulging in the sin of the nightlife. But no matter how far she ran, Remmick couldn't get her songs out of her head-- he couldn't ignore a chance to once again be reunited with his own people, a chance only granted through the turning of a Smith girl. And thus, he sought out to take [F/N] as his little pawn, his little tool, and his little wife.

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- major warning(s): explicit sexual content, mention of the Klu-Klux-Klan, graphic depictions of violence and gore, blood, blood consumption, minor religious imagery and symbolism, gaslighting, manipulation, rough sex, verbal degradation, very minor amounts of period-typical racism

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-tags: black! female! reader, F/M pairing, usage of [F/N] [L/N] instead of Y/N, crossposted on Archive of Our Own (AO3), erotica, vampires, southern gothic, angst, comedy, slow burn, forced marriage, strangers to lovers, roommates, (eventual) mutual pining, enemies to lovers, love/hate, awkward tension, Remmick is a cannon mix of offputting and charismatic, miscommunication, pre-canon, alternate universe - canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mental instability, vampire slayers, soul bond, sexual fantasy, rough sex, hate sex, cunnilinguis, irish language

chapter wc: 6,034

fic wc: 13,908

chapters: 3/ ?

publish date: 5/7/25 story last updated: 5/21/25

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

The stars twinkled in a way they never did back home in Mississippi. The moon was high and cast a beautiful, bright blue light that illuminated [F/N]’s face, head resting on the window as she bore a disgusted expression. 

She watched as Remmick fumbled with their luggage again, still steaming from the night before. She wasn’t one to shy away from the fact that she was upset either; she’d sassed and tugged away from him all while he’d undone her binds, taken forever in the (unfortunately windowless) bathroom. However, all her disobedience and attitude were eclipsed by caution when they finally came down the stairs, bearing luggage for the car. 

The group of while folk from the night before had been sitting in the lobby with their stained button-ups and patchwork slacks, and yet they stared at both Remmick and [F/N] with a sense of superiority. They held up their newspapers and smoked their cigarettes in the motel’s little couch area, showing off their shotguns that were laid up against the armchairs and the coffee table. They muttered amongst themselves when the two of them had been making trips out to the car, repeatedly spitting on the carpet and making snarl-lipped comments to each other that revealed their crooked, yellow teeth.

“Pretty lil’ nigra, ain’t she?” A word which they’d invented, and yet they could barely pronounce it correctly. Fucking hicks. 

But it was the oldest of the motley crew that was almost seething with hate, nd yet, he was the most reserved. The rest of his compatriots hooted and hollered enough for the motel staff to repeatedly tell them to ‘shut that shit up or get the hell out’, to which they mocked even louder.

 

The oldest, however, just sat in his armchair in a manspread, hands on his knees and leaning forward with a mean look on his face. What made him look even crazier was the fact that there was no hair on top of his head– instead, it was all scooped to the back in a long, white ponytail. 

He looked pink and sweaty, and slightly chubbier. Every part of his body, except the top of his head and the area in which facial hair would grow was covered in hair. He looked like a piece of  bubblegum dropped on the barbershop floor. 

And guess who he’d been eyeing so hatefully? 

Not [F/N], but Remmick.

She could tell that he was bothered, even if she couldn’t exactly tell why. She knew he didn’t endorse nor tolerate the Klan, but this specific man… Remmick had caught one small glimpse of him and had immediately looked away, trying to obscure his face.

Even then, as she watched him load the car, he was barely organized or careful; he’d been back there all of thirty seconds before he’d come back up front and immediately hopped in the driver’s seat, fumbling to pull the keys out of his pocket while he cursed.

She watched him fumble for a moment, clearly resentful of him and hesitant to say a word to him. However, she could feel her curiosity getting the better of her, the question sitting hot on her tongue like a pepper.

A few minutes later, and they’d been on the road, the air whipping their hair around and the moon blue-ing their skin, and even though they were out of harm’s way, she couldn’t keep it off her mind. 

Remmick, who felt suffocated by the silence, was watching the way her fist clenched and unclenched in her lap, her breaths careful and planned; in, hold, out, hold, repeat. She was an axnious little thing from what he could tell, and as someone who heard and saw everything with a heightened sense, it drove him crazy. It made him shift in his seat and restlessly tap his fingers on the wheel. 

He could hear the skin of her thumb rubbing against the gold band and glanced at the ring on her finger, noticing the way she twisted and fidgeted with it. He’d seen soldiers with those same habits, antsy and yet they bore stone faces atop their worry.

He had to say something, but the words weren’t given a chance to come out.

“You never told me how you knew them white men back there,” she blurted quickly, like the words had been waiting on her tongue.

He didn’t respond immediately; he didn’t flinch, nor did he look over, as if pretending he hadn’t heard her at all.

Suddenly, fakely, he flinched as if he’d registered her question a whole thirty seconds later and giving her big, ‘apologetic’ eyes.

“Oh, my apologies. You say somethin’?” He asked. He couldn’t hold in his agitating, degrading simper and let it form, his eyes focusing back on the road as he bore a mixture of smugness and annoyance. “Figured you still had that lil’ attitude of yours, didn’t think you was talkin’ to lil ol’ me.

She sucked her teeth her teeth. “Which one’s worse: a girl bein’ sassy or a grown man bein’ sassy?” 

His smile didn’t fall, but it lost its humor, and he responded immediately. 

“I don’t mean to be, but you bring it out of me. It’s a gift of yours, but dont worry, lil’ miss; youse more than worth the trouble.”

He’d been married before, and this is exactly how it felt, but he didn’t usually get into the ‘I hate you’ stages until about ten years in. Of course, by then, he’d just eat them. That wasn’t an option here. Not yet, at least.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel, his left resting on the outside of the car as he drove. His button-up sloppily clung to his body in the heat. His messy, oddly-curled bangs stuck to his forehead, and his jaw moved ever so slightly as he suctioned his tongue to the roof of his mouth so tightly he could taste every muscle. Still, he smiled.

The way she got under his skin was like nothing else, and that feeling looked to be mutual. He could see it in the way she’d sat up and turned her whole body towards him, and yet somehow, she’d managed to extinguish herself. She retracted her pointed finger and clenched her fist before slumping back into the seat.

“Doin’ all that just to not answer my question.” 

He looked once, and then he looked twice, and then he looked back at the road again. 

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel for a good long while, his face bitter while the cogs turned in his head.

He then parted his lips to speak, and then closed them as if he wasn’t sure he should. He did it a couple more times until he surrendered some kind of answer.  His lips went tight, and he looked like he was about to say something else, but he went limp in the seat like all the fight had left his body. 

He started slowly, his voice indifferent as he focused his eyes on the road. Still, he bore a subtle smirk.

“Didn’t think you was so worried ‘bout me, but, don’t worry; they only knocked me around a lil’ bit,” he said, clearing his throat with discomfort at the memory. “Not them, clearly; some friends of theirs. But, you seen the old n’ hefty one?” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, well, that one got away. But,” he tapped the steering wheel. “I made out with some wheels n’ keys. So, I didn’t bother to chase him down n’ kill him; I could smell it on him, n’ he ain’t got longer than a month left. His arteries was so swollen they was ticklin’ his lungs.” 

When he looked over at [F/N], he could see the way her eyes were wide with something sick, her eyebrows knitted together. He couldn’t decipher what this look meant until he heard her heart, and the way it beat fast and irregularly. 

She licked the roof of her mouth to salivate, but she was left with worry-induced cotton mouth. The words came out of her like an inhuman croak he couldn’t understand. But after a dry, sick swallow of air, she spoke weakly—

“Oh, fuck..”

She shook her head and broke her eyes from his, mumbling softly to herself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

She was working herself up with worry, he could hear it, but he didn’t blame her for it. Admittedly, he’d complicated a rather easy job; to kill that old man would’ve been like squashing a small spider beneath a large shoe, but that’s precisely why he didn’t care to finish the job. That old man was nothing more than a soft, old bigot; he wasn’t remotely threatening. 

But to [F/N], being chased by a group of rowdy racists was horrifying, especially given that they’d managed to land hits on Remmick. She figured that if she could take him as a small girl (yet albeit well-trained), then a group of six or seven liquor-filled hicks would hurt him. 

And if they didn’t hurt him, they’d hurt her. 

“I knew I should’ve brought somethin’,” she mumbled, cursing herself. “A lil’ handgun or a pistol,” she said, looking around the car. 

She coiled herself around the seat, tapping the floors and seats of the back until Remmick’s arm snaked around her. The car swerved a bit as he pulled her back to the front.

He could see the protesting ‘why did you do that?’ look on her face and immediately spoke, his tone absurd;

“Are you out of your mind?” He asked, scoffing. “Hell, almost made me whip this goddamn hunk of metal; you already know I can’t drive for shit— done lost your mind, girl!”

She huffed, her face contorting into confused frustration.

“What, so I’m ‘sposed to rely on you in case they come down the road lookin’ for us?!” She spat. “I almost whopped yo ass, but they gon’ do it for sure. And then what happens to me, huh?” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, like a parent listening to a child’s irrational fears. He wasn’t taking this seriously, and that only wound her up more.

“I said they landed a couple hits on me, but it was eight on one. Now, if eight lil’ cats jump one gator he’s gon’ be confused for a minute, but he’s gon’ clear ‘em out, ain’t he?” 

“What? Wh-? Eight cats? Why would eight cats be jumpin’ a gator—“

“[F/N], come on,” he scoffed, getting hotter and thus stammering more. “M-Maybe that was a bad example, but you know that ain’t the point. You gotta believe me now. What, I let one lil’ porkchop escape n’ all the sudden you think I’m incapable of handlin’ business?”

She didn’t say anything and sat with her arms crossed while refusing to look at him.

He tutted, his expression a bit pained.

“That’s a lil’ hurtful darlin’. Now, youse in good hands— for now, ‘til I bite that pretty lil neck,” he said.

His voice came in an odd, low rasp that made her heart rethink itself, his voice chock full of filth and devoid of flirt; it reminded her of how unsettling he was. The back of his curled knuckles gently brushing up against her nape. 

Confused and morbidly offended, she cast him a side eye. He took no offense when she smacked his hand away, re-folding her arms. He simply nodded and pulled his hand back slowly.

