#stack x black!reader

[yassbishimvintage]

Sinners Masterlist

The Twins

Smoke

Stack

Welcome to Chicago

[melancholymetropolis]

“I heard the twins were back in town."

My husband’s voice floated about the room as he dried his hair. Bill was only wearing his pajama bottoms and his chest was bare. Stray droplets of water dripped from head, down his pecs and along his abs. I broke my gaze once he pulled a shirt over his bare skin, disturbing my view.

"They are," I sighed, rubbing lotion between my palms. "I saw Stack near the station, while I was picking up the shipment. Along Mary and Preacher Boy."

A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of her name from my lips. I had tried my best to avoid her at all costs. But, just like Stack, she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. She sent letter after letter to my house. Begging and pleading to have a conversation. Claiming that her guilt was eating her up something fierce and she could barely sleep. 

That was right after Maddie was born. 

She even tried to come over to my house, but Bill stopped her before she could get too close to me. Practically tore her a new one for disturbing my nap after nursing the ever-hungry newborn. 

I knew right then that I wanted to marry him. 

Through the mirror on the vanity, I could see him rise from the bed. His fingers pressed tightly together and a deep frown on his lips. He took small steps toward me, hesitation oozing from his being. Several deep breaths fell from his lips before he met his gaze in the mirror.

"He spoke to you, didn't he?" The look of sadness deepened to one of sorrow. Almost like his soul was aching at the statement.

“He did,” I said, massaging the cream into my neck. “But, your daughter called him ugly and sent him away with a glare.”

The smile turned into a sad smile at the statement. “Fearless little thing. She gets it from you.”

I hummed softly as he reached for the cream and took a dollop from the top. He rubbed it between his palms just like I had moments before. With a firm grip, he kneaded the lotion into my shoulders. My eyes rolled closed as I leaned into his touch and moaned. 

“Baby, I need to ask you something,” Bill said, after a silent moment. “Promise me you won’t be upset.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

I shot from the bench of my vanity and spun around to face him— causing him to stumble back a few steps. “William Chow, explain yourself this minute!”

He raises his hands in surrender and takes another step back. “Baby, you knew this would come up. You always said they would come back home eventually. Part of me thought that meant you wanted to see him again.”

“No,” I snapped back. “That meant that I would have to explain to your daughter why she looks damn near identical to an absolute stranger. Not that I was in love with him!”

“Y/N, we never talk about it,” Bill rebutted, his tone softer than mine. “Not since we first got married. You pretend like the man doesn’t exist and it has left me wondering a few things.”

“Like what?” I interjected. “I will take Maddie and run away with him?”

Bill flinched like I slapped him, but didn’t say a word. 

That was exactly what he thought I’d do.

A lone tear rolled down my cheek as my lip began to quiver. I turned my back to him and placed both palms on the edge of the vanity. A million thoughts swirled in my mind. Images of Stack laying his head on my chest, Mary gloating about how he did the same thing to her, Bill holding my hand during my delivery because Anne was too far away and my baby girl crying for the first time after 12 hours of labor. The vow that I made to her that I would choose a better daddy than her lying, cheating sperm donor. Someone that was kind, patient and full of love; ready to give it away at any moment. 

Someone like William Chow, Bo’s baby brother. A Malaysian immigrant turned baker, damn near identical to his kin with hair past his shoulders. His strawberry and cream donuts were all I ever craved while pregnant. I would gather as much change as I had to snag two at the end of the week, he would alway sneak me an extra one. Bill was the only one to speak to me after it became very obvious I was pregnant. The whole town knew it was Stack’s, since our relationship was hardly private. But, when he left, everyone treated me like spoiled goods. Barely made eye contact and snickered behind my back. Fearing that Stack would shoot them where they stood for looking at me funny.

But, Bill was not scared of any of that. Stack loved his strawberry donuts just as much as I did. Meaning, that Stack would rather cut off his own pinky than cross Bill or the Chow family. 

“After all this time, you still think he has a hold on me?” I whispered as another tear rolled down my cheeks. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Honey, he can give you things I can’t,” Bill countered. 

The silent part hinted loudly: He could give you more children.

That was William’s only fatal flaw, if one could even count it as such. He was impotent. The possibility of having children together was slim to none, which was why he remained single all that time. Some women wanted a family and others needed a kind of pleasure only a certain an could give. But, that didn’t matter to me. Sex wasn’t a deal breaker for me. I had learned that sex didn’t mean love, nor affection. It was a simple pass time that felt good. It didn’t hold emotion, unless you wanted it to. And like an idiot, I held enough emotion for Stack and I both. Yet, it still wasn’t enough to make him stay. 

We had tried all kinds of herbs, old wives tales and remedies, but it hardly ever worked. His member would stiffen, but not long enough to really have fun. Still, I didn’t care. Bill more than made up for it with his mouth and fingers. He would have me screaming all the way to sunrise.

I turned to face him. I could see tears starting to form in his eyes. His tanned skin turned a faint red, as he pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle his whimpers. Bill’s shoulders shook with sadness as his chest rose and fell rapidly. The sheer thought of losing me, of losing Madeline, was tearing him apart at the seams. I had never seen him cry until that moment and it broke my heart.

I took several strides over to him, leaving a foot of space between us. “Can I hold you, baby?”

“Please,” he sobbed, lifting his head.

I took a final step and pressed my body against his. My head resting on his shoulder and my arms hugging his upper back. Bill gripped my waist with a pressure that was almost painful, but it didn’t bother me. I knew he needed me close.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I’d lose you two,” he whimpered into my hair. “I don’t  think I would survive, Y/N. I truly do not.”

“I would’ve been maggot food if it weren’t for your generosity all those years ago,” I said, rubbing his back. “No man was willing to marry an already pregnant woman. Let alone the broken possession of the Moore twins. Only you would talk to me. Not only talk, but smile. God, your smile would be like sunshine on a rainy day. It kept me warm for hours.”

Bill’s whimpering stopped, but his hold was still firm. “You don’t have to lie, Y/N.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Bill. Not once since we’ve met,” I said, drawing circles on his back. “I’m not about to start now. I love you far too much to let a criminal come between us.”

He pulled back gently and faced me. Tears streaming down his face, he looked at me like I was his entire world and it broke my heart. I brought a hand to his face and placed it on his damp cheek. He leaned into the palm and placed a hand atop mine. His eyes fluttered closed as a shaky breath fell from his lips. Bill's entire body relaxed at my unwavering presence. The floodgates were completely lowered as the tears continued to fall from his eyes. But I knew they weren't for sadness or desperation, like before. These were tears of relief and compassion.

“I love you, William Chow,” I said once our eyes finally met. “More than you'll ever know. More than I can put in words.”

“You are my world,” he replied, pressing his forehead to mine. “And Madeline is my sun. I would be dark and lonely without you both.”

A tear spilled from my eye, which he caught with his thumb and swiped away. His lips were on mine before I could blink. Our bodies pressed together so tightly we could crack an egg. He held me in his arms if I would disappear at any given moment. Kissed me like I would be stolen away from him. The action made the tears pour faster. Our hands gripped each other's clothes before the desire to tear them off struck. 

My hands slithered up his pajama top slowly. Fingers brushing his toned abdomen and structured hips. My touch moved from front to back— I dragged my nails against his lower spine. Bill shivered at my touch and moved his kisses from my lips to my neck. A gasp escaped my mouth as his tongue licked a sensitive part of my neck. A moan followed shortly after as teeth found that vein and dragged it across it. A lovely nip earned him another moan. His hand kneaded my soft rear as he sucked the delicate skin of my neck. His hips ground into mine and I felt his member between us. Stiff and ready to use. 

“Tell me how you want me, suga,” he purred in my ear. “My head between your legs.” Bill’s hot tongue ran across my ear. “You sitting that pretty pussy on my face.” He gave it a little nip. “Or, we see if the new herbs are really up for the challenge.” He ground his hips into me once more and I moaned loudly. 

“Yes,” I replied, breathlessly. “All of the above.”

------------------------

a/n: where did all of y'all come from?! i did not expect this but hey! i'm happy you're here! once again, let me know if you wanna be in the taglist. Smut will be in the next chapter.

also, bare with me. i might not be able to post regularly, but i will try my best to post often.

----------------------

Taglist

@lov4gor3 @marley1773 @thegreatlibraryofalex @beverly-991 @depressedandhornyfl @rollingraypurrr @mea-bby @heyyimmisunderstood @harleycativy @childishgambinaax @mskirara @bishhhitsaurion @daughterofapollo-7 @thickianaaaa @capswife @hrlzy @melodyofmbaku @skywalker0809 @asterizee @nooooonooooonooooo @jackierose902109 @wabi-sabi1090 @rolemodelshit @naebae14 @christinabae @thedondada05 @simpingfor-wakasa @lovesickbwnny @brattyfics @saintsir4n @abriefnirvana @tforpresz @sinflowersugar

[bonniethebookbunny]

Stack x black!reader

Reader works as a translator for the Italians in Chicago.

I saw post on here theorizing that Smoke and Stack pretend to be one person in order to fool the I wish and the Italians based off how they dress. I like that idea a lot but not for this little blurb.

The Smokestack twins meet with a member of the Italian organization on a weekly basis during the first couple of years working for them.

The Italians have translators & interpreters in all races because it loosens the person they're dealing with. You were hired by the Italians because you were black and and spoke Italian. You didn't want any trouble but the pay was good and gave you some protection.

When you met the twin for the first time you breath catches. They ooze danger and paired with their looks you're drawn to them. But because of your job you keep your head down and refrain from seeking them out. You don't want any trouble.

After weeks of translating contracts, orders, plans and more for and during these meetings you've noticed a bit more about the twins. Smoke is was level headed and even though he took charge more often he was ... withdrawn. You'd once seen him on your block, watching some kids run around. The grief pouring off of him was intense. You resolved not to touch that with a ten foot pole.

Stack on the other hand was like a root fire. Cool and collected on the outside with sarcasm and snappish comments hinting and the raging fire underneath.

You'd seen him around with of your neighbors late at night or early in the evening. You were slightly tempted but the rare fights you'd barely glimpse but hear all about the next morning gave you pause.

Almost a year after the twins came to your side of Chicago they were steadily amongst some of the Don's more trusted associates. Your were asked to attend a dinner party for the associates and the twins were attending. After a night of sticking to the shadows you notice Stack staring at you from across the room. When your eyes meet your face feels like it's on fure but you can't look away. He drains his drinking before walking towards you and you swallow hard.

Any chance of you slipping under his notice just went up in flames.

[gweelczz]

“Roots and remedies pt. 3”

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x reader (Honey)

Genre: fluff with a hint of angst (if you squint and tilt ya head)

Warnings: None

Summary: this here is part three to my original post, Stack had asked Honey a question and he wants an answer

The world held its breath.

Stack stayed knelt on the scuffed wood floor, his hands tremblin’ just a little now, holdin’ onto Honey’s like a lifeline.

Honey’s eyes brimmed full, glintin’ like sunlight catchin’ the edge of a river.

Her mouth opened — then closed — then opened again, her chest risin’ and fallin’ fast under her apron, like she was battlin’ a storm inside her own ribs.

She reached up slow, one hand trailin’ against his rough jaw, thumb brushin’ soft over the edge of his mouth — like she was makin’ sure he was real.

“You know what you askin’?” she whispered, voice thick, catchin’ in her throat. “You know what it mean to love a woman like me?”

Stack’s jaw set, heavy with conviction.

“I been knowin’,” he rasped. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world or the next gon’ scare me off you, Honey. You hear me?”

Honey’s hand slid down, thumb pressin’ to the steady beat of his pulse at his throat.

“I’m Black. I’m a woman. I pray to spirits folk call wicked. I sell roots and blessings folk call curses,” she said, voice breakin’ around the edges. “You marry me, Stack… you marry all that.”

Stack squeezed her hands tighter, leanin’ into her touch.

“Good,” he said low. “Then I’m marryin’ a queen. Ain’t nothin’ sweeter in this world.”

Honey let out a choked sound — half a sob, half a laugh — and dropped to her knees right there with him, skirt rustlin’ against the floor.

She cupped his face between her hands, tears slidin’ hot and easy down her cheeks.

“Yes,” she breathed, voice tremblin’. “Yes, baby. I’ll marry you.”

Stack exhaled a heavy, shudderin’ breath, like he’d been holdin’ it for years.

He wrapped her up in his arms, liftin’ her clean off the floor, buryin’ his face against her neck, his heart hammerin’ wild against hers.

For a long while, they just stayed there, breathin’ each other in, the kitchen glowin’ soft around ‘em like a halo.

Finally, Honey leaned back, wipin’ at her eyes with the back of her hand, laugh-shakin’ in his arms.

“You gon’ make me ugly cry in my own kitchen, Stack,” she teased, voice still thick with tears.

Stack grinned, that rare, crooked grin he only ever gave her.

“You already the prettiest thing God ever laid hands on,” he murmured, forehead restin’ against hers.

She laughed again, soft and breathless, and then pulled somethin’ from the deep pocket of her apron.

It was a little silk pouch, stitched with red thread and smellin’ of sage and cinnamon — a new mojo bag, tied just for him.

“For protection,” she said, pressin’ it into his hand. “For every step you take from now ‘til we say ‘I do.’”

Stack took it solemn, tuckin’ it under his shirt, right over his heart, lettin’ it rest against his skin.

“I believe you,” he said simply.

No question. No hesitation.

Just a man puttin’ his faith in the woman he loved — and whatever gods walked beside her.

The juke joint was jumpin’ so hard the walls damn near sweated with the rest of ‘em.

Smoke and Stack’s place — Smokestack— was packed from the front porch to the back door, folks laughin’, stompin’, spinnin’ in wild circles across the sawdusted floor.

The hot Delta night rolled in through the open windows, thick with the smell of fried catfish, corn liquor, and sweet honeysuckle.

Up on the stage along the back wall, Sammie was wringin’ his heart out on the guitar gifted to him by Smoke and Stack— singin’ ‘bout his love for the blues and promises made under the moons.

When he hit that last note, holdin’ it out like he was squeezin’ every drop of pain outta his chest, the crowd roared — clappin’, hollerin’, stomp-clappin’ in rhythm.

Sammie tipped his hat, grinnin’ wide, and stepped back.

The band kicked up a rowdy, boot-stompin’ tune, and couples spun out onto the floor, skirts twirlin’, boots thuddin’, whole room alive like a storm catchin’ fire.

Stack leaned against the bar, hat tipped low, Honey tucked right against his side — one hand restin’ possessive on the curve of her hip.

Smoke nursed a drink next to ‘em, with a stoic expression, Annie tucked under his arm, as she whispered in his ear.

Stack felt the weight of the moment in his chest — all that buildin’, all that waitin’ — and when Honey turned up to look at him, eyes shinin’ in the dim light, he knew it was time.

He lifted two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle that cut through the music clean as a knife.

The band stumbled to a halt.

Heads turned, folks quietin’, lookin’ toward the bar.

Stack pushed off the counter, Honey still at his side, and stepped into the open space in the middle of the floor.

The light swung overhead, throwin’ long shadows on the wood.

Sammie clapped him on the back with a wink and a grin, then leaned in and said low so only Stack could hear,

“Go on, cousin. Tell ‘em.”

Stack adjusted his vest, thumb hooked lazy in his pocket, and cleared his throat once.

“Evenin’,” he drawled slow, voice cuttin’ clean through the chatter. “Ain’t gon’ keep y’all from dancin’ too long.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.

Stack took Honey’s hand in his, liftin’ it up where everybody could see the shine of the ring he’d slid on her finger two nights ago.

Honey bit her lip, cheeks glowin’ warm, but she didn’t pull away.

Stack’s voice dropped lower, firmer, carryin’ like a Sunday morning sermon.

“This woman right here — this is mine. Ain’t no ifs, no maybes, no halfway about it.”

A murmur rolled through the room — some women fannin’ themselves, some men noddin’, a few folks clappin’ already.

Stack grinned, slow and proud, the kind of grin that made men step aside and women lean closer.

“And in two weeks’ time,” he said, “we gon’ be man and wife.”

The place exploded — cheers, whistles, glasses lifted high.

Annie whooped loud enough to shake the rafters, grabbin’ Smoke’s arm and bouncin’ on her toes.

Sammie jumped back up on the stage, strummin’ a raucous chord, and hollered,

“Y’all heard the man! Let’s dance for love tonight!”

The band launched into a wild, thumpin’ tune, and just like that, the floor was alive again — but now folks dancin’ with even more fire, celebratin’ like they was kinfolk at a family feast.

Stack pulled Honey in close, hand splayed strong and sure against the small of her back.

“You sure you ready to marry a roughneck like me?” he teased low in her ear, voice all heat and honey.

Honey laughed, pressin’ closer so he could feel the warm curve of her body against him.

“I was born ready,” she whispered back.

They spun slow in the middle of the chaos, the world fallin’ away until it was just the two of ’em — a man, a woman, and a love tough enough to burn through hell itself.

Previous Chapter

[writerofautumnnights]

A Dance with the Devil

*No spoilers. It takes place before the brothers return to Mississippi

pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black!OC

sumary: Lena Pearl, a waitress in Al Capone's world, confronts Elias "Stack" Moore, a man caught in the same violent life she tries to escape. As tensions rise, they both face the uncomfortable truth about their shared darkness. Their connection is undeniable, but will it be their salvation—or their undoing?

warmings: angust, mention of death, internal conflicts, survival and violence. English is not my first language.

word count: 4,7K

-

The Green Mill - Chicago, 1929

The cutting Chicago wind was no match for the heat emanating from the basement beneath the old barbershop. Lena Pearl adjusted her string of fake pearls as she descended the wooden stairs that creaked under her careful steps. Her emerald-green dress – simple enough not to draw attention on the streets, yet elegant enough for the job – reflected the yellowish glow of the strategically placed lamps around the lounge.

"The princess has arrived," murmured Big Joe, the security guard stationed at the inner door. He was one of the few men Lena allowed to speak to her that way.

"Mr. Capone asked for you three times today."

Lena just nodded, without revealing the weight those words carried. Working for Al Capone was like dancing constantly on the edge of a cliff – dangerous, but impossible to walk away from. There was a strange vertigo in that routine, as if she lived suspended between the urge to disappear and the need to keep being seen.

The Green Mill was buzzing despite it being only Tuesday.

The economic crisis that ravaged the country seemed only to intensify people’s thirst. The saxophone wept on the small improvised stage while white men in expensive suits mingled with South Side workers – all equal in their pursuit of the oblivion only forbidden alcohol could provide. It was ironic – the deeper the country sank, the more vibrant that basement became as a refuge for broken lives.

"Bourbon for table three and a double whiskey for the man with the hat in the corner," said Gina, another waitress, hurrying by. "Oh, and watch out for that new guy. Stack, I think. He’s been watching you since you walked in."

Lena discreetly lifted her gaze toward the indicated direction. In the shadows, partially hidden by the haze of cigarette smoke, a Black man in a dark gray suit stared at her without disguising it. There was something in his eyes – not the usual lust or curiosity Lena was used to ignoring. It was as if he recognized her from somewhere impossible, from a life she had never lived.

She looked back. For the first time in a long while, Lena allowed herself to hold someone’s gaze. There was a restlessness sneaking under her skin – recognition, maybe? Or just loneliness? Elias “Stack” Moore wasn’t just a new man at the bar. He was a living question mark, a reminder that she could still be moved by something other than fear or cynicism.

As she served the tables, she felt the weight of that gaze on her back.

For the first time in ages, Lena felt the loneliness she carried like a second skin. Among so many, she was always alone – it was what kept her safe, what kept her alive in a world where women like her served only temporary, limited purposes. And now, there was a man who seemed to see beyond the role she performed every night.

"Miss Pearl." The deep, controlled voice surprised her as she turned from a freshly attended table. Elias was there, too close, too real. "Allow me to introduce myself, Stack."

"I know who you are," she replied, offering neither a hand nor a welcome. "And I’m working, Jack."

"Stack," he corrected, with a restrained smile. "Just wanted to say Mr. Capone speaks very highly of you. Says you’re the only honest person in the entire place."

Lena couldn’t suppress a half-laugh. “Mr. Capone has an interesting concept of honesty.”

“Maybe,” Stack stepped aside, allowing her to pass – a rare gesture of respect in that place. “But I’ve learned to trust his judgment when it comes to people.”

Before Lena could reply, the back door burst open violently. Two men in overcoats entered, followed by a blast of cold wind. One of them – short, round-faced, and wearing a dangerous smile – was unmistakable. Al Capone removed his hat, revealing his scarred face, and his eyes immediately found Lena.

“Pearl!” he called out, ignoring the bows and greetings around him. “Bring me my whiskey. The special one.”

Stack watched the subtle transformation in Lena, how her shoulders adjusted, how her expression closed off even more, how she became both more present and more absent at once. To him, it was like watching a butterfly retreat into its cocoon at the first sign of threat.

As she walked away, Stack felt a strange pang. Who was that woman, really? Why did she seem so profoundly alone, even in a crowded room? And why was he, a man used to staring death in the eyes – so unsettled by a simple waitress?

“Always on time, Mr. Capone,” she replied with rehearsed formality, already heading to the bar to fetch the bottle kept especially for the boss.

Elias watched her go, realizing in that instant what Big Joe had hinted at earlier. There was something about Lena Pearl that set her apart, not just her undeniable beauty or the dignified posture she maintained in a world that constantly tried to shrink her. It was something deeper, a quiet resistance that seemed to say:

“I’m here, but I don’t belong to this place. I never will.”

Lena returned with the special bottle of Scotch whisky – smuggled in recently from Canada, on a shipment that had cost three men their lives the week before, though no one spoke of it. She carried it on a silver tray, along with a single crystal glass. At Capone’s table, the men fell silent as she approached.

“Here it is, sir,” she said, placing the tray on the table and pouring the first drink with the precision of someone who knew exactly how much pleased him.

“Thank you, Pearl.” Capone looked up, his eyes lingering on her face for just a little too long. “I missed you last night.”

In the background, the piano began a melancholic melody, blues notes weaving through muffled conversations and thick smoke. The saxophonist – a middle-aged Black man with eyes that looked like they’d seen hell – joined in with a wail that made the hairs on the back of Lena’s neck stand on end.

“I wasn’t feeling well, sir. My apologies.”

