A/n: love this idea😩btw does the smaller text size look good or it’s a no?? I couldn’t sleep so this was the result.
Contains: black reader, explicit content, strong language, recording(duh), 2nd pov, squirting, overstim, one use of daddy, facial(wink)
Summary: It’s your birthday and Jermajesty wants something to remember it by
Now playing: Birthday sex - Jeremih
“Happy birthday baby.” You heard Jermajesty whisper in your ear, the touch of his hands roaming over your body. It just hit midnight and Jermajesty—as always—was the first one to tell you happy birthday.
Jermajesty adores the day and constantly goes all out for it. You already know a birthday spam is waiting for you on instagram. “Thank you Maj.” you mumble kissing him back.
“I wanna try something new.” He sat up rubbing his hands together. Leave it to Jermajesty to pull random ideas out of the woodworks. Your eyebrow raised curiously, “go on.”
“How does a birthday movie sound?” The words didn’t click to you, still a bit confused. “A movie?” Your eyebrows were scrunched trying to piece together what he meant.
“A movie.” His hand trailed up your legs landing between your thighs. It finally clicked and your eyes widened, “ohhhh, you’re so nasty.” You giggled swatting at his arm.
“I just want something to remember ma.” He leaned down, capturing your lips once more. The kiss was gentle, a way to express his love through his actions.
You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him closer. You placed your hand on his jaw, feeling the slight stubble and leaned back to look at him.
“Don’t let that shit get out Maj.” you whispered with a glare. He nodded quickly, not hesitating to reach for the rectangular device in his pocket.
“Gon head and put that up, record it on mine.” You told him, pointing at your bejeweled covered phone on the night stand. He let out a quick huff from his nose, “Anything for the birthday girl.”
He grabbed your phone and swiped to open the camera. He positioned himself above you, focusing the camera on your body.
“You look sexy as fuck.” He admired your lingerie covered body, the black lace panties sitting just right, along with the lace bra with a bow in the middle.
Your belly button ring glinted in the camera lenses, your figure coming off as a small blur but still quite seductive.
“Are you just gonna hold the phone the whole time?” You asked him, “you right.” He turned his head around, looking for a spot to set the camera.
He wanted all the right angles, he decided to put it on the dresser, giving a wide view of the high rise window, and both of y’all on the king-sized bed.
“Wait, let me set the mood.” Jermajesty ran towards the speaker and you groaned. You were just ready to feel him all over you.
You stared at the ceiling waiting for him to finish creating his idea of a perfect environment. The familiar ticking beat began to sound from the speaker.
“I know you fuckin’ lying.” You said sitting up to see Jermajesty shirtless. You laughed as he slowly begin to sway to the rhythm of ‘birthday sex’.
“It’s yo’ birthday so I know you want to riiiide out.” Jermajesty sung walking towards you. You face-palmed heart fluttering at the gesture but you still found it hilarious.
As he made his way towards you, still singing he laid you out on the bed. “Oh, you bout to get fucked.” He muttered.
He kneeled down on the floor, hands reaching the waistband of your panties. “You ready ma?”
You nodded, biting your lip in the process. He gives the best head ever, it’s practically a passion of his. If he could spend one day doing anything, it would be to drag his tongue through your pussy repeatedly.
He actually already spent a day doing it, but wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
The fabric glided down your legs, being exposed to the cool air. “Nice and wet for me.” His tongue immediately circled your clit, eyes looking up at you.
“Fuckkk maj!” you tossed your head back colliding with the cotton pillows. Your hand found his hair, eyes rolling back. His fingers gripped your thighs tightly, warm mouth suctioning against your wetness.
“Oh my god! Yes baby.” Your hips bucked into his mouth, losing control the more he ate. His tongue flicked against your clit quickly, slowly entering his middle and ring finger.
He moaned against your pussy in bliss, he absolutely loves pleasuring you. Your moans sounded heavenly in his ears, only giving him more motivation.
He glanced over at the camera, noticing your legs spread wide in the frame.
His fingers curled, brushing against your g-spot while stimulating your clit. The wet noises from his mouth turned you on so much.
The voice of jeremih played in the background but you could barely hear it over your moans. Jermajesty felt you clench around his fingers and took his mouth off of you.
“You ‘bout to cum pretty girl?” Your breathing picked up feeling your orgasm rise, only being able to nod at his question.
He went back down, only going harder. “I’m cumming.” You whined. You gripped the bedsheets, hips grinding up into his face as your release washed over you.
He didn’t take his mouth off, continuing to eat away, your flavor coating his tongue. “S-stop playin’.” You got out trying to catch you breath.
Your clit felt sensitive as he continued to suck and lick on it. “Gimme one more, please ma.” He mumbled.
His hand rubbed up and down your thigh softly, coaxing you to another orgasm. He slowly licked this time, making you feel every purposeful flick of his tongue.
“I love you baby.” He mumbled, continuing his soft ministrations. You could’ve cried, feeling your second wave slowly rise. “I-I love you too Maj—fuck.” Your eyes rolled back.
Your legs slowly inched closed, overwhelmed from the stimulation. Jermajesy made sure to hold them open.
He pulled away, using one hand to rub your clit. “Cum on camera for me baby. Lemme see you make a mess.”
You practically forgot about the camera, mind too fogged from his tongue.
He went back down, fingers sliding in with a singular curl. You moaned, body quivering as your second release, rained down him—Literally.
He stuck his tongue out, attempting to catch most of the squirt in his mouth. He waited till you were finished before standing, pulling down his pants and boxers.
“Let’s really put on a show.” He said, running to grab the phone. He walked back, your phone still in hand. “Damn, you trying to get up close and personal.” You laughed, still out of breath.
“Gotta show them how much I love the queen.” He angled the camera to where you could see his dick stroking up and down your folds.
“Hold ‘em back for me ma.” He asked, you held your legs back giving the camera a shot of your wet pussy.
“Shit look so pretty, whose pussy is it baby?” He gently slapped his tip against your clit, the weight of it making you moan a bit.
“It’s yoursss, now put it in.”
“A lil greedy ain’t you?”
He slowly entered, stretching you out. You both let out moans, his hand coming to gently press against your stomach.
The camera shook slightly but he steadied his hand as he bottomed out. “You took me so well ma.” He praised making you moan.
He began to thrust into you, a gentle roll of his hips. The hand that rested on your stomach trailed up to your nipple, rolling and lightly pinching it.
“Just like that.” You moaned still holding your legs back. Your hand glided down to rub at your clit, the triple sensation having you at peak pleasure.
“My baby so needy. Tell me how good you feel.”
“So good—oh my god!—don’t stop.” His hips picked up speed, the bed hinges started to creak.
The soft slaps of skin meeting became an extra sound in the room. Jermajesty didn’t even mind the camera shaking a little, too obsessed with the feeling of you wrapped around him.
“Fuck ma” he set the phone on the nightstand, so you both were in frame but with a closer angle. He wrapped both hands around your thighs and drilled into you.
Your moans became higher, as your eyes rolled back. The speed made him hit a bit deeper causing your legs to shake.
“I feel that pussy getting tight baby, you ‘gon cum?”
“Yes yes yes—please Maj.”
“You ‘gon cum around me?”
“M-maj, I’m so close.” Your hands gripped his biceps as he didn’t let up. His eyes stared down at you, only making you closer.
His stare sent a hot wave of pleasure in your stomach, third orgasm rising. “Cum for me ma.”
“Oh shit! Daddy I’m cumming.” You babbled, mind not processing what just spilled out of your mouth.
Your hand flew to his abdomen as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your eyes were rolled too far back to notice the smirk on his face.
He couldn’t lie and say the nickname didn’t send him spiraling into his upcoming orgasm.
Your legs shook as you came down from your high, replaced with sensitivity. As he felt on the verge of nutting, he pulled out, crawling up your body.
He stroked his dick across your face, your tongue already hung out your mouth, ready to catch his nut.
“Fuckkk, I love you baby.” He said ropes of cum spewing across your face, while some landed in your mouth.
You swallowed with a smile, collecting the rest with a swipe of finger, sucking it into your mouth.
“Nasty ass.” He laughed coming down to kiss you, tongue roaming in each other’s mouths.
“Round 1 of 10.” He smiled. “Stop playing Maj.”
