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That's How It Is?

۶ৎ summary: When you drop your three-year-old son, Amari, off to your Baby Daddy Stack’s house , who is also your ex-fiancée, things get a little heated when it is revealed you have had a man in your house, and around his son.

۶ৎwarnings & word count: 10k words, cursing, jealous!vulnerableStack, sly talk, smut, fingering, overstimulation, ex-fiancee!Stack, 69 position, oral receiving, nastyyyy smut, use of n word, nipple sucking, breast play, male oral receiving, fem oral receiving, sex on the floor, family drama, condomless sex, miscommunication? and a bit of angst. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

an: this took me forever and a day. but i have to give the biggest shoutout to my beautiful mooties @liliacsdelight (for listening to my yap and beta reading!!) and @thebumblebeesworld (for helping me all those months ago before I dropped the fic). I love you so much, y'all have no idea, and I can't thank you enough!! this fic is also inspired by @pyraomen BD! Stack fic is one I've ever read and got inspired by the amazing writing. (hopefully only minors error, if any!)

ALSO THANK YOU LOVELIES SO MUCH FOR 800 followers!! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১-xoxox Mika

#sinners #stack x reader #BD!Stack #Baby Daddy Stack x Reader #That's How It Is?#aizawash0e #stack elias moore #elias moore #sinners fic #sinners fanfiction #black reader #mika #mika writes 𑣲𝓂🖍️#sinners smut #angst with smut?

UNCANNY VALLEY, chap one.

pairings! vampire!stack x black!human!wife.

synopsis: when your husband leaves for . . . a while on halloween — leaving you alone to tend to the trick or treaters ; which was something you two both usually did together you grow very restless && nervous ; but it’s not until he comes back hours later that you realize whatever’s come back to your house isn’t your husband . . and you’ll never see the version of your husband that left the house earlier that day ever again.

warnings. cursing , suggestive language , blood , eerie things , a little bit of cuteness comin’ from the trick or treaters , manipulation , vampires , and threatening of harming someone .

FRIDAY NIGHT FELL FAST, swallowing the last traces of daylight before the people even had time to notice. Once kissed by fiery oranges and deep reds, the skyline now was dull and dark, lights from restaurants were off; the street lights were flickering .. but the neighborhoods were alive.

The streets were alive with the yearly ritual of Halloween—crowds spilling from every sidewalk, laughter and mischief blending with the crisp autumn air. Children darted from house to house in colorful costumes, their candy bags swinging with every excited step, while adults mingled in their own playful disguises—some charmingly cute, others sinfully seductive. Everywhere you looked, the night pulsed with life, sweetness, and temptation—it was a sight worth stopping for.

A smile sat perfectly upon your lips as you sat on the porch, with a bowl of candy placed in your lap. Halloween was one of your favorite holidays; for this exact reason. It warmed your heart to see how the community came together for one night and had a little bit of fun. You and your husband both loved halloween; but yet he wasn’t here celebrating with you.

In fact, Elias Stack Moore was nowhere to be found. He’d said he was just running a few errands, but it was as if he’d vanished off the face of the earth. His phone went straight to voicemail every time you called, and your texts sat there, unread. The longer the silence stretched, the tighter the knot in your stomach grew—until the thought of calling the police didn’t seem so far-fetched. The warmth that had been on your face earlier faded, your smile slipping away as worry took its place.

Your thoughts about your husband’s absence were cut short by the sight of two impossibly adorable trick-or-treaters toddling up the driveway—one draped in a white sheet with crooked eyeholes, the other sparkling head-to-toe in a fairy costume, wings fluttering with each step. The sight made your heart swell, a warm smile returning to your face as they climbed the porch steps toward you, candy buckets in hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Moore!” they chirped together, beaming up at you with bright, candy-hungry smiles. You couldn’t help but place a hand over your heart, warmth flooding through you. “Aww, look at y’all,” you cooed, scooping a generous handful of candy into each of their buckets. “Now listen—y’all be careful out here, alright? There’s a lotta creepy, crazy folks runnin’ ‘round on Halloween. Stay close to your parents, okay?”

The two little ones nodded obediently, thanked you, and skipped off down the driveway, their laughter echoing into the night. You barely had a moment to sit back and breathe before three more figures appeared at the end of the walkway—this time, faces you knew well. Annie, Smoke, and their baby girl were making their way up to your porch, all dressed for the occasion. Smoke, to your amusement, was in a bright yellow Big Bird costume; Annie was a cheerful Elmo, and their little one—round-cheeked and giggling—was the sweetest little Cookie Monster you’d ever seen.

Your heart swelled at the sight of them—a picture-perfect little family, glowing beneath the porch light. “Trick or treat!” Amelia piped up, holding out her bucket with both hands, her tiny Cookie Monster hood slipping over her eyes. You laughed softly, reaching out to fix it. “Hi, Auntie’s baby!” you cooed, scooping up a generous handful of candy and dropping it into her bucket. “You look so cute I could just eat you up!”

“How’s trick-or-treating been?” you asked, smiling as Amelia clutched her candy bucket like treasure. “It’s been good,” Annie said with a mock sigh, “but someone insists we hit every single house in every neighborhood.” She pointed down at Amelia, who just grinned proudly, chocolate smudged on her cheek. “Yeah, whether she likes it or not, we’re gon’ have to wrap it up soon,” Smoke grumbled, tugging at the itchy fabric around his neck.

“This damn Big Bird costume got me sweatin’ like I just ran a marathon,” he said, his face twisting in mock annoyance as Annie snickered beside him. You giggled along with her. Annie glanced down at Amelia, who was starting to tug on her hand, eager to move on. “We better get goin’—somebody’s on a mission to hit the next house before bedtime,” she said with a laugh.

Smoke nodded, adjusting his costume with a groan. “Yeah, we’ll let you get back to passin’ out candy,” he said, giving you a tired grin. “Say bye to Auntie, baby,” Annie prompted. “Bye, Auntie!” Amelia chirped, waving her tiny blue hand before they all headed down the steps, their laughter fading into the night

Once they left, the porch fell quiet again, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the uneasy silence that followed. The laughter of trick-or-treaters faded down the street, replaced by the faint rustle of leaves and the low hum of the porch light. That’s when it hit you—more time had passed than you’d realized, and Stack still wasn’t home.

The thought gnawed at you. He wasn’t the type to stay out this late, not without a call, not without a text. If something came up, he’d always let you know. But tonight… nothing. No messages, no answered calls. Just silence. A strange, heavy feeling began to settle in your stomach—an instinct whispering that something wasn’t right.

You drew in a slow, steady breath, trying to steady the knot of worry tightening in your chest. After a moment, you made a decision—better to end the candy handout a little early and head inside. You needed a distraction, anything to keep your mind off the gnawing unease over your husband’s absence.

You stood up, stepped inside, and shut the door behind you with a quiet click. The warmth of the house wrapped around you, but it did little to settle the unease twisting in your chest. You made your way to the kitchen, exhaling shakily as you reached for a wine glass. At that point, you needed something—anything—to take the edge off and calm your nerves.

You reached for your favorite bottle of wine—the one you always saved for nights when you needed comfort—and uncorked it with a soft pop. Tilting it over your glass, you poured until the deep red liquid nearly touched the rim, filling it to the brim without a second thought. You put the top back on the bottle before grabbing the glass and taking a long sip.

The first sip burned just slightly as it touched your tongue, the warmth of the wine spreading through your chest and dulling the edge of your nerves. But it wasn’t enough—not really. No matter how many sips you took, your thoughts kept circling back to your husband. Where he was. Why he wasn’t answering his phone. The questions pressed heavier with each passing minute, settling in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t want to jump to conclusions — but it was getting impossible not to. The clock said 10:30, the house settling into its usual nighttime hush, and he’d been gone since sunrise. That fact kept circling back at you, loud and stubborn. Ten and a half hours was a long time for Stack to be off the grid; he always checked in, even with a quick, gruff text.

