#stack x cornbread

[try-again-bissh]

"Oh, That's a Good Woman" Pt 1

Stack x Therese x Cornbread Sinners Fic

Modern AU

I really don't know why naming this was so hard for me?! That's one of my favorite Stack lines in the entire film! This Stack's side story from Imagine Being Loved by Me. It can sort of be read as a standalone, you just wont know the OC that is mentioned but that's fine.

This will only be two parts I swear ! This exists cause Stack was just a lil bit too invested in what Cornbread and his wife had going on for me, it sounded like he gave their sex life a lot of thought.

This part begins right after the fight outside Club Juke in part 11.

Warnings: Do you know who you are talking to? This is gon be Gay as hell. SMUT, Handjobs, Pining, we setting the stage next part yall get to eat.

Word count: 2806

Enjoy!

“Did you see him?” Therese asked, urgency biting the very end of her tone. 

“Da door is still closed, he in there with Cassidy” Corey sighed back. “I ain't seen Smoke and Annie neither.” 

Therese was pacing the floor of VIP, Corey on his break as Slim took over door security for the next hour or so. 

Corey truly couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Cassidy out there hooking and jiving with them people, only to see one of them was Alvin Moore. Corey still cant figure out if he cheered out loud or just in his head when she two pieced that raggedy old man.

Corey knew of Alvin well, he and the twins grew up together. Even Corey's daddy was scared of Alvin back in the day. Mean old drunk. 

When da twins came back from Chicago, they little business certificates in hand, stacks and stacks of drug money at they feet, Corey wasn't sure they would really go legit. Elias and Elijah proved everybody wrong. They wanted Club Juke and they wanted to make it happen the right way. 

Elias came to his home personally to offer him the job, he was head of security, nice office and whole team of people who answered to him. He still liked to watch the door himself on some nights tonight being one of them. Club Juke’s second anniversary party was off to jumping start before Alvin and them crackheads showed up. 

He needed stability and benefits so his woman could take her art seriously. Therese had pipes on her and Stack encouraged her, spending nights seated at the piano in Club Juke letting her rehearse.

Stack had an ear for music, and he loved jazz, the blues and soul. I'm between jibes and roasting each other, him and Therese bonded over music. 

Corey couldn't say exactly when his feelings for Stack started. Stack was always a bright spot in his days back in school. Always down to share some weed, share some laughs. He defended Corey, him and his brother, the only ones from the neighborhood who didn't call him Cornbread. When they disappeared from Clarksdale, he worried but life went on. 

Since working for Club Juke, things escalated. Therese being the catalyst. Her and Stack were the wordsmiths. Banter, playful insults flying back and forth. His wife didn't take shit, she was a tiny spitfire and she ruled him. That's why he married her ass. 

Corey would worry Stack was after his woman, he was notorious for climbing into beds that were already claimed. 

Corey finally talked to his woman about all of this after they missed Pearline's last game night. According to Mary, Cassidy had climbed into Stack’s lap in front of everyone and tried to fuck him on the floor of Pearline and Sammie's living room. Pearline says she kissed him and he looked like his soul had gotten snatched. 

Either way Therese was heated for days. Scolding Corey that they had waited too long to talk to Stack and that Mary was gonna swoop in and get him for good. Till Corey let it slip that Stack had ended things with Mary and he saw Smoke dragging both Annie and Cassidy outta the office bathroom and into a Uber all three of em mused and indecent. 

Corey thought his lil crush on Stack would have been long gone, he was a married man, it had been years. But once Stack was back in Mississippi it was like no time had passed but had. He was different, still quick to smile, quick to share a joke, generous to a fault. He sat at the bar and tasted cocktail after cocktail while Derek was building out the menu, giving feedback and encouragement. 

The first time Sammie took the stage at Club Juke, Stack's eyes filled with tears as he listened to his baby cousin sing the blues in front of his own packed out juke joint. 

Stack was easy to fall for, it seemed almost foolish to fight it. Especially when he told his wife about what happened in the locker room way back. 

Corey had been hiding in the locker room after P.E class. He always waited till all the other boys were gone to shower and get changed. He listened carefully, and once it seemed like he was alone he crept out heading for his locker. 

He jumped when the door opened and someone stumbled in. Before he could hide, Stack came around the corner of lockers looking worse for wear. 

He slumped down on the bench hissing between his teeth, he hadn't seen Corey yet. 

Stack shifted on the bench reaching down he emptied his pockets, dime bags, pre rolls, crumbled bills. He didn't find what he was looking for and lifted his hip to check his back pocket. The movement caused him to hiss and he jerked in pain. The movement caused him to start to fall backwards off the bench, his head careening right for the metal locker behind him. Corey darted forward and caught him. 

He wrapped his arms around Stack back and pulled him upright, their faces pulled in close. Up that close Corey could see the little pieces that made up the brown of Stacks' eyes. Where his mustache was coming in above his lips, sweat beading lightly along the edge. 

“You good?” 

Stack gasped and Corey shifted him, sliding onto the bench beside him letting Stack rest along his side.

“What you still doing in here, Corey?”

He shifted awkwardly trying to adjust his weight, it seemed his side was what was bothering him. 

“I got a free period after PE so I can take my time. You alright?” he asked again. 

“I'm good, this ain't a thang” Stack said, his smile strained but still wide. 

He reached down and lifted his shirt up, his entire left side a huge dark bruise. He hissed between his teeth as tried to get his shirt over his head. 

“Wait, wait lemme” Corey propped Stack onto his shoulder and reached out to help him remove it. 

“You needa ice that. You sure nothings broken?”

They both looked down at Stack's side. “Ain't nothings broken. Ain't there ice packs in here?” 

“Yeah lemme get you one!” Corey took Stack by the shoulders and carefully propped him up.

Corey found the 1st aid kit, busted two ice packs open and quickly returned to Stack.

He sat next to him wrapped then both in Stack's discarded red T-shirt then reached across him to press them to his side. Stack hissed through his teeth then leaned into Corey in relief. 

“You gone tell me why you was hiding in here?” 

Corey sucked his teeth, he ducked his head and “Man I wasn't hiding!” 

“Is it Dauris an em? Imma tell Smoke he still -” 

“Nigga, ain't nobody needa call Smoke!” 

They locked eyes and Stack sighed. “You needa beat his lil ass and then he won't pop shit no mo” 

“Ion like fighting..” Corey muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. Waiting for Stack to laugh at him. 

There was silence. 

“Me either.” Stack replied, his voice quiet and hushed, a bitter smile across his lips. Corey’s head snapped up and they stared at each other.

Stack had never noticed that there was a lil green in Corey's eyes, or that he had freckles all over his face. Corey was so damn tall they had never really been this close before. His skin was light enough that his cheeks turned pink the longer Stack stared at him. 

He swallowed thickly. It was happening again. That feeling he got sometimes when he looked at another boy for too long. He licked his dry lips. Corey's eyes darted down to his mouth and Stack watched them darken. 

Stack wondered, would kissing a boy be the same as kissing girls? It's gotta be right? Lips is lips, a body is a body. He liked that Corey was bigger than him, he liked how he smelt, even though he was sweaty from PE. 

Before he knew it, before he could stop himself he was leaning forward, eyes glued to Corey's part lips. 

He pressed his mouth to his softy, just for a moment. He pulled back and Corey stared at him wide eyed, blinking rapidly. 

Fuck it. 

Stack leaned in again and caught Corey's mouth. It occurred to him when he heard Corey's startled inhale and felt him move his lips awkwardly, this might be Corey's first kiss. 

He ran his tongue along Corey's lip, till he opened up and let him in. Corey tasted like blue raspberry jolly ranchers, and his mouth was so hot and slick. 

Stack pulled back breathing so heavily. “This okay?” 

Corey nodded quickly, his eyes wide, whole face flushed, and Stack grabbed the back of his neck pulling him in for another kiss. 

With Corey's arm still wrapped around him Stack leaned into his broad chest and kissed him hard. He was getting worked up, hard in his jean shorts, he could barely feel the pain in his side anymore. He loved kisses and Corey was catching pretty quick, sucking on his lips and tongue, kissing him back heatedly.

Stack ran his hand down Corey's chest till it landed over the large bulge in his lap. Corey jolted and the kiss broke. 

“Wait uh” 

“What's wrong?” 

“Let me.” Corey reached over and undid Stacks shorts. 

“You done this before?” 

Corey snorted, “Yeah all the time, probably more than you have.”

What?! Stack felt like his eyes were gonna fall outta his head. He reached down and grabbed Corey's wrist, halting his movements. 

“Wit who?!” He demanded. 

“Huh?” 

“What dudes you been messing around with?” 

“What? Nobody!”

“Den what you mean, you do dis all da time?” 

Corey laughed, “I meant to myself, I ain't never touched nobody else” 

“Oh” Relief that didn't really make sense washed over him. 

They shared a smile. Stack leaned in and kissed Corey again. 

“Can I?” Corey asked. Stack nodded. 

Corey reached into Stacks shorts and pulled him out. Both of them breathless again, Corey looked up at Stack with heated eyes before, spitting in his palm and wrapping his hand around  Stack, stroking firmly. 

“Oh fuck” Stacks forehead fell onto his shoulder as pleasure filled him from his toes to his head. 

Corey pulled him more firmly into his side and fist moved steadily up and down, twisting his hand at the head like he often did to himself. 

Stacks sneakers squeaked on the locker room floor, as he squirmed he bit his lip hard fighting not to make too much noise. But it felt so good.

Corey was right, he was so good at this. His head nestled in Corey's neck he panted, Corey hand speeding up working him over the edge. Stack came with a muffled grunt of his name. 

Corey watched Stacks face crease with pleasure, and heard him utter his name like it had never been said before.

They panted against each other for a moment, Corey let Stack’s dick flop wetly against his abdomen. Stack still panting, reached for Corey’s pants. 

“Lemme” he whispered, trying to catch his breath. 

“Nah I got it” 

“What? Corey, come on” Stack protested, he wanted to touch him too. 

“You hurt and you left handed” Corey pointed out, pulling down his gym shorts with his clean hand. 

“At least lemme see den, come on” His tone edging up into a whine. 

Corey hesitated, then looked into Stack’s dark pleading eyes. He pulled himself out. 

Stack's jaw dropped and he gasped. That's gotta be the biggest dick in Mississippi. He mindlessly reached out a hand to touch him, then hissed when he twisted too far. 

“I told yo ass stay still!” 

‘It ain't fair!” 

“Iight damn hol on” Corey shifted still he straddled the locker room bench, then carefully pulled Stack between his legs so he wouldn't have to twist over his lap to reach him.

With his prize much closer Stack’s smile returned. He wrapped his hand around the base of Corey's dick and marveled at how much stuck out of the top of his fist. 

Corey wrapped his cum covered hand around the rest of his length and stroked himself fast. 

Stack couldn't decide if he wanted to stare at his face or at his dick. He squeezed around Corey and Corey grunted twisted his fist at the head of his dick. 

Stack leaned up and caught his mouth in another kiss, both their fists working Corey over. 

 “Nigga this dick so fucking big” Stack muttered in awe. Corey whimpered.

Corey didn't lie, he jerked off daily, multiple times but it had never been this good. I didn't understand but Stack's body pressed hotly against him, his breath on his neck panting, his hand squeezing and trying to match Corey's rhythm was undoing him. 

Corey came with a grunt, Stack moaned softly as his cum dripped over their tangled fingers, stroked slowly as he came down. 

“Fuck, shit” he panted. 

“Yeah” Corey whispered back, unable to catch his breath. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, both seeming to wait for the other to regret what had happened between them. 

With no freak outs, no shouting in disgust. Corey wiped his hand on his gym shorts and fixed Stack's pants for him. 

He rose and unlocked his locker, tossing Stack a washrag and taking out his stuff to go and shower. 

“You good?” Stack asked, wiping his hand clean. 

Corey nodded and they stared at each other for a moment. 

“Stack?” The locker room doors open and they could hear Smoke calling for his twin. 

Far too quickly for a boy of his size Corey grabbed his things and disappeared into a shower stall.

Stack stared wide eyed and then Smoke came around the corner. “Nigga you good? You found dem ice packs?” 

“Yeah I got em.” 

“Iight den let's go, dem niggas waiting on us” 

Smoke reached for Stack’s folded up shirt and unrolled it. Placing it over his brother's head, he held out the arms and helped him put it on. 

Stack hobbled to his feet, “Yo, you seen Dauris today?” They made their way to the doors. 

“Yeah, he wit Carly and em. Saw him outside. 

“Kay, Imma beat his ass.” 

Smoke nodded. No question asked. If someone needed a beat down, they was gone hand it to em. 

They had never talked about it, a month later Smoke and Stack left for Chicago. Corey was married now but you never really forget your first. When he told Therese well into their relationship that his first kiss had been with a boy from school her eyes had glittered. When she met Stack she put two and two together far too quickly for Corey's liking. She said there was a light in his eyes when he looked at Stack that he didn't have with other people. Therese claimed that light shown right back at him. 

Corey had always thought it meant nothing to Stack, even in high school he got around but since the twins came back to Mississippi Corey has caught Stack looking at him. Something that looked a lot like yearning in his gaze. 

Corey felt it too, the heat, the almosts that happened often between Stack and Therese. He didn't know what to do about it so he gladly let his woman take the lead. 

Looking over the banister of VIP he saw Smoke and Annie making their way to the stairs leading to the offices. 

“Oh, there they are. Let’s go.” He pointed. Therese well ahead of him making a beeline for the office. 

They caught up with Smoke and Annie in the hallway. Before he could speak the office door opened and Smoke pulled Stack into a tight hug. Corey felt relief wash over him that Stack was in one piece. 

“Elias, you alright? Cmere” Therese said, already reaching for him as Smoke and Annie entered the office. Corey reached out and caught his wrist pulling him closer to them. His eyes were red but the small smile on his face was real. 

Therese pulled him into a hug, her head coming just up to his collarbones. Stack sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head, his arms wrapped around her tight. 

Looking at them Corey could only think that life was too short to hold on to what ifs. He wrapped his arms around both of them and pulled them firmly to his chest. They fit against him like they were made to be there. Stack’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Corey, he looked like he had been given something he didn't think he deserved to have. 

Corey leaned in and pressed his lips to Stack’s forehead. They would talk later, right now he could hold him. Like he had wanted to since he was 16. 

[charliedawn]

Omg the vampires with a reader who had a petty fight with them so she won’t let them in the house now. Shes clearly having fun making them beg. Sitting there in the doorway taunting them and playing innocent.

(There has been a lot of controversy around the characters of Bert and Joan. I will make it clear right now. When I write about them, I will not associate them with the group they were a part of in the movie for obvious comfort reasons. With that said, enjoy. ☺️)

Mary

Mary looks the most annoyed—not because she is mad, but because she knows exactly what you are doing, and she cannot even pretend not to enjoy the power dynamic flip.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she hisses, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the doorframe. “Just because I said you were being dramatic over your broken coffee mug—”

“Which was hand-painted by a person dear to me,” you cut in, mock-hurt.

She rolls her eyes. “You hand-painted it yourself.”

You huff. “And? I am dear to me.”

Mary crosses her arms, grinning despite herself. “You know, I could rip this door off its hinges.”

“But you won’t,” you sing-song.

Mary groans into her hands. “You are impossible.”

You smirk. “And you are still outside.”

She cannot help but smile and shake her head in disbelief. She knows you will eventually let her come in. It is only a matter of when.

Remmick

Remmick stands just beyond the threshold, his expression crestfallen—clearly not used to being denied anything. He is already on his knees with his hands joined—trying to convince you to let him come inside with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“You’ve made your point, mo chuisle. Now let me in.”

You gasp, feigning shock. “Is that supposed to be a please? Because it sure didn’t sound like one.”

His jaw tightens. He’s ancient. Powerful. A telepathic vampire warlord. And yet he knows he has to ask nicely.

“…Please.”

You grin like a cat in sunbeams. “Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe if you say please with meaning this time.”

His eye twitches. He knows he needs to play humble here. He knows the sun will soon come out and he doesn’t intend to stay outside to greet it. The others behind him pretend not to smirk as he almost crawls. Everything to survive. Pride is not worth turning to ash over.

Bert and Joan

When you found those two, they were literally half dead. You saved their lives and since then they’ve been keeping you company. But, Joan and Bert decided to go hunting for a week without telling you. You were worried and when they finally come back…You decide that this is not okay and slam the door in their faces. Bert tries to convince you with sweet words. “You’re being hysterical, baby. C’mon. You know you love us. Let us in.”