He continued. “But for now? Oh, don’t even worry ‘bout them. You safe as can be, which ain’t too safe given our lil’ predicament but believe this, cause it ain’t nothin but the truth: ain’t nobody but me gon’ be layin’ a finger on ya.”

She wasn’t looking at him throughout his little speech, but when he went quiet, she took a peek at him.

His eyes were on the road, left hand on the wheel. His right arm rested on the center console, his hand sticking up with his pinkie out, inviting her to wrap her own around it.

A pinkie promise. 

Something about it was so characteristically elementary, she just had to scoff. She looked him up and down for any signs waning or humor, but there were none. He even shook his arm a little bit, giving her a small smirk and a side eye.

“I ain’t got much morality left in me, but I don’t break promises—‘specially not the pinkie kind.” 

Annoyed, she turned away again. But every time she looked back, his pinkie remained out and straight. 

“…do I get a choice?”

“‘Course. I could take my hand away n’…” 

He tapped his lip with his finger in faux thought, playing with her. 

“Well, I can’t let em’ kill you, but I could not keep my hands off you, if that’s what you sayin’ you prefer?”

He smirked with something sinister, not because he was teasing her for a reaction, but instead because of his sick imagination. He liked that idea, nodding to himself as he spoke real slow, giving her a predatory eye.

“Yeahhh…I could feed on ya ‘stead of containin’ myself, n’ bleed you dry. ’Sides, pretty lil’ think like you? Wouldn’t be hard to find other uses for ya. Up t’you, really.”

She let his words simmer in her mind for a split second before jumping away from him. 

“Jesus Christ—?! Whore, the hell’s the matter with you?!” She spat with degradation. “That’s just filthy! Ain’t thinkin’ bout nothin’ but smut, is you? Big nasty ass…”

He chuckled and shook his pinkie again, but there was no need. The thought of that last part made her pinkie magnetize to his, her embarrassment driving her actions. 

He nodded triumphantly, taking his hand away and putting it back on the wheel. “Aw, darlin’! I swear I ain’t mean it!”

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

Not even ten minutes later, the car began to make odd, sputtering noises and emitted a low, mechanical growl.

Every time the car stuttered in movement, [F/N] would look over at Remmick, and as she’d suspected, he never reacted to it. Maybe he’d shift the sticks a bit and knit his eyebrows together, but he just kept going. 

They were out of the countryside and up in some small town’s backroads when she finally said something, coming down a hill as they rode closer to a seedy little gas station. Emphasis on seedy; the white paint of the little wooden-buily shack was chipped and covered in speckles of moss, the gas pump being the only thing that looked new.

She gently patted his upper arm, which was bare by now since he’d slipped off his button-up. He looked down at her and back up, noticing where she was pointing.

“Somethin’s off,” she mumbled softly, peering over his shoulder and at the cluster of meters and trackers behind the wheel to try and look for the gas meter. “We don’t need gas, do we?”

“Uhm…” he squinted hard, “which one issat?”

“Are you serious? Wh–”

“Darlin’, I’m tryna drive– I can’t stop n’ figure out which one of these is for the petrol, now! You just gon’ have to tell me.”

She groaned and popped her seatbelt off, contorting her body to lean her his lap. Taken off guard, he swerved a little bit while he struggled to see over the top of her head. That, combined with his annoyance at her close proximity and the heat it brought to his face, made his tone a bit harsh. 

“Christ– the hell ‘er you doin’?” He spat, sitting up in his seat.

“Lookin’ to see how much gas we got in this old thing,” she murmured, “ain’t nobody tryna touch on you!”'

A bit insulted, he quickly shut up. 

She finally managed to glance at the meter, and it was more than low. She almost wasn’t sure she’d seen that correctly, but the minute she was sure, she crawled away from him. 

“Aw, shoot– well, I hope you got gas money…”

“Why?” 

“Why?” She balked, her tone testy. “Wh–?” she rapped at the glass on the dial repeatedly. “Look at it!”

He rolled his eyes and glanced down a few times, his expression only growing more confused. Finally, the realization hit him, and he inwardly groaned. 

“Ah, holon.. shit, how the hell’d it get past E?” He gawked. 

He peered over at the gas station as they came down onto the road, pulling closer as the engine began to spit and sputter, rattling the two of them around. 

The old thing had barely made it to the pump when Remmick sighed, patting his pockets. He’d turned them inside out and came up with a small handful of old-looking gold coins that were decorated in strange inscriptions she couldn’t make out.

She looked down at his palm, then up at him, and then down, and then up. “You gon’ pay with them?”

He bit his lip and responded after a beat, closing his hand and stuffing the gold back in his pockets.

“Not directly, no.” He beckoned for her to bring her hand closer. “But, we gon’ have to see if we can get somethin’ for one of em’.”

He dropped one ice-cold coin into her hand. She drew it back and brought it closer, running her thumb over all its little ridges and bumps, taken with the object. Remmick found himself a bit amused yet confused at her fascination with the old thing. 

“Typa money is this?”

“Solid gold kinda money, nothin’ phony ‘bout it. Feel that weight to it?”

She lifted her palm up and down, weighing it.

“Yeah well, fake or note, somebody’s gon have to take it. What kinda folks live ‘round here anyway?” She asked, stuffing the coin in her pocket.

He scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The kind that’d be a lil’ on-guard if a lanky ol’  white man came up to em’.”

That earned a small chuckle from her, and she nodded, popping the door open. 

“You not comin’ with me, right?”

Remmick opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. He scrunched his face and pointed at her, turning his head to the side like he hadn’t heard her right.

“Why’d you ask it like that?”

She paused. “...cause I was wonderin’?”

“No, why’d you ask like that? Like you was hopin’ I’d say no n’ just let you roam off?”

“...cause…?”

He paused for a beat. 

After a minute or two, he hummed to himself affirmingly and grabbed his button-up off the back seat behind him, climbing out of the car and throwing it on. 

“You was gon’ wander off n’ never come back,” he said, annoyed that he was essentially forced to babysit her while she solicited an old Celtic coin for gas. The whole thing was trashy, but it wasn’t entirely beneath him.

“No I wasn’t,” she retorted, even more annoyed that he’d assumed that. “Whatever! Come yo’ stankin’ ass on so we can get some gas, smells like booze out here.”

The deceivingly spacious inside of the gas station smelled like the very products it sold; antigfreeze and tires. Tne floors were wood planks that looked freshly polished, and everything was in rows; snacks, basic necessities, and papers. The were about four or five other people inside and two behind the counter, all of them not paying much mind. Well, until Remmick had entered behind her. 

Everyone’s heads shot up to look at him like prairie dogs, and in his headlights, he dropped his shirt mid-tuck, letting it awkwardly cling to his body. 

“...h-howdy?”

Right, clearly a little weirdo. 

Everyone slowly went back to their business, and it wasn’t until the eyes were off him until he finished tucking his shirt in. His face was a little red, and he leaned down to quietly mutter to [F/N];

“Gon’ head n’ pawn that thang off,” he patted her back, “n’ don’t go too far, else I’mma eat real good tonight, y’hear?”

She began to believe him less and less every time he said that. So she pushed him away and soccfed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah whatever, there’s some mags over there, go look at that.”

He smacked her arm lightly; “listen, you gon’ stop with this lil’ whore accusation. Just a mean thing, ain’t you?”

With that, she stepped a couple of feet away, standing in the middle of the store, looking around at everybody. The women were dressed in long skirts and corseted tops, while the men were dressed similarly to Remmick. Speaking of which, she found herself repeatedly looking over her shoulder and caught him sneaking suspicious glances at her, shooing her.

She rolled her eyes and scanned the room a little closer, looking for a kind face or a face that would at least meet her eyes. She pretended to walk through the aisles and arbitrarily picked up things and read the labels, careful not to linger for too long. She could already tell by the look of the older, more lightskinned man behind the counter that his eyes were glued to her hands. 

Nervous, she stepped away from the aisles and instead took a more direct approach before coming up to a fairly young couple. The woman was a bit pudgy and short, but her eyes were gorgeous and almond-shaped, her hair pulled back in cornrows, and her body adorned in blue gingham cloth. The man wore the same slacks and button-up as everyone else, except his set was cleaner; even his shoes looked shiny, and it was a subtle thing to pick up on, but [F/N]’s skillset included being observant. 

She had a slightly higher-pitched, welcoming, and airy voice. She’d been dressed in a black pinstripe frock, with a simple string of pearls and dress shoes. So when she approached them, she expected them to be a little uppity. Still, there was room for more surprise.

They’d been talking to each other, laughing a little here and there as they spoke in a hushed tone, the man flicking through his wallet. It was when [F/N] was about a foot away that the woman had looked over her shoulder and stopped laughing, her face falling a little. The man noticed, and that accompanied by the way the woman side eyed him and then looked back at [F/N] made his smile drop too.

The two of them sighed somewhat dramatically and [F/N] could swear she heard pne of them mumble about ‘these goddamn kids’, the man quickly tucking his wallet in his back pocket. 

The older woman spoke first, a little apprehensive still. Most likely because she’d seen the girl walk in with some little white boy. 

“Well, hi there,” she said, her words polite but her tone a bit suspicious. She swayed her hips a bit as she tapped her male companion’s shoulder, and he faced [F/N] instinctively, shaking her hand.

“Evenin’ ma’am, sir,” she said, putting her hand band in her pocket as she nodded over to the white man who was now holding up one of the girlie mags and letting the poster picture unfold, whistling. 

God, how much more embarrassing could he be?

Disturbed and clearly seeing that the couple was equally disturbed, she cleared her throat and continued.

“Ah.. We’re musicians, y’see. We been–”

The couple side-eyed each other.

“-- travelin’ tryna get to our next gig but, we ain’t got the typa currency we need for gas, n’ we fresh out. But, if y’all don’t mind makin’ a conversion of currency,” 

She tapped her frock pockets and pulled out the coin, presenting it in her palm, the couple not moving at first. The man passed a look to the woman and she knit her eyebrows together, before looking at [F/N] with a scrunched up face, and after her inspection, she drew back.

“...Uhn uhn… what typa of money is that? Where y’all get that from?”

“We been told it’s gold,” she said, taking it back and flipping it over to look for herself. Hell, she was trying to pawn it off and she didn’t know if she’d been given bullshit or not. 

