#stack fanfic

[sallythatgurl6444]

[miheartsedthings]

~* Suga' Sweet: Part 3 *~ ~ Finale ~

(18+ Minors DNI)

Modern AU, Elias "Stack" Moore x VirginChurchGirl Reader

Note: We're finally here! Thank you so much for your patience in getting this last part finished, I wanted to make it extra long and the move didn't help the process lol

Thanks again for the love shown to the first two parts, let me know what you think of this ending. I'm considering continuing with this paring in one-shots just to explore certain topics.

Hope you love it.

~ Muah

Trigger Warnings: Toxic mother, Stack being a freak

On a normal Monday morning you’d head to the church to count tithings and check the congregation’s progress toward the fundraiser of the month. If a Monday happened to fall on the 1st, you drew up a budget for that month’s hot meals, checked on Grant applications, and paid utility bills. Once a month on Mondays, the carpet cleaners came to roll up the velvet runners and lay down fresh ones. They always wanted their check up front and you were always there to hand it over. 

Then there was Kevin. Repairing the roof of the foster home he lived in had been one of the church’s fundraisers of the month. Since then, you paid him 15 dollars every Monday to pick up trash from the corner lot where leaves wedged against the cellar door, and teenagers gathered at night to bullshit and wind themselves up. What would that boy do for lunch money without you there? 

What would you do on an aimless Monday?

Stack left you early, though not without long, lingering kisses and a promise to be back soon. You were tired and sore, helping you ignore the empty minutes passing. Your shower was long and hot which helped you ignore putting on the same dress you wore a day ago. You stepped out into the living room where Annie was in the kitchen, grinding something with a mortar and pestle. She glanced up at the sound of your steps, and her grin instantly make your face heat up. 

“Hey miss thing,” She said. 

“I wasn’t so loud, was I?” 

Annie laughed. 

“Nah, couldn’t hear nothing until juuust at the end.” 

You groaned, covering your face which only made Annie laugh more. 

“Oh girl, stop. Didn’t bother us.” 

“Still-”

“Hush.” 

Books and vials covered the counters around her. The countertop was crowded with herbs and flowers, plus some crystals and stones. Still more of the little items were things you’d never seen, stones with symbols carved into them and little pots of fine powders. You lingered over the open pages of a book, staring at the markings. Annie’s hand moved into your field of vision, pointing at the curling symbol on the page. 

“For peace,” she said, then moved her finger to the next page, “Guidance.” 

You hummed, your spirit coming to ease, though you hadn’t realized how alarmed you’d been. How the sight of the candles and unfamiliar visuals had unsettled you. Annie picked up one of the crystals, a dense, shiny green. Jagged and caged in silver wire. 

“Malachite,” she said, handing it to you, “helps you take your power back, live life the way you decide to.” 

You turned it over in your hand, waiting to hear some bright angel song telling you this stone was the thing you needed. There was no such song, but it was pretty. You looked at Annie’s pleased expression. 

“I can have this?”

“I got it out for you.” 

Your warmth had nothing to do with embarrassment now. 

“Annie, you don’t have to be so nice to me, I can’t even pay it back right now.” 

She looked offended. 

“Who said anything about payin it back? This what people supposed to do for each other. You just take that crystal and keep it close. Do what you gotta do and don’t listen to yo wack ass momma.” 

After your laughter died down, you asked what she’d be doing for the rest of the day. 

“You know that black arts festival going on next month?”

You did.

“I need about 200 of these by then,” she held up one of the bottles of oil with herbs floating in it. You jumped, clutching pearls that weren't there. 

“Jesus, Annie, girl let me help you!” 

“You can't. I gotta make every single one, keeps my spirit in it, now what you can do, if you must-”

“Anything.”

She softened, taken aback a bit by your willingness. A soft smile graced her face. She put down the pestle and wiped her hands. She led you to the other side of the living room, into the room she shared with Smoke. The room was vastly different from Stack’s. Stack’s room was designed like something out of a magazine. The walls painted black, the bed covered in lush red silk and stylish slipcovers on the pillows. The walls were crowded with album covers framed in gold, and the mahogany bedframe balanced it all. Smoke's room was simple and clean. The walls were a deep navy blue, and dark, complicated works of art were framed in panels above the high bed. 

You hesitated at the door as Annie crossed to a vanity in the corner, she looked back and waved you in. The room smelled like jasmine and a rich, earthy perfume. Annie had you sit on a stool beside the vanity while she gathered three satchels from the drawer. 

“Few people expectin’ these today and I don't have time like I thought I would.” She placed the satchels into your hand and their contents shifted, uneven in shape and weight. Each had a name on a little tag tied to their tops. “They know how much they owe me.” 

You nodded, staring at the bags. You didn't want to feel nervous, but you did. Twenty-three years of your mother telling you anything not expressly Christian was not of God and not to be associated with, wouldn't go away overnight. Annie touched your hand and you looked at her. 

“You ain't gotta do this,” she said, “you don't owe me.” 

You smiled. 

“I wanna do it,” you said, “I don't like bein unemployed, I need something to do.” You looked down at the velvet satchels. “Besides…you and the twins have shown me nothing but kindness. Never, not once have I been made to feel out of place here and…like you said, this is what people supposed to do for each other.” 

Annie's smile grew as she watched you talk, and when you were done she only smiled.  

“Alright, then. You have my gratitude.” 

You gathered yourself to leave. 

“Imma go now so I'm done before the twins come home.” 

“Big plans?” 

You peeked shyly at her. 

“Just a lil shoppin’” you demurred with a shrug but Annie saw right through you. Stack was about to spoil you the way men with money love to do, and you could hardly hide your smile. 

The first order was for an elderly woman named Etta. You found her in the salon in the back of the beauty supply, the women cackling as you walked in. The hair hung heavy with the smell of singed hair and grease, taking you back to Saturday nights with your mom and the hot comb. You waited for a break in the laughter to ask for Etta. The woman you asked called back into the noise of the salon.

“Etta!” She called out, "They found you!” 