Capone nodded slowly, not believing her, but willing to accept the lie – for now. He looked at her like a man who believes he owns everything he sees. And Stack saw it. He also saw the pride in Lena as she masked her contempt behind flawless professionalism. That was resistance in its purest form. And beauty. And pain.

Capone’s gaze drifted past her shoulder, noticing Stack watching the scene quietly.

“Stack!” Capone called, his voice shifting suddenly to a louder, more expansive tone. “Come meet the Green Mill’s crown jewel.”

Elias hesitated for just a second before approaching the table – but that brief pause seemed to stretch, as if he were deciding whether to dive or retreat from the edge of a cliff. His eyes met Lena’s, and in that brief exchange, there wasn’t just tension – there was memory. Not real, but instinctive. As if they recognized in each other something long forgotten, a shared pain disguised as strength.

“Mr. Capone,” Stack greeted with a nod. “We’ve already met.”

Capone raised his eyebrows, a smile with more teeth than joy. It was the kind of smile that served as a warning.

“Have you?” he asked. “My Pearl’s charmed you too? She has that effect on men.” He laughed, but the sound held no warmth – it was just noise, like ice cracking. “But she’s different. Not like the other girls around here.”

Lena remained still, like a painting of herself. Her face was neutral, expressionless, but her clenched jaw betrayed the tension underneath. Stack noticed and understood. Capone’s words, though wrapped in charm, were fences. A territorial warning.

“I can see that,” Stack replied, his voice even, but not his eyes. His eyes said something else. They said he truly saw Lena. “Some people carry their own light. Even in the dark.”

The saxophone, almost as if conspiring with the moment, let out a sharp note – nearly a wail. The music captured what words couldn’t: That something there was on the verge of breaking.

Capone took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes following Stack with measured interest. “Stack did us a big favor last night,” he said, his tone taking on a more performative flair.

“That issue with the Irish on the North Side? Taken care of.”

Lena’s stomach tightened at the violence in the memory. That morning’s newspaper headline returned like a punch:

Two bodies floating in the river,

Enough bullets to erase names, stories, families.

Now reduced to mere statistics – and silence.

“Stack has a steady hand,” Capone continued, his pride laced with provocation. “Not like those amateurs who make a lot of noise and do little else.”

Elias kept his expression unreadable, but his eyes sought Lena’s – for just a second too long. And she saw it. There was something there – a tremor, perhaps regret, or the shadow of doubt. Not something that could be said out loud. But it was there.

“I just did what needed to be done,” Stack replied. There was weight in his words and emptiness too. Like a man used to digging holes inside himself.

Capone laughed loudly, slapping the table with delight. “Modest! I like that in a man. Makes doing business easier.”

Then he turned to Lena with that look – the one that always reminded her of her place.

“Pearl, bring us another bottle. I want to properly celebrate Mr. Moore’s success.”

"Yes, sir," she repeated. But her thoughts remained tangled in the truth she couldn’t ignore.

Stack was like the others. A killer. A man who took lives for money, for loyalty to Capone, or for any excuse that helped him sleep through the night. And still… he had looked at her as if she were whole – as if both of them might find some kind of salvation in each other’s eyes. That hurt more than any lie. Because Lena didn’t want to feel that. She couldn’t afford to.

The music seemed to change, as if the room itself could hear her thoughts. It grew heavier, more oppressive.The bass throbbed like a broken heart, while the saxophone cried notes that clawed through the air, sharp with regret.

“Pearl?” Capone’s voice pulled her back. “The bottle?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

Lena turned toward the storeroom where the special bottles were kept, suddenly suffocated by the heat and smoke in the room. She needed air, space to think. To process the disappointment she wasn’t supposed to feel – Because what had she expected? That in this nest of vipers, one man might be different?

“Stack, go with her,” Capone ordered, voice casual, but his eyes calculating. “Show her which bottles we brought back from the Jefferson Park stash.”

Stack nodded and followed Lena, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the crowded room. The singer had taken the stage now, her husky voice rising above the instruments, singing a blues made famous by Ma Rainey:

“Trust no man, no further than your eyes can see… Trust no man, no further than your eyes can see… For a man’s got a heart full of jealousy...”

The lyrics hit like a warning, a painful truth that echoed in Lena’s ears as she walked, hyper-aware of Stack’s footsteps behind her. Every syllable a sting. Every note a reminder.

When they finally reached the hallway that led to the storeroom – away from Capone’s watchful eyes and his men – Lena stopped abruptly and turned to face Stack. There was fire in her eyes. But it wasn’t just anger. It was fear too. Of him. Of herself. Of all of it.

“The Irish,” she said, her voice low but laced with something trembling between disgust and necessity. “Was it you?”

Stack glanced around, making sure they were alone before answering. His eyes returned to her with the same intensity as before but now, there was a thread of exhaustion in them.

“Is that what matters to you?” he asked, his voice lower than usual. “Or is it just something to help you keep your distance?”

“Don’t answer a question with another question,” Lena snapped, anger rising in her like a rising tide. “Two families lost their sons yesterday. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Stack stepped closer – still composed, but his eyes betrayed a storm beneath. “Those men tried to kill three of ours last week. They were planning to raid this place tomorrow night.”

“Ours?” Lena let out a bitter laugh, but it came out like a blade. “So you're one of them now.”

“I don’t consider myself anything but what I am,” Stack replied, voice quieter now, as if speaking from the bottom of a well.“A man trying to survive in a city that only gives people like us certain paths.”

The music from the club reached them like a whisper, the blues seeping through the walls like the heartbeat of a wounded creature. It echoed everything they weren’t ready to say.

“And what path is that?” Lena asked, barely breathing.

“Killing for money? Doing the dirty work for men like Capone?”

“And what’s your path, Lena?” Stack shot back, eyes burning. “Pouring drinks for men who look at you like you’re for sale? Smiling while dying a little more inside every night? Pretending you don’t see the bodies being dragged out the back?”

Lena blinked, as if his words were wind throwing dust into open wounds. He was right and that hurt more than any lie.

"At least I don’t pull the trigger," she said, steady on the outside, but wavering within. Because she knew – even without blood on her hands, she was still part of that theater of horror.

"No," Stack murmured, his tone now more sorrowful than accusatory. "You just serve the drink that celebrates after the trigger’s been pulled."

The silence that settled between them was thicker than the stifling air of the corridor. It wasn’t just silence – it was the weight of everything they felt, and everything they wanted to deny.

The music outside seemed to swell, as if the saxophone understood the gravity of that moment. A melodic lament, like a warning that what was being said couldn’t be taken back.

"We need to get that bottle," Lena said finally, her voice slipping back into a practical tone. "Capone’s waiting."

"Capone’s always waiting," Stack muttered, more to himself than to her. "The question is: how long are we going to keep doing what he expects?"

Lena didn’t respond. The question echoed inside her like a prophecy. Then she turned and continued down the hall toward the storage room, her footsteps blending with the muffled rhythm of the blues that followed them like a ghost through the dimly lit corridor.

When they reached the door, Stack reached out and gently took her arm. It wasn’t force – it was an anchor.

"Lena," he said, a vulnerability trembling beneath the surface of his voice, "we’re not as different as you want to believe."

She looked at his hand on her arm, then up at his face. And what she saw there – honesty, doubt, fear – scared her more than any threat ever could. Because it was real. Because she was on the verge of believing it, too.

"That’s what scares me," she whispered, almost regretfully. And then she opened the door.

Stack followed her inside. He closed the door slowly, like someone closing a confessional. The sound of music became even more muffled.

The pantry was a narrow cubicle, barely larger than a closet. Shelves of worm-eaten wood supported rows of carefully organized bottles–some with legitimate labels, others with homemade seals, all containing the forbidden elixir that kept Chicago running like a drunken clock. The only light came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently, casting dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls.

Stack adjusted the red handkerchief in the breast pocket of his pinstripe suit–a touch of color in a man who seemed made of shadows and restraint. His presence there, in the tight space, was like an eclipse; he occupied no more physical space than necessary, but his aura filled the environment. He was the type of man who had learned to make the minimum seem impossible to ignore.

“Third shelf, second row,” he murmured, approaching Lena from behind. It was strange how he seemed to know the place better than she did, each word measured like expensive whiskey–warm, direct, impossible to forget. “The whiskey came from a shipment we received yesterday. Legitimate Scotch. A man died for it.”

“Just one?” Lena asked bitterly, stretching to reach the bottle. The movement drew attention to the scar on her right wrist, a thin, whitish line that extended across her exposed skin. Her sleeveless dress left her arms completely bare, revealing not only the scar but also the delicate strength of her shoulders.

Stack noticed, but didn’t comment. In his world, every scar had a story someone preferred to forget. He knew that kind of silence well.

“I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he said, his voice low like a confessional. “And so do you, right? That’s why you asked about the Irish.”

Lena reached for the bottle, her slender fingers closing around the amber glass. The liquid inside shimmered under the precarious light like melted gold. Gold with the taste of blood.

“I just want to know what kind of man I’m trapped in a pantry with,” she replied, without turning. “Self-preservation.”

Stack almost smiled. There was something in her calculated coldness that fascinated him–perhaps because it sounded exactly like the lies he told himself every morning when he woke up.

“You asked me if I pulled the trigger,” he said, advancing a step. The space was so tight that the heat from his body reached her back. “You want to know if I’m a killer or a man with principles?”

“Is there a difference in this place?” She finally turned, the bottle between them like a fragile barrier.

The proximity was dangerous. There, in the yellowish light, Lena could see the golden grillz that adorned his teeth, gleaming discreetly when he spoke, the way a vein pulsed almost imperceptibly at his temple, the texture of skin marked by years under the merciless sun. Too many human details for a man who should be just another customer, just another danger to avoid.

“In 1917, I enlisted in the 369th Infantry Regiment,” Stack said, his voice suddenly distant, as if he were reciting facts about someone else. “Harlem’s ‘Hellfighters,’ that’s what they called us. I spent 191 days on the front, without rest, without replacement. More than any other American unit.”

Lena wasn’t expecting a confession. Not there, not now. The entire Green Mill was waiting for them to return with a bottle of whiskey, not with war secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with uncomfortable intensity. “I wasn’t a violent man before the war. Afterward… afterward, violence began to make sense. Something about surviving changes the way you see the world.”

The smell of old wood mixed with the subtle aroma of whiskey filled the air between them. Outside, muffled by the thick walls, the piano melody continued, an ironic soundtrack for that confession no one had asked for.

“The Irish were armed,” he continued, something trembling beneath the surface of his words. “They were going to kill everyone at the Miller’s Club on 35th Street. There were women there. Children in the back. Employees’ children.”

Lena felt a shiver run down her spine. Stack wasn’t justifying himself. He was sharing a burden with someone he sensed might understand. The burden of impossible choices.

“I’m no better than you, Lena. I’m no worse. We’re just two survivors caught in Capone’s web, trying not to be devoured.”

The light flickered for a moment, as if the building’s electricity felt the weight of that conversation. In the brief moment of dimness, both their faces seemed more vulnerable, stripped of the masks they wore in the hall.

“Your eyes recognized me when I entered that room,” Stack murmured, his voice now almost a caress. “Why?”

The question caught her off guard. It was true–something about him had awakened an instinctive recognition, like an echo from another life. Was it the way he carried his own pain without ostentation? Or perhaps it was just the loneliness she recognized, so similar to her own?

“I know your type,” Lena replied, trying to rebuild the wall he was, without realizing, tearing down. “Men who think they can save the world, or at least themselves, by working for the devil.”

Stack’s lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile–that rare smile Gina had mentioned, like the sun breaking through at the end of a cloudy day. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to completely transform his austere face, revealing the man behind the legend that Chicago was already building around him.

“And you?” he asked, leaning slightly. The space between them diminished with each breath. The perfectly adjusted tie at his neck seemed a contradiction to the controlled intensity in his eyes. “What do you think you’re saving by working here?”

She could feel the warmth of his breath–whiskey and cigarettes, but also something cleaner, like mint. A man who arrived without making noise, who made entire rooms fall silent by instinct, but who cared about insignificant details like his own breath, even in a world of chaos. This disturbed her more than any threat.

“I’m saving the only thing I have left,” she answered with a honesty that surprised her. “The illusion that I still have a choice.”

Stack raised his hand, hesitant. For an instant, Lena thought he would touch her face – a gesture she wouldn’t know how to receive. But he only adjusted a lock of hair that had escaped her careful hairdo, his finger lightly brushing the skin of her temple.

“We all have choices, Lena,” he said, his deep voice carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. “They’re just not the choices we’d like to have.”

The distant sound of breaking glass in the hall brought them back to reality. The world outside continued its course, indifferent to the secrets exchanged in the small pantry.

“Capone is waiting,” said Lena, resuming her professional posture like someone putting on armor.

Stack nodded, taking a step back. The space between them expanded again, but something had changed in the air. An invisible bridge had been built–fragile, perhaps temporary, but undeniably real.

“You know what the hardest part of the war was?” he asked, as she turned to leave. “It wasn’t the combat, the bodies, not even the constant fear. It was coming home and discovering there was no more home. That the place we return to is never the same as the one we left.”

Lena stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Her back was to him, but Stack could see the tension in her shoulders, the rigidity that betrayed that his words had reached some deep place.

“You know that feeling, don’t you?” he insisted. “Of belonging to a place that no longer exists.”

Lena closed her eyes for a brief moment. Images of a simple house in New Orleans, the smell of jambalaya on the stove, laughter of children playing in the yard. A world that had collapsed so long ago that sometimes it seemed to have been only a particularly vivid dream.

“We’re taking too long,” she said, her firm voice contradicting the tremor in her hands. “And that’s dangerous for both of us.”

When she turned, bottle in hand, her eyes avoided his. Stack understood the retreat. He knew that dance too well–the cautious approach, the mutual recognition, and then the strategic withdrawal. It was the only way to survive when you carried more scars inside than out.

“What do you think Capone is really celebrating with this whiskey?” he asked, deliberately changing the tone of the conversation, offering her the exit she silently requested.

“Something none of us wants to know,” replied Lena, grateful for the change. “Ignorance is sometimes the only protection we have.”

Stack held the door for her – an anachronistic gesture of chivalry that seemed almost comical in that setting of criminality and survival. But Lena noticed how he positioned himself strategically, so that he would be the first to enter the dark corridor. Protection, not courtesy. The difference mattered.

As they walked back through the corridor, the sound of jazz grew progressively, like a tide rising to engulf them. The smell of sweat and cheap perfume mixed with tobacco announced their return to the real world– a world of masks and well-rehearsed roles.

“I know you don’t trust me,” murmured Stack, leaning slightly so that only she could hear. “And you’re right. But if you ever need help…”

“I won’t,” Lena cut in, but without the coldness from before. There was something almost like gratitude in her tone.

When they were about to emerge back into the hall, Stack stopped abruptly. Lena almost collided with his broad back.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.

“I saw something in the back of the storage room,” he replied, his voice suddenly tense. “Boxes that shouldn’t be there. With military markings.”

Lena felt a chill. Weapons. They could only be weapons. Capone was planning something bigger than the usual territorial disputes.

“Forget what you saw,” she whispered urgently. “For your own good.”

Stack stared at her, the dim light of the corridor creating shadows on his angular face. “Is that what you do? Forget what you see?”

The question hit Lena like a slap. For a moment, the air between them seemed too heavy to breathe.

“I survive,” she finally responded. “It’s what we all do.”

The music in the hall changed to something more lively, as if mocking the tension between them. A loud, fake laugh from Capone crossed the stuffy air, a timely reminder of what awaited them.

Stack held her arm gently, his warm fingers against her cold skin. “There’s a difference between surviving and living, Lena. At some point, we’ll have to choose.”

Before she could respond, he released her and went ahead, emerging into the golden light of the hall like a man without weight on his shoulders, his face already wearing the mask of efficiency that Capone appreciated.

Lena breathed deeply and followed him, the bottle of whiskey in her hands weighing like lead. As she approached Capone’s table, where Stack had already resumed his place, she realized something disturbing–for the first time in years, she felt fear. Not the familiar fear of Capone, of violence or poverty.

It was the fear of possibilities. The fear that perhaps, just perhaps, there were more paths than she had allowed herself to see.

When she placed the bottle before Capone, her eyes briefly crossed with Stack’s. In that silent look, there was an unspoken promise–or perhaps a warning. His eyes, which normally seemed always distant, trapped in a past he never talked about, were now firmly anchored in the present. In Lena. In possibilities too dangerous to name.

“Stack!” Capone’s voice cut through the air. “Where’s your brother tonight? We need the best for tomorrow’s job.”

“Smoke is taking care of that business in the South Side,” Stack replied, his voice returning to its usual formality. “He’ll be here early tomorrow.”

Lena noticed how Stack transformed near Capone–every movement calculated, every expression a perfect mask. It was as if he stacked layers of protection between his true self and the world. Stack. The man who always had something stacked: money, marked cards, too many secrets.

The future was as uncertain as Chicago on a foggy night. But one thing was certain: that meeting in the pantry had planted a seed of doubt that, like the weeds in the city’s abandoned lots, would be difficult to eradicate.

And as Capone raised his glass in a toast, celebrating some bloody victory, Lena knew that something had changed inside her–something silent, dangerous, and irreversible like the tick-tock of a time bomb hidden in the city’s basements.

Nobody knew for sure where Stack had come from, only that he appeared in Chicago–along with his brother–on a night of heavy rain, with a worn suitcase and a look that said he had left more than memories behind. Now, Lena wondered what else he hid behind that gaze which, for a brief moment in the pantry, had lowered its guard only for her.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

-

Heyyyyyyyy,

There's no tag list, I just had to launch something that was burning in my mind as soon as I left the cinema. Feel free to show your love. Until next time 🥹❤️

~

[starliis]

milk & honey— sinners.

 pairing

elias "stack" moore & elijah "smoke" moore x black! reader.

 synopsis

one knew better than to look twice at the smoke-stack twins. but ain’t nobody ever said that once they set their eyes on you, it would already be too late. between their rough hands and honeyed lies, you learned real quick— it ain’t no sin if you ain’t plannin’ to repent. you belonged to them now. and they weren’t the kind to truly ever let go.

 warnings

some sexual content, in other words the implication of sex, childhood lovers, mentions of alcohol, moments of envy; jealousy, some angst + pining, romance, infatuation. african american reader; black representation. takes place in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written in a southern tone.

•  part two of milk & honey.

Trouble don't always come loud and stompin'.

Sometimes it just smiles— real slow, tips its hat, and waits. That's how it felt the first time you ever laid eyes on 'em.

The twins—

Smoke and Stack.

Standin' there in the swelterin' heat like bad omens dressed in bruises and Sunday shoes. Grinnin' from ear to ear, like they knew all your secrets—and were fixin' to ruin you for 'em. Whenever you looked at 'em, it was like starin' straight into the faces of killers— past lovers, present heartbreak, and future mistakes; all bottled into two walkin’ contradictions, with fists that still bleed from the night before.

And yet, even standin’ side by side—one made of fire, the other of ice—they’re bound by a brilliance that’s all their own. A beauty so sharp, it hurt to look at for too long. ‘Cause, as your momma once said, a sin can't be undone, only forgiven. And for some reason, they were much more than just that. They were a glance held a little too long, a touch that lingered, and sometimes even a thought that should've been buried, but got watered instead. By the time you’d realize what's been done, it was already bloomin' wild inside you.

Too far gone to pull up by the root.

Until they left, that is.

Leavin’ without so much as a warning or a goodbye. Leavin’ after memorizin’ your body the way they always did—strong hands, gentle kisses, intimate but passionate love makin’—all for you. And for a moment, you thought only for you. But that? That was the greatest lie. Years had come and gone, and you ain’t received so much as a letter. Not even a word that they was still breathin’. At some point, you grieved ’em like they was dead—ghosts from a past you still, ’til this very day, fought to forget.

‘Cause even the rootworkers say, ghosts only come ’round when you call ’em. But you reckon that’s a lie too. This time, they came lookin’ for you first.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

Southern Mississippi had few, to none, hidden juke joints for just colored folk— there had only been 'bout one that made good profit; a sin-soaked buildin' where all the hard-workin' men spent the last of their well-earned dollars on drinks, while women sang to the blues all night long. That’s where you danced for a livin', outside of bein' a sharecropper. It was a side gig— non’ special. Just a lil’ somethin’ to put a few extra coins in your purse, keepin’ you afloat for whenever you fell behind on your quota.

Though this ain't the life you truly dreamt of, it was the closest you ever got to it.

For just a few hours every night, you'd listen to Delta Slim perform the blues—his tunes pourin' out slow, like molasses, a river of achin' guitars and wailin' brass, where every note dragged its feet through the dust of lost dreams. It was a sound born of broken backs and stubborn hope, of hearts too heavy to fly, yet too proud to bow. Each chord cracked open the air, lettin' sorrow breathe, lettin' joy slip through its fingers like a prayer whispered into the twilight.

And from there, you danced— with fire in your hips and storms in your eyes, movin' through the thick, breathin' heat. The only silk dress you owned clinging to you like a second skin, damp with sweat and sweet with the smell of tobacco, gin, and longin'. The floorboards shivered under the stomp of your heeled feet, the hem of your skirt twirlin' like smoke from a dyin' cigarette. You danced like the world had wronged you— and you forgave it, one sway, one roll, one wild, laughin' spin at a time. The music wrapped itself 'round you like a lover's arm, pullin' you deeper into the pulse of somethin' too old, too sacred, to name.

When the night ended, you were coverin' yourself in a shawl and walkin' out the front doors with a smile on your face—pleased with the earnings, and filled with a sense of somethin' close to enlightenment.

As all you ever wanted to do was dance.

"Do make sho' to bring your fine ass back here next week, Miss [Name],” hollered a drunk regular from the doorway, tippin' his hat and raisin' a metal goblet high.

"You's foolish," you laughed, wavin' him off. "I'll see y'all."

Walkin' down the dirt pathway, you ain't pay no mind to the low rumblin' of an engine, figurin' it belonged to some motor car. It rang out soft and lazy into the night.

That's when you saw 'em.

Two big, strong men. Leaned up against a big black Packard like they owned the night itself. Cigarettes burnin' slow between their fingers, suits pressed finer than any preacher's Sunday best. You knew who they was. But standin' there starin' at 'em felt like lookin' dead into the eyes of ghosts—skeletons dug up from a past you done already tried to bury. And truth be told, if they was gon' stay gone that long, they shoulda stayed buried.

