a/n: okay so i finally got around to writing a sinners fic…took me almost a year but i finally wrote it chile. also i’m ngl, whenever i see mbj, i get a lil irritated bc he’s fine asf and i know i can’t have him lmao. anyways, i had this idea during my nightly scenario before bed, hope y’all like it!! i just had to add some more loverboy!Stack into the mix! Just a fluffy little fic, before i get into the weeds of a smut piece…enjoyyyy😗🫶🏾
wc: 1.8k
There could be a lot said about Elias “Stack” Moore. He was hardheaded, a slick talker, and dangerous. Keen on having all his suits tailored to perfection, he nevver stepped out without the matching tie and pocket square, tie clip, hat—every element meticulously chosen.
Some nights you’d finish your entire night routine, nestling yourself right into the covers ready to finally get some sleep after a long day, just for your husband—who’d probably had an even longer day—to keep you up with his antics.
“How you feel about this one baby?” He asks, stepping out of your shared closet with a silky red tie in his hands.
“Looks like the ten other ties you’ve shown me, Elias,” you huff, trying to keep your smirk down, knowing that’d get him a little frustrated. He took the little details very seriously. And right on schedule, he kisses his teeth and sends a pointed glare in your direction before retreating back into the closet.
“No vision,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
“I should lock you and that vision of yours in the damn closet so I can get some sleep,” you grumble, just wishing he’d just get in the bed already.
“You know you can’t just lock all this pimpin’ in the closet, pretty girl,” sending a sly grin with a wink in your direction, he turns out all of the lights, finally putting his outfit planning antics to bed for the night.
Stack even made sure his brother, Smoke—who couldn’t care less about what he was wearing unless the job got done—was put together. Because in Stack’s words, “I have a reputation to uphold,” and “If you got my face you gotta look the part.” He practically considered it his “duty” to stay fly. So naturally, when you two got together, he did the same with you. Despite your countless objections, he was insistent on having some of your dresses custom made, making sure he had the best seamstress in town—who just so happened to be your mother—have a nice pocket square and tie made out of the extra fabric. In fact, Stack was your mama’s best customer—always insisting on damn near doubling whatever she asked for, which was already too low in his opinion. He was never one to turn down an opportunity to remind everyone that you were his, and most importantly, that he was all yours.
You had one more fitting for the dress Elias commissioned your mother to make over Sunday dinner a few weeks back, and he was more than willing to take you. Already heading into town to handle some business with Smoke, your husband brings you along to drop you off at your mother’s shop. But that plan was on the verge of falling apart since he practically held you hostage in the car. Trapping you with “just one more kiss baby” after every kiss. And even then, if you so much as thought about touching a door in his presence, he’d throw a fit. It wasn’t until you reminded your oh so affectionate husband that all the ladies in the shop, including your mother, along with everyone walking down the street could see you two and that his brother would come looking for him if he was late, that he stopped coming in for more kisses. And not to anyone’s surprise, only the threat of his brother got him moving right along.
You blissfully spent the next two hours in your mother’s shop. You’d gotten all the best gossip, taking a mental note of all the details and questions you’d bring back to Stack, who to his credit, always patiently listened and indulged in whatever gossip fell into your lap. You went back and forth with your mama, insisting she could bring the neckline down just a little, huffing and puffing that you were grown and married, until she begrudgingly gave in. You got to recount bits and pieces of your married bliss, the two younger girls in the room hanging onto your every word as if you were reciting the best fairytale ever written. And you even managed to successfully dodge any questions related to why you’d been married for a little over a year now with no baby Moore on the way. You’d consider the day a success.
“And I don’t know why I need a new dress. Elias said it’s for when he takes me dancin’, but we just went out last weekend,” you reason, trying to figure out what he was up to.
“You know that boy love to spoil you Y/n,” one woman pipes up, stopping her work on the garment in front of her to give you a knowing look.
“Maybe he wanna—,“ but before the young girl could even finish her starry-eyed guess the small bell above the front door rings, forcing everyone’s attention in that direction. And speaking of the devil, in walks your husband with a toothpick between his teeth and a smile brighter than all the stars combined.
“Well ain’t you just prettiest thing the Delta done ever seen,” Stack muses, pulling the toothpick from between his teeth and taking in your red clothed form. Your cheeks immediately warm up at the grandeur of his compliments. It didn’t help that you were front and center in the room, standing right on the small platform with the threefold mirror staring right back at you.
Walking further inside, he takes the structured hat off of his head and greets all the women, stopping to properly greet your mother with a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Ain’t she so pretty,” he adds, stepping right up to your side, taking in the dress that was in his signature crimson, it hugged your body perfectly, the delicate pattern catching the light just right. The unanimous hum of approval from all the ladies only makes your cheeks hotter.
He then lifts your left hand in his and plants a delicate kiss to your jeweled ring finger as he admires you through the mirror in front of you.
“Hell, all of Mississippi ain’t got shit on you,” he breathes out, taking all of you in one more time.
“You better watch that mouth Elias,” Mrs. Bea grumbles from your right side, causing your mother to snicker behind you—already being somewhat used to his potty mouth.
“Now how you doin’ Ms. Bea,” Stack beams sweetly, peeking out from your side to flash the golds in his mouth to the older woman across from him.
“Doin’ fine. Would be better if you stopped all that cussin’,” she shoots back, causing you and everyone in the shop to erupt into laughter.
“Now I can’t make no promises ‘bout that ma’am,” Stack truthfully confesses.
“Plus ya girl right here love it when I cuss real good,” his eyes are locked squarely on yours, a sinful glint blooming behind them. By now, your husband is grinning from ear to ear, the dimple on his left cheek on full display. You were just itching to poke it if that meant he’d stop.
“Boy you better stop, you know this girl gon’ burst into flames,” your mother snickers, placing the last pin in place for alterations. Was everyone out to get you right now?!
“Alright baby, you can go take this off, should be done by the end of the week,” she adds, helping you down from the platform alongside Elias.
“Thanks mama,” you softly breathe out, the corners of your mouth curling up into a gracious smile as you squeeze her hand. She reciprocates with a soft smile and sends you off on your way to go change.
“Need some help Mrs. Moore?” He offers, his voice laced with nothing but sin and a smirk plastered across his face to match. Your head immediately whips in his direction, eyes screaming, begging for him to stop. You step in closer to him, palms planted on his chest, eyes searching his for any hint of sense.
“Can you wait outside for me, I’ll be right out. I promise,” you whisper sweetly, gripping onto his suit lapels, smoothing out the crisp edges. While you were trying to be firm, you couldn’t stop yourself from your senses being pleasantly overwhelmed with the scent of his cologne mixing with the tobacco from his cigarettes.
“Nah, I’m good right here babygirl,” Elias pokes back, enjoying the way he was making you blush.
“If you go wait in the car, I’ll be real sweet to ya when we get home,” you lean up to whisper right in his ear, softly and ever so slightly pressing your body against his, knowing his ultimate weakness was you.
“That’s all you had to say, woman,” your husband beams, lightly wrapping a hand around your forearm and planting a small kiss to your lips before stepping away from you. You send a wink his way before turning towards the changing rooms, Ms. Bea following behind you, giving Stack a pointed look—almost daring him to watch you walk away. And he still did anyway.
“And before you even ask, I already set aside some extra fabric for that tie and pocket square of yours,” your mother informs, cleaning up her workspace.
“You know you my favorite mother-in-law right?” He proudly asks, earning a couple laughs from some of the women in the room and earning an eye roll from your mother.
“Gotta be able to match my favorite lady,” he proudly states, his smile softening at the thought.
“I’m gon’ get out y’all’s way now. The missus wants me gone I suppose,” Stack continues, feigning hurt as he carefully places the hat back on his head.
“I’ll see you on Sunday,” he finishes, giving your mom one final hug and kiss to the cheek and making his way to the door, sending a small wave to the other women in the room.
“That mean I’ll see you at church too, right?” Your mom quips, already knowing the answer.
“I don’t know about all that now,” your husband laughs, shaking his head as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hot Mississippi air.
You can hear the ladies chatting back and forth as you carefully take off the dress in progress and put your original outfit back on.
“He sure is some trouble, that Elias Moore,” one woman grumbles, eyes looking towards your mother as she gets her own alterations done.
“But ain’t he just so sweet to her?” A much younger seamstress sighs, completely entranced with yours and Elias’ love story.
“That he is,” your mom replies to them both.
“But they a perfect match, that’s for sure,” she continues, looking out of the window to see Stack leaning against the car puffing at a cigarette and a bright image of your smile whenever you’re with him etched into her mind.
And you in the dressing room, hearing all the chatter, were fighting back the widest smile—the kind that hurt a little if you smiled for too long. Because it was true—you and Elias were a perfect match.