You replayed the morning in your head: him kissing your forehead before he left, the small wave as he walked out the door, the ordinary confidence in his step. Those little habits were anchors — and tonight none of them held. Every unanswered ring felt louder than the last. You thumbed through your call log again, heart picking up pace each time your finger hovered over his name, then dropping when it went straight to voicemail.

Your imagination tried to fill the quiet with possibilities — a blown car battery, a late job that ran over, a phone that died — but the sensible reasons did little to soothe the knot in your stomach. Worry threaded through you, steady and insistent, tugging at memories of times he’d been reliable when it mattered. The wine dulled the edges but couldn’t muffle that inner alarm; it only made the silence feel more conspicuous, like a room with every light out except the one where you stood, waiting.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut short by a sudden knock at the front door. The sound snapped you out of your haze, your heart leaping into your throat. Hope surged through you, lighting up your face before you could even think. Setting your glass down, you took one last long sip for courage, then hurried toward the door.

The moment you swung it open, there he was—your husband—standing on the porch beneath the soft glow of the light, his shadow stretching across the steps. Relief crashed over you so hard it almost knocked the air from your chest, a smile spreading across your face before you could stop it.

But then it faltered.

Something was off. Subtle at first—just enough to make your stomach twist. His posture was stiff, unnatural, and the way he looked at you… it wasn’t how Stack ever looked at you. His eyes seemed darker, distant, almost hollow. The longer you stared, the more wrong everything felt. The shape of his face. The way his mouth hung, just a little too still. The man standing in front of you wore your husband’s face—but somehow, the longer you looked, the less he looked like him at all

There were certain things about him that just didn’t sit right—subtle, unsettling differences that made your skin crawl the longer you looked. His clothes were rumpled, dirtied, like he’d been dragged through something. His skin looked a bit pale ish beneath the porch light, and his eyes—normally warm and sure—seemed glassy, unfocused.

Your gaze drifted lower, tracing down the length of him—and that’s when you saw it. Dark streaks glistening against his skin. Blood. It ran in thin, uneven lines down his neck and along his forearms, dripping slowly onto the porch boards below. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to tilt. The night air thickened, your throat tightening as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. That wasn’t just exhaustion. That wasn’t dirt. That was blood.

You slapped a trembling hand over your mouth, a sharp gasp slipping out before you could stop it. “Stack! Baby, what happened?” you cried, stepping forward in alarm.

He just blinked at you, confusion clouding his features. His brows drew together as he glanced down at his neck and arms—almost like he was noticing the blood for the first time. There was no flinch, no wince, no sign of pain.

“Oh, this?” he said with a faint, almost absent chuckle. “‘S just a lil’ blood. Ain’t nothin’.” The casualness in his tone sent a chill racing down your spine. The man standing in front of you sounded like your husband—but the way he said it… didn’t feel like him at all. You had a horrified look on your face; how could he act so casual when he had a whole injury? Stack wasn’t the type to whine over pain—but still.

“Stack—what’s going on?” you demanded, your voice trembling between fear and frustration. “Where have you been? You said you’d be home before trick-or-treatin’ was even over, and now it’s damn near eleven o’clock!” Your words came sharper now, fueled by the panic twisting in your gut. “Where the fuck were you?”

He remained frozen, his half-lidded eyes locked on you, unreadable and unsettling. The porch light flickered, casting brief, shifting shadows across his face that only made him seem more… wrong. For a long moment, he didn’t blink, tilting his head ever so slightly, like he was parsing your panic but not quite grasping it.

Then, almost lazily, that eerie half-smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “I told you,” he said softly, the words casual yet hollow. “Had errands to run… Now, let me in the house so we can get this blood offa me.” The calmness in his tone, the lack of urgency or guilt, sent a fresh wave of unease curling through you. This wasn’t your Stack—or at least, not the man you thought you knew.

But something about that made your stomach twist. Let him in? You blinked, confused. This was his house—your home—so why would he need you to let him in? The words echoed in your mind, louder than the sound of the wind rustling outside. It didn’t make sense. Not at all.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as doubt gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. Something about him was wrong—and this… this simple, strange request only made it feel more real. “Why.. Why would I have to let you into your own home? The home that we both share? And sleep in together? Why can’t you just come in by yourself?” His smile faltered a little.

“Just let me in,” he said flatly, his voice low and tired. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t feel like goin’ through this. I’m sorry for bein’ out late.” The apology sounded practiced—empty, almost mechanical. He’d completely brushed past your question, like he hadn’t even heard it. And still, every instinct in your body screamed don’t. Something deep and primal whispered that if you let him in, you’d regret it.

That something terrible waited just past that threshold.

But you couldn’t stop yourself. Against every warning thrumming through your veins, you stepped aside. He crossed the doorway without hesitation, his footsteps slow and deliberate, leaving faint, dark stains on the floor behind him.

The door shut softly at your back, and for the first time all night, the house didn’t feel like home anymore.

now i was supposed to put how does it feel before this but i needed a break from writing that; and this was only supposed to be one chapter but the smut + him turning her made it too long to write and i atleast wanted this to be out on halloween weekend. next chapter should be out soon, and it’ll basically be straight smut lmao. please ignore and errors i do not proofread! i was also inspired by @nahimjustfeelingit-writes & @thebumblebeesworld and decided to add a tiny cameo of annie, smoke and their baby all trick or treating together!

@enchanthings for the dividers

@underated345-blog @levibabymama-blog @thickianaaaa @vaultkween @imqueenmelanin @n-ae-vis @sugrcookiiee

18+ mdni, blk reader only!

you had gotten into an argument with elias before you left to go to the club.

it was some petty shit really, something about him feeling like your friends are trying to turn you against having him around.

you were currently getting ready to go out with your girls after a longgg stressful week. hair did, outfit on, now you were doing your make up. “hey mama me and smoke finna g-“ you heard stack say as he made his way down the hall. once he reached the bathroom though, he scoffed.

“where you think you finna go?” leaning against the doorframe before you snorted “aisha and kayla wanna go to some hookah lounge real quick.”.

the man’s face soon scrunched, “kayla? the one who always shakin’ her ass in tha’ club ‘nd shit?” rhetorical of course. “why you say it like that, make her sound like a hoe” “she ain’?” in a faux shocked tone. you were so focused on doing your makeup, you forgot to answer—“that’s what you wearin’?” once again, no verbal answer. “mhm” you’d hummed “a’igh’ lemme go get dressed”.

you responded then.

“nah baby, im just gonna be gone for a minute” with a shrug “okay then so im’a go with you” stack turned around going towards the dresser, “mmcht elias c’mon” he turned to face you “what you mean, im just sayin’—you all dressed up and everythin’ i ‘on’t want no niggas lookin’ at you ‘nd shit”.

you were done with your makeup now and stepped back to look at yourself.

“see you thinkin’ you cute and shit, hell naw..im’a go with you” you laughed walking over to him “baby i’m good, i promise” that was before your phone rung with a facetime call.

kayla.

“girl where you at? the club jumpin’ with niggas right now” and your face paled. your gaze meet elias’ and he looked as if he was finna slap the fuck out of kayla through the phone.

damnit kayla.

“hell naw you can’t go!” he exclaimed “hang up on tha’ hoe bae” “wait elias!” ahead of you sighing “kayla im’a call you back”.

“you want me to let you go out with her ass and she talkin’ ‘bout niggas? that’s all that hoe think about” in that low deep growl. “she just sayin’ though bro, you doin’ too much” he laughed like something was funny “you gotta stop hangin’ with them hoes if they gon’ make you talk to me crazy” “they ain’t makin’ me do shit, yo jealous ass be trippin’ on small shit.

sis shut yo mouthhh.

11:54 pm and your phone was long forgotten as-well as the thought of goin’ out. hell, all your thoughts were gone right now.