"Miss [Name]," Smoke greets—deep voice, slow like syrup, always the calm, collected one. "It's a bit late for you to be walkin' home. Why don'tcha hop in the car, let us give ya' a ride?"

Smoke was dressed in deep blue—a color so rich, it looked like the midnight sky had been stitched right into his suit. He stood with his shoulders squared, eyes half-lidded, draggin' on his cigarette like he had all the time in the world, his whole body hummin' with a stillness that made your skin itch somethin' fierce.

"I'm good," you said, curt. "Thanks."

"Now that wasn't no suggestion, swee’heart."

Beside him, Stack stood in a suit bold as sin—deep red, reckless, alive. His coat flashed under the moonlight as he tipped his hat to you, grinnin' like he could split the Mississippi clean in two. Stack was all flash and fire; even standin' still, he was movin', talkin' with his hands, his shoulders, that damn devil's smile.

"It still don't change the fact I said no—," you shot back, cold.

Stack pushed off the car, swaggerin' toward you like a man ain't never been told no and sure as hell wasn't gonna start tonight. "Mind who you talkin' to—," he said, voice low but sharp. "We came all the way out here for ya'. Show some damn respect."

"Respect?" you scoffed, feelin' the old anger rise up in your chest like a bad storm. "Tell that bullshit to all them letters y'all never answered."

Smoke didn't say a word—just watched you from under the heavy brim of his hat, cigarette smoke curlin' up slow between you like a bug he ain't in no hurry to chase off.

"C'mon baby," Stack drawled, flickin' the stub of his cigarette into the dirt. "Let that shit go. Ain't no use holdin' on to it."

Tightening the shawl 'round your shoulders, your jaw was set hard as stone. With a sharp nod, you turned your back on both of 'em and started walkin'. "I did—," you said over your shoulder, voice calm, cold, and sure. "And I buried it right next to y'all."

Smoke, always so calculated and quick on his feet, found his way in front of you, "Stop playin' wit' me, Silk. You ain't walkin' home in the dark by yourself."

He sure did love callin’ you by that damned nickname—it stuck with ya’ ever since you was just a lil’ thing. Reckon it’s ‘cause he always went soft when you wore one’a them silk dresses.

"Why? You scared somethin' gone happen to me?"

He ain't say nothin'. Just stood there, them eyes of his shinin' in the dark. Reminded you of the way he always looked when some other fella stared at you too long. Always been so damn protective, like it was his God-given duty to keep you safe. But him standin' there quiet, not sayin' a word, not showin' no feelin' — that's what made you start thinkin' maybe he ain't care near as much as he used to.

"Thought so. Least out there, if somethin' did happen, it'll save y'all a funeral to go to."

"Aight, 'nough of that sad-ass shit you talkin' 'bout. Let somethin' happen to ya', let a nigga touch ya', and they gone get buried in that cotton field out back," Stack spoke, voice low and serious. "That's the way it always been. So go sit ya' pretty ass in that damn car and don't make me say the shit twice."

"Then we can talk 'bout what you really mad 'bout," Smoke added, watchin' you with them heavy-lidded eyes. He knew what you needed; hell, he always did.

Exhaling loud enough to shake the trees, you stomped to the car. It was somethin' real pretty, like nothin' you'd seen 'fore. Brand spankin' new, all dressed up with them fancy interiors. Made you wonder what kinda deal they had to cut to get their hands on a babe like this. Then again, you ain't have to wonder too hard. Folks 'round here knew better than to ask questions. Smoke gave you a hand up and you slid into the back seat. He took the driver's spot, leanin' back like he owned the night. Instead of sittin' shotgun, Stack brought his black ass to the back too, ploppin' down beside you. He got close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne—dark, smoky, expensive.

"Y'all takin' me straight home?" You asked, eyein' both of 'em suspiciously. These some pre-meditatin’ ass liars, sho’ ‘nough. You knew that for damn sure. Both of ‘em could talk a woman clean outta her drawls, make a brotha do they dirty work too—and all of it’d be for the sake of business. No strings attached.

"Yeah. 'Course we is," Stack smirked. But it didn't sound too convincin'. He kept inchin' closer, like you was somethin' sweet he couldn't resist.

“Then why yo’ black ass keep scootin’ so damn close to me? M’not gone disappear,” you snapped, cuttin’ your pretty eyes up and down him, full of fire. You was gettin’ real tired of him crowdin’ you, his whole presence gettin’ under your skin somethin’ awful.

"You might."

There was a bite in his words that only stoked the fire burnin’ in your chest. Hard to stay calm when they struttin’ ‘round like they ain’t done nothin’ wrong, like you wasn’t left behind to pick up all the pieces. You clenched your jaw, words spillin’ out low under your breath. “It ain’t me you oughta be worried ’bout—,” you muttered, barely louder than the hum of the tires on the dirt road.

Stack caught it, though. He let out a low chuckle, deep and dry like gravel, “Nah, baby. You grown. Speak up.”

Snappin’ your head toward him, your eyes flashed, “I said it ain’t me you oughta be worried ‘bout.”

Smoke’s hand tightened ‘round the wheel. He cut his eyes at you through the rearview, a slow, sharp glance that made the tension crackle.

“What the hell that ‘posed to mean?” He asked, voice low and dangerous.

Leanin’ back in the seat, you fold your arms tight across your chest, heart hammerin’. “Means I’m sittin’ here starin’ at two strangers. I don’t even know who ya’ll are no more.”

The car got real quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than any yellin’ ever could.

“[Name], you knew we was headin’ off to the war,” Smoke finally said, like that explained every damn thing.

“Yeah, I knew—,” you snapped back, voice tremblin’ with all the hurt you tried to swallow. “But I ain’t know leavin’ meant disappearin’. I ain’t know I was never gone hear from y’all again.”

"We had business to handle," Smoke said.

"Right. M’bad, Elijah— you was always 'bout yo' business. No matter who it hurt in the process—," you scoffed, your words hittin' hard enough to bruise all three of you.

"What you want us to say, baby? We sorry?" Stack asked, voice dry.

“Not if you don’t mean the shit,” you muttered, a bitter little laugh scratchin’ its way up your throat. Wasn’t nothin’ funny ‘bout it, but hell—sometimes you had to laugh just to keep from breakin’. Bein’ here with them, after all this time, hurt you in ways you couldn’t even name no more. Pain boiled up inside you, hot and heavy, like thick molasses turned sour; all them nights you laid awake, cryin’ into your pillow, feelin’ like a damn fool for lovin’ two devils who knew how to kiss like angels and lie like snakes.

Even a strong woman like you—hard-headed, proud, tougher than leather—got cracks in her armor. Always did. Tears pricked at your eyes before you could blink ’em back, and you scooted over, puttin’ as much distance between you and them as the seat would allow.

Stack let out a low chuckle, dry as a corn husk. “Careful, girl. Any further and you gon’ roll right out the damn car.”

“Don’t act like you care now,” you snapped, voice low and sharp, cuttin’ through the thick silence that settled. You stared out the window, jaw tight. “Just—,” you breathe. “Just get me the hell home. Please.”

Smoke sighed, shiftin’ in his seat like the weight of what you said sat heavy on his chest. “You mad—,” he started, his voice rough but steady. “We get it, Silk. But what you ain’t gon’ do is sit here and act like we ain’t give a damn ’bout you. ’Cause we did. Still do.”

"I hear you.”

“But you don’t believe me,” Smoke said, his voice low, almost tired.

“Sho’ don’t,” you shot back without missin’ a lick. “If you gave one damn ’bout me, y’all wouldn’t’ve laid with me, then left me sittin’ all by my lonesome like yesterday’s newspaper.”

The car rumbled to a stop, kickin’ up dirt and hushin’ the crickets for just a second.

“You right,” Smoke admitted, his hand grippin’ the wheel like it hurt to say it. “We ain’t stand by you the way we was s’posed to. For that, we apologize. But we here now, ain’t we? Let that mean somethin’, girl.”

‘Course you didn’t answer. Ain’t even look at him. Your stomach twisted up tight as you stared out the window. This wasn’t your little white cottage with the porch swing and the climbin’ roses. This was the old saw mill—deep in the woods, where the trees grew thick and the night air smelled like damp earth and old memories.

“Y’all said y’all was takin’ me home,” you said, brows knittin’ together, voice low and brittle.

“This don’t remind you of home?” Stack asked from the back, his tone half-playful, half-hopin’. Like maybe he could pull at somethin’ you buried long ago. Hell, he knew you remembered. Could see it all over your face—the weight of it, heavy and hurtin’.

Stack helped you out the car, and you looked around, a ghost of a smile flickerin' across your face. Back then, when y'all was a bit younger, this was the spot. The old abandoned mill by the pond—the first place y'all ever met. The memory was 'bout as clear as day. Just you, sittin' under an old pecan tree, a book too heavy for your little hands. Dreamin' about places you'd never seen, with your Sunday dress hitched up 'round your knees, dirt smudgin' your bare ankles. Readin' like it could save you. Like it might carry you somewhere better.

They spotted you 'fore you even knew they was there — struttin' over with easy smiles and slick mouths, smellin' like sweat, gunpowder, and cheap whiskey. You was shy back then, a little soft 'round the edges, but never dumb. You ain't take neither one too serious. Not yet. Not 'til they made you fall in love. Not 'til they touched you like you was made of glass, fucked you like breathin', kissed you like every day might be the last. They made you feel untouchable. Made the whole damn town know you wasn't a girl to mess with. 'Cause you belonged to them.

And they belonged to you.

They taught you how to fight. Hardened you up. 'Til no bitch — not Mary, not Annie — could look at you wrong without catchin' a beatdown. Those boys that once made you laugh 'til you cried, danced barefoot behind the mill, were the same ones who left you bawlin' alone, spillin' tears into the dirt.

And now, they was tryin’ to drag you back to it.

"Why's we here?" you asked, voice crackin' under the weight of memory.

“Business,” Smoke said low, like it oughta explain everything.

Stack struck a match, lit up another cigarette, and took a long, slow drag ‘fore passin’ it off to his twin. “See that ol’ mill? We buyin’ it from a cracker first thing in the mornin’. Gonna turn it into a Juke Joint — a real one, for our folks. A place they can dance, drink, breathe easy without worryin’ ‘bout no white folks breathin’ down they necks.”

Once again you stared at ‘em hard, suspicion risin’ up heavy in your chest like a summer storm. How they got the money for somethin’ like that, you didn’t know. Truth be told, you wasn’t sure you wanted to know. Ain’t nothin’ in this world free, especially not for men like them. Especially not down here.

“And what the hell that got to do with me?” you asked, voice steady, even though your hands itched to fold over your chest.

Smoke leaned back, one hand fidgetin’ with the silver ring on his index finger — a tell he had since y’all was kids. He only did it when somethin’ was sittin’ heavy on his mind. “We need the finest dancer in town to bring that floor alive—,” he said. “Need somebody who make folks spend they last damn dollar just to watch ‘em move. And we payin’, make no mistake.”

Lookin’ between ‘em, you met each of they dark, familiar eyes, and made damn sure your words came out clear. “I don’t want none of that blood money.”

They didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

That was one thing ‘bout Stack and Smoke—they could take you at your hardest, your meanest. Could stand up to the fire you threw without backin’ down. But you knew deep in your bones, no matter how tough they acted, those boys was always weak when it came to you; to them big, pretty eyes they swore could bring a man to his knees.

Stack’s patience snapped first, just like always. He shifted, tossin’ the burnt-out cigarette down and crushin’ it under his bootheel.

“Well, what the fuck do you want, then?” he barked, voice sharp with frustration. Always the hothead, always the one to talk ‘fore thinkin’. Never the type to hold his tongue or watch his own damn back.

"To go home, Elias. Care to indulge me?"

"Nah, baby. I don't, actually—," he said without missin' a beat. He was a smart-mouthed fool too, flashin’ that grin full’a them shiny-ass gems every time he opened his mouth.

“What y’all want with me? What y’all really drag me all the way out here for?” you demanded, voice tight like a stretched-out clothesline.

“Done told ya already, girl—,” Smoke said, cool as a winter creek. “Ain’t gone say it again.”

“This a town full’a dancers, Elijah. Ya’ll don’t need me.”

Stack, leanin’ back against the car like he had all the time in the world, just shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But we want you.”

Smoke stepped in closer, his voice a low rumble under the heavy night air, "We told you we was gone give you a stage'a your own. Make you a star like you always dreamed ‘bout. 'Member?"

Damn them. You remembered every bit of it. You done tried buryin’ it deep, stuffin’ it down like old letters in a dusty chest — but all it ever did was ache. Your throat burned up like a bad fever, your eyes startin’ to sting, chest tight enough you thought it might split clean open.

“Y’all full of shit,” you muttered, but it come out softer than you meant, breakin’ right down the middle.

“We ain’t,” Smoke said, steppin’ even closer now, til you could smell the tobacco on his breath, the heat rollin’ off his skin. He reached out, catchin’ your chin between two fingers, touchin’ you like you might break if he held too hard. “We bled for that dream, same as you, Silk. Fought for it ‘til we damn near lost ourselves.”

With your hands curlin’ into fists at your sides, you was fightin’ the tremble workin’ its way through you.

“Why now, huh?” you snapped, voice crackin’ like a whip. “Why the hell now? After y’all acted like I ain’t mean nothin’? I want the truth this time. None of that sweet-talkin’ bullshit you good for.”

Stack, who usually had a smart mouth ready for anything, went real still. Real quiet. He pulled his hat clean off his head, runnin’ a hand over his hair, lookin’ like he ain’t had a single slick thing left to say. Chicago did ‘em good, cut a line in the side real fresh.

“Why else? We love you,” he finally said, voice rough like gravel. “Always did. Ain’t never stopped.”

Smoke leaned in real slow, close enough you could feel the heat of his breath brushin’ across your face. His presence wrapped ‘round you like a heavy blanket in the dead heat of July. You braced a hand against his chest, feelin’ the steady thud of his heart — and under that, a tremble, like he was holdin’ back somethin’ deep, somethin’ old and wounded, tryin’ its damnedest not to break wide open.

“But one thing for sure, two things for certain,” Smoke said, his voice low and rough as gravel, catchin’ on every word like it hurt to say ’em. “We wasn’t bred to be with a woman as good as you.”

Stack, leanin’ nearby with that bitter smirk of his, let out a humorless chuckle, “Still ain’t.”

The words hit you harder than a blow. Your throat tightened up, and you shoved at Smoke’s chest, hard, but it was like pushin’ against a brick wall—he didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, lettin’ you take out all that hurt and anger without sayin’ a damn word.

“So you thought leavin’ me was better?” you choked out, voice crackin’, the betrayal sharp in every syllable.

"Nah," he said. "We thought it was the only way to keep you clean. Safe. Smilin', even if we had to stay gone for a while."

"But as it turns out—," Stack added, steppin' in behind you, his chest brushing your back, caging you between 'em. "We can't stay away for too long."

Their hands found you at the same time — Smoke's rough fingers liftin' your jaw, Stack's palms slidin' down your arms, steadin' you even as your knees wobbled.

“You ours,” Smoke murmured, voice low and rough, his lips ghostin’ right over yours, not quite kissin’, just teasin’ — like he wanted to savor the moment you gave in. “Always been.”

“That wasn’t ever gon’ change,” Stack rumbled against your ear, mouth grazin’ your neck in slow, temptin’ bites that made your knees damn near buckle again.

The anger, the pain — all that hurt you been bottlin’ up for six long, lonely years — it started boilin’ over, hot and wild, mixin’ with a hunger you tried so hard to kill. It cracked you wide open now, floodin’ every inch of you like a busted dam, no holdin’ it back.

“Don’t put me through this again,” you begged, voice tremblin’, breathless, your body already betrayin’ you, rememberin’ the way they touched you, the way they loved you, like it never forgot. “Don’t come back just to leave me worse off than ‘fore.”

Smoke’s hand slid around your waist, pullin’ you flush against him, his chest hard and hot under your palms.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere this time, baby,” Stack growled low, a promise buried in every word. “And we gone make damn sho’ this sweet lil’ pussy remembers exactly who it belongs to.”

“It knows,” you whispered back, your hand driftin’ down without thinkin’, findin’ the thick heat straining against the front of Smoke’s slacks. He shuddered under your touch, deep and real, like he was barely holdin’ on. “Just like y’all know ya’ll belong here, with me.”

Smoke's mouth crushed yours before the last word even finished leavin' your lips, kissin' you like he was starvin', like he needed you to breathe.

Stack's hands roamed lower, greedy, sure, gatherin' your dress up in his fists as he pressed hot kisses to the side of your neck, beard scratchin’ soft as his lips dragged over your skin, teeth sinkin’ in just enough to make you gasp.

Their hands—rough, calloused—claimed you in the sticky heat of the Mississippi night, under the shadow of that old mill, with the hum of crickets and the whisper of the river nearby. They kissed and touched like they was tryin' to make up for all the empty years in one night, and Lord, you let 'em.

‘Cause no matter how bad it hurt, you still wanted ‘em. Needed ‘em, somethin’ fierce.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

[tforpresz]

Finals are almost over, so I'm redoing the list yayy. I will update more as I come across them but if anyone has any recommendations comment pls!!! ALSO THANK YOU TO THE AMAZING WRITERS THAT ARE PUTTING OUT THESE WORK I LOVE Y'ALL DOWN 🫂🫶🏽

Work by @writerofautumnnights A Dance with the Devil

Works by @jazziejax ModernAU Jumpin' (SmokexBlack!OC,StackxBlack!OC) From the Same Cloth(SmokexBlack!OC,StackxBlack!OC)

Work by @hotgrlcece Fever (soon to be out,StackxReader)

Work by @strangerexee Sir,You're Too Fine (Bo ChowxReader)

Works by @livingmybestfakelife Castle Made of Sand (StackxReader, PlatonicSmokexReader) Love Rollercoaster (pt1)(StackxReader) Love Rollercoaster (pt2)(StackxReader) Waiting to Exhale(SmokexReader)

Works by @rdmasevi The One Who Asked (RemmickxReader) The Long Night (RemmickxReader) Blood&Blues (StackxReader) Bloodlines&Blues (Stack and SmokexReader)

Works by @aviawrites Love Bites (StackxOC) Wait For Me (SmokexOC) Anastasia Antoinette (StackxOC, SmokexOC)

Works by @fckwritersblock I Never Told You (Pt1,StackxBlack!Reader) What I Should've Said (PT2) Works by @spikedfearn Mercy Made Flesh Upon the Scarlet Alter Work by @uzumaki-rebellion Choose One (Smoke,Stack&OC. first three chapters posted)

Drabbles by @crystalgemcrusaders Til Death Do Us Part(Stack) They Are All Sinners(18+)(Stack) Headcanon-devils temptation:NSFW(Smoke) Work by @melancholymetropolis "Stop pretending that you hate me" (StackxReader) Work by @coldeforprez Is It The Way;2003 teaser (StackxBlack!OC)

Works by @szatears Just a lil' something (SmokexReader,Plantonic StackxReaer) ModernAuSmoke (personal fav 🤭) Three's Trouble (StackxBlack!Reader, StackxMary, MaryxBlack!Reader) Works by @spookysanta The Stack Effect 1/3 The Stack Effect 2/3

Work by @freshbakedbreadstick Advantages and Disadvantages (Smoke&StackxPOC!Reader) Work by @ughdontbeboring Let Me In (SmokexWOC!ReaderxStack)

Work by @starcrossedxwriter Still Standing pt1 (SmokexBlack!Reader) SmokexReader sneak peak

if any author wants to be removed, let me know and I'll glad do so 😁

also here are the A03 works :) A' Lil Taste by Katetypes (Sammie rec) Blood Ties by Xoslimm26 (Remmick fic) níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá by Subedarling (Remmick/reader) Where's There's Smoke, There's Fire by CreativeBuzz (Smoke/Annie, my parents fr) Dangerous by Cohrareads (Stack/Mary)

[fckwritersblock]

I Never Told You (part 1 )

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x black reader

Description: ( unedited af ) You and Stack have been in love for what feels like forever, but neither of you has had the courage to speak up. Stack is convinced that your heart belongs to Smoke, and as for Smoke? He’s exhausted from trying to show you both that the love you seek is right in front of you.

Word count.: 3,852

A/n: this was originally one part, but I thought it’s a break it up into two because when I tell you, it’s getting a longer and longer 😭 I don’t wanna rush the way I want it to end but the way I’m craving these Sinners fic and I know some of y’all are too. I thought it would be nice to drop it now. Couldn’t contain my own excitement 😂

Part 2 - What I Should’ve Said

Enjoy ! 🩷

As soon as you stepped off the train, a smile broke across your face. The familiar sights and sounds of home wrapped around you like a warm embrace. You were excited to finally be back, but a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach at the thought of seeing your sister for the first time in ages. Yes, you guys had written to each other, and she had tore your ass a new one in a few of them letters back home bout to running off with the twins without a word. Nevertheless, you knew regardless of how upset she may be with you, she’d always welcome you home with open arms. You missed your sister. You also missed the twins, who you were eager to reunite with. It had been almost a year since you’d all been together, and just thinkin' about Stack made your pulse quicken.

Steppin' aside so other boarding the train would have access to the front door, you made your way toward the center of the station, your eyes scanning the crowd. You were sure Stack knew you was comin' at this time, so you had a feelin' he’d be lurkin' around here somewhere. Just then, you heard it—a voice that sent a thrill of nostalgia through you. You turned around, curiosity piqued, and there he was, front and center.

But your heart sank a little when you noticed the woman standin’ in front of him. Fair-skinned and confident, she had that undeniable charm—Mary. Of course she would find him, you thought bitterly.

You watched as Stack’s gaze followed her, a solemn look crossing his face as she walked away. You should’ve known he’d seek her out the moment he arrived. You’d bet money he could find her in a crowed room, without fail.

You loathed Mary.

It wasn’t a secret. You couldn’t stand her presence and that gnawed at you deep down. It wasn’t just jealousy; it was that gut-wrenching belief that Stack cared for her more than he did for you. He looked out for her in a way that was different from how he looked out for you. The attention he gave her was the kind you had secretly longed for, and judging by the way he stood there, it seemed nothin' had changed.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Old habits die hard, huh, Stack?” you snarked from behind him, the playful edge in your voice barely masking the hurt you felt.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes in resignation. He knew he was caught.

