#remmick x stack

You love remmick, truly— but sometimes he gets on your nerves. He’s demanding, overprotective and sometimes strict. He turned you during the opening of the Juke Joint. It was one of the best nights of your life and it turned sour very quickly. Luckily— you, Stack, Remmick and Sammie escaped with your lives. You convinced Remmick to let Sammie go, he had to or it would be the end of him. You, Mary and Stack returned the next night to clean up the scene.

The aftermath shattered your heart into a million pieces multiple times. Stack hovered over smoke’s dead body and let out a scream you had never heard before. You dreaded going in and seeing Annie laying there, your best friend. You two had been there for each other for everything and that night you had to bury her. Delta slim had been bitten and chewed on in so many places, it was horrific and would’ve made you throw up— if you had anything on your stomach.

It was silent that night, none of you had anything to say. You just wanted to make sure that no one could tell that anything had happened there. As for the Klan members, you burned them and threw the remains in a lake.

Today, you and remmick are in Louisiana. You’ve lived here since that night, 10 years ago. You’re waiting on him to get back from his hunt, sitting on the bed reading a book. You hear the door slam, Remmick making his way to the bedroom. He comes in out of breath, disheveled hair, pants ripped and his shirt stained in blood— he’s always a messy eater.

You look up from your book, glancing at him and his state.

“What the hell happened to you?” You ask.

“Motherfuckin Stack is in town and we crossed paths, he wanted the person that I had scouted all night— so we fought.”

You sigh, still reading your book.

“After how the last hunt with us went, he told you that you were gonna get an ass whooping. I guess you didn’t believe him?”

Remmick glances at you, giving you a look.

“Are we still doing the hunt together this year?” He asks, as he strips out of his clothes.

“I’m not sure. I know that we can’t kill that many people this time.” You admit.

Remmick looks back at you, grinning

“It was fun though, wasn’t it?”

You smirk a little, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

He goes into another room to clean up, you continue reading and light one of your cigarettes.

He comes back and stands in the doorway, eyeing you.

“Baby, did you feed?” He questions you, noticing that you don’t seem to have left the bed.

You inhale and shake your head no.

“Well, why not?” He approaches the bed, sitting down beside you.

You shrug.

“I didn’t want to.”

He grabs your cigarette, smoking some of it and putting it out.

He raises your nightgown, putting his hand on your thigh.

His eyes widen as he rubs your thigh.

“You’re warm.. that’s not good.” He starts to panic.

He grabs your face, looking into your eyes— your eyes have changed colors. He jumps off the bed and puts his pants on.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find you somebody to feed on. You shouldn’t have waited this fucking long, you’re starting to deteriorate.” He lectures, with a southern drawl.

“Remmy..” you mumble.

He looks at you, waiting to hear what you’ll say next.

“I got my cycle.” You admit.

“What?—“

“Honey, that’s not good. I’m losing you, if that happens.”

“Shit!” He yells.

He rushes out the door, before you can say anything else.

He comes back within thirty minutes, beating on the door and shouting your name. You go open it, confused on what all the fuss is about.

Remmick stands there with a fat, drunken white man on his knees, holding his neck. The man is barely able to sit still, spasming and making an awful noise.

“I broke his spine, that’s why he’s making that noise. He doesn’t have long so, drink.” He demands with a smile.

You stand there in disbelief, a little perturbed if you were being honest.

“No.” You respond.

Despite drooling, you didn’t want to feed. You weren’t interested.

His smile drops and he drops the man, the man falling on the porch and still wiggling around like a fish out of water.

Remmick’s fangs are out and he is upset. He walks to the door, grabbing a fistful of your hair— dragging you onto the porch and onto your knees.

“Drink!” He snarls.

Tears fall out of your eyes as your hands are gripping your head, trying to remove his grasp on your hair.

“Remmy, stop.” You cry out.

He whispers in your ear, “I’ll stop when you drink.”

He uses his free hand, slices a slit in the man’s throat— blood spewing everywhere. You feel your fangs coming out and the urge to crawl to the man’s neck.

“Honey, I love you— but if you don’t drink you’ll see a different side of me that you won’t like.” He threatens you, his Irish accent poking through.

“I don’t fucking want to. Let me go!”

You keep resisting, even though Remmick is stronger than you.

“Fine, I guess we’ll do things the hard way.” He grunts.

His grip on your hair tightens harder than you could’ve ever expected, he uses his strength and grip— practically dog walking you closer to the man.

He raises the man up with his free hand and forces your head down over the wound. The taste is glorious to you, despite tasting all the liquor the man had.

“That’s it, Mo Ghrá.” He coaches you, seeming turned on by the site of you.

He holds your head down until you’ve drank all the man could offer. He finally lets go of your head and hair. He has a grin on his face, feeling accomplished. You crawl over to him and smack him as hard as you could, a sound that would be heard for miles. He grabs his jaw, wincing. You storm into the house, slamming the door. He follows behind you.

You wipe your face off with a rag and you’re so disappointed, in yourself and in him. You see him staring at you, making you even more angry.

“I hate you!” You scream.

He stands there and doesn’t take offense to the statement, because he knows it’s not true.

“No, you don’t.” He replies.

You sit on the bed, nightgown drenched in blood, face still soaked in it and you start crying. He walks over, sitting beside you— hugging you.

“Shh.. shh. Don’t cry, darlin.”

You look at him, heart broken.

“Don’t you ever get tired? Tired of the killing? Tired of the sacrifice? Tired of not being able to see the sun?” You question, while trying to stop crying.

He never realized that you felt this way, you hid it well. His heart is aching hearing you say that.

He grabs your face, kissing your forehead.

“My love, I won’t ever grow tired of surviving with you. It’s hard and I know that, I can’t say it will get easier— but I need you. You’re my wife, you’re all I have. If I don’t have you, then meeting the sun wouldn’t be so bad.”

You feel sick at the idea of him meeting the sun, a true death.

“Remmy, we can’t build a life together— not the way we want. I can’t give you kids, we can’t grow old.”

He rubs your head, understanding what you feel.

“I know, but we’re making our own life together in a different way.”

You hug him back, harder than normal.

“I’m sorry—“

“I don’t hate you, I was just frustrated. I’m just sad.”

He grins.

“I know, sugar.” He concedes.

“This life is nothing to me without you in it. Promise me you’ll talk to me instead and won’t do that again.” He frets.

“I promise.” You answer.

He stands up, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Admiring how beautiful you look, even when covered in blood.

He pulls you close, kissing you— then licking the blood from around your mouth.

“We may not be able to have any babies, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to.” He gushes.

You giggle, debating his request— but you’re still hungry.

“Can we go find someone else? I’m hungry.” You request.

He grins, nodding his head.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”