in love with the way you write remmick like hello??? the dark mysterious vibe, yeah. i also love the fact it’s black reader coded being black myself i love seeing it from the perspective of someone the same race as me. wondering if you’d mind typing an x reader with remmick showing up to readers house seeking shelter and she kind of figures out what he is, but he doesn’t turn her valuing her humanity? kinda sappy but i wanna see a more soft approach to remmick idk
summary: a random white man appears on your porch one day, covered in blisters, and while your father is skeptical, your heart tells you to help him.
a/n: worked on this for hours nonstop. got messy at the end. hope y'all like it.
the missisipi sun was at his back 'n he was burning up. the arid, limitless field of dirt extended for miles in all directions, scorched and crumbling in the sunlight. his weathered boots kicked up clouds of dirt heated by the sun as they shuffled through the sand. he was thirsty, dehydrated, longing for a small drop of water to coat his cotton mouth. and above all, he needed food—bones, flesh, and blood.
the sun. that ball of fire, that damned piece of light. remmick had previously been hunted by that blazing light. he tried his hardest to stay away from it, even spending days at a time hiding in a hole in the ground to allow his skin to heal. he was powerful, sure. but every creature had its weakness, and remmick? the sun damn near killed him.
he staggered with each excruciating stride, the sun soaking through his shoes and burning the raw blisters on his feet. as he ran, a wet plap filled the air, with the sounds of his own blood and sweat sloshing in his shoes and between his toes, exacerbating his blisters. remmick wasn't religious at all, but he found himself praying in his head that he could get out of this scorching heat. despite the fact that he was a sinner and a horrible man, God appeared to answer his prayer quickly as a house came into his view.
after helping your ma in making breakfast—scrambled eggs, cheesy grits, crispy bacon, and buttery pancakes—you were in the kitchen cleaning up. an unfamiliar male voice caught your attention, and you wiped your hands on the floral kitchen towel before making your way to the front door, the wooden floor groaning under your steps. standing with a double barrel shotgun in his hands, your father—a well known farmer in the neighborhood—was aiming it straight at the stranger kneeling at the door.
you stood behind him, looking up down the white man with worry etched on your face. he didn’t look like one of the men from the neighboring farms—he was too beat up, his clothes too raggedy. he also smelled. it was a hot day, but even from where she stood, the man reeked of something sour. a little bit like alcohol, a little bit like sweat.
your father questioned him relentlessly, his expression hard. this was strange; a random white man on your porch, covered from head to toe in blisters and looking like he had been beaten with hot barbed wire; something wasn't adding up.
remmick didn’t respond at first, licking his chapped lips and looking between the double barrel shotgun gun and your pa, taking in the little woman poking her head from behind the porch door. “i don’t mean trouble,” he said at last, voice rough and sandpaper low. his eyes found you, studying the confusion on your face. “i jus' need water.”
the air was tense, your pa's grip tight on the gun. the man on his porch looked like he’d walked through hell, red faced and staggering. he was also white, which was suspicious enough. the farmers around here stuck to their own, the lines of color were drawn deep. remmick held up both palms empty, but still, your pa didn’t lower the gun. “i’m dyin' o' thirst, i swear.” he swayed a bit on his feet, and both your and your pa noticed. he was exhausted, dehydrated. his eyes locked with yours, and something passed between them. pleading.
"pa, he's burnin' up.." you spoke softly, cringing at the blisters that covered him from head to foot.
your pa's gaze flicked over to you, softening for the smallest moment when he saw your big eyes looking at him. you were always a soft-hearted girl, seeing something in people that he didn’t. he huffed.
“you from here? who’s land you trespassing on?”
“i ain’t trespassing. i’m just lost, is all. i was headin' east, and then the sun got to me.” remmick ran a dry hand over his face, groaning. “i need a few hours. to cool off, get my bearings. i'll be on my way as soon as the sun goes down.”
"he can sit at the table. i'll get him some water.." you spoke firmly but softly to your pa, walking to the kitchen before he could say anything else. you've always been stubborn, anyway.
that night, you persuaded your father to let remmick stay in the guest bedroom for the night. and he agreed after some pleading, promises, and tears of empathy from you. and he hated seeing his baby girl cry. you provided him with clothes from your pa's closet, a washcloth and soap bar for bathing, food, and other necessities. you were a little nosy and looked into the guest room before going to bed to see how remmick was doing, and then you saw them. his teeth were as sharp as your brother's hunting knife, and you almost gasped before forcing yourself to stay silent. putting the pieces together didn't take long; you were a smart girl who had heard tales from your cousins who lived in new orleans about the kinds of things they saw. in the hopes that you would forget what you saw, you said nothing to your pa about it. if he even caught a glimpse of those razor sharp teeth, he would shoot remmick dead.
but remmick knew you saw, and he knew you would keep quiet.
that night, you awoke to the sound of the front door creakily closing, but a shimmer on your nightstand drew your attention. a piece of gold with a note next to it with only two words scribbled on it with a nearly empty ink pen.
the gold gleamed in the low light from outside, glimmering like the stars on a clear night. that was more money than you had ever seen, more money than your family made in a week. you’d never even touched gold before, the metal was cool beneath your fingers, the ridges of the coin imprinted in your palm. your jaw dropped. where had this come from? you looked at the note, confusion making your head spin. where had he gotten this from? you sat up, studying the note again. the handwriting was messy, the letters sharp pointed and uneven. the words were simple, but the coin was worth a weeks worth of their harvest. you'd never forget him.