“wanna be disrespectful and shit” stack told groaned shoving your head deeper into the mattress making your back arch deeper “talk that shit now though, why you so quiet now?” in your ear while thrusting slowly and deeply into you.

your sounds were muffled against the duvet “okay! im sorry daddy!” you cried out as he lifted your face off the mattress, bringing your head to his chest.

elias grunted wrapping a hand around your throat “whatchu say mama?” “im sorry daddy” you sobbed as he pounded harder into you “show me how sorry you are..let me nut in you”. you couldn’t even respond in your cock drunk state.

his hips bucked wildly hitting the spot you wanted him most. “you gon’ let daddy nut in this pussy baby?” before kissing your mouth sloppily. you whimpered at the feeling of an impending orgasm. your walls clenched around his dick making him growl “that’s right, nut on this dick mama” as if he wasn’t on the brink of combusting.

“nut in me daddy”. (girl after what happened last time, why would you want that?)

and he did just that “mmhm” the man hummed as your orgasm followed—“ngh fuck!”.

he fucked you through the aftershocks.

then had the audacity to say, “bet you won’t try that shit again, huh?”

🏷️: @tnychellee , @groovytidalwavevoid , @heartgirllover , @tatelangdonsweater , @lovey-3 , @headslutincharge , @imqueenmelanin , @nanamiismine , @thecoloredpages , @gabbysbl0gg !

weird dawg (bound!remmick + everyone lives) doodle

delta slim: tf he doing❓

#Silly #sinners 2025 #sinners #sinners movie #stack elias moore #remmick #remmick sinners #delta slim #doodle #my art #art

GROWN FOLKS WORDS

Featuring Stack Moore x Rhiannon Carter x Isaac Moore

Summary: When 16 month old Isaac picks up a grown folks word from his daddy, what starts as a harmless laugh turns into a full house crisis. Now Stack has to unteach what he accidentally encouraged.

The office was too clean for a toddler, and everybody in it knew that.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the corner unit, letting Los Angeles pour in like it had something to prove. Sunlight bounced off polished concrete floors, slid across white walls, and caught on the edges of glass desks that never stayed smudge-free for long. The furniture was intentional. Neutral-toned couches. Matte-black shelving. A long conference table that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread about startups that made too much money too fast.

There was a faint citrus scent in the air, mixed with fresh coffee and something vaguely expensive Stack couldn’t name. The AC hummed quietly, steady and cool, a relief from the heat pressing down outside.

Isaac didn’t care about any of that.

At sixteen months, he had just enough balance to be dangerous and just enough confidence to think he owned the place. Stack set him down on the rug by the couch with a soft thump, watching carefully as Isaac steadied himself, knees bent, arms out like he was negotiating with gravity.

“Aight,” Stack said, voice low and warm. “You stay right there, lil man.”

Isaac stared up at him, big-eyed, considering the request.

Then he turned and took off toward Smoke’s desk.

Smoke glanced down just in time to catch Isaac reaching for a tangled nest of cords. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, sliding his chair back with a scrape. “Nah, nah, not them.”

Isaac squealed, delighted by the sudden attention.

Stack laughed, leaning against the filing cabinet. “You see? He quick. I told you.”

Smoke scooped Isaac up with one arm, settling him on his hip like it was second nature. “Yeah, quick to tear shit up.”

The word slipped out easy. Casual. Unbothered.

Isaac’s head turned slowly.

He stared at Smoke’s mouth, studying it the way babies studied everything new. The shape. The sound. The way the sentence had dipped at the end. Smoke kept talking, unaware.

“Man, these invoices ain’t addin’ up for nothin’. I swear, every time I think—” He stopped short when Stack’s eyebrows jumped.

“What?” Smoke asked.

Stack nodded toward Isaac.

Smoke looked down.

Isaac was watching him like he’d just unlocked something.

“Shi,” Isaac said.

It came out soft, breathy. Incomplete.

Both men froze.

Then Smoke laughed, sharp and sudden. “Did you hear that?”

Stack straightened, disbelief blooming into a grin. “Man, no. He ain’t—”

“Shi,” Isaac repeated, louder this time, pleased now. His mouth stretched around the sound like he was proud of it.

Smoke’s laugh turned into a bark. “Oh, he got ears on him.”

Stack rubbed his hand over his face, already losing the fight. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Smoke shrugged. “Didn’t think he’d clock it like that.”

Isaac twisted in Smoke’s arms, reaching down toward the floor. Smoke set him back down, and Isaac immediately toddled off, wobbling but determined. He knocked into the leg of a chair, bumped his knee, sat down hard.

There was a brief pause. A thoughtful one.

“Shi,” Isaac said, clear as day.

Silence.

Then Stack folded, laughter spilling out of him despite his best effort to clamp it down. Smoke slapped his thigh, wheezing.

“Ain’t no way,” Smoke said. “This baby done learned his first real word in my office.”

Stack crouched down, pointing gently. “Nah, nah, nah. That ain’t a word for you.”

Isaac looked at him, unfazed. Then he smiled.

Because they were laughing again.

And that, Isaac understood.

At sixteen months, he didn’t have language the way grown folks did. He had sounds. Reactions. Patterns. He knew which noises brought smiles, which ones got claps, which ones made Daddy’s eyes crinkle and Uncle Smoke sound like he was about to fall over.

So Isaac experimented.

He picked up a pen from the floor. Dropped it.

“Shi.”

Smoke doubled over. “This lil dude got comedic instinct.”

Stack shook his head, laughter leaking through anyway. “Man, stop encouraging him.”

Isaac toddled across the room, pushed a stack of papers just enough for them to slide crooked.

“Shi.”

Smoke wiped his eyes. “I’m tellin’ you, he contextual.”

Stack tried again, firmer this time. “Isaac. Hey. That ain’t funny.”

Isaac paused. Looked at him. The laughter died down.

For half a second, Stack thought that might be it.

Then Smoke chuckled under his breath.

Isaac’s eyes lit right back up.

“Shi!”

It became a game after that. Not an intentional one, not to the men at least, but Isaac treated it like cause and effect. Noise. Reaction. Noise again. He didn’t understand that the word meant something. He understood that it worked.

By late afternoon, Smoke had said it three more times without thinking. Each one landed like a gift.

“Shi,” Isaac echoed from across the room, clapping once afterward like punctuation.

Stack leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching his son with a mix of pride and dawning dread. “We really messed up.”

Smoke grinned. “Relax. He’ll forget it.”

Right on cue, Isaac tripped over the rug.

“Shi!”

Stack groaned. “He ain’t forgettin’ that.”

It wasn’t until Smoke stepped out to take a call that the humor thinned out. The office felt quieter without the extra laughter feeding the moment. Isaac sat on the floor near Stack’s chair, banging two blocks together.

One slipped from his hand and rolled away.

“Shi,” Isaac muttered.

Stack inhaled slowly.

“Hey,” he said, crouching again, voice softer now. “Nah. You can’t say that, lil man.”

Isaac tilted his head, studying him. Stack held his gaze.

“That’s a grown word,” Stack continued. “That’s for—” He paused, then sighed. “That’s for when you older.”

Isaac blinked.

Stack ran his thumb over Isaac’s chubby knuckles, gentler now. “If your mama hear you say that, she gon’ be hot.”

The name did something.

Isaac’s mouth closed. He glanced instinctively toward the hallway, like Rhiannon might materialize out of thin air, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

Stack huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Isaac looked back at him.

Then, very softly, testing the air;

“Shi.”

Stack laughed despite himself, a short breath he couldn’t catch in time. “Boy, you somethin’ else.”

Isaac grinned, satisfied. Lesson unclear. Reaction achieved.

Stack scooped him up, resting Isaac against his chest, the weight familiar, grounding. He pressed a kiss into Isaac’s hair and shook his head.