*No spoilers. It takes place before the brothers return to Mississippi
pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black!OC
sumary: Lena Pearl, a waitress in Al Capone's world, confronts Elias "Stack" Moore, a man caught in the same violent life she tries to escape. As tensions rise, they both face the uncomfortable truth about their shared darkness. Their connection is undeniable, but will it be their salvation—or their undoing?
warmings: angust, mention of death, internal conflicts, survival and violence. English is not my first language.
word count: 4,7K
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The Green Mill - Chicago, 1929
The cutting Chicago wind was no match for the heat emanating from the basement beneath the old barbershop. Lena Pearl adjusted her string of fake pearls as she descended the wooden stairs that creaked under her careful steps. Her emerald-green dress – simple enough not to draw attention on the streets, yet elegant enough for the job – reflected the yellowish glow of the strategically placed lamps around the lounge.
"The princess has arrived," murmured Big Joe, the security guard stationed at the inner door. He was one of the few men Lena allowed to speak to her that way.
"Mr. Capone asked for you three times today."
Lena just nodded, without revealing the weight those words carried. Working for Al Capone was like dancing constantly on the edge of a cliff – dangerous, but impossible to walk away from. There was a strange vertigo in that routine, as if she lived suspended between the urge to disappear and the need to keep being seen.
The Green Mill was buzzing despite it being only Tuesday.
The economic crisis that ravaged the country seemed only to intensify people’s thirst. The saxophone wept on the small improvised stage while white men in expensive suits mingled with South Side workers – all equal in their pursuit of the oblivion only forbidden alcohol could provide. It was ironic – the deeper the country sank, the more vibrant that basement became as a refuge for broken lives.
"Bourbon for table three and a double whiskey for the man with the hat in the corner," said Gina, another waitress, hurrying by. "Oh, and watch out for that new guy. Stack, I think. He’s been watching you since you walked in."
Lena discreetly lifted her gaze toward the indicated direction. In the shadows, partially hidden by the haze of cigarette smoke, a Black man in a dark gray suit stared at her without disguising it. There was something in his eyes – not the usual lust or curiosity Lena was used to ignoring. It was as if he recognized her from somewhere impossible, from a life she had never lived.
She looked back. For the first time in a long while, Lena allowed herself to hold someone’s gaze. There was a restlessness sneaking under her skin – recognition, maybe? Or just loneliness? Elias “Stack” Moore wasn’t just a new man at the bar. He was a living question mark, a reminder that she could still be moved by something other than fear or cynicism.
As she served the tables, she felt the weight of that gaze on her back.
For the first time in ages, Lena felt the loneliness she carried like a second skin. Among so many, she was always alone – it was what kept her safe, what kept her alive in a world where women like her served only temporary, limited purposes. And now, there was a man who seemed to see beyond the role she performed every night.
"Miss Pearl." The deep, controlled voice surprised her as she turned from a freshly attended table. Elias was there, too close, too real. "Allow me to introduce myself, Stack."
"I know who you are," she replied, offering neither a hand nor a welcome. "And I’m working, Jack."
"Stack," he corrected, with a restrained smile. "Just wanted to say Mr. Capone speaks very highly of you. Says you’re the only honest person in the entire place."
Lena couldn’t suppress a half-laugh. “Mr. Capone has an interesting concept of honesty.”
“Maybe,” Stack stepped aside, allowing her to pass – a rare gesture of respect in that place. “But I’ve learned to trust his judgment when it comes to people.”
Before Lena could reply, the back door burst open violently. Two men in overcoats entered, followed by a blast of cold wind. One of them – short, round-faced, and wearing a dangerous smile – was unmistakable. Al Capone removed his hat, revealing his scarred face, and his eyes immediately found Lena.
“Pearl!” he called out, ignoring the bows and greetings around him. “Bring me my whiskey. The special one.”
Stack watched the subtle transformation in Lena, how her shoulders adjusted, how her expression closed off even more, how she became both more present and more absent at once. To him, it was like watching a butterfly retreat into its cocoon at the first sign of threat.
As she walked away, Stack felt a strange pang. Who was that woman, really? Why did she seem so profoundly alone, even in a crowded room? And why was he, a man used to staring death in the eyes – so unsettled by a simple waitress?
“Always on time, Mr. Capone,” she replied with rehearsed formality, already heading to the bar to fetch the bottle kept especially for the boss.
Elias watched her go, realizing in that instant what Big Joe had hinted at earlier. There was something about Lena Pearl that set her apart, not just her undeniable beauty or the dignified posture she maintained in a world that constantly tried to shrink her. It was something deeper, a quiet resistance that seemed to say:
“I’m here, but I don’t belong to this place. I never will.”
Lena returned with the special bottle of Scotch whisky – smuggled in recently from Canada, on a shipment that had cost three men their lives the week before, though no one spoke of it. She carried it on a silver tray, along with a single crystal glass. At Capone’s table, the men fell silent as she approached.
“Here it is, sir,” she said, placing the tray on the table and pouring the first drink with the precision of someone who knew exactly how much pleased him.
“Thank you, Pearl.” Capone looked up, his eyes lingering on her face for just a little too long. “I missed you last night.”
In the background, the piano began a melancholic melody, blues notes weaving through muffled conversations and thick smoke. The saxophonist – a middle-aged Black man with eyes that looked like they’d seen hell – joined in with a wail that made the hairs on the back of Lena’s neck stand on end.
“I wasn’t feeling well, sir. My apologies.”
Capone nodded slowly, not believing her, but willing to accept the lie – for now. He looked at her like a man who believes he owns everything he sees. And Stack saw it. He also saw the pride in Lena as she masked her contempt behind flawless professionalism. That was resistance in its purest form. And beauty. And pain.
Capone’s gaze drifted past her shoulder, noticing Stack watching the scene quietly.
“Stack!” Capone called, his voice shifting suddenly to a louder, more expansive tone. “Come meet the Green Mill’s crown jewel.”
Elias hesitated for just a second before approaching the table – but that brief pause seemed to stretch, as if he were deciding whether to dive or retreat from the edge of a cliff. His eyes met Lena’s, and in that brief exchange, there wasn’t just tension – there was memory. Not real, but instinctive. As if they recognized in each other something long forgotten, a shared pain disguised as strength.
“Mr. Capone,” Stack greeted with a nod. “We’ve already met.”
Capone raised his eyebrows, a smile with more teeth than joy. It was the kind of smile that served as a warning.
“Have you?” he asked. “My Pearl’s charmed you too? She has that effect on men.” He laughed, but the sound held no warmth – it was just noise, like ice cracking. “But she’s different. Not like the other girls around here.”
Lena remained still, like a painting of herself. Her face was neutral, expressionless, but her clenched jaw betrayed the tension underneath. Stack noticed and understood. Capone’s words, though wrapped in charm, were fences. A territorial warning.
“I can see that,” Stack replied, his voice even, but not his eyes. His eyes said something else. They said he truly saw Lena. “Some people carry their own light. Even in the dark.”
The saxophone, almost as if conspiring with the moment, let out a sharp note – nearly a wail. The music captured what words couldn’t: That something there was on the verge of breaking.
Capone took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes following Stack with measured interest. “Stack did us a big favor last night,” he said, his tone taking on a more performative flair.
“That issue with the Irish on the North Side? Taken care of.”
Lena’s stomach tightened at the violence in the memory. That morning’s newspaper headline returned like a punch:
Two bodies floating in the river,
Enough bullets to erase names, stories, families.
Now reduced to mere statistics – and silence.
“Stack has a steady hand,” Capone continued, his pride laced with provocation. “Not like those amateurs who make a lot of noise and do little else.”
Elias kept his expression unreadable, but his eyes sought Lena’s – for just a second too long. And she saw it. There was something there – a tremor, perhaps regret, or the shadow of doubt. Not something that could be said out loud. But it was there.
“I just did what needed to be done,” Stack replied. There was weight in his words and emptiness too. Like a man used to digging holes inside himself.
Capone laughed loudly, slapping the table with delight. “Modest! I like that in a man. Makes doing business easier.”
Then he turned to Lena with that look – the one that always reminded her of her place.
“Pearl, bring us another bottle. I want to properly celebrate Mr. Moore’s success.”
"Yes, sir," she repeated. But her thoughts remained tangled in the truth she couldn’t ignore.
Stack was like the others. A killer. A man who took lives for money, for loyalty to Capone, or for any excuse that helped him sleep through the night. And still… he had looked at her as if she were whole – as if both of them might find some kind of salvation in each other’s eyes. That hurt more than any lie. Because Lena didn’t want to feel that. She couldn’t afford to.
The music seemed to change, as if the room itself could hear her thoughts. It grew heavier, more oppressive.The bass throbbed like a broken heart, while the saxophone cried notes that clawed through the air, sharp with regret.
“Pearl?” Capone’s voice pulled her back. “The bottle?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
Lena turned toward the storeroom where the special bottles were kept, suddenly suffocated by the heat and smoke in the room. She needed air, space to think. To process the disappointment she wasn’t supposed to feel – Because what had she expected? That in this nest of vipers, one man might be different?
