#michael b. jordan x oc

[bed-chemist]

❝ fortnight ❞

─⋆♡ chapter summary: Michael and Liberty go on a date. well, sort of.

─⋆♡ main tropes: Michael B. Jordan x Fem!OC, Rome Flynn x Fem!OC, Damson Idris x Fem!OC. Bodyguard x Princess, Secret Service x First Kid, forced proximity, forbidden love, tolerated enemies to lovers, college romance.

─⋆♡ chapter warnings: obsession, stalking, eating disorder, angst, 18+ black!writer, language, stalking and obsession from MMCs pov, blood (mentioned), alcohol (mentioned), torture (mentioned), hostages (mentioned), threatening (more like some warnings but that's subjective), weapons (mentioned), physical descriptors (brief discussion about being black in america and body descriptors), characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression, lmk if i missed something.

series masterlist ✰ faceclaims ✰ libby’s cabinet ✰ spotify playlist word count: 5.7k ⋆

Michael

The deep vibration on my watch jolts me awake letting me know the guard’s shift change is in progress. My surroundings immediately catch me off guard. The faint morning light shines through the sheer curtains and the smell of vanilla wafts through the room. My entire body is sore and I groan at the shooting pain in my knuckles when I adjust my arm to check my notifications. I should’ve taken some painkillers before smashing my fists into that dick’s face.

Surprisingly, my watch isn't on fire with messages. I sigh and let my arm fall back onto the bed, maybe a little too hard, because Liberty’s warm body shifts next to me. She rolls over until she’s facing me, getting comfortable on my bicep. Her breathing remains slow and even, letting me know she’s still fast asleep.

I take the time to memorize every detail of her face. It’d be a miracle if she ever let me this close to her again unless she’s under duress.

It’s not as if I don’t already know everything about her. I know what she’s allergic to, every broken bone she’s ever had, and every person who’s had the pleasure of fucking her. And that’s not just because I’ve been assigned to her in exchange for my freedom. 

Ever since her picture floated across the metal table on the 30th day of my torture in the same basement we had been in last night, I became obsessed with her. They trained me like a dog, only feeding me and allowing me to rest when they were telling me controlled information about her. 

The name ‘Liberty Washington’ became my beacon of light but remained a subconscious part of my original makeup. The one that reminded me that she is my prison. But my obsession with her continued when they released me. Since they only showed me the photo of her once, I used all the resources available to me to obtain the information they hadn’t given me.

If I were trapped by a 20-year-old for 4 years, I would know how she presented herself to the world.

My eyes wander down from her forehead to her chin, categorizing every part of her warm smooth skin. Her doe-eyes are softly shut and her long lashes splay out against her high cheekbones. She exhales a light sigh from her plum-colored lips and I fight the desire to wake her with a kiss.

She is by far the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. No one can hold a candle to her, even when she’s asleep and isn’t trying. I attempt to smooth the mess of hair secured on top of her head with bobby pins, but all I’m left with is a sticky substance on my palm. 

My touch wanders down to her cheek, caressing her face with the back of my hand. Her breathing hitches momentarily before her eyelids begin fluttering. She hums, nuzzling into my skin. “Mmm that tickles,” she complains.

Shit. She doesn’t want me touching her and I can’t touch her. She doesn’t even want me in her bed. I silently scold myself again for waking her after the traumatic night she had last night. “My bad,” I apologize, removing my hand from her face.

Her eyes snap open as she reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “No, don’t stop,” she whimpers with a scratchy voice.

I untangle our bodies and by the look on her face, I think she knows I won’t return to the action. Instead, I carefully untangle our bodies to slide out of her bed. “Go back to sleep, I need to shower,” I advise her.

She frowns before saying, “I don’t–”

“Don’t argue with me that you don’t need sleep. Those drugs may be out of your system but you're in withdrawal,” I cut her off, scolding her.

She opens her mouth to rebuttal but a shiver runs through her body like a wave. “And by the looks of it, shock. Fuck,” I grumble, pulling the covers up to tuck her into the bed. “I need to get to Jo before she gets to you,” I tell her, knowing that Jo will take one look at her and flip out.

As if I’ve jinxed it, the door to Libby’s room smacks against the wall. Jo barges in with her heels clicking against the floor with every step. Her displeased disposition emanates through the room when she simply states, “We need to have a conversation.”

So much for Liberty resting. “About what?” Liberty questions, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

Jo’s eyes flicker back and forth between me and Liberty. “Well now that I see your assigned agent half naked in your bed, we may need to have two conversations,” she snips. The cool air on my skin is enough to determine what she’s irate about.

Liberty groans, sitting up from where she was lying beneath me just moments ago. “We didn’t do anything,” she defends.

“It doesn’t matter. Agent Jordan, need I remind you of your contract? You are only permitted to touch Liberty in cases of emergency. If I report this to her mother, you can kiss your freedom goodbye,” Jo warns. I figured she’d be the first to rat us out if I ever pursued Liberty since she’s always up her ass. 

I take that as a cue to get the fuck out of the bed and I take it, standing from the cool sheets. Liberty scrambles to the edge of the bed, swinging her feet over the edge. I glower at her in warning and she pauses, her toes hovering just above the ground. “No, Jo. Please don’t,” she attempts to plead despite me grounding her to her bed.

Displeasure covers Jo’s face and she turns around when all three of us sense shuffling in the living room. Jo shoos Liberty’s dressing crew away, shutting the door in their faces.

She groans into the wood, “Oh fuck, Libby. Please don’t tell me you’ve become a love-sick idiot in three days. You have a job to do,” and it sounds like a prayer more than a statement.

The air is sucked out of the room and Liberty quickly covers. “No, I didn’t. I just asked him to keep me company last night when I was drunk. It wasn’t his fault.

When I hear her words, I can’t help but feel something tingling in my stomach. What the fuck is that? Disappointment? No. Rejection? Who fucking knows.

“Michael, is that true?” Jo asks me to confirm Liberty’s accounts, bringing me back to the present.

Liberty’s deep brown iris connects with mine, silently pleading with me to keep the full details of last night under wraps. I return my attention to Jo, nodding with my lips pressed together.

Jo squints at the two of us and I can practically feel her scanning my soul for deception. Her face eventually softens and she sighs. “Why were you even drinking?” she questions Liberty.

“Because it was a Friday night and the gi–” Liberty starts before I cut her off by clearing my throat. The more she talks about last night, the more we’ll have to change the little details.

“How old are you, Libby?” Jo cuts the President’s daughter off.

“20,” she murmurs and I’m reminded of the immaturity that comes with her age. 

Jo follows up immediately with, “And how old do you have to be to drink in the United States?”

“21, but,” she says and I can feel the excuse coming.

So can Jo because she stops her from continuing. “But, nothing. Do you see these pictures, Libby?”

“What about them?” Liberty counters.

“What about them? What about them?!” Jo’s voice raises with every passing second. She reaches into her bag pulling out a stack of newspapers. “Liberty Washington, you are the second black first family in this white house. So you already know you’ll be scrutinized more than former president’s daughters,” she rants, throwing the landfield into Liberty’s lap. “I don’t care if someone hands you a ton-sized bottle of champagne, you do not take it before you turn 21.” 

Libby thumbs through the tabloids and I watch as the color drains from her face. She looks up at me and I truthfully have nothing to say to comfort her. This is the outcome of hanging out with those rich ass white girls. I shrug and she frowns, seemingly displeased with my lack of response.

Liberty sighs, removing the pictures from her lap and setting them aside. “Okay, I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

Jo’s face softens and she takes a step forward. “You know I don’t care, but the public does. Now we need to do damage control,” she tells her, sitting next to her on the bed.

“What type of damage control?” Liberty follows up.

“The type of damage control that does not present a hung-over, first daughter,” Jo informs her. She points between the two of us adding, “You two are going out.”

“Out? Where?” Liberty parrots.

Jo sighs standing from the bed. “Lunch. Somewhere well-lit where you can be photographed looking perfectly healthy and not looking like you just escaped death.” She begins typing on her phone and I assume she’s pulling up the closest approved restaurants in the area.

“Go shower,” Jo commands me and I nod, moving to exit from the room.

“I know Harry and Rowan are attached at the hip right now, but it’s worth a shot reaching out to them. Maybe we can fly them out to support you,” I hear Jo advise Liberty and my ears perk up.

“No. They’ve got enough going on right now,” Liberty replies and I glance behind me with confusion.

Who the fuck are Harry and Rowan. Those sound like masculine names and they did not come up on my search. How the fuck are they connected to Liberty. My Liberty. And how quickly can I find out everything I know about them?

The moment we stepped out of the car at the Italian restaurant 30 minutes ago, we got swarmed with cameras. The shuttering sound hasn’t stopped ringing out and I’m consistently triggered. The sound of photos being snapped sounds oddly similar to a knife being sharpened. My upper back carried a ton of weight when I quickly jogged over to Libby’s side of the car to let her out.

When slid out, black heels first accentuating how short her skirt was, a low growl bubbled to the surface. My instinct was to push Libby behind me to hide her but that wasn’t possible. We have one job today. To get her seen looking perfectly fine.

Now, I watch meticulously as Libby swirls the fork in the pasta dish on the patio, bringing another bite up to her lips. The lunch has been mostly silent; she gives me flirty glances and I return them with glares.

In flickering moments, I find myself feeling guilty for the way I’m treating her. How I’m keeping her at arm's length so she doesn’t learn the full truth. It’s fucked up that the person I want the most is sitting within grasp, but touching her means giving up my breath.

She’ll hate me if I tell her the truth about the deal and my obsession with her that came with it. She’ll hate me if I tell her I can’t be with her because touching her means my death follows swiftly. I can’t win. 

I swallow thickly as Libby’s leg drags up the inside of my leg. My gaze lowers on hers and I feel a growl coming forward, “Lib, the fucking cameras.”

I knew this was a bad idea. As soon as I saw the date-like table placement, I should’ve requested we be moved. She bats her eyelashes and my jaw clenches. Those siren eyes alone could send any untrained agent into a spiral. Her charisma and confidence would’ve made her a shoo-in, in a different life.

“What? They couldn’t see that. And besides, I asked you a question, I was just trying to get your attention,” she manipulates the situation flawlessly so it’s impossible to be mad at her. Aside from the straggling tourists sitting at the nearby tables, the Italian restaurant is empty. Suddenly I feel even more guilty for forcing her to only chat with me.

I hold her gaze as I take a sip of water. “You have it, Lib. Always. What did you ask?”

She licks her glossed lips and I want to grab her throat and taste her tongue for myself. “Wanna play 21 questions?” asks suggests.

My brain races with how negatively this could go. She could ask me anything and I know I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Not because I was trained to see her as my savior, but out of respect. She deserves to know how she’s being used if she’s curious about it.

“Oh come on. I’m not going to ask you anything groundbreaking like the codes to the torture room,” she jokes and I tense. “I just want to know you a bit better,” she continues.

My mouth unconsciously counters with, “You know me already through the file Mommy dearest gave you.”

“I want to know what’s between the pages. Tell me something the government doesn’t know, Michael.”

Her tone is tempting as she leans closer to me, causing her breasts to practically spill out of her top. Against my better judgment, I survey my surroundings. A couple of sleaze bags stare a hole through Libby’s chest and I attempt to shove my irrational self away. “I’ll tell you whatever you want once you sit the fuck up,” the deep grumble slips.

Libby smirks, leaning back into her chair. Her fingers dance on her jacket, pulling it tight around her midsection. “Better?” she tests.

The urge to roll my eyes is intense but I nod, giving her confirmation. I shift in my seat, awaiting her first question when she blurts, “Okay, let me think…Oh, I know! What’s your favorite song?” 

“That's your first question?” I ask slightly baffled. I expected her to come out of the gate swinging.

She giggles, and at that moment, I decide that it’s my favorite sound. “Well I knew you weren’t going to answer anything about my parents so I went with that,” she confesses. 

The watch on my wrist flashes a bright light into her eyes and I adjust it when I see her squinting. “That’s a simple one, Lib. You just wasted a question. Sweet Sticky Thing by Ohio Players.”

I watch her as she processes the information, confusion washing over her face. “What’s a Sweet Sticky Thing?”

“Is that one of your questions?” I counter.

She shakes her head no, pursing her lips. “Good, it’s my turn,” I add.

A soft chuckle leaves her lips and I can’t help but smile. “Go off, king,” she directs me to proceed and I snort.

My brain mentally combs through her file. I know she wants to be a teacher, but I can’t fathom the reasoning behind being around snotty-nosed kids all day. She’d be good at it, though. Her bubbly aura is perfect for playtime while her stern demeanor will ensure her students learn. “Why teaching?”

I study her body as she looks heaven-forward like the answer is above her. “So I can go teach in a country where nobody knows who I am and I have no significant value to the people. It’s my ‘out’,” she tells me with air quotes around the final word once she’s found the answer.

I pop a piece of breadstick into my mouth, responding with a hum. The fluffy substance takes me a bit to chew, giving her the perfect opportunity to ask, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

She squints at me and her face scrunches with disgust. “Do you enjoy being absolutely predictable?”

My brows furrow, matching her facial expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I dig.

“Every man’s favorite color is black. You couldn’t have picked something unique like tangerine or gunmetal?” She scoffs like she’s bored with my response.

My arms slide together to cross, feeling instantly defensive. “I didn’t know my answers had to fit in with your idea of me, Lib,” I say.

She seems to notice my guarded body language, reaching across the table to grab my arm. The contrast of her cold hand against my skin sends sparks to my brain. At that moment, we both hear the shutter roll of a camera, presumably nearby. 

She jerks slightly, but I make no move to acknowledge their presence. It’s what we’re here for, after all. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. Black is a great color. Suits you,” she stammers over herself.

Although I don’t uncross my arms, my upper body loosens up a bit as she returns to her sitting position. I chastise myself for wishing I could touch her; my head filled with all the things I would do with her. And that moment she made that joke over a fucking color, I wanted to bend her over my knee. 

But I couldn’t. 

She could take all of me, piece by piece. And it looks like she’s going to.

My craving to change the subject causes me to blurt out, “So since mine is so boring, what’s yours?”

“Tiffany blue. Can’t you tell?” she asks, gesturing to her long-sleeved shirt.

“Didn’t notice,” I lie.

I had noticed. In every picture I’d seen her in, she had some type of blue accessory. Her dress was the same color Friday night. And now, she’s a tight tweed dress with soft teal thread on the edges. I’ve counted nearly every stitching by now.

She licks her lips, eyes darting to her lap. Her whole body language shifts downwards with insecurity. Like she’s trying to hide her perfect face from me. “Well then,” she grumbles, obviously irritated.

Fuck. The last thing I ever want to do is make her feel like shit. “What’s your favorite animal?” I ask her, trying to get her mind off my previous statement.

Her eyes narrow and she nips, “It’s not your turn.”

“Well fine, you go,” I direct pointedly. 

“What happened last night?” she asks.

My neck rolls with discomfort. “What part?” I ask.

A flash of sadness coats her brandy irises. “All of it? Start from the alleyway.”

I inhale sharply before sighing, “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, Lib. I don’t remember anything between knowing you were okay and seeing you half-naked in the basement.”

“That’s okay, we can fill in the gaps,” she shrugs as if it’s that easy. When I black out, I don’t remember anything, Liberty.

Hesitation overtakes my brain and I search her face and body for the truth. She’s slightly leaning forward with interest but she still looks a bit upset. Maybe this will help her. “When you passed out, I picked you up and carried you to the car. Called Damson on the way back in to get your fucking friends. Meredith is the only one who came back with me so I shoved her in the back seat with you. Told her to make herself useful and hold your hair while I shoved my fingers down your throat,” I rant.

I pause when she picks up her fork and it makes a clanking noise. “Keep going,” she commands.

So, I press on. “On the way back, I coaxed her into telling me about every person she knew. Then I told her the situation and told her to keep her mouth shut. I knew how to take care of the situation and I didn’t want her in it.”

Liberty starts nodding like she’s processing the information. “And then you took off,” she theorizes. 

“No. I had Damson meet me by the front and get you checked out by the doctor. They said you just needed sleep so he put you and Meredith to bed,” I tell her, though I leave the part out about screaming in Damson’s ear the entire time to keep his shit together and take care of her. I wouldn’t have moved forward with picking them up if mine wasn’t okay.

Her nose scrunches. “While you went and got Vanessa and Teddy,” she hits the jackpot.

“I’d assume so,” I confirm.

She stares at me dead on and I feel my jaw clench. My heart begins to pound in my chest anticipating her next words. “Okay,” she utters after what feels like forever.

She begins swirling her fork into her past dish, prepping for another bite. My brows knit and my body doesn’t untense. “Okay?” I parrot. I was half expecting her to rip me a new asshole for my behavior.

She nods, looking over towards the hoard of paparazzi. The flashes are almost blinding as they take advantage of the perfect angle. When her face returns to my direction she nonchalantly adds, “Yeah. I don’t feel the need to know much beyond that. They’re both dicks.”

My brows raise in surprise and I feel myself slowly starting to agree with her. I could’ve done much worse. I wanted to do much worse. But, she stopped me and isn’t harping on it. “Touché,” I respond.

She smirks, bringing the prepared pasta toward her captivating face that I detailed just this morning. “Your turn,” she says before gracefully taking the bite.

My brows crease and I ask, “We’re still playing?”

“Yeah, I mean, we still need to be here for another 10 minutes. Might as well get to know each other,” she explains.

The point is I already know everything about you, Liberty. Maybe not the Rowan and Harry parts, but I’ll find out soon enough.

“What question don’t you want me to ask?” I question genuinely. Not only because I don’t want to piss her off, but because I can just find out without her knowing.

She blinks rapidly as if she’s trying to determine if I’m being sarcastic. After a couple of beats, she responds, “Don’t ask about my dreams.”

Why the fuck would I want to know about her subconscious. I only need to know the substantial things about her. My eyes to the crowd that hasn’t disapparated and grumble at her answer with irritation, “Okay, I won’t. Ever.” 

When I return my attention to Liberty, she looks like she’s about to cry. Tears brim her eyes and it triggers a reaction in me I didn’t know I possessed. I feel confused by the urge to hunt whoever hurt her, but a wave of guilt knowing I might be the cause of her tears. “Why do you hate me so much?” she whimpers.

My hand goes up to scratch the scruff on my chin. “Look, I’m sorry for that—”

“It’s not that. I know we’re still getting to know each other and it’s only been a few days. But, you hate my guts,” She silences me mid-sentence with a sob that leaves me reeling.

I shake my head, telling her, “I don’t hate you, Lib.” I grab the menu closest to me, putting it up by her face to shield her from view. With my other hand, I reach across the table, wiping the tears from where they’re prickling in the corners of her eyes. The cameras snap, but none catch the simple action shared between us.

What I feel for her is far from hate. My desire will have me forever sprinting towards her. Even when she does eventually marry another man, I’ll still be chained to her. I’ll want to kill every lover she has and even then, the feeling will only be temporary. 

My love for her will ruin my life.

She chuckles, releasing a bit of spit flying from her lips. “Then what? Cause you sure as hell don’t like me.”

My chest becomes heaving with anxiety. I touched her for only a night and she’s already crumbling me until I eventually wither away to nothing. “Lib,” I mutter in warning.

She sniffles one last time before straightening her back. The dreaded noise of the cameras doesn't stop once she’s in view again. If anything they only get louder. “You know what I think? You didn’t expect to like me. You were comfortable loathing me because you are chained to me for four years. But then you met me and I’m not ugly. I’m fun, talented, smart as fuck, and that scares you,” she boasts boldly.

The air is knocked out of my chest and my jaw drops slightly. My mouth snaps shut when I realize it’s the one thing I can’t tell her. Her eyes flicker back and forth between mine and she presses on, “It scares you how perfect I’d be for you, or am I wrong?”

I swallow thickly, prepared to confess my feelings for her. 

She is what I want. She is what I need. 

She is the love of my life and I’m sure of it. It might be clouded by quiet treason and I’ve never felt love, but I’d bet my life on it. Everything I feel for aligns with the emotions I’ve mirrored from others. And I’m going to make her mine one way or another. I don’t care if I have to kill every potential heir, get her pregnant, or marry her to get what I want: her waking up next to me every morning.

I open my mouth to answer when Libby cuts in. “Shut up. Don’t answer that. I don’t think I could handle knowing,” she snips before checking her phone. She grabs it and stands from her seat, letting me know it’s time to go. When I join her to exit the restaurant, I’m still reeling.

The heat in my feet sears up my calves as I run to the beat in my gym. 

I’ve come to learn that Liberty and I don’t talk about things, we exercise. If there’s nothing for us to do and we’re avoiding conversating, we’re sprinting right next to each other. We’re running longer than average tonight, cementing the tension between us. We both feel it, but her attempts to put distance between the two of us are futile. 

Being someone’s shadow has never felt so isolating. 

The sweat drips from my face and I pick up a towel to collect the perspiration. I scowl, deciding we both need a shower before eating. My finger flicks the switch on the machine, switching to a cool-down mode.

My head turns to look at Liberty while I begin slowly jogging. Her face doesn’t twitch and she remains looking at the white brick wall in front of her. When I wave, she glances at me for half a second, rolling her eyes before returning her attention to the wall.

Anger bubbles inside my body and I mentally incinerate myself for being upset by not getting attention from a fucking woman. So, she wants to ignore me? Two can play that game.

A few more minutes of my cool down go by before I completely turn the machine off. I slowly wipe my hands and step off the machine, grabbing my bottle of water.

As I take a sip, I glare at Liberty. She seemingly senses me staring and her head snaps in my direction. “I’m not stopping,” she grumbles.

“You need to eat,” I instruct. If she thinks I don’t know about her little eating disorder, she’s out of her mind. The others might not have picked up on it, but the signs have been evident over the past 3 days. She’s so stressed, she barely eats and she runs to process that stress. Every time she looks in the mirror, she seems disappointed, like what she sees doesn’t match herself. 

She crying out for help and I’ve been the only one to notice. Maybe that’s the reason her parents got her a guard; someone to keep an eye on all the kids.

“And I’m not taking out my headphones for you to bark orders at me,” she raises her tone and her voice reverberates off the wall.

Fuck, she’s hot when she’s mad. The growing semi in my pants doesn’t help considering I’m trying to get her to come with me in this situation, not argue with me.

I decide to take advantage of my desires this once, positioning myself directly next to her machine. Applying my dynamic balance skills, I step onto the edge of the treadmill. My left leg swings over to the other side of the belt until I’m standing still behind her with her running in front of me.

I exhale a deep breath before running through this plan. It’ll scare the shit out of her, but I’ll catch her.

“Liberty,” I husk lowly and she screams, tripping over her feet. My hands quickly grip her sides as she becomes dead weight, nearly falling face forward.

My thighs tingle in my squatting position, but she’s unharmed, so I let out a comfortable sign. She hovers right above the rapidly moving belt with her hands almost kissing it. Her extensions drag against the dirty material, giving me even more of an excuse to push her towards the shower.

My body doesn’t move, allowing her to internalize the fear of almost eating shit. Then, I slowly lift her, wrapping my hands around her waist until her back is pressed to my front. My legs swing over the belt once more until we’re both on the side of the machine, stepping down from the death contraption.

I swear I can feel her heart racing through her back as I grip her tightly, pressing my bulge into her. My nose inhales the delicious smell of her pheromones and I fight the impulse to taste her sweat.

I set her down on solid ground, prepping myself for the backlash before I remove my arms from around her waist. I decide to keep her close to me with my hands on her waist so she can’t hit me, limiting her to her tongue. 

She slowly turns around to look at me, her cheeks a dark plum color. It’s clear she doesn't find the situation funny when she hits my chest with the palm of her hand. I look at her face and realize, I’ve unlocked a dragon. 

She raises her voice to say, “Michael!” her voice cracks and she pauses out of breath. “What is your middle name?”

I smirk and look down at her. “Bakari, my lady. What’s yours?” I ask in return, hoping she’ll open up to me. After reading her file, I already know it. Including her most recent STI test, which is clean of course.

She ignores me, stomping over to the wall and yanking the plug out of the socket. She turns back to me with her siren eyes filled with fire. “Well, you know what? You can fuck off Michael Bakari Jordan. What the fuck is wrong with you? I could’ve fucking died. I was trying to get to know you and you fucked with me. From here on out, you can stick a baseball bat covered in nails up your fucking ass for all I care.” 

She whips around with her back facing me, slowly dragging herself towards the door. 

Damn. She used more F-bombs than I thought was even possible in one sentence.

I smirk and rush to stand in front of her, not wanting her to keep running away from me. This is only complicated because she’s making it hard for me. I want her, but I can’t have her because I can’t touch her. They’ll kill me if they find out but if she makes the first move, I’d be willing to risk it. 

She doesn’t want to make the first move because she fears disappointing our country. And I have an inkling that she prefers aggressive men due to her ex history. It might also have to do with the dynamic of our relationship moving forward. All of the things I think about probably swirl around in her brain. Regardless, she still has to be the one to take that step.

My hands return to her sides, lightly gripping them. She shifts, snapping her thighs together but I can practically taste her wetness in the air from where I’m towering over her. There are no cameras in this room, so she is free to act irrationally, she just needs the perfect trigger.

I step forward, uncomfortably craning my neck. My head is directly above hers and her eyes widen from what I assume is our proximity. “You need to stay healthy. Don’t do that to me, Lib. You can be mad at me, but you can’t not take care of yourself in avoidance of me. I will not control you, but I will not watch you disintegrate without being able to do anything about it,” I plead for her to internalize my words.

This is the most vulnerable I’ve been with her about my feelings for her thus far, and I’m hoping she reads between the lines. The air between us crackles and my eyes search her face, awaiting her response. Her eyebrows momentarily stay scrunched before she slowly relaxes her face. 

“You could’ve gone about that a better way,” she huffs, still breathless from running and the shock of falling.

My thumbs slip underneath her cropped tank top and I stroke her damp skin. “And I’m sorry for that. I’ll explore other methods of getting your attention later,” I attempt to hint at the things I want to do to her.

My eyes flicker down to her lips and her pink tongue pokes out to lick them. A low groan emits from my chest. That should be enough of a trigger. She should know that she’s fucking me in the head by refusing to jump in head first.

She glances down at my lips before whispering, “If I do this; if we do this, it stays here. I just need to know.”

My eyebrows raise and I ask, “Know what?”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. “If it’s real,” she responds. 

Her hands come into view, sandwiching my face between her hands. My blood rushes in my ears anticipating our lips touching. She closes slowly and starts to close the space between us and just before our lips touch, the door to the gym smacks the walls.

She jumps back, putting distance between us and my heart drops into my stomach. Dread rushes through my body and the reality of my decision hits me. If I turn to face the door and it’s not someone we can sweet talk, we’re both fucked.

As if we’re not fucked enough already.

[starcrossedxwriter]

Still Standing Part 1 (Smoke x Black Reader)

Warnings: attempted assault, depictions of violence

A/N: idk how this became two parts yall 😭 I need self control. But this is just everything I love about Smoke in one fic lol enjoy!

***

With enough focus, Smoke could filter out every distraction except his target. And tonight? His target was you. His wife. Who had no business in a place like this by yourself. He made a note to chastise you about that after you cussed him out for his near decade disappearing act. He braced himself for that the entire train ride.

Eight years.

And now analyzing you from a distance, his body felt every painstaking moment of every single moment without you.

He supposed if you were going to be tending bar anywhere, it was safest at your Aunt Hattie’s, where he would have trusted your brothers to maintain a watchful eye. Though, at the moment, their eyes were doing more wandering than watching.

You could handle your own, you always could. He just wished every problem was not always on you. His eyes followed your movements as you charmed every patron with a smile that held all the warmth of the Delta. You continued to be the town’s favorite amongst the Williams family. Your wit, your charm, your grandmama’s healing gifts were traits every person in the town gravitated toward, shielding you from the troubles your brothers got into.

Grace shared that you still worked out of the house he built for you, off the beaten path. How you spent most of your time taking care of everyone in town without slowing down or caring for yourself. He imagined that was why you were even here now. Eight years ago, you barely liked to step foot into Hatties unless you could hold onto him. But now, you worked the bar as if you’d done it your entire life.

That dazzling smile that made him fight for every sunrise to get back to you, the gentle and sensual sway of your hips that made him want to grab hold of your ass and hold you against him, your sweet giggle that somehow rose above the jazz melody straight to his ear. A sound that had long started to fade in his mind. But now, it felt like the first stroke of warmth against his heart since he last saw you.

Mere moments back in you proximity caused all his safeguards to crumble into pure ash. The true extent of his everlasting love for you filled his being, a rush of everything he pushed deeply inside to survive in Chicago. He felt the burning flame in his heart he forced himself to reduce to a simmer, the rushing waterfall he slowed with a fortified dam.

Mere moments back in you proximity caused all his safeguards to crumble into pure ash. The true extent of his everlasting love for you filled his being, a rush of everything he pushed deeply inside to survive in Chicago. He felt the burning flame in his heart he forced himself to reduce to a simmer, the rushing waterfall he slowed with a fortified dam.

“Just go n talk to her, nigga. Know you want to. Sulkin’ over here like you scared or some shit,” Stack muttered, both their hats dipped low enough to further obscure their identity and presence.

“Ain’t never been scared,” Smoke muttered back. Which was a half truth. He had been scared in his life, but it was too long ago to remember.

His inability to approach you yet had little to do with fear. He knew there would be anger, resentment. And it would be righteous. He would accept his licks like a man, apologize for abandoning you as he did, do whatever it took to earn your trust again.

But what you two shared? He had to believe there would be forgiveness once you said your piece. A belief only solidified by the ring dangling from your neck as you leaned over. His mother’s ring.

More than anything, he wanted to simply watch you. See if the you that danced through his dreams every single night was still… you.

His hand twitched toward his revolver more than once as niggas’ hands touched your body, even just to shove a few coins into your hands or shift around you. He was always ready to move but he found that he did not need to. You artfully dodged touches that lingered beyond acceptability, letting the men who vied for your attention down with the perfect balance of kindness and finality.

He was surprised at how long he and Stack were able to go unnoticed in the dim corner. The few who recognized them kept it to themselves, giving the twins a wide berth. The poor lighting provided the perfect cover. He could study you and you did not seem to know he was there. But you were always the perceptive sort, could always sense his presence somehow. So he was not shocked that, every once in a while, he noticed your eyes lingering amongst the crowd as if you were searching for someone but could not find them.

Occasionally, your honey smooth voice caught his ear again, healing some of the wounds he gained while away. All the intricacies and oddities he fell in love with at 14. seeing you brought it all rushing back into sharper focus.

He still remembered the moment he realized he was in love with you. Decades ago but it was as fresh as if it were yesterday in his mind.

Stack’s body had been a heavy weight to support all the way to Mama Mabel’s. But his father had done a number on him and the little bit of ointment and bandages he had left wouldn’t cut it this time. And it was far faster to take him to her than run there and back. And… it got them away from him.

So he walked a mile with his arm around Stack’s back, heaving his weight along as his feet tried to maintain his own weight.

“I can walk, Elijah.”

Smoke did not let go of his hold, knowing his brother just didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

He glanced up at Mama Mabel’s porch, unsurprised to find Miss Evie sweeping. She only looked at them once, noting the panicked look on his face, before immediately discarding her task.