He didn’t even have to turn around to know it was you. Stack could tell by the sound of your voice that you was pissed, especially with the faux sugary sweet smile you wore when he finally faced you. That, and when you were at him, it was the only time you called him Stack and not Elias.

Turning around to face you he could barely contain the smile that wanted to break out.

It had been a year since the two of you had seen each other, but for him, it felt like a lifetime. For six years, y’all had traveled the world together. You had taken care of him and Smoke, watchin' their backs, makin' sure he stayed outta trouble. You had put up with his antics for so long, and he’d never understood why you stuck by his side. That was until you decided it was time to carve out your own path, to prove you could stand on your own.

So you left them. You left him. You promised to return within a year or come runnin' if he called.

But Stack didn’t call.

He figured you didn’t want him to. Not really. A part of him was upset with you for abandoning him. He knew Smoke had written to you a few times, and he tried not to let the green-eyed monster show. Smoke would tell him when he received a letter, sometimes even havin' one for him too. Stack never wrote back, but he always read the ones you sent for him. Several times in fact. He wanted to know how you were, what you had been up to, even if he fronted like he didn’t care. You were miles away and all he wanted was you near..

And now you were back, standing right in front of him, looking as breathtaking as ever. The sun-kissed brown skin of yours practically glowed in the light. The apples of your cheeks rounded as you smiled, dimples showing, and the curves of your hips called out to him as he admired your frame in the flowy yellow dress you wore. It reminded him of your favorite flower, magnolias, and coincidentally, yellow was his favorite color on you too.

You were home for him, and you didn’t even know it.

“It wasn’t even like that, Bam,” he said, tryin' to brush off the tension and butter you up with the nickname he gave you.

“It never is, is it, Stack?” you shot back, crossin' your arms, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“Come on now, after all this time, that’s the mood you wanna get off on?” He hand taken a few steps toward you and grabbed your hand.

“A brotha can’t get no love first?” He flashed you a smile he knew you couldn’t resist.

Despite yourself, your smile grew bigger as you felt the warmth of his presence pulling you in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, sinking into the comfort of his embrace.

“I missed you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper as you melted against him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he replied, his words a gentle way of sayin', 'I missed you too.'

“Who’s this?” you asked, eyeing the guitar-totin' boy standin' next to them after you two finally pulled apart.

“The boy,” Stack replied, nodding in his direction.

“The boy—Little Sammie, is that you?!” you exclaimed, shocked.

“Miss Y/n?” he said, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You laughed, pulling him into a warm hug. God, he was all grown up. You used to help his ma look after him and his siblings sometimes, and you even sang in his daddy’s church for a while. That was until you started hangin' out with Smoke and Stack more and stopped goin' to church. You didn’t want to hear no sermons about how the devil had his hands on you and how you needed to come back to the Lord.

It was a bittersweet feeling, thinking about how much you missed them and how much Sammie had grown. You could see he still had to get his head on straight, but it warmed your heart that he was still playing the guitar Stack had given him.

“Well then, there will be plenty of time to catch up later. You boys finish up here. I’ll be in the car,” you announced a beat after pullin' away. You knew they was up to no good.

“Little Sammie, help Stack with my bags, will ya?” You pinched one of his cheeks playfully before giving the other a quick kiss, treating him like the youngin' he still was in your eyes.

“Oh and drop the ‘Miss’.” He stared after you, bewildered, as you walked past Stack, givin' him a wink while you patted his chest slowly, draggin' your hand away.

“That’s really Y/n,” Sammie said, still in disbelief, causing Stack to chuckle.

He hadn’t seen you since he was a boy, and he couldn’t believe how different you were now. You were just a teen girl girl in his eyes back then, but now you were a grown woman—an extremely attractive one, at that.

“She’s—”

“Way too much woman for you to handle, lil nigga,” Stack stated matter-of-factly, a smirk playin' on his lips.

Not too much for me, though, he thought to himself, wordlessly pickin' up both suitcases and handing his little cousin one. You would probably fit real pretty in the front seat of his ride right about now, knowin' you and those pretty pick pocketing hands of yours had already snatched the keys from his coat pocket.

“Well, are you?” Sammie quizzed.

“Am I what?” Stack frowned slightly.

“Handling it?” The corner of Preacher Boy’s mouth twitched just a little, and Stack knew the younger man could tell you were vexed with him, and he wasn’t handling shit.

“Bring yo ass on, smart ass.”

As a result of those endless hours of travel, you were exhausted. You hadn’t gotten much sleep on the train, not wantin' to doze off around strange white folks. Your father had raised you and your sister to always be aware of your surroundings. After hearin' Delta’s wild stories about the men he knew from the side of the road, you needed a moment to decompress. So, you let the sounds of Sammie’s guitar and the rhythm of the car rockin' gently lull you into a well-deserved rest.

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep, but soon you felt somethin' soft brush against the side of your face.

“Bam,” you heard softly as you began to stir.

“Bam.” This time you felt a poke to your cheek.

With a soft groan, you opened your eyes to see Stack standin' outside of the car, looking at you with that soft smile that always made your heart race.

“There’s my girl.” He smiled down at you.

“What you want, Elias?” You tried not to blush at his words.

“We made it. Come on.” He extended his hand for you to take.

You took it, pullin' yourself up to stand. Prepared to jump over, he surprised you by lifting you up in the air out of the back of the car.

You squealed, caught off guard as he held you slightly above him. You looked down at him for a minute, and he slowly set you back down, your body sliding against his.

“Thank you,” you said bashfully, pretendin' to fix your hair in the mirror.

He stood directly behind you, just close enough for you to catch a glimpse of his smirk in the car mirror.

“Anytime.”

“I—” you began, but were cut off by another car pullin' ahead. Once you noticed it was the truck Stack had said Smoke was in, you started walking quickly toward it. Stack told you the two of them had to split the work and that Smoke had a few stops and you knew it wouldn’t be anywhere else, but to see Annie. It was one thing for Smoke to be gone; of course then, he and Annie couldn’t be together. But while he was home, he wouldnt go anywhere without her.

“Annie!” You called as soon as your older sister came into view.

“Y/n?” Annie couldn’t believe her eyes as you ran toward her the biggest smile on your face.

“Surprise.” You spoke tearfully, as you slowed down taking the last few steps before crashing' into your big sister. You embraced her tightly, the two of you holding onto one another as if the other would disappear if you let go.

“Look at you.” She ran her hand up and around your face, cuppin' it affectionately.

“Look at you.” You repeated, mesmerized by your sister’s loving eyes.

Eyes that always looked at you with understanding, compassion, love, and support. Annie didn’t always agree with the choices you made, but she always supported you in choosin' your own destiny.

“Don’t you ever leave me like that again,” she fussed, swattin' lightly at your butt.

“Stop, girl, I’m grown,” you laughed, spinning around in a circle to dodge her playful swats.

“Girl, I don’t give a damn.” Annie fixed you with a stern look. “You’re still my baby sister. You don’t just run off and leave me without notice like that. You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. It’s not that I wanted to; I just—” you paused, searchin' for the right words.

After a moment, you realized you didn’t need to say much. Annie would understand.

“Mine doesn’t have a mojo bag; he just has me,” you said, your voice wavering, knowin' she would know you was referring to the more reckless twin.

She smiled and nodded in understanding. You stood there for a little while longer, embracing each other, tryin' to wipe the tears from each other’s eyes, gigglin' like school girls as you did so.

“We’ll take more later ya hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Pullin' away, you angled your body a little more to the left to finally get a good look at Smoke.

“My girl!” he said with a small smile of his own, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey Smoke.” The two of you wrapped your arms around one another.

You missed the way Stack’s jaw clenched as you embraced Smoke. The latter didn’t as he grinned at his twin. It was an asshole thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. He had been watching the two of you pine after one another for years. If Smoke had a dime for every time he tried to convince his brother that you felt the same way about him that he felt about you—or to get Stack to confess his feelings for you—boy, he’d be rich.

It was your last night in town, and the three of you went out. You were currently dancin' with some random nigga from round the way. Stack watched you like a hawk, grillin' the hell outta the man who had your attention. Smoke couldn’t do anything but laugh at his brother’s expense.

“Nigga you got it bad,” he said with a chuckle.

“Shut up, bitch. You got it just as bad for her sister,” Stack shot back.

“Sho’ll fuck do. Don’t give a fuck who knows either.” Smoke shrugged blowing a cloud in Stack’s direction.

“Yeah, whatever.” Stack muttered, takin' a sip of his beer.

“Mmhmm, whatever shit, nigga. Could be you out there dancin' with her, tryna cop a feel. Instead, you’re here,” Smoke teased.

“It ain’t like that with us, Smoke.” He denied.

For the life of him, Smoke couldn’t understand why Stack was in denial about you. It was like he was purposely standing in his own way, unwilling to accept a good thing.

“Have I ever been wrong about a woman tryna throw her pussy at you?”

“Nah,” Stack grumbled, his defenses slowly crumbling.

“Aight then, nigga. Listen for once.” Smoke said, playfully mushing the side of Stack’s head as he stood up to head to the bar.

“Aye, watch out.”

“Girl follows you around the world, and you still questionin' shit,” Smoke called over his shoulder.

He could only shake his head at the memory. Smoke swore dealin' with y’all shit was gonna put him in an early grave.

Once the two of you released one another from the hug, you walked back toward your sibling, and Smoke did the same.

“You good, man?” Smoke asked, knowing full well he wasn’t. He just wanted to see if he was ready to be honest with himself.

“Yeah, uh, I’m good.” Stack cleared his throat before repeatin', “I’m good.”

“Good.” He patted his brother on the back. “Now let’s get to work.”

Now, you knew you was comin' to work, but you ain't expectin' to be put through the wringer! As much as y’all got on each other’s last nerves during the setup, it was all part of the charm. Smoke being the bossy one, always puffin’ up his chest like everybody ain’t already know he ran the place; Cornbread, with his big ass, ain’t stop complainin' 'bout how heavy them boxes was; Delta always droppin' “back in my day” stories like they was gospel every five minutes. And Stack? He was slick, finessin' Preacher Boy into doin' part of his work in the name of “respectin' your elders.”

Not to mention you, Grace, and Annie, makin' one little complaint 'bout the heat, which led to Bo shakin’ up a bottle of beer and lettin' it spray all over y’all like a makeshift sprinkler system to “cool y’all off.” But this? This was the stuff you cherished. These were the moments you missed. After hours of busting your backs, the grand opening was here, and the party was in full swing.

You found yourself wrapped up in Stack’s arms, your back pressed against his solid front. The sweet sound of southern blues wrapped around you like a warm embrace. Ain’t nothing like live music from home, and tonight, the air was thick with rhythm. Effortlessly, your body flowed with the beat, swayin' in a circle until you found yourself once again meetin' Stack's chest. One of his arms hung loosely around your waist, his fingers barely grazing your skin, followin' the pace of your movements like it was second nature.

“So, this is new,” you teased, glancing back at him.

“What’s that?” Stack’s voice was low, his eyes glued to the way your hips moved, like he was tryin' to memorize every curve.

Stack thought you was downright gorgeous, and it drove him crazy. He wished he could tell you every single day how beautiful you were. Your body? It made his heart race. Big hips, thick thighs, and those legs that seemed to go on for days. That dress you wore? It gave him a perfect view of your curves, and he found himself lost in thoughts he shouldn’t be havin’.

“You dancin' with me,” you said louder, breakin' him outta his daydream.

“I’ve danced with you before,” he replied, a hint of challenge in his tone.

You leaned your head back further, givin' him a smirk. “Not like this.”

Stack’s grip around your waist tightened, the two of you still swayin’ to the music. “What’s this?” His breath brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine that you tried your best to ignore.

“Like you tryna work your way into my drawls,” you shot back, playful but with a hint of seriousness.

“And if I am?” he shot back, spinning you around so you faced him, his gaze intense.

You were momentarily stunned, your eyes searchin’ his for any signs of this bein' a joke, you arms now loosely around his shoulders.

“Smoke told you.” you said, his words heavy like a weight on your chest, but it felt more like a statement than a question.

You knew Smoke couldn’t keep his mouth shut when it came to his brother. Stack had ditched you and Smoke for the night to run off with some floozy and you were hurting bad. Especially after the way he had been flirting with you day after day. After an attempt at drowning your feeling in a bottle of whiskey, you had confessed your undying love for Elias Moore to his other half after the world became a bit too blurry. The truth came spillin' out like vomit, then afterwards, literal vomit. You could curse the ground Smoke walked on for lettin' it slip.

Stack watched as the gears turned in your head, his eyes dropping to your bottom lip, which you had pulled between your teeth. He chuckled softly, still swayin' with you, but the tension was thick.

“Smoke been tryna tell me for years,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

He wasn’t sure if he was talkin' 'bout Smoke tryin' to get him to accept his own feelings or the ones you held for him.

It was the way you cared for him. In every way. You checked on his well being constantly. The effects of the war on smoke were clear. He had his issues and one of them Stack always took care of. Rolling his cigarettes, making certain shit easier for Smoke every chance he got. Stack was the suffer in silence type. No I didn’t know the trauma he had suffered. He preferred everybody think he was OK. But you saw right through him. You seem to be able to tell every time something took him back there the lifeline you’d reach out of your hand, holding his gentle caresses to the top of his hand, which is the tiniest of squeezes that will bring him back and remind him that he was here and safe and with you. Stack was the type to suffer in silence, keepin' his struggles close to his chest. But you? You saw right through him. You could tell when something haunted him, and each time, you’d reach out, holdin' his hand, givin' him that gentle squeeze to remind him he was safe with you.

You were everything to Stack.

The air between you two shifted, thickening with unspoken words and feelings.

“When did it click?” Your heart raced, the world around you fading away.

Y’all had stopped movin’, probably the only two still in the crowd of people dancing and signing having a time.

“The one you left.” Stack admitted, feeling a bit guilty for only realizing how deep his feelings and love for you really were.

Speechless you pulled away from him completely, mouth opening and closing as you stuttered trying to find the right words to say. Overwhelmed with emotion and not quite sure what to do with yourself you turned around to scurry away when he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on now. Why you runnin'?” He was holding you again, bobbing his head around trying to catch you eye as you avoided his.

“Elias, you drunk,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Baby, I ain’t had a sip of liquor,” he replied, his grip on your chin gentle, forcing you to look at him.

Big brown eyes searched yours, filled with a truth that made your heart swell with love.

“Y/n,” he started, but just then—

“Stack!” Smoke’s voice cut through the moment like a hot knife through butter.

You two pulled apart at the sound of his brother calling.

“Let me holla at you for a minute,” Smoke beckoned, clearly oblivious to the tension hangin' in the air.

You could see Stack was ready to protest, but you stopped him, gently cupping the side of his face in your hands. Stack might not have been running off liquid courage, but you had dug deep for some courage and found enough bravery to push through.

You pressed a soft kiss to the side of his cheek, and then another right next to the corner of his mouth, lettin' your lips linger just a moment longer.

“Go. We’ll talk later,” you assured him, pulling away with a grin as you turned to find a seat at the bar y’all had been swayin’ next to.

It wasn’t long before Stack's arms wrapped around you from behind.

“Count on it,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck, sending warmth flooding through you.

You flushed at the feeling of his lips on your skin, that deep baritone voice igniting a fire you didn’t know you had.

You couldn’t wait until later. But unfortunately, later never came.

[ughdontbeboring]

Let Me In

Smoke X Black/WoC Reader X Stack (👀😮‍💨🥵)

A night at the speakeasy that changes y’all lives forever

warnings: uh angst? and twin Mike’s lol (I wish there was smut but maybe once I see the movie idk)

( SONG FROM SOUNDTRACK BY MY FAV MUST LISTEN 😭

so I just had to come back here and update with a song by Tanrélle for the soundtrack!! I just heard it and it soooo the soundtrack for this scene I wrote OMG I CANT DEAL )

side note: not sure if I even wrote that out correctly but the twins share reader there is no incest in the pairing. I thought about this late at night after seeing the trailer that just dropped and yea lol I haven’t been in Mike’s fanfic section in a while and all my Killmonger fics I never post so funny enough without the movie even being out this is my first fic for Mike ever posted.

I may follow up and do more after the movie drops and I see more of their personalities only time will tell. I’m def playing around with something a little prequel just to show their dynamic a bit but again time will tell 🥵

it’s so early on idk what to even tag this 😭 is anyone even reading this now or are we waiting on the movie to drop??

❤️💙

Smoke stood there yelling trying to calm down the group of hysterical night goers who now found themselves in an impossible situation. A situation that shouldn’t be a reality but let the old tales tell it, it was just as true. 

And now your small group of survivors is finding that out. 

The lively party under the moon light quickly taking a turn after unwanted guests arrived odd and full of smiles. 

It started with that Mary woman who had flirted her way in. She was out of place here and maybe that’s why Stack seemed so intrigued. He never could turn down a mystery, your wild boy.

Now there was no way out that any of you could see just yet but you knew Smoke would think of something, he always did.

Pearl wailed in front of everybody, her body shaking uncontrollably as the other women rushed surrounding her, trying to give some comfort.

You seen Delta take that moment to approach Smoke who was deep in thought, closer to the front door than anyone else. That far away look on his face when he was racking his brain for a solution. 

The realization that Stack had become a night creature, a vampire from the folklore of time immortal, from tales stretching across the world in different cultures, different languages was unfathomable. He had become whatever they were and it was settling into the group with dread. 

But none more devastated than Smoke and you. 

Now while Smoke was thinking of this with the rationality of surviving you just couldn’t accept this. 

“Smoke what we gon’ do without Stack?” Delta tried to whisper. He was unsuccessful because you could still hear him even with the group of women between y’all. 

You feel the room spinning again and you just need a moment. Hearing him speaking of Stack in that way had the air rushing from your lungs. No not Stack. You thought. Not like this. 

You know Smoke said for everyone to stay together and away from the walls, the doors, the windows any part of the foundation but you just need a moment because you feel like you can’t fucking breathe. 

Everyone is occupied when you slip away silent in your kitten heels you had choose for the night, your careful to not make noise with your form fitting dress that’s decorated with beadwork at the hem. All night the dress had swayed and shinned in the low lit speakeasy. You had danced all night your dress adding its own sound to the lively music with the heavy beadwork while switching between the strong arms of your boys during every song when the other wasn’t busy. 

Stack danced with you and Smoke would just hold you and kinda sway as you danced on him. Ever the serious one. 

You find yourself in the smaller back room that’s used for storage with a back entrance. Even though you needed a moment the small space was quickly becoming suffocating causing your grief and disbelief to swell within you. It choked you. Now you felt like you were standing out in the fields on a hottest summer Mississippi day. You felt like you were dying.

You quickly realized you were hyperventilating. You needed air. 

Over your deep breathing you hear softly yet unmistakably beyond the door “It’s ok baby”. Your blood goes cold and your body freezes. 

“Stack?” You question softly as your eyes start to water while staring straight ahead of you. 

“Yea, it’s me baby” He says in his familiar thick accent. 

“Ho-how?” You stutter in disbelief. How’d he know you were back here? Out of everyone it could have been how’d he know it was you? Was he alone? So many questions ran through your head without ever making it to your lips.

“Baby I knew it was you. Don’t cry babygirl just open the door fo’ me” He coo’s softly. 

“I-I can’t” you replied sounding even unconvinced to your own ears. It feels wrong to deny him. 

“Why? Baby I don’t wanna be out here no more all alone. let me in so I can get away from these crazy crackers” He mutters a little bit impatiently. That bit wasn’t your Stack. Stack out of the both of them always was patient with you, it was almost sickening how he caved for you. 

His patience’s with you gave people the false hood of a saint when his reality was he could flip in a moment. Just like Smokes quietness and how gentle he was with you gave people a false impression of calm man. They were both ticking time bombs on any given day, at any moment. 

“And it’s really you Stack?” You ask again begging your mind to believe what your heart does. That he’s still in there somewhere. 

It’s quiet for a moment before he's able to muster an almost forced reply. “Of course-“

“The hell you doing?” You hear barked behind you in that deep Mississippi drawl. 

It’s not even seconds later when you feel his presence behind you and his large hand gripping your arm yanking you slightly back.

“It’s Stack! We have to help him! Let him in! Please Smoke!” You beg facing the other half of your heart, staring up into Smokes eyes. You seen the anger and the hurt swirling in the deep brown.  

“It ain’t him!” He yells down at you as he towers above you. His handsome face menacing as always. 

You’re not sure if everyone had come back with Smoke or if they’re just getting there but you feel everyone’s eyes on you. You know they must think you crazy. You seen what everyone else outside the speakeasy did to eachother yet here you are begging for Smoke to find a way to save Stack, bring him back to you.

“Oh come on now no fighting with our babygirl, just open up fo’ me twin” Stack taunts from the other side of the door. 

The sound of his voice has you staring at the door with your conviction growing before Smoke is pulling your attention back to him. 

“Aye. Hey baby look at me that’s not Stack. Not no more” He tries again with concern flickering in his eyes. He’s not sure what will happen if he can’t get you to accept it. His stomach turns with the thoughts of all the possibilities. He can’t loose you too. Not now not never. 

“Please! Please I can’t-I can’t leave him out there!! He’s not safe” You begged staring up at him. Your eyes pleading with him to understand. 

But that flicker of concern is quickly extinguished by the anger that replaces it in his brown eyes. He’s shaking you as he turns you to face him. He needs you to understand.

He yells your name full of anger. “You’re not safe if you let him in! He’ll kill you and everyone else in this fucking place!” He roars at you. 

It’s starting to dawn on Smoke he may have to take more precautions if you don’t show him you’ve accepted what has happened to Stack.

You’re not sure why he allows it or if you’ve just caught him off guard but you yank your arm away and move near the door. 

You can feel the tension in the room at your sudden proximity to the door. There’s a small opening in the door just about your eye level in your short heels. It’s about the length of your middle finger and horizontal. 

“Stack pl-please baby please tell me it’s really you. You’re still my Stack, right?” You beg softly as you stare at Stack’s throat that you can see through the opening. Your fingers inching up to right below the hole.  He’s some how closer and your pointer finger ventures outside just barely to run along his full bottom lip. You shudder at the feel of his skin and how it’s something between hot and cool but not warm. It was odd and unsettling.