“Nah you know what you called me. Matter of fact let me play it back for you.” He reached for the phone, stopping the recording.
six months after his crazy divorce, jaafar reluctantly attends his cousin’s wedding gathering only to find out how incredibly charming his wedding partner is. (a series possibly?)
disclaimer: yes, im well aware of the drama going on. this isn’t to throw shots at his finance, or a testament to his relationship, etc. this is purely fiction.
he didn't do weddings anymore—conceptually or literally. the idea of falling in love again, of exposing his bruised heart to another human being, simply did not sound fun to him. he had spent half a year convincing himself that solitude was his safest sanctuary.
six months before he ever saw you, jaafar was signing the papers that officially closed the longest chapter of his life.
he had been in a relationship for most of his youth, moving seamlessly from the tender, naive days of first love straight into a marriage that he genuinely believed would last forever. but life had a cruel way of shifting beneath your feet when you least expected it.
when he stepped into the role of his uncle michael, his entire world expanded at an crazy pace. the creative fulfillment was unmatched, a profound joy he would always be grateful for, but the sudden, blinding spotlight that followed brought a wave of public scrutiny.
fame didn't just knock on his door; it broke it down, robbing him of the quiet peace he had always fiercely protected. the pressure worsened the cracks already existing in his marriage, stretching the distance between him and his wife until the silence in their home became too loud to ignore.
the divorce was finalized in the winter. the aftermath left him hollow, sad, existing in a state of quiet, emotional hibernation.
so, when his cousin’s wedding invitation arrived, jaafar’s initial thought was to find an excuse. but this was family. & he was always raised to never turn his back on family. a deep love for his cousin won. he promised himself he would keep his head down, play the part of the supportive groomsman, and retreat back into his quiet world the moment it was over.
the social gathering before the wedding was designed exactly for that—to break the ice and merge two families. the backyard of the engaged couple’s house was alive with music, a low, rhythmic bass vibrating through the patio floor while the warm evening air carried the scent of summer and expensive perfume.
jaafar stood near the edge of the crowd, a drink in hand, politely navigating the small talk but secretly counting down the hours until he could leave.
across the lawn, you were standing with your old undergrad line sisters, completely oblivious to his presence. you had trusted the bride implicitly when she told you that you’d be walking down the aisle with her fiancé's cousin. you hadn't asked questions or demanded a picture; you just laughed and accepted the assignment. it was her day, whatever she wanted.
you were in your element, laughing into your glass, the soft, amber string lights reflecting off the silk, blush pink dress you’d chosen for the night. the color complimented your skin beautifully, making you practically glow against the dark backdrop of the garden. your hair was styled in neat braids with loose, boho pieces framing your face—a detail jaafar would notice the second his eyes accidentally drifted your way.
he froze for a fraction of a second, his gaze lingering on the way you laughed, completely unbothered and grounded.
before you could finish your drink, a familiar hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. your friend—the bride—pulled you away from your circle with an excited, mischievous glint in her eye. "come with me really quick," she urged, hauling you across the grass toward the quiet edge of the patio. "he’s gonna love you. the both of you are so sweet."
you barely had time to smooth down the front of your silk dress before you were standing directly in front of him.
"jaafar, this is the girl i was telling you about," she introduced effortlessly, vanishing back into the crowd before either of you could even blink.
left in a sudden, quiet pocket of the party, jaafar looked down at you, and the protective walls he had built over the last six months suddenly felt incredibly fragile.
for jaafar, the reaction was instant. he thought you were simply beautiful. his eyes traced the elegant drape of your dress before settling on your hair, fascinated by the curly pieces he still didn't know the name for—a detail you’d later laugh at him for when he clumsily tried to describe them. he was completely enamored.
"hi," he said, his voice a low, melodic cadence that instantly calmed the sudden nerves in your chest. "it's really nice to meet you. i guess we're walking down the aisle together."
he was, without a doubt, the most soft-spoken, sweetest man you had ever encountered. when he smiled, a gentle, genuine expression that sent a sudden, completely unexpected flutter of butterflies straight to your stomach.
"it looks like it," you smiled, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "she told me i was paired with her fiancé's cousin, but she conveniently left out how charming you were."
a genuine, slightly surprised laugh escaped him, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. you were flirting. with him. he couldn’t believe it. "well, i'm glad she kept some secrets. it gives me a chance to make a good first impression."
the conversation flowed with an ease that neither of you anticipated. when jaafar asked what you did for a living, your face lit up in a way that captivated him entirely.
"i'm a writer," you confessed, a small, self-deprecating smile playing on your lips. "i write romance. i guess being a hopeless romantic all my life actually paid off."
"there are worse things to be," jaafar murmured softly, his eyes locked onto yours. "writing about love sounds like a beautiful way to spend your time."
you thanked him before asking what he did for work himself. he replied saying that he took a break from his music career to pursue acting.
you watched his face, the soft lines of his jaw, the specific structure of his brow as he talked, until a sudden wave of recognition washed over you. the pieces clicked together all at once. "wait," you said, your eyes narrowing slightly. "you just did the michael movie last year, didn't you?"
jaafar’s smile turned slightly shy, a classic, modest reaction that belonged entirely to him. he braced himself internally for the usual onslaught of questions, the sudden shift in energy that always happened when people realized who he was.
but instead of prying, you just offered him a warm, deeply genuine smile. "wow. that's amazing, congratulations. you must be incredibly proud."
and then, you simply let it go. you didn't dwell on the film, the fame, or his family name. you shifted the topic right back to a joke your friend had made earlier, completely refusing to treat him like a celebrity. a physical wave of gratitude washed over jaafar. you were treating him like a human being existing in the present moment, a rare luxury he hadn't realized he was starving for.
the two of you continued to talk for what felt like hours, discovering shared tastes in music and laughing about the chaotic energy of wedding rehearsals. jaafar found himself laughing more than he had in the last half-year combined.
finally, the crowd began to thin, and the reality of the late hour caught up.
"i should probably head out," you said softly, checking your phone. "the bride expects us up early tomorrow."
"let me walk you to your car," jaafar offered immediately, not wanting the night, or the feeling you gave him, to end just yet.
the walk through the quiet driveway was peaceful, the cool night air a stark contrast to the humid afternoon. when you reached your driver's side door, you turned around to face him, leaning back against the car.
"see you at the rehearsal dinner?" he asked.
"i'm pretty sure the bride would kill me if i missed it, so i’ll definitely be there," you joked.
you stepped forward, offering him a slight, polite hug goodbye. it was a brief touch—your arms brushing against his shoulders, the soft silk of your dress whispering against his shirt—but as you pulled away, your scent lingered in the space between you. it was something warm, sweet, and distinctly feminine, a mixture of vanilla and something uniquely yours.
"drive safely," he said, watching you get into the car.
as your taillights vanished down the driveway into the night, jaafar stood there for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets. he took a deep breath, and he could have sworn that your scent followed him, wrapping around him like a quiet promise.
for a man who believed love was a closed chapter for him, the drive home felt entirely different than the drive there.
۫ ܸ ❤︎ ׅ ۫ jaafar putting you in headlock ໒ྀི⠀ ⁺
cw. 18+ mdni. written from this thought. he's hitting it from the back. size kink? maybe ooc jaafar ? he's just stern n uses his strength. nicknames (babe & ma).
jaafar's fingers dig into the plush of your hips, angling them upward to meet his thrust. while your spine curves, face pressed against the now soaked pillow from you drool. eyes rolling back when jaafar's cock sinks the length of his cock back into your heat, nudging that too hard to reach spot just right.
"i know, babe," he coos in a hushed tone, a hand pawing at your hip when you let out a gurgled hgn, "doing s'well takin' it."
leaning down he places a peck on your shoulder, slowing his pace to roll his hips, his cock snug within your cunt. nudging his nose against your nape, adorning another kiss on your damp skin.
when you turn your head away from him, eyes screwed shut as you try to push yourself further into the pillow ⎯ further away from from jaafar and the weight of his toned body pressed against yours and the stretch of his cock.
"c'mon ma, wanna see you," he rasped, forehead falling against your shoulder. the sounds of your whines has him pulling up off of you, his feathery touch tracing down your back until they land on the plumpness of your ass.
it's still, just for moment. the room is no longer filled with the sound of skin slapping and squelching, now replaced with the heavy breathing between you two.
the sudden movement of one of jaafar's hand soothes up and down your back, his pinky accidentally brushing against the side of your breast each time. it takes you by surprise when the same hand grips at the crook of your neck before swiftly enclosing your head between his forearm and bicep, pussy flutter around his length from the unexpectedness of the action.
his hold on you isn't rough, but it's stern, causing your head to lull back. a whimper slips out when jaafar places his weight back on you, his head dipping back down to meet yours so that there's no other choice than for your glossy eyes to meet his.
"please⎯" you choked out, lifting your hips up, hands clawing at the messy bedsheets at your attempt to escape your boyfriend's hold, "it's t'much."
"i know, ma," voice laced with fake sympathy, "but you can't be askin' for me and then running from me at the same time." leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.
pulling away from kiss, a few strings of saliva breaking, "but that's okay, this'll keep you from runnin'," he purs.
.ೃ࿔*:･ thinking about mature!michael being, as usual, shy in front of all the camera’s. stuttered answers, ducking his head at a particularly invasive question, or fighting to repress a blush that threatened to creep onto his face. but you? god you adored the camera’s, the attention, the flashing lights — it thrilled you to your core.
.ೃ࿔*:･ so, anytime you and mature!michael would attend an event or award ceremony — you took the lead, answering every question assertively and confidently, a pretty, proud smile on your face as you cling to michael’s sturdy arm, who sported a shy smile next to you. he loved it really, seeing you so self-assured and grounded without having to try — your answers so secure and media-trained it had him fighting a smile every time.
.ೃ࿔*:･ he also loved the way you’d defend him no matter — willing to drop the poised and composed act to protect him. he would have to smirk, his amused face pointing straight at the floor in an attempt to hide it, as you snapped back at a prying reporter. “and what’s your sex life like? does michael leave you satisfied?” you’d scoff in pure disgust, clutching onto mature!michael’s bicep tighter, “every time — something your wife can’t say.”
.ೃ࿔*:･ in return, mature!michael would rush you home — lay you gently on his bed, ensuring your comfort and contentment was a priority. making sure to undress you gently, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he did so — “looked so gorgeous tonight, sweetheart” “i love it when you come to my defence so quickly — such a sweet girl aren’t you?” “wanted to taste you all night darling” followed by soft, feather-light kisses along every curve and service of your stark naked body sprawled out across the sheets for him.
ೃ࿔*:･ he’d take his time with you, ensuring every lick to your sopping slit and every suck on your aching clit was calculated, not stopping until you were literally speechless at the sheer volume of pleasure that coursed through your veins.
