The Smoke You Want; The Smoke You See
Smoke x black reader x Stack ( Scream AU )
Description: October doesnât feel like fall anymoreâtoo hot, too alive, too full of ghosts wearing familiar faces.
You thought it was just another Halloween party.
You thought you knew the man behind the mask.
A/n: I wouldnât say this is rush, but it also kind of is and itâs definitely not betaâd. But yall know the drill. I kinda hate it actually lmao but here. Whatevz. Hopefully there arent too many errors and shit makes sense, since I wrote half of it in my notes and the other half on Tumblr on my phone đđ«
Octoberfest Masterlist | Masterlist
October in California never felt like fall to you.
The air still clung to summerâwarm, dry, faintly sweet. Pumpkins sat out on porches under palm trees, candles melted too quickly, and the wind only pretended to cool the nights down. An âIndian summerâ is what everyone called it, though you never knew why despite hearing it your whole life.
You and Smoke were curled up on the couch, windows cracked, TV flickering between horror classics and news reports. The room smelled like cinnamon and burnt popcorn. His arm was thrown lazily across your waist, heavy and warm, his thumb idly tracing small circles against your skin.
âYou ever notice how all these movies start the same way?â he murmured.
âHow?â you asked, voice half-muffled by the blanket.
âSomebody thinkinâ they safe,â he said, a slow grin spreading. âThinkinâ monsters only live on screen.â
You laughed, swatting his chest. âThatâs the point, babe. We watch scary movies so the real world feels normal.â
Something flickered across his faceâtoo quick to name. A shadow. Then he kissed your temple. âYeah,â he said softly. âNormal.â
Heâd been strange all month.
Not bad-strange, just⊠off. Jumpier when the sun went down. Overly cautious about locking doors. Sometimes, when the news mentioned those Halloween killings upstate, heâd turn the volume down and stare at the screen like he could see straight through it.
You chalked it up to stress and trauma. You knew he had been through a lot growing up. His father abusing him and his mother, to his father murdering his mother âevery now and then heâd mention it but only in half sentences. âthey never caught him, but I know heâs gone. U know he suffered.â was all he ever said.
You told yourself it was him speaking about karma. It was something you talked about believing in a long time ago. How everyone always gets there comeuppance. So that had to be it.
Later that night, after dishes clinked in the sink and the smell of takeout lingered, you caught him standing at the window, staring out into the street.
âElias?â you called softly.
He didnât turn. âJust lookinâ,â he said, voice low.
âNothinâ.â He shook it off as if it were nothing, he was merely daydreaming.
The street outside was empty except for a single black hoodie hanging from a lamppostâHalloween decoration maybe, fluttering in the breeze. You pressed your hand to his back. His muscles were tense, solid as stone.
âYou sure you okay?â you asked.
He nodded once. âYeah. Just⊠October always feels like somethinâs waitinâ to happen.â
You smiled faintly. âMmm like thereâs a masked murderer on the lose, gunninâ just for you?â
He laughed, tension breaking. âYeah, somethinâ like that.â He pulled you closer, chin resting on your shoulder. âYou know I love you, right?â
âYou tell me enough,â you teased.
âYeah,â he said again, quieter this time. âBut I donât say why.â
You turned, meeting his gaze. âThen tell me.â
He hesitated. For a second, the mask slipped. His eyes were darkânot just deep brown, but hollowed, haunted.
ââCause you make me forget,â he said. âYou make me feel like Iâm somebody else. Somebody better.â
The words hung between you, too heavy for a night that shouldâve been light. Before you could answer, he leaned in and kissed youâslow, grounding, desperate.
You felt him shake against your lips. Just a tremor. But enough to notice.
You wanted to ask forget what?âbut you didnât.
Because the night was too warm, and he was holding you too tight, and touching you as if it were the last time.
The next morning, the light came soft and gold through the blinds. You woke before he did, tangled up in his arms, his breath steady against your neck. For a moment it was perfect-warm, safe, ordinary.
Then you felt him twitch.
Not the sleepy kind of movement. A full-body jolt, like someone startled awake mid-nightmare. You turned in his arms just as his eyes snapped open.
"Hey," you whispered. "Bad dream?"
He blinked, then shook his head. "No. Just... thought I heard somethin"
You didn't. The apartment was still except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of a distant lawnmower.
He got up, shirtless, tattoos catching the sunlight, and walked to the window. You watched his shoulders tighten.