Laughter erupted again and you shielded your smile. Your mom used to gather you and your sisters in the kitchen, playing gospel and washing hair in the sink. 

Etta was under the dryer and needed to be tapped on the shoulder before she turned, her gray hair in curlers, her glasses fogged as she looked around, curious as to why the whole room was trying to get her attention. You crossed to her, not wanting her to have to get up. 

“Hi Ms. Etta, This is from Annie,” you said, holding out the satchel to her. 

“Who?” The woman asked, calling laughter from the others. 

“Annie,” you raised your voice, “it's from Annie!” 

One of the stylists raised the hood of the dryer as Etta reached for the bag. She took it into her fingers delicately, letting it sag into her palm. 

“Ooh, this is just what I needed.” 

It took a few minutes for her to request her purse from one of the other women and retrieve the money. 

“You workin for the conjure woman?” Etta laughed. 

“Just running errands.” You smiled. 

You found the next customer behind the counter at the diner on the corner, right where Annie told you he'd be. 

“Winston?” The man behind the counter frowned, his brows pulled tightly together, “ain't no Winston works here.” 

You shifted to let a waitress grab a plate from the service window.  

“He should be here. Annie sent me.” 

“Sent ya to the wrong spot, don't know no Winston. Aye Crisscross, you know a Winston?” 

Another man appeared looking you up and down. 

“Who wanna know?” 

“Annie.”

The man looked skeptical, then, slowly, a smile came across his face as he looked you up and down. You could see him putting something together and he leaned onto the counter, licked his lips. 

“You know Annie, muss mean you know da twins.” 

You nodded, holding out the satchel, hoping he’d take it so you could leave. He only smiled. 

“You dat church girl, aint you?” He asked. 

“Excuse me?”

“Hell yeah, I remember. Stack's lil church girl.” 

You flustered a little and cleared your throat, shaking the satchel toward him again. 

“Annie sent this for you.” 

Finally, he took it off your hands, but he took his time paying you for it. Meanwhile, news travelled around the kitchen from those who knew of the SmokeStack twins and those who didn’t, and then, by extension, by who you were. You left quickly, headed for your final customer. You held the satchel’s tag up and paused halfway out the door. Saleema Oberland. 

Your heart was pounding as you approached Ms. Oberland’s house. You glanced further down the street to where your mother’s house stood and you stared for a moment. It seemed like something from a dream, seeing it like a stranger would. It was just passed noon. Momma would be cleaning while your dad was at the church, no doubt talking with Reverend Moore about who they’d get to replace you. Jorna was in school, surely. You stared, and your eyes travelled the length of the road, trying to find the spot where just two nights before your belongings had sat burning in a pile. 

The door opened and you jolted. 

“Y/n,” Saleema laughed, “girl, I wondered who was loitering on my porch. You comin in?” 

Saleema’s wide smile calmed you. You took in her eyes and the deep plum lipstick she wore and you nodded. Ms. Oberland’s kitchen was like a garden overflowing. Garlic and peppers hung in garlands and bowls spilled over with apples and plums. There were hanging baskets of curling greens and tomatoes clustered in the corners of the granite countertops. She had jars of peaches and wildflower honey and strawberry jam. You’d never been inside her house before, and now that you were, you couldn’t help but wonder why. Saleema and her daughter Dee were nothing but nice when you passed them at the grocery store. They were in church on Sundays just like you and your family. Yet your mom never spoke to Saleema. 

You sat on a stool in Saleem’s kitchen while she brought out tall, slim glasses with lemons printed on them. 

“Saw your momma after you left yesterday,” 

You looked at her. 

“Did you?” you didn’t want to ask if she’d said anything about you. Ashamed of caring. Saleema grinned. 

“Oh she ain’t say much,” Saleema answered as if reading your mind. She poured the sweet tea from a chilled pitcher. You thanked her, then looked down into the ice cubes and swirls of sugar. You assumed already that the congregation knew about you and Stack, a shudder of the embarrassment came back, but you feel bad for being embarrassed. It’s like Annie said, ain’t nothing dirty about the two of you. Your face was warm so you drank a little and keep an ice chip on your tongue. 

Saleema sat beside you and you looked up at her. 

“You in love, then?” She asked it and smiled like she knew the answer. You smiled, too. You felt like a kid with a crush and in a way it made sense. Afterall, it was the same crush from back then. 

“I’ve felt somethin for him for years. Just, been sittin’ on it for so long-”

“Ya ass got hot.” She cackled, and your embarrassment made you swat at her arm as she laughed with a sway in her body. “Oh girl,” she sighed, “It’s good to see you finally step outta your momma’s shadow. Always hoped you would.” 

You smiled for a moment, unsure how to feel. 

“She’s always been tough to talk to,” You said, “Now I just, I don’t know if I can be around her. When I saw her yesterday, it was like she twisted me up, made me wonder if I’d been wrong. Took all day to undo it.”

Saleema sat there nodding like she understood. 

“When you going your own way, you can’t be around the same things, you know? Winos don’t go to bars.” 

You nodded, even though the thought of your mom as something to be avoided triggered a flash of betrayal. On her part and on yours. You pulled out the last satchel from Annie. 

“Annie sent this for you.” 

You held it out to Saleema and she smiled again as she took it gently into her hands. From the bag she retrieved a vial full of flower petals and herbs, she smiled at it and turned the pretty thing in her hand. 

“What is it?” You asked. 

“Divination.” She looked at you and smiled. “I asked Annie to give me whatever she felt was right, and this,” She held the vial up, “Is healing.” 

“You sick?” You felt worry rise in your throat. 

“No. Kind of healing I need, is the forgiving kind. The kind where they didn’t apologize and maybe they never will, but I gotta feel okay, somehow.”

Your mind went to your mom. Did you need to forgive her? Stack was always giving leniency to his dad, but your anger for that man never lessened, and the anger you felt for your mom was strong, too. It was unfair, the way they’d treated their own children.

“And what if they don’t deserve your forgiveness?”

Saleema looked at you a moment. She got up and left the room for a while before returning with a large purse. Your heart leapt as you recognized it as the bag you kept your knitting in. Saleema sat beside you.