ೃ࿔*:･ but that was mature!michael’s plan all along — to make sweet love to your perfect body so good that it rendered you speechless. for him to be the talkative one and leave you at a loss for words. something you failed to do when at events. he loved to know that every flick of his tongue against your clit had you throwing your head back against the pillows, hands fisting the sheets and your mouth agape — moaning so loud he was certain everyone in new york would hear you.
ೃ࿔*:･ however, mature!michael’s favourite part of the night was when he first rocked deep into you — his impressively long, thick cock sliding inside your sacred cunt, sucking him in perfectly as he stretched you open inch by inch. simultaneously, he’d rub taut circles on your twitching nub with the pad of his thumb, stimulating you just enough to loosen your tight pussy up for his thick cock.
ೃ࿔*:･ he’d ensure your pleasure and enjoyment was at the top of his ‘to-do list’. literally. bottoming out so slowly it had you, even in your mild discomfort, begging for more — he’d refuse. “you did such a good job protecting me tonight, baby, let me make you feel good” “michael, pleas—“ “no, sweetheart, wanna take my time with you.” he’d whisper, pressing loving kisses over your face and jaw, an intimate display of his affection for you.
ೃ࿔*:･ soon, mature!michael would thrust into you, swiftly becoming quickened & deeper, more angled as his need for your pleasure to occur became stronger. his cock-end nudged the sweet spot inside you over and over again — having your jaw slack, lustful noises failing to leave your lips as you watched his cock, slicked in your essence, disappearing in and out of your clenching cunt, in awe of his ability to send you into ecstasy.
ೃ࿔*:･ he’d love to watch your mouth hanging open, eyes rolled to the back of your head as you failed to utter a single coherent sentence. “mm, sound so pretty, baby, tell me how good it feels.” the only response that met his ears was a series of curses and whines of pure arousal as his pace never faltered. “what was that, baby? have i made that smart lil’ mouth finally go quiet?” “c’mon, where’s my sassy lady gone, hm?”
ೃ࿔*:･ and mature!michael would only ever cum until you’d orgasmed around him first — coaxing a beautiful climax out of you, revelling in the way you screamed so intensely he was certain your voice would be gone so bad you wouldn’t even be able to sass the reporters if you tried. and once you’d come down from your high, your pussy now insanely slick with your cum now dripping down his tightened balls, you’d only speak to egg his orgasm on. “c’mon mikey, prove to those reporters how good this dick really is.”
ೃ࿔*:･ that’d send him over the edge, a needy groan leaving his swollen lips, glasses now loose on the bridge of his nose — his hands tightened around your hip as he rode out his high, filling you so deep, the feeling of his hot cum spurting into you had you speechless. again.
ೃ࿔*:･ “jeez, girl, gotta get you talkin’ feisty more often”
never fear — my usual writing style will stay if it’s loved, but just wanted to switch it up before i went to bed hehehe.
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
POV: You are a young lady in the 1930's who was hired by the Moore family to help around the house and be a nanny...but to your surprise, you may have to do more.
A/N: Okaaaay, I know I haven't wrote any fanfics in a while or just anything on Tumblr but I watched Sinners last night before bed and let's just say...my dream was very vivid. If this goes well, then I will make this a mini series.
Word Count: 3797
Pairing: ...
It was 1934 when young Y/N Carter stepped down from the train, the metal steps warm beneath her shoes from the relentless Mississippi sun. The air was thick with heat and the mingled scents of coal smoke, dust, and the faint sweetness of boiled peanuts from a vendor nearby.
She paused on the platform, eyes sweeping over the crowd — faces of every hue and shade moving with purpose, laughter mingling with the distant whistle of another train. Her hand smoothed the wrinkles from her maroon calf-length dress, the fabric clinging slightly in the damp air.
The worn handle of her suitcase pressed into her palm as she walked slowly forward, gaze darting left and right, searching. She was looking for someone in particular, though the sea of strangers offered no sign of them.
Then — a sharp pinch at her shoulder.
She turned quickly, startled, and her expression softened into a smile the moment her eyes found him.
“Little Sammie,” she breathed. The preacher’s son.
Only he wasn’t so little anymore.
The boy she remembered — all elbows and scraped knees — now stood tall, shoulders broad beneath a crisp white shirt that clung in the heat. His hair was neatly parted, though a few strands curled rebelliously at his forehead.
“Y/N Carter,” Sammie said with a grin, his voice deeper now but still carrying that easy warmth she remembered. “Ain’t thought I’d see you back here in my lifetime.”
She let out a quiet laugh. “Guess the Lord had other plans.”
Around them, the station platform swirled with noise — porters calling out, wagon wheels rattling over the boards, the faint hum of a blues tune drifting from somewhere down the street.
“You look different,” she said, studying him with a mix of surprise and nostalgia.
“And you look the same,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a little longer than polite.
Before she could speak, he reached for her suitcase. “Let me get that for you. Can’t have the preacher’s son lettin’ a lady carry her own burden.”
She hesitated only a moment before handing it over, her fingers brushing against his — a fleeting touch, but it sent a ripple of familiarity and something else… something unspoken between them.
“C’mon,” Sammie said, tilting his head toward the road. “Town ain’t changed much, but I reckon you have.”
And with that, they stepped off the platform together, the summer heat wrapping around them like an old secret.
Y/N and Sammie had grown up together in the warm, creaky pews of his father’s church, whispering during sermons and sneaking molasses candy under the hymnals. When her family moved to New York City, she’d cried herself to sleep for weeks, missing her old friend dearly. Letters kept them tethered over the years, though miles of rail tracks and city streets stretched between them.
Just last week, her world had tilted — the shop she worked at closed its doors for good, and she’d been left scrambling for a way to keep food on the table for her father and baby sister. Coming back to Clarksdale hadn’t been part of the plan, but desperation had a way of steering a person home.
As they crossed the dusty lot beside the station, Sammie kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. When they stopped, she followed his gaze to the gleaming automobile waiting there — polished deep black, chrome catching the sunlight like jewelry.
Her breath caught. Stenciled along the side in fine lettering: C.R. Patterson & Sons, The PG Automobile. She’d seen cars in New York, but nothing like this here in Clarksdale.
“Now, Sammie,” she drawled, narrowing her eyes at him, “who car you done stole?”
That laugh of his — warm and a little mischievous — bubbled up as he swung her suitcase into the backseat. “I ain’t stole nothin’. I borrowed it.”
“Borrowed?” she echoed, raising a brow.
Sammie just grinned wider, stepping around to open the passenger door with a little bow. “Ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she took his offered hand and climbed in. The seat was smooth beneath her fingers, smelling faintly of leather and motor oil. He closed the door firmly before hurrying around to the driver’s side, the sun flashing briefly in his dark eyes.
The car rumbled steadily down the dusty road leading into town, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cracked wooden storefronts. Sammie kept one hand steady on the wheel, glancing over at Y/N as they rolled past familiar sights — the old cotton gin, Mrs. Beasley’s general store, and the faded church steeple rising in the distance.
“So,” Sammie began, his voice easy but carrying a quiet weight, “how’s your pa doin’? And that baby sister of yours?”
Y/N’s eyes softened as she shifted in her seat. “They’re fine, thank the Lord. Pa’s still workin’ the fields when he can, and my sister’s just growin’ like a weed.”
She glanced at him, the smile fading a little. “How’s your ma and pa?”
Sammie’s hand tightened on the wheel for a moment before he answered, “My pa… he only talks to me on Sundays.”
Y/N’s breath caught. “Only Sundays?”
“Yeah,” Sammie nodded slowly, eyes on the road. “Pa don’t approve of the path I chose.”
She frowned, concern knitting her brows. “Why’s that?”
He shrugged, a flicker of defiance in his gaze. “I took to the guitar, playin’ what folks call the devil’s music.”
Y/N shook her head, regret flashing across her face. “I’m sorry, Sammie.”
“Don’t be,” he said, voice firm. “I made the right choice.”
Curious, she leaned closer. “How’s that?”
Sammie smiled, a slow, proud grin. “I’m workin’ at the juke joint now. Ten dollars a night.”
Y/N blinked, surprised. “Ten dollars… a night?”
He gave a quick nod, eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and grit.
They rolled into the heart of town, the car’s tires crunching on the packed dirt streets. As Y/N looked out the window, she noticed the town’s quiet but unmistakable division — on one side, a row of modest shops with hand-painted signs advertising goods for “Colored” customers, and just down the street, a separate stretch of storefronts marked “For Whites Only.”
Sammie quickly hopped out and opened Y/N’s door, his easy smile returning as he offered her a steady hand to help her out.
“Come on,” he said. “Let me show you around.”
They stepped toward the grocery store, its faded sign creaking softly overhead. Inside, Y/N’s eyes caught sight of a young Asian teen behind the counter, neatly dressed and focused as he scribbled on a notepad.
Sammie waved her over with a friendly nod.
“Y/N, this here’s Lisa,” Sammie said, turning to introduce them.
Lisa glanced up, offering a shy smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Y/N replied warmly.
Sammie leaned in a bit and asked, “Hey Lisa, is your pa around?”
Before long, a man appeared from the back — the same man from earlier, stepping forward with arms wide open and a welcoming grin.
“Well, well, well. Sammie done brung someone new around,” he said warmly, nodding toward Y/N.
Y/N returned the smile, feeling the warmth despite the hardships etched into the man’s weathered face.
Bo wiped his palms on his apron and came forward, the grin quick and practiced. Y/N offered her hand and he took it, his eyes flicking over her like a man cataloguing a fine thing — wide hips, a slim-thick frame, cocoa skin that caught the light from the front window. For a beat he was plainly taken aback.