“Stack, go with her,” Capone ordered, voice casual, but his eyes calculating. “Show her which bottles we brought back from the Jefferson Park stash.”
Stack nodded and followed Lena, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the crowded room. The singer had taken the stage now, her husky voice rising above the instruments, singing a blues made famous by Ma Rainey:
“Trust no man, no further than your eyes can see… Trust no man, no further than your eyes can see… For a man’s got a heart full of jealousy...”
The lyrics hit like a warning, a painful truth that echoed in Lena’s ears as she walked, hyper-aware of Stack’s footsteps behind her. Every syllable a sting. Every note a reminder.
When they finally reached the hallway that led to the storeroom – away from Capone’s watchful eyes and his men – Lena stopped abruptly and turned to face Stack. There was fire in her eyes. But it wasn’t just anger. It was fear too. Of him. Of herself. Of all of it.
“The Irish,” she said, her voice low but laced with something trembling between disgust and necessity. “Was it you?”
Stack glanced around, making sure they were alone before answering. His eyes returned to her with the same intensity as before but now, there was a thread of exhaustion in them.
“Is that what matters to you?” he asked, his voice lower than usual. “Or is it just something to help you keep your distance?”
“Don’t answer a question with another question,” Lena snapped, anger rising in her like a rising tide. “Two families lost their sons yesterday. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Stack stepped closer – still composed, but his eyes betrayed a storm beneath. “Those men tried to kill three of ours last week. They were planning to raid this place tomorrow night.”
“Ours?” Lena let out a bitter laugh, but it came out like a blade. “So you're one of them now.”
“I don’t consider myself anything but what I am,” Stack replied, voice quieter now, as if speaking from the bottom of a well.“A man trying to survive in a city that only gives people like us certain paths.”
The music from the club reached them like a whisper, the blues seeping through the walls like the heartbeat of a wounded creature. It echoed everything they weren’t ready to say.
“And what path is that?” Lena asked, barely breathing.
“Killing for money? Doing the dirty work for men like Capone?”
“And what’s your path, Lena?” Stack shot back, eyes burning. “Pouring drinks for men who look at you like you’re for sale? Smiling while dying a little more inside every night? Pretending you don’t see the bodies being dragged out the back?”
Lena blinked, as if his words were wind throwing dust into open wounds. He was right and that hurt more than any lie.
"At least I don’t pull the trigger," she said, steady on the outside, but wavering within. Because she knew – even without blood on her hands, she was still part of that theater of horror.
"No," Stack murmured, his tone now more sorrowful than accusatory. "You just serve the drink that celebrates after the trigger’s been pulled."
The silence that settled between them was thicker than the stifling air of the corridor. It wasn’t just silence – it was the weight of everything they felt, and everything they wanted to deny.
The music outside seemed to swell, as if the saxophone understood the gravity of that moment. A melodic lament, like a warning that what was being said couldn’t be taken back.
"We need to get that bottle," Lena said finally, her voice slipping back into a practical tone. "Capone’s waiting."
"Capone’s always waiting," Stack muttered, more to himself than to her. "The question is: how long are we going to keep doing what he expects?"
Lena didn’t respond. The question echoed inside her like a prophecy. Then she turned and continued down the hall toward the storage room, her footsteps blending with the muffled rhythm of the blues that followed them like a ghost through the dimly lit corridor.
When they reached the door, Stack reached out and gently took her arm. It wasn’t force – it was an anchor.
"Lena," he said, a vulnerability trembling beneath the surface of his voice, "we’re not as different as you want to believe."
She looked at his hand on her arm, then up at his face. And what she saw there – honesty, doubt, fear – scared her more than any threat ever could. Because it was real. Because she was on the verge of believing it, too.
"That’s what scares me," she whispered, almost regretfully. And then she opened the door.
Stack followed her inside. He closed the door slowly, like someone closing a confessional. The sound of music became even more muffled.
The pantry was a narrow cubicle, barely larger than a closet. Shelves of worm-eaten wood supported rows of carefully organized bottles–some with legitimate labels, others with homemade seals, all containing the forbidden elixir that kept Chicago running like a drunken clock. The only light came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently, casting dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls.
Stack adjusted the red handkerchief in the breast pocket of his pinstripe suit–a touch of color in a man who seemed made of shadows and restraint. His presence there, in the tight space, was like an eclipse; he occupied no more physical space than necessary, but his aura filled the environment. He was the type of man who had learned to make the minimum seem impossible to ignore.
“Third shelf, second row,” he murmured, approaching Lena from behind. It was strange how he seemed to know the place better than she did, each word measured like expensive whiskey–warm, direct, impossible to forget. “The whiskey came from a shipment we received yesterday. Legitimate Scotch. A man died for it.”
“Just one?” Lena asked bitterly, stretching to reach the bottle. The movement drew attention to the scar on her right wrist, a thin, whitish line that extended across her exposed skin. Her sleeveless dress left her arms completely bare, revealing not only the scar but also the delicate strength of her shoulders.
Stack noticed, but didn’t comment. In his world, every scar had a story someone preferred to forget. He knew that kind of silence well.
“I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he said, his voice low like a confessional. “And so do you, right? That’s why you asked about the Irish.”
Lena reached for the bottle, her slender fingers closing around the amber glass. The liquid inside shimmered under the precarious light like melted gold. Gold with the taste of blood.
“I just want to know what kind of man I’m trapped in a pantry with,” she replied, without turning. “Self-preservation.”
Stack almost smiled. There was something in her calculated coldness that fascinated him–perhaps because it sounded exactly like the lies he told himself every morning when he woke up.
“You asked me if I pulled the trigger,” he said, advancing a step. The space was so tight that the heat from his body reached her back. “You want to know if I’m a killer or a man with principles?”
“Is there a difference in this place?” She finally turned, the bottle between them like a fragile barrier.
The proximity was dangerous. There, in the yellowish light, Lena could see the golden grillz that adorned his teeth, gleaming discreetly when he spoke, the way a vein pulsed almost imperceptibly at his temple, the texture of skin marked by years under the merciless sun. Too many human details for a man who should be just another customer, just another danger to avoid.
“In 1917, I enlisted in the 369th Infantry Regiment,” Stack said, his voice suddenly distant, as if he were reciting facts about someone else. “Harlem’s ‘Hellfighters,’ that’s what they called us. I spent 191 days on the front, without rest, without replacement. More than any other American unit.”
Lena wasn’t expecting a confession. Not there, not now. The entire Green Mill was waiting for them to return with a bottle of whiskey, not with war secrets.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with uncomfortable intensity. “I wasn’t a violent man before the war. Afterward… afterward, violence began to make sense. Something about surviving changes the way you see the world.”
The smell of old wood mixed with the subtle aroma of whiskey filled the air between them. Outside, muffled by the thick walls, the piano melody continued, an ironic soundtrack for that confession no one had asked for.
“The Irish were armed,” he continued, something trembling beneath the surface of his words. “They were going to kill everyone at the Miller’s Club on 35th Street. There were women there. Children in the back. Employees’ children.”
Lena felt a shiver run down her spine. Stack wasn’t justifying himself. He was sharing a burden with someone he sensed might understand. The burden of impossible choices.
“I’m no better than you, Lena. I’m no worse. We’re just two survivors caught in Capone’s web, trying not to be devoured.”
The light flickered for a moment, as if the building’s electricity felt the weight of that conversation. In the brief moment of dimness, both their faces seemed more vulnerable, stripped of the masks they wore in the hall.
“Your eyes recognized me when I entered that room,” Stack murmured, his voice now almost a caress. “Why?”
The question caught her off guard. It was true–something about him had awakened an instinctive recognition, like an echo from another life. Was it the way he carried his own pain without ostentation? Or perhaps it was just the loneliness she recognized, so similar to her own?
“I know your type,” Lena replied, trying to rebuild the wall he was, without realizing, tearing down. “Men who think they can save the world, or at least themselves, by working for the devil.”
Stack’s lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile–that rare smile Gina had mentioned, like the sun breaking through at the end of a cloudy day. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to completely transform his austere face, revealing the man behind the legend that Chicago was already building around him.
“And you?” he asked, leaning slightly. The space between them diminished with each breath. The perfectly adjusted tie at his neck seemed a contradiction to the controlled intensity in his eyes. “What do you think you’re saving by working here?”
She could feel the warmth of his breath–whiskey and cigarettes, but also something cleaner, like mint. A man who arrived without making noise, who made entire rooms fall silent by instinct, but who cared about insignificant details like his own breath, even in a world of chaos. This disturbed her more than any threat.
“I’m saving the only thing I have left,” she answered with a honesty that surprised her. “The illusion that I still have a choice.”