There’s a long pause and you can feel Smoke slowly move closer to you. 

The silence is deafening to you as your heart starts to pick back up. 

You see him shift a bit and when you crane you neck your able to see his eyes. You couldn’t see Stacks eyes before, not this close anyway since he changed.

They’re grey almost sliver and mostly lifeless, the brown warmth from them missing. But the guilt that flickers across them fans the embers of your hope. 

What is said next is so soft you almost don’t hear it if it wasn’t for the view you also had of his lips with the way he’s tilted his eyes to look down at you. 

But the rasp of his voice is unmistakable when he whispers “I love you” 

Your heart can’t take it and even if his eyes are different your Stack is still in there somewhere. Your hand rushes the door handle. 

It’s not Smokes booming voice behind you yelling “NO!” that startles you, it’s the earth shaking bang on the door in-front of you when you can do longer see Stack’s eyes that freezes your movements. Your hand inches from the handle.

The bang comes again as Stack yells “Let me in!”. Your body feels like you were just dumped into the Mississippi during winter. The cold realization settles over you. No he’s not your Stack, not fully at least.

Had he not banged on the door startling you, you would have surly opened it and thrown yourself into his arms. This was his way of showing you, your Stack that was still in there was trying to get through to you over the force that was consuming his body. He was trying to scare you.

The next bang is just as loud and aggressive and it causes you to stumble, falling back, your hands breaking the fall and scraping against the wooden floor as your bottom takes most of the impact. 

Your heart is racing faster than you thought possible as you stare up wide eyed at the door Stack continues to bang against 

“LET ME IN!” 

You feel Smokes rough hands wrap around your waist pulling you up. His arms wrap around you as you snob in your hands. His full soft lips at your neck shhing and comforting you.

“It’s ok baby, gonna be ok, you safe with me” Smoke whispers softly against you. 

They always had their different ways of dealing with you and it just worked having both of them. It wasn’t unusual for Smoke to be so soft with you but it didn’t happen as often as it did with Stack. Smoke was definitely your grumpy one, hardly if ever smiling if it wasn’t for you. 

They both came in your life at the same time sweeping you off your feet without even trying, They both pulled you in in their own way true to their own personalities. When you realize that you couldn’t choose you decided you would walk away, and they refused to let you go. They decided it was only right to share you with boundaries in place over loosing you. It was by far nothing any of you had experienced before or would have been willing with anyone else. But here the three of you were years later. You never looked back. 

“You and your man could be together and even better if you come out or let us in little lady” It’s another voice the room full of people hear, his voice, the white man who brought this hell to their little speakeasy paradise.

“Such a pretty pretty thing, we’d make you a queen” he continues with a groan almost like he was thinking of how your blood would taste or maybe even more sexual thoughts. Either way it caused you to shudder in Smokes arms pressing more into him. 

You know you aren’t mistaken when you hear a familiar growl. It’s not him it’s Stack. The sound causes your stomach to turn a bit knowing that’s the part of him that’s still Stack. He was always so jealous it was a wonder he was able to handle the relationship of 3. Even turning didn’t seem to change that in him. It was a sound you heard many many times before. A man any man would be beat within an inch of his life for disrespecting Stack or Smoke by gazing upon you for a moment too long. 

You’re not sure if you should be happy or devastated by the realization. Apart of you wants to be with him, be whatever he is now. Stay by his side like he had always been by hers. 

But then you feel the warm squeeze of Smoke’s arms behind you and his hands turning you into his chest as the tears you didn’t notice start again keep falling. 

Smoke’s large hands grab your face softly and his thumbs wipes the tears away. You couldn’t give up, not when you still had your Smoke. You had to fight for him even if that meant letting go of Stack or whatever Stack had become. 

His face is close to yours making you hold eye contact. 

“Shh baby m’ here, you safe. Just stay here with me” He says watching you, you nod finally giving him some relief you’re starting to accept this night and the twisted turn of fate. “If that was still Stack he’d want you safe baby. We both know that. He’d want you safe and with me.”

You shake your head in understanding but it doesn’t stop the tears. He leans in to softly kiss them away. 

“We gon’ be good. Ight baby? I got you.” He promises holding your eyes in place with the conviction in his. 

And you believe him. Not matter how impossible the situation seemed you believed him to always come through for you. 

“Did y’all hear that? Where’s that coming from” Delta panics leaving the room to search for the source. 

You steal a glance back and notice that Stack is still staring through the opening as Smoke pulls you away. 

“I love you” you whisper back with a finale look before turing into Smoke’s embrace as he leads you safely away from the temptation of his twin. 

Smoke knows that Stack is still in there somewhere but his bloodlust seems to be his main controller and  he can’t let you hold out on hope and get yourself killed or worse turned trying to prove your love. Trying to prove Stack is still in there. 

So he keeps you close as possible as they enter the main room following the rest of the group. 

“I love you Smoke” you say softly as you stop and look up at him. 

Smoke knows you do just as much as you love Stack, you’ve never shown favorites. He loves you more than he’ll ever be able to say, you both know that. After tonight though he might have to work on being able to tell you just how much he does. 

Smoke doesn’t care what happens tonight as long as he gets you safely away from this. Not only for himself but for Stack too. 

❤️💙

[prcttyfairies]

CRAZY IN LOVE: elijah 'smoke' moore & elias 'stack' moore fic

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: 🌑🩸   cicely james was one of the few innocence that still existed, her mind fighting the corruption that came along with her fathers drunken abuse that he inflicted on her out of his own spite. and she couldn’t say meeting the smoke-stack twins had made it worse because if so bad then why did it feel so good loving them. warnings were given by few, but ignored—--their adoration of her and the feeling of safety they stored within her leaving her to block out their advice. but as secrets are revealed, those they withheld from her for their own reasonings that made no sense to her at all, her heart had broken. and like any once innocent mind, suffering through their first heartbreak she kicked into fight or flight mode.

years passed since cicely suffered at the mistake of giving the twins her heart. unfortunately a heart that they still grasped ahold of. cicely james returns back to the mississippi delta just to discover that they had done the same. her plan was to ignore them, to do what she needed to do and protect herself. yet, they were never men that backed down easily.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 3.2K

CHAPTER ONE:

On a piece of land, a house sat, animals scattered all around; goats, horses, chickens, pigs, and a few cows. Behind the home a large crop grew, along with clothing lines that hung sheets, and garments after they had just been cleaned leaving them to dry. The home was enough for the small family of five. Seraphine and Otis James had been married for twenty years, surviving hell and back together. Thankfully with a home that the man's father had built once he had gotten his freedom had been passed down to him in his death allowing them to be blessed with a roof over their head. Grateful for their home it didn’t exactly erase the pain that happened within it. Once a place filled with laughter, and happiness, slowly slipping after the end of the war. 

Father and son return from battle, being called to fight for a country that had done nothing but look down on them, they still did their duties. One comes back believing in life in a positive aspect, seeing death right in front of his eyes and missing it one too many times wanting to appreciate the fact that his parents didn’t have to bury him. And the other, the darkness had consumed him. Otis James breaks bit by bit, not only the horrid images of war playing in his head, no longer able to hear a loud bang without jumping and snapping back into the trenches, but a letter of confession from his dear wife in his head. The man became a shadow of the husband and father he had used to be.

Now he was a drunken abuser. An inflictor of pain because of his own misery. Unable to look into the eyes of his eldest daughter without searching for his own resemblance and coming up short. Seraphine James returned her weak shoulders unable to hold that secret to herself any longer. Her decision she regrets now watching as her daughter suffered the most at his hands. Cicely James is unable to have peace and safety in her own home, her mother couldn’t do anything else but blame herself.

It wasn’t as if everyone else in the household hadn’t suffered. But not to the extent Cicely had. Clayton James, the eldest of the three children, had the strength to fight back at the age of sixteen no longer being that scrawny boy but with his heavy lifting on the farm his build grew over the years. And Clay wasn’t always there to be his sisters and mothers hero, having to pull his own weight to keep that roof over their heads and make sure they were fed along with the animals they all helped take care of other than the drunk bastard who seemed to always shout the demands.

Every night seemed to turn into a game with him. Not knowing which one he was going to come for first. At the end of the night someone always ended up battered and bruised in need of the other aid. Most of the time it was Cicely.

It had gotten to the point where those who knew her, whenever she traveled into town, no one who lurked around was surprised if the young girl had a bruise on her. It would have shocked them if she didn’t. All they could fathom was a look of sympathy towards the girl knowing that it wasn't their business to be in.

A small part of her wish someone would get involved, someone to put an end to her pain and suffering. Her siblings are in pain and suffering. Her mamas. Because it almost felt like there was no escaping a man like Otis James.

But someone out there must've heard her prayers. She spoke them loud enough for them to be heard despite them being muffled in between her sobs from yet again another restless night of aching pain.

Upon her mothers request, despite the cut on her lip and bruising forming on her cheekbone, she went into town anyway to get the ingredients her mother needed for supper that evening. The walk was a long one, Cicely trying to move as fast as she could without irritating the bruise that marked her ribs. If she didn't come back by the time her father would arrive home she didn't know what she was going to do.

As always she kept her head down, too afraid to look anyone in the eye regardless of the fact that it was to show attentiveness and respect to those who were kind enough to associate themselves with her.

Mind so intent on making it into town and making it out within good timing she hadn't even paid that much attention to her surroundings. She hadn't heard the rumbling of a motor car as it drove past her on the trail.

Whoever was driving it hadn't caught her attention but she had certainly caught theirs.

Tight curls surrounding her face, they hid her features. However, just from the figure they knew who she was as she walked. Having made it into town she was greeted politely by those who knew her, to which response with a small wave a murmur of greeting so low they almost couldn't catch it.

When she made it to the store, as usual, Claudette Franklin rested behind the counter minding the money as she always had, the older woman content where she sat as one of her nephews often stocked up for her.

Spotting Cicely the women instantly smiled at the young women's presence, "Well, my, if it ain't Lil Ol' Cicely James waltzing into my shop. My my, a sight for sore eyes," she teased the young girl. Despite her hair being in her face she blushed at attention she never seeked but was always given by the older women, "I can only pray your mama's doin' alright, haven't seen her face in here in what feels like ages."

Cicely had done what she was always told to do when some asked about her mother, "S-She's doin' just fine, Ms. Claudette, she just needed a few things," Cicely murmured, her tone soft, as she toyed with the small piece of paper in her hand.

Claudette hummed knowing 'doin' just fine' was far from the truth, “I got some linen and silk for her store up in the back,” Seraphine was a talented woman. Not only her son's hand in the fields that paid, along with the crop being sold, but her skill as a seamstress that she passed onto her daughter doing them justice as she sold clothes. She offered out her hand, Cicely hesitantly handing her the list. The woman looked it over before she called out, "Laurent, get these things on the list while Lil Cicely and I catch up." Cicely opened her mouth to protest just for Claudette to wave her off, "Oh, hush girl, let the boys do the shopping for once." the boy had approached, he looked as if he could only be a few years younger then herself, grabbing the list, "We got everything on it boy so I don't wanna hear no complainin', ya here?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Claudette offered her old wrinkled melanin hand out to the girl gesturing with her head to the back. Cicely obediently followed the women as she led her out of the man shop to a room in the back.

She blindly reached up as she pulled a chain, turning on the light inside the closet with shelves that had vile's and glasses of liquids and pouches of what she could only assume were herbs. Claudette hummed to herself as she searched for something specific.

When she found it, she grabbed ahold of a bag, reaching to tallest shelf as high as her toes could take her grabbing roles of linen and silk sliding the fabrics into the carrier before she grabbed ahold of a small glass that contained a red paste inside, it sealed closed at the the top with a cork.

"Here now girl," she handed it to Cicely, the young woman cautiously taking it into her hand with curiosity, brows furrowed, "Rub on the wounds to fade the pain, and at night when the moon has risen rub on your heart to mend the cracks."

Still her head lowered down, she shook it, "I don't think this'll do--" she began to deny what the women believed the paste would do.

"It will do what it is meant to do." Claudette cut her off, her hands circling around Cicely's and the glass, "Heal the mind, the soul, and the heart," she rested her hand on the girl's chest, "Lord knows a young girl like you can't parish so quickly in a world of pain. There is a future ahead for you, Lil Cicely James and it don't involve death by the hands of a man like Otis James." Chills ran down Cicely's spine at the mention of her fathers name, the man who she considered to be her monster.

She guided her back to the front, voices now being heard in the shop, however Cicely's eyes stayed focused on the glass in her hand, questioning if it would indeed do what Claudette says it would. Mend all she says it's meant to mend. And if it could work on all of them. Her mother, her sister, her brother---her father. Possibly change the fate of her life and return things to the way it once was. The happiness and joy her family once felt before it all changed.

"Nah, uh, y'all gangsta's need to go on and get outta my shop!" Claudette all but bellowed, snapping Cicely out of her thoughts. The girl lifted her head just to be met with two men. Twins, same facial features and all, and the only way to tell them apart were the altercations in their fine tailored suits, one wearing a Panama red hat, and the other wearing a blue Newsboy, and the fact that one smiled and the other didn't. Face stone as she looked at the shop owner.

Cicely looked them up and down having felt like she had never seen them before. Possibly her impeccable timing of coming into the town and missing whoever they were. Claudette clearly knew them, and their reputation couldn't have been the greatest with the way the women reacted to their presence and interaction with her grandson.

But when one of their eyes met hers, she snapped her head down, avoiding their gaze. She held the glass tightly in her hand, in front of her, "Go on, Cicely grab the rest of ya things, child," she ushered her on.

She had moved to go to the counter where a bag of the things her mother requested rested, but came to halt at the large figures standing in her path. They towered over her 5'2 frame, Cicely not daring to lift her head. Not even to see that one was smiling at her clearly entertained by her actions, and the other, face neutral but eyes flashed with slight interest as to who she was.

"You boys go on and move out that girl's way, she gotta long way home," Claudette, gesturing with her hands for them to move knowing how Cicely cowered in fear at a man's presence, she wasn't going to ask them to move.

A voice sounded, coming from the left, trying to decipher by memory who was standing on the left, "We far from being boys now, Ms. Claudette." it low, almost like a baritone.

"Well are y'all now," Cicely could hear the smile in her tone, the way she stepped up to them, now directly at her side, "Well a man would know that it's impolite to stand in a women's way, now go on an' move, let the girl get home." she ushered them on with her hand.

Reluctantly they stepped to the side, Claudette guiding Cicely to her bags, "We only want to know who the young Angel is," a warmth crept up Cicely's neck to her cheeks, biting inside her cheek as she surprised her smile at the name he gave.

"Compared to y'all and ya sins, she sure is an Angel," she caressed Cicely's curls as she grabbed the bag, "Tell ya mama Old Claudette said Hi, and 'member what I said," she nodded her head in understanding.

Cicely walked towards the exit of the shop, sparing the twins a glance just to find their eyes already on her. Snapping her head forwards she scrambled away, beginning her journey home.

"You gangsta's need to stay away from that girl, that's a good girl there." Claudette pointed her finger out in the direction that she saw Cicely disappear in.

A face was made at her words, one stepping up, as he held the lining of his jacket, "Now why you keep callin' us gangsta's Ms. Claudette, we nothin' but business men."

Claudette scoffed, "Keep tellin' yaself dat Stack," she retorts to the twin that wore the red Panama, "With the way these folk quake in fear at the sound you twos names, I'd say you was gangsta's," she escorted herself back to her place behind the counter, minding the money, "Besides, business men are presentable folk, they smile instead of pullin' a gun on anyone who so much as glances at them sideways." she described with judgement.

Stack released a chuckle as the twin in blue responded with, "Well then I guess you ain't eva been in business wit a cracka then?" His rhetorical response held no emotion as he spoke, as usual. Smoke didn't do well with emotions; anyone who came across him knew that.

Claudette looked at them sorrowfully. She had watched them grow up, the same child as that poor Cicely, and now she sees who stands before her today. The men who dance with the devil, "Oh, you boys, I just pray that death don't come for y'all," she whispered, shaking her head, her emotions showing. She always tried not to lead herself down the road of attachment to them knowing that she would just want redemption and that wasn't their goal in life. Their goal was power.

As always Stack didn't take her words seriously, smiling as he responded with, "Don't worry now, Ms. Claudette, we ain't goin' nowhere."

Cicely walked home, sun falling on her melanin skin causing sweat to form along the line of her hairline. She held the bag close to her chest, reminding herself to return to town the upcoming day to pay Claudette. The woman had rushed her out of the shop so fast she hadn't even gotten the chance to pay for what she had given her.

An engine running came from behind her, causing Cicely to glance over her shoulder at who was approaching. As they got closer, the speed they were going doing her legs no justice, it was easy for her to decipher who it was just by the hats they wore. She turned her head with no hesitation, looking straight forward as she continued on walking.

She could feel eyes piercing the side of your face, causing her to look down further hoping her hair would block it more. They had gotten a little ways ahead of her just before she heard the motor car come to a stop, engine dying down.

Her steps slowed prior to her halting completely, seeing both of their figures approaching her. Once they got a little closer her instinct was to take a step back for her own safety and precautions, but she hadn't made that move, which shocked her. Instead she clenched the bag of food she had, and instantly said;

"I-I don't want no p-problem's, gentleman," she stuttered out, not understanding why they stopped themselves from going to their next destination, to speak to her of all people.

"And you ain't goin' to get none, not from us," the one with the red panama raised his hands in assurance as he smiled at her, the gold grill that circled two of his teeth made visible, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, "We just came to introduce ourselves properly to the lovely lady," he removed his hat from his head as he bowed in front of her extending his hat out to her, "The names, Elias Moore, but everyone who know betta calls me Stack," still bowed, his eyes move up to find Cicely's just to see her features closely, "Now, you, angel...can call me whateva you want," he dragged out, biting his lip with a grin.

When he came up, placing his hat back on his head, he brought his finger under Cicely's chin, lifting her head up so he could see her face in the light, and give his brother a look as well, "And who is the mothafucka stupid enough to hurt an angel like you, sweetheart?"

Cicely's words caught in her throat, even though she didn't have words to say. Everyone who knew James knew what happened in the James household, that much was clear. But the two men staring down at her, with a look in their eye that she couldn't decipher left her too stunned to speak.

Slowly she moved her face to the side out of their sight one more, eyes lowered to the ground once more. Stack wasn't stupid, no matter how much people took his lack of seriousness in a situation as a way to determine that, he knew who it was. His brother knew too. Couldn't be a husband, she had no ring on her finger, and that left one person that would leave her scared enough to respond. A father.

They knew what that was like. Until Smoke handled that.

Stack tapped his brother's arm, gesturing to her with his head. He cleared his throat, "Elijah Moore, folks call me Smoke," he introduced himself.

Cicely took her time, biting her lip gently before she spoke up softly, "Names Cicely James, gentleman," she properly responded the way her mama taught her, yet her eyes still didn't meet theirs.

"Now come on, sweetheart, we gotta see those eyes," Stack encouraged in a jesting tone. Cicely inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment before she lifted her head allowing her eyes to flutter open as she looked up at the twin gangsters, feeling her heart race as their attention focused on her, "Wooo!" Stack hollered causing Cicely to jump slightly, "Ain't she the finest Angel in all of Mississippi," he nudged Smoke.

"Surely got my attention."

Cicely couldn't fight the warmth creeping up on her, turning her head away smile tried to forces its way upon her face, "Aw don't hide from us now, Angel," Stack made the bold move to brush her hair out of her face to see more of her features, "Listen, there's a speakeasy goin' on not too far from here and we would much oblige your company tonight, Miss. Cicely James."

At the offer, Cicely's eyes widened, shaking her head instantly knowing she would never be able to go, not with her father lurking and not with the guilt that was going to eat her up inside knowing that she left her siblings alone with the man.

"Oh, come on, Angel" Stack flashed his charming smile, "A party with the most handsome business men in all of Clarksdale, Mississippi."

For the first time since Cicely saw Smoke, the corner of his mouth twitched in what she believed would've formed into a smile, "Can't miss that, can you, sweetheart?"

AUTHORS NOTE: so as y'all can see i changed the description a bit at the top, changed a few things, mentioned clayton a bit and brought in the fact that they were soldiers in world war one. @wabi-sabi1090 gave me the grand advice to kinda fuse both this chapter and the altered plot chapter together so that it was what i'm trying to do in this moment. i do have partial of the next chapter written trying to get it out by sunday so fingers crossed, i just knew i wasn't going to be to do it until i updated this, so here it is.

[thevelvetwhispers]

This masterlist is a quick guide for my favorite fics and the writers that have been putting in work since the drop of this movie.

To the writers on this platform that take time to do what you love… if you don’t hear it enough….. BABY, YOU’RE APPRECIATED!

Let us read and enjoy. I'll update when when I can, or if you have some that you'd like added let me know.

NOTE: If you’d like your work to be removed just let me know.

Series

@uzumaki-rebellion — choose one [smoke X reader X stack]

@uzumaki-rebellion — ibeji series

@hotgrlcece — fever series [stack X reader]

One-Shots

Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

@livingmybestfakelife — waiting to exhale

@aviawrites — wait for me

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes — i put a spell on you — [part 1 2]

@starcrossedxwriter — still standing [part 1]

@szatears — thinking about

@novahreign — sinners

@luna-thecreator — flicker and fade

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore

@crystalgemcrusaders — til death do us part

@writerofautumnnights — a dance with the devil

@livingmybestfakelife — love rollercoaster

@rdmasevi — blood & blues

@aviawrites — love bites

@fckwritersblock — i never told you [part 1]

@fckwritersblock — what i should've said

@cloveroctobers — act right

@raysogroovy — lead astray [part 1]

@notapradagurl7 — his woman

@mrsknowitallll — soon as i get home

@luna-thecreator — glint and gone

@coldeforprez — is it the way

@solastarr — ms. notsoindepentdent

Smoke & Stack

@melodyofmbaku - her house, her rules [smoke X annie X stack]

@rdmasevi — bloodlines & blues

@prcttyfairies — the devil comes across an angel

@prcttyfairies — crazy in love

@jazziejax — from the same cloth

@jukeboxsweethearttt — make 'em earn it [smoke X sister reader!oc X stack - cw: incest]

@prcttyfairies — mississippi delta

@ughdontbeboring — let me in

@jazziejax — jumpin'

@aviawrites — anastasia antoinette

@yassbishimvintage — welcome to chicago

@writerbee-ffs — art thou forgiven

@artsninspo — sunrise and ashes

@starliis — milk & honey

@freshbakedbreadstick — of traits and closets

Smoke & Annie

@massiv3tr33p3rsona — home [stack X reader X annie]

@zunibugsiren — uprising

@yamst3rdamctrl — in a blink of an eye

@araybiaaa — held by you

@szatears — just a little something

@melodyofmbaku — mind your manners

@uzumaki-rebellion - in you arms tonight

Stack & Mary

@immortaljai — luddite ass nigga [stack X reader X mary]

@szatears — three's trouble [stack X reader X mary]

Remmick

@gatorbites-imagines — remmick yandere alphabet

@cherry-lala — the devil waits where the wildflowers grow

@rdmasevi — the one who asked

@spikedfearn — mercy made flesh

[melancholymetropolis]

“Stop pretending that you hate me,” Stack said with a smug grin.