“Mama! Twins here.” She called over her shoulder before rushing out of the shade to help him the last few feet. “Let me help you, boy.”

“I got em.”

“Yo pa?”

“Passed out. Drank so much, he won’t wake up till tomorrow.” His voice was matter of fact, no emotion. He didn’t know if he even had any left these days. “Worst day so far.”

She nodded, grabbing Stack’s other arm, though Elijah was reluctant to yield any of his weight to her.

He had him. He always did.

She helped Elias lay down on the cot in Mama Mabel’s shop, the sharp smells of her brews hitting his nose. He looked down at his brother, his usual slick smile diminished, his thin body bruised and bloodied from their father’s blows.

“Ran outta what I gave you already?” Mama Mabel emerged from her back room. However, when she took in Elias’ state, she simply bowed her head, cursing under her breath. She threw the damp towel in her hand to her daughter who took charge of dapping the sweat from the walk off his brow.

“Some men don’t deserve the blessin’ of life. Ole drunk,” Miss Evie muttered to her mother in irritation, quiet enough that Elijah shouldn’t have heard them. But he did.

“Hush now, girl. Sayin’ that in front of them.”

But it wasn’t something he didn’t think about every single day himself when he laid down at night.

“Yall gon’ stay here tonight.”

Elijah immediately shook his head. “We don’t wanna be no burden. Just didn’t have enough to bandage him up.”

“Well I’ll bandage him up n you’ll stay the night.”

He opened his mouth to argue but corrected himself. He knew arguing with Mama Mabel was futile.

He leaned against the wall in the corner, his body relaxing ever so slightly with every cut and bruise she tended to with such care. Some minute part of him envied receiving that, the healing touch of a mother. He did not know what that felt like anymore, what it felt like to be cared for. He supposed he would never know either.

The only thing guaranteed in life was suffering and the end. He didn’t expect much else.

“Go out there for me n see what’s takin’ that gal so long. Head always in the damn clouds when I need her workin’,” She called over to the teen watching her every move with precision.

He glanced out the open back window, a young woman kneeling in the soul of their garden with a woven basket by her side. The wind swayed the plaits falling down her back as she faced away from the house. Y/N kneeling in front of her garden with a basket.

He glanced back at Elias before she waved him along.

“He safe with us. Promise. Helpin’ Y/N will help me help him.”

And with that, he trudged out the back door and toward the garden where you sat.

Your voice reached him first, the soft humming you used to occupy yourself in the peace of your garden. It was soft, like a sweet melody. He liked it. So he did not interrupt at first, he just stood a few feet behind you, watching.

Your humming ceased as you sensed the silent presence of another. “I know, Granny. Movin’ too slow, I’m comin’” You turned, dusting off your knees. “Oh. E-Elijah. S-sorry, thought you were my...”

Your words fell off awkwardly as you teetered on your heels. His face twisted up in surprise. No one could truly tell them apart unless they were side by side. When they were separate, it always took a few minutes for someone to know who was who.

“Elias stay showin those teeth of his, always talkin. He easy to spot. Everythin’ alright? You ok?”

“Mama Mabel asked me to come check on you. See what’s takin’ so long.”

His eyes focused on your near empty basket, you shyly grinned, your eyes glancing at him with a childlike guilt in them.

“I was doin’ it. Promise. But I noticed some weeds n… Granny say I spend too much time tendin’ to the garden when I should be pickin’. Head always in the clouds. But I told her, “ain’t that where all the spirits and ancestors you teachin’ me bout are?’ Mama popped me in the mouth for that one.”

His lips curled into a rare half smile, which made your smile grow even brighter.

Shit.

Your smile felt like pure exhilaration. He considered it to be the most beautiful thing he had laid eyes on and there was God-given beauty all across the Delta. But it all paled in comparison to your sweet smile that held the warmth of the Sun.

“So you do smile… never thought I’d see the day. You should do it more,” you offered, your voice quieter as if the thought was more for yourself than him. Umm yea, tell her I’ll pick it up. Be in soon.”

He glanced around before rolling up his sleeves and dropping to his knees to help her.

“Oh you ain’t gotta-“

“I know. But then you can tend to your garden n I can pick for you. Mama Mabel won’t know the difference.”

Your smile became softer as if you were not used to help. But he knew the young people in any house were the help, there was no rest for able bodies.

“Thank you, Elijah.”

You quietly hummed This Little Light of Mine as you two worked, you taking care of the roots and soil while Elijah picked what you directed.

“How you doin?”

“Elias needed Mama.”

“Didn’t ask about Elias… know yo daddy, know how he doin if you brought him here. I asked about you.”

Elijah found that he still did not know how to answer that. So he lamely just answered, “Well, he ain’t hit me.”

“Don’t mean he ain’t hurtin’ you. Makin’ you watch it. Don’t mean you ain’t wounded or hurt just cause he the one in there. Hearts hurt just like a black eye. Just can’t see it n it don’t heal as fast.”

His movements stilled, your words an emotional gut punch he had not expected while gardening. He tried not to think about it, when their father hit them. The emotional agony it caused to watch Elias be subjected to the brunt of their father’s drunken rage. Some was due to his smart mouth, though it still never seemed to warrant the vitriol his father directed toward Elias. But Elijah knew that his father also recognized one unfortunate truth. Punches had no effect on Elijah. He offered no reaction, no anything. But hurting his brother did. So Elias often bore the brunt of their punishments.

And he hated his father for it.

“I have somethin’ that’ll help?”

“Don’t know if anythin’ help except…”

Your mother’s words cycled through his mind, a sentiment he felt more often than not when his father hit them. To just end his sorry existence so they could be free of him.

“Try. For me?” You asked, sweetly. “You gave me a smile… can’t give me one more thing?”

I want to give you the world, a small voice whispered in his head. An uncomfortable warmth spread in his chest and his stomach that had nothing to do with the sweltering Delta heat.

“Besides, can’t make you feel worse if it don’t work.”

Your eyes remained on his, inviting him to break a few rules with you, as your feet moved backward toward your family’s live oak tree in the distance. He didn’t immediately follow, torn between his intrigue with this perfect angel who captivated his being with one smile and his desire to stay close to his brother.

“Don’t worry. We ain’t goin’ far. Somethin’ happens, we can still hear them callin. Trust me, Elijah.”

His name on your lips sounded like every beautiful thing, the river bank by their shack, the sunrise on a new day, the calm of a rain storm sweeping the horizon. He’d pray for every sunrise to hear you say his name again.

And with that, you took off running toward the giant tree off in the distance. And he immediately took off after you, abandoning his task of helping you pick herbs faster.

Your running turned into a race as he caught up to you in seconds. Your laughter blended with the wind whipping past his ears, the sweetest melody he had ever heard. He only felt this relaxed, this free when he and Stack ran to the river to escape their father. Just pure exhilaration and freedom for a brief moment.

It had always been the rarest, fleeting air. One he thought he could only feel with his brother, his other half. But he could feel it here with you.

You both needed a moment to catch your breath once you were under the cool shade of your family tree, generations buried in the soul surrounding it.

“Granny brings me out here. Says healers need a place to heal themselves, release the pain we confront every day. Started makin’ me come out here when she started trainin’ me. It’s a good spot to feel it all.”

He glanced around. “What do you do?”

You shrugged as your body leaned against one of the low sweeping branches. “Whatever you wanna do. Cry, scream, just sit. Whatever feels like what you need. Whatever fills your spirit so you can take care of him n yourself tomorrow.”

You slid down onto the soft soil, your skirt billowing out into the grass, closed your eyes. He did not know if he believed this would accomplish anything but he also didn’t want to walk away. Not from you.

He plopped down unceremoniously next to you, both your backs pressed against the tree.

He remembered just sitting there, staring at your house in the distance. He didn’t even realize how you both unconsciously shifted closer and closer to each other until your small shoulder brushed against his.

He watched you mutter prayers under your breath, caught his and his brother’s names in your prayer for safety and protection. Then quiet. Stillness.

You slouched a bit so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

His entire body tensed beneath you. Not from fear but something else he couldn’t recognize. Like the action stole his breath away. The tenderness you offered was so unlike all he knew, all he remembered in his life. The last woman to hold him tenderly died shortly after giving birth to them. And then touch became a danger to combat, not a comfort to lean into.

You seemed to not even realize what you’d done, immediately popping up, a guilty look on your face.

“Sorry. Touch is… important to me. But I should know it ain’t for everybody.”

“Nah nah… it was… fine,” he offered lamely. “My shoulder’s all yours if you need it. Want it.”

You grinned, resting your head back where it was. Something in him settled again with your weight against him.

“A smile and your shoulder? I think that means we friends now.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Ain’t too good at friends.”

“I gotta feelin’ you’d be good to me.”

His head rested on yours and you just sat, in utter silence. Elijah sniffled as he felt a tear fall as he sat. He tried to lift his arm to whisk it away discreetly but you rested a hand on his arm.

“Nobody gon see you out here. N no one will hear it from me. Rest, Elijah. Let em fall if you need it. I’m here.”

And there, under the weighing branches of your tree, he rested. He allowed himself to feel all the pain he bottled up day after day to survive in their corner of the world, to survive in his own home.

It hit him in peaks and every time he felt himself wanting to clam up, close himself off again, you just grabbed his hand. And when he heard your sniffles, saw your tears, he just returned the favor.

He didn’t know how much time passed, he found that with you, he didn’t care about the time. And you only moved when you both heard your mama calling for dinner.

You both sighed, a sadness at the end of your quiet moment feeling like more of a sharp pain than anything else. He didn’t want this to end. But he needed to check on Elias.

“Granny’s gon’ kill me,” you muttered as you scooped up the only half filled basket Elijah discarded once you were back in the yard.

And while she didn’t kill you, thankfully in Elijah’s opinion, she did cuss you seven times to Sunday for wasting an afternoon and taking your time when there was work to do. And after dinner, instead of getting to go to sleep, you were tasked with cleaning up her shop and restocking her brews when she finished them - whatever time that would be. Since “you already rested enough for the day.”

You were quiet the rest of the day, forlorn and despondent through dinner, so you didn’t say much to him as night fell and everyone in the house prepared to rest.

Everyone except you two.

When your grandma finally went to sleep herself, leaving you to your task that would take the rest of the night, Elijah finally came inside from the porch. Your back was to the door but you sensed him yet again, how your hand stilled over the giant pot of whatever your grandmother brewed.

“Sorry. Don’t mean to get you in trouble, takin’ care of me.”

You shook your head and abandoned your task to close the space between them. Peace. It disappeared when they left their spot under the tree. But he felt it when you were close.

“Don’t. Knew what trouble I was bringing myself when I did it. But if it helped you, it was worth it.” She paused, chewing her lip as she timidly asked. “Did it? Help?”

He found himself nodding. “It did. You got a gift, Y/N.”

“Good. Then one night of lost sleep ain’t a thing. Now you go to sleep, brought that out for you.” She pointed toward a small cot and pillow situated beside his brothers. “I’ll keep an eye on em.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

He slid into bed as he tried to quiet the litany of confusing thoughts racing through his head. He had never felt this way before. But when he should be worried about his slumbering brother or determine how to free them from their father, there was only one thing at the center of the tornado in his head.

You.

“I’ll be good to you, Y/N. A good friend to you, I promise.”

The words were so quiet, he was not confident you heard him. But then he heard the faintest sniffle, saw hastily turn to wipe away a falling tear before turning back to him with a smile that said more than words ever could.

“And I’ll be good to you, Elijah. I promise. Get some sleep.”

He chuckled, turning over so he wouldn’t get distracted by examining you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

But even as he buried himself in his pillow on his cot, one that smelled so perfectly of you, he knew that he didn’t want to be your friend. He wanted to be so much more.

His love sick walk down memory lane ended as swiftly as it sparked when he noticed a man lingering at the bar chatting with you, even after finishing his drink.

He tilted his head slightly toward Stack. His brother never forgot a face.

“You don’t remember that nigga? Red. Grew up down the road, Ms. Sally took him in after his mama died. Daddy probably dead now too. Damn drunk. Ran off Nawlins the first chance he got. You know half the niggas in town had a thing for Y/N."

Smoke studied the terrain, realizing that he could not shoot this man across a crowded barn, though that was the simplest option. But he always knew that patience and opportunity were the key to strike. Never too early, never too late. Besides, Red knew exactly whose you were. And only a man desperate to meet their maker would touch what belonged to Smoke Moore.

Stack let out a deadly chuckle as Red grabbed your hand unexpectedly, your face twisting up in shock for the briefest second before you smiled and discreetly tore your hand from his grasp.

“You gon’ take care of that?” Stack asked, gesturing toward you.

Smoke let his discreet loading of his revolver answer that question for him. The man clearly had a death wish. Smoke was more than happy to ensure it came true.

“Shame. Liked that Red. Never knew what was good for him tho,” Stack mumbled.

He continued to watch, waiting for his moment to strike, to remind everyone in the room who Smoke Moore was when you yelled something over your shoulder in your aunt’s direction and stepped from behind the bar.

You still didn’t see him, even as you navigated the sweaty, teeming dance floor to reach the back storage room. Smoke did not even try to hide in the shadows this time, you were just that preoccupied with your own thoughts. So preoccupied he realized that you didn’t notice how Red waited long enough to drink his shot before following after you.

Smoke knew what that meant. What that always meant. Smoke was not even the jealous twin. But Red made a choice. To make you visibly uncomfortable. To pursue his woman in front of half the town. He toyed, briefly, with the idea that you and Red were… more. And that this was simply part of that. But then he realized that he did not particularly care. Whether or not this was your choice was fairly irrelevant to him.

If this man was courting you, he’d kill him.

If this man was trying to cause you harm, he’d kill him.

Mercy was your tool… but it had never been his. he had considered just shooting Red in the hand to prove a point originally. However, now? The die had been cast.

He had a reminder to issue: whatever happened while he was gone was over. He was back and no one would touch what belonged to him and live to tell the tale.

He cocked his gun before moving in your direction. He had been gone too long and people had clearly forgotten who the fuck he was.

Judge.

Jury.

But most importantly… Executioner.

***

“Come on, sweetness. Gimme a smile.”

“Done smillin’ for you, Red. Get on so I can get a payin’ customer up here.”

You had grown weary from Red’s tired advances long ago. He tried, week after week, coming to your home with ailments and aches just so you would patch him up. Since his wife ran off with another man a few years back, you tried to be there for him. After all, you were, unfortunately, the town’s expert on disappearing spouses. You understood the depths of his grief, to lose the person you loved because their spirit demanded something else of them. Whether for love, greed, power, or something more righteous. The one left behind was left broken and alone all the same.

But Red mistook your kindness for affection. And sadness, desperation, and liquor were an unfortunate combination. The more he drank, the more relentless he became. Hattie helped remind some folks whose last name you carried but some… like Red were often too drunk to listen or care.

And on Saturdays at Hattie’s, he was his drunkest.

“But I’m your favorite customer, ain’t I, Y/N?”

You ain’t

“It’s bad for business to have favorites,” you offered with an awkward smile.

“Get me another,” he demanded.

You knew it would be a long night if you were already about to pour his fifth glass. He already smelled like someone swapped his blood out with a bottle of what you were pouring.

“N while you at it, tell me, why aint you spoken for?”

You used your apron to quickly dab the beads of sweat off your forehead before you grabbed a glass.

“You know damn well I’m spoken for, Red.”

He threw his head back in exuberant laughter.

You knew one person who would not find it as hilarious. Your husband. Wherever in the world he might be right now.

Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

Though only you and his brother knew him as Elijah. Everyone else? Smoke. And his chilling reputation far out lasted his presence in their small town. Seven years later and most still get a bit more jumpy when someone mentions the twins.

While you never agreed with his way, you could not deny it served you well. For the most part, no one caused you trouble. Why would anyone want to be on your list of grievances should Smoke ever come back into town?

You always prayed he would return but you knew it was foolish to hope for it. You whispered his name along the evening breeze in your nightly prayers, merely hopeful for that moment that your comfort reached him in his corner of the world.

While you were not waiting on his return, you also had not “moved on.” You tried, Lord knows you tried. You thought it would heal you, satisfy you to be close to someone again. But the high it gave you was impermanent. It vanished from your grasp like literal smoke.

Because of Smoke.

It was a crushing discovery to realize that the itch you needed to scratch would never be satiated by anyone else.

Your need was to be healed. And only one person could do that. Because Smoke was the first man in your life who tended to you first and foremost.

You spent your days since childhood caring for everyone else. It was your calling and you were grateful to the ancestors for it. But it left no time for you. But in Smoke’s arms? He cared for you, allowed you to feel all the pain and pleasure of the world, allowed you to fall apart and be vulnerable. His touch methodically healed the aches, pains, and sufferings that no one else saw.

And that’s what you desired, craved in the loneliness of the night. Not a warm body or a tryst in Red’s barn. Not fucking that was over before it began for you. You yearned for the other half of your heart. To be tended to and loved on. And the man who had your heart was hundreds of miles away. So you grieved that part of your life. If it could not be that, if it couldn’t be him… it was not worth giving more of your spirit.

And you made peace with what was lost when he left. You were heavy hearted, broken, but you found it difficult to even conjure up rage toward him after a few days. Because you understood that he would never choose you and the quiet life you desired over him.

You knew Elijah loved you with everything. That was never in question. But if you were half of his heart, Stack was the other half of his soul. One could not survive, not fully, without the other. And Stack needed more than their town could offer. And Smoke needed Stack.

Despite your fear that you’d laid eyes on him for the last time, you made no effort to share that with your neighbors or stop being Smoke’s woman. A woman without a man was one without protection, you knew that much. So you relied on whatever kept you safe: your prayers and his threats. You counted both as help, both as a blessing.

“By who? One of them crazy Moore twins? Haven’t seen that nigga or the other one twin here no where to speak for nobody. Seems like you free to do what you want. You could give me a dance, sweetness.”

His hand grasped yours as you pushed the glass his way. His grip was firm so it took you a moment before you could rip your hand out of his embrace.

“Well I ain’t seen him round neither but I’m still spoken for. If you knew what was good for you, you’ll take that drink ’n get the hell on, Red,” you warned, your voice losing some of its sweetness.

“Need a couple more bottles, Y/N.”

You didn’t need to turn around to recognize the sharp voice of your aunt, Hattie Mae.

Your grandfather opened this joint twenty years ago and it was still standing. "Weathered and worn but still standing," he'd say. Your aunt took over when he died and you started helping her a few months ago after she hurt herself. Your brothers were useless at the bar and Hattie said it helps to have a pretty face serving up the drinks. So you helped out where you could on the weekends. You always found Hattie’s to be overwhelming, preferring to stay glued to Smoke’s arm when you went together. But you found peace behind the bar, being able to watch the hustle and bustle from afar. The extra money did not hurt.

You’d typically demand one of your brothers carry the heavy bottles for your aunt but you’d welcome any excuse to escape Red’s leering eye.

“I got it, Auntie Mae.”

You used the walk to dry your hands, both were sweaty and clammy from the heat of the Delta mixed with all the bodies and dancing.

You pushed through your exhaustion, the aches and pains in your limbs more pronounced without the distractions of people and music. You had been feeling it more lately as you leaned for a moment against a shelf. You were just like this joint. Weathered and worn. Sadder than you once were. But you were still standing too. Was there any other choice?

You balanced four bottles in your arms before determining that it was your limit. However, you almost dropped every last one of them when you turned to find Red waiting in the door frame.

“God almighty, Red! You scared me! You gon’ stand there blockin’ the door or let me get these back out to Hattie?”

He was as immobile as a tree as you tried to go around him. He did not answer you or speak, the silence putting you on edge. You loved a man like that, whose silence was a weapon, his greatest tool. You gravitated toward his silence.

But Red was not him. His silence unsettled you, forced your eyes to search for a path that would lead you away from him.

“Red. This ain’t funny. Get outta my way. You know how Hattie gets. I gotta get back to the bar.”

“Lord knows I’ve been thinkin’ bout you ever since my wife left.”

You typically didn’t feel fear. There was no need with generations of ancestors watching over you. But as his hand closed the door and the screech of the latch hit your ear. You felt it like a tiny seed sprouting in your belly.

Fear.

You immediately retreated as he advanced.

“I’m married, Red. You too. ’N you drunk as a skunk. Now let me outta here.”

“My wife gone, your husband been gone. Dead in a ditch somewhere knowin’ that nigga. You got the entire town ‘fraid to dance withchu cause of him? But see… I ain’t afraid of no dead man, Y/N. Aint scared of no ghost story. Don’t act like you don’t want me too, sweetheart.”

“Red… I d-don’t want you o-or anyone. We can forget about this tomorrow, just let me go.”

“After I waited years for this? Nahhh, baby. Ain’t ever lettin’ you go now. You’re mine. Helpin’ me night after night. Checkin’ on me after that bitch ran off. You’re the light of my days, sweetheart.”

This could only be described as irony in its cruelest form. A forced reflection on your own naiveté, you supposed. You remembered something you said to your husband once, early in your courtship, when he asked you why you never called him Smoke.

“Because everyone else needs you to be Smoke. Here I… just want you to be Elijah.”

And he bowed his head, shaking it as his hand gripped the meat of your thigh.

“You need Smoke too, baby. No one is ever gon’ hurt my family. I’m here to protect you. You need him. Everybody do.”

Elijah had always been… heavy. Weighed down by all the things he had done, from such a young age, to protect the people he loved. And as much as you adored being loved by him, you did not want to be another person who burdened his soul with more. More suffering, more pain. His life was in service of keeping everyone else safe. And he cared nothing of the cost to his soul to do so. But you cared because you knew it would only get heavier.

“Stack need Smoke. The fools you run with need Smoke. Hell, this town might even need Smoke. But me? I don’t need Smoke. I need Elijah, the boy who picked herbs for me. The one who holds me close to his chest durin’ storms. Smoke is… He ain’t the Elijah I know.”

But as your back pressed against the rough wood panels, Red’s body boxing you in, you realized, for the first time, you needed Smoke.

Not the threat of him.

Him. And all his silent fury.

And every bit of trouble that came along with him to get out of this.

“R-Red, I was just tryin’ to help. Just tryin’-”

He grabbed your chin roughly, the shock causing every bottle in your arms to crash down at your feet. The sharp scent of liquor swarmed you both like a cloud as the liquid seeped into your shoes and splattered along the bottom of your dress.

His other hand gripped your wrist as he kissed you roughly.

“S-Stop! R-Red.”

“I bet you just need a good fuckin’. Been years since that sorry nigga left, left this good pussy. Nigga should’ve known better than to leave a sweet pussy like this unclaimed. Think it’s my turn now. Bet I can fuck you bett-”

Your eardrums could have exploded from the cacophony of pure noise cutting of Red’s drunken ranting.

Your head spun as you tried to locate the sudden shrill scream filling the tiny storage room. You did not even realize Red was no longer pressing his weight against you until you saw him clutching his knee, on the floor as crimson blood slid down his leg.

You clutched your chest for a moment, your heart pounding loudly in your ears, your eyes trained on Red’s writhing frame in a giant puddle of moonshine. Your brain felt sluggish and slow, several steps behind whatever just happened. You forced your eyes away from Red to understand. Did you need to protect yourself? Was the threat to you too? Who even shot him? That was one answer your vision could find immediately. However, your survey ended within a millisecond, your eyes landing on him.

“Smoke.” A grateful sob of relief escaped as your body sagged into the wall.

His eyes softened at the sound of your voice, the mixture of fear, panic, gratitude, and pure love.

“Y/N. Y/N!” His voice snapped you out of the chaos of the last few minutes.

He focused you. A light in dense fog.

His voice softened once your eyes flickered to his.

“You good, baby. We got you. Step over here to Stack.”

Another version of him stepped from around the corner. He pulled his hat off his head and tipped it toward you, a deadly smirk painted on his lips.

Stack.

Your brain sought to obey him, to listen to the man you loved. But your legs did not feel strong enough to move, strong enough to carry you the few steps across the room to him and Stack.

How did this happen?

How were they even here?

Why were they here?

So you simply stared at him, not fully believing they were real. Your eyes clouded with everything flooding you that demanded to be made sense of before you could move forward. There was no calm in this, leaving you paralyzed.

“Nigga just shook her up. He ain’t goin’ no where. Give her a second.”

“We ain’t got a second.” Smoke turned his attention back to you. “Y/N. Darlin’. I need you to move.”

A command. The softness in his tone disappeared as he snapped you out of your stupor. Your feet moved instinctively, scurrying around Red to reach Stack. You felt Smoke’s hand brush your hip as you got behind him. The touch simply communicated what your body and soul instinctively knew: you were safe.

Stack put a protective arm around your waist as soon as you were in his reach.

“She good, Smoke.”

“Take her. Wait outside.”

You pushed against Stack’s arm trying to drag you along as his words settled in your brain. While you were grateful Red was unable to carry out whatever plot his drunk mind concocted, you did not want him murdered for it.

In fact, you considered being shot in the kneecap a satisfactory punishment for what Red attempted, what he would not even likely remember doing in the morning. He learned his lesson and now would live with a limp for the rest of his life to show for it. Wasn’t that enough?

“W-wait, wait, wait, Smoke. He got your point. I’m okay. Let him go.”

But even as you spoke those words, you knew they did not shift his position. The murderous glimmer in his eye, his coldness, reminded you while Elijah softened for you, Smoke was not a man who bent nor one who could be softened. His decision was cast and Red’s death was as certain as sunrise the next morning. But you would not be you if you did not try. Would not be the woman he loved if you did not ask him to try something different.

You tried to push Stack’s arm off you to go to Smoke’s side but he refused to loosen his grip.

“Smoke, h-he’s just a lonely ole drunk. You gave em a limp. That's enough."

Stack chuckled. "Niggas get a limp for stealin'. This shit tho? Puttin' his hands on you?" he shook his head. "Every nigga in here know what that means."

"But it ain’t worth it. He ain't worth it. Trust me, he's just drunk... harmless. He won't bother me again."

“I am! Harmless, Smoke. You know I ain’t mean nothin’ by it. I'll leave the bitch alone for good, I swear 'fore God.”

Stack's head fell back as his barking laugh ricocheted around the room. Smoke still had not said a single word. Just fired his warning shot.

“I told you that nigga ain’t know what was good for him, Smoke. Let’s go, Y/N.”

His arm tightened around your waist to drag you out the door, clearly tired of the man’s pleas which were only serving to make his end more painful.

“Let me go, Stack!”

“So he can shoot me too? Nah girl. Unlike this nigga, I like bein’ able to fuckin' walk. Can't be a pimp like me with no a damn limp. This grown men’s business now n I know you don’t wanna see this shit. Let’s go.”

You glared at him, raising an eyebrow in a challenge, still refusing to make this easy on him.

Stack glanced at his brother for a brief moment, their silent conversation passing before Stack turned back to you.

He leaned over, whispering in your ear, “Ain’t nothin’ you say gon’ change what’s about to happen. He was dead the moment he laid a hand on you. Accept that shit, aight? Ain’t no sense in feelin’ guilty bout it either. Ain’t the first man he threw to bottom of the Mississippi for you, won’t be the last. Now come on. If it’ll help, saw some flowers on the way in. You can pick some for his homegoing’,” he offered the last bit sarcastically.

He could never hold a serious moment for long.

But you heard the empathy hiding in his harshness. A reminder that as crazy as he was, Stack still understood you and he understood Smoke, and the chasm that sometimes existed when you were confronted with the violence they perpetuated. Particularly in your name.

You spent your life attempting to mend what violence broke, what it destroyed, what often felt like inevitabilities. But you could not stop this. And he knew that as soon as he glanced at his brother. And in your heart, he knew you knew it too. And like his brother, he was trying to protect you, in his own slick talking way, absolve you from the guilt he already knew was rushing to your shores.

That was the Elias you grew up with. And as much as you two bickered like true siblings, you knew there was nothing Stack would not do for you because you loved his brother and his brother loved you.

Your eyes settled on Smoke’s profile, his eyes trained on the invisible line connecting the barrel of his gun to the space between Red’s eyes. He tore them away for one moment to look at you. Your eyes communicated a fear you’d never admit in front of Stack. You accepted Red’s fate but there was another fear, one that made it impossible to stop resisting Stack’s force.

“I’m right behind you, darlin’. I promise. Get out or he'll drag you out.”

You didn’t speak, a shaky exhale communicating everything you needed him to know. You were grateful that you had not had to ask, that he simply saw what truly ailed you. More than trying to save the life of a man who did not deserve your mercy, you were terrified to let him out of your sight. You feared that if you stepped out of this room, even for a moment, he’d disappear like smoke in the air for another eight years.

Uninterested in being hauled over the shoulder of the second most infamous man in town, you acquiesced to Stack’s firm hand on your waist, allowing him to push you out the door.

“Red, I’d say enjoy your last moments but I know my brother and… I think he gon’ enjoy ‘em a hell of a lot more than you.”

However, before he closed the door, you heard Smoke’s low voice.

“Just so we clear, this me speakin’.”

“N-No, no, no, no! Smo-”

Stack dragged you just far enough away to not to hear what you knew came next.

***

Stay tuned for part two!

A/N: No tags because it was a fight to get this up and I'm exhausted LOL but there is a part two with reader and Smoke's private reunion when they get home. Hope you enjoyed it! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought or if you'd like to be tagged in part 2!

[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 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

Read Here

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore

Read Here

Smoke & Stack

Read Here

Smoke & Annie

Read Here

Stack & Mary

Read Here

Remmick

Read Here

Sammie 'Preacher Boy' Moore

Read Here

[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.

[notapradagurl7]

Miss Me?

Black Fem! Reader x Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

Summary: After those years of hearing of his disappearance, your husband Elijah “Smoke” Moore had finally returned home, and you weren't up for a warm welcome. But he wanted to speak with you, and remind you that you're still his. Only his.

A/N: Here is something for our main man Smoke, 😩 enjoy!

Warnings: dirty talk, praise, possessive!Smoke, slight back talk, stubborn reader, fingering, cursing, unprotected sex, use of the n-word, established marriage, creampie, consensual intimacy, multiple orgasms, squirting.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @dabratzchronicles

@becauseimswagman1

@beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @secret89sblog @ranikyani

@uniqueoutlierblog @mama-2001

@fakxmbj @kaylalb @theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @kumkaniudaku @luckydaye777 @that-one-anxious-mango @rose-bliss @wanderingreader1 @kindofaintrovert

—————-

The rich aroma of marinara sauce mingled with a variety of seasonings and spices, enveloping the medium-sized kitchen, the walls painted in sage green and pictures of you, and Smoke.

Your deep brown eyes were fixed on the bubbling pots simmering on the stovetop, the vibrant colors of the food enticing your senses. With a gentle turn of the knob, you watched as the blue flames flickered and gradually faded to embers, silencing the hissing gas.

You moved with quickness, pulling out an array of containers, each one filled with fragrant foods. Scooping out generous portions, you layered your plate with creamy mashed potatoes, perfectly cooked spaghetti, and sautéed cabbage with sausage that glistened with a hint of olive oil.