Stack raised his hand, hesitant. For an instant, Lena thought he would touch her face – a gesture she wouldn’t know how to receive. But he only adjusted a lock of hair that had escaped her careful hairdo, his finger lightly brushing the skin of her temple.
“We all have choices, Lena,” he said, his deep voice carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. “They’re just not the choices we’d like to have.”
The distant sound of breaking glass in the hall brought them back to reality. The world outside continued its course, indifferent to the secrets exchanged in the small pantry.
“Capone is waiting,” said Lena, resuming her professional posture like someone putting on armor.
Stack nodded, taking a step back. The space between them expanded again, but something had changed in the air. An invisible bridge had been built–fragile, perhaps temporary, but undeniably real.
“You know what the hardest part of the war was?” he asked, as she turned to leave. “It wasn’t the combat, the bodies, not even the constant fear. It was coming home and discovering there was no more home. That the place we return to is never the same as the one we left.”
Lena stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Her back was to him, but Stack could see the tension in her shoulders, the rigidity that betrayed that his words had reached some deep place.
“You know that feeling, don’t you?” he insisted. “Of belonging to a place that no longer exists.”
Lena closed her eyes for a brief moment. Images of a simple house in New Orleans, the smell of jambalaya on the stove, laughter of children playing in the yard. A world that had collapsed so long ago that sometimes it seemed to have been only a particularly vivid dream.
“We’re taking too long,” she said, her firm voice contradicting the tremor in her hands. “And that’s dangerous for both of us.”
When she turned, bottle in hand, her eyes avoided his. Stack understood the retreat. He knew that dance too well–the cautious approach, the mutual recognition, and then the strategic withdrawal. It was the only way to survive when you carried more scars inside than out.
“What do you think Capone is really celebrating with this whiskey?” he asked, deliberately changing the tone of the conversation, offering her the exit she silently requested.
“Something none of us wants to know,” replied Lena, grateful for the change. “Ignorance is sometimes the only protection we have.”
Stack held the door for her – an anachronistic gesture of chivalry that seemed almost comical in that setting of criminality and survival. But Lena noticed how he positioned himself strategically, so that he would be the first to enter the dark corridor. Protection, not courtesy. The difference mattered.
As they walked back through the corridor, the sound of jazz grew progressively, like a tide rising to engulf them. The smell of sweat and cheap perfume mixed with tobacco announced their return to the real world– a world of masks and well-rehearsed roles.
“I know you don’t trust me,” murmured Stack, leaning slightly so that only she could hear. “And you’re right. But if you ever need help…”
“I won’t,” Lena cut in, but without the coldness from before. There was something almost like gratitude in her tone.
When they were about to emerge back into the hall, Stack stopped abruptly. Lena almost collided with his broad back.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
“I saw something in the back of the storage room,” he replied, his voice suddenly tense. “Boxes that shouldn’t be there. With military markings.”
Lena felt a chill. Weapons. They could only be weapons. Capone was planning something bigger than the usual territorial disputes.
“Forget what you saw,” she whispered urgently. “For your own good.”
Stack stared at her, the dim light of the corridor creating shadows on his angular face. “Is that what you do? Forget what you see?”
The question hit Lena like a slap. For a moment, the air between them seemed too heavy to breathe.
“I survive,” she finally responded. “It’s what we all do.”
The music in the hall changed to something more lively, as if mocking the tension between them. A loud, fake laugh from Capone crossed the stuffy air, a timely reminder of what awaited them.
Stack held her arm gently, his warm fingers against her cold skin. “There’s a difference between surviving and living, Lena. At some point, we’ll have to choose.”
Before she could respond, he released her and went ahead, emerging into the golden light of the hall like a man without weight on his shoulders, his face already wearing the mask of efficiency that Capone appreciated.
Lena breathed deeply and followed him, the bottle of whiskey in her hands weighing like lead. As she approached Capone’s table, where Stack had already resumed his place, she realized something disturbing–for the first time in years, she felt fear. Not the familiar fear of Capone, of violence or poverty.
It was the fear of possibilities. The fear that perhaps, just perhaps, there were more paths than she had allowed herself to see.
When she placed the bottle before Capone, her eyes briefly crossed with Stack’s. In that silent look, there was an unspoken promise–or perhaps a warning. His eyes, which normally seemed always distant, trapped in a past he never talked about, were now firmly anchored in the present. In Lena. In possibilities too dangerous to name.
“Stack!” Capone’s voice cut through the air. “Where’s your brother tonight? We need the best for tomorrow’s job.”
“Smoke is taking care of that business in the South Side,” Stack replied, his voice returning to its usual formality. “He’ll be here early tomorrow.”
Lena noticed how Stack transformed near Capone–every movement calculated, every expression a perfect mask. It was as if he stacked layers of protection between his true self and the world. Stack. The man who always had something stacked: money, marked cards, too many secrets.
The future was as uncertain as Chicago on a foggy night. But one thing was certain: that meeting in the pantry had planted a seed of doubt that, like the weeds in the city’s abandoned lots, would be difficult to eradicate.
And as Capone raised his glass in a toast, celebrating some bloody victory, Lena knew that something had changed inside her–something silent, dangerous, and irreversible like the tick-tock of a time bomb hidden in the city’s basements.
Nobody knew for sure where Stack had come from, only that he appeared in Chicago–along with his brother–on a night of heavy rain, with a worn suitcase and a look that said he had left more than memories behind. Now, Lena wondered what else he hid behind that gaze which, for a brief moment in the pantry, had lowered its guard only for her.
-
Heyyyyyyyy,
There's no tag list, I just had to launch something that was burning in my mind as soon as I left the cinema. Feel free to show your love. Until next time 🥹❤️
summary: struggling with a serious case of writers block you find yourself desperate for inspiration for your next novel. deciding to take a stroll around the bustling city at night you find yourself lounging within a bar, a strikingly enigmatic couple offers you a chance of a lifetime to write their story...what could go wrong?
author's note: this was suppose to drop last month during pride but it's been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. so for those who waited here it is bookie! this is for the bisexual/pansexual girlies! still workin on requests the next fic that will drop will be a smoke fic and whewww it's too good till then i hope ya'll enjoyed this much love <3
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It was a foggy night within the bustling streets of Louisiana, the cobblestones still glistened and slick with rainwater from the thunderstorm that passed over the southern state, leaving behind only a thick mist that curled around pedestrians and lingered under the ember glow of street lights. You heels clicked against the pavement - sharp, intense, and purposeful. There were no stumble within your steps as you gracefully sidestep over puddles and potholes that lingered onto the wet pavement.
With a roll of your shoulders, you took a long drag from the cigarette that hanged loosely from your cherry stained red lips, not bothering to pull the cigarette from your mouth as you exhaled the thick smoke that nipped at your lungs. Grey smoke plumed in front of you, but you didn't break your stride - walking within the smoke cloud until you were met with breathable air again.
The box had been full this morning; buying it when you walked back from the local library. Now the paper box was empty, you told yourself that you wouldn't do this - chain smoking to the point were it wasn't even enjoyable anymore but the pressure was eating away at your already fried nerves.
You hit a wall...The words that use to flow from your brain grinded to a halt. You had nothing to write about and it been like that for months. The emails from your editor sat within your computer unopen, you dreaded even holding the damn thing, it stung like an infected cut but you knew you were dragging out the inevitable.
"You're wastin' our time..."
"If you don't give us somethin' concrete - somethin' good, then we'll just have to cut our losses and move on."
Those were the words you editor told you over the phone since you've been avoiding his emails like the plague. His tone wasn't harsh, but they dripped with impatience and disappointment. You understood his frustration - he had a job to do and if you didn't do your job then he wouldn't get paid. You took another stressful drag of the cigarette, this time pulling it from your lips, the yellow filter stained red from your lipstick as you continued your mindless walk.
But then your steps slowed.
And then they stopped.
Red neon lights bled through the open door of a bar, cutting through the hazy streets, and the sign above buzzed slightly - flickering as if it had a life of its own.
Smoke's Place.
Strange name for a bar yet something about it pulled you in, beckoning for you to enter and have a drink or five. The neon from the sign painted over your brown skin and the black dress you wore in hues of crimson, it was as if you were covered in blood, a wave of eeriness shuddered down your spine. You should continue your walk, not bothering to entertain the idea of entering this hole-in-a-wall bar, but the need to find inspiration was stronger than your discernment.
Tossing the butt of your finished cigarette onto the wet cobblestone, you stepped on the flickering filter, crushing it with the bottom of your heel as you made your way towards the bar. Walking past the threshold your eyes scanned the red surroundings. The bar wasn't empty - yet it wasn't full either. A few patrons nestled within booths, nursing drinks and chatting amongst each other, others sat at the mahogany bar listening to the soft hum of music fluttering in the air.
Blues.