“Really, I’m not tryna be dishonest. We can’t just stay parked outside all night n’--”

Whilst gesturing outside, the sight of a familiar face made her look twice at the glass doors. A funny-looking man with a tan, spiffy suit was reaching over and pulling the door open. Beside him was a petite, full-chested, and round face brown skin girl with pretty almond eyes and full lips. Her hair was short and styled into fingerwaves that shined in the station lights, her expression disgugruntled as she fanned herself. 

The heat made her black slip cling to her skin, only furthering the looks she received, and the makeup? [F/N] could swear someone had taken hold of their husband.

The woman’s gaze finally came up off the ground, her husband departing from her with his wallet as she took a look around, hands on her hips. 

The look of surprise that fell upon her face when she looked up and spotted [F/N] standing by the young couple was almost theatrical. Her husband had already been turned around and was getting ready to walk away when she shoved him and practically slammed the door over his head, squealing like a schoolgirl.

She adjusted her frock over her chest as she ran over.  

“Is that–? Well I’ll be damned! I know that ain’t lil’ [F/N] all grown up!”

Remmick perked up at the sound of all the hollering, not knowing where to look. It was only when the passenger door opened that he locked in and nearly flew over to [F/N], assuming this was some sort of rescue mission.

Instead, she was aghast, running out with her arms open wide.

To go from being in a fit to seeing her favorite cousin was certainly overwhelming, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even think about what Remmick might do, and instead buried herself in the woman’s arms, the two of them spinning and hollering like children. 

“My, my! Girl, where you been at?!” The dark-skinned beauty exclaimed, her hair all permed and short in a mature yet flouncy bob. 

Her clothes were flapper-esque and black with fancy beadwork, the tassels on the end making noises as the little gemstones splashed together from all the movement. 

Her voice was sweet, high, and chipper; it was why they’d called her ‘Baby’ for the longest time. Then, she got older and started running off and being fast. She quickly lost that nickname and he’d family’s sweetness, although she still shared a heart with [F/N]. They were one and the same in that regard, after all. 

“Marie! I-I don’t even know what to say!” [F/N] had exclaimed. And when she’d come down from her excitement, a sort of ‘oh-shit’ look crossed her face. She looked off in the distance.

Cousin Marie noticed this, and her mood dampened.

“What? Why you makin’ that face?” She asked, before looking over. 

She nearly jumped off [F/N] to reach under her dress for her pistol when she saw that white man running over, her free hand out as a signal for him to stop as she scrambled. 

“W-woah now, h-hold on ma’am!” He put his hands out, still managing to chuckle. God forbid she’d shoot him and thus discover his true nature. 

When the woman froze, he gestured to [F/N]. “We’se together, you see?” He held up his hand and let his ring glint. “I’m her fiancé.”

[F/N], still fuming, had half a mind to put everything at risk and tell Marie that yeah, he was lying, and he was in fact up to no good and had been holding her hostage. However, because her cousin couldn’t even quick draw, she doubted any possible success in a two-on-one.

She forced a small, bemused smile as she gently rubbed her cousin’s arm. 

“Yeah, that’s… that’s mine,” she said, poorly disguising her disgust with a laugh. 

Marie whipped her head around. 

“Girl—?,” she gawked. “You mean to tell me this lil’ glass of milk is yo husband?”

Little. Huh. He’d remember that.

Marie’s face scrunched up, and she gave [F/N] a pitiful look, her eyes lingering on Remmick as she examined him up and down. 

“Well… don’t go around tellin’ everybody that. Most folks ain’t gon like that, ‘cept they gon go after you n’ not him. Excuse me for askin’ but, ain’t y’all scared?”

Remmick came up and wrapped his hands around [F/N]’s waist tightly to keep her close, even when she’d lurched forward, leaning in and placing a fat, wet, and sloppy kiss on the nape of her neck with a low, rumbly chuckle. 

“Every single day, but I’d do anything to keep her safe. Hell, I’m lucky I snatched her up ‘fore anybody else did,” he said, his eyes seemingly squinty with joy. That squint had been his way of saying ‘suck it up, or I’ll kill you both right now.’

She nodded, never breaking her eye contact with him as she smiled, fighting back the bile coming up. Her eye was borderline twitching.

“Careful, people gon’ get to talkin,” she said as she placed a very reluctant peck on his cheek. 

Why’d she say that? She could picture it; a bunch of ankle-biting halfbreeds running around her little Chicago apartment. That thought made her so very, very sick. 

Marie felt equally confused. But, they were basically married; who was she to judge?

“Ah…” she trailed off, before she shook her head and bore a smile. “So, what y’all doin’ out here?”

“Well, we…” she stammered; she was blanking.

Remmick’s eyes widened a bit, and he, too, stammered to conjure up a lie—

“W-well, we was on our way up to Mississippi to visit her folks. Y’see, I ain’t ever met ‘em, n’ so—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Marie interjected. She looked at him like he was crazy. “So— you ain’t even ask ‘fore you proposed?” She looked at [F/N]. “That’s a lil’ too fast, ain’t it? Why y’all rushin’? Been hunchin’ n’ ended up with a lil’ baby?

[F/N] rubbed her temples, feeling her face heat up a little. How would that even work? She figured that once people were turned, they didn’t have blood and thus didn’t have any… gravy. Could he even—?

She shook off the thought and cleared her throat for composure, feeling herself grow more and more disgusted. Great, now she was getting a very, very detailed mental image. 

It didn’t help that when she’d glanced over at Remmick, he wore a shit-eating grin on his now rose-colored face, fanning himself as they quickly stumbled back towards each other. His hands assumed their previous position on [F/N]’s waist as he spoke, clearly amused at her reaction. He was a little taken aback, sure, but she nearly jumped out of her own skin. But she remained committed to her little performance despite her repulsion to him, leaning up against him with her hands on his chest, rubbing in small circular motions. 

She really knew how to play the part, and he was impressed. 

“N-no-no—no! Just— when you find true love, you just got to act on it, right? Wasn’t it like that with you n’ Chicle?” 

“Yeah, that’s why we got married so fast; we was hunchin’.”

She and Remmick stared blankly at Marie for a moment, managing to let out small, awkward chuckles that Marie interpreted as applause to her humor, and not as evasions of the awkwardness amidst them.

[F/N] cleared her throat.

“S-so, what you n' Chicle n’.. The baby, ehem, doin’ out here?” She asked, finally mellowing out upon returning to a topic she wouldn’t blow up over. 

Marie gestured off in the distance, and despite the darkness of the night, the faint figure of a man coming around to the trunk of the car with luggage up to his neck was barely made out. They all watched as he stuck his leg out a little too far and lost his balance, tripping off the curb as his luggage avalanched atop him. 

“Ouh…”

She winced and stared at him for a moment. It wasn’t until he began to get back up that she nodded slowly, assuring his well-being. 

“He-he’s alright,” she said, turning back to them as she continued. 

“We got a deal goin’ with some white folk where we get a good amount of corn liquor for cheap for The Black Cat. ‘Course, you gotta pay extra for ‘em to smuggle it across state, so we do that ourselves.” She said. 

The Black Cat. The name of the bar sparked a childish glee within [F/N]. She shook Marie’s shoulders, shrieking. Marie wore a concealed yet proud smile, looking away to keep herself from bragging. Still, it was hard when your little cousin was spinning you around and yipping. 

“So y’all really opened that old thing up? Well, hell, where y’all at?”

“Definitely not ‘round here,” she looked around. “These some uppity ass niggas; couldn’t get em to dance if you had the barrel pointin’ at they feet. Naw, we ‘bout an hour down the road from here, up in southern Tennessee.”

Marie paused and cracked a smile as she looked between the two of them. 

“Why? Y’all wanna see what we got goin’ on?”

And risk delaying this trip any longer? Remmick scoffed and shook his head. 

“Oh,” his voice was all proper and polite. “We’d hate to intru–”

“Yes!”

The sudden yell from [F/N] had sent Marie and Remmick into a state of silent shock. Marie, who’d noticed the fiancé’s hesitance, chuckled awkwardly.

“Really, it would be our pleasure!” She reasoned while a small smile came up behind [F/N] and gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “You gotta keep your lil’ missus happy! ‘Sides, I heard rumor that y’all is musicians n’ it’s been so long since we heard lil’ Junebug sing somethin’ fore us!”

He gave her an awkward smile and laughed, nodding– all the while he was staring at [F/N] with murderous intent. Still, he hated to admit it, but he was impressed; had he said no, Marie might get to talking to the family and mention [F/N] running around with a random white man. Someone might ‘check up’ on them, worst-case scenario. [F/N] clearly knew all this; he could tell by her wide smile and her awkwardly squinted eyes, communicating with a look that said ‘I got you right where I want you.’

He prepared to say something, but was swiftly caught off guard. He cracked a genuine laugh.

“J-Junebug? Whose Junebug?” He dealt her a look of fascination and tease, clearly reveling in her sheepish expression. “N’ when was I gon’ hear about this?”

She rolled her eyes, pulling away from Marie in the way embarrassed children did. “Marie, c’mon, I’m grown now; too old for Junebug,” she remarked bitterly.

Marie smacked her hip and earned a sharp little ‘ow’; “Stop actin’ funny, it’s cute! And if you gon’ be my guest you gon’ be singin’, n’ we gon introduce you as Junebug.”

Clearly, she was kidding, but [F/N] didn’t wanna hear anymore, stepping away from the two of them with her arms crossed. She managed to laugh a little despite the horror and the fact that Remmick now had more ammunition to tease her with, and in turn, she now had more reasons to strangle him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do a lil’ one-two for y’all,” she said. “I ain’t got rusty; been singin’ ever since I left the Delta anyhow.”

“You gots to tell me all about it. Y’all good to drive? Heard y’alls broke asses in here beggin’for loose change,” She said, pulling out a ffat wad just to present a five dollar bill. Instead of offering it to [F/N], she paid her fiancé a little bit of attention, a little suspicious of the conservatism of his words.

Remmick extended his hand and gingerly took the money, his voice humble and sweet.

“Aw, that’s real sweet of you, darlin’. ‘S nice to know all that attitude as well as generosity runs in the family,” he said, chuckling. “Makin’ me real scared to meet the rest of y’all, though.”

His eyes cast themselves upon [F/N] with a sinister look that made her spine tingle. And she could swear she saw a glint of those same simmering coals in his eyes, his voice low.

“Can’t wait, neither.”