“Your momma gave me this yesterday. Can’t imagine why she didn’t just give it to you.”

You took the bag onto your lap, and inside you found your knitting and your favorite dress wrapped around a few more pairs of underwear. There was a framed picture of your family all together on your youngest niece’s first birthday. Then, wedged at the bottom was an envelope thick with money. Your eyes were full of tears, and when Saleema took your hands, the envelope dropped into your lap, the contents spilled out in a fan of hundreds. 

“Listen to me,” She said, “If there’s one thing I want you to know, it’s that you ain't gotta forgive nobody.” Your heart was racing as you stared at your dress, the money, the picture.

“Why couldn’t she just listen to me?” Your throat was thick, and Saleema pulled you into a hug.  

“We ain’t gotta forgive people that hurt us, but we gotta forgive those hard things in our lives. Forgive that they happened even though we ain’t deserve it.” 

For the second time in two days, Saleema let you cry on her shoulder. Then, you gathered up the things your mother gave you and sat wiping your eyes and drinking tea until the burn of your sadness faded. You looked to the future, and just as hope for the rest of the afternoon was rising, your phone rang. Stack was calling. 

Your favorite dress was blue, but not just one shade, it shifted like crosshatched brushstrokes from neckline to hem. A limewash of baby blue, topaz, and midnight blue. Blue like moonlight, and blue like robin eggs. The shoulders were little triangles of chiffon, and the whole thing felt so light you rarely sweat in it. You felt beautiful, and the way Stack looked at you when you got home (dropping his words mid-sentence and staring) confirmed that you did. Stack stood from the couch, smiling and leaving his brother annoyed by the interruption. 

“Well, well,” he took your hand, holding it aloft while you slowly spun for him, and he whistled softly. “Miss. Suga’ Sweet.” 

You covered your smile and he pulled your hand away, now holding both your hands in his. Gently, like lilies on a pond. 

“Turns out my momma didn’t burn everything.” 

You looked down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the delicate fabric. 

“It’d be a sin to burn that,” Annie said from the armchair by the window where she was tying ribbons around the necks of her vials. 

You smiled, shaking your head. 

“She gave it back,” you said, tears in your eyes. “She wouldn’t even talk to me, but she…I don’t understand her.” 

Stack was still looking you up and down, as if mystified by the shape of you. He seemed calm in a way you hadn’t been in days, maybe never. Maybe you’d never felt so optimistic and joyful because all this time you’d been living the way your momma decided you should. The road you were on now was new and gravelly, and with every step your foot found something it had never felt before and didn’t know how to navigate. Yet Stack stood there resolutely positive. Looking down at you. 

“Y’aint gotta understand,” He said, “Aint for us to know.” 

You wondered for a moment what he meant by ‘us’, but then you realized he meant us grown children of difficult people. Its not our job to understand our hurtful parents, just survive and then live as best you can as far from them as you can get. You didn’t wanna cry, so you turned your mind to the contents of the beg resting in the bend of your arm. 

“C’mon,” You said, “Gotta show you somthin’.”

You set off for Stack’s room with him trailing behind, his eyes drifting down to watch the way your hips switched. He shut the door behind himself as you set the purse on the bed and eagerly dug out the envelope. You turned to show him, a grin on your face. 

“Look.” 

The envelope weighed heavily in his hand and his mood switched, becoming more serious as he flipped his thumb through the bills. He looked at you in confusion.

“Was dis?”

“Ma mommy gave it to me. Well, passed through a neighbor to give to me.”

“Shiiet. Yo momma stealin’ in church?”

You chuckled. 

“It’s my pay, plus extra, obviously. Call it severance.” 

“Whole lotta severance.” 

“But it’s mine! I got my own money now! You ain't gotta pay my way all the time.”

He looked at you, his brows pulling together.

“Pay yo way?” 

Your smile was softened by confusion. 

“What? What’s wrong wit me havin’ money?”

“Aint nothin’ wrong wit it, Shug, but I ain’t payin’ yo way. That’s what you do for a friend when he down on his luck, you feel me? You pay ya homegirl’s way at the club when she come up short.” He handed the money back to you, stepping closer. “I’m yo man, Shug. What I do ain’t payin’ yo way, it’s what I’m ‘sposed to do.” 

Heat rushed your face in a heavy wave, flipping your stomach as he came closer. His eyes were penetrating, as was the sentiment of his words. You swallowed. 

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

He glanced at your hands, then back at your eyes. 

“What you wanna do?” 

You glanced around, searching for a spark. In the past, you’d divided your money into the budget your dad wrote up for you. A percentage to the household bills, a percentage to a rainy day fund. You bought your own food and clothes but any purchases too extravagant left you subject to your momma’s scrutiny. You didn’t bother with jewelry and didn’t hope for a nice car. You didn’t allow yourself to want too much. So, what did you want?

Kevin was there in the church parking lot, about to mount his bike. 

“Das him?” Stack asked, you said it was and he pulled up next to the boy before he could take off. Stack called to him, and you could see the kid’s eyes widen when he got a look at who it was. 

He dropped his bike and approached the car. The kid looked smaller every time you saw him and you worried he was only eating at school. 

“Daaang, this yo car?” 

Stack swirled a toothpick in his teeth. 

“Nah, I’m keepin’ it warm.” 

The boy was too excited to catch the sarcasm, shaking his head at the fancy car. He was so enthralled he didn’t notice you get out and come around to his side until you were standing right beside him. His eyes brightened.

“Where you been at?” He asked.  

“I don’t work here no more, Kevin. You alright?”

He shrugged, like he always did. He never talked about his foster family and it worried you. 

“You don’t work here, so I can’t pick up like always?” 

Your shoulders sagged seeing the worry in his face. 

“Listen, I want you to have this.” 

You tuck sixty dollars into his palm in a tight fold and then close your hands around his. 

“Don’t count it till you in your room with the door locked, you hear me?” He nodded. “Hide it somewhere nobody gon look.” He nodded again, and when you took your hands away he only gently peeked at the money before stuffing it in his pocket. 

“Where you work at now?” He said, softly. 