You always loved the sound of it. Slow, sweet, tender, and mournful. The kind of music that made you feel waves of emotions that you never knew you could feel. Feeling pleased with the sultry environment; you made your way towards the bar, slipping onto the red velvet stool you made eye contact with the bartender. He gave you a quick nod, signaling you to place your order.
A rum and coke.
He nodded again and moved with purpose as he started to make your drink. The soft yet melancholic melody caressed your ears as you rested your chin within the palm of your hand, you gazed blankly at the liquor bottles that lined up neatly behind the bartender, and the beat of isolation hung over you like an overbearing hug. You should be at home right now working, even if you came up with a half-assed and flimsy idea - it was better than nothing.
You were so wrapped up in your stressful thoughts that you didn't notice a pair of eyes lingering on you the moment you stepped foot into the bar. A woman sat across the room, legs crossed with a wine glass in hand. With a teasing smile she took a long sip from the glass and she stood up. Walking with long and seductive strides, her hips swaying without a care in the world, and without warning she sat right next to you. The sudden presence of her made you practically jump out of your skin.
She laughed at your action, amused that you looked scared - even if it was for a split second. With a sigh she took another sip from her wine glass, your eyes lingered on her movements. She was beautiful, she was gorgeous. Her dark brown hair fell loosely, framing her face as effortless brown waves stopped just below her jawline. Her skin was a pale olive hue, smooth and cool toned, as if she was sculpted out of stone and came to life. But you couldn't help but to look at the beauty mark that rested high on her cheek, slightly underneath her left eye.
Her eyes...
They watched you intensely without blinking. They were dark brown, a deep dark brown. Too deep. It felt like you were looking into a bottomless pit - as if she held the abyss within her gaze. There was something off about the stranger's flirty gaze, it made your skin rise in goosebumps, but you couldn't look away from her even if you tried too. The red neon lights made her brown irises shimmer, enhancing the mimicking of life within them.
"I ain't never seen you in here before," the woman said, tilting her head as her smooth southern accent filled your ears like music. "How you find this place?"
Leaning back slightly to create space between you and the woman you spoke: "I walked...Just stumbled across this place and needed a drink, is all."
A small yet pleased smile tugged at the woman's lips from your honest answer, her knee brushing gently against yours underneath the bar. You couldn't tell if it was an accident or deliberate - but you didn't pull away from the woman's touch - in fact you leaned back into it. Her gazed lingered a bit longer until she extended her hand towards you, palm up awaiting for yours to be placed within hers.
And you did.
"Name's Mary." She smiled. She asked you about your name, which you gladly told her. She repeated it slowly, dragging out each syllable in a singsong tone. What you didn't expect was her lips to press against the back of your hand, the kiss was careful and tender, a gasp of shock rushed out of your lungs from her actions.
Her lips were soft...Yet cold.
Pulling back, Mary's grasp on your hand didn't dissipate, in fact she held onto your hand as if you two were longtime lovers. You watched as she reached for her wine glass again, this time you really paid attention to what's really inside of the glass. At first you assumed that it was some kind of red wine - but the way the liquid clung onto the glass, how thick and dark it was - you knew that it wasn't alcohol. You also noticed each time she drank the canines within her mouth were sharper than the average.
The bartender placed your drink in front of you, and with a turn of his heel he went to serve the other patrons, with a shudder you reached for your drink. Mary's intense gaze made something within you bubble with nervousness, fear, and need. Without thinking you chugged the booze, not even taking sips like you planned on doing in the first place. Mary's eyes widen at your action and blurted out: "Whew, I hope you don't got work tomorrow mornin'."
"I work from home." You replied as you slammed the now empty glass down, the clinking of ice filled up the beat of silence that lingered between the two of you. Her interest were piqued at this leaning forward just enough to show off her cleavage to you she asked you what you do for work, which you simply stated that you were an author, you told her of the most recent novel you've written and her face lit up so damn quick you thought she saw Jesus himself.
"That's you? I knew I recognized that pretty face! Oh, I love your work...What're doin' here in Louisiana? I assume you'd be cruisin' on a yacht in the middle of the ocean!"
"No, no, no...That ain't my thing. I mean, I do enjoy vacations, but I prefer not to blow all my money on shit like that," you laugh at Mary's sudden excitement which earned a chuckle from her too. "I'm here for work actually; startin' a new book."
"What about?" She asks as she leaned in, scanning your features as if you were a painting that hung within the most prestigious museum. Her fingers traced small shapes over the back of your hand, and you could tell that her touch meant something more than just idle tracing.
"You tell me...I got no idea what yet. I hit a wall, nothin' really speaks to me anymore and everyone's expecting me to deliver but I...I got nothin' left to say." You mumbled and the same nagging feeling of stress rattled within your brain again. So much for drinking away that unbearable feeling. Mary's face twisted with sympathy as she soaked up the words you spoke. Even if she just met you moments ago, she felt like she knew you - she spent hours reading your books. It grounded her when she's reminded of how her life got flipped upside down, how she was damned here for the rest of her existence - force to live within the shadows and fest upon the living.
Your words were her salvation.
Something shifted inside Mary and her once sympathetic expression melted into that of mischief a light had flick behind her cold, bleak eyes. Leaning in closer, invading her personal space you noticed a sweet scent of her perfume. It was floral and fruity, her scent reminded you of a hot summer's day lounging on a beach gorging yourself on peaches and mangos. You inhaled her scent deeper this time but you noticed a metallic undertone - the undeniable scent of blood. The sickening smell clung within her hair yet it didn't bother you; It only made you more interested.
"Can you keep a secret?" Mary whispered. The question was heavy - almost strange. It was as if Mary was testing some sort of boundary you both shared that you had no clue about. A soft chuckle escaped your lips, your laugher tinged with discomfort and curiosity. Maybe it was your desperation of finding something to write about, maybe it was the alcohol numbing your inhibitions, or maybe it was the way Mary looked at you as if you were some sort of goddess?
Either way you knew you wanted to see where this goes.
"Yea'..." You whispered back, which earned a toothy grin from the woman. She down her last sip of 'wine' and placed the glass onto the bar, sitting up from the velvet stool. Her hand was still holding yours but her grip slightly tighten.
"C'mon, I wanna introduce you to someone," Mary spoke in a giddy tone, pulling you up from the stool. "I bet we can help you find that spark again. Your words bring be comfort - so think of this as me givin' back."
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Mary led you with determination and purpose, weaving through the bar's shadowed backend as if she'd done this a thousand times. Pushing open the door that read 'Staff Only' in bold lettering she cut through the narrow hallway that was cluttered to the brim with liquor bottles, cleaning supplies, and miscellaneous crates that stacked on top of each other haphazardly. Then came the stairs, narrow and wooden just like the hallway you were led to. With each step that you and Mary made the moans from the staircase echoed off of the tight walls that grazed your shoulders with each movement you made.
This was a bad idea.
Following a stranger, doesn't matter how pretty they were, in a part of a bar that clearly wasn't meant for the public sent a wave of doubt within your chest. You didn't even know what her intentions were - this could honestly be a setup of some sort. You were mentally kicking yourself for even entertaining this notion of being alone with her in the first place. But just as quickly as your fear of potentially being robbed and/or extorted filled your thoughts, they were soothed as Mary glanced back, her fingers interlocked with yours as she gave you a warm and reassuring smile. You could tell that smile was genuine, that or she was just a really good actress.
At the top of the staircase was a door, so plain and extremely well hidden. The lighting within the small hallway was dim and dark, you could barely see your hand without squinting your eyes and holding it close towards your face. Mary didn't knock; she just turned the knob and walked in the room like she belonged there.
She most likely did.
It was an office that clearly belonged the person that owned this place, framed certificates and liquor licenses hung onto the dark red walls quickly gave that away. But what truly caught your attention was the art. Afro-surrealist paintings, rich with vibrancy and textures your sure that the paintings would come to life. The brush work was bold and dream like, you also noticed a record player that rested between the paintings, this person was a big Sammie Moore fan that's for sure.
But the nice decor within the office didn't make you breathless, oh no it didn't. It was him that did that. He stood at the open balcony doors, tall with broad shoulders, just by how his expensive clothes hugged his frame you knew that the man had a strong build. A toothpick rested between his lips and he tilted his head towards you and Mary with lazy interest. The midnight sky held a dark velvet hue, mixed with the harsh red neon from the bar sign below, casting him in an intense yet ethereal light. His brown skin shimmered, you wanted to run your hands across his body, not out of lust. But because this man was just so damn handsome - you were sure this could possibly be a dream and you'd wake up drenched with sweat in your bed.
But this wasn't a dream...
He didn't move a first, just chewed slowly on the toothpick as his eyes narrowed at you and Mary, and those eyes. Deep brown just like Mary's and equally lifeless like hers too. Both of their eyes held nothing but had the answers to everything, you couldn't look away from them, and the stranger was the first one to break eye contact from you. Leaning off the open doors of the balcony, the man quickly stroked his moustache and goatee, both were neatly trimmed and taken care of. His dimples flashed when he finally spoke, and the booming sound of his voice made you flinch back into Mary's touch.