A low rumble from your stomach reminded you to eat, prompting a sigh of relief as you finally took your first bite. The flavors danced joyfully across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum of delight as each taste unfolded, cleaning your plate, after sipping your glass of water to quench your thirst.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed through the air, cutting through the meal you finished and breaking your concentration. You wiped the remnants of food from your lips.

You let out a resigned sigh, reluctantly leaving your plate behind as you hurried to the front door. Peering through the window, your heart raced as the amber-orange glow of the porch light illuminated a familiar silhouette, casting a soft shadow that stirred curiosity and cautious within you.

Smoke or as you called him, Elijah. That was who stood at your door, a shadowy presence in the twilight. Also known as your husband.

He was the twin brother of Elias “Stack” Moore, a pair known for their ruthless dealings in Chicago and New Orleans, everywhere.

Together, they undertook the grim tasks laid out for them by the notorious Al Capone, their hands stained with the dirt, and blood of their illicit trade.

In a moment that felt both tender and fleeting, he had expressed a desire to marry you before he vanished into the chaos of the city.

His promises dripped with hope as he claimed he would return to you, that the day would come when you would once again find him wrapped in your arms.

But as the shadows deepened and trouble began to swirl around them like a whirlwind, each passing day drew you further away from that heartfelt vow, leaving you to wonder if he would ever return.

Your family warned you that marrying him was a grave mistake; they insisted that being with Smoke only invited trouble.

Yet, despite their concerns, your love for him and his love for you ran deep—deeper than you could articulate. Now that he was finally back home after those long years, everything felt different.

With a sigh of disappointment, you shook your head. “What the hell does this nigga want?”

You knew you'd regret this, at least a little. You were still his wife, and he was still your husband.

Turning the brass knob, you swung the door open. Your gaze fell upon the man in his gray suit, blue tie, and the hat he had removed. His brown eyes met yours, brimming with raw emotion—love, longing, and a hint of fear.

“So, you’re back?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, skepticism lacing your voice.

His expression softened momentarily before he composed himself, gripping his hat tightly. “Yeah, I’m home, back wit’chu. Just like I promised, baby,” he said, his tone laced with seriousness and tenderness, each word resonating with sincerity.

Elijah stepped into the house, and you quickly closed and locked the door behind him. The way he said “baby” sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a wave of desire within you. How could you feel this way at such a moment?

The scent of the meals you cooked filled his nostrils, his stomach rumbled as his tongue glided through his lip. “What’chu cookin’ tonight? My favorite?” he teased, smirking at you.

You should have been angry with him; he was at home, but he might have been driving for work, putting in long hours until his hands hurt and his body was exhausted. Smoke couldn't wait to return to you.

“You can always make yourself a plate, sweetie. Don't starve yourself.” You replied frimly, you walked through the hallways as he followed behind you.

You settled into the chair at the neatly set table, the crisp brown cloth contrasting with the rich, dark wood beneath. He began to fill the meal, carefully lifting the lid from a steaming porcelain dish and dishing out vibrant, aromatic food that filled the air with its savory aroma.

The utensils clinked softly against the plates as he prepared his serving, a sense of expectation hanging between you. You knew he loved your cooking, there was no need to speak about that.

Taking his seat across from you, he dug into the meal with a satisfied hum, savoring each bite and clearly relishing the flavors.

You watched him intently as he slipped off his shoes, the soft thud breaking the gentle ambiance, and unfastened his coat, draping it casually over the coat rack. “I love your cookin’ you know that?” he mentioned, his eyes on you.

Your lips curled up in a warm smile, your heart fluttered in your chest. “I know that, you tell me that shit every time I cook,”

He then moved to the counter sink, filling a glass with cool water, the sound of liquid pouring into the glass punctuating, and took a long, refreshing gulp.

His gaze wandered over you, lingering on the nightgown you wore—the delicate black fabric that clung to your figure in all the right places, a garment he adored.

The playful glint in his eyes suggested that the food was not the only captivating thing in the room, making it thick with undeniable attraction. He stood up from the table, made his way to the sink, washed his hands and his plate. Drying them off with a towel.

“Why did you come back? After all these years, couldn’t you have stayed with your brother?” You replied back, your brows knitted in anger.

“You gon’ kick me out? This is still my home. I bought this place for us, so we’d always have a home to return to, Y/N,” Smoke retorted, placing his empty plate in the sink.

You stood up from the table, walking toward your husband where the sink was, cutting the distance between the two of you. His gaze locked upon you, the closeness he missed so much was here, the intimacy beckoning for both of your calls.

He was right about that, ever since the two of you were teenagers, he vowed to do this, keep you happy and safe from the threats of his life, be with you.

He stepped closer to you, his clothes lingered with the scent of gun smoke, and his fresh cinnamon, eucalyptus cologne evaded your senses. Why don't you just speak up? Tell him.

“I…I never thought that you'd be back for good, all this time I prayed that you weren't dead, and you can't make up for those years taken from us, Elijah!” You yelled harshly, your voice broke with emotion.

His hands cradled your face, bringing you closer while your face softened at him, his thumbs swiped over your cheeks to wipe those tears away, and your hands laid on his clothed chest.

“You pushin’ me away cuz’ you think I'm gon’ leave you again? Nah, I'm a man of my word baby.” Smoke replied firmly, his voice filled with sincerity, grabbing your hand in his.

He placed your hand on his middle of his chest, feeling his heartbeat like a drum, he smiled at you before kissing your forehead and then lifting your chin, kissing your lips passionately before pulling away to look at you again.

“You feel that? My heart beats for you, keeps me alive, and strong. I ain't going nowhere, you hear me?” Smoke replied, wrapping his arms around you.

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “You a poet now, my love? I hear you but who did you get that from? Langston Hughes?”

“I'm tellin’ you what’s on my heart, darlin’ or do I need to show you?”

“Why don't you do that?”

Following that, the two of you retreated to the bedroom, clothes strewn across the floor, with soft moans mingling with slurred words as your face was buried in the pillow.

Smoke held your hips tight from behind, driving into you with a rapid yet forceful rhythm. Making sure that you felt every inch of his dick, all you could do was scream his name and you took it like a pro.

“You miss me, baby?” He groaned, his hand delivering a rough smack on your ass, watching your wetness coat his dick completely. The sheets shocked underneath, remnants of the passion he left behind.

“I-i..missed you..fuck!” You moaned loudly, eyelids closed shut nails while your hands balled up the blankets. Tears blurring your vision, you came undone quickly which made him darkly chuckle before kissing you.

He smirked at your face contorting in pleasure, your body shaking against his as sweat covered your bodies, he peppered kisses along your spine, “Good, cuz’ I missed you more, and I told you I'm stayin’ right?” Smoke grunted after every thrust after pulling out.

He wrapping his arm around you and flipped you on your back, sliding his dick back inside you. You shudder at the warm feeling, it felt so right. With him. “Y-yes, I..I need you, Elijah. Only you,” you gasped, your words a desperate plea that only fueled his intensity.

His eyes darkened with desire as he leaned closer, his lips peppered kisses on yours. Wet noises of your pussy swallowing his dick, the bed creaked. “Sounds like your pussy ain't forget about me,” he said to you, his voice deepened. He released low groans, “Eiljahhhh..shit!” you lamented, clawing at his shoulder blades. he missed you so much that words couldn't even explain.

“That’s what I like to hear, baby. You’re mine, and you know just how much you mean to me,” he murmured, his thrusts became sporadic and deliberate. Flipping you onto missionary.

Smoke’s hands roamed your body, his nails dug deep every curve as if he were tracing the stretch marks on your dark brown skin. “My beautiful wife, where would I be?” he said, His fingers tangled in your braids, pulling you closer as he thrust deeper, hitting that sweet spot.

“Elijah! Please—more,” you cried, your back arching as waves of pleasure coursed through you. You could feel his heartbeat matching the rhythm of your own, tiny cries from you spurred him on.

He chuckled darkly, his thrusts becoming more relentless, pushing you to the edge. “You think you can handle it? You’re not too sore for me, are you?” he taunted, his voice thick with lust.

“No, I can take it! I want it all, Elijah!” you whimpered, feeling yourself teetering on your climax.

“Damn right you can,” he growled, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he drove into you. Your knees buckling in response.

With each crazy thrust, he punctuated his claim, and you felt your body responding, tightening around him, begging for release. “Elijah…I’m gonna cum,” you breathed, your voice breaking. Your legs rested onto his shoulders.

“Can I give you some twins, baby?” he coaxed, his lips finding yours again, swallowing your moans as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Yes…baby,” You cried out his name, your body shaking as you came undone once more, Smoke followed closely behind, his warm cum spilling deep within you, giving you the twins he asked for.

Breathing heavily, he pulled out and collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hands stroked your face, “You good?” he asked, and you felt the warmth radiating from him, “Yeah…I’m good…” a comfort you had longed for during his absence.

“I missed you so damn much,” he confessed, his voice softening as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re here now, baby. And that's what matters most.”

—————-

[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 🥹❤️

~

[luna-thecreator]

Paring: Smoke (Elijah Moore) x Eboni (Black OC) Plot: A quiet singer and a dangerous man cross paths again under the haze of whiskey, heat, and music. What begins in silence soon burns into something neither of them can control. Word Count: 4k Tags: 18+, Minors DNI, language, possessive behavior, power dynamics, emotional tension, SMUT!, dangerous love interest

Eboni stood on the small, dimly lit stage, her back straight, feet planted firmly on the wooden floor of the juke joint. The heat of the evening clung to the air, thick and heavy, the kind of warmth that made you feel like you were breathing in someone else’s secrets. The crowd swayed, some lost in their drinks, others in the smooth pull of Eboni’s voice.

She’d been singing in this place for over a year now, the rhythm of the night sinking into her bones. Each song was an escape, but she never let herself get too lost. Not in front of the crowd.

But tonight, as the last notes of the song floated away, she felt something shift. A presence. Her eyes caught the corner of the room, and there he was. Elijah. Or rather, Smoke. His name didn’t matter. It was the way he stood, quiet and still, as if the noise of the world didn’t reach him. And the way his eyes—dark and heavy—found hers, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years.

Two years ago, they had never spoken a word, but they didn’t need to. They’d shared looks, stolen moments in the same dark corners, their silent understanding hanging between them like smoke. He’d get lost in her voice, until he disappeared, and she hadn’t expected to see him again. But now he was back.

The crowd cheered, but it sounded far away, muffled. Eboni couldn’t look away from him. She took a slow breath and nodded to the band to start another song, her fingers still tight around the microphone. The music kicked in, but it felt different now. Heavy. Personal.

She sang through the next verse, her eyes flickering back to him, the tension building like a slow storm. Smoke didn’t move, not an inch, his gaze locked onto her like it was the only thing that mattered.

When the song ended, the applause was distant, echoing in her chest. She didn’t bother with a smile or a thank-you. She stepped off the stage, her heels clicking on the worn wood, moving like she was walking toward something she couldn’t quite reach.

She made her way to the bar, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as she kept her focus on the two men across the room. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She leaned against the worn oak of the bar, her fingers curling around a glass of whiskey that had already been poured for her—one of the perks of being a regular. Her eyes never left them, even as she took a slow sip.

Stack was there, as always, the easy smile on his face. He was doing what he always did, moving through the crowd with a charm that could melt the coldest heart. He was talking to a few women, laughing, his broad shoulders almost swallowing up the small talk that surrounded him. He liked to be the center of attention, and everyone loved him for it. But Eboni knew better. She’d seen this act before. Stack wore his charisma like a badge, a way to distract from the emptiness underneath.

But it wasn’t Stack who held her gaze. It was Elijah—Smoke.

Even from across the room, she could feel his presence. He was standing by the wall, arms crossed, his face set in that same unreadable expression she remembered from two years ago. The way his eyes followed her, dark and calculating, made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at her like Stack did—like she was something to possess or conquer. No. Elijah watched her like she was a puzzle he’d been trying to figure out for years, and every second he spent looking at her only brought him closer to the answer.

She tore her eyes away, but only for a moment, enough to see Stack stack a cigarette, the tobacco wrapped neatly in a paper that had seen too many hands. He moved with a practiced ease, the kind of movement that said he’d done this a hundred times before—maybe more. His fingers worked quickly, rolling the tobacco into a perfect cylinder before he offered it to his twin.

“Smoke,” Stack said, his voice loud enough for Eboni to hear from where she stood. “You want this?”

Elijah didn’t respond right away. He just lifted his eyes, slow and deliberate, meeting Stack’s gaze. When he finally nodded, Stack’s grin grew, the kind of grin that always made Eboni want to look away.

Stack handed the cigarette to Elijah, his fingers brushing against the man’s hand as they exchanged it. It wasn’t a gesture that meant anything on the surface, but Eboni knew better. That was the kind of touch that meant everything to them, a bond forged in blood and silence.

She swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, her thoughts a muddled haze, and turned her attention back to the stage. But her mind was elsewhere, still following Smoke and Stack’s every movement, every small action. 

Eboni had downed about four shots of pure whiskey, the burn spreading down her throat and settling heavy in her chest. It was enough to push the fog in her mind to the back of her thoughts, enough to shake the tension that had wound too tightly in her body. She needed something to fill the hollow feeling, to drown out the noise in her head. And there was only one way she knew how to do that.

She stood, shaking off the weight of the barstool as the music played its sultry tune. The brass band had kicked into a slower, heavier rhythm, the kind that made you want to move, to let everything slip away. The bassline thrummed in her bones, and before she could think twice, she was on the dance floor.

Her hips swayed with the beat, body moving like liquid, each step flowing in perfect sync with the music. She didn’t care who watched. She didn’t care who noticed. The men around her—just a blur of faces—seemed to melt into the background, their eyes fixed on her every move, their hands reaching out in desperate need of a connection they could never quite understand. But none of them mattered. Not tonight.

Tonight, Eboni danced with her demons. She swirled around a sea of bodies, lost in the music and the heat, in the chaos of everything falling apart outside these walls. Bills were piling up, her rent overdue, the landlord knocking on her door at all hours of the night, and here she was—dancing like everything was fine. But she knew it wasn’t. Her personal life was spiraling, and all she had left was this—the music, the sweat, the whiskey, and the rhythm that refused to let her think.

God forbid a woman wanted to let go. To forget the weight of her world for a moment and just move, lose herself in something that felt alive. That’s what the dance floor was—freedom, if only for a song.

The air in the joint was thick with the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and something more, something that Eboni could never quite name. The crowd, hungry for an escape, moved around her like sharks, drawn to the pulse of the beat, the rawness of the night. But none of them understood her like she understood herself—this was her release, her moment to disappear into the shadows of the music.

But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have known, was that Smoke was still watching her. From the corner of the room, leaning against the wall as if he had nowhere else to be, his eyes never left her. He’d been watching her since she stepped off that stage, his gaze unwavering, the weight of his attention a constant pull at her spine.

Every sway of her hips, every flicker of her eyes, every step she took was like a thread that drew him in closer, whether he wanted to admit it or not. There was something about the way she danced—free, wild, untamed—that got under his skin. She was a force, a hurricane in the middle of a quiet night, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her storm.

The smoke from his cigarette curled in the air as he took a long drag, his jaw tight, eyes locked on her every movement. He could feel the heat of the room, but it wasn’t the heat of the bodies around him that made his skin burn. It was her.

Elijah knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching her like this. He had enough trouble of his own—trouble he couldn’t afford to share with anyone, least of all her. She was trouble enough. She didn’t belong in the world he lived in, didn’t belong in the shadows that clung to him like a second skin. But there she was, moving in a way that made him question every decision he’d ever made.

Stack, ever the talker, was nowhere near as focused on her as Elijah was. He’d caught a glimpse of Eboni, then immediately turned his attention to another woman, pulling her into his orbit with that easy grin of his. But Elijah didn’t look away, didn’t break his stare. Not even when a few people bumped into him, pulling him out of his trance.

Now, as she moved on the dance floor, he felt that same pull in his chest—the same tug that made him want to reach out, grab her, pull her close and make her forget the world around her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Eboni spun, her eyes catching his for a brief second before she turned away again, lost in the rhythm. For just a moment, she felt something shift in the air, something that wasn’t just the heat or the crowd—it was him. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching. She could feel it, deep in her bones.

The crowd had thinned to a whisper. Chairs scraped the floor as bodies filtered out into the sticky New Orleans night, laughter echoing down the crooked streets. The music was gone now—only the ghost of it lingered in the air, like perfume after the woman’s long gone. Eboni stood near the stage, her heels finally killing her, fingers curling around the worn leather strap of her bag.

She was tired. Soul-tired. The kind of tired that couldn’t be fixed with rest. She grabbed her coat from the back of a chair, stuffing her tips into her pocket without counting. Her feet ached, her head buzzed with leftover whiskey and regret.

She didn’t even notice him at first—not until his hand wrapped gently, but firmly, around her arm.

She turned fast, caught off guard. Smoke stood there, close. Closer than he’d ever dared to be.

"I missed it," he said.

His voice was low, thick with something she couldn’t quite name. Not gravel. Not smoke. Something in between. The way he looked at her—it wasn’t like how the men looked at her from the crowd. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t lust. It was something deeper. Something like memory.

She blinked. “Missed what?”

“Your voice,” he said. “I missed your voice.”

Eboni stared at him, lips parted. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not tonight.

“You always used to stay in the back,” she said, her voice soft. “Never spoke. Just watched.”

“I was listening,” he said. “Always was.”

Eboni felt her stomach twist. His hand was still on her arm, not rough, but like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. She glanced down at it, then back up at him. She should’ve pulled away. But she didn’t.

“You came back,” she said. It wasn’t a question. More like a statement she didn’t know what to do with.

“Didn’t plan to,” Elijah murmured. “But I heard your voice again and—shit—I couldn’t stay away.”

There was a pause, long and heavy. The rest of the room faded. It was just them, the lights humming low, the floor sticky with spilled gin and too many late nights.

Eboni’s throat tightened. “I ain't looking for trouble, Elijah.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m not here to bring it.”

“Then what are you here for?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer with words. Just looked at her with those dark eyes—still, unreadable, but deep. “Come with me,” he finally said. “Just for a while. No music. No crowd. Just quiet.”

She should’ve said no.

She should’ve turned around, walked out, kept herself from falling into the pull she’d tried so hard to ignore. But instead, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and nodded.

The ride to his place had been quiet.

Not the awkward kind. Not full of nerves or forced words. Just silence that spoke louder than anything either of them could’ve said. She watched the streetlights flash across his face in the dark car, gold slicing over his cheekbones and jaw, softening nothing. Elijah didn’t look at her much. But his hand rested near hers on the seat—close enough she could feel the heat of it, like a live wire she was trying not to touch.

When they reached his building, he opened the door like a man who never brought anyone through it. The hallway creaked under their steps, and Eboni had to remind herself to breathe.

Upstairs, the room was dim. No music. No radio. Just the hum of old pipes and the weight of night pressing against the windows.

Eboni stood just inside the doorway, her arms still crossed, as if she hadn’t fully decided to be there. Elijah shrugged off his jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, then turned to her.

“You can sit,” he said gently.

She nodded but didn’t move right away. Her eyes trailed across the room. There wasn’t much to see. One lamp in the corner, books stacked by the bed, a half-full ashtray on the table. It was clean. Lived-in, but quiet, like the man who owned it.

“You live like a ghost,” she said softly.

Elijah turned, brow raised.

“This place…” she said, stepping further in. “It don’t got fingerprints. It don’t got... you in it.”

He paused at that. “I never liked leaving too much of myself anywhere.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated. “’Cause people break the things they know belong to you.”

Eboni sat then, slow and careful, like the couch might bite. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, though the room wasn’t cold.

He moved to the table, poured a drink without asking. Whiskey. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers as he passed it over. She held it but didn’t drink.

“I ain’t used to you talking so much,” she said after a moment.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You never gave me a reason to talk.”

“And now?”

He looked at her like she already knew.

Eboni finally took a sip. The burn was sharp and welcome. “You watched me for two years. Never said a word. What made you speak now?”

Elijah stared for a long beat before answering.

“’Cause I realized I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

She held his gaze, and something thick hung in the air—want, memory, something more dangerous than both. She set the glass down, slow and deliberate.

“You still dangerous?” she asked.

Elijah stepped forward, his voice lower now, softer. “Always.”

“And I’m still the girl who’s got no business with danger.”

“I know.”

“But you brought me here anyway.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

She tilted her head. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Another silence. Another moment where one of them could’ve pulled away—but didn’t.

“You want me to go?” she asked, standing up.

He looked at her like it hurt to answer. “No.”

“Then why you standing all the way over there like you don’t know what this is?”

He didn’t respond. Just crossed the room, slow, until he was right in front of her. He didn’t reach for her—not yet—but his presence was close enough to drown in.

“This ain’t a love story, Eboni,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She looked up at him, steady. “I didn’t come here for love.”

Elijah’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Then why’d you come?”

Eboni’s voice didn’t shake. “Because I couldn’t stay away either.”

That was all it took. One breath between them, then his hand slid up her arm, slow and warm. His other touched her jaw, thumb brushing the curve of her cheek.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Her body buzzed like a live wire under his touch.

And when he kissed her—it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was slow, but deep. The kind of kiss that made the whole room disappear. His hands stayed at her jaw, holding her like she might vanish. Her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

There were no promises in it.

Just the quiet understanding that both of them were already too far gone.

The door barely clicked shut before Elijah was on her—hands, mouth, breath—all of him. Eboni barely had time to breathe before her back was pressed against the wall, the cool plaster grounding her for one sharp second. Then his mouth was on her neck, dragging slow heat up her throat.

“Couldn’t keep seein’ you dance wit’ them niggas like that,” he muttered against her skin, voice low, ragged. “Had me out my mind.”

She gasped as his hand slid up her thigh, hitching her dress higher. “That why you pulled me like that?” she whispered, breath catching. “’Cause you jealous?”

Elijah pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched. “I ain’t jealous, Eboni. I’m possessive. There’s a difference.”

She let out a shaky laugh, but it faded when his fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress, tracing the inside of her thigh.

“I ain’t yours, Elijah.”

He smirked, sharp and knowing. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

With one hand, he gripped the back of her neck, tilting her head up. The other dragged the straps of her dress down, slow, like he was unwrapping something sacred. Inch by inch, fabric fell, pooling at her waist before slipping past her hips. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. Her body burned under his touch, and she didn’t care if it showed.

“You been singin’ all sweet up on that stage,” he whispered, mouth brushing hers, “but I know you got heat in you. I see it every time you look at me.”

“Then take it.” she whispered back.

That was all he needed.

He peeled her underwear off one by one—no rush, no apologies. His hands moved like he was memorizing her skin, every curve, every breath. Eboni stood bare under the weight of his gaze, chest rising fast, lips parted.

“Turn around,” he said.

She hesitated—but only for a second. Then she did. Her back faced him, hands braced against the wall. She heard the sound of his belt, the rustle of his shirt hitting the floor.

Elijah stepped close behind her, one hand sliding around her stomach, the other teasing down her hip. His breath was hot against her ear as he pressed his hard dick onto her back.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice gravel and hunger. “That’s what you do to me.”

She said, “I Ain’t stoppin’ you.”

His growl was low, more animal than man. He slid his dick into her gummy pussy in one slow, deliberate motion that made her cry out, her fingers clenching against the wall.

“O-oh my god..,” she whispered, body arching.

He held her there, buried deep, not moving yet. Just breathing. Letting it build. Letting her feel all of him.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he said through gritted teeth, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “I been thinkin’ about this for years, Eboni.”

She pushed back against him, hips moving slow. “M-me too.”

Hard. Deep. Slow at first—like he wanted to savor every second. His hand gripped her hip, the other sliding up to palm her breast. Their rhythm was rough, needy, matched breath for breath. Eboni moaned, loud and unfiltered, her voice breaking into the night like a song meant only for him.

Elijah bent her forward slightly, his chest against her back now, lips pressed behind her ear. “Say my name.”

She tried to hold it, tried not to give him the satisfaction—but his thrusts made it impossible.

“Elijah—” she gasped.

He groaned, mouth dragging along her neck. “Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she whimpered, nails scraping down the wall. “Fuck…”

Her knees started to buckle, the pleasure climbing too fast, too high.

“I got you,” he whispered, hand sliding between her thighs to find her clit. “I got you.”

It sent her over. Her body trembled, falling apart in his arms. She cried out, shaking as he kept fucking her, chasing his own release. He wet juices pooled on the floor beneath her as he he fucked her sloppy. It didn’t take long—his breath turned ragged, his rhythm breaking. With a final thrust, he spilled into her, holding her so tight it almost hurt.

Silence fell, thick and breathless.

They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed to the wall, hearts thundering in sync.

“You still think you ain’t mine?” he asked, voice rough in her ear.

Eboni didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not yet. 

Because something in her had just changed. And they both knew it.

Elijah didn’t let her go right away. He held her against him, both of them catching their breath in the quiet shadows of the hallway. His lips brushed her shoulder again—this time softer, slower. Less heat, more feeling.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice low.

Eboni nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” she whispered.

He turned her around, his hands gentle now, fingertips skimming the sweat-slick curve of her waist. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face, like this was the first time he’d ever really seen her.

“Come with me,” he said.

She didn’t ask where. She just let him take her hand.

He led her through the dim apartment, past old vinyls stacked on the side table, past the open window blowing in the warm New Orleans night. His bedroom was simple—dark walls, linen sheets tangled from nights like this, heavy silence hanging in the air like smoke.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Eboni stood still, suddenly aware of how bare she was—inside and out.

“You always bring girls back here?” she asked, voice trying for sharp but falling soft.

Elijah stepped closer, so close her back hit the edge of the bed.

“I don’t bring anyone back here,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ain’t nobody ever felt like you.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, call it a lie, but something in his tone cut through her doubt. It wasn’t charm. It wasn’t a line.

It was truth.

“You used to sit in the back of the juke,” she said, eyes on his chest now. “Never said nothin’. Just watched.”

“I was scared if I opened my mouth, I’d say too much.”

She smirked. “You talkin’ plenty now.”

He leaned down, mouth just above hers. “And I mean all of it.”

Then he kissed her again—deeper this time. Slower. His hands found her waist, pulled her in like he couldn’t get close enough. She sank into it, arms winding around his neck, her body aching all over again.

He guided her down onto the bed, lips never leaving hers. The sheets were cool against her skin, but he was warm everywhere. He kissed down her collarbone, across her chest, pausing just long enough to make her breath catch.

“Elijah…” she whispered, fingers curling in his hair.

“You trust me?” he asked.

She hesitated—then nodded. “I do now.”

His fingers ran over every inch—her thighs, her hips, her ribs, her mouth. When he entered her swollen pussy again, it wasn’t urgent like before. It was deep, slow, like he wanted to stay inside her forever.

Eboni gasped, her nails dragging along his back. “God… I don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

He groaned softly, forehead pressed to hers. “Just givin’ you what you deserve.”

They moved together, breath for breath, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. Her body trembled again, and he held her through every wave, never looking away. He followed right after, his release crashing through him like thunder.

After, they lay tangled in each other, skin warm, limbs heavy.

Eboni rested her head on his chest, her voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t supposed to feel like this.”

Elijah’s hand stroked her back, slow and gentle. “Me neither,” he murmured. “But I ain’t lettin’ you go now. Not again.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He looked down at her, eyes dark and honest. “I know enough. I know your voice makes the world stop. I know you drink whiskey straight but kiss like honey. I know I been missin’ you for two years and it ain’t never stopped.”

She looked up at him, lips parted. Her heart beat too fast.

“Elijah…”

“I don’t want no one else touchin’ you,” he said. “No one else hearin’ those songs like I do.”

Eboni bit her lip, her voice shaking. “Then make me yours.”He leaned in and kissed her again, slow and deep. “I already did.”

[novahreign]

Sinners

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Lucinda “Lu/ Lil bit” Hawkins.

A/N: I wanted to give it a try. I’m a Smoke girlie. That’s my type of man.😜💙 I hope that you enjoy.

“Elijah. Please, don’t do this.” I begged gripping his bicep. “Please.” He gathered me in his arms.

I had been cheesing and humming all morning. Mama had gone into town and daddy was working, this was the only day that both of my parents would be gone and Elijah could come over. I finished my morning chores and freshened myself up from this hot Mississippi weather. I had been having sex with Elijah or Smoke, what most people called him, although I never taken a liken to it, for two full months and my folks were non the wiser. I smiled to myself, I just didn’t understand how something that was such a sin, felt so good. Elijah always knew how to me feel good, how to make me feel like a woman. He was always gentle too. Never harsh with me like he was to everyone else. My mother didn’t know what I saw in him, she just I didn’t understand, that’s all.

When Elijah came in, I was prepared to make love. He always did know how to work that thing between his legs to bring me so much pleasure, oh, and his tongue, sweet Mary, did he know how to use it on me, have me saying swear words that my mama would have my hind for, but instead of my sweet Elijah, I got the one with fear in his eyes. One I only saw a few times. He rushed inside and told me that he and his brother were leaving town. I could feel my heart bout to beat outta my chest. He gathered me in his arms, kissing the side of my head. “I gotta go Lu, don’t make this any harder for me.”

“Why are you doing this? Where are you going?!” I could feel my heart slowly crumbling as he worked to avoid my eyes. “Elijah, what did you do?”

His twin brother Elias “Stack” laid on the horn “Hurry nigga. We gots to go.” He seemed nervous as he scanned the dirt road. A man, I didn’t recognize sat in the drivers seat, kept his gaze straight ahead. “Smoke, let’s go!”

He looked at me with wary eyes “I gotta go baby.” He kissed me harder than he’d ever had before. I tried to savor every moment as I melted in his arm. “Promise me you’ll write.” I sensed his hesitation “You don’t have to say where you are, just let me know that you’re alright and that you’re thinking of me.”

He nodded his head “I’ll do that. I promise.” He kissed me one last time but before he made it to the end of the yard, I yelled out to him. “I love you Elijah.” He smirked “I love you too Lil bit.” I smiled faintly at the nickname that I hated, but would give anything to hear him say it forever. He hopped in the back of the car.

“Don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t! I promise.”

The car sped off down the road, leaving a cloud of dirt behind. I waved until I couldn’t see them anymore.

Sometime later, I learned that the twins killed their daddy or that’s Bessie’s grandmother was telling everybody. I know how cruel and evil his daddy could be and if that’s why he left then I could accept that. That was seven years ago. He never did write like he promised. I waited for years for a letter. Eventually I picked up the pieces of my heart and moved on as I best I could.

“Alright. Class is dismissed. You all go and make it home. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Bye, Ms. Hawkins.” The cute little brown faces of boys and girls exited the white painted barn that was used for schooling during the weekdays. I sighed as to face one little grumpy face child. I bit my cheek to keep from smiling but I put on my serious face.

“Lester Sims, You oughta be ashamed of the way that you carried on today.” His little frown loosened up some. “I expect better from you. You’re a smart boy and have a brain.” I tapped his head “Use it, because the next time you act like this, I’m liken to take a switch to you and I don’t want to have to do that, You hear me?”

He nodded his head and let out a gruff “Yes ma’am.”

“Alright now, gon and head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stomped his way out of the barn as I began tidying up. I unsnapped the button to my blouse, it was hot as Satans tail in this classroom. Hearing footsteps I turned around.