“We gon’ have to undo that,” he murmured, more amused than serious.

Isaac babbled happily, fingers gripping Stack’s shirt.

Outside, the LA heat pressed against the windows. Inside the office, the word lingered in the air, harmless for now.

Stack didn’t know it yet, but the real trouble hadn’t even started.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The car smelled like leather, baby wipes, and whatever drive-thru coffee Stack had grabbed on the way out the building.

LA traffic rolled slow and stubborn around him, the sun low enough to glare through the windshield even with the visor down. Stack drove with one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the console, posture relaxed but mind already halfway home. He could picture it clearly. Rhiannon in the kitchen. Music low. That look she gave him when something was off.

Which meant he had to get this right.

In the back seat, Isaac sat strapped into his car seat, legs swinging, humming to himself. His shoes were off. One sock was missing. The other hung halfway off his foot, abandoned mid-journey. A stuffed dinosaur rested beside him, drool-darkened and well-loved.

Stack checked the rearview mirror.

Isaac caught his eye immediately and smiled.

“Hey,” Stack said. “You good back there?”

“Good,” Isaac said proudly. It was one of his newer words, one he liked because it made people nod.

“That’s right,” Stack said. “You good.”

Isaac kicked his feet twice, pleased.

They rode like that for a minute. Just engine noise, music low, the city sliding past in sun-warmed streaks. Stack let his shoulders loosen. These drives were usually calm. Predictable. Just him and his son, a small pocket of quiet before the house filled it up again.

“Where we goin’?” Stack asked casually.

Isaac thought about it. “Home.”

“Yeah,” Stack nodded. “Home. Who at home?”

Isaac’s face lit up instantly. “Mama.”

“That’s right,” Stack said, smiling. “Mama waitin’ on us.”

“Mama,” Isaac repeated, soft and happy.

Stack glanced in the mirror again. This part mattered. He kept his voice easy but firm. “So when we see Mama, we use good words, aight?”

Isaac nodded like he understood every syllable.

“Good words,” Isaac echoed.

“That’s it,” Stack said. “Good words in the house. Say ‘uh-oh.’”

Isaac perked up. “Uh-oh.”

Stack smiled. “Good. That’s a good word. You drop somethin’, you say uh-oh.”

Isaac nodded like he understood the assignment. He babbled something back, mostly nonsense but enthusiastic. The dinosaur slipped from his lap and hit the floor with a dull thump.

There was a pause.

Stack felt it coming before it happened.

“Uh-oh,” Isaac said.

Stack let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good job,” he said immediately. “That’s the one. That’s what we say.”

Isaac smiled, proud.

Traffic slowed suddenly. Stack tapped the brake, irritation flickering across his face before he smoothed it out. He caught himself before saying anything out loud. He was trying. Really trying.

From the back seat, Isaac leaned forward as far as the straps allowed, peering down at the fallen dinosaur.

Then, quiet but confident—

“Shi.”

Stack stiffened.

He didn’t laugh this time.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes still on the road. “Nah,” he said, calm but firm. “We not sayin’ that.”

Isaac went still.

“That’s a car word,” Stack continued, glancing at the mirror. “That word stay in the car. You hear me?”

Isaac blinked, absorbing this new rule.

“Car,” Isaac said.

“Yeah,” Stack nodded. “Only in the car. Not in the house. Not with Mama.”

Isaac looked thoughtful, like this was important information. He nodded again, slower.

“Mama,” he said.

“That’s right,” Stack said. “Mama don’t like that word.”

Isaac processed that quietly. The dinosaur rolled slightly under the seat. He stared at it.

They rode in silence for a stretch. Long enough for Stack to think maybe, just maybe, it had landed.

Then Isaac looked up at the mirror, eyes bright.

“Car,” he said.

Stack smiled despite himself. “Yeah. Car.”

Isaac grinned wider.

“Shi.”

Stack closed his eyes for half a second.

“Isaac,” he said, not angry but serious now. “I said only in the car, not whenever you feel like it.”

Isaac frowned slightly, confused by the nuance.

Stack softened his tone. “You say uh-oh. That’s a good word.”

“Uh-oh,” he said

Two seconds passed.

Very quietly—

“Shi.”

Stack shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Man. You pushin’ it.”

Isaac giggled, kicking his feet.

They turned onto their street, the sun dipping low, houses glowing warm and familiar. Stack pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. He looked back one more time, pointing gently.

“Listen to me,” he said. “That word do not leave this car. You hear me?”

Isaac stared at him, serious again.

“Car,” he said solemnly.

“That’s right,” Stack nodded. “Car.”

Isaac smiled sweetly.

As Stack opened the door and stepped out, he heard it one last time, whispered like a secret meant just for them.

“Shi.”

Stack laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he went around to get him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m still in trouble.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The house was already alive when Stack pushed the door open.

Not loud. Just lived-in.

Soft music rolled through the space, something smooth and old-school, the kind Rhiannon played when she cooked. The lights were low but warm, reflecting off clean countertops and hardwood floors that still smelled faintly like lemon cleaner. LA modern, sure, but it felt like home in a way money couldn’t buy.

Isaac lifted his head the second the door clicked shut.

“Mama,” he said, hopeful.

Stack smiled, shifting him higher on his hip. “Yeah, that’s Mama. You know she in here.”

Isaac wiggled like he might jump clean out his arms if Stack didn’t tighten his grip.

“Easy,” Stack laughed quietly. “I got you.”

Rhiannon’s voice floated out from the kitchen before she did. “I hear my baby.”

That was all it took.

Isaac squealed, arms reaching, whole face lighting up like the sun had just walked into the room. “Mama!”

Rhiannon stepped into view, curls pulled up but already escaping. The second she saw Isaac, her tired melted clean off her face.

“There go my boy,” she said warmly.

Stack handed Isaac over, watching how easily Isaac folded into her, cheek pressed against her chest, little hands gripping her shirt like he needed confirmation she was real.

Stack leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Hey.”

She smiled up at him. “Hey, baby.”

“How you doin’?” he asked, low.

“I’m good now,” she said, rocking Isaac gently. “Y’all been out all day?”

“Yeah. Office ran long.”

Isaac pulled back just enough to look at her face, then touched her cheek with careful fingers. “Mama.”

“I’m right here,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Stack watched them for a second, chest tight in that good way. He reached out, rubbing Isaac’s back, then slid his hand to Rhiannon’s waist. She leaned into him without thinking, shoulder resting against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You hungry?” she asked Isaac.

“Hun-gy,” Isaac said proudly.

She laughed. “Okay. I got you.”

They moved together into the dining space like muscle memory. Stack kicked his shoes off by the door. Rhiannon strapped Isaac into his high chair while Stack washed his hands at the sink, glancing over every few seconds just to check on him.

Isaac kicked his feet, humming to himself, smacking the tray with both hands.

“Boy excited,” Stack said.

“He always is,” Rhiannon replied. “What y’all do today?”

“Work,” Isaac answered before Stack could.

Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, you was workin’?”

Isaac nodded hard. “Work.”

Stack chuckled. “He think anywhere I go is work.”

Rhiannon set Isaac’s plate down. “You see Uncle Smoke today?”

At the name, Isaac’s face lit up again.

“Smoke!” he said, loud and clear.

Stack paused just a beat, then relaxed when Isaac clapped and laughed instead of saying anything else.

Rhiannon smiled. “He like Smoke, huh?”

“Too much,” Stack said. “They be cuttin’ up.”

Isaac grabbed a piece of food, dropped it. It hit the floor.

Stack stiffened without meaning to.

Isaac frowned, looked down, then said, “Uh-oh.”

Rhiannon crouched slightly, smiling. “That’s okay, baby.”

She picked it up and tossed it, then wiped Isaac’s hands. “You have fun with Uncle Smoke?”

“Fun,” Isaac said, nodding.