"What you want this time, girl?" The man asked, his question was directed at Mary. And without missing a beat he spoke again. "And who this?" His gaze now glued onto your form. You open and closed your mouth in quick successions, trying your best to find the words you wanted to say. But Mary spoke for you, she sang out your name with pride, the grip on your hand tighten as she did so.
Mary explained the reason of you being here: you were an author, her favorite one, and you needed help finding inspiration. The man shook his head, a sarcastic laugh rolling off his tongue as he looked between you and Mary, and a long yet intense pause lingered over the conversation. Looks were exchanged between the two and you were sure that they were communicating without speaking a single word - as if having a whole conversation within each others minds without you hearing a thing.
"You really are that bored...Or dumber than a bag of rocks."
"Fuck you, Stack. Don't talk all that hot shit with me just cause we got company around, you ain't impressin' nobody." Mary stepped closer to the man now known as 'Stack', her grasp on your hand disappearing as she wrapped her arms around herself. Stack raised an eyebrow at Mary's sudden energy shift, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth as she gave him a look that held something raw, something that you couldn't quite understand.
"This isn't some impulsive shit, okay?! This could help you - could help us!" Mary shouted, motioning to you without breaking the intense gaze she shared with Stack. "If we talk about it - if we can finally put it in words - we can move on. We don't gotta keep dancin' around it till somethin' happens to one of us."
"So, what? You wanna use her as some kinda couples therapist but with extra steps and shit?" Stack asked with an slightly amused grin plastered on his handsome features.
"She's a writer! She can do what we can't," Mary pleaded, her hands that were once rested on her hips held onto Stack's strong arms. She closed the distance between them, their body pressed firmly against each other. "She can carry it and shape this ugliness into somethin' beautiful. We've been holdin' onto this hurt for years, it's rottin' away at us, and you know it is..."
Silence followed Mary's pleas soon after, thick and drawn out, you could cut the tension with a knife. Your chest began to tighten and your throat dry, the buzz from the liquor you chugged quickly dissipated, and all that was left were your fried nerves. Stack stared at you, unmoving while Mary eyes flicked between you and Stack, her face twisting with desperation.
"We're vampires, ma." Stack dryly sighed out. No buildup, no dragged out drama, it was as if he confession to something mundane such as taking the last slice of pizza or something. His words of confession echoed through the thick air and you blinked. He must be joking, right? There's no such things as vampires - this had to be some sort of elaborate prank or some weird fetish the couple shares together.
Your mind stalled, went blank, and the once disbelief turned into strained humor. A low snort escaped your lips and your hand raced to cover your mouth in an attempt to hold in your laughter, but the chuckle grew into a cackle - laughter that couldn't be contain. The kind of laughter that a person has when something so absurd happens that your body short circuits.
"I-I'm so sorry ya'll," you breathed out between the fits of laughter. You slightly doubled over as the giggles grew more strained. "You're what now, vampires? And what am I a fairy or somethin'?"
But Mary didn't smile and neither did Stack. They both just watched you laugh with a straight face and you noticed that their serious demeanor didn't waver in the slightest. Your thunderous laughter slowed, then it died, you stood there in awkward silence now as you scanned their face to find some kind of humor within their look.
But there weren't any...They were serious.
Stack tilted his head slightly, so subtle that if you weren't paying attention you wouldn't have noticed. Mary's face was still, but her lips were parted ever so slightly, and her teeth already sharp became even sharper by the second. Their cold brown irises melted into something pale - something sinister. Stack's eyes resembled the icy moonlight that shimmered brightly with sliver while Mary's eyes where a blazingly bright copper - almost feline like in nature.
Their once casual presence changed, it felt like the already tense air was being thinned by the second, and it was harder to catch your breath. Stack's golden capped teeth were impossibly sharp, not just fangs but maws. He was like a wolf wearing human skin - a hunter that could easily kill you.
With pure instinct you jumped, your feet moved before you could even think, stumbling backwards only to crash into the hard leather chair behind you. The sudden collision sent you falling back into the seat, so ungraceful, so panicked. You tried to push yourself forward but it seemed like the chair itself was holding you in place, all you could do was grip the armrest for dear life. Your chest heaved in rapid successions, your breathing coming in going in jagged short bursts, and the thunderous heartbeat from your fear echoed through your entire being.
They just stood there watching your movements and their eyes glowing faintly through the dimmed light of the office. But the way that they looked at you didn't hold an ounce of malicious intent. No threat, no hunger, and no anger. Just waiting and curiosity, and somehow that made you more fearful than ever before. They could've easily killed you right here and right now.
But they didn't.
"It's alright, darlin'. We ain't gonna hurt you." Mary said softly, stepping forward from Stack to kneel down in front of you, leveling herself within your terrified gaze. You couldn't form the words you wanted to say, it was as if your voice was trapped within your body. Mary tilted her head to the side and her glowing vampiric eyes soften at your fearful expression.
"Remember what I asked you earlier? About you keepin' a secret?" A pause lingered over the conversation as Mary waited for you to answer her, with a gulp you nodded your head which earned you a wide smile from her. Kneeling up again she began to waltz around the room. "Well, darlin'. This is what I meant..."
The sound of her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor with each graceful step she took, stopping at a painting to run her fingers over the thick paint strokes. Popping her hip to the side she spoke again, this time in an attempt for you to understand her and Stack.
"We ain't monsters, you know...We just people who didn't die when we should've. People who've seen to much - done too much."
"Don't go romanticizing this shit, Mary. We vampires, cursed, the damned, end of story." Stack blurted out, leaning against his desk as he stared out the open balcony doors, playing with the lighter in his strong hands. The soft clicks from the lighter slightly cooled your nerves, and it seemed like Stack noticed this - which made him drag out the flicks from the lighter in an attempt to sooth you.
"We got stories, things we never spoke about out loud before. About what we lost, how we got here, and what we became..." Mary's voice dropped lower, more intimate as she waltz towards you again, her hand slowly placed on your shoulder. Her touch was soft and feather like, and she leaned down to face you. Her face was inches away from yours and you couldn't help but to gaze between her fierce eyes and kissable lips.
"You a writer, right? You can take someone's pain and turn it into somethin' worthwhile. In exchange of hearin' us out you'll have a story. A real story..." Mary whispered and her fingers slowly grazed the hot skin of your cheek, tracing your features with the pads of her index finger until she stopped at your jawline. "Somethin' raw, passionate, and deeper than some tired idea you could come up with on your own, no offence."
You nodded your head as the expression of awe danced across your face, Mary smiled at that and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before pulling away from you again. This time she stood in front of you, leaning on the opposite side of the desk that Stack rested on, his eyes never leaving the two of you, and you could see a small semblance of hunger and something else within his gaze.
"We got rules, though." It was Stack's turn to speak as Mary held up two fingers. "One: you can't use our real names, use aliases. Change some details if need be, can't have no one know it's us." Stack explained as Mary put down her middle finger, only her index finger was held up now. You nodded again but alas, that wasn't enough for Stack.
"Use your words."
"Y-Yes, I understand. Aliases only..."
A pause lingered and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. But he spoke again - this time more firmly. "Two: you never talk about this shit to anyone, y'hear? Not your editor, not your publisher, hell not even a pet goldfish. No one. If they ask just say you made the shit up - say it's fiction. Because if you do..." He stopped flicking the lighter and stared directly into your eyes. "We ain't gon' be as polite the next time we see you."
A chill raced down your spine at Stack's heavy words. He didn't say it as a threat, there was no kind of violence or malice within his voice, yet that fact alone made you feel worse. It wasn't a threat nor a warning. It was a promise and if you fucked up in anyway, shape or form, the punishment would be your life. Mary put down her index finger, signaling to you that was the end of their rules. With a sweet smile she extended her hand out to you and without thinking you held onto hers, shaking her hand, sealing the deal you made.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
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A few days had past since your encounter with the vampiric couple, and during those days you've gathered enough courage to go through with their deal. Half of you thought about ditching Louisiana and forgetting about that weird night entirely, but the other half of you remembered Stack's words. It seemed like he had the power to find you even if you dropped off the face of the earth, the way he reminded you to keep your mouth shut gave you that impression.
With your purse sitting beside you on the velvet couch you stared at the couple across from you. They invited you into their home, a two story house that was tucked deep within Louisiana's bustling Bourbon Street, of course vampires like them would live amongst the most visited spot within New Orleans - they could feast on people in plain sight. Their shared home was expensive but not overly gaudy.
They had taste.
Their home smelled like sultry incense and aged wood with a slight undertone of bleach. It seemed like they always cleaned up, which made your gut twist with fear. They definitely 'ate' here frequently and it made you wonder just how many people they lured here - how many people were still looking for those poor souls. Candles burned low amongst the few dimly lit lamps, the flickering ember glow from the candles and lamps danced across the dark red walls within the living room you three resided in.