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

a/n: SURpRISEEE SHAWTAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i owed this to y'all about 5 days ago but after today I shouldn't have anything left to do! So, I'll be free to give this fic the attention it deserves. In the meantime, this chapter is setting up the next couple conflicts that our little lovebirds (they wanna kill each other) will encounter! As you can see, it may be hard for them to overcome the bullshit they're finna go through if they can barely get along but, you see a little bit of less-mean banter between them this time. And its gonna get way better, but then its go down exponentially. a/n #2: I also just wanna thank y'all for all the sweet comments! deff motivated me to finish this chapter! Six thousand words, good god... yeah this mf finna cap off well past 40k words if I keep up w/ my current plans but, I may poll it and see how long of a fic y'all want cause I could easily go longer. But, to keep from updating every 2 seconds and burning myself out from overly crossposting and formatting, we'd be upping chapter wordcounts to abt 8k. Mind you, they wouldn't get boring because I'm a pretty productive yapper (like I think I write with minimal filler, right? RIGHT--????) but that's still cray. Might poll kit, idk. Anyways, LOVE YOU GUYS! Keep being sweet teehee!!

[beabadoobiefanatic]

Actively writing a fic during my commencement ceremony: inspiration can strike anywhere, including at graduation.

Happy graduation to me!!

[beabadoobiefanatic]

A LITTLE BIT OF REWORK WILL BE DONE FOR CHAPTERS 1-3 OF I WANT YOU (SHE's SO HEAVY)

I'm gonna go back and tweak chapters 2 and 3 and then post 4 tomorrow. I've essentially figured out the whole book and I have a completed draft of the entire fic! After 4, chapters will be dropped in doubles (one post will contain 2 chapters).

We're lookin at 60k words and a lot of smut. Fic will be finished by the end of June. This is my pride month gift to you all

[beabadoobiefanatic]

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your writing and I’m obsessed with your story “I Want You”😭 I feel so creepy checking your account every day for updates or even seeing if you’ve posted more of your artwork, but I’m just a huge fan🥹 anyways I love what you do🫶🏾

if thats creepy then idc, i love to hear it RAHHHHH!! Plus, that's real as fuck cause I'm lowkey stalking an AO3 Kurt Wagner fic for a new chapter, and I'm finna tweak if ts don't turn up soon.

Anyways! i just posted a third instalment, I really hope you find it worth the wait! And again, thank you for your patience by the way, I be lying my ass off about these deadlines.. n' imma keep makin' those same deadlines but still, I'll get better at meeting them. Speaking of which, I should be able to get chapters 4 and 5 pushed out to you guys by the end of the month cause they lowkey go hand in hand and they're pre-climax so they won't be too long but they'll be juicy reads.

[beabadoobiefanatic]

Oh we miss you!! Hope everything is going well!!🙏🏾🖤

I MISS YALL TOO!! I feel like the longer I hold off on updating, the more that MY favorite fic writers are gonna hold off on it, in a weird karmic cycle sorta thing 😭 So imma jump onnat 2nite

[beabadoobiefanatic]

Hello I saw a few days ago that the third chapter of your remmick fic would be posted by Friday but it wasn't. I don't mean to rush you at all if something came up but do u have any idea when it'll be updated? Again, I hope I'm not putting pressure on you or rushing you that's the last thing I want to do im just curious 😭

Should be sometime today or tomorrow! I’m fighting the AO3 curse tooth and nail but, I’m halfway through chapter 3 w/ about 1,000 words left to write. I have chapter 4 drafted at like 2,000 words looking to end w/ 5,000 for that one. If I ponyup when I get home then I can probably double-drop tonight since my next final isn’t until Thursday.

I just gotta keep my ass off Sims and Tiktok. Sorry for the wait!! It’s gonna be so so worth it

[beabadoobiefanatic]

girl im lowkey stalking your profile rn waiting for the next chapter even tho you just updated. sorry you're just such an amazing writer you got me giggling so hard with the way you write the dialogue between mc and remmick. He's so unserious and for what like sir this is not the time to be cracking jokes and being funny you just broke into her home😭😭

you're doing the lord's work over here tho with making it remmick x black reader bc we were in a DIRE need for sinners characters with an explicitly black reader, especially for remmick. mc is my icon and even though we haven't seen her fight anyone yet i just know she's a badass. God bless you i hope both sides of your pillow are cold forever 🫶🏽

AAAHHHH!! You are a SWEETHEART, I LOVE this! Don’t apologize for the anticipation, this is very flattering and I will in fact geek about this comment for like the next week while I finish up this chapter. It’s gonna be another two-ish days, dropping by Friday for sure.

I know it’s looking like I just drop shit and I don’t care about how people react to it but like, you guys have no idea how much I love all this feedback! Like, every single comment makes me happy— whether it’s 2 of you or 300 of you, yall r making the writing of this fic so freaking fun I’m very very grateful😔❤️❤️❤️ I’m glad I’m doing y’all justice, here’s a little sneak peak so that you guys can have a little giggle before I put that next chapter out

[beabadoobiefanatic]

I Want You (She's So Heavy) ✥ Remmick

Chapter 2 ✥ Kinfolk

Other Chapters: ✥1 ✥2

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-chapter summary: In which [F/N] and Remmick stop at a cozy little motel for a day's rest. .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- chapter warnings: mentions of the Klu-Klux-Klan (that's such a wild fucking tag), graphic depictions of gore and violence

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- story summary: The Smiths have long borne sons and daughters of hunters for centuries, tracking and eradicating the cryptids that ran through the Mississippi Delta like blood roots; thus, it would only be assumed that [F/N] Smith should take the legacy on as well. However, her passion for music-- her gift and inclination of it ran within her, deeper than any blood and any 'fate', and so she took her bearings up to Chicago, indulging in the sin of the nightlife. But no matter how far she ran, Remmick couldn't get her songs out of her head-- he couldn't ignore a chance to once again be reunited with his own people, a chance only granted through the turning of a Smith girl. And thus, he sought out to take [F/N] as his little pawn, his little tool, and his little wife.

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- major warning(s): explicit sexual content, mention of the Klu-Klux-Klan, graphic depictions of violence and gore, blood, blood consumption, minor religious imagery and symbolism, gaslighting, manipulation, rough sex, verbal degradation, very minor amounts of period-typical racism

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-tags: black! female! reader, F/M pairing, usage of [F/N] [L/N] instead of Y/N, crossposted on Archive of Our Own (AO3), erotica, vampires, southern gothic, angst, comedy, slow burn, forced marriage, strangers to lovers, roommates, (eventual) mutual pining, enemies to lovers, love/hate, awkward tension, Remmick is a cannon mix of offputting and charismatic, miscommunication, pre-canon, alternate universe - canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mental instability, vampire slayers, soul bond, sexual fantasy, rough sex, hate sex, cunnilinguis, irish language

chapter wc: 5,154

fic wc: 7,874

chapters: 2/ ?

publish date: 5/7/25 story last updated: 5/11/25

And she weeps on my arm Walking to the bright lights, in sorrow Oh, drink a bit of wine, we both might go tomorrow Oh, my love

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

New Orleans, 1926

Her limp, awkward body came out of the woods, shotgun in hand, as she approached the dimly lit main road. The city was usually bustling with people, and yet, in the pitch black night, all that could be heard was the sound of cicadas in the humid warmth of a city night. They rang in her head as she shook and gasped, her slacks and button-up exposing her bandaged chest. Her eyes were so low she felt she might fall asleep, given the pure exhaustion that had its hold on her. She felt no fear nor any relief from the prior encounter– instead, she felt empty. Sore. 

They’d stalked the undead man for months, first hearing whisperings of a few strange cases of corpses sucked dry once the street lamps had turned on. Word came down from the north, through the north, and to the south. Hunters existed in all different types of races: black, white, Asian, Native, etc.

And yet, one being constantly evaded these gruesome attempts, becoming rumor; becoming horror in the very utterance of his name.

  “R-Remmick–”

First, it was the Laws, a little nuclear family of Asian folk who had immigrated for better work. That’s why most people had begun flooding the states up in the 1910s, bringing in new floods of people who had all sorts of stories of the unexplainable back where they were from. Young and ambitious were they, and slaughtering came at an all-time high. They’d been well known within their first three years off the boat, and in the dead of the following fall, they’d been found; all of them had their necks mauled out and ten feet from the bodies.

A few more families of hunters had followed, all of them meeting the same fate. Hunters were almost never turned, given the personal grudge he’d had against them. He’d made putrid murals of their remains as an omen for those who’d dared come after him; it was intimidation, and hell, it worked. 

Because most groups of hunters were families with children either there or on the way, they’d strayed away from Remmick’s wrath. They’d done well to keep themselves out of his eyes, and prayed for anyone who’d mustered up enough blunder within themselves to take a shot at eldritch legend and endanger their families while disguising said blunder as ‘bravery’.

Everyone else had known better; The Smiths, however, had not.

She dropped to the road, the gun tumbling out of her grasp as she collapsed, never fighting her body’s weakness and instead letting herself succumb. She couldn’t tell if it were death or mere tiresome, but it overpowered her to a degree where she couldn't care less about differentiating. Her eyes were closed. She didn’t care much for anything.

It was then that one of the trucks down the road, so bright that it’d ripped her eyes open and immediately made her squint. 

She made an odd, breathless noise as if she couldn’t get the air in properly, and when that pained her further, her body began to lurch and coil into a ball, a broken sob escaping her body.

“[F/N]-- [F/N]!” She heard her father yell, hopping out of the car as the thud of some other shoes followed him. 

In a gust, she was put upright, the air re-entering her lungs. 

“What’s wrong with her?” That was her younger brother’s voice, coming frantic and worried. He shook her a little as if it’d do her any good, and still his desperation overtook her. He turned her over and brushed her hair aside, and no matter how he searched, he saw no gashes that could match all the blood that covered her. Simply, he saw claw marks and tatters.

“She ain’t been bit?” Her father asked calmly, fingers pressed to her pulse.

“I-I ain’t seen no bite–”

“Then why she in shock then?” He barked, turning his attention back on his daughter. He shook her hard, trying to snap her attention back onto him. 

“C’mon, c’mon, look at me– look at me! What happen t’you?”

She jerked a bit when the breath finally hit her, her lips moving as she babbled nothing but air, the words stubborn and weak. Upon this sight, her father shook her again, some relief washing over her.