“Lester, you’re always forgetting something, I tell you ever-“ my words got caught as I looked up.

“You as hard on poor Lester as your mama was on me and Stack.How you doing, Lu?”

I gripped the chair, to keep myself from falling, it was like looking at ghost. Elijah Moore stood in front of me. Bigger and more put together than I’ve seen a colored folk before. He tipped his hat “Elijah.” I said, my voice coming out way softer than I wanted or needed it to. Hell, I was mad at him. Seven years you’ve been gone and got the nerve to come back looking like this?! I cross my legs at the ankles. Seven years wasn’t enough time for my body to forget the only man to ever touch me. Then anger boiled in my chest. I dropped the broom, brushed past him, stomping my way out of the school, like Lester did. I was almost far enough when I felt a grip on my arm. I turned so fast bumping into his rock hard chest.

“Can we talk?” Tears welled up in my eyes.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I tried my best to keep myself together. “Just stay the hell away from me.” I jerked from his arm, headed down the road, not once looking back. I couldn’t, not yet.

[coldeforprez]

IS IT THE WAY; 2003 • TEASER

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But he can never seem to let go of her. There’s only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: suggestive themes, swearing, angst, not much right now other than y'all getting edged by this teaser..enjoy? word count: 590 words ( final wc tbd o_O )

dear reader 💌: um hi! Michael and I have been in a committed partnership since like 2015 and I've always silently loved a good fic so I pretty much live in the back alleys of Tumblr with all my random hyperfixations clutched tight to my chest. However, my brain chemistry has been forever altered after seeing Sinners and I MUST get this idea out of my head and into your hands. I've always loved writing and I kinda wanna actually get a life and nurture some hobbies so this is me trying that (you're my accountability partner now.)

He strolled in right at midnight. Just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind… whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin' the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of getting a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens, then shuts—like he’s chewing on the words but they just don't taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

part i.

Leave a💲if you'd like to keep up with this series :3 !

[massiv3tr33p3rsona]

Remember You | Stack X Valerie (Black Fem Vampire OC) / Sammie X Pearline X Valerie

Home Part II.

Pairing(s): Elias ‘Stack’ Moore (Sinners) x Valerie (Black Fem Vampire OC) (Woman in Top Right: Nicole Beharie) and Valerie x Pearline (Sinners) x Sammie ‘Preacher Boy’ Moore (a smidge because this goes into Part III!)

Summary: After avoiding being captured by vampire hunters, Remmick and almost killed by a Klan member, Valerie goes to a juke joint in the middle of nowhere. As she spends time scooping around and flirting with Pearline & Sammy, she runs into Stack, who co-owns the club with Smoke. They have a conversation, where they reminisce about that night they spent together back in Chicago before she was transformed.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, a bit lengthy, slight bisexuality, oral (m receiving, f receiving), titty sucking, choking, slapping, riding, squirting, creampie, slight angst, vampirism, emotional feelings, flashback, mentions of death/rebirth, suicide, and racism, violence, blood, cursing, smoking, drinking, slight spoilers, slight spirituality

Dividers Made By: @uzmacchiato

Parts: I • III • IV • Prequel

A/N I: Annie, Smoke, and Lucinda returns, with Slim, Sammie, Pearline, Cornbread, Mary, Bo, and Grace making their first appearances. And please ignore that Valerie is eating some of the catfish. Didn’t know garlic powder was in the seasoning. And I’m aware that the Saint Valentine’s Day massacre was during the day, but it sounds better at night for some reason. Also may have went a little too crazy with the violence in one section.

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT

Its night time as the dark forest and dirt road glows under the pale moonlight, the cool evening air breezing. But, it’s disturbed by movement, particularly running.

Running down the road is a beautiful brownskin woman in a torn up floral dress and white sandals, hair loose and fear all over her. She constantly turns around to make sure no one is following her, being prepared to fight back if necessary.

Just about two hours ago, she was almost kidnapped by a devil incarnated vampire named Remmick, his wife and two other members, looking to start their own community of invoking evil into bodies to control.

Little did they know, Valerie was one herself.

About three and a half years ago, on a rainy night in downtown Chicago, Valerie was turned into one by her maker, Eros, after taking her own life by jumping off the bridge into the Chicago River and washing up on a dock. She learned how to live, behave, and eat like a vampire while recovering, even got the gift of hearing most people’s thoughts, which helped with having perfect survival and hunting skills.

Which lead to issue #2: an almost deadly encounter with the local Choctaw Vampire Hunters.

An hour after getting away from Remmick, she was startled by a group of Native men on horses passing by, causing her to fall and tear her dress in some areas. As she got up, she hissed at the horses and shown her fangs, scaring the animals back. One of them knocked their rider off, making all of them block Valerie from leaving, cornering her.

As she realized he was carrying things that can kill a vampire and has no way out, one of them jumps down to question her. Just as he was getting close, he gets ambushed by some shadow, with the rest of the man being attacked similarly. She looks up and sees Remmick floating in the air, blood covering his mouth and eyes glowing red.

“Join us, Valerie. You’ll fit in nice……you already one of us. I can smell your cinnamon magnolia scent from here.” he said, lowering himself to ground.

Valerie picks up a glass of an unidentifiable liquid from one of the deceased riders and throws it at him, hitting his arm. He lets out a hiss and begins rolling on the ground to get it off, giving her an opportunity to run away as fast as she could.

As she was getting further and further into the forest, she can see more Choctaw Hunters pulling up through the view of trees, making sure to avoid them while they past. Their blood scent roams through her nose, but she refuses to let her hunger cost her life and continued on. Now here she is, not where to do next now that she’s lost.

“Where am I gonna go..” she whispers, walking on the side.

Suddenly, she hears a car slowing driving up, making her walk on the side to avoid getting hit, not looking back. The car, a black Bentley 8 Litre, passes by, not seeing her. It stops and begins reversing, making her pause her movements.

Hiding her hands behind her back, she extends them into long and sharp fingers, preparing to defend herself as the car stop in front of her. The windows rolls down, with the driver revealing itself as a older, overweight white man, wearing a black and white plaid suit and gold framed glasses.

“Good evening, young lady. Are you lost?” he asked in a Southern Mississippi accent, looking her up and down.

As she walks up, she looks at the inside of his car, making sure nothing seemed off about it.

“Maybe.” as she moved her hair to the side, her fingers back to normal. “You know where I’m at?”

“Just outside of Clarksdale, north to be exact.. Never seen folks like you around here.” he replied.

“Folks, huh….” she said, side-eying him.

“Not like that!” as he holds his hands up in a surrendering way. “Normally, they travel mostly west or east. I can take you there if you like. You look like you need something.”

Valerie looks at the man with a highbrowed expression, thinking about his offer.

He seems like he knows where to take me, she says in her head, hearing his heart beating accompanying as background noise.

Hope she doesn’t realize my actual plan if she gets in, he says in his head, which she hears.

Valerie is appalled by this, very shocked that he has pure malicious attention behind his innocent facade he has on.

You’re so dumb and oblivious for saying that. But now, I have my dinner for the night, she says, smiling a bit.

“You know if any fabrics store is open this hour? I do need a new dress.” she asked, leaning against the window so her breasts are in his view.

“N-no, ma’am. We close at 10 every night due to curfew.” he said as he looks at them. “However, my late wife has a lot of dresses she left behind at the house. I can lend some to you and drop you off downtown if you’re comfortable with that.” he said, having a profaned look on his face.

“….deal.” she utters instantly.

“Good! Hop right on in so I can get to moving.” he said as he opens the door for her.

Valerie gets in, closing the door and putting on her seatbelt as the man begins driving, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Name’s Harold.” he said, making her look at him.

“Valerie.” she replied.

“Valerie, huh? You don’t sound like you from arounds here.” he said as he steps on the pedal a bit.

“You would be correct. I’m from Chicago originally.”

Great. Another nig from there coming down here to infect the city more. he utters in his head.

Racist idiot. “…..got something against Chicago?” she asked, making him snap out of his contraction.

“Huh?”

Valerie laughs, facing forward as she adjusts into her seat, noticing a KKK blond drop symbol patch on his dashboard.

And you’re a member of the Klu Klux Klan? Wow, you’re gonna be an easy kill tonight, she said in a delightful tone.

“You went silent as soon as I said that.” she replied.

“Oh no! My friend just sold something to two black brothers from out there today, so you’re like the third one I’m running across.”

“Mm.”

“What brings you out here?”

“Wanted to start over as I outgrew living up there. I’m going to miss the night life though.”

“Night life?” as he scoffed. “You prefer that more than day time?”

“Day time drags on too long for my liking. Night life brings out everyone. Even the *bad.” she says at she looks at him.

“What, you liking hanging around those types of people?”

“Not really.” as she stretched out her legs, feeling his gaze.

She rubs her hand over her calf, slowly trailing her fingers up her body until she stops at her neck, hearing his heart beating going fast.

“Only the ones who don’t mind following under my control.” she added, saying it in a seductive tone.

Harold stares with lust, accidentally jerking the car wheel, which almost ran the vehicle off the road, going back to paying attention to it.

God I need to get her home fast, he said in his head.

Valerie smirks, patiently waiting for them to arrive to his house so she can indulge him and no one will come and help.

About 30 minutes later, the car pulls up to a red bricked house, with a roofed garage attached to it.

Harold parks the car and gets out, quickly walking to Valerie side to help her out of the car.

“Thank you, Harold. I really do appreciate you for this.” she says as she grabs his hand and steps out.

“No worries, me lady.” he replied, making the both of them laugh.

They walk to the door, with Harold looking through his keys, trying to find the house one. Valerie looks around the area, hearing a loud noise in the distance.

“Do you know what that noise is?” she asks, looking at him.

“Probably the brothers’ new club.” he replied, sticking the key in to unlock the door.

Which will be a killing field for us come tomorrow, he says, laughing as he opens the door, stepping aside.

You won’t make it and neither will they, she says as she walks in, giving him a smile.

Harold steps in and closes the door, turning on the lights to brighten the room. Valerie looks around, taking in the white walls, black furniture, and red items design.

Yeah, you’re definitely Klan with these color scheme you went with, she says as he clapped his hands.

“Alright. I’m gonna go bring in some dresses and shoes from upstairs. Bathroom is down the hall on your left. There’s some clean hair rollers and brushes she left behind. Be right back!” he said, walking past her.

Valerie nods, watching him head up the stairs, disappearing into the ceiling. She begins walking down the hallway, looking at the few photos he has hanging on his walls.

His wedding picture. A family picture of them with his kids. Him with a group of friends, holding up guns and a Confederate flag. Gross. And lastly, a picture of him getting sworn into the Klu Klux Klan as other members watch. The names of each member is listed, align with their face:

Bert Hogwood, Joan Smith-Hogwood, Charles Hogwood, Harold Hogwood, Jeffrey Johnson, and David Lee Hart. Noted.

She looks at it for a few more minutes before continuing walking. Passing a room with a door open, she see Harold’s white Klu Klux Klan robe lying on a chair in room surrounded by guns and knifes.

Hm….maybe I should take something while he’s not looking.

She looks at each gun lined up against the wall, turns away as they are too big for her to even carry out. She then looks at the desk where knives are laid out, examining each one. A gold holder catches her attention, picking it up. Taking it out, the knife is a reflective 8 inch, blade is sharp enough to cut through the skin easy.

“Yeah, Ima take you.” she mumbles, putting it back in the holder.

Hearing Harold coming down the steps, she put holder into the top of the dress and scurries to the bathroom.

She pretends to be preoccupied by the rollers when Harold appears at the door, holding dresses in one hand and boxes of shoes in the other as she looks at him.

“I see I have options.” she said, a smile on her face.

“Yeah, I was struggling to figure out which ones will look great on you as she had so many dresses.” he says, placing the boxes on the counter and the dresses behind the door.

He stands there as Valerie looks at the dresses, examining each one.

“Well. I’ll be back in an hour to check on you so I could take you downtown. Does that sound okay with you?” he asks.

“Sounds fine.” she replied.

“Good! I’ll let you get to it, Miss Valerie.” he says, turning away.

“Thank you again. I do really appreciate this, Harold.” she says as he walks off.

Good. That’s the last time you’ll appreciate anything, he says.

Same for you, she says as she closes the door.

Valerie looks in the mirror, thinking about what is she gonna do to him now that she has an hour to get ready. Many ideas run through ahead, from ways of luring him in or how brutal she should go out for him, but nothing lands.

Then, she remembers his robe is on the chair in the room, giving her a glorious idea for the execution as she began to do her hair.

An hour later, Harold gets up from the couch, begins to walk down the hallway. Just as he getting close, the lights go out, instantly making him mad.

“What the fuck?!” he utters, stomping his feet.

He turns around and goes to where the light switch was, flicking it on and off to success. He grabs the flashlight on the table and turns it on, taking his pistol he had hidden in the back of his pants.

“You okay, Valerie? Did the lights go out in the bathroom?” he asks in a loud voice as he slowly begins to walk.

No answer.

That woman better not have escaped, he says getting close.

Suddenly, a woman’s moaning echoes the hallway, making him pause his movement. It sounds like she’s singing beautifully, which makes Harold slowly get hard.

“What the….” he whispers, continuing his walk.

As he gets closer to the bathroom, the door to his weapons slowly opens, catching his attention. Pointing the gun and flashlight at it, he kicks open the door, watching it swing open.

The window behind his desk is open, blowing some air in. Knives? Looked untouched. But his klan robe that was lying on the chair? Gone. He turns to see if any of his weapons have gone missing and is startled by a figure, causing him to fall into the door.

As he gets back on his feet, he realizes the figure, holding its head down, is wearing his robe and mask, making him point his gun and flashlight towards it, cocking the gun.

“Who the hell are you and why in God’s name do you have on my robe?!” he yells.

The figure lifts its head up, with glowing green eyes. It begins moaning again. Its remove the mask, revealing itself as Valerie, who now had a sinister smirk plastered on her face.

“You liked that, did you?” she asks, causing him to drop his gun and flashlight as fear takes over him.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks in a scared voice.

“What happened to me? I say….. a rebirth.” she utters, walking towards him.

Harold runs out, but just as he was getting close to the front door, Valerie respawns in front of him, causing him to fall into the living room.

“My old life in Chicago, I have freedom and felt like I was seen with my community work, helping out my people who lived there or came to escape from whatever they were going through. But that changed after I got my heart broken by someone I thought cared about me. So I took my own life.” she utters, somberness taking over her.

“Well, you should’ve stayed dead, nig!” he utters, crawling backwards to get away.

Valerie chuckles as she takes out the dagger, stabbing the core part of Harold’s foot, paling him to the floor. He screams in agony, watching him turn red as she climbs on top of him.

“But someone saw potential in me and transformed me into a new person. So I came down here to start a new life since Chicago is slowly dying and instantly, I almost died over how I looked twice so far. Would’ve been three hadn’t I heard the ability to hear people’s thoughts and your plans on killing me and my people in your little racist head.” she says as she wraps her hand, her fingers now long and sharp, around his neck, squeezing it.

He begins choking, filling the tightness from her hand, closing in his throat, preventing oxygen from coming in as she leans down to his face.

“And you know what I say to that? Instead of fearing being killed for how I look, I no longer fear that now I have the power to take out anyone who wishes to cause harm against me and my people as they get in my way.” she states as she moves his head up, exposing his neck more.

“Please…” he begs in a dried painful voice. “I’ll let you live if you just let me go.”

“……see you in hell, Harold.” is the last thing she utters.

Valerie opens her mouth, revealing her fangs as she chomps on Harold’s neck hard, beginning to suck the blood out. His screams fills the room he attempt to break out of her hold, but the pain is preventing it from succeeding.

She lifts her head up, his blood spread all over her face in the robe as she looks down at his half decaying self, tears falling out of his eyes.

“Oh honey….I promise this will all go away soon. Just let me get to the good part of you.” she whispers, pulling the dagger out of his foot.

She gets off him, kneeling on the left side of his body. Holding the dagger over his chest, she stabs through it, cutting a hole through it. As she uses all of her strength to push the blade around, she watches his body and leak blood from his eyes, mouth, ears and nose, the pressure pushing through all areas.

After completing the hole, she moves the layer of his skin, which exposes his heart. She yanked the heart out, watching it beat hard in her hand as she brings it to her face.

She smells it, groaning at the delicious essence it gives off before biting into it, indulging each bite.

“I’m gonna finish it before I leave so now by finds a dead body tomorrow.” she mumbled into an evil laugh, kicking at his leg.

She takes another bite, moaning at the texture and taste as the moonlight shines on her bloody looking self and his dead body.

Pulling up in the dead man’s car, Valerie looks at herself in the mirror.

Hair curled and layered, silk green dress fitting tight and kept her girlies up, and black flats fitting comfortably, she smiles.

Flashing two single gold bottom tooth grills she made from silver and Harold’s teeth, she looks good for someone that just killed and ingest someone’s body about 45 minutes ago.

“Remember, Valerie: do not show your true self while you’re around all these people, dancing, drinking, and all that.” she said, grabbing the tan fur shawl in the seat and getting out.

Locking the car and adjusting the holder hiding above her underwear, she walks to the building, with the name, ‘Club Juke’ etched in red paint on the hanging sign above the front entrance.

Feeling people staring at her and some guys whistling as she walked by, she patiently waits in line, watching the two bodyguards turn people away or let them in until they got to her.

“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to Club Juke!” said the tall, straw hat, overalls wearing man, smiling at her.

“Good evening to you as well, Mr??” she asked, a smile appearing on her face.

“Cornbread. I have another name, but because I’ve only ate cornbread growing up, that’s how I got the name.” he replied, laughing a bit.

“Wait…..” as she looks at him, a shocked look on her face. “You’re Cornbread?”

“Yeah? Just said that a few seconds ago?” he replied, confusion on his face.

What is this lady’s problem?, he utters in his head.

“Sorry. Had my friend who mentioned you to me added that you were this tall, I would’ve worn some heels at least.” she replied, earning a laugh from him.

Thank god I didn’t make it a little too awkward, she utters.

“I get that a lot from unfamiliar faces. But, ima let you in. And hope you have a good time, alright now?” he replied, moving to the side.

Valerie nods before walking in, greeting the other bodyguard as she passes by.

And bless whoever gets with her because damn…..if I wasn’t married, I would be all over her, Cornbread utters.

Too bad you’re not my type, she says.

As she enter the building, she can feel the vibe of the atmosphere flowing through. The music is loud and booming, with attendees dancing and drinking, some chatting and eating as the elder pianist plays on the stage, moving side to side.

She looks at him, taking in some familiar features that she has seen before. Parted hair, gold front tooth, a beer on the piano, and he’s moving to the music under his fingers.

Where have I seen this man before…

“Slim is a good player, huh?” asked an unfamiliar female Creole accent voice.

Valerie turns to her right and sees a short, plus size, darkskin woman with bangs and long hair standing next to her, watching the performance.

“Slim?” she replied.

“Delta Slim. We usually refer to him as Slim around here.”

That’s who that was. Good ole Slim.

“Oh right. I forgot that’s his first name. Then again, he hasn’t been to Chicago in a long time.” she added, leaning against the pole.

“You’re from Chicago?” the woman asks, curiosity in her tone.

“I is. I thought it was obvious with my accent.”

“I never been out there. But, my girlfriend’s husband just came back from there today, though.” the woman replied, drinking from her water.

“What’s your name if you don’t mind me asking?” asked Valerie, pulling out a cigarette and lighter from her chest.

“Lucinda. I work for Annie and well….date her.” said the woman, causing Valerie to pause.

Why does that name sound familiar as well?

“You’re not Annie?” is what Valerie replied, earning an intense stare from Lucinda.

“Nah. May I ask why?” she asked.

Dont tell me one of his whores traveled all the way down here to start trouble, said Lucinda.

Either this woman knows of me or its a misunderstanding, said Valerie, lighting up her cigarette and smoking it.

“That name. Annie. Haven’t heard it in a long time, but I don’t know where. Maybe I heard it when I was still in Chicago or it’s just a name I heard when I was on the road. But I don’t mean no harm at all.” said Valerie, blowing smoke out.

“No harm?” said Lucinda, who is noticeably irritated. “What do you mean by that? Are you someone that’s coming to ruin shit? Because if so you can ge—“ as she raises her voice.

Valerie’s anger was about to come out when a small Asian woman comes up to them, gently tapping Lucinda’s shoulder, making her turn.

“Sorry, Lu. But Annie needs you in the kitchen. We’re running low on the mixed rice.” the woman says.

“…yeah, I’ll be there in a few, Grace.” Lucinda replied, before turning back to Valerie.

She steps into her space, leaning forward as Valerie eyes her.

“This isn’t over. But I’ll let you slide this time. However, you pull something evil against my girlfriend or her husband, I’m gonna be the first person you’ll see charging at you.” she utters, making Grace look at her in a crazy way.

Valerie chuckles, leaning in to close the distance as Lucinda’s scent arises to her nose, making her sniff a bit.

Baby breath, sea salt, lavender, and nutmeg? Is this a witch in my presence or someone who is about to find out they’re pregnant in a few weeks?, said Valerie.

“Aye aye, captain.” replied Valerie.

Agbere (Whore), utters Lucinda as she turns away, walking to the kitchen.

Valerie rolls her eyes as Grace turns to follow her back.

“Just so you know: I’m not here to start anything.” she utters, making Grace look back.

“Excuse me?” said Grace.

“I’m just trying to understand where am I at and how come a lot of things I am discovering sound very familiar to me. I promise I’m not trying to start issues.” she stated, making Grace look confused.

Why is she saying this to me…, Grace uttered.

”She’s probably just exhausted. We did spend all day building this so we can open tonight.” she added, a small smile on her face.

“Well. It’s a beautiful job you all did. Especially whoever made the front sign.” said Valerie, inhaling more of her cigarette.

Grace stared at her for a bit before continuing, feeling like she’s getting a weird vibe from her.

“Thank you. It was the only color we had. But I am gonna go back. If you’re hungry, we have catfish, greens, white rice, and mixed rice. If you’re thirsty, we have water, Irish beer, Italian wine, and moonshine. And enjoy the music, of course!” Grace said in a fast way as she headed back to the kitchen.

What an odd way to exit, said Valerie.

The audience cheers as Slim stands up, taking in the positive reception.

“Y’all having a good time at Club Juke?!” he asked in an exciting voice.

The audience yells “Yeah!” in unison, making him blush a bit.

“Y’all want me to continue?” he asks.

“Hell Yeah!” is what the audience shouts back, making him nod erratically before he takes another sip of his beer and sits down, beginning to play again.

As Valerie turns to walk, she bumps into a woman, accidentally knocking her down.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you…..” she begins to say while helping her up.

As the woman stand ups, Valerie takes in her looks. Her deep brown skin shines under the lights as the beauty mark on her cheek enhances the curve of her cheekbone. Her lips look fluffy and a perfect shape as her eyes flutter, making eye contact with her.

“There.” she added, not letting go of the woman’s arm.

“It’s fine.” the soft Southern accent woman said as she gently removed her arm. “Most people tend to not see me walking by.”

Her ambery vanilla and blood scent roams through Valerie’s nostrils, making her inhale and slightly, feeling a buzz go through her.

“That’s sad.” she said, earning a slight squint from the woman.

“How so?” she asked, folding her arms in.

Valerie smiles, putting her cigarette out before sliding the lighter back into her top, the woman watching.

“They’re missing out on the radiance you bring when you walk into the room.” she says as she steps forward, taking in her green scarf and silk dress.

“Your confidence and elegance also elevates that. If they missed out on that….good luck with finding something better.” she added, sending her a seductive smirk.

The woman smiles back, putting her arms down.

“You sure you don’t have someone waiting for you in here?” the woman asks.

“No. Haven’t felt that in years actually. You?” asked Valerie.

Yeah. But he doesn’t have to know, said the woman, making Valerie smile slightly as the woman turns.

“I do. But he’s home.” she replied, walking away.

“Yet..you’re here.” said Valerie, following her.

“I would tread lightly if I were you.” said the woman, side eying her.

“I’ll listen because you asked nicely.” as Valerie fixed her shawl. “What brings you out here?”

“Someone I know is playing tonight and I thought I come to see it for myself. If only I can find him…” she said, looking around the room.

“He’s good?” asked Valerie as they begin to walk together.

“Yeah. Met him at the train station today where him and Slim were playing while one of his twin cousins was promoting this place.”

Twins? Cousins? Okay, where the hell am I at because why is this also familiar to me..

A young man in a brown hat, white shirt, light brown sweater and pants, and brown shoes walks up, smiling at the woman.

“You came.” he said to her, a deep Southern Mississippi voice coming out.

…He is truly blessed with sounding like that, said Valerie, feeling herself get hot.

“I did. Couldn’t miss your performance.” the woman said to him.

The man looks at Valerie, taking in her beauty.

Wow….she’s just as beautiful as Pearline, he said, looking Valerie up and down.

“Could’ve told me the man was young and handsome.” said Valerie, looking at Pearline.

“Didn’t think you would be interested. Since we just met.” Pearline replied, looking back at her.

“Oh? You making friends already.” the man said.

“Don’t might having another one. I can handle two at once.” said Valerie, eyeing the both of them.

Pearline bits her lips as the man smirks, impressed by that response.

This woman is going to be the death of me more than him, said Pearline, wiping her face a bit.

Will gladly be that for you…and him, said Valerie, adjusting her stance.

“Where are my manners?” as she holds out her hand. “Name’s Valerie. I’m from Chicago.”

“Pearline. I’m from outside of Clarksdale.” she said.

“Sammie. Also known as ‘Preacher Boy’. I’m from around here.” he said, taking Valerie’s hand and kissing it.

His woody spice and blood scent tickles her nostrils, making her smile a bit.

“Wow, y’all smell delicious.” she mumbles.

“Hm?” said Sammie, confusion on his face.

“I mean…” as she cleared her throat. “Wow. You’re the one who plays the guitar.”

“Yeah.” he nods. “Been practicing for a while.”

“Must feel a little nervous doing your first performance here.” said Pearline.

“A little, but my confidence is great now. Thanks to my cous….” he said, trailing off.

He looks past both women, seeing something that’s bothering him.

“Can you two excuse me for a moment?” he utters, walking towards whatever the issue is.

Valerie watches him, seeing him walk up to a white woman in a light pink silk dress, a matching shawl, and brunette bob, beginning to say something to her.

However, she focuses on the woman, her familiar presence lingering in her mind, making her think about where she has seen her.

“…I have a question.” she said, looking at Pearline.

“Go ahead.” she replied.

“You said “one of his twin cousins” earlier.”

“Yeah. I did. Why?”

“…who are the twins? Feels like I’m missing something…but I’m also aware?” she stated, feeling herself body getting hot.

Why does it feel like deja vu is happening… she utters to herself.

“You never heard of the SmokeStack Twins? Especially in Chicago? They like to run around, terrorizing people while making deals. Why?”

Smoke….Stack….Twins. SmokeStack Twins. Smoke and Stack!, she utters, her body getting hotter.

Valerie begins to tremble, stumbling back a bit as Pearline watches, a worrying look on her face.

“Val, are you okay?” she asks, attempting to reach her to keep her stable.

“I think I need to g—“ was all Valerie could get out.

Suddenly, as she was turning, she runs into something hard, causing her to tumble forward but keep her on her feet.

She pushes herself back up, but whatever she ran into keeps her up, with a pair of hands holding her up as she comes back to herself.

“Damn, girl! You almost knocked yourself out running into m….” said the familiar, thick Southern accent voice, trailing off with the last word.

As Valerie opens her eyes, she sees the face that broke her heart three years ago, causing her to take her own life. Hair slicked back, mustache bushy, a little more older but still sculpted, lips still full and his mouth slight opened, showing off the gold grillz in his mouth.

Stack.

“Elias?” she blurts out, her mind going blank as she watches his lip tremble.

“Valerie? Is this…this really you?” he asked, tears beginning to form.

Valerie nods, feeling herself get emotional as he pulls her in an embrace, hugging her tightly. She hugs him back, hearing his heartbeating fast and his cedarwood patchouli scent invading her airwaves

She missed this. She missed how he felt, how he smelled, and how he looked. This was the man she knew from home.

Now she’s in his home.

“I thought…..thought you died?” he whispered, looking down at her. “We were at your funeral and all…”

“Um…..no.” as she pulls back. “I..I survived that jump. And swam to shore. Ran away because I was too…embarrassed to show that um…” she says, hearing herself getting choked up.

“It’s okay.” he said, squeezing hand. “It’s a miracle you’re still with us. Surprised you’re even here. At me and Smoke’s juke joint!” he exclaims, holding his arm up.

Still the same ole Stack. Just as I remember, she said, smiling.

She knows him?, said Pearline, eyeing him a bit.

Smoke is gonna freak out when he finds out you alive, said Stack, a bastardly smile on his face as he looks Valerie up and down.

“You know ole girl here, right?” said Pearline, sucks the moment out.

Mary.

“She is?!” he said, annoyance in his voice as he looked across the room and sees her taking to Sammie, trying to get away from him.

“Yeah. But I can go distract her so Sammie isn’t doing it by himself if you want.”

“Please do. Me and um…Valerie, have a lot to catch up on.” he said, keeping a lustful gaze on Valerie.

“Will do. See you later, Valerie.” said Pearline as she squeezes Val’s shoulder and walks to Sammie, with Valerie watching.

You too. Cause I’m damn sure not missing out on messing with you and Preacher Boy, she said before turning back to Stack.

“Let’s go somewhere private, shall we?” he said, pulling her to walk.

Her stomach growls, pausing her movement.

Girl, you just ate a whole body an hour ago. How you hungry again?!, she yelps, grabbing her stomach.

“I would love to. But maybe we should get some food and drinks as well?” she asks, smiling a bit.

Stack nods, looking at Sammie and Pearline perfectly distracting Mary before looking back at Valerie.

“Alright. I did promise you I was going to introduce you to Annie’s cooking. She got some good ass catfish right now.” he says as they begin walking, arms hooked.

“I bet. That Grace lady said they also got some sides too.” she added, hearing him laugh.

“Yup. Different rices. Greens. Even pickled garlic.”

Valerie’s stomach kicked in, having an uneasy reaction to the mention of garlic.

“Can’t do that. I’m allergic, unfortunately.” she reveals, lying through her teeth.

“What?! Last time I saw you, you were saying garlic is the best damn thing to have in the kitchen, girl!” he yelps, shocked at that reveal.

“Well…a lot of things have changed since we last each other.” she states shrugging her shoulders.

He nods, pulling her close.

“You ain’t wrong.” as he leans in. “Cause last time I seen you….your eyes was a bit darker and brown. Now they are hazel green?” he asks with a confused look on his face.

She chuckles, looking down to hold in her laugh.

“Wait until I tell you about my medical condition. Trust me. It’s a *long story.” she said, stretching the last part out.

“Oh trust. We got enough time in the world right now.” he said, looking at her with admiration.

Even in a dead body, she can feel that he has never lost the love he had for her. Which makes her feel very special in this moment in this moment at the juke joint.

They walk up to the kitchen, where he formally introduces her to Annie, who greets her with a warm smile. He had her make Valerie’s plate, where he tells her to avoid the garlic as she is now allergic to them.