Bookshelves lined almost every corner of the living room, floor to ceiling dusty mahogany shelves towered over you, and books from different genres were packed tightly in the multiple bookcases. Your eyes danced over the neatly lined up hardcopies until they stopped on something familiar.
Your books.
Your whole series, lined up together on a high shelf, and the spines of the books seemed worn. A soft smile ghosted on your lips, Mary wasn't lying - she was a fan of your writing. You could tell those books were most likely read multiple times by her. A yellow notepad rested within your lap, a black pen held tightly between your fingers as your mind raced with caution and curiosity. You needed to find a balance, to ask them question without pissing them off and becoming a meal for them tonight.
Mary and Stack sat closely together on the couch opposite from you, her hand rested lazily on his thigh while Stack's arm draped around her shoulders in a way that felt natural - as if they've done this a hundred times over. You noticed that their outfits were vastly different from the night you've met them. Stack wore more jewelry - a large gold letter ring that read out '$TACK' and a multicolored Coogi sweatshirt. Mary ditched her dress with a pair of denim jeans and a black crop top and her hair was in a high ponytail.
Clearing your throat you rolled up the sleeves of your grey sweatshirt, and with three clicks of your pen you blurted out your first question: "So, let's start from the beginning...How were you two turned?"
Mary let out a soft breathy laugh, cutting through the tense conversation like a sharpen knife. "Straight to the meat and potatoes, huh?"
You blinked at Mary's comment quickly rushed out an apology, telling her that she can start wherever she wants within their story. Calmy she waved off your apology and with twinkling copper irises she spoke again. "It's fine, baby. But let's just start from the actual beginning; before all the blood and gore."
"We were childhood friends, me and Stack grew up in Mississippi together. Back when signs told you where to sit, what train you were allowed to ride. Jim Crow was hell - I don't miss that part of my childhood." Mary explained. Your writing on the thick notepad halted as your eyes met hers, questions flooded through your mind at her statements and without thinking you asked: "H-How was that possible? Ain't you--"
"White?" Mary finished, raising a well arched eyebrow. She went into detail about her background, how during those times the 'one drop rule' was still in place. Her grandfather was a biracial Black man which meant her mother lived around in a predominantly Black neighborhood. Her mother helped Stack's mother birth him and his twin, nursing the two of them when she ultimately passed away. Your writing halted again.
"You a twin?" You asked Stack, which he nodded his head confirming your question. "And where is he? Is he a--"
"Nah, he ain't like us...He gone." That was all he said and you could tell that topic was a touchy one for him. You asked Stack about his twin, tiptoeing over his death. His nickname was Smoke - now the name of the bar makes more sense. The more questions you asked about Stack's brother the more you sense his once guarded demeanor melt away. They were close, his brother was the oldest by only fifteen minutes, and he also picked out Smoke's clothes ever since they were kids. The older twin was more stoic, had stronger convections, and always protected Stack.
Even from their own father.
They were enlisted in the military together, after that they fled to Chicago and joined rival gangs, posing as the same man in an attempt to rob both sides blind. Your hand couldn't keep up with his words and without missing a beat you placed the notepad down on the coffee table that rest between them, digging in your purse to pull out a tape recorder. Stack's once prideful stories about him and his brother slowed, halting to a grinding stop as Mary's once casual gazed harden with worry.
"Nah, you can't record this. Not apart of our deal, ma." Stack said.
"I won't share this with anyone - I'll only use this as reference, I need to make sure I'm not missin' anything. I'll destroy them after, I promise." You reassured, but Stack only shook his head in disapproval.
"I'm older than your grandparents. I know better than to trust a promise like that. Tapes can get stolen, leaked, all that shit..." He leaned back into the sofa, his hold on Mary loosening slightly, leering at you with each word he spoke.
You stared in a slight annoyance at Stack words - but he was right. These tapes could somehow get stolen or lost, and you didn't want to risk that, your life was on the line after all. But recording their story was more potent that notes, it can capture their true feelings about the situations they've experienced - their inflections and pauses. It gave you some sort of access to the real them; the raw and ugly truth that'll slip out the more they spoke.
Mary eyes flicked between you and Stack, her free hand rested on his chest as she let out tired sigh before speaking. "Let's make a new deal. You can record...But you gotta keep those tapes here - with us." She smiled which earned a head shake of displeasure from her 'deal'.
"I can't do that, I need to replay them when I'm writin' - I can't memorize everything ya'll say. That's impossible..."
"We don't give a damn. Write faster if that's a problem for you." Stack shrugged, not giving you an ounce of sympathy at all. You rolled your eyes at his harsh words, he was starting to be an asshole, and even though he was a vampire you were biting your tongue - stopping yourself from cursing him clean out. You explained to them that writing their story would take some time, that it'll be a few months for a rough draft to be finished. Silence hung over the room like smog and then Mary sat up, as if she had the most brilliant idea on the planet.
"Stay with us! Live here until the rough draft is done, that way you can have access to the recordings and we can have a peace of mind." Mary smiled brightly, pleased with herself at the absurd idea of you moving in with them, she must have forgotten you only met them a few days ago. You blinked in disbelief and replied with: "No, not happenin'. I don't even know ya'll like that - I have all my stuff back at my apartment. My computer, clothes, everythin'."
"So? Bring 'em here. I'm a great host so think of this as a vacation. You know you ain't doin' nothin' else anyways..." Mary shrugged, snuggling against Stack as he chuckled at her idea.
"Damn, now we finna kidnap her too? This shit is comedy right here." Stack joked, his dimples prominent as ever as he stroked his facial hair, trying his best to stifle his laugher from his lover's actions. The look on your face only made his beautiful smile of amusement grow larger, his gold teeth shining within the dark ember light.
"You crazy? I'm not livin' in a house with two vampires I just met!" You shouted as your voice dripped with concern and annoyance. It was like talking to a brick wall with these two, once they made up their mind there was no changing it. Mary sighed as she pressed her face into the crook of Stack's neck.
"Then the tapes stay here, sorry darlin'. I just don't think leavin' you with them is a smart idea." She replied calmly. You cannot believe that she was strong arming you into staying with them, you lean back and tossed the tape recorder on the table. Your face twisting with aggravation and your expression only made the two smile more.
They seemed to both enjoy getting under your skin.
With half-lidded eyes and a cross of your arms you gave an answer.
"Fine...I'll stay."
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A few weeks passed ever since that night you agreed to stay with them, packing a duffle bag and a few suitcases with most of your belongings - not to mention the heavy box that contained your computer. Every night you'd stay up with them, writing down the stories they told you about their past, the tape recorder catching every word they spoke. Sometimes they'd laugh, sometimes they'd argue, and sometimes they'd fight back tears. When the sun came up you'd type away on your computer until sleep nipped at your eyes - staying with them ruined your sleep schedule.
You stayed in the guest room, just down the hallway from their room. And the thought of them being so close to you alarmed you greatly at first - you were too terrified to sleep for a few days. But what shocked you was how they treated you. They didn't look at you like a pest nor a meal, they treated you like a guest, like a long time friend. You often wake up to the smell of food - real food.
They'd cook you meals like gumbo and other soul food dishes that made your mouth water, anticipating dinner each time you ate their delicious cooking. The three of you would sit at the dinner table, listening to Blues as you ate, they 'ate' too. Mary would sip from her wine glass while Stack would sip from his, you never asked them were they got the blood from - you honestly weren't ready for their answer yet.
They started to ask you questions too. About your life, how you got into writing, what drives you, your failed relationships, and your likes and dislikes. You would answer them all with honesty and sometimes those innocent questions would turn risqué as the night went on. They'd ask when the last time you had sex, if you were interested in women, your favorite positions, and what was your type. At first you shut down those questions, but the more you got to know them, the more open you became.
There was no denying that you found Mary and Elias aka Stack attractive. And it seemed as if the feelings were mutual, often times they'd sit right next to you, Mary on your left while Elias was always on your right. When Mary would laugh she would place a hand on your thigh, leaving it there as she stared deeply into your eyes, her hand rubbing up and down your leg with each question you'd ask. Elias would drape his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer towards his strong frame, sometimes resting his head on top of yours as he remanence about his past.
The sexual tension between the three of you were growing by the second. You remember one night of accidently walking in on them fucking each other in the living room. You forgot your notes after the nightly interview, waltzing down the staircase only to freeze in your tracks at the sight of Mary's hands and right knee on the wooden coffee table, her back arched while Elias was behind her, bucking his hips into her as the raunchy wet sounds of her pussy swallowing his member echoed through the living room. Her breast bounced with each rock of his hips, both were fully nude, and your eyes met with Mary's.