“C’mon now, spit it out.”

Her jaw went slack, and she felt her whole body go limp, a sob overtaking her. She finally began to utter some words, as she coiled as far as she could into her father’s chest. 

He froze for a moment, looking down at her with some horrible feeling stirring in his stomach. Worry and guilt circled each other in a storm that made the hot air around him turn ice cold. Her brother had his hands on either of their shoulders, at a loss and feeling useless to aid the situation. 

In all their years of hunting, he’d never seen [F/N] so shaken– so horrified. She’d been reduced to a sobbing, dribbling toddler.

 

Amidst her sobs and his shushing, he heard her sobs morph into something whinier, something pleading–

“C-can’t, can’t–” she sucked in a breath so great that it sparked another, more powerful sob, her words coming out as a morbid howl.

“I s-saw it, oh God I saw it! He- he had him– he– i-in front of me,” her hands curled in front of her as she gestured, body wracked with tremors as her family watched her recount with little legibility. 

“I can’t do it anymore– I can’t! Take me home, right fuckin’ now! I’m not goin’ back down there!” She screamed suddenly, trying to claw out of her father’s grasp. Her younger brother had tried to hold her down, and she’d smacked him with the palm of her hand and sent him back a bit. Now that she was on her fours, her brother had once again snatched her back, trying to calm her with a flurry of comforts that didn’t mean anything.  

But her father, now frozen and stricken with horror and with understanding, sat on his haunches. He, too, now, snatched her up and brought her closer, his tone so cold in a way they’d never heard before. 

“[F/N], look at me– carefully, now, here? Okay?” he commanded, as she nodded furiously. His strong thumbs brushed away her tears and smudged her hair on her face, an action of love and franticness. 

He sucked in a breath;

“Did you kill him?”

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

The ride from Chicago to the Mississippi Delta was about twelve hours of messy and inexperienced swerving, six of which they’d already gone through– survived, more accurately. After leaving around six past ten the night prior, it was around four in the morning.

She awoke from her involuntary rest, her body sensing the stop of the car. In her tired haze, she’d pulled her head up off the window, body sore as a reminder of the fight from the night before. She looked down at herself and noticed her old bandages had been stripped and re-done, with the dress she’d changed into before leaving properly buttoned back up. Confused, she looked over at Remmick– but the driver’s side door was open, as was the trunk where all the commotion was coming from. 

She sat up a little straighter, immediately put off by her environment. After a quick scan of her environment, she’d seen that they were parked in front of some janky little cul-de-sac of two-story motel buildings, with Remmick headed towards the front office with a wad of bills in his hand. He sauntered as he usually did, nice and tidy now with his wounds completely gone, slacks crisp as his white button-up. 

She watched him with anticipation, eyes wide as she waited for him to turn around at least once. And if he hadn’t, she’d take the moment and practically fly out of the car. So she watched,

And she watched,

And watched,

And he turned on his heels for a moment.

His head turned partially at first, making [F/N] think he’d heard something far off in the distance. But instead, he turned his body towards her, and the confusion on his face was clarified by a small smirk when he laid his eyes upon her. 

Her eyes shot open, and she slumped her head back against the window. She was far too late, however, and when she opened her eyes, she shrieked at the sight of him standing in front of her window, a split second later, leaning over it with his arm resting on the hood. He leaned in close, their only divider being the window.

“Mornin’.”

“SHHit-!” She felt her heart, almost scared for its health, after how badly he’d scared her. After a moment of prodding, she exhaled deeply as the irritants re-entered her body upon seeing Remmick’s barely concealed laughter.

“Sweet Jesus on a cross–! The hell you scare me like that for?”

He calmed himself and smirked, fingertips pressed to his lips. 

“My apologies, sweet thang.” His voice came uncharacteristically groggy, a little yawn escaping him. “Figured we ought to take shelter for the night. I’m gettin’ awful car sick from all the swervin’ and uh,” he wiped his face with his whole palm, trailing off as he subtly let his eyes wander off into the distance. [F/N] followed his gaze.

She’d never expected to see such a sour, disgusted look on Remmick’s face. His jaw hung a little open as if he were fixing his mouth to say something awful, but he’d stopped himself. And that little beady squint only amplified it.

“Ain’t that just fuckin’ peachy,” he murmured. 

He saw a little car of four gentlemen pull up, hopping out as they all came back to the truck, talking amongst each other. They had guns in the backseat, double barrels sitting aimed at the sky and polished. And if you looked just right, you could see bundles of something stark-white on the seat. [F/N] knew it all too well and whistled under her breath, shrouding her face away from them with her palm.

“Ah, shit. There go yo people,” she scoffed.  

The way he whipped around at her comment, you would’ve thought she’d cussed him out so bad he’d never heard such words before.

“Hail naw, them ain't ‘my people’! Matter fact, I tried to find the furthest place out that wasn’t riddled with Klan. Guess I was wrong, but they got bed n’ breakfast. Start servin’ in about…” He lazily checked his watch; “thirty minutes. Figured I’d letcha eat ‘fore I shack up for the day–”

“Holon– wait, wait, wait… Why?”

He misunderstood her and knit his eyebrows together. 

“...cause it’s free?” He made a ‘duh’ face as if that were obvious. “I mean, I ain’t poor or nothin’– never that, but breakfast been real pricey lately–” 

“No– no,” she cut him off, almost annoyed at his response. “You said we was avoiding Klan.” She pointed at herself. “Now…I know why I’d avoid Klan, but,” she then pointed at him, “ain’t you white? ‘Cause you look awful white to me.” She then pointed at the men. “N’ I bet you look awful white to them.”

He didn’t react all at once, but a small smile descended over his features, a small laugh leaving him. He got up off the car and put his hands on his hips, clearly finding that little comment funnier than what she thought it was.

“Ah, I see,” he said, fighting a bit of offense. He gently brushed the back of his palm with his other hand, gesturing. 

"Cause we all skinfolk, you think we all kinfolk? Well, I’ll have you know that lumpin’ me in with them is downright offensive, lil' miss.”

“What? How they offend you?” She laughed mockingly. “They ain’t invite you to the lynchin’? Went ridin’ without you?”

He watched her giggle at her own jokes and laughed right back, letting her have her moment. As the smile still ghosted her face, he spoke up. 

“Naw, they invited me alright; ‘cept I was the lynch-ee n’ not the lyncher. Catch my drift?”

The humor had gone up and right back down, deflating like a balloon. She looked at him in a little bit of shock, her face still frozen in a half smile. She wanted to ask further questions, and a small part of her wanted to take her little quip back, but the unfazed man simply tapped the roof of the car twice, turning his heel. 

“C’mon, already got us a room and grabbed a lil’ bit of your luggage, too. Oughta go before them crackers get a good look atcha.”

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

Remmick sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shoes as he stretched his feet, groaning with some relief. The next shoe clattered to the ground, and he began with his button-up.

The sound of the shower running came from the bathroom, almost melting together with the sound of the morning rain outdoors. He’d reminded himself that the room was one of the only two.

He waited for a few minutes after the shower had stopped.

[F/N] was tying the silk cloth over her hair, the smell of castor oil clinging to it heavily. It smelled like grandma’s house and all her odd, alternative remedies; it smelled like home, a home she’d been longing for these past few months. She bit her cheek; perhaps if she’d been with her family, she would’ve been safe from Remmick’s claws. She would’ve been safe from a lot of things, and yet, endangered by quite a few others.

She rolled up the ivory silk nightgown to see her stomach, where three jagged claw marks stretched from the underneaths of her breasts to her lower back, wincing at the memory. 

“Did you kill him?”

She felt her face heat up a bit, a familiar sorrow coming over her. It made her throat and her nose flare up and burn, and her eyes gloss over; the way her saliva thickened, and she had to sniffle to keep her tears at bay. 

That weakness felt like sickness; that scar felt like sickness. And though it was complimented by many others, those had brought her the sin of pride; she’d reveled in the stories that came with them, whether she’d taken two or four creatures at a time. She was the pride of her family, reduced to a sniveling mess that night.

God, she wished with everything in her heart that she could kill him. She didn’t want him to be burned alive in some sunlight, and she didn't even want her family to discover what he was and kill him right there. No, she wanted to plunge something into his heart and watch the life ebb from his eyes as he struggled and thrashed, powerless against her. Only then would her shame fade away when she could revel in the feeling of his blood splattered against her skin. Only then w–

*Knock knock knock.*

“[F/N]? I ain’t tryin to rush ya’, but you been in there ‘bout an hour. Hope you ain’t fell or somethin’.”

Annoying little fucker, isn’t he?

She rolled her eyes, cursing and writhing to herself for a moment, before she reeled it in, and exhaled, making her voice as casual as possible.

“Yeah, comin’ out now.”  

She sighed deeply and brought herself back down to earth for a moment. She finally twisted the knob evr so slowly and pushed open the door, taking a peek at first. Luckily, he wasn’t standing right at the door but, in fact, was looking down at something atop the bed with his hands on his hips. 

The smallest creak of the door made him snap his head up with curiosity, before a small smile devoid of bad intentions appeared on his face.

“Alright, well, come on over then, sit on the edge,” he said, gesturing her over with his pointer. “I won’t bite, not yet at least.”

Concerned yet technically optionless, [F/N] slowly opened the door wider, turning the bathroom light off as she emerged. Like a ghost, she moved over to the bed reluctantly and quietly sat down, looking up at Remmick in some morbid anticipation; she just wanted whatever this was to be done quicker. But he had intentions of enjoying this torture.

She could see him come over and put his knee on the mattress as it sank behind her, the sound of him fumbling with cloth making her whip around, a bit disgusted.

“What the hell–? Boy, what are you doin’?”

He smiled, and she could see some old cloth wrapped around his hands as he stretched and ripped it a bit, before nodding at her hands. 

“Well,” he said under his breath as he worked. He took up her wrists, and when she pulled back, he flashed a grin.

“Can’t just expect you to behave while I’m restin’, can I?” He mused. “So, to keep you outta trouble, I’mma keep you tied up n’ next to me”

Her eyebrows about flew off her face, but after a moment of looking him dead in the face with horror, she cracked a doubtful laugh.

“Oh, you funny ain’t you? So, what? You actually gon’ tie me up?” She asked, still smiling with some disbelief.

He shrugged and chuckled in a way that made her worry build back up. No, he wasn’t kidding.