They ate slow. Isaac fed himself more than he needed help, even if half of it didn’t make it to his mouth. Rhiannon stayed patient, wiping his face between bites. Stack leaned over, stole food off her plate like he always did.

She smacked his arm lightly. “Stop playin’.”

“You know you don’t want this last piece,” he teased.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You a mess.”

Isaac watched them closely, eyes moving back and forth, absorbing everything. He pointed at Stack.

“Dada.”

“Yes,” Stack said softly. “That’s me.”

Then Isaac pointed at Rhiannon.

“Mama.”

“I’m right here,” she said, voice gentle.

After dinner, Stack lifted Isaac from the chair, settling him against his chest. Isaac curled right in, thumb finding his mouth, body heavy and warm.

“You sleepy?” Stack murmured.

“Sleepy,” Isaac said quietly.

Rhiannon stepped closer, resting her head briefly against Stack’s shoulder. “I’ll start the bath.”

Stack nodded, swaying slowly with Isaac in his arms. The house felt settled now. Calm. Like the day had finally caught up with them.

Isaac blinked, sighed. “Uh-oh!”

Stack knew better than to think it was over for good. But standing there, his son heavy in his arms, Rhiannon close enough to feel her warmth, the house wrapped around them like a promise, he let the moment stretch.

For tonight, that was enough.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The bathroom is warm and foggy, steam curling up the mirror like it’s trying to write secrets on the glass. Rhiannon sits on the edge of the tub with her sleeves pushed up, one hand steady on Isaac’s little back while he splashes with both palms like he personally responsible for creating waves.

He’s in that happy, loose baby mood. Hair damp and curling tight at the ends. Eyelashes clumped from water. Cheeks chubby and pink from the heat.

“Easy,” she murmurs when he kicks too hard and sends water flying. “You tryin’ baptize the whole house?”

Out in the hallway, Stack is moving with quiet focus. Bottle warming in a mug of hot water. He tests a drop against his wrist, nods in approval. Pajamas laid out on the dresser, soft little cotton set with moons and stars. He dims the lamp low until the nursery glows amber and calm. White noise humming soft in the corner.

He likes everything settled before Isaac even walks in.

Back in the bathroom, Isaac grabs his plastic cup and concentrates hard, trying to scoop water into it without spilling. His tongue peeks out in focus.

He tilts it too fast.

Water dumps across his belly and onto Rhiannon’s shirt.

She sighs, amused but tired. “Baby.”

He looks down at the mess.

Then up at her.

And very clearly, very thoughtfully, says:

“Shi.”

The word lands clean.

Rhiannon freezes.

Not confused. Not unsure.

She heard him.

“…What did you just say?”

Isaac blinks at her, eyes bright, like he proud he found a new sound.

He splashes again. Misses the cup again.

“Shi.”

Her face shifts.

Annoyance creeps in, slow and real.

“Isaac.”

Her tone changes just enough that he pauses.

She studies him closely now. He didn’t babble it. Didn’t mash syllables together. He used it in context.

That’s what gets her.

She lifts him out of the tub, wrapping him snug in the towel.

“We do not say that,” she says firmly. “That is not for babies.”

He squirms, confused by the seriousness.

She carries him down the hallway, damp curls brushing her cheek.

Stack looks up from the nursery, bottle in hand. “Everything good?”

Rhiannon walks past him without answering at first. She lays Isaac on the changing table and starts drying him off.

Stack watches her expression carefully.

“…What happened?”

She doesn’t look at him yet.

“Your son,” she says evenly, “just said a full curse word. Twice.”

Stack stiffens. “What word?”

Before she can answer, Isaac kicks his feet and supplies it himself.

“Shi!”

Stack’s eyebrows jump.

Rhiannon turns slowly toward him.

“He spilled water. Looked at it. And said that. Correctly.”

Stack rubs his jaw. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeats.

Isaac laughs at their voices, thinking this is excellent entertainment.

Rhiannon crosses her arms lightly. “Where he hear that?”

Stack hesitates.

Not long.

But long enough.

Her eyes narrow. “Stack.”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t me.”

“Then who?”

Stack exhales. “…Smoke.”

Rhiannon’s face goes still.

“At the office,” he continues carefully. “Other day when you dropped him off for a bit. Smoke said it under his breath.”

She stares at him.

“You let our sixteen month old sit in a room where grown men are cussing?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Stack defends quietly. “It slipped. He didn’t even think Isaac was paying attention.”

Isaac, as if summoned by name, beams and repeats:

“Shi!”

Rhiannon closes her eyes briefly.

“That boy sees everything,” she mutters.

Stack nods reluctantly. “Yeah. He do.”

She adjusts Isaac’s diaper with efficient movements, still irritated.

“So now what? He just walking around the house swearing?”

“Nah,” Stack says quickly. He leans closer to Isaac. “Aye. We don’t say that.”

Isaac studies his daddy’s mouth.

“That’s not for you,” Stack continues, firm but calm. “You say uh-oh.”

Rhiannon joins in, softer. “Say uh-oh, baby.”

Isaac tilts his head.

Processes.

“…Uh-oh.”

They both exhale at the same time.

“Good,” Rhiannon says, kissing his cheek.

Then Isaac grins.

Because apparently balance matters to him.

“Shi.”

Stack turns away, hand over his mouth.

Rhiannon points at him sharply. “Do not laugh.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice tight.

She shakes her head, lifting Isaac into her arms.

“I’m calling Smoke tomorrow.”

Stack winces. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh I am.”

Isaac nestles into her shoulder, sleepy now, unaware he just started interoffice policy reform.

Stack looks at his son, then at Rhiannon.

“…We gotta start spelling around him.”

She nods once.

Because apparently the baby has been taking notes at corporate meetings.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Morning light stretches pale and slow across the bedroom, slipping past the curtains and pooling over the hardwood floors. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the baby monitor and the faint rustle of hangers shifting in the walk in wardrobe.

Rhiannon has been up for a while.

She moves in and out of the en suite bathroom, face freshly washed, robe tied tight around her waist. Drawers open. Close. Open again. She is not slamming anything. She does not need to. The message is already clear.

From the monitor on the nightstand, Isaac babbles to himself, tossing soft syllables into the air like confetti.

Stack wakes slowly, reaching across the bed for warmth that is not there.

He squints toward the closet doorway. “You up already?”

No answer.

Water runs briefly in the bathroom. Cabinet closes.

He sits up, watching her pass the doorway again, focused, composed, distant.

He tries again, softer. “Rhi.”

She steps into the bedroom to grab her earrings from the dresser.

He reaches for her wrist gently.

She doesn’t pull away fast.

But she does pull away.

“Don’t.”

He sighs. “You still on that?”

She gives him a look that could slice paper.

“Our son wakin’ up sayin’ a cuss word.”

“He ain’t even say it this mornin’ yet.”

“Yet.”

From the monitor, Isaac lets out a loud, cheerful yell.

Stack rubs his face. “It was Smoke.”

She folds her arms. “I know it was Smoke.”

“I ain’t teach him that.”

“You ain’t stop it either.”

He swings his legs off the bed. “Rhi, he was at the office for ten minutes.”

“And that’s all it took.”

Isaac’s voice crackles through the monitor again. A loud thump. Then a clear, experimental:

“Uh-oh!”

They both freeze.

Rhiannon looks toward the monitor.

Stack nods once. “See? That’s progress.”

A pause.

Then faintly: “…shit.”

Rhiannon closes her eyes slowly.

Stack winces. “Man.”

She walks back toward the closet, shaking her head.

“You think it’s cute.”

“I don’t.”

“You laughed.”

He stands and follows her to the doorway of the wardrobe. “I laughed one time.”

“That’s all he needed.”

Stack leans against the frame. “He sixteen months. He don’t even know what it mean.”

“And that’s exactly why we gotta fix it now.”