You glanced at Stack, who merely shrugged, tugging gently on his sole patch. 

“Right now I’m figuring it out. But make that money last till I do, alright? Don’t blow it on nothin’ stupid.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

He hugged you, and you stood a moment hugging him back before you said you had to go. 

Seemed like Stack was having more fun than you. He took you to store after store, had you try on so many clothes you feel like a model at fashion week just flipping through looks. Of course, you loved it, too. From Stack’s praises to his playful attempts to join you in the dressing room, hours melted by and you couln’t stop laughing. There are so many clothes, so many styles to try. He wanted to get you another going-out dress, so you tried on spaghetti straps and halter tops and dresses with plunging necklines. 

You stepped out of the dressing room with your hand over the exposed skin of your chest. 

“Stack, dis too much,” Stack turned from the sales clerk to shake his head at you, looking you up and down in the red dress. 

“Neva too much, neva too much, neva too much!” He sang and you laughed and then he was kissing you. 

Slip dresses and wrap dresses and one brown form-fitting dress that made him get this look in his eyes like he was gonna take you right in the Neiman Marcus, scandalizing all the white folks. After the new dress you moved on to casual wear. There were too many styles to choose from, even picking a top was a question. Casual blouses and t-shirts and tank tops, tube tops, crop tops, baby tees. There was so much it got to be overwhelming. 

Finally, you begged for it to end and left with a few pairs of jeans and some tops the sales woman called “simple but elegant” which struck you as kinda wholesome. 

He bought you earrings and necklaces. Then, he picked out a silver ankle bracelet with a diamond-studded S dangling from it. He knelt down in the showroom to fasten it around your ankle.

“For Stack?” You asked with a little smile. There was gentle accusation in your tone but he grinned up at you like a man with plausible deniability. 

“For Shug” he said, his gold peeking through. 

Then came shoes. A second pair of heels, slip on tennis shoes for everyday, sandals for the heat, fluffy UGG house shoes for fun. 

Finally, he led you to the next store with your hand in his and your other hand over your eyes. 

“Come on, one mo step, right dis way.” 

You giggled. Your heart full of light, bags heavy in the crease of your elbow. 

“Stack, come on, now.” 

“Come on.” He took you in front of him, his hands on your waist, his warmth on your back. “Aight,” his voice was warm against your ear, “open.”

The mannequin was lit like an angel, the delicate curve of her thin hips and torso accentuated by the lacy pink corset and panties, her breasts resting in lacy, flowered cups. You covered your mouth as a gasp escaped you. All around the frilly, perfumed store were tables full of lacy panties and lingerie. Thongs no bigger than floss. 

“Stack,” you said, but he wouldn’t let you move away, with his arms caging you, he lifted a lacy thong up in front of you. It was pink and red, little silk roses dotting the points where the straps would rest at the upper corners of your pubic area, framing your mons in a little triangle of lace. It looked sweet, like it was icing piped onto a cake. 

“See? Aint so bad,” he whispered, “Bet you look good in em, too.” his voice in your ear made you weak, heat rising in your face, “Bet you taste good in em.” 

“You wanted something fresh, that what it was?” 

The voice was close and familiar, making you jolt and fill with embarrassment. Mary stood with her arms crossed, glaring at Stack who was immediately angered. You’d never disliked Mary, and you were embarrassed to be caught looking at thongs, so your natural instinct was to smooth things over. 

“Hi Mary,” you said, forcing a smile, “that’s a lovely dress.” 

Stack was seething. 

“You followin’ me?” 

Mary scoffed. 

“This ain’t the club, I ain’t gotta explain what I’m doin’ here.”

“But you do needa take yo ass from round me.”

“Stack,” you said, looping your arm around his, you noticed a few eyes picking up on the argument and you knew how it looked. How white Mary looked, “You ain't gotta be nasty.”

Mary shook her head. 

“Nah. That's just how he is when he done using you. No matter how many times he says he loves you. No matter how good he fucks you. Don't mean shit. When he's done, he's done.”

More eyes, more people stopping to listen and put the story together however they wanted. The way Stack was staring at Mary like he was about ready to cuss her out had you nervous. You spoke to her in a stern, low voice. Your mother’s voice. 

“You know what you doin’ ain’t right, Mary. You got your feelings hurt and it's fine to be mad but here? Like this?” 

She looked at you, incredulous as tears started forming in her eyes. Lord, you thought don’t let this woman start cryin in here. Luckily, she only shook her head and stormed off. A saleswoman asking her if she was okay as she left. A few people cast wayward glances at you and Stack before the moment passed and they went back to their shopping. Your nerves finally eased. 

Laughter filled the apartment as Stack told Annie and Smoke about Mary’s appearance. 

“Maaan, I mean crackas was circling like vultures, man, they was ready to pounce on ma black ass, Shug bein’ so sweet and here she go, start cryin I said ‘aw shit, white woman tears’.” 

You were trying to catch your breath while Annie was leaning on you as she lost herself in laughter. Smoke was just shaking his head, but you could almost see a smirk as Stack cut up. 

“Dat makes twice you saved his ass, you know dat, right?” Smoke said, looking at you. 

You leaned back, finally catching your breath. 

“Hell, I was scared, too.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Felt kinda bad, actually. If it hadn't been in public maybe we coulda talked with her.” 

Stack let out an incredulous sound. 

“Ain't no talkin’ wit Mary. She get deaf n dumb when she upset, can't tell her shit.” 

You studied Stack for a moment, watching the way he fiddled with his fork and for the first time you wondered about him and Mary. Would she keep popping up like she had today? What if next time she caused a bigger scene and you couldn't smooth it over? What if you aren't there? 

The danger Mary put Stack in was so real the thought made your throat tighten. Her crying in public was bad enough but what if she was angry enough to take it further? What if she lied on him? As a matter of fact, what if she told the truth? She was with them in Chicago for a time, you were certain she knew some of what they got up to. What if she was hurt enough to tell? 

Later, you were putting away your new clothes fresh from the dryer, your mind still on Mary, your heart still full of worry over Stack's safety. 