“I don’t know why you think such a thing is above me, ‘specially given my reputation. I’ve wiped out whole villages, but you think I’m above a lil’ bondage? Please, and you said I was the comedian. Now,” he gestured, “turn ‘round, back t’me, ‘fore I start gettin’ impatient.”

He turned around so quickly that the air had nearly left her lungs, her back forcefully arched so that her shoulders rested against his chest while her hands and lower back were far enough forward for him to tie her wrists behind her back. 

She groaned with an immature exasperation, sucking her teeth. She let her eyes wander as she spoke, letting them land on the room’s vanity across from the bed. She watched as he took both her wrists in one hand and the old rags in the other.

“Honestly, ain’t you overrea..”

Her voice trailed off as she fought for understanding. She could’ve sworn her eyes were playing tricks on her, because there was no possible way that she was watching Remmick crack his jaw open, and let his mouth approach her neck.

In awe-stricken horror, she almost screamed. He snapped his eyes up to the mirror and quickly took the hand with the cloth and clamped it over her mouth, positioning his fangs over the nape of her neck. And while she tried to struggle, she found herself calming down enough to see what he was doing.

She watched the two of them in the mirror, watching as he kept his fangs gently prickling her neck, threatening to sink in if she even moved a little as he bound her. Her chest moved up and down, heaving, relaxing breaths as she, in his own morbid way, held her at ‘gunpoint’.

He pulled the binds particularly hard, and she winced, feeling his fangs prick her.

“Dammit–! Watch where you puttin’ them thangs at!” She spat, sighing and pouting.

He waited until he’d finished to respond and slowly scooted back to view his work. He spoke as he observed, while [F/N] scowled at him.

“Had to make sure you wouldn’t struggle so much,” he said as he feigned his amusement, now standing up as he walked to the front of her with more cloth. He tapped the side of her calves as he scooped down to pick up her legs, pulling her forward as he pressed her feet against his chest, hunched over.

He’d tied her legs as well, just as tight and just as secure. She’d tested them a bit and frowned when she found that he’d given her little room to move. She sighed–

“So, what I’m gon’ do if I have to use the ladies' room?” She asked. “Am I ‘sposed to worm my way there?”

“I’m a light sleeper, darlin’, all you gotta do is wake me up n’ I’ll untie you,” he said, putting her legs down and yawning. “Shoulda done that ‘fore I tied you, though.”

She scoffed– “So how was I ‘sposed to know you was gon’ hog tie me?” she asked, her voice testy.

She could see his patience wearing thin through little hints. His usual airy demeanor and awkward charm gave way, and his responses came slower and more drawn out. 

“Coulda guessed,” he said flippantly. He looked too tired to deal with her any longer. His eyes were heavy, and he was already dressed down to a wife-beater and half-unbuttoned slacks. He was already climbing into bed, and wrapping his arm around her waist to drag her closer as he began to sink into his pillow. 

The sudden action surprised [F/N], who attempted to wriggle away from his grasp. The tired brute was barely affected and pulled her up beside him without getting too close. The action wasn’t possessive nor intimate, and more or less parental. He treated her like a liability, and [F/N] had realized that quite early on. Then again, she felt a sense of pride in that. He deserved it, after all; look at everything he’d put her through and everything he’d planned to put her through.

She scoffed, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. This was demeaning. Four generations of Smith hunters had amounted to one who not only failed to kill the same vampire twice, but was now his captive. 

“Did you kill him?”

There it was again, coming back to haunt her.

She couldn’t tell why she’d let him live, and why she’d let him scamper away with all his limbs intact. 

Even after she’d managed to stand up and grab her double-barrel shotgun in hand, loaded with silver bullets, and yet she couldn't move her trigger finger. She could recreate the scene so vividly in her mind, the way she looked straight past the aim and dead in his eyes, glowing like rhinestones far away; the way he was hunched over and looking over his shoulders to meet her eyes, a fresh chunk of flesh hanging in his maw.

And the sound– oh God, the sound it made when he’d open his mouth, the smile and the mass fell on the grass patch in the clearing, the trees whistling around them in the dead of night.

“Ain’t no reason to be scared,” he’d said with a chillingly faux tenderness. “He’s all gone now.”

And she, soaked in blood, watched him as he ran away, laughing all the while.

“You still up?” Remmick grumbled begrudgingly, opening his eyes. “Can I ask what’s wrong now?”

Despite his frustration, he tried to remain gentlemanly. Still, it was always something with this one, and after a while, it got old. 

He watched her look over her shoulder, back facing him. He couldn’t read her expression, but could comprehend the upset in her tone.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” She uttered quietly, far softer and daintier than usual. It was a vulnerability that almost disappointed Remmick; surely, she hadn’t submitted so easily?

He sucked in a long breath; whtever it was, it was going to be long.

“Lay it on me. Quickly.”

“I know, I know– I’m fixin’ to say it.”

He watched (while feigning laughter) as she awkwardly inched around in her binds, managing to flip onto her back and sit upright. Luckily, she was an athletic little thing, and it didn’t take long. 

She looked like she was fighting something within herself; perhaps it was a question she didn’t think she should ask, or maybe it made her feel silly. Either way, the prolonged wait took away from his sleep. 

“Y’know, y–”

“Why did you save me that night?” She asked suddenly, finally managing to look over. Her gaze was stern and unwavering. “If that’s even what you meant to do. Did you just… happen to know about the gift? And– and why’d I have to watch?”

He exhaled long, through his nose. Goddammit. A small part of Remmick had always known it was only a matter of time before she’d brought that up; he just didn’t think she’d do it right before he was about to sleep. And because he knew she wouldn’t settle for a quick answer, she watched him sit up, dramatically groaning. 

He finally spoke, looking over at her. “First of all, yes, I’d long known, so you could say it was cause of the gift. It ain’t all too common for me to find your kind, and, I’ll be damned ‘fore I let another one of my kind get in the way of the very thing I’ve been chasin’ all these years,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Secondly, I didn’t make you watch: you couldn’t look away, which I understand; it’s a detrimental thing t’see one vampire eat another vampire damn near whole. But, my temperament was off n’--” 

He shook his head like he was getting frustrated at recounting all the details. “Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know? What, is that really what’s been botherin’ you? Is that what shook you up so much that night? A lil’ blood n’ gore? Please, you oughta be a lil grateful.”

Her jaw hung open. She didn’t know what response she’d been expecting, but she knew it wasn’t one as lackluster as that. 

She stammered for a moment, a little taken aback. She almost had to laugh. “What, so him bein’ one of your kind– that didn’t mean anything? You puttin’ my life over his–”

He rolled his eyes and waved his hand–

“No, no, alright? That ain’t what that was.”

 

He stopped himself and thought for a moment. “Well, not exactly. See– me n’ him may be of the same makin’, sure, but what’d I say earlier?”

“...that all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk?”

He snapped. “Exactly; to ‘kill’ that man, as if he were alive in the first place– that didn’t mean anything to me. He was no kin to me, and definitely wasn’t of any use to me neither. But you,”

He cracked a small smile and spoke slowly. “...you are the key to me seein’ my people, and you don’t have a clue how important that is. Hell, even now you’ve taken that for granted. You got a mother n'’ father waitin’ all the way out in Mississippi for you– lovin' you, missin’ you dearly, and what do you do? Run away from 'em.”

He scoffed in her face as she blanked, eyes a little wide at the cruel truth of his words. He could see it on her face; he could see the way the guilt struck her heart like an arrow. And although he hated to be that hurtful, he didn’t do it out of amusement. He did it because it was a necessary truth. She was so spoiled, so high and mighty in his eyes; it made his stomach curl and his tongue sharp. He hated that about her; that selfishness made her so ugly. 

He leaned in a bit, and it was the cold yet stoic tone he spoke in that made [F/N] freeze.

“I envy you in so many ways,” he started. “You got all this community, all this love, and you run from it. And yet, I’ve been stuck on this earth for damn near thirteeen hundred years. Do you have any idea how lonely that is?” he asked, his voice spiking.

When she didn’t respond and instead just looked at him with her mouth ajar, he scoffed and shook his head. He pulled away and shifted back underneath the covers. 

“Always been a spoiled lil’ girl, cryin ‘woe is me, daddy’s makin me carry on the family business!’” he mocked sourly, sucking his teeth. “Like you’ve ever been through anythin’.”

At this, [F/N] spat back. 

“You don’t think I got my fair share of horrors? What, so I’m ‘sposed to be all peachy after growin’ up killin’ things that look just like people?” she barked, following his eyes with her own until he was forced to look at her. “All the nightmares I’ve had… all the nightmares you done gave me. Not all of y’all look like monsters-- some of 'em got human eyes, n'’ plead just like people– some of ‘em bleed like people– got children, got families. And yet, we kill ‘em regardless, n’ I’ll tell you this: there ain’t no difference in the way the light leaves their eyes when they’re gone.” 

Despite the strength and the rawness of her voice, she couldn’t help but begin to tear up midway through, partially out of disgust for all she’d done and fear of all she’d seen. And yet, all Remmick did was look at her with that stupid, indifferent look on her face. It was comical how he acted when he wasn’t trying to manipulate someone into getting his way. This disgusting, narcissistic creature that sat before her was truly devoid of any heart, no matter how much he’d tried to protest and say otherwise. 

Now a little more level-headed, she chuckled cruelly at him, sniffling a bit despite her pride.

“But oh, I don’t have nothin’ to cry over right?”

It went silent between them. Remmick’s back faced her, and he was frozen, his hand extended towards the bedside lamp. After a moment, he turned it off with a soft click and settled back into bed, not saying a word as the mattress shifted under his weight.

[F/N] watched in awe at his audacity and scoffed. Fine. If he had nothing else to say, neither did she. 

She flipped back over onto her side, facing away from him as she looked off into the dark of the room, her head still ruminating with ‘could ’ve-been’ insults she wished she’d dealt. Sorry ass honkey, coward, the Devil even– oh, how she hated him.

And in her silent fury, she heard his voice.

“Why you ain’t tell them you couldn’t kill me? That I was still alive?”

There it was.

There was the question that had paralyzed both the speaker and the supposed answerer.

 

It hung between them, making the room’s air thick with tension. [F/N] couldn’t tell if Remmick had truly been waiting for an answer or if he’d simply wanted the last word. Either way, he’d gotten it– she could barely muster a breath, let alone form a word in response. 