Sammie followed his look and laughed, low. “Pretty, ain’t she?”
Bo cleared his throat, setting the handshake into a businesslike nod. “Yes, sir. She’s a fine-lookin’ lady.” He blinked, then slid back into seller-mode. “What can I do for you, Sammie?”
Sammie leaned on the counter, rattling off the reason. “I’m here for the juke joint order — you said you had that ready to drop off.” He glanced at Y/N, then added, “And I gotta pick up some groceries for my cousins — Smoke and Annie.”
“Right,” Bo said, hand already moving toward a ledger behind the counter like he’d expected the question. “I got it all boxed up up back, ready to go.” He gave a quick, warm smile. “Look around while I fetch it — I’ll give y’all a discount, too.”
They thanked him and turned away, moving toward the shelves to spare him the bustle behind the counter. From the corner of his eye, Bo watched Y/N with something like appreciation, his expression softening. He didn’t notice at first the way Lisa had gone still behind the counter, brow lifted, lips pressed as if to say something without the voice.
When Bo met his daughter’s look, something like a quick shame — or at least awareness — crossed his face. He set the ledger down and stepped toward the back of the store, hands busy now with crates and boxes, keeping his gaze deliberately to the work.
Y/N picked at the edge of a sack of flour, curiosity getting the better of her. “Who’s Smoke and Annie, then?” she asked, looking up at Sammie.
Sammie shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets as if the names were as ordinary as the dust on his shoes. “Smoke’s my older. Real name’s Elijah, but everybody calls him Smoke. Annie’s his wife.”
Y/N nodded, letting the names settle. Sammie’s mouth tipped in a crooked smile. “Smoke and his twin, Stack, they own the juke joint — runnin’ the nights down on Third. Good money if you can stand the hours.”
“And Annie?” Y/N prompted.
He hesitated a second, then answered quieter. “Annie’s… into folk work. Folks round here call it voodoo — charms, herbs, things like that. She keeps people right when they need it, an’ some say she don’t just stop at poultices.”
Y/N blinked, half-surprised, half-intrigued. “Voodoo?” she repeated, tasting the word like something both foreign and familiar.
Sammie shrugged again, a little defensive and a little proud. “Don’t mean nothin’ bad by it. Annie knows what she’s doin’. Folks come to her for prayin’ and for fixin’ bad luck. She makes a decent livin’, same as anybody.”
Lisa hovered nearby with a small stack of tins, listening with that quiet attention that made Y/N think she was taking all of Clarksdale in like a book. Y/N gave a small laugh, folding her hands over her knees. “Well. This town keeps its secrets, don’t it?”
Sammie nodded, eyes bright. “That it does.”
They moved toward the counter as Bo appeared with a crate already labeled for the juke joint, his easy smile back in place. The afternoon hummed around them — gossip and music and dust — and as Sammie settled the groceries into the back of the car, Y/N felt the town’s particular kind of gravity pulling at her: some things were worn on shirtsleeves, others tucked into pockets and whispered about after dark.
They climbed back into the car, the leather seat warm where the sun had pressed on it. Sammie slid behind the wheel and eased the engine to life; the little town hummed around them — a guitar wailing somewhere off in the distance, children playing stickball, the steady slap of a screen door down the block.
“So — the job?” Y/N asked before the silence could settle. “You said you got me somethin’. Is it at the juke joint?”
Sammie’s hand stilled on the wheel for a heartbeat. He shook his head, slow and deliberate, and a hush dropped between them that wasn’t quite comfortable and not quite secretive either. Dust motes spun in a stream of sunlight through the windshield.
Y/N leaned her head back against the seat and let the question roll around in her like a stone in a tin cup. She watched Sammie from the corner of her eye as he watched the road, his mouth quirking into a private smile that didn’t reach his eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased for her, proud of himself, or hiding something that would make her laugh or make her worry. For the moment, the answer stayed with him, folded into the soft rumble of the motor and the slow crawl of town outside.
They rolled down the narrow drive and the house unfolded before them — a two-story colonial, white paint sun-washed to a soft cream, a broad porch wrapped in shadow and supported by tall columns. Live oaks dotted the yard, their limbs knotted and patient, and a scatter of azaleas flanked the walk. The place sat on an acre like it owned the afternoon.
Sammie killed the engine. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the low hum of the motor and the whistle of a distant train. Y/N stayed seated a moment longer, the sight of all that space making something small and hungry in her chest beat faster. She stepped out of the car and ambled, fingers trailing the warm metal of the fender as if tracing a map. Sammie watched her go with a soft smile, then ducked back to the rear to grab her suitcase.
Y/N looked up at the home watching curtains blow out the open window, in her train of thought, until the sound of a loud horn made her turn around. Sammie was laughing at her as she rolled her eyes until the sound of the house door swung open. “Hey, what if the baby’s catchin’ some shut-eye? You know Smoke’ll have us both dangling if he gets wise,” said a tall black man walking out in a dress shirt, pin stripe trousers, and dress shoes. His eyes landed on the cocoa-skinned woman in front of him, tracing her entire frame- he smirked as he played with the toothpick that hung between his lips. He shaded his eyes with one hand, then took a proper look at Y/N, slow as a man reading a good line in a book.
His gaze ran over her — the hips, the slim-thick curve of her waist, the warm cocoa of her skin — and a smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. Sammie shifted a step forward, hand protective at his side. “This here’s Y/N Carter,” he said. “She just come back into town.”
The tall man cocked an eyebrow, nodding like he’d expected better or worse and found something in between. “Name’s Stack,” he offered, extending a big, work-worn hand. When Y/N took it, his grip was firm but not unkind. “Pleasure.”
Y/N lifted her chin and smiled, returning the handshake with the same steady politeness she’d learned sitting through long church visits. “Miss Carter,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Mr. —”
“Stack’s fine.” He tucked the toothpick back between his teeth and tipped his head toward the house. “Now, Miss Carter. What a pretty young thing like you doin' with us folks this afternoon.” His voice held the easy challenge of a man who’d seen a lot and liked testing new things to see how they’d hold up.
Sammie came up beside them, breath a little winded from the trunk, and gave the short version. “She’s come to help ‘round the place. Figured she’d fit right in.” Y/N kept looking—at the yard, the wide porch, the way light fell through the oaks—but Stack had already tuned everything out except the sight of her. He’d been to Chicago and back, seen plenty, but something about Y/N stopped him mid-thought. He straightened his tie like a man adjusting a picture to the perfect angle, eyes still tracking her.
“Sammie, get that car unloaded,” Stack said, voice smooth as oiled leather. He took a half-step closer to Y/N and allowed himself the kind of grin that said he liked what he saw. “I’mma show Miss Carter ’round the place. You cool with that, Miss Doll?”
“I don’t mind at all. That’d be real nice, but I oughta help my friend, see?”
“Aw, nonsense, doll,” Stack added before Sammie could answer, already sliding into the role he liked best. “Sammie Boy’s on the job. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be liftin’ a finger, no ways, doll.” Y/N glanced back toward Sammie, who was bent over the trunk, hands working but eyes never leaving them. He watched them like a steer ready to jump, a friend’s caution woven with something sharper.
Before she could step away, Stack’s hand came to rest at the small of her back, guiding more than directing. “Hey, I don’t bite, doll,” he said with a chuckle that brushed against the air between them. “Stick with me and I’ll keep you wrapped up tight—like you’re royalty.” Y/N smoothed the fold of her dress, finding her composure, and turned to follow where his finger pointed.
Stack fell into step a pace behind her, giving the impression he was leading while still treating her as something to admire. Sammie kept unloading, shoulders tense but patient, and Y/N moved forward with that careful mix of politeness and guarded curiosity—aware of the attention, aware of the promise of safety in Stack’s words, and aware, too, of Sammie’s watchful presence.
They wandered out into the backyard, the sunlight slanting through the oaks and catching on beds of blooms. Y/N drifted close to a row of bright zinnias and hollyhocks, fingers hovering over the petals as if she could memorize their scent by touch. Stack fell in beside her, voice low. “Those there’s Annie’s flowers. She’s got a green thumb now and then — that’s why the yard stays lookin’ so sharp.”
“They’re lovely,” Y/N said, turning to him. “If you don’t mind me askin’ — what’s your connection to Sammie and Smoke?”
He filled the space between them without ceremony, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. “I’m his baby brother, see? And Sammie — he’s my cousin.” His words landed easy, casual, but there was an edge to the way he watched her when he spoke.
She caught the scent of his cologne — a clean, smoky note with something sweet underneath — and took a quick step back to reclaim air and space. “Oh. So you’re in on the juke joint too, huh?” she asked, keeping her tone light.
“Sure do,” Stack said, looping slowly around her as if studying a painting. His eyes traveled the length of her, unhidden and unhurried. “You got any idea what you’ll be doin’ for work, then?”
Before he could answer, a familiar honk rolled over from the drive. Stack smiled, like the sound belonged to him. “I’d rather your boss tell you themselves, doll.” He offered his arm with the soft arrogance of a man who liked leading the way and watched Y/N’s hips sway in the breeze as she followed.
At the back door he eased it open for her. Inside, the house breathed a quieter life — framed photographs clustered on the mantel and side tables: babies with downy curls, a woman with dark, glowing skin and a laughing mouth, captured in every image as beautiful and fierce. Y/N let her gaze linger on the pictures, the faces folding into the place she’d come to know.