Stack himself seemed unbothered. He lounged with a blunt in his mouth, nodding his head to Big Poppa with his eyes closed, blowing clouds. His joy made you smile, as it always had, and a pang of love only made your worry run steeper. Your smile fell as you gathered the last things from the laundry basket. The underwear. 

After Mary left, Stack had resumed the thong conversation. He'd encouraged you to pick out a few matching sets of panties and bras, then picked out something himself. The sweet pair he’d shown you first. You held up the thong that looked like pink and red frosting with the little roses and smiled to yourself. Heat rose in your cheeks as you imagined how Stack might look at you while you wore it. 

You imagined the little triangle of lace on your body, Stack's brown eyes looking up at you from between your legs while he kissed them. His tongue warm and wet against your lips. You wanted the heat of his palms on your hips and his undivided attention. The attention he so readily gave, often without you even asking. You glanced at him again and saw now stood over his record player flipping through vinyls. You held the panties in your hand and stared, thoughts of his body swarming your mind, words crowding your mouth. How did people manage to do this? Just come out and ask for sex?

Your face was warm and he was standing there shirtless, his back to you. You tried clearing your throat but the timing was wrong as the bouncing beat of Respect began at the same moment. Stack was bouncing his head, his body full of that rhythm he seemed to have been born with. The rhythm that allowed his body to sync perfectly with yours, like when you first danced. The memory sparked something in you, and you found yourself crossing the room to lay your hand on his shoulder. He turned his attention to you, his bloody eyes looked you over and you feel like he could see it—your every desire. 

“Wassup?” 

His voice grumbled, and he didn’t wait for your answer before his mouth is on yours, clouding your mind. He was close so his eyes were all you can see.

His hands were on your hips and you started swaying to the music, trying to communicate with your body the way you had that night at the club. He seemed to understand.

“Whatchu thinkin’, Shug?” 

You wanted to say just what you were thinking about. His lips, his hips, his hands, but your words got lost on the tide of flattery and arousal. He kissed you and you tasted tobacco and the sweet, stale musk of weed on his tongue. His hands eased into the back of your shorts, palming your ass and undressing you at the same time. That’s when he found the panties in your hands and a little smirk told you he guessed when you’d been thinking about. 

“Put em on.” 

You let your shorts fall around your ankles and then carefully stepped into the panties. When you stood, his hands rose with you, lifting his T-shirt up and over your head, leaving your chest exposed. He fell down to kiss your pelvis, feeling up your ass at the same time. You moaned at the feel of his hot mouth over your clit. He hummed and turned up the energy of his tongue, wetting the panties and making your knees buckle. 

He gripped your hips, keeping you upright. He turned you and made you lean back against the low desk the record player sat on. The record skipped (Mad - Mad tricks up the sleeve..) as he pulled your panties to the side. His hot wet tongue had you gasping as he took you into his mouth, swirling your clit on his tongue and sucking softly. You moaned, your hand moved to his head like you were afraid he’d stop. It seemed like everytime his mouth found you again the feeling was more and more perfect, like over the last two nights, he’d learning just what you wanted and giving it to you. 

A spark of sweetness fired in your clit and your head fell back, your mouth falling open. 

You sighed heavily, then covered your mouth, remembering that you wanted to be quieter for Smoke and Annie. Stack’s tongue wasn’t helping that, though. He was doing something that had your moans coming out, whether you wanted them to or not. The best you could do was cover your mouth, but even then the sound was escaping. You felt yourself moving against his tongue, eager, wanting him, and before you could think you were coming in his mouth, your head bumping up against the wall, your hand failing to cover up your moans. Stack responded with a swirl of his neck, prolonging your orgasm. You squirmed, overwhelmed and desperate. 

“Stack,” you pleaded, lifting your foot to the top of the desk. Stack wouldn’t stop. It was like he was fixated and he stayed locked in on your pussy, his brows pushed in, eyes closed, like this all there was in the world. You were squirming and whining when he finally stood, leaning over you, his fingers swirling around the wetness between your lips. He crowded in over you and kissed you deep while his fingers pushed inside you and you shuddered at the subtle stretch. 

“Yeah,” He spoke against your lips, his eyes were close and he could be nothing other than sincere in his state. “Tell me how dat feel, Shug.” 

You nodded, gathering the words while his fingers worked inside you. 

“Feels good.” 

He caught your mouth in a hungry kiss while his fingers did their work and you got lost in the feeling of him. All your worries were muted under the weight of the pleasure between the two of you. For the moment, there was nothing but the two of you in the entire world. His name, his hand, his body. When you came this time, it was with his hand up under your chin to make sure your eyes were locked on each other’s while you writhed and moaned, your mind on only him, your body shuddering, your mouth declaring that yes, you were his. You were his baby. 

Your arms were wrapped tightly around him, catching your breath. He pushed the fingers he'd had inside you onto your tongue and you were met with the taste of yourself. He watched you take it in, watched you taste what he tasted. You wanted him suddenly, in a way that broke your heart and defies your ability to describe. 

You took his face in your hands and kissed him hard, with insistence and he met your energy with the same. He lifted you by the hips and carried you to the bed, where you were plopped down. He freed himself from his boxers, taking his hardness into his hand. You lay there tingling and exposed,  watching him as he watched you, his muscled stomach contracting with his breath. 

You spread your legs, exhilarated to see his eyes drop to the panties. You could tell he liked what he saw and it made you feel bold. You slowly reached down, your fingers sliding across your stomach and down to your pelvis until you bumped against your clit. You paused and swirled the pads of your fingers over it, sighing at the tingle. Stack licked and bit his bottom lip. 

“Bein’ nasty tonight, Shug?” 

You nodded, still a little too shy to speak. He started directing you, telling you how to touch yourself and how fast. He had you use your other hand to play with your tits and swirl your nipples between your fingers. He wanted you to watch him stroke himself while he watched you. 

By the time he climbed on top of you your clit was buzzing. You wrapped your legs around him, eager and impatient. 

“Ms. Suga’ sweet wanting me bad tonight, ain't she?”  