And after an hour, she’d finally fallen asleep, her dreams leading her through unwanted and awful memories.

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

a/n: alright guys, first of all ion give a fuck WE ARE LISTENING TO JEFF BUCKLEY CAUSE I GOT AUX.

Secondly: I knowwww i'm late im sorry yall!!! that's on me, I'll try not to make promises I cannot keep lol. Also ngl, I would've posted this around 3:00 EST today (it's 10:30ish rn) had I not gotten caught up playing Sims and then trying to go through my mods folder and fix my mods like I work in IT or some shit. Turns out it was UI cheats glitching my game to hell, a-fucking-gain-- deleted so much CC over that dumbass thing EHUHHBUBEFJOKIP3rnhu.

a/n 2: also, be patient, they'll end up liking each other I swear lol. But I wanted a reader with a bit of depth who wasn't about to just fall into Remmick's lap; don't be easy, guys teeheeheeeheeeeee

Anyways. Thanks for your patience pendejossss; hope y'all find this worth the wait!

P.S: There is some foreshadowing for the next chapter lollll

[beabadoobiefanatic]

Mi apologia pendejos I did not in fact meet my deadline, and thus I’m finna upload a pretty lengthy chapter 2 in the AM for my I Want You (She’s So Heavy) Remmick x Reader fic. Check that hoe out if y'all haven't already. But, we need to have a conversation about how sinners fics-- often incorrectly or don't at all-- approach race, one of THE core themes of the movie and how this one will in fact touch those themes:

Quick disclaimer btw; There is going to be light, “tasteful” and conservative (as in once or twice, not “OH! *spams*) uses of the n-word next chapter and so forth, bleeped of course so I don't catch any of you whities reading that hoe in your head (kidding). I’m BLACK! If I have to write my username on my melanated wrist will do so because guys… I cannot do a face reveal I don’t need people knowing **this** is what I do in my freetime 💀💀 not on my Hannah Montana shit I’m not a celebrity but, I will be actively ridiculed by people in my everyday life. And if y'all are about to get in my notes and say otherwise, go ahead n' open up that phone and show your family your Tumblr likes and post the reaction.

Sinners was a political movie (I can't even begin to tell how much I'm simplifying it's complexity rn holy shit I could write 6 essays about that ALONE) and thus this will be a semi-political fic; thus, the next chapter will deal with themes of racism without gory detail. Though these stories are important to hear despite the discomfort they cause, I think that I want to stray away from this fic being torture-porn (even though this fic will contain quite a bit of ACTUAL porn *teeheehee*) of black struggle disguised as a thinkpiece. It’s GOING TO BE thinkpiecey sure, since the movie itself MAINLY touches on themes of race, culture as well as cultural purging. A fic should ideally touch on the politics within its original source to a recognizable degree, even if the fic is for funsies (because the MOVIE was fun). But I will not eradicate the most core values of the movie so that y’all can fuck that white man-- FINE ass white man btw, oh my GOD-- and ignore everything you were supposed to have learned after leaving that theatre. That's not ethical gooner behavior, guys.

We gon keep ourselves aware and in the know, and MINDFUL— but we will also have fun and enjoy smut the way that the founding fathers of smut intended.

And yesssss they will fuck but imma edge y’all to it a lil' so it hits harder. Not even in like a true slowburn nature but, they won't outright fuck lol there HAS to be sexual context, nyassty gyalll

pic is so fucking funny btw lol

[snottiesnot]

He believes in equality... and ✨music ✨

IG || Kofi

[beabadoobiefanatic]

this is so insanely good, I LOVE artists!! This captures his essence so insanely well, and it's my favorite piece of fanart from the fandom thus far!

[beabadoobiefanatic]

I Want You (She's So Heavy) ✥ Remmick

Chapter 1 ✥The (Un)Welcome Mat

Other Chapters: ✥1 ✥2

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-chapter summary: In which Remmick lays claim to his new fiancée and sheds light on his cruel intentions. .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- chapter warnings: graphic depictions of gore and violence, male-on-female violence, female-on-male violence, mentions/promises of child murder

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- story summary: The Smiths have long borne sons and daughters of hunters for centuries, tracking and eradicating the cryptids that ran through the Mississippi Delta like blood roots; thus, it would only be assumed that [F/N] Smith should take the legacy on as well. However, her passion for music-- her gift and inclination of it ran within her, deeper than any blood and any 'fate', and so she took her bearings up to Chicago, indulging in the sin of the nightlife. But no matter how far she ran, Remmick couldn't get her songs out of her head-- he couldn't ignore a chance to once again be reunited with his own people, a chance only granted through the turning of a Smith girl. And thus, he sought out to take [F/N] as his little pawn, his little tool, and his little wife.

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- major warning(s): explicit sexual content, mention of the Klu-Klux-Klan, graphic depictions of violence and gore, blood, blood consumption, minor religious imagery and symbolism, gaslighting, manipulation, rough sex, verbal degradation, very minor amounts of period-typical racism

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-tags: black! female! reader, F/M pairing, usage of [F/N] [L/N] instead of Y/N, crossposted on Archive of Our Own (AO3), erotica, vampires, southern gothic, angst, comedy, slow burn, forced marriage, strangers to lovers, roommates, (eventual) mutual pining, enemies to lovers, love/hate, awkward tension, Remmick is a cannon mix of offputting and charismatic, miscommunication, pre-canon, alternate universe - canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mental instability, vampire slayers, soul bond, sexual fantasy, rough sex, hate sex, cunnilinguis, irish language

chapter wc: 2,720

fic wc: 2,720

chapters: 1/ ?

chapter publish date: 5/7/25 story last updated: 5/7/25

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

That mojo bag wasn’t worth a goddamn thing; her mother’s roots were so thin you’d mistake them as hair. 

She panted heavily, rolling onto her side as she spat out a mouthful of blood. Her vision was blurred, her ears ringing heavily. No matter how much she wanted to convince herself that her weakness simply came from a lack of willpower, the unbearable tearing feelings of every little muscle in her chest said otherwise. It throbbed and amplified as she attempted to army-crawl away, greedy for air that only stung as it flooded her now sore lungs. Even her coughs felt like an attack, her whole body wincing and convulsing. 

Still, she’d born no tears. Claw marks, kicks, and punches, sure– but no tears.

And like a man who’d just finished having her fill, she too found her limit when her body entirely gave away and went limp beneath her, her cheeks smooshing against her apartment’s living room carpet, her breaths slow and ragged as her head thudded and pounded. 

Just as she’d found a moment of peace or perhaps a small sanctuary amidst chaos, her assailant came sauntering up, stepping over her with his feet planted on either side beside her hips. He came down and flipped her around with such effortlessnes that she almost felt silly for trying him in the first place. She backed up a bit with a great deal of pain, her lips and nose dribbling with blood. And stuck to her chest was a little baggie soaked in blood, unscathed, unlike the one it had been meant to protect.

He’d not gone unscathed. Deep, skin-severing gashes that were just beginning to heal littered his face, his neck split open and actively dribbling liquid that pitter-pattered down at his feet, wetting his good shoes. His left eye was nothing but a gaping hole that let you peek into the frayed, wet flesh of his socket. Despite what looked like man-killing injuries, he was no man, and thus he stood atop her with a smile. Not of perversion and not of amusement– fuck no, she’d easily proven herself formidable and for that she had his respect. So he smiled out of triumph, pride, in a sort of ‘I finally got you without outright killing you’ way. 

He looked to his left and down slowly, spitting a ball of pure blood as he cleaned the remnants off his lips with the back of his hand. He cleared his throat real hard.

“You yieldin’?”

She looked up at him in a hateful silence. She couldn’t properly speak until she’d swallowed the mouthful of her own blood, which ached her throat even further. Her eye had even twitched a little as she winced, but she spat back;

“What it look like?”

The calmness of her voice did not reflect the anger that bubbled to the surface. The giddy white man chuckled at her dry humor, though she was convinced he drew more humor from her misery and the pride he took in the success of his attack. 

He smiled and backed away from her, but not without a quick whim for pettiness. He swung his foot into her knee and watched her lurch forward, immediately regretting the motion due to how the rest of her body tensed. Once he heard what he called a ‘satisfactory’ noise, he nodded to himself with his own approval. He looked down at her and spoke with mock pity. 

“Ah, shit. Well, see– now would be the time to apologize t’ya. As a feminist myself, I don’t particularly believe in pullin’ punches– nor banjos– on perfectly capable women. ‘Specially you. I swear, I tried to take it easy on ya’--”

“Easy on me?” She repeated, scoffing as she looked to her right. The half-split remnants of the banjo lay there as a reminder of what had caused her injury, and it only made her boil more. 

“I know some grown ass men who can't even take a banjo to the head that fuckin’ hard, let alone a young lady” she spat mildly, touching the area of impact with her fingertips, bringing them back and inspecting the blood.

He put his hands up in defense, nodding as he accepted her criticism. He enjoyed his banter with the girl, and so he saw no reason to scare the attitude out of her. Not yet, at least; that always came naturally.

“I promise fo’ God that I did. However, I must admit, I got cocky n’ figured you forgot all that your daddy taught ya when ya moved out here so, I truly didn’t expect sucha fight. Perhaps I panicked a lil’-- overreacted?” 

“What,” she mocked, because mockery was all she’d had at the moment, “you was bein’ cautious? Thought I was hidin’ some kinda strength from ya til’ the last minute?”

“Mmmmaybe,” he chided, “n’ I’d expect you of all people t’know a thing ‘er two ‘bout caution, even though you left a welcome mat outside that there door. I mean hell,” he waved his finger around and gestured to everything– “house smelled like a muhfuckin’ field of garlic ‘fore I came up in here; and yet, you ignored the most important rule: makin’ sure I wasn’t invited in, in any way, shape, or form.”

He thought and stopped himself after a moment of introspection, making a funny face before he looked on apologetically. 

“Huh. Field, that’s a bit offensive, given your people’s history with the word… my apologies, I’ve been so rude, ain’t I? I do hope you know that despite this lil’ encounter, I do in fact happen to be a sympathizer to the struggle of colored folks– ‘specially black folk.” 

“Uh-huh… you a funny motherfucker, aintcha? You must fancy yourself a comedian?”