He didn't smile. Just stared out at the street until you came up behind him and slipped your arms around his waist.
"It's just the neighbors hangin' decorations," you said. "Halloween's next week, remember?"
"Yeah," he murmured. "Hard to forget."
He stayed like that for a while, silent, his heartbeat heavy under your ear. Then he pressed a kiss to your forehead and forced a grin.
"We goin' to that party?"
"You mean the one you swore you didnât wanna go to because Kesha was hosting it this year ?" you teased.
"Yeah, well. I changed my mind."
You smiled up at him, but something in his eyes didn't match the easy tone. They looked... resigned. Like he'd already made peace with something he couldn't tell you.
A few days later, while vacuuming, you find a mask under the bed - white rubber, black-hooded, the stretched mouth of Ghostface. It smells faintly of smoke and metal. When you hold it up, Smoke laughs, maybe too loud.
"It's for the party," he says. "Thought I'd surprise you."
After all he did didnât know that Scream was your favorite scary movie franchise.
Halloween night arrived like it had been waiting for you.
The street shimmered in orange and purple lights; jack-o'-lanterns glowed crooked grins on porches, and the air smelled like cheap fog machines and caramel. Music thudded from a few blocks downâ friends, costumes, a chance to forget Smoke's mood these past few days.
He didn't dress up at first. Said he wasn't in the spirit. But you caught him watching you from the doorway as you adjusted your costume in the mirrorâa little black dress, a mask with glitter edges, and a devil tail that made him smile in spite of himselt.
"You sure you wanna go?" he asked, voice low, lazy.
"You sure you don't?" you teased. "Could use some fun. It's just one night."
"Yeah." He looked down at his hands. "Just one."
You didn't notice the small black duffel by the couch when you left. You didn't see him zip it shut.
The music hit you before you reached the porchâbass rattling through your ribs, laughter spilling out into the October night. Someone had gone all-in on the decorations: cobwebs in the hedges, fake tombstones on the lawn, a skeleton slouched in a lawn chair with a beer in its hand.
Smokeâs hand rested at the small of your back as you climbed the steps. âYou sure about this?â he asked, half-smile tugging at his mouth.
âUh uh nigga donât start. We already hear, you the one who called and told me to wait for you. â you reminded him, as he held the door open for you chuckling. Heat, noise, perfume, and spilled beer rushed out to meet you as you pushed through the sea of people.
Doechiâs âSpookie Coochieâ slapped âbass deep enough to make the walls breathe, the smell of liquor, beer, perfume, sweat, and plastic from dollar-store cobwebs. Costumes ranging from gory to slutty. You were already laughing when Smoke tugged you through the foyer of the giant house, the one everyone in the small town somehow ended up at every Halloween. The night outside had that California warmth that refused to die, but inside it felt like August in hell.
âOh itâs lit in here,â he said yelling over the music .
When you turn back, heâs there â black hoodie, Ghostface mask gleaming. The crowd whoops as he lifts a plastic knife in greeting. The Halloween party throbs with bass and sweat. Orange lights pulse over the crowd.
You laughed shaking your head as yall headed to get a drink.
Smoke hovered near you at first, mask pushes up to the top of his head, one arm slung easy around your shoulders, eyes scanning every mask that passed.
âRelax,â you said, grinning up at him. âYou look like security, not my man.â
âMaybe Iâm both,â he muttered, but his smile didnât quite reach his eyes.
You lost him sometime after your second drink. A friend dragged you onto the dance floor, lights strobing orange-purple across fake cobwebs and half-deflated balloons. Someone spilled cider down your arm; you laughed it off. Somewhere behind you a Ghostface brushed past, robe whispering against your leg. There were a dozen of them tonightâno reason to think twice.
By your fourth song and third drink, you were glowing with sweat and sugar, everything soft around the edges. When the same Ghostface appeared againâtall, broad shoulders, the robe hanging familiarâyou just smiled.
âTook you long enough,â you teased.
No answer. He only tilted his head, knife prop glinting in the light.
âOh, weâre doing the whole act now?â
A nod. Then a gloved hand sliding to your waist.
He smelled like Smoke. Same cologne, same low heat rolling off his body. The voice behind the mask when he finally spokeâlow, distorted by fabricâmade your pulse skip.
âCome on,â he said. âLetâs get outta here.â
You laughed, half-tipsy, half-thrilled, and followed him upstairs. The hallway was quieter, the music a heartbeat below your feet. You thought about the first time Smoke had kissed you, that same quiet gravity before everything spun.