Your hand snaked up his toned chest, enjoying the feeling of his smooth skin until it was resting on his clavicle and then his neck. You nodded, ignoring the embarrassment of the honesty. Your thumb caressed along his jaw.

“Been wantin’ you a while. Not sure how to say it but I can’t help it no more.” 

He brought his face close to yours, kissed you. 

“You ain't scared to say what you want, is you? Not to me.”

You sighed. 

“It’s hard, Stack. I’ve been taught one way, and when I’m with you I feel the opposite. It’s hard not to feel like I’m wrong sometimes…but when we together….I don’t know…it don’t feel wrong when I’m here with you.” 

He kissed you and the record reached its end, relative quiet rushing in along with the rolling static. 

“Tell me what you want,” he said, the smell of weed made you lightheaded, like you were buzzing, too. Meanwhile he's pushing his hardness against you, prodding and urging the wetness to slick over his tip. You soften. 

“I want Mary to never speak to you again.” 

A laugh rolled out of him and he smiled as he leaned down to kiss you. 

“Aw Shug,” his lips move against yours, “you ain't gotta worry, baby.” 

He pushed again, slipping up against your clit and more sweet pressure surged into your tender flesh. A soft whine urges him on and he's rubbing into you hard and slow. 

“Look at me,” he said and you did. You met his hazy eyes. 

“Tell me what you want me to do.” 

Embarrassment flushed your face. You imagined his arms when he helped you ride, the sounds he made when he fucked your throat. You wanted all of that and more, all of him. 

“I want you so deep in me I can't think.” 

He let out a low moan, his brows pushing together as he rolled his hips against you again, watching the way it made your eyelids flutter.

“Keep goin’” he said. A low sigh pressed from your chest, along with more words you hadn't planned on speaking. Your hands travel up his arms, massaging the muscles of them.

“I wanna feel soft. The way I do when you're inside and all I feel is you,” you whispered, heat pressing your cheeks while he watched you intently, another swell of sweetness in your clit made you moan as your eyes rolled gently closed and you raised your hips to the meeting of his. He lowered the heat of his body down onto you, taking your earlobe into his mouth to suck and nibble on, making you whine. “I wanna make you cum,” you said, “I wanna be slick inside.”

He moaned, the sound of it rolling in his chest as he lay against yours. The two of you writhed and pressed against each other. One of his hands moved down to press your ass, lifting you even more firmly against the firm curve of his erection.  

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your voice filling the hollow of his neck. 

“I want your name inside my body,” you whispered and felt a shudder roll down his spine. You felt an urgency coil inside him and there was only a moment's pause between him releasing your hips and his length pressing heavy into you. You drew in a sharp breath, and eased it out. How different it is now from the first time. That tight stretch and ache had been so intense that night in the club. Even the second time had been worse and this. This time it's a familiar ache. The stretch is like uncoiling a sore muscle, immediately welcome, deep and satisfying to the body. He moves inside you with a rock of his hips, pushing and pulling and gliding, tapping your clit with his pelvis, kissing your jaw, and whispering your name. 

“Shug,” he sighed, "Lil Suga sweet.” 

He pushed in to his base, deep enough to touch a sensitive place inside. You placed a begging hand on his hip which he immediately removed. He rolled his hips, working his tip against your cervix so that your leg drew up and you whined, your lip trembling. He did it like a thing needing to be done and without any meanness or disregard for the pain. Like cleaning out a wound, the hurting was part of it. After a while of moving slow against you, he went back to pumping. He took care to pause and press against your plexuses, the pain easing in time with the softening of your muscles. When the pinch had lessened to a palatable tenderness, and you were purring in his ear again, he leaned back to check your eyes. 

What he found was the sweetest face he'd ever seen. Your eyelashes were dotted with melted sugar, your brows drawn, your mouth in a sweet pout. He would've sworn at any given moment that you were the finest woman God made, but right then it felt like such an irrefutable fact that he was lost in the power of it. He kept his hips moving but he was stuck staring at those eyes, stuck watching the soft quivering of your lip as you tried to speak. 

“Daddy,” you moaned, “feels so good.”

It could've been the weed, but Stack was enamoured. 

He started doing things just to watch the change in your face. Playing with your nipples and grinding his pelvis against your clit forced your eyes closed and your whines grew more intense. Your pussy was hot and hugging like a fist full of honey. He sat up, groaning at the sight and feel of you. 

“Can’t go easy on ya tonight, Shug,” he said, his eyes focused on your pussy swallowing him, “Shit’s too good.”

You were alarmed by the notion that up until then he'd apparently been ‘going easy’ on you. He hooked his hands into the hinges of your hips, yanking you closer as he picked up speed. Your moans picked up, too, slipping from your throat one after another. You covered your mouth but Stack only pulled your hand away.

“Hold ya legs back,” he said, licking his lips as he watched you obey, holding your legs behind the knees you spread yourself and he leaned over, pressing his fists into the bed at the hinges of your hips. He was slapping into you, then, his eyes hazy but his intention clear as the rhythm of his hips cut the desperate whines and gasps leaking from your throat. Every thrust set off another hot rush of nerves buzzing in your walls, fogging your brain. Stack watched your eyes and his focus made your stomach drop. 

You moaned again, then tried again to cover your mouth and this time, Stack took your hand and laced his fingers with your, pressing it to the pillow beside your head. 

“I aint gon warn you again,” He said, “understand?” 

He leaned down further, his pelvis rubbing your clit with every pulse of his hips, making your voice weak. You didn’t know how much you could take, but he didn’t seem close to stopping. 

“Yes, Daddy Stack,” you whined.  

He gave you a smirk, a little peak of his gold before you were plunged into the depths. A flush of tight pleasure made you whine again. He took you behind the neck and sat back, making you watch his dick sliding in and out as he gave you slow strokes. There was a puddle of thick gloss around his base, smearing onto your lips, wet strands stretching between your slick bodies. 

“Look at dat,” he murmured, “makin’ a mess on me, Shug.” 

Heat ticked up into your cheeks. 

“S-sorry,” you stammered.