As she watches, she notices that she can’t hear Annie’s thoughts, which she thought was strange. They go to Grace and Lucinda, where he orders them both Irish Beers while keeping his gaze on her.

After grabbing the drinks, he takes her to the poker room, where he gets them a table in the corner, a perfect way to hide from anyone he doesn’t want to be seen by.

Especially Mary.

Stack says a quick prayer before they begin indulging, both moaning at the crispness and well seasoned food in front of them.

“Annie sure can cook.” said Valerie, dipping her piece of catfish into hot sauce before biting it.

“Told you! That’s why we always rely on her to make food cause we do not trust anyone’s cooking out here.” he replied, biting into his fork of greens.

“Also, when did Annie and….?” as she tilts her head towards Lucinda, who was standing behind the window cooking, making Stack follows her direction.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink before clearing his throat.

“Trust me. I was a bit shocked myself at him he saying “Annie’s worker AND girlfriend” when they first arrived.” he replied, making her laugh.

“I see. Well, if they’re happy, I’m not judging.”

Speaking of, he said.

“How you been? I’m still…blown at the fact that you’re alive after we *buried you?” he asked, making her look at him.

“Yeah, it was a mistaken identity thing, apparently. Probably why they didn’t open the casket. From what I was told.” she replied, sipping her drink.

“But. I went to Memphis. Stayed there for almost two years, eating their food. Dancing to their music. Helping out the community.” she added.

And what she meant by helping out was killing all of the rapists, murderers, and predators that targeted primarily women and children. Even some officers who abused their power.

“Then I went back to Chicago and laid low. Was shocked that I still had access to my place. And now…..I’m down here. Eating and drinking, and soon-to-be dancing at Club Juke!” she stated, laughing a bit at the last part.

Stack nods, a small smile on his face, looking like a proud man watching someone he admires doing something good.

“That’s good to hear that you’re doing something with your life.” he said with a grin.

“What about you?” she asked, turning her body towards him.

Stack looks down, taking in her legs before looking back up, seeing her eyeing him seductively.

“We finally got out of Chicago. Capone went down, the city started falling apart, and well…North Side can’t really fix the mess they and South Side caused.” he replied.

“Is that how you and Smoke managed to steal Irish Beer and Italian Wine from both sides?” she asked, sipping her drink.

“They won’t notice since they hate each other. Especially since they can’t tell us apart, which makes it even more fun for us.” he replied, eating a piece of the catfish.

“That seems to be a common thing you like to say. Makes me wonder…”

“Wonder what?” he said, instantly squinting his eyes.

Valerie laughs, amused at how angry he’s slowly getting over a simple sentence.

“Is this really Stack? Or did you two trade places so the real one can avoid not just me because he still doesn’t forgive himself for what happened between us and the result of it. But Mary as well.” she utters, resting her chin on her hand while looking at him.

Stack looks away, his face twitching as he feels her intense stare burning the side of his face. His heart races, causing butterflies to flutter in his stomach.

I would never do some shit like that with Smoke. Considering how much I can’t stand Annie, he uttered, clearing his throat.

Annie too womanly for you? Cause she doesn’t act like a dog chasing…, Valerie utters, disgust flowing in her head.

“You know her momma passed, right?” he revealed.

Valerie scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“You think I give a fu—“ she exclaimed but is cut off by him.

“I know you don’t care.” he stated. “Especially after how she treated you. And um, we ended.” he said, looking down.

The two sat in silence as the piano and crowding cheering grows louder as Smoke passes by in the doorway, not noticing them.

Why is it so awkward to talk to you? I don’t get it, he uttered.

Guilt, she responded.

“How’s Hollie?” she asked, biting into her piece of catfish.

“Woah.” Stack said as he places his hand on her leg, leaning forward.

“Don’t….don’t bring her up in here. Its already bad that Mary’s here, let along you being in here too.” he said in a low tone voice as he moved his hand closer to her thigh.

Valerie felt her lips clenched, feeling the effects of his deep voice slowly taking over and her fangs almost coming out, but she stops herself.

“…she nor Annie knows, huh?” she replied.

“And they never will as long as you keep your mouth shut. You hear me?” he said, getting closer.

Valerie leans forward, closing in the distance between them.

“Annie won’t care cause they were separated, so she got someone else to fill in her needs. Mary on the other hand….” she says in a low tone voice.

“That’s all on you because you made that bed and it’s trying your best to destroy it. But I know deep down inside, you do really love her because even when you’re avoiding her, she keeps you excited. And I can feel it brewing off of you because I know you.” as she leans in for a kiss.

As Stack is about to kiss her, she pulls back, removing his hand and going back to normal as if nothing happened.

“I just wanna know when’s the last time you seen Hollie, that’s all.” she states in her normal voice.

Stack looks down, attempting to laugh the pain away, but fails. He’s in disbelief that she curved him just like that.

“Last time we seen her was at your funeral. Told us that she was going back to New York to become a showgirl, leaving everything she did in Chicago behind.” he said, taking out a cigarette to smoke.

“Ever wanted to go there?” she asked, finishing her rice and greens.

“Yeah. Might go on my own this time.” as he finish his drink.

“You should.”

“How come?”

“Elias….” as she wraps her hand around his arm. “How long are you gonna continue dragging Elijah into everything? Lord knows the man is tired.”

“How would you know?” as he lights up the cigarette, smoking it. “You just came back tonight. After being a dead woman walking for years.”

“Because he saves your ass each time something happens to you. Seems like he gotta lead you every single way he can.”

“You watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” as she leans forward. “You’re gonna get him to harm me? Since you’re too scared to do it yourself?”

“I ain’t scared of nothing” as he leans forward. “Especially you.”

Valerie laughs, grabbing his smoke ridden face.

“Yet…that night we shared after that shootout told a different story.” she said, tracing over his lips.

She can hear him growling low before grabbing his hand with the cigarette, bringing it to her mouth. She inhaling, blowing the smoke into his face, watching him blink as she lets go.

She’s playing hard to get, he utters.

I sure am.

“It did. Because you’re remembering it wrong.” he said, licking his lips.

“Oh, I am?” she asked, watching him laugh.

“Yeah. Cause remember we were running away from the cops…” he begins, adjusting his seat.

The music, crowd cheering and dancing, and the the men playing poker fades around them as Stack retells the night from his view.

Saint Valentine’s Day 1929

Swinging the door open, Valerie and Stack run inside, with the latter shutting and locking the the door fast, guarding it.

Hold up his gun, he looks at Valerie, who is leaned against the wall, catching her breath.

“Remind me to wear flats next time cause boy, I’m not strong enough to run in heels.” she said as she removed them.

“And look at the hole in my favorite purple dress!” she hisses, looking at the tattered fabric between her legs.

“I’ll get you a new one.” he replied softly as he removed his shoes.

Stack walks to the window, peeping behind the curtains. Watching the cops run by, he puts his gun on the table, removing his jacket as Valerie throws her shawl on the chair.

“And there will probably not be a next time after that shit that happened.” he replied, looking at her.

“You might be right. They been looking for reason to take out Capone and this might do him in.” she said, turning to walk into the kitchen.

“Which means I’ll be finally free for a bit. Until me and Smoke come up with our next move.”

Valerie shakes her head as she smiles, taking out two glass cups from the cabinet.

“You already have a concept of a plan while not wondering if your brother made it out.” she said, taking out a water pitcher from the fridge.

“I know he made it out.” as he unbuttons his shirt, removing it and placing it near his jacket, leaving him in his undershirt.

“How you know?” she asks as she pours water into each glass.

“He said he was gonna be the first out when he arrives with the Irish folks, making sure he doesn’t get caught in the ambush. Just as we were coming to the floor, I saw him hop in a car and drove out, making sure he has an alibi in case they come looking for him.” he replied, walking towards her.

“Hm.” is all she said as she hands him a glass before picking hers up.

Stack takes it, drinking a bit of it before leaning against her fridge, staring at her.

“Do I fall anywhere into your plan?” she asks, jump onto the counter to sit down.

“Yeah, if you’re willing to leave.” he replied, his voice getting a little sleepy.

“Always a catch with you.” she said, drinking some of her water.

“Cause I know you love it here so much. But no matter where I go…..I’ll always come back to see you.”

“Even if it’s on the other side of the world?” as she spreads her legs open, feeling him look down.

“Even if I’m only 10 minutes away.” he replied, finishing the rest of his glass.

Valerie smiles, laying her head back as she places her glass next to her, feeling herself getting hot.

“Come here.” she whispers, motioning him to come to her.

Stack places his glass on the counter as he walks to her, getting between her legs as she looks at him, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscular curves around it.

“Like what you see?” he asks in a low tone, tensing a bit as she traces over his chest.

“Always.” as she slides her hand up his shirt, tracing his abs.

Stacks growls, wrapping his hand around her neck as he lifts her face up, hearing her whimper as he leans in, a few feet away from her lips.

“Val?”

“Yes, Elias?”

“..I love you.” he admits, looking at her with lust in his eyes.

“…I love you too.” she replied, looking at him.

Stack smiles before placing his lips over hers, giving her a sloppy kiss. The lovers fight over dominance while breathing hard and rubbing over each other, but Stack gets the upper hand by lifting Valerie up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her into the bedroom.

Gently laying her on the bed, Stack breaks the kiss, helping her remove her dress by ripping it in half, hearing her squeal.

“Told you I’ll get you a new one.” he said, kisses her once more.

Valerie giggles as she sat up, helping Stack remove his undershirt before reaching down to unbuckle the belt and remove it, watching him remove his pants. She can see an outline of his throbbing dick through his underwear, precum leaking through.

He climbs back onto the bed, hovering over her as he begins kissing her neck. She moans softly as he trails down to her breasts, taking one into his mouth while wrapping his hand around the other one, fondling it.

“Just like that.” she whispers, rubbing his head as he flicks her nipple with his tongue, sucking back on it.

He moves to the other one, moving his hand to the one he finished as he engulfs the other one, slightly biting down. He hears her panting hard as he removes himself, letting out a POP! sound.

“You ready for me?” he asks, tracing his fingers over her underwear.

Valerie nods, feeling him grab her underwear and yank it off in one motion. He lowers him onto his chest, placing one leg over his shoulder and the other under his arm as he touches her clit, watching her clench around air.

“Oh, you been waiting for me to taste you huh?” he says, letting out a deep, dark chuckle.

He began sucking her clit as he inserts his index and middle fingers inside her, rubbing around the softness. Valerie moans, wrapping her hand around his head.

“Hey.” as he slaps her thigh, making her wince. “Eyes on me while I’m down here. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” is what she said before pushing his face back into her pussy, making eye contact.

Stack begins sucking hard as his fingers plunge in and out of her at a fast pace, making her let out a few *fucks and louder moans as she fondles her breast with her free hand.

The sounds of her essence gushing, her hard panting, his low groaning, and the bed creaking fills the bedroom as she feels herself getting closer and closer to release.

“Stack, you’re about to make me lose it!” she utters, tears forming in her eyes.

He removes his mouth, watching her tremble as he curves his fingers, feeling her grip getting tighter around them.

“That’s it.” as he rubs his thumb around her clit. “Let it all out. Don’t hold back from me, baby.” he whispers.

On cue, she releases, squirting out her essence and body spazzing as Stack holds his tongue out, feeling some of it hit it. Her breathing is out of control as the room spins around her blurry vision, feeling her high coming down.

Stack laps up some of her essence around her before standing up, kissing her leg in the process. He pulls down his underwear, where his hard, throbbing dick sprangs free, kicking them to the side.

Just as he was about to insert himself, she sits up, grabbing his dick and stroking it, watching him wince.

“Valerie, you don’t have to do this.” he said, trying to remove her hand.

“You say that every time we fuck, but doesn’t stop me.” she replied, slapping his hand away.

He holds his hands up as he watches her, leave a trail of her spit across his shaft, rubbing it around before taking him into her mouth, hearing him groan.

“Maybe I should stop saying that.” he mumbled, looking down at her as she begins bobbing her head.

Her saliva begins coating his shaft, making her up her pace as his tip touches the back of her throat, her almost gagging. She wraps her hands around the rest that can’t fit in her mouth and begins stroking it.

Stack holds her hair up, fondling his nipple as she swirls her tongue around his tip, keeping her eyes on him.

”You like when you’re sucking me off, don’t you?” he asks, his breathing coming out hard.

Valerie lets out a moan as she speeds up, filling her mess, dripping onto her chest as Stack moans, feeling himself getting close.

“I know you want my seed down your throat.” he utters in an aggressive tone.

Suddenly, he removes her from his dick, watching her pant hard as he looks at how dazed out she is. He taps a tip on her tongue, rubbing it over her lips.

“But I don’t wanna wait all night to fuck you.” he says, stepping back.

Valerie laughs before turning on her stomach, putting her ass in the air with her feet hanging off the bed.

“Come get it then, Eli.” she said, shaking her ass a bit.

Stack smirks as he walks up and gets on the bed, lowering himself into a crotch. He slaps her ass real hard, hearing her squeal before inserting himself into her pussy, both letting out moans.

“My God, you feel so good stretching me out like this.” she utters, feeling him moving around a bit.

He kisses her back as he wraps his hand around the front of her neck, brings her up to his chest. He begins fucking her, biting her shoulder.

“Fuck…” she moans, wrapping her hand around his arms.

His balls bouncing off her lips from his strokes, creating a sensation she never felt before when they made love. He speeds up his pace, watching her body move hard from him slamming his hips into her, filling her essence dripping on him.

“Mm, you like when I fuck you like this?” he whispers into her ear, hearing her whimper.

“Yes. Only you can do me like this!” she yelps, feeling him brush over a sweet spot.

“Good! No other motherfucker will ever touch what belongs to me.” as he goes at a rapid pace, hearing her scream.

Valerie falls forward, feeling herself go limp but stays in position as Stack wraps his hands around her waist, keeping himself up.

“Oh baby…..why are you doing me like this?” she moans, throwing herself back to match his pace.

“Because this is not a regular session between me and you.” as he goes deeper. “This is me showing you how much I deeply care about you.” he admits, removing his hands.

Valerie smiles, in awe of him while he is breaking her pussy like she owns him something, becoming enchanted by his spell.

“I’m getting close.. getting close!” she yelps, him continuously hitting her sweet spot a few times.

Stack gives her one final stroke before she cums again, watching her essence coat his dick her body pushing it all out as she moans, the pleasure consuming her. He pulls out, gently taps her pussy before laying on his back, adjusting a pillow under his head.

”Ride me, baby.” he says, stroking his dick.

She catches her breath for a few minutes before crawling to him, hovering over his body. She lowers herself onto him, feels him stretching her out once again, making her wince.

“You okay? We can do something else if it feels uncomfortable.” he said, lifting himself up but she stops him.

“No, no.” as she shakes her head. “You feel good, Stack. Just catching my breath.”

He nods as she begins moving her hips, creating a rhythm with him as she slowly wrapped her hands around his neck.

“Like that.” she mumbles, placing one of his hands on one of her breasts before returning it back to his neck.

He moans, squeezing her breast gently as she bounces up and down on his dick, slamming herself into him each time, clenching him.

“Fuck.” he whispers, feeling her squeeze his neck hard as she slaps his face, catching him off guard.

“What the hell, Valerie?!” he yelps, the sting brewing on his face as she laughs.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” she replied, slapping him once more.

He groans, trying to hide how much he actually did enjoy that. He slaps her ass, feeling her quickening up her pace as she moans. She can feel him twitching inside, making her smirk.

“Fuck me, Elias.” as she slaps him once more “You know you wanna cum.” she says, pulling him up to his chest.

He wraps his arms around her waist and slightly lifts her up as he begins pounding underneath her, both moaning loud enough in the neighbors to hear.

“Alright. That’s an offer I can take up.” he utters, slamming continuously over and over as he was slowly losing feeling in his lower half.

These two were both going all out the show how much one cares about the other while making sure their needs are also being met.

Valerie makes out with Stack, his hip, slowing down as another release went up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Cum in me, please.” she utters, feeling herself tightening.

“You sure?” he asks, moving her hips in a circular motion.

“I wanna feel all of you.” she admits, about to pass out.

Stack nods with a greedy smile before giving her a few more strokes until they both release at the same time, him letting out expletives and her letting out moans for the last time. His dick twitches inside her as he pumps out all of his seed while she squirts all over him.

The lovers lay in each other’s arms, both catching their breaths as the moonlight shines on them, the cool air hitting their skin.

“…promise me you won’t forget me.” she says in a sleepy tone.

Stack looks up, rubbing his chin over her chest as he kisses her.

“I promise I’ll never forget you. Ever.”

Valerie smiled, give him another kiss before falling asleep in his embrace.

Valerie stares in a daze, the memory on a loop as Stack snaps his fingers, snapping her out of her faze.

“Jesus.” she whispers, looking away in embarrassment.

“You okay?” he asks, amusement in his tone.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Just wondering. Cause you’re drooling.”

Valerie touches her face, feeling wetness around her mouth. She grabs a napkin and wipes her mouth, hearing him laugh.

“But. You didn’t forget that night either.” he added, eyeing her.

”Who wouldn’t? That was the last positive memory I have of us before you left me.” she said, looking down.

I knew she was gonna bring that up, he said.

“…I fucked up, didn’t I?” he asked.

“You did.” as she shook her head.

She can feel tears begin to form in her chest, beginning to burn as she looks up, not wanting to look at him.

“I understand. Nobody really gets over their first love. But I wished you.…” as her voice trails off.

Her breathing becomes pitchy as images of her seeing Stack kiss Mary in a dark alleyway, their argument that lead to their breakup, and her a few moments before jumping into the Chicago River plays in her mind.

“Forget it.” she said as she got up, quickly wiping that tear as she fixed her shawl.

“Valerie, wait.” he says as he tries to grab her, but she steps back.

“Nice seeing you again.” she utters as she begins to walk.

She sees him getting up to follow her, but she stops at the entrance.

You have to tell him about that Klan member, she utters, the memory of him revealing the killing field plan playing.

“I have to tell you something so that you and Smoke are aware.” as she turns around to face him.

Stack looks at her, a glaring expression on his face.

“What is it?”

“That man who sold you this place? What’s his name?” she asks, seeing his face relax.

“Hogwood.” as he sighs. “Why?”

“Hogwood. He’s the local Kl—“ is all she could get out before loud stomping cuts her off.

Mary, now heated, walks into the room, shoving Stack back.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you all night, but Sammie and Pearline were stalling me.” she utters in irritation.

Stack, shocked that she shoved him, looks at her before looking at Valerie, causing her to turn around and be shocked at her standing there.

“Valerie?!” she yells. “You were with her?!”

Stack shushes her and pulls her back as Valerie laughs, backing out through the entrance as Mary becomes louder with yelling at him.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk. Nice to see you again, Elias.” said Valerie as she walks away

Mary pops her head out, with Stack struggling to hold her back.

“I thought you was dead?! But, here you are, talking to my man?!” she yells, but the loud music shuns her, no one paying attention as Stack pulls her back into the room.

Valerie shakes her head, walking up to Lucinda as she takes out money from her top.

“A refill on the Irish beer, please.” as she puts a few coins on the table.

Lucinda nods as she hands her one, taking the coins.

“By the way. I was actually here for Stack. Sorry if I made it seem like it was for Smoke.” she said, taking the drink.

Before Lucinda could say anything, Valerie walks off, heading to where Pearline and Sammie were sitting as they watched Slim play.

“Missed anything important?” she said, both looking at her instantly.

“Almost. Sammie about to perform.” said Pearline, rubbing his shoulder.

“Well, I made it just in time.” she said, winking at Sammie.

“What was you and Stack discussing?” he asked, tuning his guitar.

“Old business from when I was still in Chicago that might get me on trial if I go into detail.” she said as she stands next to Pearline, sipping her drink.

All three laugh until Sammie and Pearline stopped, fear growing upon their face. Valerie looks at them confused until she hears loud footsteps behind her, making her lower her drink.

“Well I‘ll be damned.” said a familiar, deeper thick Southern accent voice.

She sees smoke fumes blow out from her left, which tells her who it is standing behind her.

“Nice to see you again, Smoke.” she says as she turns around, see him standing there.

Smoke whistles, taking in her look before hugging her, with her doing the same back.

“Thought Stack was lying when he said you were here! I thought he was lying because we were at your f…” he says, trailing off with his last word.

He sees Sammie and Pearline sitting behind her as she looks at him, waiting for him to say the next part.

I don’t think I should bring up the funeral in front of them, he utters.

Thank god.

“Fair!” he yelps. “The Chicago City Fair! Val here used to throw good fairs to help out the people who couldn’t go to the upstate ones. Always seemed like a hero to everyone up there.” he added, smiling at her.

“That sounds amazing.” said Sammie, Pearline nodding.

“Maybe Clarksdale can get that.” she said.

“Love to do that! Just point me to y’all council and we can set it off….non-gangster style.” said Valerie, making everyone laugh.

“Damn….when did your eyes turn green?” asked Smoke, looking at them.

“Caught a medical condition out in Memphis. Thought he was lying when he said your eyes might turn a different shade if it gets worse, but here I am with hazel green eyes now.” she replied.

“Well. I’m glad you’re here at our Club Juke. Hope you enjoy Sammie’s performance.” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Will do.”

Smoke nods at Pearline and Sammie before walking to Annie, with Valerie sighing in relief.

Thank god Smoke the one with the brains.

The audience erupts into cheers once more Slim stands up, taking a bow.

“Thank y’all, thank y’all!” he says, smiling gleefully.

“Now for this next performance, I’m bringing on a young cat that’s from around here.” he added, smiling big.

“He’s one of the finest blues guitar players around here and has a little song for us to hear. So give a big old welcome to the stage: Sammie Moore!” he exclaims, ushering Sammie to come up.

The crowd erupts into cheers as Sammie get up and walk to the stage.

“Let’s go get a better view.” said Pearline as she grabs Valerie’s hand and pull her to walk with her.

Valerie laughs as she’s pulled through the crowd, with the women taking a position next to a pole, having a clear view of Sammie.

“Hello. I’m Sammie Moore. Also known as Preacher Boy since my daddy is a preacher. I’m a sharecropper on a little plantation around here. So I wrote this little song for him and hope y’all like it.” Sammie said as he begins playing the guitar.

He walks down the stairs, greeting some people as he begins to sing.

Something I been wanting to tell you

For a long time

It might hurt you, as he looks at Pearline and Valerie.

Hope you don't lose your mind

Well, I was just a boy, as some people begin stomping their feet.

Bout eight years old

You threw me a Bible

On that Mississippi road

“Mm.” said Valerie, nodding her head to the song.

See, I love ya, Papa

You did all you could do

They say the truth hurts

So I lie to you, as he moves the guitar around.

Yes, I lied to you

I love the blues, as he smiles.

Valerie looks back, sees Stack watching the performance, with Mary next to him a few feet away. She turns forward, taking a big sip as Sammie sings his next part.

Mm-mm

Suddenly, the room because a little brighter as Valerie watches everyone, including Pearline, began to dance.

Oh, mm-mm, as Slim joins him on the piano, playing a tune to accompany it as the band follows.

Hey

Somebody take me, as he drags out each note, surprising both women.

In your arms tonight

Well alright

“Alright.” said Pearline, making Valerie smile.

Somebody take me

In your arms tonight

Yeah, yeah, as Pearline takes the drink out of Valerie’s hand and drags her to the center of the floor.

“Pearline, I don’t dance, so I think Ima go—“ is what Valerie could get out before Pearline cuts her off.

“Follow me. And don’t do it too hard.” she said, kissing her cheek.

Valerie blushes, following each move Pearline does as Sammie continues singing the song.

Somebody take me in your arms tonight

As he begins his next part, the room darkens and becomes a blurry vision to Valerie, which confuses her as it looks oblivious to everyone around her except Sammie.

What is going on? Why does it feel like I’m in someone else’s vision?

As Valerie turns her head, she sees an African dancer run past them as two African music players perform their music around Sammie. She’s in awe, seeing how beautiful they look playing their music next to him.

Mm-mm, as Sammie stands next to her, passionately singing his song.

A man dressed in glam plays an electric guitar on her other side, startling her. She notices he ain’t wearing the same clothes that they are currently wearing, confusing her even more.

“…..is this Sam’s mind I’m in?” she asked, but no one seems to hear her.

Somebody take me in your arms tonight, as a gospel choir appears on stage while the electric guitar gets louder.

Alright, as he walks around, getting even more passionate with his playing.

Pearline dances away as Valerie stands there, trying to figure out how she’s the only one seeing this, very impressed.

The guitar player walks through her, which shocks her. She runs up to the choir, and swings her across them. Her arm goes through them as well, making her step back.

These are spirits, she mumbles. These are his spirits that he has woken up. Meaning it’s the past, the current, and the future in this room right now.

Somebody take me in your—Hey!

A hip-hop beat drops, with Sammie’s vocals mixing in with it.

Valerie turns around, seeing a man breakdancing around where Sammy is walking. Looking up, she sees a man behind a DJ booth, spinning the song.

She smiles, amazed at what’s she seeing and how the future is gonna change a lot for their people.

Until a sharp pain shoots through her chest, causing her to fall to the ground, grabbing it. It gets worse, causing her to whine a bit.

“Help!” she yells, but no one seems to hear her.

As she looks up, she sees everyone dancing, missing her somehow. A few more spirits, including two Xiqu dancers, run next to her, jumping and dancing around room.

Valarie lays there, paralyzed to the floor as the roof catches on fire, with the parts falling onto her. She tries to move, but fails miserably.

“Why can’t no one see that the roof is on fire?!” she yells louder.

But once again, no one hears her.

A burning wood breaks off and is about to hit her, make her close her eyes.

However, nothing happens.

When she wakes up, the building is completely gone, but everyone is still dancing as Sammie, Slim, and the band are still playing. But there’s no sound.

Valerie gets up, looking around the burned area as she sees Pearline dancing with Annie, Lucinda, and Smoke as Stack and Mary dance with each other.

As she looks to her left side, she sees three white people standing so far away, each has glowing eyes. The middle one, a middle aged man focuses directly on Sammie, smiles as his eyes are red and his fangs are out.

Remmick. Oh no.

Just she was about to say something, she is knocked out by a shadow, causing her to fall to the ground.

When she wakes up, she’s leaned up against the pole. Everything is back to normal as the crowd is cheering, amazed at the performance Sammie gave, with Pearline clapping the hardest.

“Wow, he did amazing.” said Pearline, looking at her.

“What….what happened?” asked Valerie, dryness in her tone.

“Damn, girl. All that dancing you were doing took you out.” she said, laughing a bit.

“What? You didn’t say what I saw?” Valerie asked, a confused expression on her face.

“We all did. Sammie hitting notes, everyone dancing and vibing. But you were clearly having a good time.” Pearline replied, kissing her.

Valerie is caught off guard and breaks the kiss, very bewildered. She also realizes she can’t hear her own or anyone else’s thoughts anymore, which is not a good sign.

“…okay, what is going on?” she asks in a frustrated tone.

Valerie looks at her, laughing to herself before wiping her face.

“I think I’m just tripping. I got a little too lost in the dance. I’m fine, I promise.” she replied, grabbing Pearline’s hand and kissing it.

Pearline relaxes, smiling a bit as Sammie comes over.

“He comes our star.” she says, before facing him.

Valerie smiles before looking out of the window, feeling something bad is about to happen. She brushes it off, focusing her attention back on Sammie and Pearline.

Far, far away, in the foggy night, stands Remmick. Along with his two members, they stand on the dirt road, listening to the loud music. He smiles brightly, as his eyes are glowing red and his fangs are out.

“That’s our boy.” he says. “Let’s go get him.”

The other two smile as they begin to walk towards the location, with Remmick’s evil laugh filling in the darkness of the sound.

A/N II: Whew. This was a long one, but it was definitely worth it! Hope you enjoyed it and as always, thank you for reading this! If you want to join the tag list, let me know.

🏷️ : @iloveekeiarah @childishgambinaax @ziayamikaelson @ssamm1984

[starcrossedxwriter]

Double Trouble (Aaron Pierre x Black Reader x MBJ)

Warnings! NSFW, HEAVY BDSM, HEAVY Daddy kink, threesome (MFM), Everything is consensual! Degredation kink, Praise kink, Bratty reader, Dom! Aaron, Dom!MBJ

A/N: went hella overboard with this one! The plot is pure filth.

***

“Baby?” 

Your soft calls were barely loud enough to be heard over your boyfriend’s latest afrobeats obsession, which blasted through your shared home’s sound system. You lazily kicked off your red bottoms, a guttural sigh of relief escaping you as your exhausted feet relaxed out of the painful position it required to sport such beautiful but impractical shoes all day.

On your way to hunt down the love of your life, you stopped by your study, not even bothering to turn on the light as you discarded your Chloe work tote in your chair and closed the door behind you. 

After closing the biggest case of your career, you would not need to see the interior of either of your offices for a week and that almost brought tears of joy to your eyes. You and Aaron did not even have the energy to plan a trip. Having just wrapped a project two weeks prior, you both were overjoyed to spend a week at home wrapped up in each other.

You rolled your shoulders. Prayerfully, your boyfriend would take pity on you and give you a massage to ease the knots that took up residence in your back. You lazily made your way to the kitchen, knowing where you’d find the man you loved - but currently did not like. 

His back was to the arched entryway as you snuck in behind him, stealing a grape from his masterful charcuterie board that sat nearby. 

Despite your righteous annoyance at him, you never missed an opportunity to simply admire Aaron in his element. Like most actors, he suffered from the curse of always having to be “on.” But in the sanctuary of your home, he could just be Aaron, your gentle, loving, goofy, carefree boyfriend. 

And it certainly helped that he looked positively delicious today, setting a stupid table for a stupid dinner you didn’t want to host. He did every day but something was about him today in particular just made you want to sink to your knees and worship him with your tongue. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction today. You were pissed off. 

And that lust simply soured into red hot annoyance at the surprise guest your too-kind boyfriend invited to dinner. And while you never usually complained about company,  after months of endless days and sleepless and sexless nights, your vision of a relaxing evening was not entertaining a third wheel. 

It was a tall glass of wine, an amazing meal. And… then having your daddy twist you into a literal human pretzel and fuck the stress out of your body. 

But he hated you, clearly.

A sentiment you articulated (along with others) in a snarky text hours earlier. But Aaron, forever unbothered by your theatrics, merely responded that you should trust your daddy because… 

Daddy knows best. 

And despite the strong independent lawyer inside you who demanded control and to be right (and she usually was), you knew he was right about this one thing. Aaron could always see exactly what you needed. 

And despite your attitude earlier, you still spied his traditional gift for you after winning a big case neatly displayed on the white marble counter: your favorite cake from a bakery nearby and a bouquet of tulips. The varying vibrant shades of pink made something in your soul smile. He knew you too well.

Your silent studying did not go unnoticed for long, Aaron turning around not even startled to find you there. His expressive eyes lit up at the sight of your half grin, which you tried to suppress because you were supposed to be angry at him, and the hand on your hip as you leaned into the counter. 

He was in front of you before you could blink, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into his embrace. His muscles were threatening to destroy the fabric of his crisp button down, many of his clothes ill equipped to handle the additional muscles he gained for his latest project. 