He closed the door behind you. The room was dim except for the orange glow from a plastic pumpkin lamp. The mask gleamed white in the dark.
âYouâre takinâ this horror thing serious,â you joked, leaning back against the door.
You think itâs the costume, the night, the adrenaline. Something in him feels unfamiliarâhungrierâbut you like the danger humming beneath the surface. When you reach for the mask, he catches your wrist.
âDidnât know we were role-playing,â you whisper.
âGo with it,â he says, voice low, distorted through the mask.
He stepped closer until you could feel his breath through the mesh. The mask lifted just enough for you to see his mouthâfamiliar curve, faint scar on the lipâand then he kissed you. Harder, hungrier than usual. The plastic edge pressed cool against your cheek; his hands found your hips, rough and sure. You tasted beer and heat and something metallic that shouldnât have been there.
For a second you pulled back.
Your heartbeat tripped. The room tilted; maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was him. You let the mask drop back down and reached for him anyway. The next few minutes blurred into motionâhis breath against your throat, the faint rasp of gloves against skin, your body remembering what to do even while your mind floated somewhere between excitement and wrongness. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât like the thrill of fucking in a semi public place, the adrenaline of almost being caught egging you on. The confusion melted into surrender, heartbeat pacing with his, until everything went quiet except for the sound of the mask shifting when he bent to your ear.
Something in his toneâlow, commandingâsent a shiver down your spine. You told yourself it was Smoke playing around, that it was fine, that you liked the game.
He kissed you harder. His hands were rougher, less careful, tracing the outline of your costume, gripping your hips like he needed to feel proof you were real.
The front buttons of your nurse costume completely open leaving your lace bra and matching panties on full display. They panties were crotchless, a gift you had for Smoke later, but now what a much better time considering how turned on you were.
There was nothing left but heat. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the thrill of not knowing what heâd do next. You let yourself drift into the rhythmâhis breath, your heartbeat, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath you.
âFuck, y/n.â He groaned as he bottomed out. Thumb lazily drawing circles on your clit as he adjusted to the feel of your walls around him.
When he whispered your name, it sounded almost right. Almost. You told yourself the roughness was part of the game, that the little differences were just adrenaline. Because the stretch of him was always welcomed.
The filth he whispered in your ear as he pounded into you had you cumming almost instantly.
The world narrowed to motion and soundâthe thud of music below, the brush of fabric, the muffled rasp of his breathing behind the mask. Every time you thought heâd stop, he pulled you closer.
It ended in a blur of breath and heartbeat. You collapsed against him, laughing softly, dizzy from the rush.
âYouâre insane,â you murmured, smiling against the mask.
âYouâre crazy,â you murmured, smiling against the mask, playfully hitting his chest. âTake the mask off already.â
He didnât move. Just straightened it.
You frowned, still smiling. âSmoke?â
Then a noise â a door hitting a wall â cleaves the silence.
A voice you know, raw and terrified:
âYoâ what the hell is this?â
The figure pressed against you stiffens. You twist toward the sound. The door burst open; another Smoke stands in the doorway, no mask, eyes wide as a mirror.
âWho theââ you begin, but the man behind you laughs, low and delighted.
The figure beside you turned, slow, measured. The mask lifted completely this time, and in that instant you saw it wasnât Smoke at allâsame face, same mouth, but colder, amused. For a second your mind refuses to split them; the room doubles.
âTrick or treat,â Stack said softly.
"Stack," says Smoke, voice breaking.
"Iâm hurt you didnât tell her about me."
The knife that had looked like a toy catches light-real, wet, wrong. You back away, the walls tilting.
âSmoke, what the fuck is going on?â Voice barely above a whisper as Smoke cautiously moves closer positioning himself between you and his twin. ïżŒ
âEverythingâs gon be okay baby,â Smoke says voice low.
âLiar.â Laughed, his identical counterpart.
Smokeâs jaw flexed. âYou shouldnât be here.â
âI couldnât let you have all the fun bruh.â Stack smiled, manly knife in his hand, twisting back-and-forth, blade catching the light.
ïżŒ Smoke didn't answer right away, just kept his eyes on Stack, tone sharp but strange, too steady. "Put the knife down. You don't want this to go bad."
Stack's grin widened. "Oh, I think we do."
"Let her go." Smoke's voice rose, half-pleading, half-command. "You don't need to do this."