“Aw Shug,” he chuckled, his abs rippling, “You too damn sweet. Y’aint gotta be sorry, girl. I like dat shit.” 

He let your head rest on the pillow while he pushed your thighs down to your sides and picked up speed again. You were falling quick, your moaning taking you over, your body overwhelmed. You felt a tingle between your toes and realised Stack was eagerly sucking them. You gasped, watching him alternate between using his tongue to loop around and between them, and sucking them into his hot, wet mouth. 

You watched, your mind and body too consumed in your pleasure to form a thought about it. When you came it was with your legs quivering, moaning as your fingers dug into the silk sheets. You weren’t even finished when he flipped you on your stomach and rushed back in, forcing a yell out of you. Your legs were pushed together and he was fucking down into you, hitting a spot that made it impossible for you to keep composure. You were whining and moaning into the pillow, and everytime he asked you a question you obediently answered. 

“Whose pussy is dis?”

“Yours, Daddy Stack.”

“You like how I’m fuckin’ it?”

“Yes, Daddy Stack.” 

Over and over until his name was dripping from your tongue. Your mouth hung ajar, your eyes barely open, your pussy slick and pulsing. He bent down over you, taking you up under the chin and kissing you deep while he fucked you deeper. Inside, your muscles were still twitching from the last orgasm and he kept slamming into that spot so hard you were sobbing into his mouth. He was rocking your whole body with his, your vision a blur from the motion, your head swimming, your body surging. He was gripping your hips hard and fucking you when you were touched with the edges of your next orgasm and the power of it was already too strong. 

“Stack,” there was pleading in your voice, a desperate plea for shelter from what was building inside you. 

“You alright,” he said, his voice half drunk, “you alright, Shug.”  

“Stack,” you whined again, using the only word you could say. He hushed you, kissing your cheek. 

“You can take it, Shug,” he spoke low, his lips against your ear, “be good n take what Daddy give you.” 

Your tears finally came. At first you couldn’t make a sound, then a long moan came strangled out of you. You shuddered, melting and aching as the enormous push of the orgasm rolled deep and heavy.

“Yes,” you whined, “Yes, Daddy.” 

Stack was churning inside you now, kissing your cheek and nibbling your neck. He grabbed your hands and held them in front of your chest, the heat of his body thick on your back, and still he was moving against you, pushing inside you. You laid your head down, face in the pillow, surrendering to his body, to his dick. You were lost for a while in this place. Your mind blissfully blank. Your chest was still ringing with sound but you had no idea what you were saying. 

The next thing you knew Stack was sitting up,  lowering you onto his dick again. This time you started whining the second you felt him inside. Your head rolled back as he started grinding your hips against him and you braced yourself, squeezing his shoulders. 

“Doin’ so good, sweet.” He murmured, his words broken through with a thick groan he couldn’t hold back. It flushed you with a sweet flash of pride.  

You swallowed hard, pulling yourself together enough to lean your hands back on his knees and roll your hips the way he was telling you. Your body was shaking and the whimpers wouldn’t stop, but you kept grinding on him, messaging his dick against your walls and grinding your buttery clit into his pelvis. This time, when Stack took over scrubbing your hips against him and your orgasm swept up to take you, the force of it struck quiet, dumb and foggy eyed. It was his groans filling your ears, along with his slick words of praise. 

You were in his arms when you opened your eyes. Laying down with his lips pecking your forehead. You turned your gaze up to him and he wiped at your tears with his thumb. Your body felt like warm silk, and he held you close enough to be cradled under the shelter of his chin. His chest was warm and still gently fragranced with his cologne. For a long time, neither of you spoke or moved, you just lay there with his hand rubbing your arm. After a while you shuddered from cold and he pulled the blanket up over you, nestling you into a cocoon with him. His hands smoothed over your back and down to gently squeeze your hip. 

The two of you spent long minutes falling in and out of sleep until you each finally got up for the bathroom. When you crawled back into bed together, he took you right back into his arms. Like you belonged there. You found yourself snuggling into his warmth, enjoying the space you occupied by his side. 

How had you gotten so lucky as to end up in this place where so many women wished they were? 

 No matter how many times he says he loves you. No matter how good he fucks you. Don't mean shit. When he's done, he's done

When you opened your eyes again, it was still dark and Mary’s words were in your head. Stack was still asleep, wrapped around you, and you were still safe in his arms. Everything was fine. Still, you worried. You lay there replaying the events in the shop with Mary. 

Although your night with Stack had reassured you in some ways, it had left you vulnerable in others. Besides the worry that Mary posed a threat to Stack's safety, you couldn't help but wonder about their relationship. How had it ended? How recently and on what terms? You weren't a jealous woman, but these seemed like important things to know going forward.

Stack stirred, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Shug? You up?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered. 

He pulled you in closer. 

“Why you ain't sleep?” 

You hesitated. 

“What are you gonna do if you run into Mary again? I mean…if I'm not there.” 

He chuckled. 

“I mean it, Stack.” You moved in tighter, “I don't want…she could get you in trouble…” 

He woke a little more. Able to meet your eyes. 

“Shug I told you not to worry.” 

“I know you don't want me to worry but I do. You being safe means something to me.” 

He looked at you, his eyes roaming your face. 

“You watchin ma back?” 

“Of course,” you said, “Sargeant Shug.” 

He smiled.

“I mean it, though. Don't say anything if she pops up again. Please? Just ignore her and walk away.” 

He chuckled softly, on the verge of dozing off. 

“Now she givin' me orders,” he mumbled “ma lil Suga' sweet.” 

Then he was asleep again. You smiled up at his soft, relaxed expression, and after a few moments, found you couldn't get back to sleep. Rain had started outside, softly pattering against the window. You carefully peeled yourself from his arms and slipped into your T-shirt and a clean pair of shorts. You then tiptoed from the bedroom. 

In the living room, you thought you were alone for a moment, before a flash of lightning illuminated the room at the same moment Smoke was striking a lighter. His stern face was lit in the orange flow of the flame while he pulled on the bone. He sat near the window, open just a crack. He leaned in the leather armchair, his eyes fixed outside. You started at the sight of him, but quickly settled. 