She watched Sammie unload the groceries until a deep cough startled her. Her eyes drifted toward the living room, where smoke curled lazily around someone’s head. The man sat in a blue armchair, facing them. When he stood, he adjusted his gray vest and looked directly at the pair. That’s when Y/N noticed—Stack and Smoke were twins, but she could easily tell them apart. Stack wore a warm, charming smile and was naturally talkative. Smoke, on the other hand, was colder, more serious, never once cracking a smile.
Miss Carter straightened up just as Smoke spoke. “You’re Y/N Carter, Sammie’s friend. I’m Elijah Moore,” he said, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on her face.
“Yes, Mr. Moore. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replied politely. “I hope I’m not being rude, but Sammie never mentioned the job, unfortunately.”
Smoke nodded slowly. “Good—that means he knows how to follow orders. Come on, while my wife’s out, we’ll go to the study.”
Smoke left Stack and Y/N alone, their eyes meeting for a moment before following him inside. Stack led the way, and Y/N saw the brothers settle side by side at a rectangular table—Smoke at the head, Stack to his left. She lingered at the opposite end, scanning the chairs. When she reached for the seat opposite Smoke, she caught his raised brow. Clearing her throat, she gently pushed the chair back and paused, noticing his steady gaze. If this was a test, she thought, she was already failing.
Stack stood and motioned to his own seat, silently inviting her to take it. Smiling, she thanked him and slid into the chair. As she settled in, Stack carefully pushed her chair in and took his place behind his twin.
Smoke placed his cigarette carefully into the ashtray beside him before fixing his gaze on Y/N’s face.
“Miss Carter, Sammie tells us you’ve got experience with children. Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And you’re able to cook and handle the household duties?”
Y/N glanced at Sammie, who stood silently in the doorway. Then she turned back to the twins and nodded. Before she could say anything, Smoke interrupted sharply, “Speak up, Miss Carter. We ain’t gonna get nowhere if you keep quiet. Understand?”
Taking a deep breath and folding her hands in her lap, she met his eyes. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Very good, Miss Carter. Now, Annie and I want to hire someone we can trust to watch the house while we’re gone. That means cookin’, cleanin’, runnin’ errands—but most important, watchin’ our ten-month-old upstairs, Angelina.”
Y/N sat straighter, stealing a quick glance at Sammie. This was the opportunity he’d promised. Being a “nanny” was just a polite way to say help around the house, but it was a chance. She thought briefly of her family back in New York and how much this could mean. Then Smoke spoke again, “We wanna offer ten dollars a week.”
The offer stunned her. Ten dollars back then was nearly two hundred now. She was about to respond when a cough came from behind Smoke. Stack gave a subtle thumbs-up, silently urging a higher offer. Y/N placed her hands flat on the table and said firmly, “Twenty.”
Stack smirked to himself.
Smoke raised an eyebrow, leaned back, and studied her face. She was serious. Her eyes searched his, unwavering. Quietly, he admitted to himself there was something about her that reminded him of Annie.
“Fifteen.”
She shrugged, tilting her head, “Twenty.”
“Seventeen.”
“Twenty.”
“Eighteen.”
Slowly, Smoke rose, standing close enough that their faces nearly touched. He didn’t expect Miss Carter to lean in as well.
“Twenty.”
Smoke clicked his teeth, his face unreadable, but if she had to guess, she thought she caught a slight smirk.
“Alright, Miss Carter. Twenty dollars a week it is. You’ll handle the cookin’, cleanin’, yard work, and watch over Angelina. Sammie’ll get you settled in your room,” Smoke said, nodding to Sammie.
Sammie gestured down the hall, and Y/N followed without hesitation, feeling Smoke’s eyes on her back as she left the room. Stack watched every curve disappear out of sight.
“She sure is a looker,” Stack said quietly. “You reckon she’s up to handle everything??”
Smoke’s gaze remained fixed on the hallway, as if she was still there. He was already thinking.
Unfortunately, your time with Elias was cut short once you hear a commotion outside the room. What could it be? Well..You’re in for a rude awakening. Part. 1
wc: 6,578
warnings: Cunnilingus (again yes hes a munch), thigh riding/dry humping, dom!Elias (yesssss), squirting, Elias is a lil mean at first but he’s so in love :(, jealous!Elias, overstimulation (r!receiving), blood, triple k mention unfortunately, death/violence, guns/weapons, Mary is HIGHKEY a villain (sorry for the mary slander i fw her), i think that’s it
an: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG GUYS!! I wrote it but then had to rewrite it kinda bc i messed the scene order up, it’s also not directly following the plot bc it works better this way, trust me. again i’m so so sorry for the wait! LONGEST FIC WOOHOO!!
feedback is always appreciated and welcomed! <3
Both you and Elias turn your heads towards the door, you feel yourself holding your breath in hopes of being able to hear the other side.
You can’t make out any words being said, but the sound of a scream is undeniable.
Elias and you quickly make yourselves presentable. You hold onto his clothed arm tightly as you both approach the door, but before you can open it, you hear countless rounds being shot continuously.
You yelp, and Elias pushes you behind him, your hold on his arm only gets stronger at the flurry of voices just a few feet away from you.
“‘Lias,” you whisper. He doesn’t look at you, instead reaching back, and squeezing your hip in response.
“Please…Be careful,” you’re nearly trembling behind him. Elias puts the arm that you’re holding on the doorknob, while the other wields his knife.
Elias then rips the door open, and the sight before you makes you feel sick.
A dead man, right in front of the door’s threshold, with blood pooling from his neck’s bitten arteries.
Then you see her—
Mary.
But now, she has crimson coating her lips down to the low collar of her dress. She has countless bullet holes in her body, yet she still stands as strong as a statue. Elijah stands a few feet in front of her alongside Sammie; the twin heaves and a mixture of frustration and anger is radiating from him.
Mary snaps her head in your direction and smirks as if nothing had even happened. You notice the glowing of her eyes, making you shrink even more behind Elias—if that’s even possible.
She does a double take between you and the Moore’s before speaking. “We gon’ kill every last one of ya,” she then sprints out of Club Juke faster than a jackrabbit.
The joint is empty, save for Annie, the Chows, Pearline, and Delta Slim, who run over to the scene.
“What the hell happened?” Annie exclaims. Sammie stutters out the events that occurred, but you find yourself tuning it out.
Mary had killed a man. But not with a weapon—no knife, no gun—but with her own teeth. That glow—that agility even after being shot up more than a hunted deer in the woods.
“We?”…She said "we?” Annie mutters. The thought makes you shiver.
More of those evil souls, with glowering gazes and monster-like movements.
How many were there? Were they just as strong as Mary? Stronger, even?
Your mind was going a mile a minute, as you pondered the endless possibilities of what these people things may have in store.
As if he could read your thoughts, Elias fully turns to you and grabs your upper arms. “Nobody gon hurt’chu, I’ll make sure o’ it,” he murmurs tenderly; he’s still firm and sure.
Elias has kept you towards the back of the joint, sitting pretty on the stage while everyone clambers about. You tried to explain to him that you weren’t some little girl who needed to be guarded, but Elias wasn’t hearing a word. His overprotectiveness both made your eyes roll and your heart flutter in your chest.
After sitting there long enough to make your butt hurt, you faintly hear a voice coming from outside the joint. You see Elias and Elijah share a look, before heading to the doors. Sammie almost immediately follows, holding onto Pearline’s hand; Slim, Grace, Bo and Annie reluctantly follow along.
The doors open and you hear Elijah talking to whoever resides on the other end of the threshold. You decide that sitting down isn’t in your best interest.
You’re getting up to stretch your legs—not because you can’t fight the urge to be nosy.
That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
The closer you get to the door, the more you start to pick up on the voice of the unknown individual.
You can tell it’s a man by the riveting baritone waves of sound. For some reason, his voice resonates within you. The familiarity of his tone nestles deeply between your bones and echoes inside of your skull, all you can feel now is pure, and utter confusion.
After finally getting close enough to peer out the door through the small herd of bodies, your breath catches in your throat. Your heart begins to pound wildly, and you press a hand to your frame in hopes of taming it.
The way that his eyes dart to you makes you feel as if he had a sixth sense dedicated to you. You knew that face all too well.
You almost missed the way that the pupils of his bright blue eyes flickered from a radiant red, back to their normal black shade.
Keyword: almost.
What you didn’t miss, however, was how his shirt, suspenders, and his chain were all caked in blood.
Fuck—was he one of them?
Your thoughts are interrupted once he speaks, “Mo ghrá..” He murmurs. The group parts like the red sea, making it so that you could see him clearly. You’d be lying if you said that hearing his sweet, breathy tone didn’t make your knees weak.
“My love..”
“Remmick..” You murmur, your voice not louder than a whisper in the wind. Your gaze is set on the Irish man, and you miss the confused, yet almost pained look written on Elias’ face.
Remmick’s grin grows tenfold, “I-I knew we’d cross paths again, darlin’.” Your face feels as if it were on fire as everyone looks between both you and Remmick, as if the two of you had grown two heads.
“Chaill mé thú, mo chuisle,” he murmurs, yet it sounds so much louder amongst the silence.
“I missed you, my pulse,”
You shake your head frantically, “No—no, you—you were gone, Remmick.”
Remmick tilts his head at you slightly and furrows his brows, “An-and I missed ya every damn day, darlin’. Believe me when I say that.” He puts his hands out as if he were trying to calm a startled animal.
You lip quivers and your eyes start to burn, your vision grows blurry, but you quickly blink your tears away.
“You’re the one I came for,” he chuckles breathily. “Yeah—yeah, you, a-and...” Remmick pauses once Sammie steps beside you, “Sammie,” he drags out sinisterly, his eyes shining red yet again.