“Hey princess.” 

Forever a brat and annoyed at the implosion of your plans for the night, you jerked your head to the side as he kissed you, forcing his lips to catch your cheek instead. 

Aaron merely let out a low chuckle, knowing that your bark was far worse than your bite. 

When it came to Aaron, you were about as strong as a lawn chair. You’d fold without resistance. Every. Single. Time. You always thought you were God’s strongest soldier… until you met Aaron. Kryptonite indeed. 

“Still mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you folded your arms as best you could against your chest, scoffing. “Between you playin’ the british assassin all around LA and me trying to negotiate with that asshole partner, we’ve had zero time together and no time to relax. And our first real free night in months without briefs and lines to run, you wanna play captain save a nigga with your friend? And then you spring it on me on some last minute shit. Those lips aren’t gonna get you outta this one, A.” 

“I know, I know, Y/N. And I’m sorry for messing up your plans for the night. I know how excited you are to finally have a break. But I’m trying to surprise you so please just trust me. If I know you like I think I do, you’re gonna like it.” 

“Well I think we’re about to make history then.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The first time you get a surprise wrong. Honestly it’s probably a good thing? You’ve always been a bit too perfect to be real,” you added, causing him to grin. “But the only thing I would like right now is for you to fuck me into oblivion. So unless this dinner guest can help with that, I doubt I’ll like it. But what’s done is done. Now let me go so I can get ready.” 

A stare down. Another moment where you’d inevitably crumbled. Because only Jesus himself was strong enough to stare in those eyes and not give this man everything you had. 

However, to your surprise, he looked away from you first, nodding and letting his arm fall so you could head upstairs. 

You started to walk out of the kitchen, prepared to sulk the last of your frustrations away before putting on the smile of a gracious host when you heard him call after you. 

“What if they can?”

“What if they can what?” you glanced behind you. 

“Help me fuck you into oblivion.” 

You lurched forward, his words stopping you dead in your tracks. 

No… he couldn’t mean… The tiniest thrill of excitement jolted across your brain like a shooting star. But you steadied yourself. He couldn’t possibly mean what you were thinking. So you played it off. 

“Ha. ha. Ha. Very funny, A.” 

“You hear me laughin’?” 

You slowly turned around to find him behind you, his eyes brimmed with pure lust. But nothing in his face signaled he was joking about a single thing. 

“Remember all those fantasies you told me about, princess?” 

It would take lifetimes for you to forget. You had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life telling Aaron every filthy fantasy you had while he fucked you on your apartment balcony. You prayed they were long forgotten by breakfast the next morning, but he remembered every single one. And ever since, he made it his mission to help you fulfill them. 

“Wait… you’re ser- you’re serious? You want to-” 

It was most certainly a fantasy but the practicalities of it seemed unrealistic. You never seriously considered that Aaron would ever try to arrange it.

He merely smirked and pressed his lips to the top of your nose. His voice was low, hypnotic and mesmerizing. 

“Got a few treats upstairs for you. Go get ready.” 

“Wait… we aren’t gonna talk about this?? You aren't gonna give me details?” 

“Nah. You’re gonna be a good girl for me tonight right, baby? I’d hate to punish you in front of company, princess.” 

But EYE wouldn't hate that. A voice echoed in your brain, the thought of a spanking making you want to disobey just for the hell of it.

“Of course you’d like the sound of that,” he teased you before his eyes softened a bit. You could tell he saw it. That kernel of hesitation at the whole affair, that side of you that had to be in the driver’s seat wanting to talk and litigate every risk before you leaned into the pleasure of it.

“Hey, Y/N… baby. This is just going to be a fun night. And the moment it’s no longer fun for you, we stop. Just like that. Just say the word. If you aren’t feelin' it and him, we end it and it's still just a fun night with a friend. Understand?” 

You nodded before correcting yourself so he didn’t have to. “Yes, I understand. Your surprise might’ve won out again… maybe you really are perfect.”

He shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been tryin' to tell you. Just gotta trust me. Now go get ready. Only wear what I laid out for you.” 

Every step to your master suite pumped up your adrenaline. And made you fall deeper in love with your boyfriend. And his ability to fulfill your needs and desires and center your pleasure. He knew your limits, your boundaries, your needs and never wavered. 

A black cocktail dress waited for you with strappy gold heels. Along with your gold choker, with “good girl” engraved on its gold charm and your gold bullet.

Your skin felt electrified, a buzz radiating from every cell as you readied yourself. You weren’t surprised at the slick already pooling at the crest of your thick thighs when you slid your thong to the side and eased the bullet into you. You hissed at the cool silicone against your heat but you persisted. It was uncomfortable for a moment but as you continued dressing, you long forgot its presence. You knew its companion, a small gold remote, was with your master. Exactly where it should be.

You examined yourself in the mirror, hands running over your soft curves as you studied yourself. You had to admit that Aaron picked well. The dress accentuated his favorite parts of your body, hugging your hourglass shape so your ass and thighs were on display. The cutouts and mirroring each side of your ribs and plunging neckline would give him easy access to your boobs, which were begging to be freed from the confines of the tight bodice. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous baby.” 

“Thank you. You picked well.” 

“Final touch?” he picked up your choker, which waited for him on the bed. He always had the privilege of putting it on you. Because it signified the official start of your game. When the choker was on, your pleasure, your body was his to command, his to give and his to take away. Sweet surrender of control to the person you trusted most in this world. 

He towered over you as he stood behind you and placed the piece on your neck.  

“We’re gonna have dinner, dessert and then if you’re comfortable with continuing the night, just ask him to stay for a drink. Otherwise, the night will end. Understand?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good girl.” His hands traced the hourglass shape of your curves, his hands stilling only once along the near-indistinguishable lines of your thong. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, the shrill chime of their doorbell interrupted him. He sighed, turning you around in his arms. “Later. Ready to have some fun?” 

“Yes daddy.” 

Even in heels you had to stretch yourself to reach his lips. He took your hand, leading you down the stairs, some of your nerves being replaced by sudden intrigue. 

“You really aren’t gonna tell me who it is??” 

“What would be the fun in that?” With a wink back at her, he jogged the remaining steps and crossed the foyer with the quickness of an athlete and swung their door open. 

“Hey man! Thanks for coming by. Glad we could do this.” 

“Definitely, definitely. Thanks for the invite, man.” 

And that was the second time today you found yourself stopped dead in your tracks. The Michael B. Jordan stepped into your foyer, his charisma and star-powered charm oozing out of his pores as if he naturally produced it. 

Fuck me. He invited your celebrity crush, the main character of far more wet dreams than you’d ever admit out loud. And while Aaron was it for you, if you could ever take advantage of the “celebrity hall pass” concept, Michael Bae Jordan would be at the top of your list.

Well, that’s what he’s here to do. Daddy does indeed know best. 

At first, you had a feeling you’d be taking Aaron’s out. But now? Hell would have to freeze over before you gave up the opportunity of your dreams. Part of you cursed yourself for not guessing it was him to begin with. Aaron had been in a total bromance with the man since they wrapped filming. But now you had more questions. How did this even come up? How do you organize a threesome? Is this just a normal thing to talk about?

Who the fuck cares? You’re about to have the night of your life. 

You pushed them to the back of your mind, filing them away for tomorrow.

“And I don’t think you met my girl yet officially, but this is Y/N." The introduction forced your legs to start to move again, down the stairs and toward him.

“Geesh… they didn’t make lawyers like this when I was comin’ up. Michael,” he introduced himself. He held out his arms for a hug. “Aaron’s told me so much about you.” 

“Good thin-,” You started to toss your boyfriend a teasing grin as you closed the last couple of feet to return Michael’s hug. However, just as you were in arm’s length, the forgotten vibrator nestled inside you came alive. You let out an involuntary cross between a sigh and a moan that couldn’t be hidden. 

Could the ground open and just swallow me? 

Michael’s eyes glistened with amusement, letting you know he was not ignorant to your reality. 

“You good, baby girl?” he asked, with a knowing grin as you tried to avoid squirming in his embrace.

“Y-Yea, yea. Just h-had a chill. I was just gonna say that I hope he’s t-telling you good things,” you stammered, the jolts of pleasure siphoning off fractions of your vocal ability.

“Only good things, I promise. Just that you were the sexiest and best lawyer he’d ever seen. He was right about the first part, I’m sure he’s right about the second too.” 

“Hardly the best.” Your tone and smile were the picture of humility at his praise. You liked the sound of it on his lips, you also didn’t hate the way “baby girl" sounded when he said it too. 

“Y/N is being hella modest. She’s about to be the youngest junior partner in her firm’s history. And the first black woman.” 

“Aye! That’s what’s up! So we’re celebrating tonight?”

You grinned. “Don’t wanna get ahead of ourselves… just office gossip you know. We’ll see in a week.” 

Fuck, he was sexier than you imagined. Somehow tvs and movies simply didn’t do him justice. Like Aaron, he was at his peak physical weight, his muscles thick and lethal. They both stood in front of you looking like Gods, cut from the most perfect stone. 

“I-it’s just so great to meet you. You’re one of my favorite actors.” 

Michael drank you in like you were the finest glass of scotch, savoring every inch of skin exposed, every curve on prominent display. You felt hot underneath his stare, as if he had xray vision to see the promised lands this dress covered. You almost wilted like a flower under his intensity. 

We aren’t gonna make it through dinner, you thought to yourself. Or I can just be dinner. 

It was not your worst thought by far. The vision was quite enticing. Aaron ordering you to strip for them before displaying you on the table so they could feast on you. Your eyes darkened with clouds of lust. You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath, noting the amused glance that passed between the two men. Were all your thoughts broadcasting to them? 

“We… should go into the dining room. Dinner’s basically ready,” you offered as the lamiest attempt to escape the spotlight of them. You held your hand out for his coat, giving both men a perfect view of your ass as you turned to hang it in the closet. 

You didn’t attempt to hide the grin at the quiet but distinguishable wolf whistle from Michael. It felt good to know he liked what he saw. 

And the feeling was most certainly mutual. Michael and Aaron kept you laughing all through dinner as they enthralled you with stories from set. He was engaging and funny and you loved the genuine brotherhood between him and your boyfriend. There was nothing but raw sexual chemistry between you but that was all you needed. Mutual attraction.

The only disappointing aspect of dinner was the utter silence between your legs. Once he turned it off at the start of dinner, Aaron didn’t touch that remote again, much to your chagrin. Two hours and several glasses of wine at the dinner table with two men gently caressing your arms and exposed thighs was a recipe for disaster. And you knew he could tell, see how worked up they had made you, how desperately you wanted more attention. 

By dessert, you stopped retaining their words. They were utter nonsense to you because there were far more important things to consider. Like Michael’s dominating muscles and large hands, wondering how strong his grip will be when he fucks you from behind. Punishingly so, you prayed. 

You swung between wanting to savor the compliments and worship of two men with needing to be filled, a need that almost had you begging them to fuck you right amongst the dinner plates. But you knew Aaron. The night was young and he liked to play with his prize. 

By everyone’s fifth glass of wine, the conversation started to wind down, Michael getting up to head home. 

“Thanks so much for this, man. Appreciate the invite. Good to catch up n shit.”

“Oh you have to leave so soon?” There was a hint of sadness in your voice, coupled with the pleas of your signature puppy eyes. 

“I probably should… Gettin’ late, can’t take up your whole night.” 

You assessed the moment briefly, confirming with every cell in your body and functioning brain cell in your head that you needed this more than the oxygen in the room. 

So instead of wishing this walking wet dream a good night, you said, “You should stay for one more drink. We got this amazing bottle when we went to the South of France for our anniversary. Baby, we should open it and sit outside? It’s so nice out. We’re down to keep the good times going if you are.” 

“You sure?”

“I insist! Besides, between the three of us, I think we can find some ways to entertain ourselves." The implication in your words couldn't be clearer. You were in and you were ready. 

“I’ll grab that bottle from the cellar. Take Michael outside and make him comfortable, princess. Show him a good time while I’m gone.”

And with that, he turned your vibrator back on. He chose the second setting, which was just distracting enough to make the simple tasks of walking, talking and speaking exponentially harder for you. 

“Yes sir.” 

You forced your feet toward the giant sliding glass doors that led to your expansive backyard. You glanced behind you to find Michael jogging up behind you as he slid something into his pocket.

You tried to distract yourself from the pulses against your g-spot, the growing tension in your belly as pleasure started to build ever so slowly, by turning on the soft string lights hanging above your patio and the speakers to play music. 

“Yall got a great view.” 

“It was definitely the selling point of the house,” you smiled, awkwardly standing behind one of the chairs across from the couch.

His stance was wide, powerful and assured as he stared at you. 

“You gonna sit with me?” When you didn’t move, he sighed. “He said you were obedient. But maybe you just need an incentive…” 

Your knees almost gave out beneath you as he increased the setting to five. 

“If you wanna feel better, I think you should sit, baby girl,” he offered, his voice low and comforting. “I don’t bite, promise.”

The menacing glint in his eyes let you know that he most certainly would bite if asked. And you would most certainly ask. 

“S-sorry,” you awkwardly, quickly finding your way to the couch next to him. You started to sit when he beckoned you closer with a mere gesture of his finger. By the time he had you where he wanted you, you were sitting on his lap. 

You leaned into his chest, your eyes falling closed as pleasure shot through you with every pulsing vibration. You bit the inside of your cheek to avoid moaning. 

“You ok, Y/N? Seem a little flustered?” His fingers created flames all across your bare thigh as he subtly pushed up the fabric of your dress. 

There was still something… tamed about how he touched you and caressed you. He came so close to the spots that demanded a firm strong hand, he held back every time. Like right now. Drawing featherlike patterns on your exposed side, toying with the edges of your thong but not shifting them to the side like you craved. 

No, he simply savored the time teasing you, enjoying the soft moans his touch and the bullet caused. 

“I’... I’m… fine, t-thank you,” you whispered back. “Just… o-overwhelmed.” 

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” his husky voice demanded in your ear. At the sound, you couldn't suppress the moan of pleasure that escaped your lips. You rolled your hips, chasing more.

“Y-Yes…” you whimpered. “P-Please…” 

“How’s my girl treating you, Michael?” Aaron’s voice interrupted their moment, his eyes piercing with desire as you writhed and rode another man's thigh. You looked perfect, unrestrained and free. 

“Oh she’s perfect. You got a great girl here, A.”

“I know… she is. But she disobeyed me earlier so before she can cum, we have to punish her. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

“Y-yes sir.” You didn’t even know what you did wrong but you weren’t going to argue or push back on him. Because this was already like entering a promised land of bliss. To hear him speak so openly about your punishment to another man while he masturbated you on his lap? Aaron was right. This was the destressor you really required. 

“Can you tell Michael and daddy what you did wrong, princess?” 

You raked your brain, knowing that “I don’t know” would only increase your punishment. Not that you would have particularly minded. Frequent punishments were simply the norm for a proud and loud brat. 

And then it hit you, such a small and silly infraction that Michael’s fingers were currently playing with. 

“I… w-wore my panties w-when I wasn’t allowed,” you answered. 

“That’s right. And we don’t cover up daddy’s prize, do we?” 

“No… daddy.” 

“You want to be a good girl for Michael and I… don’t you?”  

His voice was hypnotic. Despite the pleasure disobeying him brought, you could not help but want to please him, to be his good girl again. 

“Y-yes, daddy.” 

“And good girls deserve what?” 

“Punishment before pleasure.” 

“That’s right, baby. So tonight, Michael’s gonna have the honor. How many spankings you think our slut deserves?” 

“I’d say 25… 30?” 

“30 feels fair. What do you think, princess?” 

“Wh-whatever daddy wants,” you whimpered. That was the only acceptable response. Besides, you knew Aaron knew your limits and wouldn’t let Michael cross them.  “That's right, baby girl. She can be good when she wants to, just needs remindin’ of her place sometimes,” he mused. And with that, Michael turned off the bullet, a groan of pure frustration escaping your lips.

Punishment before pleasure, you reminded yourself. Why can’t my punishment be sucking their dicks or something?? 

Michael helped you up, your legs feeling slightly weak after they robbed you of your orgasm. They didn’t bother trying to carry you up the stairs, Michael merely directed you to your deep forest green sectional in the living room and leaned you over one of its arms. He slid off his belt and tied your hands behind your back, ensuring they were loose enough to avoid injury but tight enough not to escape without effort. 

You were deliciously helpless. 

“Fuck, that’s a gorgeous sight,” you could hear Michael mutter as the two men merely stared at you, boobs pressed out due to your hands being bound, your ass high in the air from being bent over. “Her ass is perfect, man.”

“It’ll look even better when you’re done. Don’t hold back. She loves that shit and she knows our safe word.” 

You were glad he assured Michael that you would adore the sweet sting of his palm. You encouraged Aaron to put his entire weight into your spankings when you took on the role as his princess. Forever a gentle soul at his core, he did not like the idea of causing you real, significant pain, preferring to lean heavily into other aspects of dominating you. 

It certainly made you fall more in love with him, witnessing his gentleness and concern for your well-being to such a degree. You supposed it was the greenest of flags that it took about 10 long discussions for him to feel comfortable. And even years later, he still checked in throughout to make sure you still enjoyed it. You weren’t a masochist by any means spankings in particular were more than enticing to you. It left you drenched and on the cusp on an orgasm without Aaron doing anything else. 

Even more so right now with your ass presented to the two men like a hard-earned prize. You subconsciously stuck your ass out further in search of something. A touch, a slap… literally anything. Your body was reeling. 

And you did not even care who was behind you to give you what you needed.

“She’s fuckin’ desperate for it.” 

“Yea, she’ll be begging you for it in a minute. I mean I was gone for what? 5 minutes, princess? And I come back and you're humpin' his leg like a filthy whore? And you loved it didn't you? Wanted more? I bet you wanna beg him to tear that ass up right now, don't you?” 

Daddy knows me too well. Because the word please was on the cusp of your lips, begging to tumble over like water on a cliff. 

You moaned as two hands gripped the firm meat of your ass, kneading and caressing you before they found the helm of your dress. You knew exactly whose hands they were, confirming that Aaron was indeed giving Michael the pleasure of administering your punishment. 

His fingers pushed your dress up the rest of the way to expose your ass cheeks, an unmistakable wet spot at the center of your thong. 

“Don’t think she’ll be needing this anymore. Whatchu think?” Michael asked Aaron as his finger hooked the delicate fabric around her hips. 

“Nahhh, definitely not.” 

“FUCK!” You cried out as your thong was unceremoniously ripped clean from your body, the fabric leaving welts on your skin. 

You felt his fingers graze your lips.

“All this for us, kitten?” 

You merely whimpered an affirmative answer as he presented his fingers covered in your juices. He stuck them in your mouth, you sucking your cum clean off his fingers.

"Can't wait to make you cum all over my tongue, kitten. You taste so fuckin' good."

“P-Please…” You thought you’d implode if you continued to suppress your desperation. Your body felt as if you were betraying her. Why weren’t you trying hard enough, begging loud enough to earn the pleasure you were being deprived of. 

“See?” 

“You weren’t lyin’. Tell me what you want, kitten”  

He’s gonna make me say it?? 

The words were caught in your throat, blocked by a mental barrier to admit such a depraved thought out loud. 

“If you wanna cum at all tonight, I suggest you say that shit. Cause we got all night.” 

The lethal warning in his tone forced your thighs together, an electric shock through your body. He was a natural. And the dominance in his voice was all it took to rip the weeds of hesitation right out of your soil. 

“S-spank me… please,” Half words, half sobs filled the quiet air. This was untenable. Could you die from this? It felt like you might die from this. “I n-need it. P-Punish me… please.” 

The first vicious sting of his hand did make a real sob of joy escape, the sound reverberating through the living room. 

You buried your face in the couch cushion for the first few in a foolish attempt to quiet your mounting screams of pain wrapped in the sweet pleasure. His brute strength ensured you felt the ache of every hit. On par with Aaron when your punishments were severe. You were still feeling it days later. 

Your head pulled back, his fist wrapped around your curls.

“Do that again and I add five. Understand?” 

“Y-yes, yes. I’m sorry,” you moan, keeping your eyes forward and head up. 

You felt familiar hands cradle your head, Michael releasing your strains to play with your slick folds in between each blow. 

Aaron’s body came into view as he held your chin, forcing you to stare into his beautiful eyes. Clouded with lust, you still could see every ounce of his love and devotion. 

“You ok, precious?” he whispered. “Got 10 more.” 

“M-More.”

“You’re such a good slut for me, baby. I love you.” His eyes softened a bit. “You want a treat while Michael gives you your punishment? I wouldn’t usually but tonight is all about you, princess.” 

You licked your lips, the sudden sparkle in your eyes answering his question without words. You were impatient at the pace he went to unbutton his pants. 

He knew how much you loved sucking dick. Genuinely loved it. On more than one occasion, you came home after a long day and immediately dropped to your knees to serve him unprompted. Of course, it always ended up leading to him giving you back the same pleasure tenfold. So it was a win all around. 

You licked the beads of precum from his head before enveloping him into your mouth, moaning around him just as Michael rained down the last of your punishment. 

Fire. Your skin felt hot and inflamed with every bite of his palm against your skin. And they sent jolts of lust straight to your clit. 

“You’re taking your punishment so well. You’re not gonna disobey me again, are you?” 

Strings of your spit stayed connected to his dick as he pulled back so you could answer him. 

“Never again, daddy!”  

“That’s my good girl. You took that so well. Didn’t she?” 

You hissed as he gently massaged your hot skin. Fuck, why did his hands feel so good? 

“She did. You think she’s ready, A?” 

“I think she is.” 

You found a secret joy in the way they spoke only to you to dole out orders, but then talked about you to each other like you were merely a piece of furniture.

Aaron scooped you up in his arms, your body immediately nestling into his chest as he carried you to your master suite. He tossed you on the bed like a rag doll as Michael closed the door to your suite. And for a few moments, they simply stood there. Towering over you, intoxicated by the power and anticipation, they didn’t speak or move. They just watched you squirm beneath them. 

“You know I love you right?” Aaron broke character for a single moment. 

“Of course.” 

“Good. Cause it ain’t gon' seem like it for a minute. You know how daddy wants you.” 

Fuck. Yes. 

There was a challenging grin on your face as you removed the last obstacle to their conquest, leaving you bare before them. With great pleasure, you shifted onto your hands and knees and sank into position. Presenting yourself to him. Vulnerable, exposed. To two apex predators. 

And you were ready to be devoured. 

Michael pounced with such swiftness of jaguar indeed, you suddenly finding yourself straddling his hips. His punishing grip around your lower back kept you flush to his chest as his lips claimed yours. 

Frenzied, animalistic, downright sloppy kisses as you two gave into your most base desires. There was no love here, just lust in its most instinctual level. You two fought for dominance in your kisses, you mainly showing him that you were no damsel.

He moved you with ease, like you were a feather, turning you so your head dangled off the edge of the bed.

“I think our kitten needs a bit of attention.” 

His lips kissed a burning trail down your body, veering off course to engulf each of your nipples in his wet mouth, while his hand played with your throbbing clit. 

You whined, feeling his breath against your sex, his grip holding your hips firmly to the bed to stop you from getting any more pleasure than he decided. 

“So eager.” 

He licked up the wetness that spread to your thighs, still avoiding touching you there. He was a menace. The devil really.

You screamed as he wrapped his lips around your bud, every nerve ending in your body zeroed in on him.  

Aaron guided your agape mouth onto his hard member again, your tongue licking him like he was your favorite lollipop. He exchanged the bullet for his fingers, easing a second one inside your pussy. 

Your litany of curse words were indecipherable with Aaron’s mouth ramming down your throat. He did not let you control the pace one bit. Your mouth was merely a means to an end for him. 

You gagged, tears streaming down your face from the sensory overload of having them work in tandem to bring you pain, pleasure, and everything in between.

You arrived at the cliffs of pleasure far faster than you expected, your body ready to fall for the first time all night. Your thighs tightened around Michael’s head as you tried to control it. Foolish it sounded, to stop the fall. But you couldn’t tumble just yet. 

You didn’t stop your task of sucking to ask. Instead, you simply stared up at him with plea-filled round eyes.

“Cum on his tongue, princess. Cum for daddy.” 

You dove off the cliff with earnest as Michael chose that moment to add a fourth finger, finger fucking you with relentless speed.You let your eyes fall close and surrendered to the crashing waves and thrilling currents that pulled you into oblivion. Right where you wanted to be. 

Only Aaron could find the cherry on top to this already perfect sundae as he spilled down your throat. It was typically reserved for her treat as he knew you adored swallowing. And you were grateful he found you deserving. 

Aaron took a step back, you pouting at the loss of his dick in your mouth.

“Don’t worry, princess. Won’t be your last taste for the night.” He leaned down and kissed you deeply, a soft whimper escaping at how familiar his lips felt. Home. “I think you need to thank Michael for punishing you earlier and making you cum. How do good whores say thank you?” 

"On their knees, daddy."

You moved off the bed and onto the carpet, Michael already sliding off his boxers. Your voice hitched as his girthy thick member sprang from his boxers.

He smirked told her he knew what he was wielding and how to use it well. Admittedly, you had only had sex with three men in your life, two of whom were present. But you felt confident in saying these two Gods among lesser men had the most impressive dicks you’d ever seen. 

You’d never live down the humiliation of your near panic attack during you and Aaron’s first time. 

“I don’t think you’ll fit,” you remember muttering before trying to escape to hide in his bathroom, your brain overloaded with the fear that he would somehow break you. 

But like the perfect gentlemen he was, he held you close and calmed you with sweet kisses and talked you through every inch as he sank into you for the first time. He naturally reached regions you thought were anatomically impossible. You often referred to it as his weapon, one that left you utterly immobile too often. 

Michael was similarly blessed and highly favored. Though he lacked a bit of Aaron’s length, his had a girth to it that you knew would cause a stinging stretch. It would be different and you liked the idea of that. As much as your body wanted to skip to that part, you also were feral for a taste of him. 

Aaron sat in the arm chair across the room, the perfect view to watch as Michael slid his dick between your plump lips. He stroked his dick back to life watching you spit and gulp down his dick.

“That’s right. Fuckkkk. Get it sloppy, baby girl. Fuck your throat feels good.” 

Your body glowed at his praise, Aaron grinning to himself. He adored seeing you in this light, gaining a new perspective to how you felt freedom and pleasure. He never wanted to stop learning how to love you better, please you better. 

Inexplicable pride swelled when your eyes connected with him, your dilated pupils lighting up at his smile.

“You ready for me to fuck that pussy, kitten?” Michael demanded, punctuating each word with a deep thrust into the back of your throat. Attempting to respond was a foolish endeavor with him balls deep down your throat. 

He pulled out of your mouth and lifted you up to your feet, immediately moving you into his desired position. He bent you over the edge of the bed, one hand glued to your hip while the other pushed your head into the mattress. He positioned you so you were staring right at Aaron.  

Being watched. New kink unlocked. You were an actress on display and he was your director, in full control. And it was time to watch his masterpiece. 

Your eyes fluttered out of enticing humiliation and bliss as Michael’s head bounced against your pulsing clit. 

“Eyes open, princess. And on me."

And this was a moment that made you question who you truly were. A good girl or a disobedient slut? The devil on your shoulder didn’t need deliberation time. You were a disobedient whore. You wanted to be utterly spent when this night was over. 

But you also knew he knew that, which is why he picked a task he knew you’d fail either way. You could try as hard as you wanted, it would be impossible to maintain eye contact. 

“You ready for Michael to fuck you, princess?” 

“Yesssss! Fuck me… I need it.” It was as critical to your survival as air. 

You immediately failed at your task, your eyes clenching shut as he pushed inside of you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” you hissed, begging for the moment when the lightening flash of pain subsided and pleasure took root. 

“Fuckin’ tight ass pussy on you, kitten,” he gave you a few moments to adjust. When your expletives turned into quiet moans, he moved. 

"Won't tell you this shit again, princess. Eyes open and on me or I start spankin’ you when it’s my turn. And you ain’t gon’ like that shit.” 

“Sorryyyy, dadddyyyyy.” 

His hips snapped viciously into you, his dick curving into your g-spot with every thrust. 

Bliss. 

Joy. 

You panted as  he fucked you with relentless precision, he didn’t let a moment go to waste as he fucked you. His grip along your hip was bruising as he pushed and pulled against your body. Never the lazy lover, you met every thrust, using your arms as leverage to throw your fat ass back at him. 

“That’s it! Take this dick, slut! You like how I’m fuckin’ this pussy??” he demanded, a hard smack coming down on your still aching ass when you didn’t answer fast enough. 

There was no way he actually believed you could form coherent thoughts right now. 

“I… love it! D-... don’t stop! Fuck… I’m gonna cum!” Your eyes had not stayed on your master as they should’ve, nor had you even tried that hard. But you deliberately cast them on him to beg for permission. “C-Can I cum daddy?? He feels so gooddddd…” 

“Why the fuck would I let you cum? You disobedient whore? Can’t follow simple fuckin’ instructions. 

Well shit. He was pissed. 

Your face was one of sadness at upsetting your daddy but everything inside was filled to the brim with glee. You weren’t going to be able to walk tomorrow. And then you could look forward to a day of aftercare and pampering from your love. 

“P-please, please. I-I’m sorry!! I tried. I-I can’t…” Michael was not helping your cause as you pleaded your case in front of a less than sympathetic judge. He found some superhuman ability to increase his already punishing pace, jackhammering into your g-spot. “Let me cum, pleasseeeee! I can’t hold it.” 

“She’s clenchin’ on my dick, brah.” 

You were going to cum either way, inevitably, but you were holding strong for those magic words. Moments before you felt yourself starting to break, you finally heard him.

“Cum for me.” 

“She’s creamin’ on this dick. This some good pussy, my man! You one lucky nigga.” He didn’t slow his pace as he fucked you through your second orgasm. "That's right, cum all over this dick, baby."

How were you not spent yet? No, you still wanted so much more. 

You lost track of your orgasms as Michael moved you into his desired positions, fucking you every type of way that suited him. And all the while, Aaron just watched, commanding your eyes to him in the moments leading up to your orgasms, forcing you to hold his gaze across the dark room. 

You thought the Earth had reversed on its axis somehow. 

“I’ll let you decide where you want it, kitten. On you or down your throat.” 

“Cum on my ass!” 

“Whatever baby girl wants.” He pulled out of you and sprayed your back and ass cheeks with his seed. You sighed out of contentment as you laid there, knowing your night was far from over. But you were grateful for the brief reprieve. 

Michael shifted off to the side as Aaron rejoined you, the Brit studying your ass painted in another man’s cum. If there was a way be any harder than he already was, he would be it right now. 

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, princess. I love you so much, you’re such a good girl for me. You ready for daddy, now?” 

You nodded enthusiastically. Michael was amazing but no one fucked you quite like Aaron. Those were the simple facts. 

“Good girl,” he flipped you and pushed your legs up so your knees were essentially up at your ears. 

This was a frankly evil thing to do, to start with this position. It was simplistic but he would pound you so deep, you saw fucking stars. At this rate, you would be tapping out far earlier than you would have hoped. 

“Ahhhh! Yessssss… thank you daddy! Love your dick, daddy!” You screamed as he entered you in one fluid motion, ending deep in your guts. 