“I’m not pretending.”

I let the words fall upon his ears like a cracked glass on the floor. His face dropped. The smile was long gone and a look of pain flashed across it. Stack looked as though I shot him in the chest. A shaky breath fell from his lips as he flicked the cigarette bud from his fingertips. He closed the distance between us in three long strides. My back was pressed against the brick wall of the shop before I could blink. The pain on his face morphed into anger so hot it made his skin burn. 

“You don’t mean that,” he spat, looking me dead in the eye.

 Stack tried to make himself bigger, more intimidating. A lackluster attempt to scare me, but it hadn’t worked. Not only were we a few inches shy of the same height, but I could see right through him. I knew Stack before he was Stack. 

When he was just Elias.

“Y/N,” his voice was a warning. Danger in his tone, but it didn’t phase me. “Tell me you don’t mean that.”

“Get out of my way, Stack,” I said, in a low tone. A desperate attempt to hide the pain in my voice. The stitches of an old wound was beginning to reopen. “I have work to do.”

His eyes poured into me just used to. Filling my head with stupid assumptions that only left me heartbroken in the end. I thought about how he set my dislocated shoulder in place; it must've meant he liked me. How he acted as my left hand for weeks until the pain went away; that must've meant he cared about me. The way he hunted down the man who did it and made him pay… must've meant he loved me. Only me.

But, that wasn't the whole truth.

“So that's why you never replied to my letters,” Stack replied, eyes still searching my face. “Still angry about Mary, huh?”

I dared to stare back at him. My gaze like cold rain to his heated gaze. I refused to slip the mask and embarrass myself in public like she did. He wasn't worth that. Not anymore. Not after seven years. 

I was better than that.

“Not really,” I said with an air of indifference. “I was a little preoccupied to hold a grudge.”

As if summoned, a squeaky little voice cut through the tension. Making Stack freeze on impact. Something he hardly does.

“Mommy?”

My sweet baby girl tilted her little head up at us to assess the situation. Her deep brown eyes searched the potentially dangerous stranger before flicking back over to me, in a caged position. A look of irritation, or disgust briefly graced her face. She narrowed her eyes at Stack and crossed her arms against her chest. Madeline was not afraid of anything. She was always the kind of child to look danger in the eye and laugh.

"Is that ugly man bothering you?" She said, staring directly at Stack. "Should I call daddy?"

An orchestra of emotion appeared on Stack's face. He seem to be both deep in thought and confused at the same time. Like he working out something profound. It took him several seconds before he came to.

"How old are you?" He asked Madeline, jumping right into the conversation.

"I don't talk to strangers," she tilted her in defiance, earning a smile from me.

Good Girl.

Stack, then, turned back to me. A desperate look in his eye; silently asking me the same question. Though he couldn't bring himself to the vocalize it. A look a true fear and hope on his face.

I used his trembling expression to my advantage and slipped from his arms. I took Maddie's hand and steered her away him.

His eyes drilled into my back, but he didn't dare move a muscle. He couldn't. He didn't to make a scene, or worse, alert everyone else of an open secret.

My baby survived, while my cousin's, Annie, didn't.

-----------------------------

a/n: watched sinners and I had to whip something up. let me know if you would like a part two! drop a comment if you would like to be on the taglist, if this becomes a series.

@lov4gor3

--------------------------

Part II

[cronaskullz]

YALL KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS 😈

NEED HIM OML!!!!!!

ALLA THEM TOO>>>>>

Sinners x reader fanfic writers wya?!!!???

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - What started as a simple night out turns into something a little more complicated when new faces and old ties mix under the summer heat.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild language, flirtation, tension, heavy Southern vibes

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I’m so glad you guys liked this story! I was so nervous to post, especially this one in particular. I’m was so shocked by the feedback, reactions and the LOVE. I’m so happy you guys are enjoying this, I’ve never written for Michael B. Jordan, though I’ve been reading about him since I’ve been on this site, but still. I’m so glad that you guys love this, stay with me as I get through these and the rest of my stories…

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,940+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

The block party on Vernon Street was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of grilled meats and the rhythmic beats of early hip-hop. Laughter and chatter filled the neighborhood as families and friends gathered to celebrate the return of Smoke and Stack, most just wanting an excuse to party. Children darted between adults, their laughter mingling with the music, while the adults swayed to the nostalgic tunes.

Smoke and Stack moved through the crowd, exchanging handshakes and hugs with familiar faces. Their presence was magnetic, and others could tell the difference from when the boys first left. They were men now, and were drawing attention from all corners of the block. As they approached the cooler, a familiar voice called out.

“Well, if it ain’t the Moore twins.” Sinclair said, her smile as bright as ever. She wore an orange halter top that popped against her brown skin, low-rise jeans, with her hair styled in loose curls that framed her face.

“Sinclair!” Stack exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. “How you doing, girl?”

“Oh, I’m as good a can be.” She smiled, pulling away from the embrace and looking up at him. “Y’all still causing trouble?” She teased, her eyes twinkling at the two as she crossed her arms.

“Only the good kind,” Smoke replied with a grin.

“Pleased there was never a good kind with y’all.” She quipped. “Good for you, maybe.”

“That’s what we meant.” Stack stated before laughing, causing the girl to laugh and smack his arm. Their laughter died down into fond smiles and soft gazes, Elias and Sinclair eyeing each other in particular. Smoke looked between the two, before he let his eyes drift as he felt the conversation about to shift.

“How you been, Claire?” Stack asked, leaning against the fence near the cooler, while Smoke sat on a milk crate, next to some men shooting dice. Sinclair let out a small a sigh, putting her hands in the back pockets of her right jeans, looking anywhere else but his eyes. “Nothing much.” She shrugged, but from the nervous laugh she let out at the ends and the way she divided eye contact let Stack know she was t telling the full truth. “I mean, if you can count having a baby as nothing.” She’s shrugged.

Stack eyes widened a bit at that, blinking as he looked at the girl before him. “A baby?” He asked, and his voice was a bit soft, low, as if the subject was something fragile and foreign to him. His heart then pinged in his chest, a sharp and quick thump, before it dropped to his stomach.

And he couldn’t help but wonder if this was her way of telling him he had a child after their one close encounter the night before him and Smoke is and left the Sip.

When Sinclair nodded, he licked his lips, reading his stance of the fence to stand straight, looking down at the girl. “Damn, that’s crazy Claire.” He said, keeping a calm demeanor in the face of his slight panic. “When did this happen?” He asked.

“About a year after you guys bounded, freshman year at college.” She explained, and Stack could almost drop to his knees and praise the sky at her words. He gulped as he blinked, trying to calm his heart that was still seating from the potential bond she could’ve dropped. But that was all covered up with a simple nod.

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy. His names Tyson.” She said, and now this time, Stack could be more happy for the girl, a small smile drifting onto his face. “That’s crazy, Claire. Congratulations.” He said, placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking her.

“Thank you.” Sinclair said softly, a small smile on her lips. “Now enough about me, tell me what you were up to in Chicago, big money.” She quipped, smiling up at him, looking up at him through her lashes, and that was a look Stack was not unfamiliar with. Which caused him to smirk as he leaned back into the fence.

They continued to chat amiably, reminiscing about old times and catching up on the years that had passed. Sinclair’s laughter rang out as she recounted a particularly embarrassing story from their youth, causing Stack to chuckle and shake his head.

As the conversation continued, Juicy and Mary emerged from the Hall home, their presence immediately drawing attention. Juicy’s black halter top with white lace detailing accentuated her curves, and her dark wash Baby Phat jeans hugged her hips perfectly. Her French tip toes stuck out from her black wedges that added to her height and her voluptuous shape, as well as the boot cut pants. Her stomach pudge peeked out confidently, adorned with a gleaming belly ring. Her dyed blonde highlighted curls cascaded down to her neck in a fluffy blowout, catching the light as they moved. Mary, equally stylish, wore a sequined butterfly top and low-rise jeans, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

They lingered by the porch, surveying the lively scene before them. Juicy’s eyes scanned the crowd, landing briefly on the twins before she turned to Mary.

“I’m gonna grab a drink and talk to Sinclair.” She said, her voice casual. “Kk.” Mary said, her eyes already on someone in the crowed that she seemed to want to sink her teeth in.

As Juicy approached the cooler, one of Martin’s friends couldn’t help but stare. The men were sat at a table, and his eyes caught the perfect view of a tattoo on the side of her hip. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, getting distracted from the game of spades. Martin noticed and frowned, turning to his sister.

“Man, go in the house and put some clothes on.” He said, his tone disapproving as she waved the girl over to the crib.

Juicy looked over at him after she picked up a peach Faygo from the cold ice waterz her face was frowned before she rolled her eyes at him, unbothered. “Boy, shut up.” She scoffed.

“I’m serious, Ju. You out here dressed like you grown or some.”

“I am grown, nigga.” She hissed, placing her free hand on her hip as she looked down at man with a deck of cards in his hands in a baggy black T-Shirt.

“Yeah, whatever. You just want attention.” He said, shaking his head before going back to the game, placing a card down on the table. Juicy turned her lip up at him, her eyes doing a quick survey of the men at the table and about. “I don’t want nothing from any of these bums out here you call a homeboy or whoever the fuck else. I came here to speak to Sinclair about Me and Mary going to Dwight’s later.” She snapped at him, her lip still turned up at him as she moved her hands as she talked, her manicured pointer finger grazing over the group of men. Some of the guys around that heard her let out their own sounds of discontent, but nothing crazy since her brother was sitting right next to her. And it seemed that Stack and Smoke were the only ones not bothered by the girls words, Smoke’s eyes dragging over her figure as he tipped his head back to drink his grape soda. Stack looked over at her from his place near the fence, a smirk in his lips at her bold words.

“Leave her alone, Mar.” Sinclair playfully interjected from next to Stack, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Yeah, can you leave me alone? I wasn’t even talking to you.” Juicy added, her tone sharp. Stack’s smirk grew wider as he looked at her, his tongue subconsciously tracing over his bottom lip as he eyed her.

Juicy then turned to Sinclair, her expression softening. “I need to borrow the car tonight. I’ll put gas in it.”

Sinclair hesitated for a moment, slightly squinting he eyes at the younger girl. “You better put glass in it.” She said, causing Juicy to smack her lips. “Didn’t i just say that? It’s my car too, Claire.” She said, crossing her arms. And besides the way her doing so pushed her breasts together and up, the twins noticed her plump lips had formed a small put as she spoke to her sister. They also began to notice that Juicy had grown into a bit of a boujee brat since they left. And that wasn’t a complete turn off to either of them. Sinclair then nodded her head over to the house. “Keys are in my purse on the couch.”

Juicy smiled, her grin radiant. “Thank you, Claire.” She said sweetly, puckering her lips in an air kiss before switching away from them, not sparing anyone a single glance. As she walked away, the twins couldn’t help but watch her, their eyes following her every move, especially the way her hips moved from side to side. Smoke and Stack shared a glance, holding eye contact for mere seconds and fully knowing wha the other was thinking. They shared a single and subtle nod before going back to the party.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The sun in the key began to dim and the music had softened into something slow and familiar—Frankie Beverly and Maze playing low over a radio someone left by the porch. Most of the crowd had either filtered to their cars to chill or leaned into the vibe with drinks and smoke in-hand. The air was thick with that Mississippi humidity, but Juicy didn’t seem to mind.

She was perched on the edge of the porch railing, one heel kicked off, sipping on water from a bottle through a straw to not mess up her makeup. Drinking water in the first place to come down from the buzz she felt from her and Mary’s earlier pre-game. Her curls had grown puffier from the heat, and her lip gloss was faded where she sipped through the thin plastic, but it was still shining in the glow of the porch light. She flipped lazily through a magazine she pulled from Mary’s purse, something she always carried the newest edition of. The light bouncing off her glasses, which she pulled from her purse and slipped on.

Smoke spotted her first—leaned up against the hood of a car in front of the Hall family yard, his arms folded, eyes cool. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched her while the men around conversed. Juicy didn’t look up at first, too focused on the gossip section of the magazine, but when she did look up, she saw him already headed her way.

He didn’t say a word when he reached the porch, just leaned against the porch rail beside her, looking down at her from above, as she looked up at him.

“Thought you mighta dipped by now.” He said, voice deep and low. His gaze intense as his eyes trailed over every inch of her face.

Juicy smiled a little, eyes bouncing from the paper in her hands and up into his serene eyes. “Nah. Mary got caught up with some scrub over there.” She said, gesturing over to the girl that was giggling at something a dark skinned man with cornrows said to her, caught in the trance of her laugh. Smoke didn’t even look at where the girl was pointing, his eyes trained on he as her eyes drifted away from him.

He simply hummed. “You look different.” He said.

That got her attention. She looked back over at him, smirking. “Good different or bad different?” She asked with a tilt of her head, subconsciously nipping at her bottom lip. Smoke’s eyes didn’t waver from her face. “Good.” There was a pause as his eyes jumped down to her lips before looking her back in the eye. “Grown.” He nodded.

And that single word settled heavy between them. Juicy raised an eyebrow at him, taking a slow sip from her water as she tried to hide her smile. “Well… it has been about, almost, seven years.” She shrugged.

“I ain’t forget.’ He replied, gaze sharp, but not unkind. “I remember you used to sit on this same porch with that blue bubblegum Stack got for your from the machine down at Phonso’s, scraped knees after falling from his bike for the fourth time cause he drives like a bat out of hell.” He explained with a fond smile, causing Juicy to duck her head as she felt heat creep up her neck. “And you was always talkin’ loud and with your hands, you two arguing about something he told you.”

Juicy chuckled. “Yeah, we ain’t have to reason to argue, but me and you did.” She said, giving him a playful once over. “You used to steal my freeze cups and act like you ain’t do it.” She said, moving to push his arms playfully.

A flicker of a smile threatened the corner of his mouth, looking at the girl who gazed up at him. His gazed trailed her up and down, taking in her form as she sat on the porch. When his eyes made its way back up to her face, he caught her eyes, that twinkled in the dwindling sunlight at him. “You still loud?” He asked. And he could see the way the glint in her eye changed. And it did, because one thing Juicy no longer was, was that shy and self-conscious girl her mother turned her into. She knew she had things abut her that guys loved, and she grew to find the beauty within herself, on her own. And now it seemed that her “new look” was catching the attention of a gut she’s had a crush ion since she could remember. At least, that’s what she thought.

“Sometimes.” She teased, brushing her curls behind her ear, playing subtly into what she thought she saw within him. “Depends on who I’m around.” She said softly, giving him a slow blink as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Smoke didn’t answer. Just looked at her like he was trying to figure something out. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was charged. Both of them could feel it, as it was exchanged between their eye contact.

“I’ll see you around, Juicy.’ He finally said, pushing off the railing. And she watched him go, heart knocking slightly against her chest. He didn’t look back once—but she could feel that his energy lingered.

Almost an hour later, she was back on the porch, both heels kicked off now. Her legs were crossed as she sat on the porch swing, sort of lying down as she swayed back and forth, when Stack strolled up with a plastic cup in hand and that devil-may-care smirk he always wore like a cologne.

“Well, well, well.” He drawled, stopping in front of her with a slow once-over. “If it ain’t my little Juicy fruit. You’ve changed so much, ma.” He said, grinning as he leaned against the porch banister, looking down at her. Juicy gave him a look, moving her eyes away from her pedicure that she was focused on as she hummed to the music. “You still talk too much.” She deadpanned, living her foot up as she looked back at her toes, thinking if she needed another color or not. Stack watched her, how unbothered the girl seemed to be by him as she analyzed herself.

“And you still like it.” He fired back smoothly. “You always did, you know that.” He said before, eyeing her as he sipped from his cup, looking at her over the rim. Juicy’s eyes trailed back over to him as she crossed her legs, ignoring the pulse she felt at her center at his words. She rubbed her lips together, spreading her gloss while Stack continued. “That outfit—mm.” He hummed. “That outfit of yours is a but disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?” She asked, raising a brow. And her irritation that was rising was clear to the both of them as she blinked at him.

He nodded as he leaned closer, eyes dragging down her legs and back up again. “Yeah.” He said. “To every man at this party that ain’t got a chance.” He smirked. Juicy laughed at that, loud and unbothered, shaking her head. “Boy, you ain’t changed not one bit.”

She grinned, cheesing at him. “Still slick at the mouth.”

“Why would I change when I know you love me no matter what?” Stack grinned, resting his arm on the porch rail beside her. “No change been doin me just fine.” He said. Juicy simply tilted her head at his words, taking his appearance in. She didn’t know what to say to him, because she knew he was right. She had been smitten for Stack for a very long time, even if it was never said. And Stack used to indulge the girl up until the day he left. Their bond went far beyond what most could understand, but when they were younger, she helped Stack more than she knew. Stack did the same. He studied her, all slow. Juicy just hummed. “But you?” Stack started. “What was that earlier, huh? Juicy in Juicy? Baby, when was you gon’ tell me that you were a brand now?” He asked her jokingly.

The girl rolled her eyes but smirked. “Don’t gas me.”

“I ain’t. I just tell it how it is, ma.” He tilted his head. “ So what you been up to since I been gone? I know you ain’t been in no trouble. You was never trouble, I was, but you grown now.”

Juicy let out a small sight, shaking her head. “Nah.” She said shaking her head. “Not me. Not yet.” She chuckled. “Just been doing anything a young girl like does.”

Stack quirked a brow at that. “Like what? Don’t tell me you got a lil boyfriend or something. You talkin’ to anybody?” He asked.

Juicy narrowed her eyes. “Why?” She asked, tilting her head at him.

“’Cause I wanna know what I’m up against.” He smirked. “Who ass i gotta beat about you, ma.” He said. But before she could answer, Mary hollered from inside for her to come help look for her purse. Juicy blinked away where ever the current conversation was just going as she stood up, slipping back into her heels with a sway.

“I’ll see you around, Elias.” She said softly, blinking at him before she moved away.

Stack watched her walk, eyes glued to the way her brown skinned back moved under her top. “Lawd have mercy…” He mumbled o himself, looking at her until those wide hips left his sight and entered the home.

The night went on and the party fizzed out to other parts of the city for the people who didn’t want to go home but had to get the hell out of the Hall yard. Smoke sat on the couch later that night, across the street inside of his old home. He remembered the little girl who used to knock on their door for extra to borrow sugar, or see if they had chips. Who used to cry quietly on Sinclair’s bed when her parents argued in the next room. And now? That girl had gone. She stood taller now, with a body that demanded attention—and a confidence that made it dangerous.

He didn’t like surprises. And Juicy had just become one.

In a room down the hall, Stack was laid out on a bed, arms behind his head, still thinking. He could hear the television that Stack watched in the living room, and as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but to think of the girl he saw earlier, and the way she was dressed now. He had to admit, she was attractive, and the way they spoke to, he took that as an invitation of something she wanted. And he liked a challenge. Always had. And something about Juicy’s energy? That little attitude, the way she didn’t fall into his rhythm so easy—but played into nonetheless—it got under his skin in the best way.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

It was a day later and house was lazily buzzing with the glow of the afternoon sun. The TV inside of the Hall family home was humming some rerun in the background as Juicy and Mary sprawled across the worn couch. They were both flipping through their phones, exchanging idle comments about people’s outfits from last night, when Sinclair called out from the kitchen.

“Juicy!” She yelled.

Juciy rolled her eyes but nonetheless called back out to her. “Yeah!” She yelled back, getting a shove in her leg by Mary’s foot, who looked away from her phone to something that caught her eye on the television. Juicy turned her lip up at her but only settled to nudge her back. Sinclair walked out from the kitchen and looked at the girls on the couch. “Can you run to the corner store for me real quick? I gotta keep an eye on Tyson.” Sinclair’s voice was half-pleading, half-commanding—the way it always was whenever she needed a favor.

Juicy groaned softly, head falling back against the couch dramatically. “Okay.” She agreed immediately, even though her slight annoyance was clear as Sinclair move back to the kitchen. “Can I go in the car at least?” She asked.

Sinclair poked her head around the corner, her expression already set. “Only if you fill the tank up.” She stated.

Juicy sat up with a loud sigh, already knowing she was beat. “Man, I ain’t tryna spend my whole check from the shop on gas.” She muttered under her breath, tossing the ouch blanket onto the couch cushion ext to her. “Fine. We’ll walk.” She said, subjecting the other girl into a walk in the heat.

It wouldn’t too bad, she supposed. The sun was high and hot, but the store was just a few blocks away, and a little walk might do them some good. Plus, they could grab ice cream while they were at it.

Juicy and Mary made their way down the cracked sidewalk, the summer heat bouncing off the pavement in lazy waves. As they neared the corner store, they spotted a certain man and his homeboys posted up against the brick wall in front of their cars, laughing and talking amongst themselves, completely ignoring the store owner who was yelling at them to stop loitering.

Juicy rolled her eyes. Of course they were here, she thought.

The store owner finally threw his hands up and stormed back inside, giving the crew a full view of the two girls as they approached.

Donavan, the man dressed in a bulls jersey over a white t-shirt with baggy jeans, didn’t hide the way his eyes slid over Juicy, slow and deliberate, biting his bottom lip like he was seeing her for the first time instead of the thousandth. His boys chimed in too, whistling and throwing out comments, the usual noise that came with being two girls walking through the neighborhood.