Joan, echoing him, says, “It’s irrational behavior, sugar pie. Please. Do not let us stay outside.”

You slowly close the door just a crack. “One more condescending word and you two are gonna see if sunlight actually turns you to ash.”

Joan huffs. “We just want to talk!”

You grin. “You can talk. From out there.”

They both growl at you and you slowly flip them off before closing the door with a laugh.

Cornbread

Cornbread folds his arms at the door. “This is dumb. Lemme in.”

You smirk. “Nope.”

“Girl. I ain’t playin’. You’re playin’ with fire here.”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m cold.”

He scowls and warns you. “You’re gonna feel real bad when I burst into flames out here.”

You point to the overhang. “You’re in the shade.”

He scoffs. “Eventually, sun moves.”

You lean your head back lazily. “Then you better apologize before it does.”

He growls. “I hate you.”

You smile sweetly. “Aww. I love you too, Cornbread.”

He growls and kicks a garbage container nearby, but you aren’t giving in. Not this time.

Stack

Stack looks personally offended, hands shoved in his pockets, shifting awkwardly on the porch like he’s trying not to show how much he wants to come inside.

“So you’re just…gonna sit there and act like I’m not freezin’ my ass off out here?”

You tilt your head. “You’re dead. You don’t get cold.”

He scoffs. “That’s not the point, Y/N.”

You wink. “Exactly. This is about principle.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I see you. Petty queen behavior. I respect it. I hate it, but I respect it.”

Stack understands. He doesn’t like it but, he understands. You are as stubborn as him and this is why he likes you so much.

Bo Chow

He steps forward just enough to hit the invisible barrier and taps it with two fingers. “This is stupid.”

“Is it?” you hum. “I think of it more like…divine comedy.”

He huffs. “You are…petty.”

You nod cheerfully. “Extremely.”

He gestures at your tea. “What’s in the mug?”

“Your dignity.”

Bo growls softly in Chinese and mutters something about ‘unfairness,’ then sits on the edge of the porch to brood in silence.

You lean forward, voice dripping with mock concern: “Aw, Bo…Don’t make that face. You could just say you’re sorry.”

He looks you dead in the eye. “I’d rather boil in the sun.”

“Then sit tight,” you chirp, raising your mug. “Sunrise’s in five hours.”

Annie

She’s standing just outside your door, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between exasperated big sister and the woman who will hex your entire bloodline if you don’t knock it off. “Mm-mm. I know you ain’t playin’ with the dead like this.”

You blink at her sweetly from your seat on the threshold. “Me? No. I’m just observing vampire behavior in a controlled environment. Very scientific.”

Annie raises an eyebrow so high it might summon thunder. “You sittin’ there with a blanket and some tea like you ain’t got a heart. I taught you how to make rosemary oil and how to fix your limp with pine when you got hurt. And now you got me locked out like I’m a stranger?” She huffs, looking up at the stars like she’s praying for patience. “You keep on with this foolishness, I swear I’m gonna plant gopher dust right at this threshold.”

You gasp. “That’s aggressive!”

“And yet effective.” She steps closer, hits the barrier, and flattens her hand against the invisible line. “Baby, don’t make me beg. I got too much dignity and not enough night left.”

Your grin falters just a little. She notices.

“And my husband’s spirit is whisperin’ that you’re about five seconds from me callin’ down every ancestor I got.”

You take a long sip from your mug. “…Are they bringing snacks?”

She narrows her eyes at you. But you aren’t worried. You know she’ll forgive you.

…

Eventually, the entire group is standing outside your porch like a pack of disgruntled supernatural cats, grumbling, squinting at the sun, and begrudgingly trying to charm, bargain, and guilt you.

You, of course, are basking in your power. One slippered foot over the threshold. A snack in your lap. Absolutely glowing with glee.

They’re seething, simping, and suffering — and you’re making them work for your forgiveness. You’ve turned vampire weakness into a personal power trip, and honestly? Iconic behavior. 

[yourmommmmma12244]

Sinners character’s as people at cookouts inspired by my family and my mom’s own cookouts

Smoke - The guy on the grill. Makes the best grilled food you can tell because he’s sweating mad hard. Then complains about it after he’s done saying he ain’t doing it again. (He’s doing it again)

Stack- He’s that one guy who calls out people if they take more than one plate. If he see’s you with a bag filled with food. Trust your ass is getting clowned until the next cookout.

Sammie - Smoke had him grill the burgers at one point but he burned his finger prints. Burgers tasted good though. But now he just brings the ice.

Pearline - She helps set up any decorations. If it’s setting up tables, blowing balloons or setting up a treat table she’s there.

Mary - Helps with the simple stuff like cutting the cheese for the mac and cheese, or peeling the corn. She does a good job at it.

Annie - The person that cooks. While smoke does grill Annie does the other food wither it’s the sides or fried stuff. She also cooks too much and smoke complains about it. She once cooked a turkey for the cookout

Remmick - Some random guy that no one knows but is at every cookout so he’s a vibe. He also brings the best soda’s so it’s a win ig…

Delta slim - The guy with the best alcohol. They don’t know where he gets it from because he always gate keeps it. He also likes to mix it with slushes and stuff to give it a little kick.

Bo chow - Your cousin. No but really that’s what the older people will tell you if you ask. Has a nice car so all the little kids always go up to his car. Always playing cards with the elderly.

Grace - Your cousin’s nice wife. Always sneak the kids extra food or snacks when their parents say no. No one ever questions or say something to her about it.

Cornbread - The one who has to light the fireworks for any special event. Also someone who you’re laughing with or at all night when he’s drunk because he becomes a full comedian at that time.

[cloveroctobers]

tell your homeboy’s goodnight *trend* | sinners !

warnings: language ofc + modern times! + men being vulnerable?

reference:

SMOKE: if you can actually get him to do it then gold stars for you! If you showed him this trend, you would have to analyze his face to see a smidge of a smirk playing on the corner of this mouth but after the video is over he’ll look you dead in the face and say, “I’m not doin’ that shit. No.” Eventually he’ll break and do it, he could blame it on the alcohol (he always handled himself well no matter how much he indulged in) but really it was to please you. You’re lounging on the couch together and the first one he calls is: Bo Chow. His wife, Grace—that you’re alright with—is actually the one to pick up the phone before relocating around their home to bring the phone to Bo.

“Smoke Moore! How y’all doin’ tonight?” Which is a typical response from his good friend.

Smoke dips his head, “Straight. Look I ain’t gonna hold you, I just wanted to call and tell you goodnight.”

The line goes quiet for a moment before Bo chuckled, “Okay…? Goodnight. You feelin’ alright?”

“What you mean?”

“I appreciate the love and everything but this ain’t like you. A simple text would have been just fine…which I know you know. You are a man of few words, which is why I’ll ask again? You feelin’ alright tonight?”

You’re snickering on the other line, shielding your face from Smoke’s glare before he answers, “I’m feelin’ grand. What? It’s a problem to wish the homies goodnight?”

“He been drinkin’?” You can hear Grace comment in the background.

Smoke sucks his teeth as Bo tries to shush the woman who vocally bites back that she won’t be silenced.

“No, it ain’t no problem. Is it a crime to check in with you?”

“Nah.” Smoke shrugs.

Bo responds, “Alright then.”

The line goes quiet for another beat until Bo throws in, “So…are you gonna head over here and tuck me in too or is that it?”

Which makes Smoke disconnect the call immediately, leaving you and Bo a hollering mess.

It took persuading but Smoke decides to call one more person: Delta Slim.

“Yellow?!” His voice picks up on a fifth ring, almost making Smoke hang up long before that.

It’s loud on the other end, making the both of you believe he’s still out living his usual night life.

Smoke clears his throat, “What’s goin’ on, unc?”

“Same shit different day. What you want, Smoke?” He calls over the music but the both of you can hear the thud and shuffle of his steps as he takes his place somewhere quieter, “You need me for OT or sum’n?”

Which makes Smoke jerk his face back.

Damn it’s like that?

Yes he was a man always about his business but was his calls always about that?

“Nah, you know your schedule well,” Smoke speaks, “I just wanted to tell you goodnight.”

There’s a pause on the other line.

“You what?” The both of you can picture Slim’s round eyes widening and dipping his head to make sure he heard you better, “I know I ain’t hear that right.”

“Yeah you did,” Smoke continues on, “It’s important to tell your people goodnight since ya know, shits never promised and all that.”

Slim hums, “That sound like some bullshit your lady put you up to.”

Funny how he always clocked you.

“Woooow.” You couldn’t help but to interrupt, making the older man laugh it up as the both of you can hear him then taking a swish from his flask.

Smoke laughs too, “These women always got us up to something huh?”

“I know that’s right.” Delta Silm agrees just as you shove Smoke’s shoulder, “I respect it though. That one got her head on right so keep her close. You on the other hand? Don’t bring that bullshit to me over the phone no more, ya hear? You got something to say to me, say it with your chest when you see me in person.”

Smoke snorts, “Heard you.”

“Alright now,” Slim says, “Y’all enjoy the rest of your night and I’ll see you at the spot next shift.”

You both bid Slim a goodnight, leaving you with a dramatic sigh as Smoke lolls his head on the couch towards you.

“Satisfied?”

You smile as you shift to place your head right in his lap, already having a good night of your own as Smoke drags his fingers along the slope of your body, bringing you to a peaceful slumber in his hold.

STACK: he’s always with the foolishness so yeah he’s down! The first person on his list is obviously his big bro, Elijah Smoke Moore.

“Yeah, stack.” Smoke answers, already sounding annoyed.

Stack snickers as he sits across from you at the dining table, “Hello to you too, man.”

Smoke’s silence is his response.

“Well hennyway…what you up to?”

“Just got in with Annie, why? What did you do?”

Smirking to yourself, you continue doom scrolling while Stack scoffs to himself.

“Nothing. I’m just calling to say I love you and goodnight.”

Smoke deeply sighs to the point you can feel it came from deep in his soul, “Aight, out wit it. Fuck did you do, Elias?”

Stack can’t help but to laugh, “So I can’t get that same energy back? Word?”

“You’re being mad weird right now, skippin’ around the questions and shit, so no you can’t.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“If I had to put you and Tony Montana in the same room, nigga I’d be rich.”

Stack points out, “You damn near already are!”

Smoke laughs a little at this, “You’re not wrong man.”

“Thank you! Give a brotha some credit.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So sleep tight?”

“Yeah, yeah and don’t let the bullets bite and all that.” Smoke rolls his eyes although Stack is grinning, “…Love you too and if I find out you got into some shit by the morning…I’m on yo ass.”

And stack is met with the dial tone, his dark eyes flicking to yours. He shrugs as he flashes a dimpled smile your way, grills shining in the orange glazed dining room, “That wasn’t as bad as I thought. Annie must have gave him some so he wasn’t in that much of a funky ass mood.”

Which makes you toss a blueberry right at the tip of his nose.

His last suspect—or uh—call goes to Cornbread.

His voice is groggy on the other line, “You’re lucky I didn’t let your ass go to voicemail. This better be good.”

“Oh my bad, were you sleeping? At nine o’clock on a Friday? I was just calling to say goodnight, grandpa.” Stack leans his elbows onto the table, peeking over at you, knowing that he had a natural gift of pushing peoples buttons.

Cornbread doesn’t hold back, “I got a pregnant ass wife who’s nesting but also wants to travel all over the place for things we don’t really need but the baby’s got to have it. Did you know that i drove—what should have been a hour and a half drive—but took two hours with traffic outside the city going to different stores to look for some dumbass pickle chips? So yeah I’m in the bed and I don’t need no shit outta you.”

“Damn, you ain’t got to be so pissy about it.”

“Are you about to become a father?”

“Nah…but maybe you should start looking into some nursery rhymes to keep your blood pressure down or sum.”

“Alright…” Cornbread shifts in the bed, letting the phone rest in between his neck and shoulder as he clasped his hands together against his torso, “remind me next time that I see you, I’m knocking your ass out.”

Stack can’t help but to taunt, “Your big ass gon’ have to catch me first.”

“Say less.”

“Now that you’re done venting like I’m your fucken diary, are you gonna wish me sweet dreams?” Stack grins.

“I hope Freddy Krueger lights yo ass up. Tell the missus I hope she has the best of dreams and I pray for her every night having to put up with you.”

Stack knows Cornbread is hot now, “Aw thanks, love you man. It’s gonna be alright.”

His next response is actually surprising, “I know that! And I may love you too, been dealing with you long enough.”

“Give T my love.”

“That I won’t do. Nobody know what you got.”

Hold up now?! Your side eye is strong although you know of Stack’s womanizing past and how disrespectful he and cornbread could get towards one another, yet nobody ever wants to hear that as someone’s significant other.

Stack shakes his head at you directing his next words At Cornbread, “Fuck off my line.”

“Negro you called me—

“I don’t care, hang up.”

“You can’t bully me, stack. You hang up!���

You’re just about to reach over the table yourself and hang up the phone, tired of their usual bickering. Instead you just get up from the table yourself, getting on the phone with one of your girlfriends, leaving the two children men at it.

[cxce15]

I just need to say this, even though I (thankfully) haven't come crossed it yet but why tf are some of yall writers on here so weird like.

How are some of y'all taking a movie centered around BLACK PEOPLE and then even the other characters they show some attention to are POC and turn it around to try and integrate white folks into the story

Look i know that there were white people who enjoyed the film and I'm not saying that yall can't be attracted to the characters

But to make a film centered around POC and their struggles/history about yall and your race just proves the point as to why people don't want yall in their spaces

This film wasn't made for you, and no matter how much you try to change it in your fics, it will never be for you

STOP COLONIZING EVERY DAMN THING YALL HAVE EVERYTHING BRO

[bokonowriter]

Crimson & Curls - Part 1

Remmick x Fem! Reader: Chapter List Description: That night in the rain with Remmick… it was more than chance; a raw vulnerability laid bare between you and him. A mutual curiosity thrummed, a silent question about the power leashed beneath his elegant coat. And behind that devilish smile, a promise of shadowed pleasures, a darkness that whispered a dangerous invitation to your very soul. Find out, what is that devil hiding? ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ "Tell me, honey… what else are you hiding? What desires do you keep locked away? Perhaps… I can help you unleash them."

A/n: The reader in this is mixed ethnicity, and thus light skinned. She is white passing due to her lightly tanned skin tone.

Warnings: This story contains explicit content (DO NOT INTERACT UNLESS 18+) including: oral smut, public smut, explicit language, fingering, intense sensual detail, moaning/whimpering, female orgasms, and squirting, mentions of supernatural. (more will be added as the story continues).

Seeking Shelter in the Shadows

WHEN THE cicadas fell silent before dusk – a hush thicker than the kudzu that strangled the abandoned  plantation – the old folks in Delta understood. It wasn't just the coming darkness; it was the whisper of what lay restless in the woods, a hunger older than the moss-draped oaks and twice as unforgiving.

You should’ve known. Mama's words, thick with the swamp-born wisdom of generations, should have echoed louder: "Never trust a sunset that bleeds like a stuck hog."

Yet you found yourself gazing mindlessly towards the streaks of angry crimson that slashed across the darkening horizon. 

Tonight it wasn't the peaceful blush of a typical sunset, but a violent, almost desperate flare, as if the very heavens were weeping blood. The light that did breakthrough was sharp and fractured, casting long, distorted shadows that writhed like restless spirits on the moss-draped ground.

But below, the clouds were boiling masses of charcoal and deep indigo, their undersides rimmed with a fierce, almost electric gold – the devil's own furnace, Mama would have hissed. 

These weren't soft, pillowy formations; they were jagged and turbulent, like the tormented souls Silas Crowder swore he saw clawing their way out of the earth after the great flood.

You needed to get to town, past the whispering pines that seemed to watch you, and quickly. Smoke & Stack, their eyes already glinting like hungry possums in the twilight, were tethered to your return, knowing a light-skinned girl like you could grease the wheels of a deal they couldn't manage on their own. 

Fool's errand, venturing out before the moon bled its sickly light across the marshy flats, but the juke joint's resurrection loomed, and the strain had those boys knotted tighter than a hangman's noose – a familiar dance with the demons of their own making, a twisted echo of your daddy's losing battle with the bottle.