You can’t help but shift and bring yourself in front of Sammie, almost as a way to protect the younger boy.
“I sensed you—I sensed you both. I want to see my people again.” It’s like Remmick was boring into your soul as he spoke. “I’m trapped here…But your gifts can bring them to me.”
Your gaze shifts to Elias, who stands next to his brother as they both keep a hand on their respective weapons. Remmick claps his hands together, diverting your attention back to him.
He did it on purpose.
“Y’all give ‘em to me, now,” Remmick’s tone feigns innocence, “Just give me a lil’ Sammie, and my lass—we’ll let y’all live.” His pleading sounds more threatening if anything. Elias tightens his grip on his dagger and looks at you both wearily and fiercely. It’s sure as hell not because his life was just threatened, and Remmick seems to take note of this.
Remmick cocks a brow at Elias and smirks, “Oh…You ‘n her?” He trails off, pointing his finger between you and Elias. He averts his attention back to you and chortles, “You done replaced me, baby?”
You furrow your brows with a sudden wave of anger, “No–don’t give me that. You were gone for years! Y-you left me!” Your voice grows, your agitation wraps around your words and seeps into the night sky.
“Yet my undead heart still beats for you, and you only.” He speaks slowly and squints his eyes at you, almost in disbelief at your defiance. His smile quickly returns to his face, but instead of making you feel warm, and fuzzy as it once did, it makes you feel nervous, and even scared.
“Y’know what? That’s alright, darlin’. Yeah…I hope he been lovin’ you the way you needed,” he pauses and damn near giggles. “‘Cause ole’ Rem is back now, baby. ‘N once I getcha, I ain’t fixin’ to leave ya, ever again.”
“That’s enough,” Elijah grumbles, before stepping in front of you. Your chest feels tight, and you hide yourself within the back of the group as they all stand next to Elijah, before you eventually walk back to the end of the juke joint.
“They belong to us—they belong with us,” you hear Slim state firmly.
“‘N I ain’t gonna let that happen.” Elijah spit.
There’s a tremble in your step as you inch closer to the wooden platform. You can practically feel Elias’ anger radiating all the way from the barn’s opening to where you sat—a jittering mess.
Would Elias think of you differently now?
In all honesty, you know you did no wrong. I mean, did he expect you to only keep yourself company while he was off doing God knows what with dozens of women every day in Chicago for seven whole years?
It’s not like you shared a bed with Remmick; the thought had crossed your mind once or twice, but no matter what, your heart still belonged to Elias.
A part of you truly wishes that you could’ve pushed your feelings aside to allow Remmick to love you in ways nobody had. He was one of the kindest spirits you’ve ever encountered, and you had always fancied his promises of eternal love and life.
You couldn’t stray too far from Elias, despite how hard you tried, your soul wouldn’t allow it.
The commotion dies down, but the sound of heavy, quick footsteps does not—unfortunately for you. You don’t even know why you’re worried, but your heart’s restless beating doesn’t falter for a minute.
You look up at him and his face shows more than just mild irritation. You can’t tell if Elias is mad at you—for whatever reason—or at the fact that his first night back in the Delta was ruined…Maybe it’s both?
“Y’told me I was the only man you been with? What–so you was lyin’ t’me?” Elias wastes no time in interrogating you. You can see the group looking your way behind Elias, but once they meet your gaze, they disperse. Elias clears his throat once he notices your attention diverted.
You scoff, “No, ‘Lias! When I said I only been with you, I meant it!”
“So what was that? He over here callin’ you baby ‘n shit for no reason, then?” He throws his hands up in disbelief, letting them then slap the sides of his thigh.
“Okay–yes I dated him! But me ‘n him didn’t do nun, believe me when I tell ya, Elias.” You say with a sigh of irritation.
Elias’ face darkens, you can both see and sense the new-found tension pulsing. “So..He ain’t ever touch this body of yours? That’s whatcha sayin?” He inches closer to you, making you stand up on the stage to somewhat match his height.
You look down at him slightly as your faces remain close together, “I ain’t a liar,” you whisper.
And with that, Elias grabs you by your waist, hoisting you off of the stage and over his shoulder. You paw at his back as you let out a squeal, which sounds more like a screech.
Nobody seems to acknowledge the pair of you heading back to the very same room you were in earlier in the night, or at least they choose not to speak on it.
Nobody but Elijah.
He saw the grip that Elias had on you as he walked, his stride oozing both confidence and exasperation.
‘One track mind, that boy’, he thinks to himself.
As much as Elijah wanted to scold his brother for fooling around at a time like this, he thinks that maybe it’d be best if Elias got some weight lifted off of his shoulders. Maybe then he’d be more willing to come up with a plan with the group rather than going outside and trying to fight some haint and his army.
So, Elijah glares at his twin brother’s back before shifting his focus onto his gun in need of loading.
You watch as Elias kicks the door shut, before suddenly, you’re laying on your back once again. You gasp at his abruptness, but Elias doesn’t utter a word.
“Elias,” you sound as if you’re begging, but you don’t exactly know what it is that you’re begging for.
He lowers himself down, resting on one knee as he pushes your dress up, similarly to how he did a few hours prior.
“Baby,” you whisper, trying to push his head away from in-between your legs.
“This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me,” Elias finally utters. “I wanna taste what he couldn’t have.”
And with that, Elias plunges his warm, hot tongue inside of you; he doesn’t tease, which is unlike how he behaved with you earlier.
Elias’ filthy actions are unabated, and your efforts in pushing him away by his shoulders never cease.
‘This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me’
Elias’ words echo throughout your damn-near empty mind.
And he wasn’t lying, because no matter how much you cry out to him for mercy and even forgiveness, he doesn’t let up.
You’re breathless as he continues to fuck your cunt with his tongue. You beg him for a second to regain your bearings, but you know that even if he’d attempt to stop, you wouldn’t let him.
“Mmf—‘Lias, please!” You mewl. “Please—please, please! Have m-mercy!”
The way his finger swirls around your sensitive bud sends your body into what feels like shock. You don’t even notice you’re crying until you feel the hot tears trail down your puffy cheeks.
You sniffle and babble weakly, and Elias chuckles. His rhythm feels ingrained into your brain; the way his tongue flutters in and out quickly as his finger pad rolls even quicker.
The heat between your legs is ever-growing, as well as the pulsing ache that ripples throughout your core. Your back muscles arch instinctively off of the table; you think your bellybutton might just touch one of the twinkling stars in the dark night sky.
It doesn’t take long for you to start reaching your climax, you couldn’t even hold it if you tried due to Elias’ earlier endeavors.
“‘Lias please—I can’t! I—” You hiccup through your sobs, “I can’t take no more!”
You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you start to see colors circulating through the darkness. You sniffle and cry feebly as you lie helplessly on the table.
“That right?” Elias questions you, and it’s the first words that he’s spoken to you in minutes.
You nod your head up and down vigorously as you continue to cry, and then
Elias stops.
You let out a broken gasp once the warmness of Elias’ face is replaced with an icy chill that you didn’t even think you’d feel in Mississippi.
“No! Nonono—‘Lias please, m’beggin’ ya!” Another sob rips violently through your chest, which feels like it’s been caved in.
Elias peers at you, his expression unreadable, “Thought’cha couldn’t take it?” You try to speak but all Elias can make out are jumbled words and sharp inhales. Elias sits you up, and for a second, you think he’s going to walk out.
But then he sits on the edge of the table and slides you onto his lap.
More specifically: one of his thighs.
You look at him teary-eyed as another droplet trickled down your face. He notices this, and slightly sticks his glistening tongue out, licking the teardrop clean from your face. He does it with little force—such little bite compared to how he obnoxiously slurped against you minutes before. You barely felt his tongue, but his breath fanning over the side of your face made you heat right up.
Elias kisses your neck, lightly, but still present. “I ain’t givin’ you nun else,” he murmurs as he trails up to your chin.
“Why?” You whisper meekly. “What’d I do, ‘Lias? Talk t’me.” Despite your given situation, you still spoke to him with such tenderness.
If he wasn’t trying to prove a point, Elias maybe would’ve even swooned, which is so unlike him.
You make him feel like a different man entirely. You don’t throw yourself at him like the other women he’s encountered—the ones that give themself away for cheap. Despite how shy you were around him, you still held yourself with so much confidence, never arrogance.
It made Elias want to chase you.
He would’ve if he hadn’t been away.
He would’ve if there wasn’t underlying fear in his heart. Fear that you moved on with someone else, someone different than him.
Or maybe you wouldn’t even want him.
God, that’s why he can’t even begin to describe the pure rage that surged through his heart once Remmick started speaking to you.
Such familiarity in his tone and even his eyes, he spoke about you like you were his.
Elias missed so much—missed so many birthdays and life-changing moments.
But that man—Remmick, he experienced who knows how many.
Elias Moore isn’t scared of much, but he’s scared of losing you. And that’s enough to kill him.
“If y’want it, take it.” Elias ordered.
You stare at him for a beat, beady eyes flickering left and right, mouth agape, and hands finding their place on Elias’ shoulders.
You roll your hips on his thigh, and he tightens the hold he has around your back. Your head feels so fuzzy, like it was filled to the brim with the purest pearly feathers. But Elias’ very presence kept you grounded in ways you didn’t know he could.
You roll yourself against his thigh again, finding your own rhythm. Elias didn’t press; didn’t make you go faster, didn’t force you to release.
He wanted you to take what you wanted from him.