He watches her pull a dress from the rack.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “I shoulda checked Smoke.”

“You should’ve.”

“I’ma call him.”

“You better.”

“And I’ma tell Isaac we don’t say that no more.”

She turns to face him fully now.

“No laughin’. No smirkin’. No ‘he used it right.’”

“I won’t.”

“You serious?”

“Yes.”

She studies him for a second longer.

“Stack.”

“Yeah.”

“If he say it in public, I’m blamin’ you.”

He huffs a small breath. “That’s fair.”

From the monitor, Isaac bangs against the crib rail and calls out brightly:

“Da-da!”

Stack can’t help the soft smile that creeps up.

Rhiannon notices immediately.

“Don’t.”

“I ain’t even do nothin’.”

“You smilin’.”

“That’s my son.”

She exhales, some of the edge finally easing. “Go get him.”

“I am.”

“And handle that.”

“I got it.”

He steps closer, testing the waters one more time, reaching for her waist.

She lets him for half a second.

Then steps back.

“Fix it first.”

He nods. “Yes ma’am.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Stack comes down the stairs with Isaac balanced on his hip, one big hand supporting that little diapered bottom, the other steady at his back. Isaac is wide awake now, curls fluffed out, cheeks still warm from sleep.

He’s talking already.

“Ba-da… da-da… mm!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Stack mutters, stepping into the kitchen. “You got a lot to say this mornin’.”

He straps Isaac into the high chair, pulling the tray into place.

“Aight. Sit up straight. We civilized.”

Isaac immediately slaps both palms on the tray and laughs.

Stack shakes his head, moving toward the counter. He washes strawberries carefully, slices them into tiny pieces. Halves blueberries. Peels a banana and cuts it small enough so nobody choke and nobody blame him.

He spoons yogurt into the little baby plate, smooths it down with the back of the spoon like presentation matters.

Behind him, Isaac is narrating his own universe.

“Da-da-da… uh… ba!”

Stack glances back over his shoulder. “Oh, now you conversational.”

Isaac kicks his feet hard against the high chair.

Stack leans against the counter, folding his arms like they about to negotiate something serious.

“Listen, bruh,” he says calmly. “We gotta talk.”

Isaac blinks at him. Smiles.

“Yo mama mad at me.”

Isaac grabs at the air.

“I’m serious,” Stack continues, pointing lightly at him. “She ain’t even look at me right this mornin’. Ain’t say nothin’ sweet. You see that?”

Isaac babbles louder. “Ba-ba-da!”

“I know,” Stack nods like Isaac just confirmed it. “You think it funny.”

He carries the plate over and sets it down in front of Isaac.

“You can’t be out here sayin’ words like that. You a baby.”

Isaac immediately dips his whole hand in the yogurt.

Stack winces. “Why you do that?”

Isaac examines his coated fingers like he just discovered paint.

Stack leans in closer, lowering his voice.

“You sixteen months. You still wearin’ diapers. You don’t even know how to put your own shoes on. But you wanna cuss?”

Isaac looks up at him.

Serious face.

Then smears yogurt across the tray.

Stack points at the mess. “See. That right there? That’s why you not ready for big people vocabulary.”

Isaac knocks a blueberry off the plate.

It rolls toward the edge and they both watch it drop.

A soft thud sounds on the floor, Isaac tilts his head.

“…uh-oh.”

Stack nods quickly. “That’s right. That’s what we say.”

He crouches to pick up the blueberry, tossing it in the trash.

“We retired the other word,” he continues, standing back up. “That one done. Over with. Gone.”

Isaac slaps the tray again.

“Uh-oh!” he repeats louder.

Stack points at him approvingly. “Exactly.”

He leans both hands on the tray now, eye level with his son.

“And let me tell you somethin’. You got me in trouble.”

Isaac stares, unbothered. He grabs a strawberry, squeezes it until juice runs down his wrist.

Stack sighs. “You don’t even know what it mean. You just like the sound of it.”

Isaac studies the red smear on his hand.

Stack freezes for a second, watching his mouth carefully.

Isaac opens his lips like he about to test something.

Stack shakes his head slowly.

Isaac blinks.

“…uh-oh.”

Stack exhales, relieved. “Good.”

Stack stands in front of him with a dish towel over his shoulder, studying him like this a strategy session.

“Aight,” he says quietly, leaning in. “We finna practice.”

Isaac blinks up at him, chewing thoughtfully.

“Say sorry.”

Isaac just stares.

Stack taps the tray lightly. “So-rry.”

Isaac’s lips move, testing the shape. “Sah…ree.”

Stack’s eyes light up. “Yeah. That’s it. Sorry.”

Isaac grins, pleased with himself. “Sah-ree.”

“Good. One mo’ time.”

“Sah-ree.”

Stack nods firmly. “Aight. When mama come down here, you gone say that. We showin’ accountability.”

Isaac babbles proudly like he just signed paperwork.

Footsteps start down the stairs.

Stack straightens up quick. “Okay. Showtime.”

Rhiannon appears a moment later, dressed for the day, calm and composed. She pauses at the bottom step, taking in the scene.

Isaac immediately lights up. “Mama!”

She walks over and kisses his forehead. “Hey, baby.”

Stack clears his throat gently and nudges Isaac’s tray.

Isaac looks at his daddy, then back at his mama.

“Sah-ree.”

Rhiannon freezes.

“…What?”

Isaac beams and repeats it louder. “Sah-ree!”

Stack folds his arms, trying to look casual. “We been workin’ on vocabulary.”

Rhiannon looks at Isaac, then at Stack.

“You told him to say that?”

“He practiced.”

Isaac bangs his tray happily. “Sah-ree!”

A smile slowly breaks across Rhiannon’s face despite herself.

“Well,” she says softly, brushing yogurt off Isaac’s chin, “that’s better.”

Isaac grabs a blueberry and promptly drops it over the side.

They all watch it fall. Isaac looks down.

“…uh-oh.”

Stack exhales under his breath.

Rhiannon nods gently. “That’s right.”

She turns to Stack, the last bit of tension finally melted.

“You handled it.”

“Told you I would.”

Before he can say anything else, she steps into him and wraps her arms around his waist. It’s not rushed. It’s warm. She presses a kiss to his cheek, then another quick one to his lips.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Stack’s hands settle at her back, holding her there a second longer than necessary.

Up in the high chair, Isaac watches closely.

He sees it.

Mama soft. Daddy smiling. Arms around each other.

He kicks his feet excitedly.

Isaac bangs his tray happily. “Sah-ree!”

“Sah-ree!” he declares again, like he part of the reconciliation.

Stack laughs softly. “Yeah, you sorry alright.”

Rhiannon leans into him just a little more, resting her head briefly against his chest.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Late afternoon light spills across the living room, warm and honey soft. Toys are scattered everywhere like Isaac personally staged a colorful crime scene. Blocks tipped over. A stuffed giraffe facedown. One tiny sneaker nowhere near its match.

Isaac sits in the middle of it all, babbling to himself while trying to fit the square block into the round hole with full confidence.

On the couch, Rhiannon adjusts the angle of her phone and taps the screen.

The FaceTime connects.

Annie answers almost immediately.

“Hi, Rhi!” Annie smiles. “Where my baby?”

Rhiannon flips the camera toward Isaac. “Say hi.”

Isaac looks up at the screen, confused for a second. Then he grins wide.

“Mama!” he says, even though it’s not her.

Annie laughs. “That ain’t me, sugar.”

Rhiannon shakes her head. “He just be assignin’ titles.”

Isaac crawls closer to the couch, trying to grab the glowing phone.

“Ba-da-da!”

Annie coos at him through the speaker. “You been good today?”

Rhiannon lifts one eyebrow slowly. “Define good.”

Annie’s eyes narrow playfully. “What he did?”

Before Rhiannon can answer, a familiar voice pops up in the background.

“Who that?”