Annie's pronouncements, heavy with the swamp's ancient wisdom, clung to you like grave dust. "It’s the ole serpent’s harvest rotting on good soil…" A shiver traced the length of your spine; that kind of talk burrowed deep, hinting at a darkness that clung to the very land. But Annie... She was rooted here, her soul intertwined with the rustling secrets of the pines and the sorrowful sigh of the willows. 

If she saw the serpent's mark on Smoke & Stack's trembling hands, then that was her truth, a truth etched in generations of backwoods lore. And you, a fragile bloom in this thorny landscape, wouldn't dare cross the only kin who even acknowledged you, wouldn't risk severing the tenuous thread that bound you to this harsh, unforgiving world.

Adjusting the straps on your satchel, you rounded a bend in the road, when the low rumble of a car approached. Little whirlwinds of baked clay and grit, like the land itself was sighing with unease, twisted across the asphalt as two trucks, rough and menacing, crawled into view, filled with men in white hoods.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a trapped bird desperate for flight, as you sank low into the sawgrass, praying its brittle blades offered enough sanctuary. The trucks crawled past, iron beasts exhaling fumes and ill-will, as the men within their white shrouds turned their faces, their gazes like chips of ice laced with venom. A guttural cry, foul and demeaning, ripped through the stagnant air, leaving you to wonder if those words of poison were meant for you alone or if it was simply the bile these creatures carried within them. 

Then, a shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows of the woods. It was as if he materialized in the center of the road, a stark and unexpected sentinel. The trucks, lumbering behemoths brought to a sudden halt, their white-clad occupants momentarily stunned by his abrupt appearance.

“Move along,” Remmick’s voice, a low drawl that belied the steel beneath, sliced through the suffocating tension. “You’re fouling the quiet of this stretch.”

"This ain't your concern, night rider," one of the shrouded figures spat, the word "night rider" laced with a venom that clung to the humid air.

Before the ugliness could bloom further, the sky, moments before a deceptive expanse of pale evening, tore open. Not a gentle rain, but a furious deluge, as if the heavens themselves had finally wept for the sins below. The dust of the road turned to a thick, sucking mud in the blink of an eye, each drop a violent lash against the parched earth.

The trucks, those iron steeds of hate, choked and sputtered in the sudden downpour, their engines wheezing like dying beasts. A chorus of curses, muffled by the sodden white hoods now plastered to their wearers' faces like grotesque shrouds, rose in the storm's fury.

Remmick turned his gaze to you, who stood drenched, the rain beading on your skin, transforming the careful lines of your straight hair into tight, dark curls that frame your face like a storm-wrought halo.

“Are you alright?” Remmick’s voice was surprisingly gentle amidst the downpour. 

A tremor ran through you, not entirely from the damp, and you managed a nod. Your gaze lifted to his, and in the shadowed depths of his eyes, something flickered – a stillness, a regard that lingered on the sudden bloom of your dark curls, a silent acknowledgment of something revealed, something…unfurling.

A slow, knowing smile, filled with warmth in the storm's sudden chill, touched the corners of Remmick's lips. His eyes, usually guarded, held a flicker of something akin to shared amusement. 

"This deluge," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the rain, "has taken a rather…unforeseen turn, wouldn't you say? Perhaps fate, in its soggy wisdom, suggests a more…private communion, somewhere dry?"

Before the unexpected lightness of his words could fully settle in your heart, a brutal cough of metal ripped through the downpour's symphony – another backfire, followed instantly by the vicious crack of a gunshot that sent a fresh wave of terror through you.

Instinct flared in Remmick's eyes, a raw protectiveness that tightened his jaw. Without a word, his hand, calloused but surprisingly tender, closed around yours. His grip was firm, a silent promise of safety as he urged you towards the dark sanctuary of the trees. They stumbled blindly through the grasping undergrowth, the rain a cold, relentless assault, your breaths catching in shared gasps of exertion and lingering fear.

Finally, deep within the ancient woods, the torrential downpour eased to a heavy sigh. You leaned against the rough embrace of an oak, your body trembling, your lungs burning with each ragged breath. The rain had plastered your hair to your scalp, a dark, clinging veil that starkly revealed the delicate curve of your trembling lips and the intricate beauty of your now-soaked curls, a vulnerability laid bare by the storm's harsh hand.

Remmick watched you, his gaze no longer guarded but filled with a quiet intensity. His eyes traced the delicate lines of your face, each feature softened and made luminous by the rain. It was more than observation; it was a silent acknowledgment of your resilience, the unexpected beauty revealed in this shared moment of fear and raw exposure, a connection forged in the heart of the storm.

"Remarkable," he breathed, the word a near-silent reverence lost in the rain's steady rhythm. His gaze, still softened from its earlier intensity, lingered on the way the water clung to your dark curls, each coil a testament to a beauty the storm had unveiled. A beat passed, and he almost didn't dare break the quiet intimacy. "The change… it's quite striking," he finally whispered, as if speaking a secret to the rain-soaked air. He cleared his throat, a touch of awkwardness coloring his tone. "The name's Remmick."

"Thank you, Remmick," you replied, his name feeling substantial and unfamiliar yet pleasant on your tongue.

A hesitant curiosity flickered in his eyes. "So… what brings a girl….like you out to this stretch of road?"

"A girl like me?" A wry smile touched your lips, a hint of the defensiveness you'd learned to carry always near the surface.

"Uh–no, not like that," he stammered, a flush creeping up his neck. "I just meant… someone… out here."

A soft giggle escaped you, a nervous lightness in the tense aftermath. "I know what you meant." You offered a small, self-deprecating shrug. "Helping a friend. Getting the new juke joint ready."

Remmick's interest seemed to ignite, his questions tumbling out in quick succession, his earlier reserve melting away. "It opens soon? What sort of music will fill its walls? Will it be a place… a gathering for the community here? And you… what part do you play in all of this? You seem… different." His gaze flickered back to your hair, a genuine, almost tender smile gracing his lips this time, a silent acknowledgment of the beauty he'd witnessed in the storm's unveiling.

Despite the lingering tremor of fear and the clammy discomfort of your soaked clothes, you found yourself drawn into the orbit of Remmick's intense scrutiny. His curiosity wasn't casual; it felt like a probing touch.

"Next week," you replied, your voice a little breathy. "Mostly blues. Somewhere folks can let loose the day's burdens. I…" you hesitated, a flicker of your usual guardedness returning, "I'm just a friend lending a hand."

Remmick's eyes, dark and unwavering, held yours with an unnerving focus, as if trying to decipher a hidden language etched on your skin. "A friend," he repeated, the word lingering in the damp air. "With such… singular features. You possess a… certain… dissonance with the expected fabric of this place, wouldn't you agree?"

A subtle stiffness entered your posture, a familiar prickle of defensiveness rising like hackles. "I belong wherever I damn well choose to belong."

A shadow of apology softened the sharp edges of Remmick's gaze. "Forgive my bluntness. My curiosity often outstrips my social graces. It's merely… you possess an… intriguing dichotomy." His gaze drifted downwards, a slow, almost possessive slide along your neck, a subtle pulse in his own throat betraying a deeper fascination.

"Those… men in the trucks," he continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur, the earlier levity vanished. "They exuded a… particular brand of ugliness. You were fortunate my path intersected with yours."

A genuine shiver traced your spine, a coldness that went beyond the rain's chill, a visceral echo of the hatred you had witnessed. "I… thank you  again," you managed, your voice barely a whisper. "You stepped in when you had no reason to."

His gaze met yours once more, the intensity now laced with something heavier, a nascent possessiveness that sent a strange flutter through your chest. "Consider it… a strategic investment. In the future vibrancy of this establishment… and its… unique inhabitants. Perhaps," a slow, deliberate smile touched his lips, a mirror of the one before but now carrying a different weight, "in return for my timely… assistance, you might find yourself indebted to me for a small favor? Something well within your… capabilities, of course."

A peculiar sensation washed over you– a disquieting blend of unease and a surprising, almost illicit spark of something akin to… anticipation. The unwavering intensity of his gaze, the pointed nature of his questions, the subtle claim in his words… it was unsettling, a tremor of danger beneath a veneer of politeness, yet it held an undeniable, magnetic pull that you liked.

“What kind of favor?”

Remmick's smile broadened, revealing a flash of teeth that held both a disarming charm and an undercurrent of something sharp, something predatory. "Patience, little bird. Opportunities, like shadows in the moonlight, have a way of revealing themselves in due time. But until then…" Remmick's gaze lingered on you, a protective instinct softening the sharp edges of his features. "The rain's easing, but the night's still young, and those… individuals might still be lurking. Perhaps… as a temporary measure of repayment for my unsolicited heroism, I could ensure your safe passage home? A small stroll, under a less… hostile sky."

A small, polite smile, a brief flicker of warmth in a cooling world, touched your lips. Even without Annie's watchful gaze, her shop stood as a silent sentinel, imbued with the protective essence of her craft – a whispered promise of sanctuary in this shadowed land.

"I would be grateful for that," you finally murmured. He offered his elbow, a stark white against the deepening gloom, and you accepted, your hand finding a hesitant purchase. He moved with a careful grace, navigating the mud-slicked path like a shadow avoiding consecrated ground, until your feet found the familiar, rutted dirt that had been your lonely guide before. 

Remmick steered you with a silent grace, his presence a dark shadow against the fading light. The air hung heavy, thick with the musk of damp earth and something else, something ancient that seemed to emanate from the very soil. He stopped at the edge of Annie's porch, the scent of dried herbs and something vaguely metallic clinging to the air around the shop. A subtle unease tightened the lines around his mouth.

"This dwelling…" His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the hand-painted sigils above the door, symbols that seemed to writhe in the dim light. "It hums with a… peculiar energy. You wouldn't happen to traffic in the shadowed arts yourself, would you, child?" His eyes, pools of fathomless night, held a hunger for something beyond the mundane.

You shook your head, a wry twist to your lips. "Not I. But a dear friend… she's got her fingers deep in that spiritual muck. Annie's shop is her refuge, same as it is mine."

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the drip of water from the eaves. "And you? You linger in a place steeped in such… fancies. Yet you remain untouched by belief?"

Your gaze drifted to the lamplit windows, a flicker of something akin to weariness in your eyes. "I reckon there's things out there we ain't meant to understand. Maybe the spooks and spirits are real enough. But maybe they're just as lost and lonesome as the rest of us, searchin' for a patch of ground that feels like home."

A slow smile, like moonlight on a tombstone, touched Remmick's lips. He lifted her hand, his skin cool as river stone, but instead of a simple farewell, he drew you a step closer. His other hand, swift and deliberate, cupped the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards his. For a heartbeat, his gaze dropped to your lips, a silent question hanging in the damp air. Then, a slow, knowing wink flickered in his dark eyes before he released you. "I find myself… unexpectedly… invested in your safe return to this haven, little wren. Until the shadows beckon us together again."

The feeling of his warmth leaving you there, made you feel naked. Then with a final, lingering gaze that seemed to promise more than his words conveyed, he dissolved into the deepening gloom, leaving you on Annie's porch, the scent of protective charms and the unsettling warmth of a vampire's near-kiss clinging to the damp night air. NEXT CHAPTER >

[brownskincheyenne]

Ok prompt ! What if Annie takes smoke, stack , Pearline & the gang to New Orleans for Mardi Gras! None of them have ever been and she is showing them how it really is done… Annie takes the girls to get outfits & costume but she goes all out with her costume / outfit having pasties on her breast..damn near naked… ( she /they might be apart of parade) and smoke loses his mind!!

Yall who can take this and make it into something I think this would be so fun & funny & sexy ! Can yall imagine Annie trying to cover her amazingly big boobs with pasties wheeeeewww I know smoke head would be on a swivel tryna make sure nothing is seen by nobody bt him on his woman! Something modern something different & something sexy !

[jayktoralldaylong]

Creating Fandom Content for Sinners (cause somebody’s got to do it) - Highschool AU

Smoke and Stack: Got in by scholarship (pretended to be one person while writing the exams and exchanged knowledge so they could both get into the same school). The teachers love them because they’re equal amounts of intelligence and trouble. Stack is popular. Smoke is not. This makes it really awkward when fans of Stack run into Smoke and somehow, against all odds, mistake them for each other (usually ends poorly, unless Smoke feels like joking around)

Annie: Also got in by scholarship (except that she actually passed the exams solo). 😂 Every teacher’s favorite and most feared student because she WILL point out when they are wrong and will correct them again and again. Someone once tried bullying her by calling her a nerd and she gave them a dressing down with her words so severe that no one tried it again. She’s always getting into morality debates with Smoke so people can’t tell if they’re enemies or lovers (definitely lovers).

Mary: Also got in through scholarship, white passing scholarship. Stack insists that she stay with the good girls and do good girl things. She will still always sneak out to join them in causing trouble. Of course she gets minimal punishment when she gets caught, so Stack will have her do stuff that’s too dangerous for the boys to get away with it. Annie is her comfort person, she can be 100% herself around Annie without being judged, so she only lets the other girl see her cry. Mostly she tries to act tough in front of the twins to prove that she’s got what it takes to roll with them. Teachers always advise her to stop hanging out with them. That advice goes in one ear and out the other. Her relationship with Stack is undefined and rocky, so some Stack fan girls think she’s a poser. But Stack don’t play about his girl.

Bo and Grace: Now Bo is the twins’ supply guy. Whenever they need to pull off something funny, they come to Bo. Bo always has what they’re looking for. Screwdriver, spanner, balloons, fruit cake, chips, water guns, they don’t know where he gets it, but he always got it (His dad has a supply store). He doesn’t always actively participate in their schemes, but sometimes he does. At some point, he meets Grace and develops a crush that the twins tease him about. Grace is a straight A student, never steps out of line, perfect, collected, strict, way out of his league. What he does not know is that she’s totally got a crush on him too. But she’s playing hard to get. 🥰 She’s not the most social of people so naturally the first person she befriends is Annie (a fellow strong head), so she starts hanging with Annie and Mary and she uses that as a pathway to getting closer to Bo who is falling over his feet but somehow smooth at the same time (Strangely healthiest couple in school, but not too much on PDA).

Sammy: Is 100% in the band. Perhaps in Middle school. He loves tagging after his older cousins wearing his big hat and carrying around his guitar to play music. Most of the group completely adores him and is very protective of him. Still the son of a preacher, no one likes his dad.

Pearline: Miss Pearline is a junior cheerleader. Little Miss Sunshine. She loves Sammy and everyone. She hates Garlic. At home, she’s actually trapped in the role as the perfect obedient daughter so she only gets to sing and dance and be free when she’s hanging with Sammy and the gang.

Slim: Old Janitor (it just makes sense). He’s got the best stories and the twins are cool with him because he lets them get away with stuff. He sometimes makes music with Sammy and encourages the little boy to cherish his music.

Cornbread: This one is a little hard…. I don’t think agriculture is a serious highschool subject in y’all’s parts. But if it was, Cornbread would teach it. Either that or he’s doing gym, that bra can run scarily fast, but he will always complain that running after kids exhausts him.

Remmick: History teacher. I was thinking music teacher, and maybe he can be both. The music club is dwindling to nonexistent and there’s a strict curriculum on what songs they are allowed to play. He absolutely despises it. He is that really weird teacher that the gang is wary of, but he insists that he just wants to make music. He keeps trying to get them to join the music club (so that he can trap them in the club and they can make Irish music together. 💀)

[amber-aura]

Let us Live since we must Die: Chapter 3: Reminisce

Summary: In 1932, something happened in Mississippi. Something no one could explain. In 2001, a baby was born under a sky that remembered. In 2025, she’s about to find out why. Breana Rae has the power to tear through space, but what she really wants is to connect the pieces of her past. When a rare celestial event reawakens the ghosts of a buried tragedy, Breana is pulled into a mystery far older and far deeper than she ever imagined.

Pairing: Remmick x black!oc

A/N: Standby, we're getting closer and closer!

Warnings: 18+ comments only. Minors, you can read but do not interact with any of my works. Angst, graphic mentions of blood and gore, eventual smut, slow burn, slurs, mentions of suicide, emetophobia, sexual assault, murder, etc. Will continue adding more as the story progresses for the sake of any new readers.

Word count: 5.9k

Day three. Two more days to go.

Breana was in her kitchen eating a smoothie bowl; something she would never get tired of was her Vitamix blender. 

She remembered watching the smoothie bowl trend back in 2018-2021 where it was extremely popular just because of how beautiful and smooth it looked so she bought her own. 