Because he’d give you everything you’d ever want and more.
He knows this, and you’re starting to learn it.
You heave through your nose as you ride him, your hands wrap around his neck, if they’re clammy, he doesn’t mention it.
With a surge of confidence flowing through your veins, you clamber into Elias’ lap, grinding down on his growing erection.
“Mmn—hah, you feel so good, ‘Lias,” you whimper, your voice picking up in pitch.
You swear you hear something from outside, but you can’t find a reason as to why you should worry about that when you’re on top of the man you love—grinding on him so filthily.
Elias groans softly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to see the effect that you have on him. “Fuck baby..Yeah that’s it.”
Your clit bumps against Elias’ zipper, and you let out a throaty moan. His hands come down to slap your ass as you continue to press down on him. You feel his toned muscles underneath his shirt as your hands glide up and down his torso.
Elias’ belt buckle feels cold against your lower stomach; it’s such a stark difference from the warm pressure that resonates within you.
Your legs are sore and twitchy and your hip muscles start to tighten, you whimper at the slowed pace you have to push through.
“I gotcha, don’t you worry,” Elias pants, before quickly rocking you back and forth on his slacks. His tip prods at your inner thigh, you notice that he’s leaked through his pants. Neither of you seem to care.
His grip on you tightens, as he starts to bounce you onto his clothed cock, then rolling your hips into a circle.
“‘M so close—please don’t stop,” you rasp as a new wave of tears streams down your cheeks.
“I know—I know, honey, let go f’me.”
Your plans to stifle your moans are out of the window now as your bottom half starts to tingle in ways you’ve never felt before.
“W-wait! ‘Lias! I-I gotta pee!” you gasp in horror. “M’sorry! ‘M’so sorry!”
Elias’ eyes light up, and he bites his bottom lip as he bucks his hips up into you. “C’mon, sugar. ‘S’all right, gimme whatcha never gave him.” He smiles at you genuinely. Only Elias could grin at you so sweetly while thrusting through your’s and his clothing.
You pat at his chest desperately, “No! ‘Lias please! Y’aint listenin’!” You weep.
“Nah—‘M listenin’ baby, ‘n it sounds like this pussy’s ready to cum.”
Your jaw drops as you slam yourself against Elias’ cock, riding your high as your voice gives out. Your ears ring, and you can barely even hear your own cries.
“F—uck!” The yell rips from your throat.
Elias just watches you in awe, no doubt cumming in his pants at the sight of you.
His lap is soaked and his laughter makes you pinch your eyes open. Speaking of: your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you look at the mess you’ve made.
“Oh God—‘Lias ‘m sorry. I tried to hold it, I swear!” You frown at him, but Elias is beaming, his rosy cheeks are nearly touching his bottom lashes.
“Wh-what? Why’re ya smilin’? Elias I just-“
“Y’just squirted on me, sugar,” Elias marvels.
You pause, cocking your head to the side and furrowing your brows, like you’re trying to decipher his words.
“I-I ain’t ever done that before…Is it good?” You ask softly.
“Best thing I’ve ever seen in m’life,” Elias says through cheerful laughter.
You readjust your dress and roll your foot in your heels, making sure they’re snug. Just in case you need to run from something
“What’d we miss?” Elias boasts, receiving a sharp glare from Annie.
“Well, if you two weren’t foolin’ ‘round, you’d already know that we’re up against vampires.” Annie scolds the both of you; you can see Elias’ poorly-hidden smirk in the corner of your eye, making you bite down a grin. It quickly leaves your face once you notice Bo’s absence.
“They gotta be killed one by one.”
Delta Slim pipes up, “‘N how the hell we do that?”
“Sunlight—a wooden stake to the heart.”
“Why tonight?” Elijah asks angrily.
Sammie takes a step forward, “‘Cause of me.” You frown at him, but before you’re able to speak, he continues. “My daddy told me—he said the devil was comin’ on account of my music.”
“Now, Sammie, that is not true—“ you say with conviction.
“I had a gal once—vampire. She was light skinneded, too.” Slim smiles as you look at the twins in confusion. “Gal bit me everywhere but my neck,” he chuckles.
Then, his smile fades and is replaced with something far more serious. “Sammie…You don’t worry about a thing, hear?”
Sammie’s posture shows his guilt and his fear taking a hold of him. Slim holds his gaze as he speaks, “Devil done came for me plenty of times. If he come knockin’ tonight…He gonna have to go through his old friend Delta Slim ‘fore he get to you. That go for everybody in here—you too.” He says as he turns to you. You smile sweetly at him despite the shake in your knees.
Unfortunately, it’s not from your intimacy with Elias.
Everyone looks at one another, solidifying Slim’s words of protection.
You keep your place next to Elias as everyone disperses. “‘Lias..” You whisper. He turns to you as you speak. “W-what if they get me—what if he gets me? I-I don’t wanna turn—“ Your voice rises as panic takes over your features.
His warm hand goes up to cup your face, stretching from your ear to the side of your neck. “Lemme tell y’sum, sugar,” he murmurs. “Nobody is takin’ ya away from me. Not him, not anybody—ever. Understand?”
You inhale deeply as you nod your head up and down timidly. His thumb presses to the side of your eye, wiping the tear that you didn’t even know had fallen.
Looking into his eyes feels as if you’re in a trance, and you think back to the electrifying moment you had when you were dancing on stage for him.
A scream rips through the building and interrupts your thoughts. “Sammie! Smoke! Stack!” The voice—who you figure out is Pearline—yells.
Everyone gathers to where Pearline stands, and there lies a man pooled in his own blood.
“Well, this had to have been Mary, right?” Grace asks apprehensively.
“Nah. She ran straight out. You saw them.” Sammie says breathlessly.
“Well who bit him then?” You and Grace ask simultaneously.
Elias turns to his brother, “We gotta get him out before he wakes up.”
The twins quickly drag the man to the door, heaving him through the dirt and gravel. You peer out from inside the joint with Sammie, almost as if you both were on look-out.
“C’mon.” Elijah beckons Elias as he starts to head inside, but he stays still.
Elias holds his hand out, motioning for Elijah to stop. “You don’t hear that?” You can’t see his front, but you know for certain that he’s scrunching his face up. You look at Sammie as you both listen to the sounds intertwined with the wind.
That’s when you hear it
Hear him.
“Leave where I was born,” you faintly hear Remmick singing.
“They playin’ music,” Sammie mutters.
“I cut a stout blackthorn.” Thunder rumbles and shines in the sky as he sings.
It leaves a bad feeling in your chest.
For to banish
Ghosts and goblins
You see a circle being formed, full of those vampires, but Remmick’s eyes are clearest as he stands in the middle of the forming ring.
A brand-new pair of brogues
To rattle over the bogs
His song seeps deep within your bones—words flowing through your rib-cage.
And frighten all the dogs
“Hey—hey.” Elijah taps Elias on his chest as he alerts him with a lowered tone. “Let’s get back inside.”
On the rocky road
To Dublin
‘C’mon.” Elijah ushers his brother inside.
One, two, three, four, five
Sammie side-steps Elijah as you reach out for Elias.
And with that: the door is slammed shut, the man is left outside, and Remmick begins to plague your mind.
Everyone looks around at one another without speaking.
“We all gonna eat this clove of garlic,” Annie says with persistence.
“No can do,” Elias shakes his head as he speaks.
“‘N why the hell not?” Annie nearly snarls at the brown-eyed man and his careless attitude.
Elias smirks, “Y’see now..Garlic don’t mix well w’pussy, aint that right Smo—“
You smack his chest with force, “Elias Samuel Moore!” You exclaim. Slim chokes out a laugh, and Grace turns her head, no doubt hiding a smile.
Annie sighs frustratedly, and Elijah doesn’t speak a word. His eyes just flicker between the group; you think he’s in his soldier-mode.
“..I don’t much like the taste of it,” Pearline peeps, glancing around wearily.
Annie snaps her head in Pearline’s direction, “Ain’t nobody saying y’all gotta like it.” She scoffs as she chews on the garlic clove, handing the jar over to Elijah. “We just gotta figure out if any of us left is one of them.”
Elijah passes the jar to Grace, who quickly grabs the garlic. “You ain’t get nun of the pickled ones?” She quirks a brow, voice somewhat muffled from the mouthful of garlic. Elias snorts beside you, and you nudge his arm in return.
Grace carefully hands the half-filled jar to you. You stick your thumb and index finger into the jar, plucking a clove out and handing the rest to Elias.
You grimace at the taste that floods your mouth, and now you do wish that Annie got the pickled ones. You turn your head to Elias, who almost looks apprehensive about eating one, but as soon as he meets your eyes, he flicks it into his mouth.
You blink at him before sticking your tongue out, showing him that you’re finished. It takes him a second to do the same; handing the jar to Pearline while still facing you.
“This is ridiculous,” Pearline blurts with annoyance. And without missing a beat, Elijah pulls his gun out and aims it directly at the girl’s head. You gasp, and Elias holds your arm, keeping you from doing anything you’ll regret. “Pearline.” You plead.
“Smoke—put the gun down,” Sammie nearly squeaks.
“Shut up.” Elias demands without even looking at his cousin. “Eat, or I’ll shoot.”
“Put the gun down Smoke, she ain’t no damn vampire,” Sammie contends.
“How the hell you know that?” Elijah deadpans.
“Just eat the damn garlic girl,” Grace warned.
You know Elias isn’t going to try and stop his brother, after all, Elijah’s just trying to protect his family in the best way he knows how. You admire it, but it also scares you knowing he’s damn-near just as reckless as Elias.