He thought with a fake and exaggerated ponder, shrugging as he scrunched his face. He broke a smile– 

“Lil’ bit, yeah. I’m glad you agree!” 

His voice was cocky with a deep, southern draw. It had a goofiness that [F/N] recognized in white folks from back home in the Mississippi Delta, except his had a bit of charm to it. 

She rolled off her back and onto her side, lifting herself off the floor to sit up a bit. The taste of copper was subtle in her mouth, but her voice worked just fine. She matched his southern drawl with her own, though her voice was a lot more proper, even if she was fuming. She managed to breathe with more regulation, her shirt clawed halfway to death. She could see a grimace in his eyes as he observed his damage, and although he’d been prideful of himself earlier. he rethought the amount of force he’d used. Now that the thrill of the conquer was over and he’d managed to win their little cat fight, he cursed himself for that fact. 

“Hope you know I coulda ended this a lot earlier,” he said, pacing around her tauntingly— observantly. “Coulda knocked y’out and bit ya, turned ya n’ taken the gift for myself. But nooo, I decided to be civil for once n come to you with a fair offer. I decided to be civil again by not snappin’ you in half like a fuckin’ twig n’ instead, gave you a chance to fight. N’ now, look at how you’ve treated me! N’ these is my good clothes, shit.” 

Her jaw went slack with enraged apallment, pointing her finger at him–

“You came up in my house talkin’ bout marriage– marriage! Holy matrimony with a goddamn demon, don’t that sound a lil’ crazy?! And– I barely even know you! What, cause you left a few gifts on my window when I was younger, I’m ‘posed to shack up with you?” 

The worst of her fate was all out in the open, and that didn’t make her any less horrified. She’d always assumed her family’s culture of superstition was based on nonsensical fairy tales, but because they’d been so scared of sending her off to the big city on her own, she’d taken that bit of culture with her and done everything they’d asked. And although she found the whole thing ridiculous, she too found fear in running away from home, and so she’d easily taken another step to ensure her safety, even if it was from something fake.

Now, that “fake” danger stood before her, clasped in blood and unaffected by all her precautions. She felt scammed, but most importantly, she’d felt scared. 

And now it only worsened; there was more to her fate than a bite. There was another stipulation he had more plans for her, which she couldn’t help but fear were worse than something as simple and (un)natural as feeding. It was a matter of being bound to him, for reasons she couldn’t place. He’d already told her he wanted her gift, but there was no logical explanation in his plight for her hand in marriage. 

He was awfully vague about his motivations, too. He was so nonchalant about the whole ordeal, likely because he knew he held all the power, and to fuss or try to explain himself was simply an unnecessary exhaustion of energy. He was going to marry her, he was going to turn her, and he was going to use her gift for himself. And what could she do? She’d already expelled her arsenal. 

“Well, you could say no,” he reasoned, “but then I’d just bite you here n’ now, and let your family find you and kill ya.”

“They wouldn’t,” she retorted quickly. Too quickly– it made Remmick smirk knowingly.

“Please, you didn’t even believe that one bit. They’d think it a mercy to just kill you rather than let you live as one of my kind. Gon’ tell me otherwise.”

She didn’t even have to think to know he was right, and bitterly she pursed her bloodied lips into a fine line, the blood from her nose dribbling off them and down her chin. She wiped her face with the back of her hand as a bitter silence ensued between the two of them– and when she didn’t respond, the man smiled with satisfaction; a knowing, cocky satisfaction.

“Smart girl. Except, you seem confused about my intentions. Allow me to clarify:”

He looked her up and down indifferently, almost analyzing her, before he spoke up.

“‘S deeper than flesh,” he said, plainly. “I did not go through the trouble that I did to find you just for pussy nor blood, ‘scuse my vulgarity. However, them is commodities I can get anywhere. But you, that gift– that voice?” he whistled. “I mean bea-utiful, truly; can’t find your songs anywhere else– your gift. N’ so, let me tell you how this is gon’ work–”

He knelt to her eye level, getting in close:

“You’re gon pack whatever you may need, n’ leave all the hoodoo-voodoo shit in here; you can gon’ head n’ keep that lil bag, though. Then, you’re gon’ climb in the car, and we’re gon’ pay your folks a lil’ visit.”

At the mention of Remmick coming anywhere near her family, her eyes had shot open. He clocked the fear upon her face and instantly shushed her, watching her face freeze in worry. He paused and almost laughed at how surprised she’d gotten.

“We’re not killin’ em– shit, calm down a lil’! They’re too well-versed for me to not feel a lil’ worried about takin’ em’ on. So, instead, we’re just gon show ‘em you’re in good hands; show em’,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. When the light hit it just right, a little thin, gold band reflected, as he polished it with his shirt despite the blood. He took her shock-paralyzed hand and awkwardly put the ring on her, feeling reaffirmed in his decisions when he’d seen just how well the damn thing had fit. 

“Show em’ you’re engaged, so you won’t be comin’ round no more, so they can’t come lookin’ for ya when I turn ya, n’ they won’t get suspicious of me. N’ if you give em’ any reason to think the situation is anything but that…” he sighed, “then I’ll kill the youngin’s. Obviously, I know my chances of tusslin’ your whole goddamn family n’ winnin’ are awful slim but, the kids? They can’t defend themselves–”

[F/N] felt a brief second wind at that, the very thought of him even touching her younger siblings (when in fact, he could very easily kill them; they were all but 4, 8, and 12) put such a violent amount of fear and worry into her that hysterics had begun to claw at her. 

“Don’t you fucking dare–!”

“-- Then don’t put me in that position,” he interjected, sternly this time. “Neither of us want it to come to that, so let's avoid that situation, hm? You hear me on that?”

She ignored him entirely; “You trifling piece of no-good horseshit–”

“Are we clear?” 

He came again, more sternly this time as he locked his simmering-red eyes on her, scanning her face for any indication of understanding and thus, submission. He didn’t let up while he watched her chew her lip, and while he watched her eyes gloss over with frustrated tears despite her hardened, angry expression. 

And after a few seconds, without ever looking at him, she nodded slowly. The lump in her throat burned so much that she could barely muster the words, nodding half-heartedly.

“Fine.”

He cupped his ear in her direction. “Might be old but I ain’t hard of hearin’: I didn’t quite catch that?”

Smug motherfucker. [F/N] repressed the flurry of curses, tears, and insults that had gurgled and cooked in her chest, clawing up to her throat in an attempt to get out and attack the vampire. But, she loudly swallowed it down, her voice cracking a bit as she fought to be louder this time despite her restraint. She had to be smart; this wasn’t a personal matter anymore, and she had to be considerate with her words. Still, she couldn’t extinguish her anger entirely.

 

“I said fine. Fine, alright? Fuckin’ fine. The hell else am I ‘sposed to say, no? I don’t got no other options, do I?”

He shrugged, “Coulda’ left em’ for dead; not everybody’s fond of their kinfolk. Just happens to be my luck that you are.” 

She mulled over the gravity of her situation with bitter resentment.

 

She couldn’t stomach the thought, and it had all felt so fictional. For him to break into her little apartment above the jazz bar she’d worked at these past few years and immediately proclaim a wife for himself simply because she’d lost a fight. She bit the inside of her cheek and wondered, ‘Had I fought harder, would I even have to worry about this?’. What would it have taken to keep her out of this situation between a rock and a hard place? 

The restraints of her situation were not physical. She was not bound by the wrists with rope or rags, and she wasn’t paralyzed either. However, she sat before a man whose maw was soaked in nearly-fresh blood, his teeth razor sharp and his eyes bearing the red gleam of hot, simmering coals. She couldn’t overcome the lump of cowardice in her throat that would bubble to the surface if she confronted the situation for what it was– confront it as an extension of her failure to kill him for the second time. 

But her fate was so obvious; she didn’t even have to say it, and so she didn’t have to believe it either: it simply was. 

He could see the shift in her expression and nodded, unveiling those awful, jagged fangs. And although he would’ve appreciated a sob or a cry of terror, the priceless expression on her face was enough. He reveled in her horror-stricken silence. With a sly, smug eye, he reveled in her recognition of her hopelessness. His chest only brightened as he watched her painfully stumble up onto her haunches and lift herself off the ground, moving limply like a corpse. 

She turned towards her bedroom, almost swaying.

“I’ll do it, all of it– just.. I’ll..” She swallowed hard.

A morbid acceptance burrowed itself in her mind and heart. 

“I’ll start packin’.”

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

a/n 1: first of all, PLEASE leave comments, them shits were so funny and so supportive when I had posted my OG snippet; I love engagement like that so much! brings me back to the wattpad days of giggling at the comments more than giggling at the story. a/n 2: finna update this bitch w/ a double feature this week (its 5/7/25 rn, let's aim for at least one of those being published by 5/9/25-- you're allowed to *respectfully* ask about updates in case I do fall behind); first, with a contextualizing chapter and then a chapter that gets back in the main plotline.

[beabadoobiefanatic]

guys (as if only 4 people won’t be seeing this) we need more fics w/ funny Remmick representation. I stg, the whole movie he had me giggling.

Plus, more black reader inserts, likeeee.. duh 😋

This is nowhere near done pls don’t bully me yet

[beabadoobiefanatic]

did a 15-minute draw-over of one of Kodi Smit-McPhee’s Kurt Wagner / Nightcrawler screenshots from Dark Phoenix. They massively fucked his hair up in Apocolypes and sorta fixed him in Dark Phoenix, however some key parts were missing. Regardless of how you feel abt the actor’s performance, I think the biggest sins were committed by the hair and makeup departments. I do like how they made Kurt look less white given his implied pseudo-Romani heritage— that was a cool liberty, even though Kodi himself is ***very*** white, which I didn’t know because I swore up and down the actor had to be from South Asia. Then again I don’t care— canonically he’s basically a white guy in every depiction + his disguise is a white dude. Still, brown / tan Kurt is pretty cool to me.

Allen Cumming is my favorite overall portrayal because the writers did their big one and he himself just portrayed Kurt incredibly well even if I (once again) disliked what hair and makeup did to him. But then again, as opposed to the comics, his face didn’t have the same strength— yet in all fairness, a comic book jawline is an insane expectation so, if y’all kill me for saying that then I understand.

Really fucking mad that it looks like he has on a shake n’ go Sunday School wig btw… but I’m not about to draw in a middle part, it’s not that serious but still