“You take me so well, baby. You like how deep I’m fuckin’ this pussy?” 

“Yes, yes! Shit! God I love it! Oh Goddddd, fuck, baby…” 

“Ain’t no God to call out to here, princess. Just your masters.”

You gasped at the sudden all consuming emptiness of him exiting you. You felt his hand catch your ankle, which was still in the air where he left you. He dragged you to the edge of the bed and lifted you to your feet. You almost collapsed on your stiff legs but you quickly realized, he was not intending for you to support your own weight long. 

He hinged you at the waist, your fingertips supporting balancing some of your weight until he reentered you and regained control of your hips. He did all the work, holding all your weight with his strength as he fucked you straight into a sweet abyss. Nothing else mattered. Just the two of you. 

Well… three of you. Speaking of which… as if Aaron could read her mind, he says, “Suck him like the whore I know you are.” 

Using his strength to turn you both so you were eye level with Michael’s dick. He was getting hard, rested and ready for round two with ease. Both men looked as if they could do this all night while you knew you looked like you had been fucked just as good as you felt. 

You surrendered your mouth to Michael, allowing the actor to face fuck you to his heart’s content. And you simply enjoyed every moment of them fucking your holes like men possessed. No breaks, no time for breaths. Nothing. Just unforgiving feral fucking. 

You didn’t bother counting the orgasms they gave you as the two men traded places multiple times, using your mouth and pussy to their heart’s content. They worked up a perfect rhythm that brought you thrilling moment after thrilling moment  

“Don’t run, fuckin’ whore! You been takin’ it all night. Came in here with that fuckin' attitude. Take this dick!” Aaron ordered as you shied away from his forceful thrusts as he fucked you doggy style. 

Your body was being driven past overload as they stimulated every part of you. You could barely concentrate on Michael’s dick in front of your face with how Aaron was fucking you, clearly getting the last word of the evening. 

You thought you knew what overstimulation felt like but you had no fucking idea until today. But you knew the orgasm you were building toward would be your best yet, would be worth every moment of this. 

“Shit, I’m gonna cum!” Michael called out. 

“I’m close too. Daddy’s gonna cum in this sweet pussy, baby. But first, your other punishment. Cum as much as you want.” 

And with that, he and Michael went utterly and completely feral on your body, chasing one goal: their collective simultaneous pleasure. 

Michael grunted as he painted your face in his cum, much of it landing in your open mouth. He collapsed on the bed next to you, your body immediately crumbling forward without him holding you up. He caressed your skin as Aaron mercilessly fucked you, matching every thrust of his hips forward with a harsh slap to your ass. You knew you would have to endure as many as it took for him to cum.

Shit. You really fucked up.

You screamed and squealed, Michael roughly making out with you and sucked and bit your titties as if you needed more. You and Aaron reached the peaks of your mountains at the same time. At the warmth of him filling your pussy, white blanketed in your vision and sent you free falling into a new stratosphere.

Time felt inconceivable when you opened your eyes again. In your mind, no time had passed but instead of being on the bed, you were surrounded by warmth. Warm water lapped over your aching muscles, something hard propping you up from behind. 

“What’s…” you started to say, trying to lift up when a muscular arm snaked around your chest to hold you flush to him. 

“Relax, relax, princess. You’re good. Take a breath. Just blacked on us for a minute.” 

His voice calmed all the uneasy waters of your soul, you were safe and home with him. There was no better place to be in this life or the next. 

“Where’s… our guest?” Your voice cracked from the overuse of your throat. You rubbed your neck instinctively. 

“I’ll make you some tea when we get out,” he kissed your temple. “And he passed out in one of the guest rooms. I may have told him there was a strong possibility you’d be up for another round in an hour or two. Told me to get him when you finish soakin’ so he can give you a massage.” 

And you knew exactly where the yellow brick road of a massage would lead: to the Emerald Fucking City of Round 4.  

Your libido was just as high, if not higher than Aaron’s. More than once, it had been you demanding rounds 4-6 after he already wore you out during 1-3.

“One day you’re gonna get it wrong, you know?” you tease, allowing your head and back to rest with ease onto his chest. His hands massaged your hips and thighs and breasts, all sore from their spanking and biting. “That feels soooo good. You got the magic touch, baby.” 

  You ok, love? We were rough on you.” 

“More than ok. That was the most… insane and fun thing I’ve ever done. Exactly what I needed and wanted. Thank you, Aaron.” 

“Anything for you, princess. Rest for me, love.” 

You allowed your eyes to flutter closed again, dozing in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms as he continued releasing knots from your muscles. You simply laid there with him, savoring him and the afterglow of being his. 

However, after about 15 minutes, you had rested long enough. This night would end eventually, you wanted to make the most of it with your two daddies. 

“Daddy… I think I’m ready for that massage now,” your eyes glistened with your true intentions, letting Aaron know that you were no close to done. 

He let out a low chuckle of disbelief. “You really are one of a kind, Y/N.” 

“I know,” you winked at him with a playful grin. “Now massage, please.,” you demanded like the spoiled brat you were.

Aaron got out of the bath first, his entire body glistening with water on every perfect panel of muscle and taunt skin. Was it nice being a bead of water sliding down that skin? It might be nice to be a bead of water on his skin. 

He quickly toweled himself off before helping you up, using his arms around you as your legs shook. 

He dried you before laying you back down on the bed, disappearing down the hall while you laid on your stomach and simply waited. 

“Well well well… couldn’t get enough could you, kitten?” 

You heard them before you saw them. 

“No sir.” 

“She’s insatiable. Makes her a good little whore for me, doesn’t it, princess?”

You felt their weight on both sides of the bed. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whined as their fingers started doing the Lord’s work massaging out every knot and kink buried in your limbs. 

You turned your head toward Aaron, reaching up and kissing him softly as a private thank you before laying down again. You closed your eyes and let them work, let them take care of you. 

Whoever said “three’s a crowd” clearly hadn’t met these two.

Tag list: @hxneyclouds @planetblaque @slutsareteacherstoo @theereina @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @apenasumlug4r @motheroffae @blackerthings @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @melaninpov @hiwasteland @yamst3rdamctrl @miyuhpapayuh @dxddykenn @sageispunk @atribecalledqwest @4pfsukuna @beenathembo @throwmymbackout @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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A/N: Hoped you enjoyed that as much as I did! Thanks for reading!

[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: 6.5K

CHAPTER TWO:

Mississippi Delta ━━━ 1921

Her silence they took as a fear. A lack of response to their invitation. Her eyes said, "Yes gentleman, that sounds like a nice evenin'," but her mouth was getting ready to reject their offer of a good time, just to avoid whatever punishment would be waiting for her at home if she did accept. The twins didn't want that.

They rarely showed interest in the same women, and if they had it was nothing but a glance or a flirtatious conversation that never lasted long before they were on their way. Yet, something about Cicely James caught both of their attention. Possibly it was the way that she wasn't like most women. She didn't look at them with a need for their awareness of her presence. It seemed to be them fighting for her even just her eyes to focus on them, them falling back to the ground under her feet.

Stack took his tooth pick out of his mouth, glancing towards his brother before he spoke, "Well how 'bout dis Miss Cicely, we give ya a ride home and you think 'bout it," he requested believing the answer she was getting ready to give them wasn't going to do well for them. A girl like her deserved a good time, and a daddy like that man, Otis James, wasn't going to keep it from her.

The twins knew who he was. When they heard the name James, it wasn't very hard to put two and two together. They had seen him a few times, gambling whatever money he made away; winning some, losing most. A man who was ready to speak the words of luck out loud but bowed his head in shame with an excuse slipping from his lips about how god just wasn't on his side right now. As if any god would be on the side of a drunk who clearly beats on his daughter, and whoever resided in the house with her.

Cicely shook her head, "I couldn't possibly ask that of ya," she instantly replies head still low, adjusting the groceries in her hands.

"It's a good thing you ain't askin', sweetheart, we offerin'" Smoke remarks, taking a step forward, "Now come on, hand over dim groceries, and let 'em help ya in the car," he gestured to Stack with his head, who was grinning like a mad man.

Cicely reluctantly allowed Smoke to take the groceries from her, as Stack offered his arm like a gentleman. Again a blush found its way on her face, gently placing her small hand in the arch of his elbow, allowing him to guide her to their car that wasn't that far from where they stood, Smoke following them.

Stack stopped her in front of the passenger seat door, opening it for her, "N-No, it's okay, I can sit in the back," she pointed.

He instantly refused, "oh, no no, a lady sit in the front in this car, go on now," Stack moved his arm forward to guide her in front of the seat in which she reluctantly got in, her worn out flats touching the step that helped lift her in, Cicely settling in the seat.

Stack climbed in the back, while Smoke put the groceries next to him before he got in the front, starting up the car and the engine causing the machine to rumble under her. Her daddy had a car, but she wasn't in it often, attempting to avoid being alone with the man at all cost.

When he started driving the wind created by the accelerating speed that they were going at, blew her hair out of her face. This gave a good view of her features. A deep golden brown, the bruise on her cheekbone evident. Stack had set his eyes on her and boy was he mesmerized. A beauty like no other. Her lips full, a button nose, and eyes that could leave anyone entranced.

"Now," Stack began leaning forward a bit, "Where you from, Miss. Cicely? Cause I'd remember if you was from Clarksdale, I'd think a beautiful lady such as yaself woulda been hard to forget." his compliments Cicely believed she would never be able to get used to, catching her off guard.

It took her a moment to compose herself, trying to contain her smile, "My daddy is from texas, moved here when he was still young, mama from Clarksdale though," she voiced, this being the longest reply she had given them.

Stack looked at Cicely for a moment to ask, "And who is yo' mama?"

"Seraphine James, sir━━━maiden name, King."

The twins looked at each other in shock, overturning their faces as they looked back at them, "Seraphine King is yo mama?" they both asked in sync, the same facial expression and all.

It almost made Cicely want to laugh, however, her curiosity overpowered that reaction out of her, "Y'all know my mama?" she responds, answering a question with a question.

Cicely watched closely, waiting for one of them to say something. She witnessed the way Smokes hand clenched around the steering wheel, "She was a friend of our mamas," Stack responds, yet his demeanor didn't seem to change like Smokes had.

It gave her the urge to speak up once more, "I━I'm sorry, I ain't mean to upset you," she apologized to both of them, but mostly to Smoke.

Her apology had caused Stack to laugh, and Smoke to shake his head in assurance, "You ain't upset me, Angel." he didn't look at her for long. Eyes focused back up ahead at the road. He couldn't do it, the bruise on her face, and cut on her lip only angered him a bit more now that he could see them clearly without her hair resting in her face.

A friend of his mothers, going through the same thing his mother had been through along with his brother and him. It frustrated him seeing the familiar cycle.

"And do you gotta brotha?" Stack found himself questioning putting two and two together for himself.

She nodded, "Yeah, Clayton James."

In sync the twins uttered, "Ace," leaving Cicely confused at what they meant, "Yo brotha, we know him. Knew him when we was kids, met him again in the trenches, work with him on the farm. He has everyone callin' him Ace." Smoke explained.

Cicely was confused at that, "Why Ace?" she finds herself asking them.

"Because ya brotha knows how to strike out, and take a man for all his money. Can tell a man for his poker face even in the slightest twitch of a brow," Stack found himself laughing wickedly, "If there is one man I know who will be able to see if someone lyin', it's him."

She didn't know this about her brother. She knew he left the house in order to escape their father, leaving his sisters there. Cicely knew she couldn't be mad at him for wanting to escape knowing she'd do the same thing if she didn't care so much. Yet she had and that was preventing her from accepting their invitation to join them tonight.

"Then why don't I remember y'all?" Cicely found herself questioning, feeling as though she too would've remembered them.

Smoke glanced towards her, "You had been six the last time ya mama brought you around, guess ya memories just didn't linger for that long." he simply expressed, giving her a response that she couldn't help but settle for. They hadn’t even remembered, she had grown so much over the years.

Cicely pointed in the direction of a back road, Smoke following where she gestured. Trees followed them for a short time before they cleared and a somewhat large house appeared, three horses entrapped by wooden planks that surrounded them, chicken's scattered over the field, along with a few goats. Cicely pointed towards that one.

Outside, a girl stood. Hair down in similar ways to Cicely, surrounding her face. The sound of a rumbling engine had caused her to glance up. When she squinted her eyes to adjust her vision a bit she made out the silhouette. Instantly her mouth opened;

"Mama! Cicely here! She inna motor!"

At the sound of her little sister, Lily-Mae's loud shout, Cicely closed her eyes and exhaled wishing her sister was in the house like she often always was. It probably would've been easier to get inside without her sister's alerts, but she couldn't say her mom wouldn't have heard the engine herself.

When Smoke brought the car to a halt in front of her house, she moved to open the door only for a hand to be placed on her shoulder. Stack shook his head at her as he climbed out the back seat. He opened the door for her. She gave him a closed mouth smile as she murmured her appreciation at his actions seeming to be proving Ms. Claudette wrong about him not being a gentleman.

She hadn't realized that Smoke had gotten out as well, until she seen him circling around the car with the groceries in his hand. Cicely moved to grab them only for him to pull them further to his side out of her reach, and instead placing his free hand at the small of her back as he guided her towards her home.

She felt chills run down her back at his touch that wasn't directly on her skin but it still managed to affect her. She couldn't tell if it was in a good way or a bad one.

The screen door opened, her mama stepping out of the house, apron around her waist, rag in hand, hair pulled back. Just like Cicely she sported a bruise on her cheek, and had bags that clearly matched the exhaustion in her eyes.

Lily-Mae walked out with her mama, hiding behind the older women curiously peeking her eyes out at the mysterious men her sister showed up with.

"Everything alright, gentleman?" Seraphine James questioned, worried, feeling her eyes, "My Cicely ain't done nothing wrong, did she?" she quickly added, afraid that her daughter had gotten into some trouble that she possibly couldn't get her out of.

Smoke shook his head, "Oh, no Ma'am, we just offering yo Cicely a ride home. Seemed like a long walk for her, thought she might wanna rest her legs," he calmly assured her.

Cicely still found herself in between them, comfortable, Smoke's hand still resting on her back, "And who might you boys be, my Cicely ain't eva told me about y'all from when she goes into town." she says, very unfamiliar with them although there was something about them that held some familiarity.

"We had just come across her today, in Ms. Claudette's shop," he informed her, "I'm Elias Moore, but folks call me Stack," he introduced himself with the sly smile he seemed to always have.

Seraphine looked at him, the name hitting her with recognition as she shifted her gaze to the other one, "And I'm Elijah Moore, people know me as Smoke."

The older woman glanced between them, surprise clear on her face, "You two are Bethanne's boys," she says when it becomes clear to her, knowing what was so familiar about them. They had her eyes, "I ain't seen y'all since you were young ones, eleven years old," she recalls the memory, coming back to Mississippi to visit her mother. Cicely could see her mothers emotions getting to her, "y'all all grown up now."

Recollections passed over her. Seraphine remembered the day the boys were born. She was pregnant with her own son at the time, as she cradled Elijah first before she was handed Elias after. Deep inside her soul she knew that they were going to grow to be brave men. She was glad to see that they were alive and well and not buried six feet under. Not at the hands of Joseph Moore and not from the retaliation of an enemy in battle.

The woman cleared her throat, sniffling as she tried to gain some control of her emotions remembering the passing of her dear friend and how much it had broken her heart, and destroyed the boys standing before her, "Well, you two come on in, let me get y'all something to drank. It's least I can do for not making my baby walk," she gestured towards the house.

Silently, they accepted her invitation into the house, Cicely taking the lead giving her sister a gentle push when she realized she hadn't followed her mother inside as well. Inside it was neat. Not anything on the floor that they could trip or step over. the wooden floorboards steady as their heavy bodies stepped on it.

Smoke and Stack followed them inside, Cicely guiding them in the direction of the kitchen where a wooden table sat in the center, a plaid cover with pink roses covering it. Seraphine poured lemonade into glasses out of a steel pitcher, before she set them down on the table where the twins instinctively sat, Smoke placing the groceries on top of the table.

Cicely moved to remove some of the items she got, along with the fabric, "Ms. Claudette wanted me to give you these," Seraphine grazed her thumb over the cloth feeling the texture of it, "I guess this gives ya an excuse to go into town, show your appreciation," Cicely suggested knowing her mother had been fighting to leave the house. the looks of those who knew of her situation she couldn't bare to be on the receiving end of.

Seraphine just smiled at her daughter, leaning in a placing a kiss on her cheek as she turned around to show the two gentleman at the table her attention. But before she could get a word out, Lily-Mae spoke up, "Do one of y'all wanna marry my sista?" Cicely's eyes widened, Smoke choking on the lemonade he had taken a drink of, and Stack smirked.

"Lily!" Cicely was getting ready to scold her sister for her words.

The youngest james shrugged her shoulders, "What? They both lookin' at you like you some kind of Angel or somethin'" she points. Lily-Mae was often the one that paid closer attention then most had. They believed for a girl as young as she was, she wasn't one to catch onto things but with the lifestyle she had she had to pay close attention to detail.

"Shhh," Stack placed his finger in front of his mouth, "You gotta keep it a secret." he winked at Lily-Mae who blushed at him, smiling at Cicely. The girl only shook her head, turning her head away and fighting her smile.

Seraphine looked between the boys, "Is that what y'all want? One of y'all want my Cicely?" No man had ever come around asking for Cicely. It could be her fear of men, only trusting her brother. And the fact that she never left the house other to run into town every now and then.

The spoken of girl, embarrassed by their insinuations, moved to protest only to be cut off by Stack, "We actually wanted to invite Cicely to a speakeasy tonight, but we wanted to ask yo permission first," his eyes moved towards Cicely who stood there, eyes back on the floor, avoiding eye contact, "She seemed a lil hesitant to accept our invitation," knowing there was something he could say that would get her to look at him he added, "Now the marrying we can discuss sometime next week," Cicely snapped her head up, just to be met with his mischievous smile, flashing his gold.

Seraphine couldn't help but smile, glancing over her shoulder at her daughter to see her fighting her own smile, "Well, Cicely is a woman of her own, she can answer that question for you."

Taken aback by her mothers response she sat up, "But Mama, you need someone to help you with dinner, and the horses," Seraphine turned towards her eldest daughter, placing her hands on her shoulders to give her assurance, "And daddy━━━" she started, her heart slightly racing with the fear that if she had stepped foot out of this house with the lack of permission from her father to go out not one man, but two, she didn't know just how bad the beating this time was gonna be.

At the mention of her father, and the slight spike in her tone, both Smoke and Stack tense up. She didn't deserve to be controlled by fear the way she was. And from what they could see, her mother wasn't going to allow it for much longer.

"━━━now Cicely James you are eighteen and old enough to make yo own decisions, so make this one." Seraphine could see the fear and panic in her daughter's eyes, "I'll talk to yo daddy, and I'll let him know that some very nice men wanted to take his daughter out to enjoy a lovely and safe━━━" she looked in between both Stack and Smoke with a stern look, "evening out and that you deserve it. You clean up after these animals; take the horses on their walk, clean out the battery cage, and do the laundry." she listed brushing a strand of her hair out of her face, "all while helpin' me look after this one," Seraphine gestured towards Lily-Mae who made a face as if she was offended. She then turned her focus back on the twins, "Now, as long as you promise to take care of my baby, Cicely, then I don't have a problem with her going out tonight."

"Of course, Mrs. Seraphine."

"No doubt about it."

Both Smoke and Stack gave her their word, but Seraphine wasn't done. She pointed her finger at Stack, "And you, goin' an makin' promises, you betta keep it." she wrapped her arm around Cicely's shoulder pulling her in close to her side, "My baby need someone who gon' protect her, love her. Now if that ain't you then I'm have to start lookin' to Mr. Quiet and Mysterious over here," she gestured to Smoke.

Stack quickly defended himself, "Now, don't you worry about that Mrs. Seraphine, I'm a man who keeps my word." again flashing that charming smile towards Cicely who shielded her face in her mama's shoulder.

"Well, what about me?" Lily-Mae chimed in, waving her hands to grasp ahold of everyone's attention, "Can I go to the speakeasy too?"

Seraphine couldn't help but laugh, unraveling her arm from Cicely's shoulder and walking over to her youngest, "Girl, speakeasy's are for grown folk, and you are not one of those. Not quiet yet. I still got some time with you." she says, grabbing ahold of Lily-Mae's face and placing a kiss on her cheek.

"But tomorrow," Stack started off, "I'm takin' my lil cousin out to get some ice cream, I can swing by and pick ya up, if it ain't a problem wit ya mama," he pointed respectfully to the women.

Lily looked up at her mother, giving her the puppy dog eyes, puckering out her bottom of her lip to sell it, "Alright," Seraphine gave in, causing Lily to cheer and offer a fist bump to Stack, which he accepted, "But if yo lil cousin is as sly as y'all then I just might have to have a talk wit him."

Smoke lifted his hand, "No, ma'am, he is an as innocent as that girl there," he pointed towards Lily.

Cicely chuckled to herself, "Oh she ain't innocent, give him a warning."

Laughter filled the kitchen, other then Lily who stuck her tongue out at her sister. For the first time the twins seeing Cicely and her wide smile taking advantage of that moment since she wasn't looking down and avoid their eyes. Her head was held up, eyes glowing and her mind must've no longer been conjuring up the bad scenarios of her fathers reaction to going out with them tonight.

It was when they heard the door open the laughing slowly ceased, "Mama! Who car dat out━━━" the familiar voice of one Clayton James appeared, causing everyone to glanced in the direction he was now standing in, green eyes that only he was blessed with out of the family of five, but received from his mama's grandfather, trailing over the room. They settled on Stack and Smoke, "What y'all doin' here?" he questioned them, confusion on his face.

"What's up, mane?" Stack got up greeting him, shaking his hand and pulling him to a hug, bumping his shoulder with his. Clay tapped his back, but the confusion didn't wear off.

"They gave Cicely a ride home from town, wanted to let her legs rest." Seraphine informed her son.

His placed his hands on his hips, cocking his head to the side, "And why was she walking into town in the first place?" There was times before he told his mother that he didn't want Cicely walking into town.

Cicely shrugged, "Mama needed groceries for suppa, she wanted to make it before Daddy got home," she informed him honestly.

Clay released a groan, "Mama, I told you I don't like Cicely walkin' out into town on her own. Otis ain't here yet, I could've gone or went with her."

Seraphine rolled her eyes, "Well who knows when they would've been," she retorts back to him, "Don't act like you so reliable because just some time last you was gone for three days time," Clay looked down with guilty biting his lip, knowing where he had gone off too. Smoke and Stack knew to, that's why they were looking at him, "And I ain't gonna tell you again, that's ya Daddy." Seraphine reminded him, it not being the first nor would it be the last that Clay spat out his fathers name.

He slowly lifted his head with a hard glare, "Well remind me when the muthafucka earned the father title," he all but seethed out.

Cicely watched as her mama was getting ready to round the table, to step up to him, something she ain't even done to her husband. Probably because she know Clay wouldn't think of laying a hand on her. But before she could reach him, Cicely stepped in front of them, intercepting the situation.

"Clay," she began, his eyes set on their mother before they slowly moved down to his sister, "can you help me take the horses to the barn?" Cicely asked him, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He hesitated, opening his mouth ready to agree but Seraphine's voice erupted again, "Cicely you know you ain't got no time to take them horses to the barn, you've still gotta get ready for tonight." the woman slightly scolded her daughter.

Cicely released a huff, Clay looking in between the two, "Tonight? What's tonight?" he inquired.

Stack scratched the back of his neck, Cicely biting the inside of her cheek, and Smoke did what he often did, didn't react. It took Lily to break the building silence, "Stack and Smoke are takin' Cicely to a speakeasy." Lily confessed, leaving everyone to watch his reaction, "Then Stack said tomorrow he'd take me to get some Ice Cream." she added but, he didn't brush that last part off and focused on the first.

His face contorted into an expression that was unreadable to Cicely, "Y'all taken my sista to a speakeasy?" Smoke didn't answer, and Stack subtly nodded his head. Clay scoffed, instantly shaking his head, "No, she can't go."

Cicely leaned back on the counter, almost as if accepting her fate and her brother's decision. But her Mama wasn't having it, "And why in the hell not?" Seraphine snapped

Clay let out a humorless cackle, "Because Speakeasy's aren't for her, she too young for 'em." Cicely could tell he was looking for any excuse to give, to fight Seraphine on it.

Returning the laugh, Seraphine slapped the rag that was still on her shoulder down on the counter top, "And what? You get to go out doing god knows what with god knows who?" she narrowed her eyes as she retaliated next with, "Maybe Lil' Mary again."

Clay wasn't surprised how she knew this, all he had to do was look at his youngest sister who showed her guilt clearly. Cicely was the only one who didn't know, eyes snapping towards her brother expecting him to deny although he didn't.

Mary Boone. A white woman who tried to hang around colored folks with the excuse that her grandfather was half-black. Cicely could understand not wanting to see color, and all but others weren't as nice. Just because she didn't judge, doesn't mean others wouldn't have.

Clenching his jaw, Clay continued on at it, "So what you thinkin' Mama?" he took a step forward, not threatening way, but a way that came off as if he was trying to make his point clear," She gon' go out to meet a nice man to take her hand," he theorized, knowing that's what she as attempting at.

Cicely's eyes once again met the floorboards of her home, eyes zoned out as if she was trying to block out there arguing but couldn't. Smoke caught onto this.

"Or..." he trailed off as his features got hard, "She gon' meet a muthafucka who don't know how to keep his hands to himself." Clay snapped.

Having heard enough, her own emotions begin to grow uncontrollable. Pushing off, her footsteps stomped as she moved in between Stack and Clay's body's marching out of the kitchen towards the back door. Seraphine called after her but she ignored her.

The yelling continued on, Cicely finding herself outside guiding a horse to the barn so she could eat. It now got to the point where every time he came back home, Clay and their Mama were fighting. It was a constant, something shoved into their routine nowadays. She couldn't listen to it anymore.

It wasn't as if they were some happy family, but her mom, Clay and Lily were what she looked forward to in her day. They were her peace and with them falling apart, she felt like she was losing them other than Lily.

When Cicely came out to collect more Hay to put in the feeder only to come to a halt when she noticed Smoke entering the barn. She glanced down at him, taking in the wet dirt under their feet, "You might wanna go back inside, Mister, don't want ya shoes getting dirty." she warned him. This being an everyday thing for Cicely, she had switched her shoes out for boots.

Smoke shook his head, "I ain't worried about that," he relayed his eyes meeting Cicely. She couldn't see it for herself, wouldn't be able to unless he uttered the fact that he truthfully was worried about her, "They argue like that all the time?" he wondered knowing he didn't get to that point in age where he could argue with his mama, but he did argue with Mrs. Boone from time to time.

She exhaled heavily, thick glove covered hands placing the hay in the bin for Reign, who nudged her with her nose as a thank you. Cicely couldn't fight her smile at the action, "If Clay pushes mama's button's enough." Cicely answered, removing her gloves. She dug the tip of her boot into the gown, "Which is most of the time, so yeah." Another thought had come to her mind, one she couldn't escape, "I think he gettin' ready to leave anyway." she found herself confessing.

Smoke's brows came down, frowning, "What makes you say that?" he wanted to know, despite the talks he and Clay have had, and he had talked of leaving. He just never actually did it. Smoke understood why now.

It took her a second to find her words, searching for a good enough response. Not for him, but for herself. How could she tell?

"The look in his eyes," she started, her own gaze drifting away from his, "He slowly slippin'," Cicely recalled the moment's he wouldn't come home, but just show up days later, "He'll be gone a few days, but always comes back." she wanted to assure herself that he always would but, "Mama thinkin' one day he won't."

A her whispered, that he almost didn't catch, he slid his hands into his pocket, "And what do you think?" he asked her, him being the first person, other then her Mama from time to time, to ask her what she thought.

Cicely thought a lot most of the time. Structures being built in her head of how her life was going to go. They all relied on multiple factors that relied on the answers to these questions; Who walks into her life? Who walks out? Is he gonna hit her today? Is he not? Will she escape someday? Will she be trapped forever? Details mattered the most and it was hard to get the right details with those unanswered questions on her day to day life. She was always thinking, wondering.

When she goes to answer, a bang comes from the stall in the back, causing Smoke to jump and reach for his gun, hands shaking. Cicely eyes widened, holding up her hand, "It's okay, it's alright," she tried to assure him, "It's just Angus." she relays. The mind of a soldier was what he had. Any loud bangs, or yell's, maybe even cries could set him in a trance that let him think he was back in those trenches. He gave her a look that seemed to tell her that he needed more than that, "A wild horse my Daddy found a few years ago. He just hears my voice and wants attention." her eyes fell to his hand still on the handle of his gun, "He's spoiled, mostly by me."

Cicely realizing it was going to take more than her words to give him that assurance she made a move that she witnessed her mother do to Clay a few times. She stepped forward, hand still up as she closed the distance between them. Her hand reached for the one that was on the handle of his gun still, easing her palm over the back of his shaking one. She gave him the soft smile she often did, nodding her head as she slowly pulled him in the direction of Angus' stall.

"He don't bite, I promise." Cicely guaranteed as she pulled the latch of the door, gently pulling it open cautiously. She allowed her free hand that wasn't holding Smokes to go in first, hand falling on his hand as she gently caressed him, "He hasn't been ridden in a few days, probably getting agitated." she informed him as she guided them into his stall further, until Smoke was standing good distance in front of him, "Now, Angus," Cicely started off, speaking to the animal, "I know I ain't been in here in a while to check up on ya, but this here is my friend Smoke." he neighed in response, nudged Cicely with his big head, causing her to stumble slightly. Smoke's hands came to her waist to keep her from falling. She tried to ignore the feeling of warmth that spread through her body, instead distracting herself from it as she scolded Angus, "You can't be mean, or we ain't goin' for no ride." she treated. He sighed as she guided her hand over his head towards his mane.

Still careful, Smoke spoke, "He seems to listen to ya."

She couldn't help but smile at that, "Because I take my time with him. Can't rush a process, have to let him know in a certain way that he can trust you," Cicely swallowed heavily before her next words came out, "Daddy always said it's not always about whether you can trust him. It's about if they can trust you." she let out a giggle that lacked hilarity, "Ironic."

She allowed her mind to settle, separating herself from her pain and being in the moment. Cicely cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder at Smoke who evidently still had his hands on her waist.

"So," she began patting Angus' side, "You wanna go for a ride, Mr. Moore?" Cicely raised her brow in a challenging manner. Smoke was going to shake her head and reject but she smiled at him, "Oh come on, he ain't gonna do nothing, not as long as I'm on him, ain't that right?" Angus neighed, stopping his hooves into groans.

Cicely grabbed the reins that hung up in the barn, strapping them on him tightly, Smoke watching her close as she prepared him. When she finished her hands still gripped the reins tightly.

She gestured with her head for him to follow her, Smoke moving out of her way as she led him out of the stall and towards the exit of the barn with who she could only assume was the eldest twin, at her side just by the way he handled himself.