Elijah turns the safety off on his gun with a click, making Sammie panic, and everyone else observes in disbelief. Sammie butts in again, and his interruption unfortunately gets him hit in the nose with the butt of Elijah’s gun. He holds his nose in pain, and you cast a sympathetic glance in his direction, though he isn’t able to see it.
Elijah looks at Sammie for the first time, “Tryin’ to keep ya alive boy, you ain’t t’question me.” His southern drawl makes it all the more menacing as Sammie groans beside him.
You wait with baited breath, hoping that Pearline will just listen and pick from the jar in Elias’ hand.
“You a evil man,” She shakes her head and huffs. Pearline grabs the glass and pulls a piece out, almost sizing up Elijah. “No wonder the devil come f’us.” She chews reluctantly before giving the garlic to Slim.
He eats the clove and a tense wave of silence washes over the room. Suddenly, Slim covers his mouth and backs up coughing. Elijah points the gun in Slim’s direction as Annie inches behind him, and you’re no different with Elias as you grip Grace’s wrist.
“Slim—what’s goin’ on man,” Elijah says with simple directness.
Slim’s throat rumbles as he starts to thrash around, groaning and mumbling unintelligiblely.
“What’s goin’ on, Slim?” Elijah asks again, his voice raising into a yell as he now wields a thick wooden dagger. Slim pounds on his chest wildly and you continue to cower alongside Grace.
Slim’s head is down as he puts his arms out in a pleading manner, “I drank too much,” he grumbles. “That goddamn beer from Chicago—my nerves all fucked up, Smoke,” Slim rasps, gesturing to his face.
“Oh—fuck,” you sigh with relief, letting go of Grace; she still has concern written all over her face.
Everyone calms their racing hearts once Slim straightens up. “I’m fine,” he reassures. “See?” He holds his arms out almost triumphantly.
“You sure that was blood?” Annie asks Elijah, and you look at him, waiting for some sort of answer as to what Annie’s implying.
The group watches Elijah go over to the near-forgotten puddle of blood and gather it on his fingertips. He sniffs it, and you can’t help but recoil—and Elias can’t help but snicker it seems. Everyone waits for Elijah to speak, but he doesn’t. No surprise there, though But he does grab a seemingly empty beer bottle from under a table.
You hear the door rattle, and you quickly turn your body towards the noise. Elias walks in front of you just as quickly.
There’s banging on the door as someone shouts, “Hey—hey, Smoke, let me in, man.” Elijah looks up from his crouched position. “Smoke? Stack? Let me in!”
His muffled voice grows more desperate, as well as his knocking. “Smoke, I swear I paid my tab, man.” He pants. “That’s what this about?”
The knocking grows more frantic by the second, and you’re almost worried that the door’s hinges may falter.
“Stack! Hey, Stack! Whatever y’all need, man!” The man pleads. “Smoke! Some weird shit goin’ on our here, Smoke!” He begs helplessly.
The twins share a quick glance before inching towards the door. “Smoke, let me in! Smoke, let me in!” He hollers as he bangs on the door ferociously.
Elijah rips the door open, gun in hand, with Elias standing beside him with his dagger. Soon as the door opens though, the man is tackled to the ground.
He was tackled by Cornbread.
“What the—oh shit,” Smoke exclaims from his spot in the doorway as he now aims at the rustling heap on the ground.
“Get off me!” The man screams as Cornbread rips the skin from the side of his face clean off.
“Close the door, c’mon!” Annie yells over the loud squelching noise. But before everyone can clamber behind the door, Grace rushes to the frame.
“Wait!” She pants. “Bo.”
That’s when you see none other than Bo Chow, strolling up to the joint as if a man wasn’t being murdered a few feet away from him.
“Hey, baby,” he greets Grace, not even sparing a glance to anyone else. “Come on outside, I got the car started. Let’s go—c’mon.” He nods his head towards the parked car.
You place your hand on Grace’s upper arm as she examines Cornbread on top of the flailing man, your touch serving as an anchor for her.
“What is it, Grace?” Bo tilts his head at her, gathering her attention once more.
Her voice breaks as she speaks, “He’s killin’ him.” And that’s when Bo finally acknowledges the horrific scene in front of him.
“Oh, ya talkin’ ‘bout that?” He’s almost smirking at her. “Don’t worry ‘bout Cornbread—he’s just a lil hungry, ‘s all. Let’s go.” Cornbread growls before standing up.
Grace gasps as Bo presses her, “C’mon!” Cornbread snarls next to him. “C’mon ‘n go! I got the car all warmed up.” He grins and puts his hands on his hips before sighing once he notices Grace’s hesitation.
“Don’t do it, Grace,” you whisper to her, hoping to refrain her from going with him.
Bo strolls up to the door, “Or…” He puts his hand on the other side of the frame. “You let me back in there, and I’ll come in—we can grab our things..” He pauses.
You then notice his irises changing to a sinister silver color.
It wasn’t human.
“Don’t listen to him,” both you and Annie say firmly.
“Grace, we’re gonna find a way out of this, I promise.” Elijah declares, not lowering his gun from Bo’s chest for even a second.
“It’ll be okay,” Elias reassures her.
“I am your way out.” You flinch once you hear Remmick’s voice.
He walks up next to Bo as Elijah tightens the grip he has on his gun. “This world already left you for dead. Won’t let ya build. Won’t let ya fellowship.” He gestures with his hands.
“We will do just that,” he softens his voice—like he’s bargaining. “Together. Forever.” He tilts his head, feigning innocence.
Bo speaks up, “It’s better this way, baby. So why don’t ya go ahead—invite us in.” His smile is long-gone.
Remmick steps forward, “Y’should listen to ‘em, Grace. Or listen t’me. ‘Cause I know everything he knows now. And I want ya to let us in there.” His eyes shine red yet again, and a shiver crawls up your spine like a spider’s legs.
“Or we gon’ go to the grocery store—we gon’ pay little Lisa a visit.”
Grace yells as both you and Annie hold her back; she sobs as everyone holds her frantically. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
“Oh, yeah, Grace. I know everything now.” He smirks at her, beginning to speak Taishanese.
You have no idea what he’s saying, but you know for certain it’s nothing good with the way Grace crumbles in your arms and Remmick’s voice is now sweetly saccharine.
Then, you hear footsteps coming from the right, and you see Mary’s heels before you see her.
“You ain’t safe here. No matter how many guns, or how much money…They gon’ take it from ya when they want.” Remmick’s teeth are on display as he speaks.
“Ya built sum here tonight ‘n it was beautiful. But it was built…On a lie.” This catches both Elijah and Elias’ attention.
“Hogwood, well he’s the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. That’s his motherfuckin’ nephew.” He points to a man who has his arms around a woman, both covered in dried up blood. Speaking of blood: you feel yours run cold once you hear Remmick’s declaration.
You should’ve known it was too good to be true. Of course the twins were well known in the Delta, but being able to get a place like this so soon? You’re not surprised it came with a price.
If only Elias had told you sooner.
“‘N they was always gon’ kill you. I just happened to show up at the right place at the right time.”
Mary comes up from behind Remmick, standing next to him and gazing at Elias. “He’s tellin’ the truth, Stack. I can see his memories.”
Elias’ shoulders tense up as soon as she speaks to him, and you’re no different.
“Stack, that ain’t Mary.” Slim says wearily.
“This wasn’t no juke joint,” Mary smiles cockily, “No club. This here’s a…Slaughterhouse.”
“It’s a goddamn killin’ floor.” The white man from before says.
The woman in his arm finally speaks, “But what Uncle Hogwood don’t know is we’re gonna start ourselves a new clan—based on love.” She laughs, putting her hands in the air.
“Now that we got numbers, we’ll probably go over to that bigot ‘n rectify him, too.” Remmick sighs blissfully.
“Why can’t y’all just leave,” Annie begs.
“‘Cause we’re not leavin’ without y’all. We’re family—even you, sugar.” Mary chirps, turning her head towards you. Elias’ jaw tightens. “I know it sound crazy, but after we kill y’all..We gon’ have heaven right here on Earth.” The gaggle of vampires behind her let out hums of agreement.
The man that Cornbread killed groans from his position on the ground. Remmick chuckles and waves to him.
Mary steps forward, her sights set on Elias. “Hey—hey, look at me,” she smiles.
“The Mary I know ain’t fellowshipping with no goddamn devil,” you squint at her; as much as you didn’t like Mary, you weren’t dumb.
“Fuck you, it is me!” Mary barks. “‘N I’m talkin’ to Stack right now, sugar…So I’mma kindly ask you to shut the fuck up.”
As soon as the words leave her stained lips, you reach for the dagger in the holster under your dress.
“No—no.” Elias grabs you, tucking you into his chest and holding your arms close to you.
“We was never gonna be free. We been runnin’ around everywhere, lookin’ for freedom. You know damn well you was never gonna find it.” Mary chides.
“Until this—this is the way. Together. Forever.” Mary leers at Elias. “I ain’t doin’ this without ya. There is no me without ya.”
You freeze, hearing Mary’s declaration of love for Elias. She spoke to him like you weren’t even there.
And what makes matters worse?
Elias’ response determines everyone’s fate.
If he goes, there’s a chance they may leave you all alone, and you know for a fact: Elias is the type to sacrifice himself for his family.
That alone terrifies you.
Elijah and Annie close the door, you turn around in hopes of consoling Elias, but before you can get a word out, he brings you into his arms.
“Nobody’s takin’ ya away f’me, ‘n nobody’s takin’ me from ya.”
prguitarman
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