“Aye, Ju, let me holla at you.”

“Wassup, Mary? With yo fine ass.”

“Damn, Juicy, when you gone let a nigga get some?”

Juicy sucked her teeth with a disgusted look on her face, swinging open the store’s door with a hard shove as she ignored them, letting the cool air from the store hit her skin. Mary grabbed a small cart and immediately went to the mental list Sinclair had given, while Juicy stayed by the freezer section, scanning for a good ice cream cone.

She was crouched low, comparing brands and prices, when she heard the bell over the door chime again.

She looked up—and of course—there was Donavan.

“Man, you just gon’ act like you don’t see me?” He said, flashing that same crooked grin he used back in high school, ignoring the looks from the man behind the counter.

Juicy stood up slowly, closing the freezer door with a tap of her hip. “I saw you.” She said flatly. “I just ain’t been impressed so far.” She shrugged. Donavan chuckled, swaggering closer. “Aw, c’mon now, Ju. You used to light up when you saw me. What happened to that lil’ smile you used to have for me?”

“First of all, don’t call me Ju. We ain’t cool like that, and tell them niggas you hand with the same thing.” She said, looking up at him with a smirk. “Second of all, I grew up, nigga.” Juicy said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Like you shoulda been did.”

“Damn, Juicy, why you gotta be like that?”

“Cause I can.” The girl said, sassily tilting her head at him.

Donavan laughed again, undeterred by the girls bratty attitude. “You still fine though.” He stated, looking her up and down. “Still got that lil’ mean mouth on you too. Bet you still sweet underneath all that tough talk though, huh?”

“Oh, and I bet you would love to know that.” Juicy said softly, not hiding how her sultry she her tone was as she spoke to him. Donavan couldn’t hide his grin, causing Juicy to shake her head, fighting the little smirk that threatened her lips. He was charming, she’d give him that, but she knew better. Knew what lurked behind that smile.

Donavan wasn’t an ugly guy, far from it. And he could be sweet at times, but there was multiple reasons Juicy couldn’t go for him. One of them being that he was a rival of her brothers and she didn’t like that gang and selling drugs shit at all. She stayed far away from it. Secondly, his persistent flirting was a bit much. He’d been pining after her since junior year of high school, and she had to admit, she was playing hard to get at first. But Donavan was far from a saint. He was a harlot, and damn near every girl in the neighborhood has had a piece of that, and that’s not how Juicy rolled.

Before she could come up with a retort, Mary called from the bread aisle, “I’m done, Ju!” She said before she began walking over to them.

Donavan’s attention shifted immediately, his eyebrows lifting as he took in Mary for the first time. His grin widened.

“Well damn.” He said under his breath, eyeing Mary from head to toe like he was picking out dessert. “Wassup, Mary. How you doin’?” He asked, smirking at the girl. Mary turned her face up at him, while Juicy rolled her eyes, before both girl simultaneously scoffed at is audacity. They ignored him and made their way to the counter with their items, Juicy grabbing their ice cream cones last minute. The clerk began ringing them up when Donavan swaggered over and slapped a wad of crumpled bills on the counter.

“I got it.” He said, flashing a quick wink at Juicy. But the girl snatched the money up without hesitation and shoved it right back into his chest. “We don’t need that.”

Donavan smirked, amused by her defiance. “It’s not about what you need, shorty. Take what you want.”

“We don’t want it either.” She said sharply, pulling out the cash Sinclair had given her, quickly sorting through the bills before handing it to the clerk before the man could even finish telling her the total, and she was right on point with the amount.

She and Mary grabbed the bags, and Juicy snatched up their cones as they made their way to the door, Donavan trailing behind them like a stray dog.

“Why you still actin’ stuck up, Ju?” He called after them, loud enough for half the store to hear.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that? Don’t play with me Donavan.” Juicy snapped.

“Man, back in high school you used to eat up the way I talked to you. Now you too good, huh? Cause you in college and shit? Or is it ‘cause of them little fake ass jobs you got now? That lil’ beauty shop money got you actin’ brand new?” He went off, and Juicy was not hiding the way she rolled her eyes at him, scoffing at the man’s pissy attitude. She was about to whirl around, ready to cuss him out, but before she could get a word out, two familiar figures were walking up the pavement toward them.

“Hey, Smoke, hey Stack.” Juicy called out brightly, more than happy for the distraction from the aggravating man behind her.

The twins immediately clocked the situation—the girls, Donavan standing too close, the tension thick enough to cut.

Smoke’s dark eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded at her. “Hey, Ju.” He said. While Stack lifted his chin in greeting too, his lips curling into an amused smirk when he caught Donavan’s posture stiffening.

The silent acknowledgement between the men was heavy. They weren’t strangers to each other—and they sure as hell weren’t friends. Though Smoke and Stack had only gotten back two days ago, they were apparent to the things that’s changed since they’ve been gone. Donavan now controlled his brothers, Demetrius, territory. Said main being locked up. And Smoke and Stack were not good friends with Demetrius at all, so much so that it meant Donavan had a problem with them. They were speculated to had something to do with him going to jail, conveniently leaving for Chicago a week after that big altercation at MO’s spot, which led to his arrest.

Smoke’s gaze slid past Juicy to Donavan, cutting and assessing. “What you doing here?” His voice was calm as he spoke to the girl, but there was something under it, something harder.

“Pickin’ up some things for Claire.” Juicy said, clueless to the silent war playing out behind her.

She gave a bright, casual smile, holding up the little plastic bags like proof. Neither Stack nor Smoke looked away from Donavan though, both of them standing a little more solidly now, like they were ready for whatever might happen next.

Donavan licked his lips, sizing them up, but said nothing—just chuckled low and turned back toward his crew loitering outside.

Smoke was the first to speak once the tension in the air settled, offering an easy way out. “Y’all need a ride?” He asked, nodding towards the bags weighing down Juicy and Mary’s arms. “We just stopped for gas and some woods. We can drop y’all off.”

Juicy glanced at Mary, who shrugged, her arms full. They really didn’t feel like walking back, especially not with Donavan hovering like a damn gnat. “Yeah, sure,” Juicy said, her voice casual but thankful.

Stack, ever the quieter one, fished the keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of Juicy. “Here.” He said, a slight teasing glint in his eye. When Juicy went to grab the keys from his hands, a smile on her face, he snatched them back, looking down at her. “But be careful with the silver Beemer, ma. Don’t scuff her up.” He said. Juicy sucked her teeth, snatching the keys from him without hesitation. “Boy, it’s not like I’m gon’ drive it.” She sassed, giving him a quick, annoyed look.

And Stack couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of her, admiring the way her brows pinched together and her mouth tightened into a small, perfect frown. Those glossed lips shining in the sun, looking extra plump and kissable whether a frown watched its way onto her face. The way she looked up at him, lashes fluttering despite her irritation, did something to him.He let out a small breath, shaking his head at her. “You lucky, girl.” He said under his breath with a grin, placing the keys firmly into her palm.

As Stack handed off the keys, Smoke was still watching Donavan, who hadn’t moved far from the sidewalk. His stare was heavy, daring, but when Stack walked past him and followed Smoke inside the store, Donavan finally peeled his eyes away with a quiet scoff.

Juicy and Mary didn’t waste time. They carried their bags across the lot and slipped into the BMW, bags in laps, ice cream cones still slowly melting in hand. The interior was spotless, smelling faintly of new leather and the sweet, lingering scent of someone’s cologne. It felt way too fancy for them to be sitting in it with grocery bags and dollar store cones. They hadn’t been waiting long before the twins came back out. Smoke slid behind the wheel, tossing the woods and lighter onto the dashboard, while Stack circled to the passenger side. As Stack pumped the last bit of gas into the tank, Smoke adjusted the mirror — and that’s when he caught it.

Juicy, in the backseat, lazily licking at her strawberry ice cream cone. Her tongue swept slow and deliberate over the pink scoop, a tiny bit dripping down the side. She leaned forward slightly to catch it with her tongue again, completely unaware of the way the simple, innocent action had locked Smoke’s gaze. He didn’t mean to stare — really, he didn’t — but damn if she wasn’t making it hard not to.

He shook himself free of the trance when Stack climbed back in, twisting the cap onto his water bottle. Smoke pulled out of the lot and headed back towards their part of the neighborhood, the smooth purr of the engine humming under them.

As soon as the tires hit pavement, the questions started.

“So,” Smoke began, his voice casual but carrying an edge. He looked at Juicy through the rearview. “That nigga botherin’ you?”

Juicy blinked at him, caught mid-bite of her cone. “Who?” She asked, genuinely confused.

Stack turned slightly in his seat to face her, resting his arm against the door. “Donavan.” He clarified, his voice low. “You know… Mr. Tryna-Mack.” He said before scoffing at the mere mention of the boy, who he himself addressed with a purposeful corny nickname.

Juicy rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Please.” She scoffed. “He been tryna talk to me since junior year. Ain’t never gon’ happen.”

Mary snorted beside her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “He was real bold today, though.” She added. “Damn near droolin’ when he saw her.”

“Yuck.” Juicy grumbled.

Smoke’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel, though he kept his tone light. “You tell us if he don’t get the message.” He said, voice a shade deeper. “We can handle that.”

Juicy smiled a little, amused at their protectiveness but not taking it too seriously. “I’m good.” She said, leaning back against the seat. “Ain’t nobody worried about Donavan ass.” Stack then glanced at her again, eyes sharp but amused. “Well, you should be worried about lettin’ that ice cream melt all over my damn seat.” He said, turning his head to glacé black at her. “And Claire’s groceries.” Mary teased. Juicy stuck her tongue out at him, making Mary laugh, and the tension in the car broke into something easier, more familiar. Smoke refocused on the road, but his mind wandered — mostly back to that image of Juicy, licking strawberry ice cream, entirely too sweet and dangerous for her own good.

And Stack? He couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his mouth, stealing another glance at Juicy as she chattered with Mary in the back. She was fire and thorns all wrapped up in something too pretty to touch — but damn if he didn’t want to.

And maybe, soon, he’d find a reason to get a little closer.

@the2daily4scoop @childishgambinaax @notapradagurl7 @marley1773 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @synsualsage @wabi-sabi1090 @jackierose902109 @simethingidk @theunsweetenedtruth @blondfortheweekend @nunya7394 @brattyfics @ramp-it-up @afrosandsweatpants @blkandchic @foxybrownsugababe @avoidthings @lovelylocs @thickemadame @greeneggsanpam @blkgirlsneedlove2 @abrienirvana

[cloveroctobers]

act right | Elias “STACK” Moore x black! Reader

A/N: I thought I might dabble in some mess that involves stack idk. This is a toxic moment!!!!! but you definitely have to be if stack is your type…or are you gonna fix him? 😆

Synopsis: in which reader finds it entertaining that stack is back in town and in her face, thinking you’re about to spin the block again. He must have forgotten who tf you are.

WARNINGS: language/minor usage of the N-word, mentions of violence, cheater!stack, side chicks and shit talking, built past relationship, most of reader’s background is based off of Katherine Dunham, & this was honestly a quick write on this cloudy weekend but I hope y’all like it?

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃

It’s truly an art, pretending that you don’t see someone staring at you. There were so many people in the juke joint, many old and new faces that you didn’t mind chatting with, after Annie made you one of the best Bee’s Knees you ever had. You had no doubts about it, considering the two of you had quite the bond especially when it came to events such as these.

Usually you had no issue blending into the room and once comfortable you made effort to socialize. And usually that always ended up with you on the dance floor, you being nicknamed as, “QOD, Queen of Dance,” who always seemed to take the lead once all eyes were on you. There were many years where you were forced to be held back, shield your gift and be what your parents wanted you to be. When they found out that you opened up your own dance school just in your teens, where you spent majority of your time after school instead of helping down at the struggling local newspaper shop, your family couldn’t be more than livid.

Little did they know by you opening up this school, helped contribute to expenses but it also brought on some guilt after your brother was left alone to run the newspaper stand by the trains, which led to him being paralyzed and wheelchair bond for the rest of his life. The hate in this world is a motherfucker and regardless if you were there or not when those events transpired, it still could have happened.

These were the times you were expected to live in.

People don’t understand that some brains can be delayed but that doesn’t mean your brother was a bad person or deserved what he got. He was one of the main ones who was proud to see you dance and told you that you could always be more than what momma and daddy wanted you to be. So? You kept on dancing.

Until you felt hands on your hips, facial hair prickling the side of your neck. His front pressing into the shape of your backside so easily he felt like he belonged there. You halted your movements, hearing his voice over the blues.

“Girl you sure do look good as hell,” he comments trailing his lips up the side of your neck breathing you in, “I’ve been looking around town for you but somehow I knew you’d find your own invitation.”

Your hands touch his and shove them from your body, you spin to face him with fire in your blood. Stack looks the same as you always remembered him, a handsome yet dangerous darkness that you didn’t sign up for.

“I’m not here to support you if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” you go back to swaying your hips and Stack can’t help but to run his tongue over his bottom lip, “I came here to dance.”

Stack laughs lowly, rough like gravel and like the texture of his hands. That same hand runs at his jaw as he watches the way you move without a care in the world, as if it wasn’t easy to gain an audience.

“Is that right?” His hand reaches forward again but even with your eyes closed, you reach out just in time to smack his hand away. Stack hissed with a shake of his hand, “…See you can do all that but you and I both know, you would much prefer to dance on me.”

Your eyes rolled open at that, stopping your movements as you peered over at him underneath the yellow light. Your hand goes right to your hip, where his hand should be but he lost that right. Lost that right when he lied saying you weren’t his first thought when he got to Chicago. You went out there to pursue your dream career whereas he went out there with Smoke to make money and fuck shit up.

That’s not what he intended to do with you.

There was a time where you believed Stack did love you but you would never be someone’s second thought.

A cold smile passes over your full lips, “Oh Elias…you think if I let you dick me down on this ol’ dance floor things will be forgiven? We had our fun in Chi-Town and you had even more with your hussies out there. Even gave one of them the ring that belongs to me and now you want to be in my face thinking shit is sweet? You should go play with Mary who’s over there lookin’ as if she could throw a tornado our way…she always did put up with your fuck shit better than me.”

Stack’s jaw ticked out of frustration. He didn’t need you to bring up old shit right now, not when he was already having a good night with the vibe of success in the air. When he spotted you, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Wouldn’t. He should have known coming over here wouldn’t be easy…something you never were. Stack ignored Smoke who told him, “If you go over there, you might want to Bob to the left since her hook’s always been sharp.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you took your frustration out on somebody. Obviously it wasn’t always the best choice and you knew when to apologize when you knew the person behind your wrath didn’t deserve it.

Elias Moore was a whole another story.

“I don’t give a damn about her right now,” Stack stepped to you but you didn’t flinch just folded your arms with a smirk on your mouth, “I’m talking to your ass. And I know you missed me as much as I missed you, sweetheart.”

“What gave you that idea?” You laugh, “Every call I never returned? I was too busy living life, just like you.”

Stack’s known all about your adventures after Chicago. From Martinique to Jamaica and Trinidad. His gut was telling him then to follow you, he should have followed you all over the world but his ego got the best of him. He even came to a few of the shows, tucked away in the dark corners of the theatre and felt like he was the loudest of applauses. He was sure you could pinpoint him out as you curtesy at the end of the shows, even thought about sending you flowers but felt like that would be doing too much. Especially when you caught him with one of the other dancers in the hallway.

He sniffs, fingers flexing at his sides, “You cant live no damn life without thinkin’ of me.”

There goes that ego again.

A scoff of a laugh flies out of your mouth, hand going to rest against your cheek afterwards as you peek into the anger on his face, just as you would when surveying one of the his drink’s you would always sample first before handing it over to him, much to his annoyance.

“If you really think that then I’m really about to break your heart, boo.” It’s your turn to step even closer to him, “You come and go out of my life as much as you please. What’s the harm in me doing the same?”

His teeth are flashing at you now, gold grill glistening beneath his beautiful smile. “You always did know how to knock a man off his feet.”

Your head tilts to the side, eyes almost glancing around his frame, just knowing what he was referring to. You shot him in the ass after you found out from some friends that he fucked Mary in the back of his car one night. At that point the both of you were just friends but…he should have never shown up and got in the way when you were letting out your frustrations! You claimed you were aiming for his leg once you got back into bed with him weeks later but the both of you knew better.

“And you always knew how to make love hurt.”

Something shifted inside of Stack at your snapping words just then.

It was no secret that stack hurt you.

When he was able to sit alone with his feelings and look back on it all, he knew he fucked up. There were times where he just felt like his brain did more than his heart would allow him. He knew you deserved better but ultimately he felt like nobody else deserved you more than him.

“Whatchu want a sorry?” Stack clasped his hands in front him, guard up, “Will that get you to stop acting so stank and admit that you’re not gonna find anybody that loves you more than me?”

You’re shaking your head now, “Fuck your sorry, Stack. Especially since you think that’s enough. I just wanted you to act right and you never could.”

Your hands softly trail against his chest and his breath hitches, tempted to watch your hands skillfully dance across his broad chest but like he said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. That moment of tenderness is brief as you shove him back, actually making him budge.

That makes a cruel smile past over your features, knowing you got him in a trance as you step around him, ready to bump shoulders with him but he side steps you. His hand shoots out to grip your wrist, turning you roughly back to him. He pulls you tight against his frame, making sure you’re nose to nose as you stumble. You’re breathing him in when you want to keep him out.

His mouth is open like he’s got something smart to say but his heart is the soundtrack in his ears instead of the harmonica now.

“If you don’t have anything else to waste my time with, then you best unhand me before I make you a new headline, Elias.” You say into his face, eyes strong and bold on his whiskey hues.

Stack’s grip slackens, very slowly because he still wants to have a hold on you. You’ve always liked your personal space and it took time for you to open up to him just as him with you. Maybe he shouldn’t be holding on if he didn’t know how to do it right or the way that you needed.

Just giving you the inch, you slip out of his touch, that lingers as it glides over your bare back in that low-cut dress. A wink is sent his way, making him twitch and let a sickening grin appear over his own face, although he knew you were far from joking, ready to set it off at any given time just like him—although you claimed to be a changed woman using forms of dance as the best outlet—Stack still knew you even if you thought he wasn’t shit.

You even shoo him away, yelling over the music, “Why don’t you get you one of those sidecars from Annie? Maybe that’ll uplift your spirits because it damn sure won’t be from me.”

And with that being said Stack had to swallow that as he watched you again, slipping through the bodies, dancing with a few on your way by, before finding another stranger to sink your body into. A scowl is on Stack’s face now, as your hips swung left and right while another nigga buried his face in what should be his.

Rightfully.

He promised he wouldn’t cause a scene tonight and he would keep his cool but he remembered faces. That nigga wouldn’t be allowed back in this spot ever again after disrespecting him. Once he was able to get moving again, he tapped one of his boys, pointing out some red dude that had his hands on you for his men to take care of some time tonight.

While he leaned against the bar with Annie giving him a knowing glance which he held his hand up to before she slid him a sidecar—without that decorative shit on the side of the glass she tried to give him last time during one of your birthday parties—Stack couldn’t help but to wonder if you’d ever dance his way again but deep down he already knew the answer.

Yet everybody that knew Stack was aware that he was hardheaded. Once he set his sights on something, he knew how to be persuasive…in his own way. It was his turn to smile behind the rim of the glass as he watched two of his men snatch the red man away from you as you twirled from his grasp, hands up in the air, briefly distracted from their attack.

When you turned back to the missing man, a look of confusion passed over your face before you shrugged, moving through the remaining crowd to plop down next to Sammie, who sported his own guitar lounging by the stage.

Some heartaches you freestyle around, twisting and turning, and some you drink through—and some may just cause you to bleed out.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃

FIN.

[araybiaaa]

❝ temptation.❞  ‎ elias ‘stack’ moore x black!fem oc

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… modern!au, tension, flirting, cunnilingus (cause every man in this movie is a muncher!) black!fem oc, explicit sexual content.

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… where a good girl falls into temptation after she meets elias ‘stack’ moore.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… soooo i wanted to try something different and do a modern!au with stack. (smoke’s still my favorite twin. the real girlies get it!) but i wanted to challenge myself a bit here.. this idea honestly came out of nowhere. i opened a03 and just started typing and somewhere down the line it became a one shot with 5k+ words?? 😭 also just wanted to say tysm for all of the love on my other fics. smoke and annie are near and dear to my heart and i’m glad you guys enjoyed my interpretations/writings for them. just a fair warning, the girl in this is very unserious but who wouldn’t be if you saw a vampire that looked like mbj! requests are open so send in something if you’d like — just keep in mind of my rules. anyway. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! ◡̈

“he’s dangerous. if you had any common sense you’d stay away from him.” their words seemed portent at first; a precautionary warning that had her wary of him. she didn’t know him but she’s heard enough stories about him to know that he was feared by everyone. his reputation was something akin of their town’s own boogeyman or freddy kreuger — he was dangerous, menacing and someone to be fearful of.

cleo hadn’t been in town long enough to know if his reputation superseded him or if the rumor’s held some weight of validity in them but her curiosity was piqued to meet the guy that had people hurriedly locking their doors when the sun went down and removing the welcome mats off of their front porches.

at first, she wondered if everyone in town had collectively decided to pull a prank on her as some sort of initiation or simply for their own amusement. because to her elias moore seemed more like a ghost than a vampire. she lurked outside after hours, even against their warnings — completely foolish and naive, but she never saw him around.

she doesn’t know why she wants to see him so bad, maybe it’s because everyone else has and she feels strangely left out. or maybe it’s because she needs to see for herself if there was a world where mythical creatures existed outside of the cheesy television shows she used to watch and the books that she read. but much to her dismayed defeat, time continued on with her being the only one who had yet to meet the feared elias moore.