The screen shifts and suddenly Smoke’s face appears beside Annie’s.

Rhiannon leans back into the couch cushions, already ready.

“There he go.”

Smoke squints at the screen. “What’s up?”

Rhiannon tilts the phone slightly so he can see Isaac clearly. “You see your nephew?”

Smoke grins. “My boy. What he got goin’ on?”

Right on cue, Isaac drops a block beside him.

He looks down at it.

“…uh-oh.”

Rhiannon nods once. “Mm-hmm. That part we fixed.”

Smoke blinks. “Fixed?”

She switches the camera back to her face. “Yeah. The other word he was sayin’?”

Smoke goes still.

Annie looks between them. “What other word?”

Rhiannon doesn’t break eye contact with the screen. “The one he learned at y’all office.”

Smoke shifts. “Now hold on.”

Annie gasps lightly. “He said a bad word?”

Rhiannon nods calmly. “Clear as day. Used it right too.”

Smoke rubs the back of his neck. “I ain’t teach him.”

“You said it,” she replies smoothly. “He heard you.”

Isaac starts stacking blocks now, humming to himself.

Annie looks scandalized. “Smoke.”

“What?” he mutters. “It slipped.”

Rhiannon leans forward slightly. “Well it slipped into his vocabulary.”

Smoke sighs. “He still sayin’ it?”

Rhiannon glances at Isaac just as he knocks his own tower down.

Isaac looks at the mess.

“…uh-oh.”

Rhiannon smiles faintly. “No. We handled it.”

Smoke exhales in relief. “Good.”

“But,” she continues sweetly, “if he say it again after visitin’ y’all? I’m sendin’ him back with you.”

Annie laughs loudly. “That’s right.”

Smoke shakes his head. “Man, I said I’m sorry.”

Isaac suddenly toddles over toward the couch and looks up at the phone.

“Sah-ree!” he announces proudly.

The adults go quiet for a beat.

Rhiannon smirks. “We been workin’.”

Annie claps softly. “That’s my smart baby.”

Smoke squints at the screen. “Aight, aight. I hear you. I’ll watch my mouth.”

Rhiannon nods once. “You better.”

Isaac reaches for the phone again, giggling.

Smoke softens. “Hey lil’ man.”

Isaac just babbles back, completely unbothered by the adult accountability session happening over his head.

Rhiannon leans back into the couch, satisfied.

Message delivered.

Policy enforced.

And somewhere in the background, Stack walks past shaking his head, muttering under his breath about family meetings turning into court hearings.

Isaac knocks over another block.

“…uh-oh.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The house feels different at night.

Quieter. Softer. Like it finally exhaled.

Isaac is asleep upstairs, the baby monitor glowing steady on the kitchen counter. No babbling. No blocks crashing. Just the faint, peaceful hum of white noise drifting through the speaker.

Rhiannon stands at the sink rinsing out a cup, hair wrapped, one of Stack’s old tees hanging loose on her frame. The lights are dimmed low, the kitchen washed in a warm golden glow.

The front door opens.

She glances over her shoulder.

Stack steps inside slowly, careful, like he knows he walking into something tender.

In his hands is a massive bouquet of white roses. Full. Fresh. Petals layered thick and soft, stems long and elegant. They almost look too pristine to be real.

She blinks.

“…Hey.”

He walks closer, setting them gently on the island.

“For you.”

She dries her hands slowly on a towel, eyes never leaving the flowers.

“What this for?”

He steps around the island toward her.

“For lettin’ my household get outta order.”

Her lips twitch despite herself. “Oh, so now it’s your household?”

He reaches for her waist gently. “It’s ours. That’s the point.”

She looks up at him then.

He looks serious. Not playful. Not teasing.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve shut that down at the office. Should’ve been more mindful. He watch everything I do.”

Her expression softens completely now.

“You did fix it,” she says. “You talked to him.”

“I should’ve protected it before it even started,” he replies.

She studies him for a long second.

Then she steps forward and wraps her arms around him.

Not halfway.

Fully.

He exhales against her shoulder, hands sliding around her back, holding her like he mean it.

The roses sit behind them, fragrant and still.

“I know you ain’t mean no harm,” she murmurs.

He presses his lips to her temple. Slow and lingering.

She tilts her face up to him.

He kisses her then. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just deep and steady, like apology and gratitude wrapped together.

Her fingers curl lightly into his shirt.

The house stays quiet. No interruption. Just the low hum of night settling in around them.

When they pull apart, she rests her forehead against his.

“White roses?” she asks softly.

“Clean slate,” he answers.

She smiles, brushing her thumb along his jaw.

“You dramatic.”

“For you?” he murmurs. “Every time.”

She laughs under her breath and kisses him again, shorter this time but warm.

Upstairs, the monitor stays silent. Isaac sleeps peacefully, unaware that his little experiment with language brought home flowers and grown folks accountability.

Downstairs, Stack lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles gently before pulling her back into his chest.

No tension left.

Just quiet.

Just love.

And a kitchen full of white roses blooming under soft light.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hey y’all. I thought I would take a little break from the Cowboy Carter anthology just incase there’s people who aren’t really interested in it. I hope y’all like this one, I thought it was a super cute idea & very fitting for Stack’s child LOL.

#smoke stack twins #sinners fanfiction #sinners #sinners fic #smokestack twins #stack moore #elias stack moore #elias moore #stack moore x oc #stack #stack sinners #stack x oc #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #sinners stack #elias moore x oc #stack elias moore #elias x oc

༒☙༒ A Glimpse Of Her —

Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!Y/n

genre: angst???/fluff/SMUT.

warnings: SMUT. MY GOSH WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?

synopsis: you’re back in town, he ain’t missin his chance this time.

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༒

❝So, you rob trains and banks but you can’t come steal this pussy for a night?❞⁣

༒

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

"I lied to you. Yes, I lied to you...I love the blues."

You stepped onto the front lawn of the old sawmill, your eyes held a storm in them, the kind ya wish you could ignore. It couldn't have been seven years since you returned to the delta. It felt like you was just a little girl, running behind them twins like a lovesick puppy. See, Stack had sold you a dream. A dream he wasn't man enough to deliver on.

When you stepped in front of that door, you held your breath and prayed to the Gods you still knew Elias well enough to know his bluffs; Cornbread sho looked at you like ya did. Not a shred of recognition on the man's face, but earlier that day Elias had promised you wouldn't be getting that door; that you should've walked right on back where ya came from, far as he was concerned.

'Look real pretty tonight, miss. Gon make these fellas weak in the knees."

Uh-huh. Jackpot. You couldn't help but giggle at Cornbread's attempt at a gentlemanly greeting; he still looked the same as when you'd left. couldn't quite say the same about yourself. "Oh, drop allat, Cornbread. We ain't never talked to each other like that."

His eyes go all wide, and he takes his hat off, a half smile printed on his lips, hat on his chest as it all came to him. "Know that ain't Genevieve's gal, nie? Girl, I sho ain't recognize ya. Come on in!" He opens his arms, allowing you in for a hug and squeezing tight fore patting ya back and chuckling, "Ain't seen ya since ya last sang for us. Hope them pipes get used tonight."

"We'll see now, Corn. Ima go get me a drink now if that's okay with you." Still looking at you in pure surprise and wonder, he nods quickly and lets you pass, still smiling all big and proud.

"Gon on, girl, it's good to see ya."

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You knew it wouldn't take long, his eyes had tracked ya since ya entered the room, his hands twitching around the glass of whiskey in his hand. He lets you settle for a moment at least before he makes his way over to you in short, swift strides.

Your finger taps against the side of your glass, looking at him from your peripheral vision. He looked sharper than a knife, good as the night, and clean as hell. You breathe in the scent of musk, smoke, and whiskey when he's next to ya, but you ain't falling for it; he looks irritated as all hell too.