"You always say that," Stack murmured. "But you never mean it."
You pushed past the confusion, clutching Smoke's sleeve. "Smoke, please-we have to go! He- we need the police. Keshaâs boyfriend is here letâs just get him and go!"
He kept his eyes on Stack, hand tightening around yours. "Put the knife down. Don't make me do something stupid."
Stack laughed, low and delighted. "You already did."
The tension in the room pulled tight. Music from downstairs trembled through the floorboards, a warped heartbeat. Smoke stepped sideways, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
"Stay behind me," he said, voice sharp.
You believed him. Panic surged; you looked toward the door-open, your way out. âFuck this!â
Smoke moved first. The slam of the door shook the frame, the sound cutting clean through the music, causing you to flinch.
His palm stayed flat against the wood.
You took that half-second as an opening, turned toward the door, heart pounding. "Smoke, come on-let's go!"
"Baby," Smoke said, voice almost gentle, almost pleading. "I canât let you do that."
He swallowed hard, eyes never meeting yours. "I can't let you go. Not now."
Stack chuckled behind you, the sound low and delighted. "Told you she'd run. They always do."
You blinked between them, backing as far away from both of them as possible, a chill crawling up your spine. âSmoke⊠whatâs happening?â
Neither answered. Stackâs laugh filled the space insteadâsoft, delighted. âShe still doesnât get it.â
Smoke crossed the room slowly. Every step was measured. The mask lay between them on the floor, its hollow eyes staring at the ceiling. He stopped in front of you, reaching out to brush his thumb along your cheek. The touch was tender, almost reverent.
âI wanted this to last,â he said. âYou made me think I could stop.â
Stackâs smile widened. âBut you couldnât.â
Smoke shook his head. âCouldnât.â
His eyes stayed on you. âYou make a man forget what he is, baby. But forgetting never lasts.â
Your breath hitched; your body finally understood what your mind refused.
âElĂas, this is a joke right?.â Your voice shook
Stack moved to the doorway, watching like an audience member who already knew the ending. âTell her, brother. Tell her how good we used to be.â
Smokeâs voice lowered to a whisper. âStack got caught. I didnât. We planned itâheâd draw the heat, Iâd stay clean till he came back. And youâŠâ His hand lingered against your jaw. âYou were supposed to be a story I told myself while I waited.â
Stack chuckled. âShe was a good story.â
Something in Smokeâs face flickeredâlove, regret, hunger tangled together. For one long beat, the room went still except for the muffled bass beneath the floor.
â I wanted to last longer you know? Pretend for just to a little more.â He paused. âI did love you,â he said quietly. âBut thatâs not enough.â
The sound that followed wasnât loudâjust sharp, fast, final.
Your eyes travel down one of your hands, leave the side of his face, touching your stomach and now covered in blood from the knife he had shoved into it.
âElĂas..â a single tear rolled down your face.
For a heartbeat, Smoke looked at you the way he used toâtender, tired, something like love underneath the ruin.
âI really did care,â he murmured, holding the knife in place, both of hands covering his as you looked at him in shock and horror. âYou made it easy to forget what I am.â
Then, to Stack: âMake it quick.â
The motion that followed was fast, a blur of light and soundâthe rasp of fabric, the sharp exhale of breath, the music downstairs swallowing a portion of a scream that turned into the sound of gurgling. The twins stood there watching as you choked on the blood sprayed from your neck.
Stack wiped the blade on the bedspread, grin widening. âStill got it.â
Smoke kneels beside you. His face is calm, almost tender. He brushes his thumb across your cheek; warmth and chill mingle.
For an instant he looks like the man who carved pumpkins with you, the man who woke shaking from dreams. Then his eyes clear, flat and empty.
Still he just stood there, jaw tight, then reached down and pulled the blanket up over you with a strange, careful neatness.
"It was nice pretending," he said again, almost to himself.
Stack stepped past him toward the door. "Come on. Party's still goin. No one'll hear a thing."
They walked out together. The door shut with a soft click. The bass from below surged back to life, muffled laughter echoing through the floorboards.
On the landing, Stack tugged the Ghostface mask back into place.
"You really liked her," he said.
Smoke's voice was barely audible. "Yeah. I did."
Stack clapped him on the back. "Don't look so sad. There'll be more."
Smoke said nothing. They reached the bottom of the stairs, orange light flashing across the mask one last time before the door opened and the noise of the party swallowed them whole.