Needless to say, she was satisfied with the purchase. She made smoothie bowls all the time as it was one of the small things that brought her happiness. 

Finishing up, she washed her bowl and spoon then went to the living room and sat on her couch. There was quite literally nothing to do when your schedule wasn’t filled to the brim and you didn’t have many friends.

Yeah, you’d think famous people would be friends with practically everyone but the truth is, friendships are damn near nonexistent in the world of fame, and don’t even get her started on romance. That stuff is so rare to find in Hollywood that it might as well be gold.

She also didn’t post on Tiktok or Instagram as much as she used to. The next time she does that will be her birthday but that’s mostly because her team will make her do that.

Breana only had, what? Two, three, four real friends? That was fine, she didn’t need a hundred like so many people thought they needed. Sometimes Breana regretted going to Hollywood. The energy there could be so…dark and fake and just…ugh. But music called her, so that’s what she ended up doing. She didn’t mind continuing to be a C-lister.

All dark thoughts aside, she really wanted to go out at night again but she didn’t want to run into you know who again. But…she was going to take a risk. And this time, she was going to bring a knife with her. She didn’t have access to any guns because…she never learned how to shoot so there’s that. 

So, it was decided. A comfy outfit, and her shoulder bag with the sharpest kitchen knife she had just in case someone wanted to try her again. She loved night, even more so than the day. That was the time the world went silent, and she could just simply…exist. Not that she enjoys the silence too much, she usually needs sounds to keep herself distracted but she enjoyed the peace that night brung. 

So when night comes, she would leave for a little while.

The city was quiet in the way only nighttime could allow.

Not the comforting silence of sleep, but the eerie hush that clings to streets when most souls are tucked away behind locked doors. The kind of silence that presses against your ears, waiting for something to shatter it. A siren. A scream. A breath too loud.

Breana walked with her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket, her sneakers making soft scuffs against the cracked pavement. No music in her ears tonight. Just the sound of her own heartbeat and the occasional rustle of wind whispering secrets through alleyways.

Sleep hadn’t come easy after last night’s dream—or... invasion , more like. Her body had rested, but her spirit still felt scraped raw. That voice, that pressure, that twisted hunger disguised as comfort—it’d left something behind. Like ghost fingerprints all over her psyche.

She needed air. Needed the dark.

This late at night, she didn’t expect anyone to be out. But she didn’t exactly feel alone, either. Her gut kept tightening with that subtle paranoia. That watched feeling. It wasn’t fear—not yet. Just a tension humming beneath her skin like a pulled string.

She turned a corner onto an older part of the city, where cobblestones still peeked through the road like the bones of some long-dead body. Streetlamps flickered—yellow halos struggling against the dark.

Then…there it was again.

A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. She turned. Nothing.

Breana stopped walking and stood under one of the lamps. Just stood there. Still. Listening. The night wasn’t empty.

“Alright,” she muttered, trying to steady her breath, “You gon’ show yourself or not?”

A soft laugh drifted in from somewhere to her right. Low. Feminine. Familiar.

“Now you speakin’ our language,” a smooth voice teased. And from the shadows, Mary stepped forward.

She looked the same as last time. Her eyes glowed faintly under the flickering lamp like sapphires dipped in moonlight.

Breana’s spine tensed. “Y’all again.”

From the other side, Elias leaned against a brick wall with that crooked grin like he knew a joke nobody else did. “Told you we was gon’ run into her again.”

“That was you following me?”

“Nah,” Elias said, still grinning. “Just smell you from blocks away.”

Mary elbowed him sharply, and he coughed into his sleeve. “I mean, not like that. Just…you got a strong presence, baby girl. That ain’t a bad thing.”

Breana’s brows furrowed. “Okay...weird compliment. But alright.”

She didn’t back away though. That’s what surprised her.

Something about them was…off. That much hadn’t changed. The vibe still felt other. But not in the same dangerous way as that dream-creature. Not aggressive. Not overtly sinister.

Just...heavy. And old.

“You stalkin’ me now?” she asked, arms crossing.

“Nah,” Mary said gently, her voice softer now. “We just…didn’t want our last meetin’ to be the only one. It went a little south. We was hungry. Not our best moment.”

Breana squinted. “You’re sayin’ that was your version of being friendly?”

Mary shrugged. “We’re outta practice.”

A silence settled between them for a beat. The air around them was colder now. Not uncomfortable, just...dense.

“You not scared of us?” Elias finally asked.

Breana tilted her head. “Should I be?”

They didn’t answer.

And Breana didn’t move.

Because something about the way Mary’s voice smoothed over the night like molasses, and the way Elias’s grin dimmed ever so slightly, made her think—

They didn’t come here to hurt her.

They came to see her.

Whatever they really were.

And for some reason she didn’t quite understand yet, she wanted to see them too.

Breana thought to herself this is logically, a dumb decision considering the way they treated her the first time they met, but her intuition was telling her something.

Breana didn’t speak right away.

She just looked at them—Mary with her cool grace tucked behind every blink, and Elias with that magnetic troublemaker energy, half charming, half dangerous. Neither of them moved closer this time. They waited. Patient. Respectful.

Her intuition stirred like a whisper behind her ribs.

“Don’t run. Not this time. Watch. Listen. Ask.”

It didn’t say she was safe.

But it didn’t say she was in danger either.

And Breana had learned to trust her gut long before she ever knew her powers existed. That little voice saved her from bad men in high-rise studios, fake friends in flashy cars, and labels that promised more than they gave.

So she took a breath.

And didn’t run.

Instead, she tilted her head. “Y’all got a place you tryna be tonight? Or y’all just hanging out waiting for me to stroll by?”

Mary smiled at that, the first real smile since they met. “You funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“We weren’t followin’ you,” Mary said. “But we did hope we’d see you again. Didn’t know when or where. Didn’t know it was gon’ be this soon.”

“You don’t know a lot for two people who act like they know everything,” Breana said, eyebrow cocked.

Elias let out a short laugh. “That’s fair.”

Another moment of quiet. The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable—just...tense. A live wire, not quite cut.

Breana took a few steps forward, brushing a lock of hair out of her face as the breeze lifted her hoodie. Her intuition itched again.

“Keep control. You lead this.”

“I’ll entertain you,” she said slowly. “But only if y’all drop the mystery act. I don’t got time for cryptic shit,” and she meant that.

“Fair ‘nough,” Mary said, nodding. “We’ll tell you most things, but we can’t tell you everything. ”

Breana narrowed her eyes. “Yeah so, is that your way of dodging shit?”

“It’s our way of respectin’ somethin’ bigger than us,” Elias added, his grin finally fading into something more thoughtful.

That gave her pause.

Her intuition pulsed again.

“This conversation matters.”

Breana crossed her arms. “Alright. You wanna talk? Let’s walk.” She did not forget the knife she had in her bag.

They fell into step under the moonlight. Mary on her left, Elias a few paces behind. Breana kept her guard up, but her curiosity had cracked something open.

“So,” she said, eyes straight ahead, “Who are y’all? And don’t say just ‘fans.’ I’m not buyin’ that.”

“We were born a long time ago,” Mary said. “Back when a lot of things weren’t allowed. Especially not folks like me and Elias bein’ together.”

Breana glanced sideways, her brow raising. “You mean like...Black and white?”

Mary nodded. “That too.”

There was something in the way she said it. Like her words were dipped in memory.

Elias spoke next. “We don’t age like other folks. We don’t live like ‘em either.”

“Right,” Breana muttered. “You’re not human.”

“Nope,” Elias easily confirmed.

Breana stopped walking.

She turned and faced them. “You’re vampires.”

Silence.

No denial. No laughter.

Just stillness.

Vampires was the only logical conclusion Breana could come to. Like she said yesterday, glowing eyes was a trait many supernatural creatures had, but only being out at night? Not aging? Call her Sherlock, cause the mystery’s closed. Wasn’t that hard.

Mary’s eyes met hers, glowing faintly. “We didn’t come to feed on you, Breana. That’s not why we here.”

Breana’s heart thudded, but her intuition didn’t flare in fear. It hummed low instead. Watchful. But calm.

“You’re not prey.”

Breana took another step. “So why are you here?”

“To learn,” Mary said softly. “About you. And maybe...help you learn about yourself too.”

Breana frowned. “What makes you think I need help?”

Elias smiled again, but it wasn’t mocking this time. “’Cause you walk like you got a storm inside you. And we know what it’s like to live with weather that don’t let up.”

Breana didn’t answer.

Mary noticed this and assured her, “We don’t mean you may need help in a savin’ kinda way. Lord knows we didn’t…” she muttered. Then she remembered a memory:

“I’m sad as all, but I don’t need no savin’.”

“Yes…yes, you do. You all do…”

Mary quickly returned to the present.

“Well, you already showed us your…” Elias gestured from behind her. “Teleportin’ powers, which, we ain’t know people had until two days ago.” 

Breana glanced back at him, “Come to the front. Next to your…sister? Wife? Friend?”

Both Elias and Mary smiled at her. “Wife is correct,” Mary said. “You sure are confident now, huh?” Elias jested as he walked next to Mary.

“I am calmer…now that I’m aware you two have no bad intentions.”

Elias looked at her. “And what if we was trickin’ you? What if we’re secretly livestreamin’ this whole conversation to some sketchy agency? What if this is one big prank and we’re just high out our minds?”

Breana just looked at him.

“Then you’d better hope your phones could handle being ripped out of its existence. You’re not pranking me. You’re not on drugs. This is real. You’re vampires, and you’ve seen what I could do. We are both supernatural,” she shrugged.

“That doesn’t make us allies though. But I still feel like I should listen to what you two have to say, maybe even ask some questions,” Breana said whilst watching their expressions.

Breana actually couldn’t believe how composed she was being right now. Perhaps it was because she finally found people who are supernatural like her, although…no, she would say she has a supernatural ability but she’s still human.

Still though. Meeting people such as these two actually feels comfortable for her, disregarding their first meeting. And she had a feeling she should give them a chance so she did.

“So…ninety-two years you say? Hold on, let me calculate…40’s, 34, 33, 32…” I gasped.

“1932?”

The man nodded, “1932 ma’am.”

“Wait, wait..hold on, I need to think,” I paused.

“Wha-” He started. 

“Shhh I can’t- please, stop for a second, please-” I interrupted as respectfully as possible as I went down memory lane.

‘Relatives Found – Mississippi Lineage: 1800s–1930s” She put the envelope back down and sighed. Mississippi? She wouldn't have guessed that for some reason. But hey, you learn something new everyday. She wondered if she should dig further but she didn't see the point. What else could she possibly find?’

I had to close my eyes. Just for a second to breathe. Here we go…

I opened my eyes to look at them, teary a bit.

“I’m only asking based off your accent..” That wasn’t the primary reason. “-are you two specifically from Mississippi?”

They looked content with my guess but also slightly concerned as I looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Yes ma’am!” The man playfully saluted. 

But I was about to be sick. I would’ve been happy to ask them if they knew anyone with supernatural abilities back then aside from vampires, but the guy literally said I’m the first person they’ve ever seen that has the ability to teleport.

I guess that also meant they didn’t know any other supernaturals aside from their own?

But still. Maybe…

“Um…” I breathed. “In all your years of living, have you ever encountered any other supernatural?” 

The woman answered this time, and when she did I felt my heart drop.

“Nope. Why?” She asked, her eyes faintly glowing a beautiful cornflower blue, as well as the mans eyes.

“I just…well, I’m adopted as you know since you’re fans. I mean, everyone that knows of me is aware of this. But…I was just hoping I had an ancestor I could get to know through you two, assuming you had many encounters with other possible supernatural people in your time..”

Then I sighed. “But…I realize that wouldn’t make sense for me to ask because, even if you did, how would you know I’m related to them? They would be my great grandmother or grandfather I assume? Yeah, nevermind. I give up. I’m never going to know who I’m related to…” I vented unintentionally when I was really supposed to be asking questions about them specifically.

They both looked at each other. We found a bench and we all sat down.

“Surprisingly,” The man started, “-We haven’t met any other supernatural creature aside from our own, even in all the years we been livin’,” he touched his moustache with nonchalant fingers.

“But if you count ancestral abilities as supernatural, we did know one person,” he said and I saw that his eyes grew melancholic. The womans eyes even more so.

“Her name was Annie. She was my brothers wife, though, they said they was married but ain’t have a ring. I can’t talk though,” he said with a faint smirk and the woman looked at him with the same expression.

“Anyway…she did hoodoo practices. She protected my brother by making him wear what ‘chu call a mojo bag all the time, so that when me and him handled business, he would be safe. And he was.”

He paused then sighed for a moment before continuing.

“He ain’t really believe in her beliefs. I didn’t either. But it seemed to protect him well. And that was good, cause he had me to protect since I,” he paused to chuckle, “-was always gettin’ myself into some kinda trouble, still am, that’s just who I am.”

The woman watched him with fondness.

I felt touched by what he said, then it occurred to me I never asked for their names.

“What are your names?”

“This beauty here is Mary that you now know is my wife, and I’m Elias. But I miss bein’ called Stack.”

“What significance is tied to that name?” 

“Made it up back then,” he simply answered. “Stack to mean stacks of money as my brother and I got money by…questionable means but we did what we had to, to survive. My brothers name was Elijah, but he was nicknamed Smoke. My idea. Smoke as in gettin’ smoked with a gun,” he snickered.

“Together, we were known as the SmokeStack twins.”

I watched him in awe, he had such a story that I knew there was more to but, I respected their privacy especially since we’ve just met.

Mary looked at me next. “Back then, as you know from the history books— even though they don’t tell this generation damn near enough,” she deadpanned. “We wasn’t allowed to date. Elias and I. I’m mixed, but I’m white passing so, to them it was a white woman with a nigga, and we couldn’t be seen together.”

Mary had a look, like she wanted to explain more about their relationship but refrained and I didn’t ask.

“I’ve known Elias since I was little, actually. My…mother delivered him and his brother. So I grew up with ‘em. Annie was like a mentor to me, always healin’, teachin’. She was like my second mother. A…mother of many.”

When Mary said this, I noticed she hesitated on the word “mother”, but once again I did not pry.

“Then there was Cornbread. Oh, I miss Cornbread. Respectful fella’ but when aggravated, he wasn’t afraid to put ‘cha in your place,” she smiled and Elias grinned.

“He ‘sho wasn’t. Almost put hands on me once. And I deserved it,” Elias chuckled.

“He worked the fields since, we wasn’t fully free. But that was his and many others source of “income” at the time, even though our folks wasn’t being paid or treated fairly,” Mary continued with a light sneer before her expression lightened.

Mary continued. “There was Grace and Bo Chow. Asian folks. They both worked as shopkeepers, including their daughter Lisa…” Mary paused for a second.

“I remember the last time I saw her, Elias and I gave her some money and told her to take care of herself…” Mary’s voice hitched a bit and I was about to reach out to comfort her but she regained her composure. 

“And, there was Delta Slim. An old drunkard, but very funny and he could play the piano like nobody’s business. I miss the old music… ”

“I miss the real ,” Elias muttered under his breath, voice thick with longing.

I continued to hear them out, my heartbeat racing in sympathy. My empathy overwhelmed me. The tears started again, but only enough to fill my eyes a bit.

“Music ain’t what it used to be. But some music in this time still hold truth, like yours!” Mary shoulder-bumped me. Your recent song…offbeat heart really touched me. All your songs really. When we meet again, you should sing some of them to us,” she paused. “If you up to it, ‘course.”

I nodded. “Why not?”

Mary grinned, then continued her story.

“And then there was Sammie.”

Elias dropped his gaze to his lap, lips tightening. The air around us shifted, grew heavier. Sensitive topic it seems. I was about to tell Mary it was okay, that she can stop now considering Elias’ reaction but she kept going.

“Little Sammie,” she sighed. “Loved the blues. But his father, a preacher, told him it was devils music and that he should sing gospel music ‘else he’d be led astray.”

“You know what?” Mary asked as she looked up. “Although we didn’t share the same beliefs as his father, when I look back, he was ironically right about somethin’ in that statement…”

She looked at me then. “Blues wasn’t devils music, it was our music. Born from pain. From work. From joy and rage and mournin’. That’s where he was wrong. But where he was right, was that his music ended up gaining the attention of someone.”

Elias continued in place of her. “Old bastard. Ion even wanna say his name. Fuck ass nigga. He was the one that turned us, and ruined shit.”