“Oh,” you said, “hope we didn't wake you.” You said, trying to retroactively calculate how loud you’d been.. 

He shook his head, his mouth turned down, his eyes still outside. You hesitated a moment, unsure if you should go back to the bedroom though you were certain you couldn't sleep. 

“Mind if I…?” 

You gestured to the couch and Smoke moved his eyes to you for the first time. He pulled on his cigarette and took his time letting out the exhale. 

“Ya live here.” 

You sat down, pulling the thick throw blanket around yourself. Long silent stretches wound down between you and Smoke, with him pulling on his cigarette and then just staring out the window. You leaned your head back against the couch, your body exhausted, your head in torment. Finally, you collected yourself enough to inquire about him. 

“Couldn't sleep?” you asked. 

“Can't sleep,” he said “ain't been sleepin’ through the night since I’s 16.” 

You knew from town gossip that 16 was the year Mr. Moore died his mysterious death.  You swallowed spit and cuddled deeper into the blanket. The thunderstorm built slowly, low rumbles of thunder climbing over the hills, a heavy push of rain drumming down on the building. On any other night it would be relaxing. Now, at best, it was a fitting backdrop for your inner turmoil. 

Your fear sat heavy on your chest, and with more than a little trepidation, you ventured to broach the subject with Smoke. 

“I'm worried about him,” you said, your voice softened, “and he tells me I shouldn't be…but we all know what could've happened if things had gone another way with Mary.” 

For a moment, Smoke just sat there in the glow of the night, the butt of his cigarette burning red as he finished it. He billowed smoke towards the window and then ground the butt in a crystal ashtray on the table beside him. 

“Tha day when we was 15. You went in the store and I told Stack hold it down while I went and took a piss. Come to find out dis nigga was daydreamin, talkin’ bout the woman he’s gone marry one day, how she was the sweetest thing this side of the Mississippi, and what nice white dress she was gone wear at the weddin’, and the big ole rock on her hand, ya’ll was gone have four, five kids–I mean dis nigga was going on and on. So he was dreaming, and here come Officer Daniels. Not one of em saw a thing till he was right on top of em.” Smoke shook his head. 

The thought that Stack had been picturing a life with you since so long ago made you feel light and beautiful. You find yourself smiling hard. You thought that day had only been special to you. 

Since you kept ma black ass outta jail. 

Your smile refreshed. It was true. He'd been thinking of you just like you'd been thinking of him. With that came another wash of anxiety. 

“I never thought I'd get here, Smoke.” You say, “and now that I am, I just can't have nothin’ take him away. Not Mary, not my momma and her ways…I wanna keep him safe.”

Thunder rolled in again and you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. Smoke stood, looking out at the storm in deep contemplation. 

“I can count on one hand the people I trust to look after ma brother. You one. I'm another.” He looked at you, serious as ever, and you knew he believed his own words, “‘tween us, it'd take a lot more than any one person's schemin’ to take em away.” 

Smoke looked at you, considering you as if for the first time. 

“Mary gon fall away,” he said “she ain't got no place in the future he envisioned. You do.” 

He dipped his head before leaving the room, disappearing into the bedroom he shared with Annie. You hid your happy tears until he was gone. As much as you trusted Smoke, you weren't satisfied to leave Mary up to chance. If only you could talk to her, you could make it clear how much danger she put him in by harassing him. If she really cared about him, she'd understand. She had to. 

You looked to the window to find the sky was lightning. The blue fading from navy to pale, like your favorite dress. You crossed to the window, and you saw what Smoke had seen in the view. The lush green of the trees and the tall grass, the streets slick with rain. Between the water and the rising sun, you were mesmerized. Stack's bedroom door opened, catching you by surprise. You cleared your tears quickly and saw him wiping his eyes. 

“Aye Shug…watchu doin?” You smiled at the sight of him. 

“Couldn't sleep.” You said. 

He leaned in behind you, his arm around you as you both stood there a moment watching the rain. Then, he ushered you back into the bedroom, his arms around you from the back as he walked with you in step. He dipped to kiss your cheek as he closed the door behind you. You were at peace in his arms, under his kiss, and when he left you to move to his record player, you sat on the edge of the bed right behind him, watching. Mildly curious. He put something on and came to sit beside you. He pulled your legs over across his lap and tucked your head in against his neck, your cheek against his warm skin. 

You recognized the music when it started, though not by name. It was so quiet and soft. 

“Who is this?”

Stack was watching the record player, a calm, half asleep expression on his face. 

“Debussy.” 

You sat up and looked at him. 

“You like classical music?” 

He gave you a look. 

“Surprised?” 

You didn't want to admit that you were, but his tone let you know he was teasing, anyway. You leaned on his shoulder again. Stack held you in the sunrise and the rising piano of Rêverie, L. 68. He told you about the various jazz musicians who were influenced by Debussy–the way his compositions shaped generations of music. You listened and while you listened you dreamed of the days to come. Then the months.

Then the years. 

This story was so fun to write, I'm glad people enjoyed it and I hope this was a satisfying ending. Like I said in the opening notes, I might give this pair some one-shots because there are a few stand alone scenes I'm curious about, for instance:

Shug eventually talking to her mom again, talking to her sister again. 

The confrontation with Mary. 

Shug and Stack's first fight. 

Stack slowly introducing the freaky shit he's into (getting Shug to slap him, spit in his mouth, etc.) 

Also maybe some cheesy stuff like Shug gets caught in the crosshairs with some mob shit and the twins have to get her out of it. 

The first time they say “I love you” 

What kind of work Shug finds for herself. 

Let me know if any of these ideas sound interesting, I love and appreciate every single like, share, comment. Love ya'll.

Muah~

@underated345-blog @cardi-bre91 @honggihwa @ohshesamonet

[sinflowersugar]

Guys, whilst I will never be over the cinematic masterpiece that is 'Sinners', I'm over Michael B Jordan. But you might see 1 or 2 smoke/stack fics while this fizzles out.

[faestunna]

if anyone would like to be tagged for the stack fic, pls let me know!