“what does he look like?” she asked, feigning innocence behind her curiosity that her best friend, naomi easily sees through and narrows a pointed glare at her. “what? i just want to know in case i see him around somewhere!” she murmurs with a halfhearted shrug. it didn’t seem like an actual possibility with how she hadn’t so far, but she didn’t want naomi to know that she was willingly seeking him out.

naomi sighs, pursing her lips as she tapped her manicured fingers against her thigh. after a moment’s contemplation, she reveals: “i’ve only seen him around a few times. he doesn’t look like any of those sick looking vampire that you see on tv. he’s actually…fine.” at this, cleo’s eyebrows raise in amusement at her friend’s description. “he has this look about him that makes you weak in the knees whenever he smiles at you. it’s effortlessly sexy and his eyes — just don’t look in them too long cause you’re gonna find yourself wanting him to turn you into a vampire too just so you can spend the rest of eternity with him. i’m only telling you this because you asked, but don’t go around asking anyone else about him. you don’t want your daddy finding out about it.”

cleo nodded in agreement, but still found her mind wandering about him. she knows that naomi’s right, her overly religious father would have an aneurysm if he’d found out that she was asking questions about the town’s social pariah. but that didn’t stop her from visualizing him through naomi’s description.

she’s only ever heard of naomi speaking negatively about elias so for her to refer to him as fine despite her disliking of him had intrigued cleo. “yeah, you’re right. i was just curious but now i know.”

naomi’s pointed glare deepens, like she doesn’t fully believe cleo. “girl…stay away from him for your own good. trust me. i know another girl who was curious about him just like you are and she got turned.” cleo wonders if she’s just saying that to scare her away, but surprisingly it doesn’t.

“i hear you,” naomi hums in acknowledgment but thankfully doesn’t reprimand her any further about her curiosity.

…

sometimes cleo makes smart decisions.

when it came to school and her grades, everything was always calculated in her mind for her to choose the best possible outcome. she was annoying obsessive like that — always planning ahead, analyzing and assessing even the most mundane things that infiltrated her life. but other times, on seldom occasions, she makes not-so-smart decisions; one’s that has her acting impulsively and deviating from her normally pristine behavior.

she was supposed to be going back to her dorm room to get ready for a party that she was planning on going to with naomi. it was twelve o’clock and she had just finished an exasperating nine hour bartending shift with annoying alcoholics flirting with her and their heady, glossed over eyes staring at her ass in the tight fitted jeans that she was wearing.

her dad was less than pleased about her place of employment, but he knew that she needed extra money to pay for her clothes, shoes, hair and other miscellaneous items so he refrained from making any comments anytime she she complained about a customer or the minimal pay that she was getting.

cleo was closing the bar; wiping down the sticky counters, recounting the money in the register and overturning the chairs when she looks up and sees him. he’s standing across the street but even with the distance set between them she can feel the smolder of his gaze as he looked at her. cleo stands there for a brief moment just staring back at him until she mustered enough courage to make her way to the front door.

the overhead bell rings in a soft bellow as she pushes the door open. the humidity of the mississippi air sticks against her skin as soon as she steps outside. but even with its scorching temperatures, elias’ stare pierces deeper and has her skin burning. when she steps outside, she sees him making his way towards her — his gait was stealth and calculated.

she feels goosebumps prickle along her skin, air catches in her lungs and warmth curls around her neck as he sauntered closer. the first thing that she noticed was that although naomi had been right in her description of him, she had greatly undermined it. he wasn’t just fine; he was handsome and she could already feel her knees buckling weakly beneath her just at the sight of him. the second thing she notices is his eyes and the phosphorescent glow of red in his pupils. when he finally reaches her, he stands athwart from her and slowly drags his eyes over her body. his eyes find hers again and for a moment she wonders if she could hear the hastened beating of her heart.

“it’s kinda late for you to be out here ain’t it?” he posits and the deepened drawl of his southern accent somehow makes him more attractive.

cleo swallows a shaky breath, nodding. “i’m closing up the bar. we just closed about ten minutes ago,”

he raises his brows, trailing his eyes somewhere offside. “and they just left you to do it by yourself? don’t they know it’s dangerous people out here? vampires walkin’ about like they’re humans.” he says with sarcasm lilting in his voice and clicks his tongue against his teeth with a reprimanding tsk that follows.

cleo juts her chin outwardly. “i’m more than capable of handling myself.” she rebuttals, her hand perched on her hip as she looked at him.

his eyes find hers again and he smirks impishly, nodding his head. “i’m sure.” he says; and it’s something hidden in the way that he says it that has her cheeks warming again. a moment passes between them as he stares at her with an intrigued expression worn on his face. “you ain’t scared of me,” it’s more of a statement than a question, though she knows it’s intended to be the latter.

he sounds and looks surprised by this, that he’d finally encountered someone that didn’t run away when they saw him. “am i supposed to be?” she was more attracted to him than anything, unable to stop looking at his lips and his bared fangs that peeked out from his mouth.

he shrugs, “everyone else is.”

“well i’m not everyone else,” at that he doesn’t respond, only smirks at her again making the butterflies she feels in her stomach somersault deeper. cleo bites her lip as she looks over her shoulder towards the bar. ‘don’t ever invite him in anywhere, that’s how he gets you.’ she ignores her father’s words, pushing them to the back of her mind. “you wanna come in?”

he raises another brow, “you want me to come inside?” this time it’s her that shrugs and he only gives her a brief dubious look of contemplation before he’s following her inside of the bar at her open invitation. she could feel his eyes honed in on her ass and unlike with the drunken middle aged men from before, she isn’t repulsed at the realization.

“you know, at first i thought people were lying about who you are. it seemed like everyone knew what you looked like except for me.” she says, folding her arms against her chest and watching his eyes lower to her perked breast. she bites on her lip, intrigued.

“you were lookin’ for me?”

she nods briefly, “i wanted to know what you looked like.”

he walks towards her until he’s standing directly in front of her; way closer than he was when they were standing outside and it catches her slightly off guard. “well now that you have…whatchu think?” the remark is undeniably coquettish — the soft murmur of it accompanied by the lascivious look that he’s giving her has her pinned beneath his gaze.

“i think you’re not as scary as people make you out to be,” she responds; avoiding the answer that she knows he was truly searching for. but he settles for this one too, indulging in her retreat.

“you think you can make that assumption from a five minute conversation? what if i am like everyone says?” the air between them shifts into this palpable tension; hot and undeniable. he takes a few more steps forward until he’s hovering his heightened figure over her. she cranes her neck to look up at him, “i could bite you right now and you wouldn’t be able to do anythin’ about it”

“if you wanted to you would’ve done it outside,” she rebuttals, seeing the twitch of his curled upper lip.

“maybe i like playin’ with my food before i eat it.” and the innuendo behind his words has her breath hitching.

her skin pricks with goosebumps again at his teasing words. elias takes immediate notice of it; his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply with his heightened senses. and it takes a moment for her to realize that he must smell something radiating off of her body — arousal? excitement? — because he’s chuckling and licking his lips as he reached his hand out and brushed it over her hip. she shivers, not out of fear but of arousal. “and you sure as hell look and smell good enough to eat.”

cleo’s mouth gapes the only audible sound that comes out is a soft gasp. it’s the sound of her phone ringing that suddenly clefts through the tension hanging in the air. she jumps, startled, looking at elias whose eyes narrow at her phone like he’s inwardly cursing it for its intrusion. she reluctantly moves out of his grasp and walks over to pick up her phone that was sat at the edge of the counter.

picking up the phone she sees that it’s a text from naomi asking where she’s at. she’d gotten so distracted with elias that she forgot that she was supposed to meet naomi at their dorm room half an hour ago. she types a quick message in response, telling her that closing up took longer than expected and that she should go ahead to the party without her and that she would just meet her there instead.

she looks up from her phone at the same time elias is already walking out of the door, the sound of the bell ringing announces his departure as cleo stands there with her mind replaying their interaction.

…

a week passes before she sees him again. he’s standing outside of the door; staring, watching, waiting. she walks towards the entrance and holds the door open, beckoning him forward. “come in,” he walks inside as she closes the door behind him.

“you weren’t here the other night.” he says, catching her slightly by surprise. had he been looking for her this time instead of the other way around?

“oh, yeah. i was off. i don’t work on tuesdays and thursdays,” she explains watching as he nodded before looking away with a sheepish expression. after their last encounter, she spent the entire week thinking about him — how he looked at her, how his hand felt against her bare skin. cleo didn’t understand how she developed such a quick attraction for him, especially when she didn’t even give human boys any time of the day, but something about him was different.

naomi was right, all it took was one look from him and cleo found herself a fallen victim to his charm. “why aren’t you scared of me?”

she’s taken aback again, even more so than the first time. “why do you want me to be?” she challenges, noticing the pull of his jaw as he clenches it shut.

“your daddy’s a preacher ain’t he?” she furrows her brow, curious to know how he’d figured that out without her telling him. “how you think he’d react if he knew you were stayin’ behind after work to talk to me?”

ah, so that’s what this is about.

“well aside from me being grown and fully capable of making my own decisions, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” and she would definitely keep this secret from him for his sake and hers. “elias—”

“stack.” he interrupts to correct her.

“elias,” she says, unmoored by his correction. he gives her a look but listens as she continued. “i’m not talking to you because i’m trying to prove something to my dad or anyone else here.”

“then why are you?”

“because i want to.” she exasperates, frowning slightly. “why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“because you don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into,” elias retorts through a forewarning tone that sounded all too familiar of her family and friends who initially warned her away from him. he was right, aside from the fictionalized information that she got through old cw shows she used to frequently watch, she didn’t understand the depth and complications that came along with being a vampire. but her interest in elias made her want to know more — she wanted the truth and all its ugliness.

“then show me.”

…

elias stack moore had a tarnished reputation way before he got bit and transformed into a vampire. albeit he was the more level headed of the two, the smoke-stack twins were well known for their violent behavior and short fused tempers. their involvement with the notorious al capone and then stack becoming involved in a near ritualistic slaughter hadn’t done anything to ease anyone’s perception of him. his reputation expanded over the near century with people reciting tales of his life; often times dramatizing it completely.

but regardless of the half-truths or stack’s solemn search for penance — he still remained feared to the point where people would refrain from staying outside at night too long just to avoid him. he kept mostly to himself, only indulging in his sexual needs with a few other vampires that lived amongst the town. if he did leave his house, he made sure it was brief just to avoid any inadvertent run in’s.

he knew he was feared and had stories told about him that would give kids nightmares. but she was surprisingly the only one that didn’t tremble in fear when she saw him or tightly clutch her cross necklace and recite scripture from the bible in hopes it would protect them and keep him away like everyone else did. instead of running she gravitated towards him; accepting and intrigued by him in a way he hadn’t felt before.

he was wary at first of getting close to her.

she had a reputation as the preacher’s sweet and innocent daughter. he could only imagine the outcry that would erupt if anyone were to find out that she had been talking to him. but cleo insisted that she didn’t care and expressed interest in wanting to see/know him — all of him. so he invited her to his house.

she came over at work — still dressed in those tight jeans and that cropped shirt that accentuated her lithe physique — all wide eyed and innocent and fucking gorgeous.

as soon as she stepped over the threshold and inside, he felt something shift in the air as he realized that she was the first girl he’d ever invited into his house. he watches her as she looks around spectatingly, crouching over a bit with her hands on her knees to look at the display of photos that he had. “your brother?” she asks rhetorically as she looked at the candid black-and-white photograph that he had of him and smoke taken years back during the time of their youth.

stack nods tersely, pursing his lips in a moue.

and he’s grateful that she notices his reluctance and doesn’t prod any further because even though it’s been over a century since his brother’s death, it was still hurt carrying him around in his memories.

it’s stack who segues the conversation, now turning the spotlight on her. “you said you wanted me to show you, so what do you wanna know?”

cleo bites her lip in thought. stack’s mind is briefly distracted with how sexy she looks that he doesn’t initially hear her question until she asks it again.

“it took me a while to learn how to do it. i taught myself most of what i know, the guy who turned my ex that turned me didn’t teach me much. but it’s the first thing i taught myself.”

she nods, biting on her lip again as she lowered her eyes in a shy chagrin. “so that night at the bar…when you sniffed me what did you smell?”

“you really wanna know?” she looks up, almost contemplative, but nods. “lust. your hormones were all over the place.” her expression’s caught somewhere between mortification and a grimace. “my hearin’ is heightened too…i can hear your heart beatin’ fast as hell. you nervous?”

at her nod, he posits. “cause of me? why do i make you nervous?” he takes a preemptive step towards her, closing the distance between them. he hears her pulse quicken. smells the saltiness of sweat underneath the floral saccharine of her perfume.

she doesn’t respond, only looks at him underneath her lashes. “what else do want me to show you, cleo?” her breath hitches, eyes flit from his lips back up to his eyes in a quick maneuver. her heart beats louder and the smell of her arousal is so thick that he can almost taste it on his tongue. he inhales her scent; feeling his own arousal mix with hers.

he sees her throat stretch as she swallows.

…

it’s almost feral how he bares an arm around her waist and tugged her body closer to his. she gasps a bit at his onslaught — startled by the abruptness of his movements, but she’s immediately relaxing into his embrace the moment he brushes his mouth against hers. he kisses her with a ravenous vigor, sliding his tongue over the cupping of her lower lip as a terse plea for entry. she whimpers before she succumbs to his prowess, slacking her jaw wider as he intertwined their tongues.

his kisses are bruising and greedy to the point where he steals all the air that was in her lungs. it’s a slip of tongues and a crash of teeth messily colliding, through guttural groans and breathy whimpers. stack’s arms tighten their hold around her before lowering to her ass. he squeezes her through her jeans before giving it a firm smack; smirking at the way it ricocheted. he gives it another hard squeeze as his mouth nipped at the exposed flesh of her neck. “tell me what you want,” he rasps; gruff and throaty, his breath hot against her skin.

his lips pucker as he nipped at her skin; sucking deep, purple love-bites all over. (and it feels so good that she doesn’t even care that she’ll have to cover up the evidence of his markings with makeup to hide from her father and naomi.) she grips the back of his head, holding him against her as she fluttered her lashes and indulged in the pleasure.

“this,” she whispered, voice shaky, body trembling with an intense want. he groans against her neck; alternating between nipping and sucking. and he gets too into it because she hears a low sound that mimics a growl and feels the sharpness of his fangs grazing her clavicle. she gasps, taken back and he’s immediately recoiling — looking up at her with his swollen lips and lidded eyes.

“fuck. i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—sometimes when i get too excited it happens. but i wasn’t trying to…” he’s panicking, careening apologies to her. but she’s sliding her mouth over his and kissing him deeply with fervor.

“it’s okay,” she whispers, still pecking at his lips.

stack furrows his brow, “yeah?”

“just don’t bite too hard.”

he nods, lightly grazing his teeth into the softness of her flesh. he nibbles at her neck with the tip of his bared fangs biting deliciously into her skin. the pain is sharp but still pleasurable enough to have her eyes rolling to the back of her head. his hands make their way to the front of her body, sliding over her abdomen and hovering at the waistband of her jeans. she breathes softly through her parted lips, emanating a whimper when he bites into her lower lip. “you smell so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, reaching his hands between the crux of her thighs and sliding his thumb over her slit — passing the pleasure over the seam of her jeans.

her underwear suddenly becomes sticky with her arousal and knowing that he could smell it on her was sending her over the edge. she feels this incessant pleasure building; coiling in her stomach and spreading through the heat of the place where she desired him the most. “can i taste you?” at her consenting nod, he maneuvers them towards the couch and eases her down onto the cushion.

he pries their wet lips apart with a ‘smack’, a string of saliva draws at their disconnection. she holds the smother head of his gaze, watching as he lowers to his knees. “lift your hips up for me,” he murmurs, already working at the buttons and zippers of her pants that loosen around her hips.

she concedes, arching her hips off of the couch just enough so that stack’s hands are able to tug the tight fitted fabric over her hips and down her thighs. “look at you,” he says; marveling at the sight of her arousal. the dark spot is visible against her pink underwear — soddening through the fabric. “already so wet and ready for me.” he kisses the inside of her thighs, nudging the bridge of his nose against her cunt.

she shivers through a moan, it’s just the barest of contact but she’s hypersensitive to his touch. his deft fingers pull at her ruined underwear, sliding them down her legs and absentmindedly throwing them aside so that she’s sat completely bare in front of him.

her cheeks warm at her vulnerability.

stack’s hand brushes against her calf as he gripped her leg and hefted it easily over his left shoulder. his eyes hone in on her cunt as she spreads open; staring in awe at the slick that’s gathered between her folds. he grabs at her other leg, barring it around his right shoulder until he’s got a perfect position of her cunt displayed in front of him.

cleo arches her hips slightly, holding herself upright as she rests the palms of her hand against the cushions. her heartbeat quickens at the desire that grows, palpable and thick in its emerging, sending another jolting throb directly into her cunt. she could feel the wisps of his breath as he leaned in. he brushes a teasing kiss against her thigh, humming softly at the way she shivers in response.

he nudged himself closer towards her cunt; pressing soft kisses against her skin in passing before he finally reaches the place where he could smell the the evidence of her want. he presses a kiss against it and she shudders, feeling the tension roll down her spine and curl into her toes. she doesn’t even have a moment to gather her bearings, because then he’s flattening his tongue and licking her up from the back of her perineum to her clitoris. “oh—fuck. s-stack,” she bellows a soft cry of pleasure, her hands grip into the couch to seek purchase.

and when he reaches the over sensitive bud, he puckers his swollen lips and sucks her into his mouth; skillfully using his tongue to massage her clit. she feels the texture of his tongue stimulating her clit, sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure burning through the crevices of her body. her breath catches in her throat and she’s shivering so hard that stack has to pull his mouth away to remind her to breathe.

she nods numbly, blinking through the fogginess of her vision. she parts her lips and exhaled shakily; attempting to lull her breathing. “grind your hips against my face,” she whimpers, reaching a hand up to hold the back of his neck to anchor herself as she slowly rolled her hips against his face.

“ohmygo—” the added pressure of his nose and tongue assaulting her clit has her dizzy. his hands grip her hips, fingers dig into the meat of her thighs holding her against him.

he makes his way up her vulva; pausing right before he reached her clit and increased the pressure so that the base of his tongue was forced slightly under her clit. he slows his movements, unrelentingly in his ravenous feat as he holds the pressure there. she grinds against him again, shaky, still trembling through her movements as she buried his face deeper into her cunt.

she could hear the lewd stickiness of her slick as he licked up her pussy; could see it glistening over his face — a messy mixture of her arousal and his saliva dripping down his chin. she’s already shaking towards her release but then he grazes his fangs softly against her clit and she’s suddenly bellowing out cries of pleasure as she cums.

she pulsates around his tongue, the tension tugs in her lower belly. he slides his thumb through her slickness, watching as she haphazardly falls backwards against the couch cowering away from the overstimulation. stack pulls away, lapping his tongue around his mouth as he licked up the remnants of her slick. “you okay?” he asked through a rasped breath, watching as she laid there in a dazed stupor.

she nods, just barely, feeling the heaviness of her breathing begin to lull. cleo never thought that someone as smart as her would be drawn into the temptation from a vampire, but here she was — with her cunt still throbbing around nothing, legs and body completely spent, eyes looking at his face that’s covered in her juices, and it entices her.

and it’s then that she realizes that she was totally and completely fucked. he’d warned her that she didn’t know what she would be getting herself into if she became involved with him but with the way he ate her pussy out so good and had her wanting more, cleo realized that she was willing to test the boundaries of her restraint.

…

cleo didn’t like lying, she’s always prided herself about being a truthful person regardless of the repercussions that could follow. she didn’t like people lying to her so in return, she treated everyone with the same decency of respect and remained truthful about everything. it’s not until she starts dating stack that lying easily becomes integrated into her life.

she goes to church with her father every sunday, sits in the front pew and listens as he recites sermons and scriptures about demons and evils that plagued the world. it guilted her knowing that he was wistfully unaware of the fact that she was bedding with someone he referred to as one of the demons that walked amongst them, but the way he made her feel was better than anything she’s ever experienced before.

so she keeps the secret buried deeply, and listens halfheartedly at his preachings as she finds her mind wandering on stack again. it’s easier to hide behind her fib with her father, but naomi’s naturally pestering curiosity always gets the better of her and a simple response of “i already have something planned.” does not offer enough of a rational explanation for her.

“you’ve been acting weird these past few weeks…” she acknowledges with a skeptical brow and pursed lips. she narrows her gaze in on cleo who desperately hopes that she doesn’t look too hard enough to see the hickies stack sucked on her shoulder and breast the other night. “you’re here during the day, but always sneak out to go somewhere at night like you’re meeting someone,” she accents, her perception’s dangerously close to discovering cleo’s secret.

“i’m not.” the lie falls disbelieving to both of their ears. naomi gives her a narrowed look, tilting her head. she bites on her lip in contemplation, sighing softly as she concedes. “okay! but you can’t say anything to anyone especially not my dad.”

naomi gives her a bemused look but nods.

“i might be seeing someone,” cleo murmurs, averting her eyes to naomi to see her eyebrows raise. “i am seeing someone. but don’t ask who! because i’m not going to tell you who it is. i’m only telling you this because i know you wouldn’t stop hounding me if i didn’t.”

naomi stands there quiet, considering her words. “is he married?”

“what!?” cleo beseeches, frowning at her friend’s absurd accusation. “girl, no! i am not a fucking homewrecker!”

“hey, it’s a fair assumption!” naomi rebuttals, raising her hands in the air at her defense. “you’re being sneaky and sleeping over at his place at night… it made me think that you only go over there because that’s the only time that you’re allowed to.”

“no. i’m not fucking a married man.” cleo states. she continued to stuff her clothes in her overnight bag, avid to get to stack’s place. she could feel naomi’s he eyes still piercing through her, curiosity sits on her tongue wanting to inquire further about the guy’s identity. but she thankfully relents, only giving cleo a hum of acknowledgment when she grabs her bag and clamors a parting bye as she walks out.

when she arrives at his house, she’s greeted with a smile and kiss, his arm wraps around her waist as she melts softly into the embrace. he maneuvers her bag from her hands, allowing to to fall absentmindedly to the floor with a loud thud. his hands are groping her everywhere; sliding over her ass, squeezing her titties, palming her cunt through the flimsy pair of leggings that she wore. it’s almost feral how both of their bodies aligned with the same wanton desire.

she loves how the outside world becomes a distant memory for them as they remain secluded in the privacy of his house with no worries of interruption or ridicule waiting. “if you had any common sense you’d stay away from him,” had been a warning, but she found herself gravitating towards him despite their attempts of deterrence. and she had no intentions of letting go of this feeling or him.