I listened carefully. “Ruined…?”

“Me and my brother set up a juke joint. We had fun. ‘Til that fucker came. Back then, I wasn’t that suspicious cause, I just wanted to,” he paused. “-Vibe, as our people say nowadays.”

“But he ruined everything Elijah and I worked hard for. Honestly, I just wanted money at the time. Elijah too, thus the juke joint was born,” he said dramatically. 

“And I, foolishly trusted that man and tried to let them inside so long as he and his li’ friends had money for Elias and Elijahs sakes, but that’s where it all got fucked up,” Mary sighed.

I didn’t know what to say. I only stared, heart aching for them, for the people they used to be—and the ones they lost.

“But Mary,” I said slowly, “you seem like you don’t regret what happened to you…because it meant you and Elias got to be together.”

“I don’t,” she said without hesitation. “Not for that reason.”

But then her voice softened, guilt creeping in. “It’s the rest of it that’s hard to live with. Our loved ones…they paid a price, too.”

She glanced at Elias, then continued. 

“The man who turned us—he had a hivemind. Could influence us, control us, sometimes more than we realized. But even when we weren’t under his grip…there was still this part of me—of Elias too,” she nodded toward him, “-that truly believed it would be best to turn our people. Make them like us. So we could all live forever together. So we could have our own little heaven here on Earth.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy like humidity before a storm.

I didn’t say anything at first. I just stared at her, trying to wrap my head around what I was hearing.

So…they wanted to choose for them?

That realization made something twist in my gut.

In that moment, I saw them differently. Not as just sweet, nostalgic people from another time. But as people who wanted to play God with their own kin. People who wanted to make irreversible decisions that changed lives— end them—so they wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

And yet…I couldn’t ignore what I’d seen in their eyes earlier. The way their voices broke remembering names. The way Mary’s lip trembled when she said Annie, Lisa, and Sammies names. The way Elias had looked down at his hands like they still carried weight from the past.

No. They weren’t heartless.

They loved deeply. Maybe too deeply. Enough to cross lines most people wouldn’t. 

Selfish? Yes. 

But it wasn’t just selfishness. It was desperation. Grief. Fear. Hope. All tangled up and bleeding into one.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

It’s complicated. They’re complicated.

Who am I to judge, because who isn’t complicated?

Mary gave a dry sniff, then turned to me gently. “Well…what about you? What’s goin’ on with you?”

My intuition nudged again.

“Tell them.”

“I found out I could open rifts when I was eighteen,” I said quietly. “It just…happened. Outta nowhere. I was having a moment.”

I closed my eyes, letting the cool night air wash over me.

“I’d just started getting recognition for my music. And I was happy—my parents were proud. They supported me from the beginning, since I was fourteen and first told them I wanted to sing.”

That nightmare flickered through my mind. I shoved it away.

“But the more attention I got, the more overwhelmed I felt. It forced me to look at myself. My life. And yeah…if you guessed that my thoughts drifted to my biological parents, you’d be right.”

I sighed, staring into the dark. Not at them.

“It made me sad. Real sad. That they weren’t here to see it, to see me. I was doing well for myself, finally making it. But…that thought led to more thoughts. Worse ones. Spiral-type thoughts. You know the kind.”

I took a slow breath.

“That’s when I wished I’d never been born. Not a new thought, not by a long shot—but this time, I wanted help. From…from the blood, maybe. The soul. Something deep.”

I glanced at them, checking their expressions. They didn’t speak—but their eyes said plenty. Understanding. Grief. That kind of haunted curiosity only someone touched by something strange could really give.

So I went on.

“During that breakdown, I caused a tear. In reality. I know it sounds wild, but it was small, and through it—I could see a beach. A beach I used to visit all the time as a kid.”

I shook my head a little, still not quite believing it even now.

“There were people there. Kids playing. Parents talking. Nobody saw it—this literal rip in space—like it was invisible to everyone but me.”

I rubbed my face.

“I panicked. I thought God, the universe, I dunno—some higher being was coming to get me. Because let’s be real, your emotions don’t just tear open reality.”

I laughed, short and dry.

“But then… something told me not to be afraid. Something calm. Steady. My intuition, I’ve been calling it. Not ‘cause I think I’m special or anything—we all have a gut for survival. This just feels like…something more. ”

I looked at them, and smiled softly.

“Same thing told me to hear you two out tonight. Ask questions. Let you talk. And here we are—no drama, no danger, just talking. Honestly? I’m kinda glad I listened.”

They said nothing, but I could feel the warmth shift in the air between us.

“Anyway…the tear closed up. But it didn’t stop there. It kept happening. Little rips. Pockets. I trained myself eventually. Learned to control it.”

I made a vague gesture with my hands.

“Not that I teleport around all the time or anything. I can’t. Not really. Only at night. And even then? Rarely. I’ve got too much going on—work, songwriting, rehearsals, interviews, mini tours. You name it.”

I gave a half-shrug. “So yeah. That’s me. Super stressed-out, low-key unstable, teleporting singer who’s just trying to get through life.”

Mary leaned back on the bench, absorbing the information.

“Well, damn,” she muttered. “Ain’t often I’m speechless, but here we are.”

Elias nodded slowly beside her. His expression had sobered, the usual glint in his eyes dulled by something heavier.

“You ain’t unstable,” he finally said. “You’re just carryin’ too much, is all. And if somethin’ inside you opened reality ‘cause it was hurtin’? Sound like power to me.”

I blinked. My throat clenched unexpectedly.

Mary tilted her head at me. “I think your spirit’s been tryin’ to get your attention for a long time. Not the part people can see—but the old part. The blood part.”

“That part’s loud,” I admitted, barely above a whisper.

“It always is,” Elias said. “Especially when nobody’s listenin’ but you.”

There was a quiet between us then—not awkward, but thick. Like the night was wrapping its arms around all three of us and asking us to sit still and breathe.

Mary leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I wish Annie coulda met you. She’d’ve taken one look at you and called you chosen. Not ‘cause of your power. But ‘cause of the ache.”

Elias nodded. “Yeah. She always said the ones who feel the most, love the most, lose the most…they got the biggest purpose. The hardest path.”

Mary smiled at me gently. “And yet…you still walk it.”

I didn’t know what to say. For a second, I just sat there, hoping the wind would carry my gratitude because my voice couldn’t.

Then, Elias clapped his hands suddenly, startling me.

“Alright. Now that we’ve trauma bonded—what’s next?” he grinned. “We get high? Can you open a rift to the mall? Visit your childhood beach so we can give it a review?”

I snorted.

Mary rolled her eyes. “He always gotta ruin the moment.”

“Balance,” Elias said, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “I bring levity to this tragic-ass vampire aesthetic you keep up.”

Mary chuckled and swatted at him.

I smiled—genuine, this time. The tension in my chest loosened a little. These two? They were weird , and clearly carried enough baggage to fill a freight train, but I didn’t feel alone anymore. Not in the freakish, glitch-in-reality kind of way.

I crossed my legs on the bench and looked at them both. “So. I guess now we’re…what? Friends?”

Mary looked at Elias. He looked at her. Then they both turned to me and shrugged in perfect sync.

“We don’t really do labels,” Mary said, teasing.

“But yeah,” Elias added, “sounds about right.”

“Even though we call each other husband and wife, just like Elijah and Annie, we ain’t got rings either,” Mary held out her hand. No ring.

“We don’t care about all that. If we husband and wife then we husband and wife, and that’s that,” Elias shrugged.

“Fair,” I simply responded. “Well…” I looked around. “What do you wanna do then? I suddenly feel so comfortable around y’all, it’s genuinely insane,” I say as I cover my face.

They both laugh at me.

“Awww,” Mary cooed at me. “Comfortable enough for a hug?”

I peek through my fingers at her. “That means your face would be close to my neck, are you sure you won’t be tempted?”

“We been talkin’ this whole time without feelin’ tempted. Plus, we fed a little earlier.”

My heart skipped a beat for a second.

“Remember, you can trust them.”

“Alright, sure. Why not? It would be nice to hug a fellow supernatural,” I say as I hold out my arms for Mary.

Mary smiled and hugged me. It was nice. Her body was cold as expected. Not from the night, but because she was kind of dead. Undead? Yeah.

“I’m not the type to just be huggin’ people like this, not anyone I’m not close to-” Mary muttered in my shoulder. 

“But you feel like a sister almost. It’s nice,” she mumbled. I could feel for a moment that she froze, and my heartbeat sped up a little. Was she getting tempted to turn me because she and Elias had spent decades alone?

“Mary, don’t try it.”

Mary then relaxed. Slowly. “I don’t wanna take nothin’ from you. Not like it was taken from us.”

“Thank you,” was all I said before breaking the hug and looking at Elias.

“You too?” I asked.

“Ion do hugs often but,” he started off nonchalantly. 

“No, I mean you’re not tempted right? What was it Mary said to me when we first met?... Alone’s not good? Are you tempted after spending several years with her alone?” I asked rather bluntly.

He looked at me for a long moment, then glanced toward Mary before sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he replied honestly. “We not saints.”

I stared at him.

“But I was taught restraint. If I didn’t learn it, I wouldn’t still be here. Wouldn’t still be me.”

He looked at me with something quiet and serious in his eyes.

“I’m not gon’ turn you. Ever. We like you. And your music.”

I gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “Alright then.”

“We gave Sammie a choice,” Elias said out of nowhere, voice low but steady. “Elijah made me promise not to kill him…so I kept my word.” He gave a dry chuckle, like it still surprised him that he did.

“Meetin’ you brought that memory back. Sammie Moore—the blues man. You heard of him?”

Wait. Sammie Moore?

“The Sammie Moore? The one who sang ‘I Lied to You’?” My eyes went wide. “That’s my favorite track of his—like, ever. That song just hits different.”

Elias nodded, casually. “Forgot to mention—he was my lil’ cousin.”

My jaw dropped slightly. “No way…that makes so much sense now. He was there during everything and he lived to become a musician. I guess that explains why his songs always felt so heavy. So full of ache.”

“Yeeep. Right on the money,” Elias confirmed, tapping his temple.

Mary looked over at me and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Your birthday’s in two days, right?”

I nodded slowly—trying not to show the anxiety bubbling under the surface. The alignment was creeping up. And I still didn’t know what the hell it was going to do to me. 

I didn’t mention it to them though. I doubted they’d know much about it anyway. Unless this “Annie” woman they mentioned was tapped in spiritually, which by the info they gave me, she was. But wasn’t hoodoo more about the earthly and ancestral than cosmic alignments? 

Mary smiled anyway. “Well, happy early birthday. If you ever wanna find us again, here’s our address. We obviously can’t be out during the day—”

“Wait, hold up.” I raised a hand. “I don’t wanna stereotype y’all just ‘cause of Hollywood, but is the garlic thing actually real?”

Elias burst out laughing while Mary grinned wide. “Oh it’s real,” he said. “Tragic, too. So many good meals ruined. Garlic was that girl. ”

“We can still eat regular food, but not outta hunger,” Mary added, rolling her eyes. “And garlic just…ugh. Our bodies reject it. It’ll burn us.”

“And silver,” Elias chimed in. “Bad news for us. Same with stakes and sunlight.”

“Damn…” I blinked. “Okay. That’s…a lot.”

But they seemed to be content with each other to attempt suicide regardless of how lonely they are, so I kept my peace.

“Oh, and back to your birthday,” Mary said, pulling out her phone. “You’ll probably be busy with folks that day, maybe even at night. So…let’s just keep in touch, yeah?”

I blinked. “Oh—we’re exchanging numbers? Nice!”

I pulled out my phone too, and the three of us traded contacts.

Their names showed up as:

Mary Mary

Stack

Mary peered over at my screen and laughed. “Mary Mary?”

I shrugged. “What? It’s cute. Like a nickname. Mary Mary, quite contrary…”

She laughed again, then glanced at Elias.

He just grinned goofily at her. 

“Well, alright,” she said. “I saved you as Bree. Feels right. Like what I’d call you if we was close.”

Elias added, “You’re just Rae on my phone. I like your last name better than your first. Even though Breana is a cute name.”

I looked at him, a little caught off guard. “Huh. I mean…okay.”

God, I could be so awkward sometimes. How I could still manage to be awkward after everything we’d shared tonight was beyond me.

“Well,” I mumbled and prepared to open a rift back to my apartment. “It’s been fun.”

“We’ll text you on your birthday, maybe see you during this time of night again but only if you’re available,” Mary proposed.

“Sure, I might be anyway. I don’t really have any big plans and that’s the last “free” day I have so…” I opened the rift. 

“Bye Mary, Bye Elias,” I bid them goodbye.

“See you lata’,” Elias nodded. “Take care baby,” Mary said with a smile.

And I stepped through. Back in my bedroom. The rift quickly closed behind me. I just took off my shoulder bag and sprawled on my bed. Man, what a day. Errr, night.

For the first time this week, I felt good.

I needed that talk. And now I know them. And I want to know more, honestly.

“Research about the 1930’s.”

…I guess I’d be spending my time researching come morning. But for what?

<Chapter 2 Chapter 4>

[charliedawn]

What If You Get Jealous?

Sinners Vampires X Unhinged!Reader

Remmick

Remmick didn’t think much about it. He just talked to that human so they could get directions. He was gonna get rid of them anyway.

But then…he found you—smashing the human’s head to a pulp.

At first, he’s stunned. Eyes glowing faintly crimson in the low light as he watches you slam the blunt end of a chair leg into the poor person’s skull—again, and again, until the sound is more wet squelching than impact. His eyes follow the streaks of blood on your legs and arms as they slowly gather into the red pool beneath your feet. When you stop though, panting, covered in flecks of red, his head tilts slightly. A faint smile curls at his lips.

Then…he laughs.

A deep, rich sound that rolls out of his chest and fills the space between you.

“Ah…mo chuisle…ye were jealous, weren’t ye?”

His boots crunch on bone fragments as he reaches you. One large, cool hand cups your blood-smeared face, thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. It brushes a splatter of crimson off.

“Look at ye. All covered in red. Panting like an animal. Me beautiful savage.”

His crimson eyes flare as his fangs extend. He’s so damn proud he’s practically glowing. He dips his head, whispering against your ear:

“Next time? Call me over. We’ll kill ‘em together.”

You shiver…But your smile matches his. He then proceeds to lick every single drop of blood off you. Remmick is a dangerous twisted creature—opposites attract is not always true.

Stack

Stack’s hat falls off. Literally. He’d been leaning against a doorway watching, a cigarette dangling from his lips. It drops when you bring the pipe down with a sickening crack.

“Holy shit, baby…”

For a second, he’s frozen—half horrified, half turned on. But when you smirk at him, blood-streaked and triumphant, he grins like a wolf.

“Well, damn…That was hotter than a Georgia summer.”

He saunters over, his tall frame shadowing you as he reaches out. Two long fingers catch your chin, tilting your bloodied face up to meet his gaze.

“C’mere, sugar. Lemme clean that pretty face up.”

He presses a kiss to your lips without hesitation, tasting copper and grinning against your mouth. His hands find your hips as he leans in close.

“Ain’t never been anyone else for me. You really think I’d trade you for them? Hell to the no!”

But later? He brags about it. To EVERYONE.

“Yeah, my baby went full Carrie on some poor bitch. Damn near the sexiest thing I ever seen.”

He winks at you and you smirk. You might be human—but only in name. As far as the pack is concerned? You are as much a member of the family as they are.

Mary

By the time she rounds the corner, there’s already a growing pool of blood beneath your feet. The poor bastard who’d been hanging off Mary earlier—laughing too loud, leaning in too close—now lay motionless, head caved in like a rotten melon. You’re standing over him, chest heaving, your weapon slick with gore. A slow, dangerous smirk spreads across your face as your eyes meet hers.

For a beat, Mary doesn’t say a word. She just stares. Her fangs press into her bottom lip as she watches you—shoulders tight, hands shaking, looking so damn proud of yourself for what you just did.

Then she exhales a long, shaky breath and lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Well…ain’t ya just the prettiest sight I ever did see?”

She steps closer—slow, deliberate, heels clicking on the sticky floor. There’s no fear in her eyes, only hunger and heat and something feral she’s never let you see before.

You tilt your head, smirk widening as you let the bloodied weapon clatter to the floor. “He touched ya—with his dirty hands.”

Mary’s grin flashes sharp and wide. “Damn right he did. And you—God, sugar—you didn’t just tell him. You made sure he’ll never forget.”