Before they could completely exit the barn Cicely looked towards Smoke, "Mind giving me a boost?" she asked him. He once again placed his hands on her waist, lifted her up and placed her on Angus' back. Cicely thought of her right leg on the opposite side, adjusting her dress. She often had pants on when she did this.

Cicely then gestured with her head for him to join her up on Angus. He hesitated, she could see it in his eyes, "You sure you got control of this 'ere horse?"

She giggled, Smoke finding himself appreciating a smile like Cicely's, "Three years I've had him, Smoke. I've got betta control of him than most." she promised him.

Smoke had an athletic build to him, placing his hands on Angus' back and using most of his strength to pull himself on top of him, quickly swinging his leg over. He adjusted himself closer to Cicely.

"Now as unmanly this position may feel, I want you to wrap your arms around my waist." she reached behind her, still holding the reins, as she grabbed his forearm pulling it forward and around her. He had done the same willingly with his other arm, grabbing his own hand, "Alright, here we go." she made a clicking noise with her mouth as she tapped Angus' side with her feet signaling for him to go.

He started off in a gallop, Cicely and Smoke's body bouncing every time Angus came back down to the ground. She took him where she could; around the farm avoiding the crops and a little ways to the front. Cicely could hear Smokes soft pants in her ear, and with how close her body was to his front despite the amount of articles of clothing he had on, she could feel his heartbeat. It was beating face, at a pace that made clear that he was nervous.

"Ya know you can talk to me? Distract yourself if need be?" she offered to him as they followed the same path all around.

It took him a moment, probably trying to gather his thoughts before he spoke, "You never answered my question?"

Cicely smirked, "And what question was that?" recalling but wanting him to repeat it.

"What do you think about Clay possibly leavin'?"

She pressed her lips together, pursuing them as she gave Angus another command causing him to shift into a simple walk, "I'm thinkin' the day my brotha leave," she pauses for a beat, reading herself to admit what she knew was goin' to be true, "I'm gon' be dead."

That surely caused Smoke's mind to drift away from being on the horse to know the fact that Cicely was expecting death already, "Don't talk like that." His voice was gruff, and stern but not in a way that intimidated her.

Instead allowing his words to effect her, to give her some form of clarity in the dark tunnel she was in, to make her feel safe she replied with, "It's the truth." she was calm when she spoke, voice not wavering as if she was about to burst into tears, nor could any anger be heard in her voice, "My daddy know deep down that if he kill me, Clay gon' kill him." she declared her truth, "He waitin' for Clay to give up."

They continued riding Angus for a little longer, doing laps on the same path she guided them on before she took him back to the barn. Smoke was the first to get off, then he helped Cicely down. She landed directly in front of him, huffing as she brushed her hair out of her face.

She was going to move but Smoke stopped her, "Do you know how to shoot a gun?" he found the query slipping his mouth.

"Daddy taught me young." Smoke gave her lip, despite his expressions be hard to read she could see he was question why a man who beats on his daughter would teach her how to shoot, "He wasn't always bad," Cicely admits with sorrowed filled eyes at the Daddy lost and who she had now, "Just when he came back from the war."

Smoke looked at her, knowing that he had lost a part of himself when he was there, "You think it was the war that took him." he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Cicely went to deny it only to stop herself knowing she was going to be lying if said she didn't believe it was the war, "Yes and no." She looked back down at the grown just for him to pull her attention back to him with his finger under her chin. She licked her lips as she said, "Mama's secret took him. A secret about me." she disclosed.

"What makes you think it was about you?"

Everyone had their reasons for beating on someone they claimed to love, Cicely just knew it was her because of one excuse, "'Cause I'm the one with the most scars." tears glossed over her eyes, mind going back to images in her head of her abused body, disgust filling her mind whenever looked at herself.

Smoke removed his finger from under her chin, grabbing the gun that was in his holster inside his jacket. Cicely took a cautious step back just for him to grab her hand, softly flipping it over and placing the handle of the pistol in her palm.

Cicely's hand slowly circled around it, "Next time he come for you," Smoke began his advice looking her dead in her eyes as he said, "Aim and shoot."

Her eyes drifted down to the weapon holding it tightly but yet feeling no power that people claimed it gave them, "I ain't got it in me to kill." Cicely confessed, a tear falling down her face.

Once more he changed her attention back to him to make sure she heard him loud and clear, "Everyone got it in 'em" his thumb drifted over where the tear had fallen, "Sometimes you just needed to be pushed hard enough."

AUTHORS NOTE: so this is what i got for y'all right now. i know it ainn't much but don't worry, i'm gonna give y'all a little more next chapter and this time daddy dearest pays a visit *gags*. but i hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it. i feel myself getting sick if i don't have a chapter posted by next sunday then you'll know the sickness definitely kicked my ass.

TAGGED: @childishgambinaax @wabi-sabi1090 @marley1773 @jackierose902109 @skywalker0809 @bluevenus19

[thevelvetwhispers]

ALL THE BLACK!OC FANFIC WRITERS COME TO THE FRONT OF THE LINE…

Sinners drops April 18th — and I am ready!

The unhinged woman I’m about to become because of this movie will be unhealthy 😭… who doesn’t love a black vampire? 😮‍💨🥵

Y’ALL BETTER START YA PLOTS NEOW!!!!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Choose One (Chapter 1) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore and Elias "Stack" Moore (characters in the Michael B. Jordan movie "Sinners"). Lena Blackwell (OC).

Warning(s): Adult language, Angst, Pre-Sinners movie.

Summary: Lena Blackwell works in an illegal after-hours Black & Tan club in Bronzeville where she seduces twin brothers Smoke and Stack. Each brother has qualities she likes and she embarks on an illicit affair with both. All is well until one of the twins starts catching feelings.

Word Count: 3.8K

Masterlist HERE.

"See-line woman (see-line)

Dressed in red (see-line)

Make a man (see-line)

Lose his head (see-line)"

Nina Simone – "See-Line Woman"

She fucked them both.

Smoke and Stack.

Seducing the twin brothers was easy, but confusing at the start.

She met Stack first. The gold in his teeth gleamed in the light of the Sunset Café, one of the most popular Black and Tan clubs in the Bronzeville section of Chicago. Lena Blackwell worked behind the bar instead of the floor, where jam packed circular tables faced an at capacity dance floor moving to the sounds of the latest jazz band snazzed up in tuxedos.

Although the Sunset Café advertised itself as a supper club and a popular music venue, people along the stroll knew it was a higher class speakeasy. Unlike other clandestine establishments with secret code words whispered to get in and concealed entrances to deceive law enforcement and politicians, the Sunset owners paid off low-salaried policeman to look away. Their mob ties kept money in the right pockets to warn of raids and shakedowns from other gangsters. People wanted liquor and any other spirits they could get their hands on in a city that was supposed to be as dry as the Sahara.

Stack slithered over to the far end of the long polished mahogany table with a toothpick wedged between his gums. For over twenty minutes, he rapped to her while she tried to keep the prohibited drinks flowing.

"You should come work for me," he said, sizing her up with blatant lust in his bold brown eyes.

"I'm not a whore for you to put on the stroll, mister. Order another drink or leave me be."

He gave her a crooked grin with his sexy lips, then admired her perfectly coiffed hairdo styled with pin curls and slathered in Sweet Honey Brown pomade. Lena cut him to the quick.

"I know a pimp when I see one," she snapped, mixing drinks for one of the female servers.

"I ain't mean it like that baby. This is a legit business proposition. I'ma go back home and open a juke. I need a talented drink mixer such as yoself."

His delta accent was raspy and thick like overcooked grits. He was one of them sorry souls who migrated from the dirty south. She wondered if his feelings got hurt when he discovered the north was no different than the low down redneck peckerwoods he ran away from.

"Mmm hmm," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious. Think about it. Lemme have some cold water," he said.

Lena reached down into a false shelf and poured Stack some high grade illegal moonshine. She slid the glass to him and he guzzled it down.

"Stack!"

Lena tilted her head to see the caller.

Well, damn.

The head of the Bronzeville syndicate gestured toward Stack. Ernie Miller, the Black godfather of the south side, was wide in the gut and built low to the ground like a bulldog. A dangerous cat, who carried a switchblade known to cut throats on a whim.

Stack slid a fat wad of cash out of his pocket and laid a crisp twenty on the counter.

"Keep the change for your tip," he said, winking at her.

The change from his tab would cover her rent for two months.

He stuffed the rest of his money in his pocket where a shiny set of brass knuckles dangled, and left the bar to join Ernie. For the first time, Lena took notice of Stack's finely tailored brown suit and the sharp creases in his pants. He had syndicate connections. A gangster. And a good tipper. She watched him enter a secret door in the back and never saw him again that night.

Two days later, as she started work at the bar, she spotted Stack nursing a drink at the far end, listening to an older barfly chat away to him. He drained the last of what was in his glass and Lena offered him some cold water.

Stack looked at her in confusion and shook his head in the negative.

She worked her shift, expecting Stack to hit on her at the bar again, like most men did.

He didn't.

"Cat got your tongue tonight, mister?" she teased, wiping down a spill near his arm from another patron.

He stared at her and then turned away to watch chorus girls tear up the Black Bottom dance in short dresses. Maybe she'd been too curt for him last time, and he took the hint. Ironically, that made her take a sudden interest.

He was tall, fine-looking, and a sharp dresser. She wondered if he smelled as good as he looked. Her eyes stayed on him until he wandered off to take an empty seat next to Ernie in a far left corner with some other broad-shouldered men.

"What was he drinking?" she asked another bartender.

Max, a reed-thin high yella man with a nasally voice, glanced at her.

"A South Side and the last glass was some Smoke."

"Eww, he likes that Smoke shit? That could kill him," she said, crinkling her nose.

"Them ex soldiers like that cloudy fuel alcohol."

"How you know he's an ex soldier?"

Max held out his hand and wiggled it.

"His hands. They shake a little bit. Lotta them war boys came back messed up."

Lena couldn't imagine the jovial man she met the other night acting shell-shocked. She reached under the bar and grabbed some gin. Adding some lime, sugar, and a bit of mint, she made a fresh glass of South Side.

"I'll be right back," she said.

Her heels click-clacked on the floor and she passed several raucous tables enjoying the floor show. Ernie had stepped away to talk to some people two tables over. She placed the South Side in front of the ex soldier.

"Thought you might enjoy this better than that rot gut you were drinking earlier," she said.

He glanced down at the drink and a slow smile raised the corners of his lips. No gold on his teeth. She studied his features, his hair, and the large build of his body. This had to be the same man.

"What they call you around here?" she asked.

"Smoke."

"Not Stack?"

He showed more teeth and some dimples.

"No. Just Smoke."

He had a twinkle in his eye and he chuckled softly.

"Where you from?" she asked.

"Mississippi."

"You really opening a juke down there?"

He squinted at her, but before he could answer, Ernie returned.

"Let's go," Ernie said, grabbing his coat.

The soldier stood and brushed against her. She looked up into his eyes and shivered. He reached down for the drink she prepared for him and sipped it down in front of her.

"Thank you," he said, handing the glass back to her.

She clasped it with both hands, feeling woozy by the scent of his cologne. He grabbed his suit coat, and she glimpsed the gun in a holster strapped to him.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice soft like cotton.

Lena stepped aside and touched her forehead. The man had her breaking out in a sweat.

Two more men caught up to them near the bar and that's when she gasped, seeing double. The man who called himself Smoke greeted his twin brother Stack. Lena returned to her post and Stack peeled back his lips, showing her gold in his mouth. She ended up grinning, and he leaned an elbow on the bar.

"You look even more beautiful when you smile," Stack said.

Staring at them both, she could tell they were physically identical, but the personalities, their auras…so opposite.

One thing was for sure, seeing them together…she was smitten.

And she wanted them both.

Stack usually showed up at the Sunset around nine.

Lena figured out his routine quickly because out of the two twins, Stack liked to party and be around the nightlife the most. He stood out in a crowd of men and the ladies loved him.

The Sunset Café started advertising to lure more women into the place for capitalistic gain. Originally the owners created it as a gentlemen's club, but in order to stay lucrative during prohibition, they had to open up the market to new customers, and women loved to drink.

To hide the odorous stench of bootleg hard liquor that could turn female customers away, new cocktails were created adding syrups and various fruit juices to sweeten the bitter taste. The club manager ordered all bartenders to add more cherries, orange slices, and canned chucks of pineapples in the drinks to appeal to the good-time girls who sought excitement. Especially the white ones.

White women loved the Sunset.

White men loved it too, and the forbidden allure of rubbing shoulders with negroes brought out their lascivious side. Everyone in Chicago knew that colored folks couldn't have their own entertainment spaces without white folks sniffing for some action in the mix. As much as they pretended to hate negro people, they sure couldn't stay away from them. Colored patrons and performers tickled their libidinous fantasies. The best music, the best food, and the best dancing happened on the south side where negroes were crowded together. They didn't call it Bronzeville for nothing.

Lena eyed the entrance. Stack was due to swagger through any minute.

The supper hour kept the bar less hectic as folks ate garnished devilled eggs, green beans, steaks, fried catfish, buttermilk-dipped fried chicken, with the added sides of creamy macaroni and cheese with generous slices of honey cornbread.

Max flipped through his tattered, olive-colored copy of the H.P. Dreambook. A man wearing a turban in front of a crystal ball illustrated the cover. He pestered busboys, servers, and Lena about their dreams so he could search them up in his book and find the corresponding numerical interpretation to play the numbers. Another bartender named Frank polished glasses and worked the other end of the counter.

"C'mon Lena, your turn, what you dream last night?" Max asked.

"I don't really have dreams."

"Everybody dreams. Bernice, what about you?"

Bernice scratched an itch on her prominent nose and thought about her answer while she waited for Lena to pour whiskey into three tumbler glasses.

"The night before, I dreamed about going to Paris and seeing Josephine Baker," Bernice said.

She spun around and shook her hips.

"Y'all think she really dances over there naked wearing bananas?" Bernice asked.

"Lemme see, travel… bananas…dancing…" Max murmured.

He circled numbers in his book with a stubby pencil. Lena placed the drinks on Bernice's tray and tapped her foot waiting for Max. Two other female servers went to Frank to fill their orders.

"Okay…two…twenty-nine…seventeen," Max said.

He reached into his tip pocket and pulled out a coin, handing it to Bernice.

"Give that to Melvin and tell him to combinate my numbers," he said.

"You give your own money to the numbers man," Bernice said.

She flounced away from the bar, and Max sucked his teeth.

Stack strolled in and took off his hat and coat, leaving it with the coat check girl. He surveyed the room and two gleeful white women sauntered over to him.

"Them ofays sure do love them some Big Stack," Max said.

Bernice returned with another drink order. She glanced at Stack, too.

"Can you blame them? Look at him…just a big stiff drink I'd love to pour down my throat."

"Man can't even get into the club without women flocking to him," Max said.

"Those two wait to see him every week. They reserve the table closest to the door to catch him," Bernice added. "I ain't never seen him with anything darker than a paper bag, though."

"That's cuz you and those ladies are at the top of the hierarchy."

"What are you bumping your gums about now, Max?" Bernice sighed.

"Niggas out here go for color first, hair texture second, and shape last. Listen to me…don't roll your eyes…white girls and you lightskins…that would be you Bernice with your mixed ass…are at the top. If a woman ain't that, they'll take a brownskin, like Lena, if they have good hair. But if they can't have number one or two, a woman has to at least have a good shape. See, Bernice here, she only got one and two—"

"I got a cute shape, too! I'm all three!" Bernice protested.

"Not with those knock knees and small tits…anyway, like I was saying…you gotta have what's on that list or you won't get no attention in this club. That's why Lena is behind the bar and not on the floor with you all night getting the fat tips. Facts is facts, and that man over there likes to have all three."

They watched Stack as he charmed the women blocking him from the rest of the club.

"Hmmph. Men are stupid," Bernice huffed. "Miss Two-out-of-three, can I get three shots of rum?"

"Coming right up, Miss Three-out-of-three," Lena said.

Bernice cackled, then took the drinks away.

"I never noticed she had knock knees," Lena whispered to Max.

Stack sauntered over with the women and their loud chatter livened up the counter.

"Hey Max," Stack said.

"Good to see you this evening, Mr. Moore," Max said, taking on his polished bartender voice.

He dropped his dream book under the counter.

"What can I fix for you tonight, sir?"

Max waited for the order. Lena headed over to another patron who wanted hooch.

"Ladies, what would you like to drink?" Stack asked.

The first woman, a shapely red head with narrow features asked for a Sidecar, and the second woman, a wide-eyed brunette, requested a Malört.

"You like that bitter stuff?" Stack asked.

Lena clocked the brunette's curling edges from perspiration, and the slight roundness of her nose. To a regular white person, she could pass as Italian or even a Jewish Russian. However, the hair, the extra curve in her ass, and the nervous fluttery eyes told the truth to Lena. The woman glanced at her; a mutual understanding passed between them that she would be treated as a white woman. Who was she to judge what people had to do to survive a depression?

If Stack knew, he didn't let on. Max gave them their drinks and Stack turned his steady focus on Lena.

"You look real nice tonight, Lena."

"Thank you, Mr. Moore," she said.

"When you wear all those curls, it makes your pretty eyes look mysterious—"

"Stack," the redhead interjected.

Her tone came out sharply, saying his name.

"I'm talking, baby, give me a minute," he said.

The bass in his voice caused her lips to bunch up. Her brunette friend sipped the Malört and looked away.

"I didn't come down here to watch you talk to a bartender," the redhead whined.

"Bitch, I don't care what you came here to do."

Max stepped in to de-escalate.

"Mr. Moore, what would you like to have?"

Lena left them to serve other people, and Stack dismissed the two women. He conferred with Max and the floor show began, capturing his attention. Stack loved watching the dancers. He probably ran through most of them based on his reputation. Irritation stretched across his face and Lena served him the moonshine he loved.

"Those girls don't know how to act when you talk to other women," she said.

"I'm tired of them dingy broads anyway. They both have dry coochie and bad attitudes. White bitches love slumming with dark dick, but act all bent outta shape if a colored woman gets a tiny bit of attention."

"You do know one of them is colored, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He grinned and looked deep into Lena's eyes. She gave him a sly smirk and his eyes drank her in.

"You want some more?" she asked, enunciating each word.

Stack watched her succulent red lips and his gaze dipped to the top of her white blouse, eyeballing the outline of her breasts.

"You undressing me with those eyes, Mr. Moore?"

Dimples.

"I think you're undressing me," he said.

"I been did that," she teased, and sashayed away to serve a counter rush of older men with their mistresses.

She knew he kept his eyes on her ass the way she intended by swinging her hips extra hard.

He loved watching her.

For weeks she acted coquettish and purred his last name any time she served him. Ernie treated him and Smoke as his most trusted muscle men. If he needed an enemy whacked, he sent the Smoke Stack twins with the chopper to deliver a Chicago overcoat first class. Stack strutted around the club with a dominance that aroused her. Most tough guys annoyed her, their performative masculinity a tremendous joke to her.

Not Stack.

He oozed overt power, and she wanted a taste of that in her bed.

"Be careful, Lena, being a gangster's woman ain't the life you want," Max warned on a different night.

He caught her ogling Stack. Lena loved the way his thighs stretched the material of his pants, and she licked her lips at the heavy bulge in the crotch. What she would give to sit on all that hefty weight. She flirted with the gangster using long unblinking stares on him, and lightly touched his hand whenever she served glasses of rum, gin, or the moonshine he liked to call dog soup. Eventually, he would just beeline to the bar to greet her the moment he walked into the club. He only had eyes for her.

Women were easy for Stack to catch because they threw themselves at him. She lured him in night by night, forcing him to chase her, keeping him expectant, and on his toes. The man hadn't chased a woman for a long time and it showed.

Her calculated seduction worked.

He started bringing her things. Diamond earrings. Real ones. Fancy gold hair clips and chocolate candy in heart boxes. He asked around and found out her favorite snack was the roasted peanuts sold a block away on the street from an old German man. He left her small warm bags at the bar before her shift started on Fridays to last her all weekend. She showed up to work one night and Max could barely contain himself. He handed her a large box with a knee-length fur coat inside.

He asked her out a few times, but she played demure, citing the rules of employees not fraternizing with employers.

"Aw Lena. I don't own this place…I work for the man who does. He pays your checks, not me."

"The other girls will be mad if they see me with you."

"Fuck 'em."

"I'll think about it."

He floated for a week after she said that. Like most men, he wanted a slut to fuck in private, but a good girl to woo in public.

A month later, Lena had a rough night with some rowdy patrons. Lower-level men of Ernie's syndicate. Stack had been out of town on business, and she missed interacting with him. His flirty nature kept her work nights fun, and they flew by fast. Without him, they dragged on for hours.

After Lena helped clean the bar area and counted money at closing, the numbers man slid over to Max and handed him a fifteen dollar win.

"Holy shit!" Max shouted.

He turned to Lena, his eyes shiny with joy.

"I'm taking you to Al's Diner for steak and eggs!"

Lena grabbed her coat and purse and walked out of the club with Max. Bernice joined them. They caught a cab to Al's Diner in a seedier area, but the food was delicious. Lena ate her fill and listened to Max make plans to buy his girlfriend new dresses, and a new tailored suit with nice dress shoes to replace the clodhoppers he wore outside of work. Bernice planned a rent party and Lena promised to spread the word and address to their shared apartment building. Max offered to pay for all the food at her party so she could sell dinner plates and keep all the proceeds.

After Max splurged on chocolate malts, she shared another cab ride with Bernice to her second-floor walk-up.

Another week passed, and Stack didn't come to the Sunset. Lena worried that the Italian mafia under Al Capone's orders gunned him down in the windy city or Bugs Moran and the Irish mob caught him slipping and threw him in Lake Michigan. Smoke huddled with Ernie and the other men in their crew, talking animatedly. She made her way around the bar counter. Tensions around the city had been thick among the immigrant groups, but colored folks kept on striving for better. Tempted to ask the other twin about his brother, she felt two muscular arms lift her up when she headed to the secret storage room to retrieve more spirits.

"Stack!"

Her heart triple-thumped in her chest like a train roaring down an uneven track. She turned and threw her arms around his neck instinctively.

"You missed me," he whispered in her ear.

The vibration of his voice along the delicate skin on her neck thrilled her. The breathiness in the shell of her ear heated the blood in her veins.

She kissed him.

Smashed her plump wanton lips across his fuller ones and slipped her tongue past the seam, tasting the strong whiskey on his breath. Their heads slanted for the proper angle to slide warm tongues together. His deep kisses sent love pulses straight down to her toes. Stack tongued her breathless hidden behind an alcove. He cradled her face before pulling away first.

"Damn. I ain't been kissed like that before," he drawled out in his delta accent.

She held his longing gaze in the yellow light of the hanging lamp that dangled above them. As tough as he was, his face looked so gentle and pure up close. Like a big ole puppy that just wanted to play fetch with her heart.

"Go out with me tonight," he asked.

She tickled the facial hair on his chin, then ran a slender finger down the part in his hair.

"How 'bout you go out with me?"

He grinned.

"Where?"

"It won't be nowhere high class like you're used to, but you'll have a good time. Promise."

He lunged for her mouth again, wrapping his beefy arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet.

"Oh, no wonder it's taking you so long to bring those bottles out," her co-worker Frank said.

Lena jerked away from Stack and grabbed the bottles she came for. She rushed past Frank, beaming all the way back to the bar.

Chapter 2 HERE.

A.N.:

Thanks for your patience! It's easier to do little chapters to buy me time to finish it. But y'all read so darn fast though!

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[brownsugarcoffy]

Soul & Sanguine

Summary

1976. Chicago.

Jackie Dubois, a confident and ambitious woman from a small town in North Carolina, has come to the city with big dreams of making a name for herself. But her reality is far from the glamorous Hollywood life she imagined. She’s stuck working as a waitress at The Pharaoh’s Den, an exclusive nightclub with an electric vibe and a dark undercurrent. The club’s owner, Elias "Stacks" Moore, is every bit the enigma—smooth-talking, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. On the outside, he’s just another businessman, but behind the scenes? He’s a vampire who rules a world of blood, power, and temptation.

As Jackie gets drawn deeper into the tantalizing and dangerous world of the club, she starts to realize there’s far more at play than she ever imagined. Stacks sees something in her—something he’s willing to help her cultivate, but at a cost. He offers her a deal: the chance to rise to the stardom she’s always dreamed of, but accepting it means stepping into a world of darkness, immortality, and secrets she isn’t prepared for.

Characters: Jackie Dubois(OC) x Stacks" Elias" Moore (Vampire/ 70's gangster)

Warning: Blood, Vulgar Language, Violence, Sexual content & more...

Chapters: PART (2)

A/N: Although Smoke got hold on me. Lol I been thinking about how Stacks gave pimp and rolling stone energy in Sinners. This gave me the idea to write something with a Blaxploitation vibe to it.

‐----‐‐‐---------‐--------------------------------------------------------

The Pharaoh’s Den was alive. Funk music hummed in the air, a pulsating rhythm that matched the heartbeat of the city. The heavy scent of cigar smoke mixed with the sharp tang of whiskey and perfume, filling the club with a sense of both luxury and danger. Jackie Dubois moved effortlessly through the crowd, and her tray of drinks balanced with practiced ease. The night was just beginning, and every step she took brought her closer to her dream: Hollywood. But first, she had to make the money, the connections—get noticed.

She wasn’t new to this life. She’d worked in enough dives and clubs to know how to survive in a world that wasn’t always kind to women like her. But there was something about The Pharaoh’s Den that felt different. It wasn’t just the thick, electric vibe in the air or the sharp glances that followed her every move—it was the way the place seemed to pulse with an unspoken power, as if the club itself had a secret it wasn’t sharing with her. And tonight, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was getting closer to discovering it.

Back in the dressing room, Marietta was getting ready for her set, applying bold red lipstick and adjusting her shimmering costume. Her cousin was the star of the club’s go-go dancers, her body a perfect blend of seduction and power. Marietta had been dancing here for months, her movements fluid and hypnotic, commanding the crowd’s attention with every beat of the music. She was the one who had gotten J. the job at The Pharaoh’s Den, promising her that the hustle would pay off.

“This is where the real connections are, J. You gotta stick with it,” she’d said, her eyes always sparkling with ambition.

Jackie watched her cousin for a moment, the way she moved with effortless grace, the confidence she exuded as she prepared for her stage time. Marietta had the kind of magnetic presence that made heads turn, but Jackie. wasn’t sure if that was the path she wanted. She didn’t want to dance for men’s pleasure—she was here for something more. But tonight, it seemed like something else was in the air. The energy was thick with tension, and Jackie wasn’t the only one feeling it.

The sound of the music grew louder as Marietta slipped into her stage outfit—tight, sequined, and glittering under the dim lights. She shot Jackie. a wink in the mirror before grabbing a feathered fan and turning to leave the dressing room.

“Make sure you don’t let those pigs walk all over you tonight,” Marietta teased with a grin, her voice full of knowing humor.

Jackie laughed and nodded. “I got this. You just go out there and do your thing.”

But even as Marietta walked out of the room, J. couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight might be different.

Jackie moved out to the floor, taking orders from the tables in her usual manner—graceful, efficient, a perfect blend of warmth and distance. She had no time for distractions, especially from the men who seemed to think they could treat her like an object. Her mind was on her goal—money for the Hollywood dream. She wasn’t here to entertain anyone. But tonight, as the evening rolled on, the tension only grew.

As she passed a table near the back, she felt the eyes of the men on her before she even saw them. They were rough, hard-edged, the kind of men who didn’t have to say much to make their presence known. And she could tell right away that these men were trouble.

One of them, a burly man with a scruffy beard and gold chains hanging from his neck, leaned forward and called out to her with a thick drawl.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice low but dripping with something she didn’t like. “How ‘bout another drink?”

She kept walking, eyes straight ahead. She was used to men like him—loud, overbearing, trying to take control with their money and their bravado. She wasn’t interested.

“Can I take your order, sir?” she said, her voice smooth but firm, her tone making it clear that she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

But the man wasn’t done. He smiled like he knew something she didn’t. “Come on, girl. You ain’t got anywhere else to be. Bring me another whiskey, and maybe we’ll talk.”

Jackie didn’t stop, didn’t falter. She just kept walking, grabbing the whiskey from the bar and heading back in the direction of the table. But as she neared, the man’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with a force that made her freeze.

“Now hold on a second, baby,” he slurred. “I said, come here. Don’t ignore me.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, a rush of anger and adrenaline flooding her veins. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away immediately, but something inside her snapped. She didn’t work in places like this to be grabbed, to be made to feel small.

Her eyes locked onto his, cold and steady. “Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice cutting through the air with an edge that was impossible to ignore.

Before the man could respond, a voice, low and commanding, rang out from across the table. It was calm, controlled—nothing like the drunk banter that filled the club.

“That’s enough.”

She turned her head instinctively, searching for the source of the voice. A man sat at the center of the table, his presence like a shadow in the dim light. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, and his black hair was slicked back with practiced ease. His expression was unreadable, his eyes—sharp, calculating—locked onto hers.

The man who had grabbed her wrist quickly pulled his hand back, muttering an apology. But the newcomer didn’t even look at him. His gaze never left Jackie's.

“You’re new here,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet but carrying a tone that demanded attention. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

She felt a chill run down her spine. She stood her ground, the whiskey still in her hand. “That’s right,” she answered, her tone sharp. “I’m just here to do my job.”

The man leaned back in his chair, still studying her with that cool, detached look. “Maybe you should learn the rules of The Pharaoh’s Den before you go around talking back,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive.

“Here, we serve the customers. No one talks back to my crew.”

Her pulse quickened. “I’m not here to be anyone’s servant,” she retorted, her voice rising slightly. “I’ll serve drinks, but I’m not anyone’s toy.”

For the first time, a flicker of something crossed the man’s face—an unreadable expression, like he was sizing her up, weighing her defiance. But his lips stayed curled in that faint, almost amused smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll learn fast enough,” he said, his voice turning to ice. “Now, get back to work. This is my club, and you’re just a part of it. Understand?”

Jackie's chest tightened, but she didn’t back down. She was used to being talked down to, but this felt different. The way he spoke, the way his presence seemed to suck the air out of the room—it unsettled her.

She opened her mouth to retort, to tell him just who she thought he was, but before she could speak, the man waved his hand dismissively, turning his attention back to the conversation with his crew. As if she were nothing.

She didn’t move right away. For a moment, she just stood there, trying to process what had just happened. This man—who the hell was he? Why did everyone listen to him like that?

Still seething, Jackie turned on her heel, walking away, but her mind was a whirl of frustration. She’d just been dismissed by a stranger who clearly had some kind of control over this place—and worse, he had made it clear that he expected everyone here to follow his rules. She wasn’t used to being told what to do, especially by someone who didn’t even have the decency to introduce himself.

As she reached the bar, she could feel his eyes on her, heavy and lingering. She didn’t look back, but she could feel it, that strange, magnetic pull. She didn’t know who he was, but she was certain of one thing: This man had just made his mark on her night.

She didn’t know it yet, but she had just crossed paths with the devil who ran The Pharaoh’s Den, the man who controlled not just the club but a world of power, secrets, and blood that no one outside the shadows would ever understand.

And Elias? He wasn’t done with her just yet.....

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