"Y'know, songbird; ya always had a habit of showing up places ya ain't belong. Finish your drink up. Follow me." His body language is tense; you can see the veins in his neck straining, his hand on the glass clenching, and his body stays tense, but he don't look at you; nah, he avoids your gaze like the 14th century plague. Like he can't bear it. Looking your way.

"Following you would lead me to hell, boy. Sides, I gots me a meeting."

Your body steps one inch away from his before he's gripping your wrist firmly, pulling you right up against him, teeth gritted and grills gleaming, his chuckle is as bitter as the beer the patrons are drinking and it sends an absolute shiver through you. "You was going to hell fore ya stepped in this building, woman."

"You left too, Elias. You planned to leave first. Remember that, and get your damn hands off me, dog."

His hold grows tighter, and he has the nerve to shake his head; he stares you down with the heat of a thousand furnaces, his eyes burning through you, and if you didn't know better, you would've thought looks could kill. "Your dog. Seven damn years, seven damn years I ain't seen no sign of you."

"Like. wise." You get out stiffly, but there's that storm again, and this time you ain't got the guts to ignore it.

"You need to dance. Don't ya?" He says after a while and grabs your hand within his, raising it to his lips, and taking a deep breath of your scent. Shit, still smell like jasmine. He ain't never smelt nothing sweeter. "May I?"

You don't know if ya wanna scoff or take him up on that offer, maybe both. You contemplate your options for a moment before remembering what'd ya come here for. Kissing your teeth, your hand settles in his. "I know you'd better still know how to move your feet, Elias Moore."

When your hold releases from his, your figure saunters away to the dancefloor, and he fixes his tie, admiring the view as he follows right on behind ya. Whispering to himself, his eyes roam over you with a heated glaze; the sway in your hips something to stop traffic, "Sho do love to watch you walk away."

"I heard that."

He licks his lips with a smirk on em, "Shyat, I hope ya did."

[༒]

It wasn't long, not long at all, till you pressed against Elias just right whilst you danced; he's only a man, a weaker one when it came to you. He stilled you in your place, grunting, "I'm weak, darlin'. Ain't never been nothing but weak around ya."

"I know. Cornbread sho let me in easy enough when I walked up to that door. Thought you was keeping me out?"

"Cornbread ain't got half the brain to listen to me." He lies, knowing darn well he ain't tell the man not to let you in, hell, he barely even mentioned you coming back to the Delta to his own brother. He wanted this all for him. At least for the night, letting out a hiss of air, he drags you away from the floor and into an unused storage room.

He's smooth when he moves, hoisting you up and onto the counter before grabbing your face into his hands, looking you dead in the eyes like he needed you to know every word was real, and they were. He could lie to most, but not to you.

"Ya got that leash pulled too damn tight for me to breathe, darlin. Ain't no way I could've denied you. No matter how long we've been apart."

"Well, I'm still angry with you. I'm furious." His hand is inching up your dress, the roughness of his palm against the soft skin of your thighs, he's smooth as butter; a charming killer. He knows how to use that grin, especially with you.

"But?" He tilts his chin up, adams apple bobbing and that damn smirk still on his face, smug as he'd always been. The Moore way: confident and cunning. Ya ain't never hated and loved anything more.

When your eyes avert from his, it's like he's hit the jackpot. He knows he's got you now. Can feel it in the way ya can't meet his gaze. Always been a cute lil habit of yours he absolutely adored. — His thumb and index finger come up to tilt your chin, get those big brown eyes looking back at him; Lord, he couldn't get enough. "Aht, aht...Ain't nunnadet now, woman. Tell me what you was gon say."

You could punch him, hell, you oughta for all the promises he broke, the nights he had ya wondering if he ever even loved ya in the first place. A hiss of air is let out between your gritted teeth, and y'know he ain't letting you dodge this. "Making me say it?"

"Goddamned right." His hand doesn't remove itself from your chin, head tilted and brow raised; he's waiting patiently, and if he couldn't be patient with anything else, he could when it came to you. You knew he was prepared to do this all night. His eyes light up like a kids on Christmas when you let that resigned sigh out.

And Bingo was his name-o.

"But...Loving somebody else was never an option for me, Elias." Your whisper is like a butterfly kiss, the words a wisp upon his ears when you say them and press your head against his. His hand stops at the edge of your underwear, and the breath that escapes him almost sounds like a plea to God. A plea to keep the man grounded, because you damn sho wasn't. Not when you sounded so sweet admitting you still loved him.

"Them some pretty words ya speaking, sweetheart." His voice comes out rough, and strained with the restraint he was holding onto so damn tightly. His hands grip your hips, and suddenly you're being taken off the counter, the man sighing like he just realized he'd been starving all night. Famished.

"Turn round for me, girl. Finna see what I been missing out on being boneheaded."

"Ask nicely." You tease.

A hiss of air can be heard when you're turned around and bent over the table. Stack's fingers grip the edge like his life depended on it, trying to restrain himself from busting just at the sight of your soft, welcoming thighs. He slots himself between them before he loses the little mind he has left, unzipping his own slacks. His hands spread you open, yanking your panties down a little less gently than he'd intended.

"I been waitin too damn long to ask anything kindly, darlin'. You're lucky I ain't take ya right at that damn train station. Hold onto me."

His hand envelops yours, allowing you to brace yourself in his grasp, the other moving to line himself with your entrance, the feeling so familiar and yet so distantly felt until he's finally sank himself into ya, your walls soft and warm and so damn tight around that it pulls the most desperate grunt from his lips, and a whispered gasp from you.

Lord, he doesn't know just who to thank yet for bringing you on home. His hand slides around the back of your neck, his head finding its way next to your ear, nipping the tip of it; the gold of his grills like heat against your skin, your hand reaches up to bring his face even closer: your breaths mingle, and that first thrust feels like pure freedom.

"Feel just like home in here, girl. Gon get me hooked like a bad habit again, ain'tcha?" Pace slow yet deliberate, he guides your head down, getting you in a position where your head rests on the table, and he could get even deeper inside you. As deep as he possibly could. "Betcha still taste like honey, too. Ain't nowhere near done with rediscovering every part of you."

His words bit at her in the most embarrassing way, lips dripping with slightly whispered moans, keeping mind the party just outside the door; It ain't quite right how smooth he could be, a shuddered whine escaping her like summin she ain't never heard from herself before. It shows in the way her bite becomes reactive. "You sho talk a lot, don't ya?"

"Want me to shut up, huh?" He chuckles, angling his hips just so and rocking into you with a particular roughness that was so simply Elias, it'd almost be funny if it weren't for the way your mouth had fallen open into a moan too loud for your liking, given the location they were in. "Maybe you just need to be a lil louder, princess."

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Smoke ain't one bit surprised when he sees the two of you running out of the backroom, you giggling whilst Elias leads you out to his truck, the afterglow clear in the way both your clothes were a little wrinkled and tussled up.

"Aye, where you think you're goin'?" He yells out for his brother, but Elias simply waves him before yelling back.

"Gon go home and show my woman some real lovin'. We a be back."

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A/N: which sinner is next? i cannot let you know, there is evil watching and they will try to sabotage my plans </33.

Are yall cool with furries because I’ve got a confession to make…

#sinners #sinners 2025 #smoke elijah moore #stack elias moore #annie moore #sammie moore #pearline #delta slim #remmick #smoke sinners #stack sinners #annie sinners #mary sinners #sammie sinners #sinners pearline #delta slim sinners #remmick sinners #my evil art

The more I think about it … the more I kinda get mad cause instead of Mary suggesting they scam her rich husband for the overhead for the juke she suggested robbing 3 yt ppl who showed up with banjos, suspenders & high waters??? Huh !? And then stack dumb ass just went along with it … like what they were going to get from them would only cover THAT NIGHT 🤦🏾‍♀️ two bird brains! smoke & Annie was the brains and the brawn forsure ‼️‼️‼️