She’s in front of you now, cupping your face in her blood-slick hands like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world. Her thumbs smear streaks of red across your cheeks as her voice drops to a low, trembling whisper. “You love me that much? So much you’d break someone apart over it?”

Your smirk softens just enough to show her—yes. Mary lets out a shaky laugh that catches on a sob, then leans in, pressing her forehead against yours.

“Sweetheart…Ya don’t ever gotta fight for me. But God help me—I’ve never felt so loved.” She kisses you hard, tasting the copper on your lips and groaning into your mouth. When she pulls back, her fangs are down, her pupils blown wide with hunger and something else. “You know jealousy looks real fine on ya, sugar. Like a wild lil’ thing protectin’ their woman.”

She presses her nose into your neck, inhaling deep. “Next time? Don’t ya dare lift a finger. You let me do the dirty work. But tonight…oh, tonight I’m gonna show you just how much I adore my wild lil’ thing.”

Mary doesn’t care about the blood, the mess, or the still-warm body at your feet. She kisses you again, slower this time—hands in your hair, her body pressed flush against yours like she’s trying to merge your souls.

“Mine. To the moon and back, baby. Mine.”

Bo

Bo didn’t flinch once during the whole thing. He watched, dark eyes glittering with something unreadable, arms crossed as your work turned the floor into a crimson canvas.

When you’re done, and you lift your chin with that little victorious smirk?

Oh. He’s smirking too.

“Well, I’ll be damned…I knew there was a wild thing in there somewhere.”

He strolls over, his boots clicking softly. You feel his hand on your chin, tilting your head as if inspecting his prize.

“Jealousy looks good on ya, darlin’. Real good.” Bo leans in close, brushing his lips over yours without fully kissing you. “You wanna remind me I’m yours? Baby, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble. I already know.”

But he grins wider, voice dropping lower.

“Still…I can’t lie. I loved every second of that lil’ show.”

He then helps you get rid of the body. He has had plenty of experience with that. But after that night, he knows better than to make you jealous.

Annie

Annie gasps when she first sees you hit them. She presses her hands to her mouth, her big dark eyes full of shock. But there’s no scream. No rush to stop you. By the time you’re finished, she’s flushed and trembling—not with fear, but with an emotion she doesn’t know how to name. She steps toward you carefully.

“Oh, sugar…what did you do?”

Her voice wavers with concern and awe. She cups your face in both hands despite the blood, her thumbs brushing streaks from your cheeks.

“Were you scared I’d leave ya? Sweetheart, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” Annie pulls you into her arms, hugging you tightly. “You’ve got me. All of me. Always.”

She helps wipe your hands clean, kisses your forehead softly, and hugs you tight despite the gore.

“Promise me next time you’ll talk to me first, okay? I don’t wanna lose you…”

But deep down? Annie loves how far you’d go for her. She won’t admit how hot it was—at least not right away. But she loves knowing that you’d go to such extent to protect her.

Cornbread

Cornbread bellows a laugh loud enough to shake the walls when he sees you covered in blood.

“WELL, SHIIII—BABY! I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD THAT IN YA!” He claps his hands once like it’s the funniest, sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Then he stomps over, grabbing you by the waist and swinging you around in his big arms. “God DAMN, you’re somethin’ else, beautiful. Bashin’ heads in over lil’ ol’ me? I’m lovin’ it, darlin’.”

He peppers kisses across your cheek, your forehead, your nose, chuckling the whole time.

“Ain’t no one takin’ me from ya, sugar. Hell, am not leavin’ this fine piece of ass for nothin’ and no one! Ya know what? I’d get jealous too if anyone even tries lookin’ at what’s mine too hard.”

Bert

The sound of wet crunching was the first thing Bert noticed when he came stumbling out of the bar. He’d left you alone for five minutes—five damn minutes…Bert stops dead in his tracks as he watches you bash the poor soul’s brains out. His jaw hangs slightly open, his eyes bulging out in pure shock. But the second you smirk at him, dripping in red and looking all pleased with yourself, something changes in his gaze.

“Oh…baby.”

He’s on you in a flash—pinning you against the wall and kissing you hard enough to bruise.

“You’re out here defendin’ my honor like a goddamn angel of vengeance. “Baby…Goddamn…I’m so fuckin’ turned on right now it ain’t even funny. I don’t deserve you.” He rests his forehead on yours, fingers digging into your hips. “But I’m so damn greatful you’re mine.”

He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, then nips at your ear with his fangs.

“C’mon. Let’s go home. I wanna clean ya up proper…or maybe get ya dirtier first. Either way, I’m gonna show ya just how much I appreciate my scary lil’ sweetheart.”

Joan

Joan had been watching from across the room, her expression unreadable as you tore into the poor fool who thought they could touch what’s yours. When it’s done, she doesn’t move immediately—just blinks slowly like she’s processing it.

Then she grins. Wide. Dangerous. Her fangs gleam in the low light.

“Darlin’…Ya jealous? That’s adorable.”

She walks over, her boots clicking on the tile, and brushes her fingers across your blood-stained cheek.

“Y’know, I don’t much like sharin’. So it’s good to see you don’t either.” Joan leans in, whispering against your ear with a low, teasing laugh. “Next time? Save a lil’ for me. I like playin’ with my food.”

She kisses you sweetly, then licks a drop of blood from your lip.

“God, I love ya. You’re even more dangerous than I am.”

[angelseraphines]

my takes and thoughts on sinners after watching the film!! (warning you may disagree)

• i am torn on mary as a character but ultimately i felt bad for her, she turned stack into a vampire and refused to acknowledge her privilege as a white-passing woman but as a woman of color who gets mistaken for white and told she is basically white despite being 100% central asian, i can’t help but understand where she’s coming from and her frustration and want for acceptance. when the ones who oppress your people act like you’re one of them when you know you’re not white but you can’t call yourself a person of color without drawing looks of confusion or shock.

• i will never hate grace for what she did, i also found myself relating to her as it’s so impossible to understand the harm and feeling of being an outsider that comes with cultural isolation until you have experienced it. being the only people of your ethnic heritage in a place dominated by other cultures leads to not truly being accepted by any community. all she really had was bo chow and her daughter and she would have done anything to protect her child. if they waited it out, remmick’s coven would have gone into hiding and returned eventually, killing them that night was the best thing they could have done. burning with her husband followed the teachings of buddhism, in accordance with the belief they would be reincarnated.

• if they hadn’t fought the vampires that night and killed remmick, mary and stack would have never been free from the mind control they were under and couldn’t live the way they did because remmick had to die for their minds to be free.

• remmick was irish and therefore also came from a place of oppression and cultural genocide, but i can’t fathom that being justification or good reasoning for what he does to everyone at the juke joint. he was essentially colonizing them in another way, i have no sympathy for him. his actions are more insidious considering he knows the devastating effects of imperialism. i have also studied history and though the irish suffered, they were never enslaved. this is not the oppression olympics but some things can’t be compared.

• the scene where sammie is singing and all those different dancers from different eras and cultures appeared gave me genuine chills.

• the inclusion of the indigenous vampire hunters was a great detail and added to the notion of how people of color from all backgrounds are treated in america.

• the score was amazing, ludwig göransson never fails to impress me.

• stack went after annie first because he believed that if annie was turned into a vampire then smoke would surely follow her, but he didn’t realize his twin brother had already made a promise.

• i am happy that smoke and annie died instead of turning into vampires, it’s what they wanted, even if mary did want them all to be a happy family, they got to reunite with their baby and be at peace.

• the guitar that sammie’s father wanted him to get rid of was what protected and saved him from remmick. the snake being stabbed from earlier was foreshadowing for how sammie would be saved.

• smoke realized he couldn’t roll that cigarette because the it was stack that did that for him, without his twin brother, he was missing a piece of himself. in the yoruba religion of west africa, twins were seen as a singular union, neither smoke or stack would ever be whole again after losing their brother.

• the detail of annie’s religion and spiritual knowledge protecting people especially smoke is extremely meaningful when you recall that christianity was forced onto their people. i am a follower of an abrahamic religion but this also resonated with me as i understand my religion was imposed by violent colonialism.

• the scene at the end where we see after all these years mary and stack are together is especially sad when you recall they are allowed to at last be together because they survived the jim crow era.

• it is likely that everyone simply assumed that everyone who died at the juke joint that night was killed by the ku klux klan. nonetheless, if the vampires hadn’t shown up they would have died anyways when the klan came after sunrise, remmick’s words is the only reason smoke knew they would be coming.

• the klansmen probably pulled that sale scheme before to kill african americans, selling them the property and killing them the next day which is why they find a bloodstain on the floor when they’re inspecting the property. smoke staying and killing them saved the people they would have murdered in the future.

• luke 6:32, “even sinners love those who love them.”

• this was one of the more heartbreaking movies i have seen and i was genuinely crying for a while after the end. i found myself relating to many characters and plotlines in the film and it was extremely purposeful and powerful. it made me think about how people of color, despite their differences, have faced oppression and discrimination in one form or another, but regardless keep surviving.

[yourmommmmma12244]

If Sammie was dressed in green him and the twins could’ve passed as Alvin and the chipmunks.

[cloveroctobers]

TRACK TWO — MESS WITH MY MAN, Stack Moore (summer writings)

A/N: I can’t tell you how long this song has been stuck in my head recently and then I thought over which character can I write this for? It only makes sense 😆

WARNINGS: a little longer than intended, language, acts of violence, & Mary slander.

synopsis: It was supposed to be fireworks in the sky…but yours went off lakeside. You already knew what it was. The water has its own taste. Just ask Mary.

<- rewind to the previous anthology track here.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚

[~Clearlake, CA~]

Stack is driving.

The sky is the shade of cotton candy while the two of you are cruising around the curves of the road, and the windows to Stack’s candy apple red vintage Porsche are down to let the fresh air in—cause you “needed” it, his words not yours.

You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, even underneath his shades as you sat passenger side. He leaned over towards his window, elbow resting on the door with his right hand at the top of the steering wheel, trying to be slick as he’s side eyeing you.

Your gaze was on your swollen and scrapped up knuckles, until you rolled your neck to send Stack a matching narrow of your own eyes.

“See,” he starts out with his usual Mississippi drawl, “I knew yo ass was crazy from the first day I met’cha.”

You scoff, throwing your head back to tap the headrest.

“Says the man that started to square up with a pigeon.”

“That mothafucker took my piguet.”

“Which you should have left in the car.”

“Fuck would I do that for?” Stack questions, “I needed to flex on these yacht ownin’ sons of bitches, just like they try to show out thinkin’ a black man can’t also be successful…you know what? This ain’t even about me. It’s about you, ma.”

A scoff immediately flies out of your mouth, “And what about me?”

“If I remember correctly,” Stack starts, still leaned over, yet chilling against the steering wheel, “You’re always the one lecturing me to be good n’ shit and there you go.”

You point to yourself, making Stack dip his head at you mockingly, “You act like I don’t know when a bitch tryna bait me.”

The bump on the overcrowded boat didn’t feel accidental. It felt more like a shove. It was hard enough to send the blue lagoon in your martini glass sloshing over the rim. By the time you turned to see who did it, she was already facing you—too quickly. How convenient.

There Mary Sicard stood in a red bathing suit to match her cover-up and, most likely, to match someone else.

Stack’s signature had always been red.

She attempted small talk at the start but the jabs landed quicker.

“You know stack told me he was also comin’ to this big shindig.” She cooed, leaning towards you as if she was letting in on a secret rather than making sure you heard her over the music, “I’m sure as soon as he see’s me he’ll have a drink waitin’ for me. He’s always been good at tending to my needs.”

You had no plans to stick around and talk to her. You knew how to be cordial (when necessary) but liking the little hoe wasn’t on your summer to-do list.

Sighing you respond, “Maybe if you tended to Andrew, you know your husband? And his needs, then he wouldn’t be grabbing on asses that don’t belong to him.”

“Fuck did you just say to me?” Mary snarls.

She shouldn’t be so surprised. Word from Smoke was Mary and Andrew had an open marriage—one Andrew only agreed to when he wasn’t sober.

“You heard me,” you smiled wide, voice dipped in fake sugar, watching her nostrils flare, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be huffing and ready to blow this boat down trying to look for my—let me spell that for you, M-Y, my man. Go find yours before he ends up with a charge from one of these other good women, which disrespectfully…you’re not.”

Mary felt a tick in her jaw as you got the upper hand.

You peeped it. You liked it.

The way your vibrant nails caught the light as you waved her off, mirrored in the shades pushed up into her hair, felt like karma waiting for her, served cold, melting like a ice cream cone that you held, with the brightest of smirks on your face.

The difference between you and Mary was evident. She was stuck living in the past and came looking for a fight that had nothing to do with you.

You were the future. Stack’s.

A rising sun that was meant to stay.

“I’ve got your good woman,” Mary calls out to you, hand going out to grip your shoulder and turn you back to her, “The only thing Stack will ever know is me. I bet every second he’s with you, I’m always on his mind. After all…you did miss out on that business trip to New York. Let’s just say…he didn’t waste his time with sleep. Not with me there.”

It’s the wink. And her hand, still on you, starting to burn like a bullet waiting to be fired. Her sunscreen smells like honeyed grapefruit on her wrist. You can feel your blood begin to simmer, because this girl really thinks she’s won.

Won what, exactly? You’d have to ask the delusion infecting whatever’s left inside her skull.

Stack shakes his head at you, knocking his knuckles against your thigh to pull you back down from wherever you were, “And what did you do? Take the bait. Yeah look at you, daydreamin’ so hard about it, got you showing your tooth gems and back rows. Yo ass is a maniac.”

He was one to talk.

But that was another argument.

For another time.

Shrugging you say, “I warned your heffa of an ex too many times now. Then she had the nerve to lie about New York, like you don’t call me a thousand times a day? She’s lucky I didn’t slice those moles right off her dumb face with my martini glass. Shit, hopefully the sharks will bite them off for me.”

Stack highly doubted there were any sharks in that lake. But you probably knew better—since you’d been keeping up with shark trackings the second summer hit.

He runs his tongue across his own grillz in his mouth.

“And you’re lucky we got off the boat on time before the feds showed up. Last thing I need is them on my dick ‘cause my girl was about to body a has-been who can’t let go.”

You roll your eyes but there’s a sense of pride in you. You wouldn’t lie about that as your bruised hand goes to grip his face, facial hair pricking against your palm while you cupped his face, “You love that shit. And you call me the twisted one.”

He doesn’t deny it, sending you a grin full of dimples. “What can I say? I’ve always been attracted to women who can hold their own. The one sittin’ right beside me will remain in my number one spot, though.”

Keeping his eyes on the multiple curves of the road, he can’t help but to slightly turn towards you with his face still in your hand. You nod your head, also moving forward to peck his lips.

“You know you can’t go around praying that people get eaten by freshwater fish, like it’ll finish the job.”

Sucking your teeth, you squeeze his cheeks together in disagreement before letting go, “Mary isn’t people. She’s a raggedy jezebel with nice eyes and a smart ass mouth. I hope jaws eats those first.”

Stack lets out a low whistle, hand going back to your thigh, “Aight killa, let’s try and focus on the fresh air and scenery instead, huh?”

Giving him a flat look with a purse of your lips, you sigh and let your head fall back against the headrest while Stack runs small circles above your kneecap.

“…You’ll rub my back later?”

Stack snorts, not at the fact that you had chronic lower back pain but because you sounded so damn cute, even after that mess you found yourself in.

“Hell yeah I will,” stack answers, “Might even throw in a deluxe package: booty rub included.

It was on the tip of your tongue to throw Andrew’s name in there at the mention of booties but the alarms in your head told you to keep that to yourself. It was in everyone’s best interest and if Stack found out about that?

Both of y’all would have started singing that one Akon track.

With in sync smiles, he keeps running soothing circles against your skin while you turn your gaze to the right, water beyond the rocks, glistening from the sun, just like what you would see in Stack’s eyes whenever he snuck glances at you.

And he would deny it every time with a smirk right on his lips.

Finally.

His moment of peace.

That he loved having because of you.

Until a few days later…

You’re seated in the dining room, Sammie’s lounging in the living room with his guitar in his hands, fallen asleep not that long ago, still dealing with the aftermath of his ex, Pearline choosing to officially get a divorce from her husband and move out of the delta for good once finalized.

She also had wild dreams of being on stage, much like Sammie.

She even performed with him and solo at a few of his shows!

It was rough for Stack’s younger cousin.

So he flew in for a couple of days, staying with you two for a break, after wrapping up his tour out in Chicago.

It seems like lately it’s always been a case of an ex.

You’re smiling down at lil Leroy, Cornbread (Clyde, which still gagged you once you learned his government but Stack was always convinced “Cornbread” was his actual name despite the fact they grew up together) and Therese’s baby boy that you’re watching while the woman had to rush off to the bathroom, complaining about her bladder still not being the same since labor.

You were hesitant since you weren’t around a lot of babies or kids but the braided woman persuaded you that every woman had motherly instincts, whether they were destined to be a mother or not.

It’s just part of nurturing.

Their kid was pretty cute, much to Stack’s surprise but you became good friends with the couple after Cornbread started being around more due to Stack and Smoke’s business endeavors.

He was currently off with Smoke out in Alabama (both men would always be country boys through and through and preferred southern locations over the west) and both you and Stack agreed to keep an eye out on Therese and Lil Leroy.

Therese had a quiet nature about her with a good head on her shoulders and had a photographic memory. Stack was convinced she was a witch too.

That man had something to say about anyone.

Rocking lil Leroy to sleep more than Sammie’s blues, you gaze only shifted to the breath-taking water views out your dining room window, for maybe a minute before you hear footsteps making their way around the corner.

Stack tossed a thick manila envelope on the dining room table, marked: Certified Mail – Legal Notice — making you turn your gaze up to his.

His hand rests on the back of the chair you sat in, toothpick in his mouth as confusion was also the expression on his face.

“You got mail, killa.”

Your eyes zero in on it, taking a deep inhale as you decide, “I’m not interested.”

Stack laughs, reaching over to open it up himself, “C’mon, ain’t you a little bit curious?”

“I’m pretty sure what you’re doing right now is illegal.”

Stack and you both meet each other’s share, holding it before he winks at you and you’re left shaking your head while you slowly rock from side to side with the little one in your arms.

“Gotta keep those hands pretty,” Stack comments as he pulls out papers, “You’re more paper cut prone than me anyway.”

He just wanted to be nosy but alright.

“The fuck?” Is the first thing that comes out of Stack’s mouth as his eyes scan over the words on the paper.

Your eyes go wide, reminding him of the literal child in your arms, “Elias. Baby in the room.”

“My fault, little nigga.” Stack peeks down at the sleeping baby, “Hope the cussin’ from your favorite uncle don’t affect your sweet dreams.”

“Oh my god.” You cover the sleeping baby’s ears, “I see why Bo and Grace don’t want you around Lisa.”

“Please,” Stack scoffs, “That bad ass girl is what? Twelve? Thirteen? She’s taught me some of the best insults I’ve ever heard in my life.”

His eyes are trained back on the paper before he’s flipping through the packet, “Hol’ up…I know this ain’t from Mary’s punk ass man?”

He slaps the paper down on the dining table, face dark and begins to pace, rubbing at his jaw while you lean forward to see his name and Mary’s husband, Andrew, in bold at the top.

You squint. “Is this a lawsuit? I don’t get why it was addressed to me if it’s mostly aimed at you—

Pausing, you flip over the envelope to study the handwriting. You couldn’t be sure but it definitely looked feminine.

She wouldn’t.

Would she?

“This dude really trying to sue us over some boat day shit?”

It was a “us” matter because anybody coming after the other automatically means you’re a target together.

“He wasn’t even around when Mary got her A-S-S handed to her?”

Stack hums, “Hittin’ us wit a civil claim. Says the boat incident led to ‘irreparable financial damages’ and ‘emotional harm to his legal spouse. If I had known that was his business partner’s yacht, we probably wouldn’t have been on that shit no way.”

You throw your hands up at his use of vocabulary with a whole baby in the room again.

“How would he have even known? I don’t picture the two chatting about her beat down over her nasty raisin potato salad. The relationship doesn’t even give secure! He was probably too busy having a heat stroke mixed with that booger sugar thinking that’s enough of an excuse to sexually harass women.” You sass as you also start to flip through the papers, “Says Mary almost drowned—like that’s not her own fault.”

Therese comes back into the room now, clocking the tension as she pauses while she takes in Stack’s heated glance.

Carefully she placed her purse back on the table, while Stack scraped the chair across from you back to plop down in, knee bouncing and elbows pressed onto the table.

“What I miss?” She asked quietly.

Stack sucked his teeth.

You explain with a stretched smile, “Oh nothing just a lawsuit from bitch Mary and her jackass husband.”

“From that boat party during the Fourth of July?” Therese questioned, making you blink at her, “Oh…Annie mentioned something about it, how she was glad Smoke wasn’t goin’ and figured you’d keep Stack in check.”

Stack scoffed, “My sister-in-law should have mixed up a potion to prevent Mary’s ass from starting some shit. I wonder if she knew Mary was going…matter fact, imma call her tonight.”

Annie wasn’t like that.

Yes she was closer with Mary since she got involved with Smoke from the age of eighteen not long after moving up from Louisiana, the two were practically like sisters. Half—maybe but you and Annie were cool too.

She would never set you or even Stack up like that.

Annie wasn’t with the drama.

“Don’t be pissed off when she declines your call.”

Stack shrugged his shoulders like that had no effect on him, “I know where she stay at.”

You laughed.

Therese took it upon herself to take the packet into her hands, sitting at the head of the table to your left, one leg crossed over the other, her single braid resting against her shoulder.

“Emotional distress. Pain and suffering. Property repairs,” Therese summarized, “Looks like he used a template and didn’t even clean up the headers properly. It looks annoying enough. A quick cash grab even but I’m no lawyer, just a postal worker. My cousin practices civil and I can get his entail on it if y’all want?”

You’re nodding your head.

Stack clasps his hands, loudly enough to make Sammie stir but Stack lifts his chin towards the sleeping baby, taking in yet another warning the two women in the room send him, “Say that.”

“We’d appreciate it, Rese.”

She smiles, “Of course. Apparently you got about thirty days to respond…we’ll get this straightened out in less. May I take these with me?”

“Burn ‘em when you’re done,” Stack answers, “I was going to use them as my toliet paper tonight anyway.”

“Boy, ew.” You scrunched up your nose while Therese laughed to herself, placing the packet back into the envelope before sticking them into the outside section of her baby bag.

Therese is back on her feet, “Yeah then it’s best I keep it just in case,” she moves around the dining room to grab the car seat to gently sit on the table, “I best be gettin’ home before it gets dark. My sight is not great at night.”

She thanks you as she takes her baby back into her arms before securing him into the car seat.

Stack is fully waking Sammie up now, ordering him to help Therese to her car. The both of you stand in the doorway watching the three down below in the driveway before you tell Therese to give you a ring when she gets back.

Sammie headed right down stairs once he entered back through the home, ready to fully crash early for the night, leaving you two up on the main floor seated in the living room.

Your legs are thrown over his lap, Stack is slouched down, just finished rolling one up that he split between the two of you.

“You ever think life’d be quiet when we settle down?” He starts, after exhaling.

Lolling your head over to meet his eyes you grin, “You? Settling?”

Stack raises a brow, “You actin’ as if we ain’t been locked in. Bout to catch a case over yo ass and everything too.”

“That’s not settling.”

“What is it then?” He inquired.

A twitch of your lips is prominent, “Ride or die.”

He snorts but gently knocks his forehead against your face before handing the joint back to you, “Corny.”

You laugh once more, taking it and enjoying the quiet.

“Speaking of dying,” Stack begins drumming his fingers against your thigh, “…What’s this I hear about coke head Andrew sexually harassing women? There sum’n you need to tell me? Do I gotta bring Tony out?”

“Tony,” as in his favorite piece he bought from some Italian mobster man when Stack got his business started in Chicago.

Oh no.

At the end of the day…somebody’s gonna get dealt with.

It could have all been so simple, if everyone just learned to stay in their own lane.

Yet with someone like Andrew Sicard, they forget that the streets don’t do lawsuits. His mistake was thinking he could put fear in Stack Moore’s chest.

Andrew liked numbers.

Stack?

He loved headlines.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚

》 》 NEXT.

[cauru]

about: where i write a collection of headcanons, oneshots and smut for sinners..

pairings: smoke/black!oc , stack/oc , smoke/black!reader , stack/black!oc , oc/black!oc, oc/reader.

content warnings: smut, major character death, vampire turnt character, no use of y/n.

request status: closed.

Fanfics 🧞

Keep It A Secret | Stack x Reader: You wanted to get away; to start a new life without having any more involvement with the twins. But you returned to town to bury a loved one and to visit some family. Did you think he wouldn't find you again?

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

[bokonowriter]

Crimson & Curls - Part 3

Remmick x Fem! Reader: Chapter List

Description: That night in the rain with Remmick… it was more than chance; a raw vulnerability laid bare between you and him. A mutual curiosity thrummed, a silent question about the power leashed beneath his elegant coat. And behind that devilish smile, a promise of shadowed pleasures, a darkness that whispered a dangerous invitation to your very soul. Find out, what is that devil hiding? ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ "Tell me, honey… what else are you hiding? What desires do you keep locked away? Perhaps… I can help you unleash them."

Warnings: This story contains explicit content (DO NOT INTERACT UNLESS 18+) including: oral smut, public smut, explicit language, fingering, intense sensual detail, moaning/whimpering, female orgasms, and squirting, mentions of supernatural. (more will be added as the story continues).

The Sight Unseen

THE AIR in the Juke Joint hung heavy and still, a suffocating blanket woven from the scent of frying catfish and the nervous sweat of anticipation. It was opening night, a resurrection whispered on the humid breeze like an old wives' tale, and the very floorboards seemed to hum with a restless energy. Shadows clung to the corners like secrets, refusing to be chased away by the bare bulb casting a sickly yellow glow across the room.

In a dim alcove, where the dust motes danced in the stagnant air, Grace hunched over her easel, her brow furrowed in a fierce concentration that bordered on a trance. The vibrant hues of her brushstrokes blazed against the aged wood, the freshly painted "Juke Joint" leaping out in a defiant, almost blood-red. The sharp, acrid tang of turpentine mingled with the cloying sweetness of decay that always seemed to linger in the old building.

Smoke, his frame as lean and watchful as a graveyard cypress, oversaw the placement of whiskey barrels with a silent authority that brooked no argument. His dark eyes, like still pools reflecting a stormy sky, scanned the room, missing nothing. 

Stack, a hulking presence whose very stillness seemed to vibrate with contained power, arranged the mismatched chairs around scarred tables, his movements surprisingly tender, as if handling relics of a forgotten time. They were silent sentinels, guarding the fragile rebirth of this haunted place.

Annie moved through the empty room with a quiet efficiency, her apron bearing the greasy testament of fried catfish and the ominous stain of her pepper relish. Her presence was a calm anchor amidst the rising excitement, her gaze steady as she served. 

She paused beside you, her dark eyes, usually filled with a quiet understanding, now holding a flicker of concern that sent a fresh wave of unease through you. The sound of that old name, a relic from a childhood where your pale skin had earned you the moniker of "Fawn," felt suddenly alien, a whisper from a past you were struggling to hold onto. "You ain't right, Fawn," she murmured, her voice low and laced with a familiar concern that felt less like a comforting hand on a fevered brow and more like a cold premonition, a touch from beyond the veil. "You got the look of someone who's seen a ghost... or maybe been touched by one."

You turned slightly, offering a weak smile, a fleeting thing that didn't chase away the trouble in her gaze. "Just the jitters, Annie. Opening night and all."

The lie tasted like ashes in your mouth. The truth – the fragmented memories of a night swallowed by darkness, the lingering scent of Remmick like a musky shroud, the gnawing suspicion that something vital had been stolen from you, leaving your mind a violated tomb – was a poisonous secret you couldn't yet unleash into the already thick atmosphere of the juke joint, a place where the boundaries between the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen, were already blurring with every passing hour.

Annie’s gaze lingered, a knowing glint in her eye that saw deeper than your flimsy facade. “There’s more to it than that. Somethin’s… unsettled in your spirit.” She paused, her gaze softening with a sudden, unsettling familiarity, as if she were peering into the murky depths of your soul. 

Your lips parted, the half-formed confession – the lost hours, the unsettling void in her memory – rising like a bubble from the murky depths of her mind. You were about to speak, to finally give voice to the creeping dread that had been your unwelcome companion since the dawn broke on a lost morning, when a voice boomed through the expectant hush, as sudden and jarring as a gunshot in the stillness.

“Alright, you beautiful sinners,” Smoke’s voice drawled, thick with a Southern charm that held a hint of underlying steel, his gaze sweeping over the waiting crowd. “Let the good times… and maybe a little bit of trouble… roll! The Juke Joint is officially open for business!” The words hung in the air, drawing the hungry gazes of the patrons, effectively snapping the fragile thread of your intended confession, leaving the unspoken words to fester in the shadows of her heart.

The moment Smoke’s last drawing word hung in the thick air. It was like a match striking dry kindling, as a hell-raisin', foot-stompin' beat roared through the Juke Joint like a Saturday night bonfire. The bare bulbs, just moments before casting a sickly pallor, now blazed with a defiant, almost feverish light, chasin' them shadows back into the cypress swamps where they belonged.

Faster than a scalded dog, the bottles behind the makeshift bar started disappearin'. Whiskey and gin flowed like the Big Muddy after a spring rain, chased by the white lightnin' of the moonshine. Annie’s quiet disapproval, a dark look sharp enough to cut cane, was nothin' but a pesky mosquito buzzin' 'round your ear as you slammed glasses down, pourin' with a speed born of long habit and a desperate need to outrun the ghosts in your head. 

Every now and then, a quick tip of the bottle, a fire burnin' down your throat – a little somethin' to help you forget the tang of yesterday — and it worked. The warmth started low, a tickle in your toes like ants marchin', then spreadin' up your legs 'til that foot-tappin' beat just yanked you onto the crowded dance floor, losing yourself in the joyful noise.

Maybe the liquor had its say, but the night took on a life of its own, like a current pulling the early hours into the abyss of the morning with a reckless, almost desperate energy. It wasn’t just the music, though the blues band wailed with a raw intensity that spoke of sweat-soaked nights and long-buried sins. It was the crowd, a writhing mass of bodies caught in the throes of release, their laughter a little too loud, their joy edged with a hint of desperation. 

You moved through them, the scent of spilled whiskey and cheap perfume clinging to you like Spanish moss. The earlier anxieties had faded with the setting sun, leaving behind a quiet awareness of the room's pulse. The juke joint was alive, yes, a vibrant hum rising from the floorboards, a dark, fertile energy that felt both ancient and untamed. 

The walls, adorned with relics of the past – faded portraits of stern-faced ancestors, hand-scrawled warnings on scraps of parchment, and a rusted iron plow that seemed to breathe with the building's earthy rhythm – seemed to observe the revelry with a silent knowing.

A woman you vaguely recognized from around town, Delilah, her eyes wide and her voice catching with a strange thrill, grabbed your arm. “Girl, yall done conjured somethin’ fierce here. This place got the spirit in it, the real spirit!”

You nodded, your eyes shining as you surveyed the room. "The spirit's in this music, Delilah, in this crowd... It's in the very air we're breathin'. Feels like coming home." 

 Your gaze softened, a faint smile gracing your lips as a memory surfaced, warm and bittersweet. Mama would have loved this, you thought, picturing your mother's head thrown back in laughter, your voice joining the chorus, a vibrant thread in this rich tapestry of your people. The way her hands would clap along to the rhythm, her stories woven into the very fabric of nights like these… 

A familiar ache bloomed in your chest, but it was a gentle ache, wrapped in the comforting embrace of belonging. This wasn't just a juke joint; it was a living testament to their resilience, their joy, their shared history – a place where the echoes of generations past danced with the promise of a future forged in rhythm and soul. But the warmth was quickly shadowed by a prickle of curiosity. Your gaze snagged on the commotion near the entrance. 

Smoke and Stack, their imposing figures a formidable barrier, were flanked by Cornbread, his usually jovial face tight with a rare tension. You navigated through the press of bodies, the humid air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, cheap whiskey, and jasmine, until you reached Cornbread's side. 

"What's the hang up Cornbread?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the din. 

He leaned down, his brow furrowed. "Some white folk tryin' to push their way in. Sayin' they heard the music." A short, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. The audacity. But before you could even frame a witty retort, a voice, low and resonant, a familial tremor that sent a shiver tracing down your spine despite the heat, cut through the boisterous air from just beyond the open doorway. 

I picked poor Robin clean, picked poor Robin clean

I picked his head, I picked his feet

I woulda picked his body, but it wasn't fit to eat

Oh, I picked poor Robin clean, picked poor Robin clean

And I'll be satisfied having a family

Lord, didn't that jaybird laugh when I picked poor Robin clean?

"Alright, that's enough." Smoke's voice, low and gravelly, cut through the air like a snapped root.

“Ahh it was just about to get good,” Remmick drawled, his voice slick with a forced charm that grated against the humid night air. He wore a linen suit that looked out of place in this rough-hewn establishment.

Smoke’s jaw tightened. “Nah I believe ya, but this here a juke joint,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, a warning growl. "But this here a juke joint."

"But we got money," the other man, younger and more brash, stepped forward, flashing a roll of bills, the crisp paper a stark contrast to the worn wood of the porch. "And we ready to spend it with y'all."

Remmick scoffed, a dangerous edge to his smoothness. "We were damn near perfect, and you're sayin' we ain't welcome?"

Stack's gaze hardened, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Nah, I'm saying you get down that road and you get back into town. Plenty of white barrel houses down there where they cater to your kind."

“Oh, I see," Remmick said, his voice dripping with a mocking understanding. "This is 'cause we're...all right." He let the word hang in the air, a poisonous accusation.

You stepped forward, placing a hand on Smoke’s arm. "Hold on a minute, Smoke."

Smoke turned to you, his face a mask of stubborn resistance. "Why the hell would we do that? You know better."

"I owe him a favor," you said, your voice low and urgent, your gaze flicking to Remmick, then back to Stack.

Stack, who had been silent until now, his expression unreadable, raised a dark eyebrow. "Him? You owe him a favor?"

You pulled them both aside, away from the doorway and the prying ears of the crowd inside. "He helped me take cover from the Klan the other day, when I was walkin' back to Annie's. They were ridin' hard, and he pulled me off the road."

Stack's face softened, but only slightly. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You shoulda told us. We woulda taken care of it." His voice held a low growl of brotherly protectiveness.

You shrugged, the memory of that night still a raw nerve. "It doesn't matter now. It's done. Can we just...can we let him in?"

Smoke looked back at the doorway, his expression torn. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, a long sigh escaping his lips. "Look Fawn...I don't know...I can't make folks inside feel uncomfortable. This place...it's built by us, for us. It's all we got." He looked at Remmick, then back at you, his eyes filled with a weary regret. "Tell him to hit the road."

Remmick expelled a slow breath, a hiss of frustration that mirrored the weary resignation settling in your own chest. What more could you say? The juke joint wasn't yours to command.

"Can't we be family...just for one night?" he asked, the word "family" hanging in the air. Smoke's patience, already stretched thin, finally snapped. He reached beneath his vest with a deliberate slowness that spoke volumes, his fingers brushing against the cold steel of the hidden weapon. The air crackled with the unspoken threat.

Remmick's hands shot up, palms facing outward in a gesture of surrender that was almost too theatrical, too smooth. "You don't need to do that, sir," he said, his voice losing some of its earlier bravado, replaced by a careful, measured tone. "We'll be on our way. But we're gonna walk away real slow. Just in case y'all...change your mind." The last words lingered, a subtle dare, a hint of the darkness that lay beneath his polished veneer.

"Come on now," Stack murmured, his hand a firm, guiding pressure on your back, steering you back into the smoky embrace of the juke joint. Smoke watched you go, his expression unreadable in the dim light, before turning to address the crowd.

Mary, who had been a silent witness to the exchange, stayed close to Stack's side, her gaze lingering on Remmick's retreating figure. Once you and Stack reached a less crowded corner of the room, she finally spoke, her voice low and hesitant. "She might have a point, Stack," she murmured, her brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and something else... a flicker of longing? "Maybe... maybe we should reconsider. Just a little?"

Stack's jaw tightened. "I ain't goin' behind Smoke's back, Mary. You know that. He made the call." He paused, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Besides... I can't let him in here. Not after all that."

Mary's gaze softened, and she reached out to touch his arm. "I know, baby. But... maybe we could go get him somethin'? A plate of food, a drink? You could use the money after all."

Stack considered this, his expression still troubled. The juke joint's music swirled around you, a bittersweet counterpoint to the tension in the air – a mournful blues that seemed to echo the unspoken sorrows of the night. Finally, he nodded, a reluctant agreement. "Alright," he conceded, his voice heavy with a weariness that belied his size. "But be careful out there. And don't be long."

But you weren't listening to the caution. A strange compulsion had taken hold, a need to rectify the harshness of their rejection, to understand the darkness that flickered beneath Remmick's polished surface. 

This ain't right, you thought, the words echoing the unease that had settled in your gut. You turned, the juke joint's raucous sounds fading slightly as you stepped onto the porch. The night air, thick with the scent of jasmine enveloped you as you moved to speak to Remmick, drawn back to him like a moth to a dangerous flame.

There, perched on a gnarled oak stump, Remmick plucked a hauntingly familiar melody on a battered banjo – a mournful rendition of "Lassie Come Home" that seemed to echo the loneliness of the surrounding swamp. The notes hung in the humid air, each one a drop of sorrow distilled from the night itself.

He looked up as you approached, and a soft, welcoming smile spread across his face, a look of relief and quiet expectation, as if he'd known you'd find your way to him. "Bert. Joan. This is the girl I told y'all about."

Two figures emerged from the shadows behind him, their forms indistinct in the dim light. Bert, a gaunt man with eyes that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the light, nodded slowly. "We heard some about you."

"Good things," Bert offered, his voice a dry rustle, like the wind whispering through dead leaves.

"Very good things," Joan echoed, her voice a strange, unsettlingly smooth counterpoint to her husband's, the words drawn out with a languid, almost hypnotic cadence that sent a shiver crawling down your spine. They spoke in eerie unison, their faces mirroring each other's blankly, as if they shared a single, unknowable thought.

A prickle of unease ran beneath your skin. There was something profoundly unsettling about the way Bert and Joan moved and spoke, their words and gestures too perfectly synchronized, their expressions devoid of any discernible individuality. 

They felt...connected in a way that defied easy explanation, like puppets on the same invisible string. But the warmth in Remmick's gaze, the quiet reassurance in his smile, eased your apprehension slightly. You pushed the unsettling feeling aside, attributing it to the strangeness of the night and the lingering confusion in your own mind, and sat down next to the man on the stump.

"Thank you," you said to Bert and Joan, offering a tight, artificial smile. They simply nodded, their movements disturbingly synchronized, and returned to their instruments with an unsettling, almost inhuman grace. The music flowed from them as if they were mere conduits, their expressions blank and unchanging.

You turned back to Remmick, a knot of unease still twisting in your stomach from the encounter with his companions. "I... I apologize for all that. Can I get you something? Food, a drink? You did walk all this way..."

He waved off your offer, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "Truth is, I just wanted to see you again. And well," he said, his voice a low murmur, "I got what I wanted." A warmth bloomed in your chest, and a blush crept up your neck.

"Don't be ridiculous," you managed, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You glanced down at your evening gown – a simple but elegant affair of deep emerald silk, the high neckline and long sleeves offering a demure contrast to the vibrant color, a style perhaps a touch more sophisticated than the usual juke joint attire, a subtle nod to a past life – and shook your head. "There's no way you came all this way just to flatter me."

He smiled, a slow, disarming curve of his lips. "I swear, that's the only truth."

You hesitated, then a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "Well, then, I know a place where we can still enjoy some good music... where the wood of the joint is thin, and the sound pours out just perfectly."

Remmick raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Lead the way." He turned back to Bert and Joan. "You two mind if I... step away for a bit?"

They nodded, their movements as synchronized as ever, their eyes never leaving their instruments. The music continued, a relentless, hypnotic pulse.

A joyful silence fell between you as you led Remmick around the back of the juke joint, the sounds of revelry fading slightly with each step. As you rounded the corner, you pressed your ear against the rough-hewn planks of the wall.

"Sammie," you breathed, a fond smile gracing your lips. "He's playing his heart out tonight."

Remmick stepped closer, pressing himself against your back to listen through the crack in the wall, his breath warm against your neck. The familiar scent of him mingled with the earthy aroma of the swamp, a strange comfort in the gathering darkness. 

You tilted your head back into his chest, the solid warmth of him grounding you, a silent echo of countless nights spent lost in Sammie's music. A memory flickered: a small hand in yours, calloused and strong even then, as Sammie strummed a lullaby on a battered guitar, chasing away the shadows that crept through the cracks in your childhood home. You didn't need to explain. The way your body instinctively sought the steadiness of Remmick's, the almost unconscious surrender to the rhythm he shared, spoke volumes. 

"He's... incredible," Remmick murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your spine, and you knew, in that moment, he wasn't just hearing the music. He was hearing you. His hand settled on your waist, a light, possessive touch that sent a shiver through you, not of fear, but of a deep, resonant connection that transcended words.

Your bodies swayed almost imperceptibly with the music, a shared, silent communion. As the tempo quickened, the music swelling into a passionate crescendo, Remmick's hand tightened on your waist. "Dance with me," he said, his voice a husky command.

And then, you were dancing. Not no fancy ballroom two-step, but a slow, close sway, bodies moving together like they'd been doing it for a lifetime... or maybe for a single, stolen moment teetering on the edge of something forbidden. You hesitated for a beat, the question burning on your tongue, the one you'd been replaying in your head since waking up in a haze of confusion and a nagging sense of... lost time. Was it the moonshine? Had you finally succumbed to the juke joint madness? Or was there something else, something... with him? You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. You opened your mouth to speak, to break the spell of the music, to ask... 

"Remmick?" you said, your voice barely a whisper above the soulful whaling of the blues.

He dipped his head, his gaze intent on yours. "Yes, darling?" he murmured, the word a caress.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He paused, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. 

"Let me show you," he offered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that promised a glimpse into a world you weren't sure you were ready for. And then, before you could even form a coherent thought, he dipped you, his hand firm on your back, your body tilting precariously close to the floor, the world spinning in a dizzying swirl of sensation. He brought you back up slowly, his gaze locked on yours, and then he kissed you.

It wasn't a chaste brush of lips; it was a deep, hungry claim, a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs and ignited a fire in your blood. The blues seemed to pulse through the kiss itself, a raw, yearning energy that bound you together. When he finally broke away, you were breathless, disoriented, and utterly captivated.

"Like this," he said, his voice a low, satisfied growl. And then, with a swift, fluid motion, he swung you around, your skirts flaring out around you like dark wings, the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. It was like the blues was pullin' you, drawing you in with its low, soulful moan, a sound that wrapped around you both like a humid shroud, thick with secrets and unspoken desires. 

It wasn't just dancing anymore. The blues wasn't just a sound; it was a living thing, a current surging through the juke joint and through you, pulling the very soul from the Mississippi soil. The night didn't shrink; it expanded, the smoky haze swirling into visions. Faces flickered at the edge of your sight – your ancestors, their eyes blazing with a fierce, ancient pride, their movements a whirlwind of forgotten steps. 

And then, her. Your mother, tall and regal, her dark skin shimmering with an otherworldly light, a hint of old magic in the way she moved, her laughter a low, resonant hum that vibrated in your bones. 

The air thrummed with a power that transcended time and blood, and you saw, impossibly, among the swirling figures, a knot of red-haired men and women, their feet stomping the earth with a wild, joyful abandon that echoed the rhythms of a distant, green land. You barely registered them, so caught were you in the tide of his eyes. 

It was as if the music had torn a hole in the fabric of the world, and you and Remmick were caught in the ecstatic, terrifying center of it all, bound together by a force far greater than desire, a force that whispered of blood and bone and the enduring power of the past. 

As Sammie's song reached its final, soaring note, the juke joint didn't just glow; it burned. Not with ordinary fire, but with an unearthly radiance that pulsed from the very wood, the very air, bathing everything in a light that was both beautiful and terrifying. The heat pressed against your skin, not with warmth, but with a vibrant, almost painful energy.

Remmick was alight with a genuine, feverish excitement. His crimson eyes, glowing like embers in the inferno, locked onto yours. He seemed to drink in the spectacle, then turned that burning gaze back to you, his expression a mixture of triumph and something deeper... a raw, desperate hunger.

You were still lost in the vision, the echoes of your ancestors, the potent magic of your mother, the surreal dance of the Irish, all swirling within you. It was a high unlike any other, a glimpse behind the veil.

Then, Remmick's hands found your face, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos. He kissed you, not with the tentative exploration of desire, but with a gentle, possessive passion that hooked your attention. You clung to him, a dizzying mix of exhilaration and growing unease bubbling up inside you.

When the kiss broke, he spoke, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "You see them, don't you? You can see them."

Confusion clouded your mind. "See what? What are you talking about?"

He dropped to his knees before you, his grip on your waist tightening, his gaze intense, almost pleading. It was as if he were begging, or perhaps...offering himself. "Look around. Really look."

Your gaze finally broke free of his, and what you saw made your blood run cold. The juke joint was ablaze, not with flame, but with spectral light. The shadows writhed with half-seen figures, the faces of the long-dead mingling with the living. It was a grotesque parody of the vibrant celebration it had been moments before.

Panic seized you, a cold fist squeezing your heart. You stumbled back, but Remmick's hold was relentless.

"It's you," he said, his voice a hypnotic caress, "and Sammie. You're gifted. Both of you."

But his words offered no comfort. Locked in his crimson gaze, you saw not reassurance, but something ancient and predatory, a truth that shattered the carefully constructed reality of your world. You saw him, his true form, and the sight was monstrous.

You tried to pull away, to wrench your hands free, but his grip was like iron. "Don't you see?" he hissed, his voice laced with desperation.

"No! No, I'm not... I'm not special," you choked out, denial rising in your throat like bile. "Those visions... it was fake. All fake. Just... childhood delusions. Ain't none of that religious shit real."

"You asked me to remember the other night," he said, his voice raw with a terrible intensity. "It was this. You touched me... and you saw my past. You saw me." The hunger in his eyes was terrible, the intensity of being seen for himself both terrifying and tragically vulnerable.

The truth crashed down upon you, a tidal wave of horror and understanding. You had seen. And what you'd seen was not human.

You tore yourself free, the sound of tearing flesh echoing in the spectral light, "Get away from me! Get away!"

You spun and fled, abandoning Remmick to the grotesque spectacle of the burning juke joint. You burst back into the main room, the revelry now a distorted nightmare. You collided with Cornbread, his jovial face contorted in confusion.

"Hey? What's wrong—"

You flinched away from him as if burned, your mind reeling. Standing beside him, clear as day, was a young girl, a miniature version of Cornbread, her hand clasped in his. His unborn daughter.

The scream lodged in your throat, a silent, petrified shriek that threatened to tear you apart from the inside. You didn't stop to apologize. You didn't stop at all. Every face you passed was a fractured mirror reflecting a reality you were never meant to witness, a grotesque tapestry woven from stolen moments in time. Pearline, her features twisted in a silent, ravenous hunger, writhed in a grotesque parody of intimacy with Sammie in a shadowy corner, their bodies contorted like puppets on broken strings. 

Faces aged and withered before your eyes, the bloom of life decaying into the stark, grinning rictus of bone in a heartbeat. Unborn children, their spectral forms translucent and cold, reached out to you with skeletal fingers, their silent cries echoing in the hollow chambers of your mind.

You stumbled blindly, desperately, until you found an empty storage room, a small, blessedly silent space. You slammed the door shut, fumbling with the lock, your hands shaking so violently you could barely manage it. The click of the bolt was the only sound in the universe.

Then, the world tilted, and your stomach lurched. You collapsed onto the filthy floor, vomiting violently, the contents of your stomach a grotesque offering to the horrors you'd just witnessed. Your breath hitched and shuddered in your chest, each gasping a desperate, futile attempt to draw air. You were spiraling, falling into an abyss of madness and terror, a full-blown panic attack ripping you apart from the inside out.

And then, mercifully, there was nothing. Only blackness. NEXT CHAPTER>

[brownskincheyenne]

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Sinners is the highest grossing ORIGINAL horror film world wide !!!! And 2 months later and I’m still obsessed!!!! And it’s coming to streaming (Max) platforms on July 4th !!! Let’s do it again !! Run it up !! This fandom ain’t going no wear !! It’s unapologetically black ! For Us By Us !!