An open mouth smile danced across her gorgeous features, her sharp fangs bare as her moans grew louder at the sight of you. Elias's hands held onto her hips firmly as he's once shut eyes open, he was staring at you too - neither one of them stopped there movements. In fact it seemed like they sped up their thrusting, the look in their eyes beckoned you to step closer, to join them.
You stood there with blown pupils, mouth hanging slack with shock, and without thinking you raced back upstairs and towards your bedroom. Arousal nipped at your loins at the sight, you wished you would've joined them that night, kicking yourself mentally for chickening out and retreating towards your room.
Pulling yourself out of those thoughts about the two, you sat across from Elias. It was just you and him tonight, Mary had left hours prior to manage the bar, something about shipments not arriving on time. The air was awkward between you and Elias, well awkward on your part, he seemed cooler than a cucumber not phase that you saw him having sex just last night. The tape recorder clicked on, its quiet whirring droning on within the background.
Elias told you about the night he was turned, how he open a Juke Joint with his twin brother, and how it all went to shit. He was turned by Mary who was bitten by some ancient vampire named Remmick, he was lured there from the music his little cousin Sammie played, now it made sense with all the Sammie Moore records he owned.
He talked about how it felt being connected to Remmick and the others who were turned - how he lost himself within the short madness he experienced, shame tugging on his face with each word he spoke. He explained that he was in a trance, listing to the orders that Remmick filled his mind with, and the only way he snapped out of it was seeing the death of Annie - his brother's lover.
"After all that shit went down, my brother locked me inside the Juke, he saved me from the sun..." He mumbled as he clenched his jaw, the bloodied memories tormented his mind greatly, you could tell by how he shuffled within his seat. "When the sun came down, I saw him. Saw what those sorry ass peckerwoods did to him...But he saved me again, one last time. The Klan showed up and he gunned them all down, killed every last one of 'em. He went out with a bang, my big brother." He finished as nothing but pride dripped within his tone.
"He sounds like a good man - a great man." You replied, which earned a nod of agreement from Elias. The tape recorder flashed a small red blinking light, signaling to you that it was still recording, silence fell over the both of you like a weighted blanket and without warning Elias sat up from the couch.
He moved with purpose as your eyes followed him, he reached a safe that was in the corner of the living room, nestled between a tall bookcase and the wall, he kneeled down and twisted the knob of the safe entering the combination. With a click the small door open and he rummaged inside, once he found what he was looking for he closed the door shut, spinning the knob to reset the lock. Walking back towards you he claimed a seat right next to you, not sitting on the couch across from you. You looked down at what he was holding and a gasp fell from your lips.
Dog tags, his brother's dog tags specifically.
The chain was long and rusted due to age and the tags were dull. But staring at them felt like a knife twisting at your gut, they were old, but something about them held so much beauty. Your hand move without thinking, reaching for the tags, but you stopped. Your fingers hovered over Elias's hands and your gazed met his.
"Can I?" You asked your voice soft and tender.
"Yea', yea you can..." He whispered back passing the rusted metal towards you, his grasp on the tags were so delicate, as if these tags were some sacred artifact. And honestly, they were. "Thank you, 'Lias." you said, his nickname that you gave him a few days ago rolled off your tongue so naturally, the sound of it made the butterflies in his stomach grow stronger. Your eyes scanned the tags, his brother's name piercing through the rusted metal.
Elijah Moore.
Of course their names would be similar and a soft smile tugged at your lips. A wave of inspiration crashed into you like a tsunami, you could practically feel the energy radiating off the the dog tags, resting your hands in your lap still holding the tags with respect your eyes locked onto Elias's tender gaze on you. The sensation of your heart racing beneath your ribs made your body tingle in raw need and you were suddenly aware with how close Elias was. He was close to you before, but Mary was always there, this was different now.
It was just the two of you.
Your lips were parted, painted in the same cherry red lipstick you'd always wore, but without thinking you licked your bottom lip nervously. That action earn Elias to look at your mouth his eyes were brown instead of his pale vampiric irises and you couldn't help but to be drawn into those deep abyss that were his eyes, just like the first night the two of you met. Slowly you leaned in and Elias didn't move, the feeling of his lips ghosting over yours made your skin prick up with goosebumps. Then finally, he closed the gap between the two of you.
The kiss was soft at first, it was as if the two of you were testing the waters. He tasted like tobacco, peppermint, with a subtle hint of iron and danger. You shouldn't be doing this, everything in your body told you to pull away, your nerves telling you that this was more trouble than its worth. But you just couldn't give a fuck anymore - you needed to feel his hands on you - and you needed to touch him. The once gentle kiss grew deeper as Elias pulled your closer towards his chest, pulling you in his lap as you rested the dog tags onto the couch. You were straddling him as your tongues danced across each other, desperately licking into each others mouth as a groan of pleasure ripped through you.
His strong hands that held onto your hips snaked their way up your sweatshirt, cupping your breast as his fingers traced the lace lining of your bra. Grinding yourself onto him your hands cupped his face, the feeling of his beard ticking the palms of your hands slightly, the kiss was passionate and his plump lips made your head spin in need. Pulling away his mouth was slightly covered in your red lipstick, but that didn't seem to bother him none. He reached for the hem of your sweatshirt, pulling it over your head with your help and his mouth attacked your breast, collar bone, and neck.
You held his face against your neck as you tossed your head back, the sensation of his lips suckling at the sensitive spot on your neck made you whimper out in pleasure. But like a crack of thunder realization ripped through your body. He's not yours, he's someone else's man. He belonged to Mary who invited you into her home, who trusted you with their secrets, their stories, their truth. Guilt bloomed within your gut as Elias continued to kiss at your neck and breast, his moans made you feel sick with shame.
"Elias, wait..." You whispered, pulling away slightly from him, but you were sitting in his lap.
"What's wrong?" He asked as he tried to kiss you again, but you dodged his lips. You swallowed as you avoided his needy gaze, you knew if you stared at him too long your convictions might crack.
"This ain't right..."
"It's 'ight. It's fine, ma. I promise."
"No, its not fine." You gasped rising from his lap as if he touch alone burned you. With shaky hands you reached for the tape recorder, pressing stop on the tiny machine, and the faint whirring sound died into awkward silence. You quickly gathered your things as Elias watched, slightly startled by your sudden change of demeanor. "This was a mistake, please forget about this." You begged, holding your sweatshirt close to your body, shielding your half nude frame from his intense gaze.
"Forget about what? You ain't did nothin' wrong, we ain't did nothin' wrong...I noticed the way you've been lookin' at me, we both know you want this." Elias reassured but you were already moving towards the steps, your socks making you glide a bit with each rushed and uneven steps you took. What's gotten into you? You weren't the kind of person to entertain anyone who was in a relationship - you've always hated cheaters. Always condemning the kind of person who would break their partner's trust in such a way.
But you were a kiss away from being the one thing you couldn't stand. Slamming your bedroom door shut your mind raced with worried thoughts about your actions. Was this book truly worth it? You could just tell them that this wasn't good idea, leaving all of your notes, recordings and even your computer in their possession and leave.
Half of you wished that you didn't pull away from him.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
The tape recorder groaned out a small click and whirred as your thumb pressed the play button - again. Elias's soothing voice muffled from the tiny recorder, his southern accent was slightly static from the cheap device yet you could still feel that passion with each word he spoke. His words about his story, about his brother, and his life truly moved you. But now those tender words were tainted with guilt. A long static pause pushed from the tiny speaker and then unmistakable sounds of kisses, of groans, the quiet thud of your sweater dropping on the floor.
You winched at the noises, cursing yourself out within your head. Your thumb hit the stop button, followed by the rewind button, and lastly pressing play for the hundredth time. Listening to the same words Elias spoke, listening to the same pauses and cadences. You kept listening to the recording as some sick form of punishment or reminder of your transgression.
Sitting on the edge of your bed, the blue cotton nightgown you wore clung onto your slightly damp legs, you decided to take a bath after the kiss - hoping that the warm water and floral scented soap would wash away the betrayal. You thanked the gods above that your bathroom was connected to your bedroom, you haven't left your room in hours now. Mary had been home, you knew this as you heard shuffling from downstairs, and the sunrays that slipped past the thick curtains gave you the clue that she left the bar. Her and Elias always arrive home before the sun could catch them.
The smell of breakfast curled through the air, slipping underneath your door, and tickled your nose. The slight pain of hunger nipped within your stomach. The smell of grits, eggs, bacon, and pancakes with sweet syrup made your mouth water - and you knew that Mary cooked them just the way you liked it.
But you're not leaving your room anytime soon.
Pressing rewind on the tape recorder again, soft knocking reverberated through your room, making you jump in surprise. Your eyes glued onto the wooden door, widening like deer in the headlights. Maybe if you stayed quiet they'd cut their losses and leave you alone. But then another round of knocking came soon after, making you spit out a 'fuck' under your breath.
"I know you're up, it's me!" Mary sang out, her voice was bright, light, and lacked any hurt you might've suspected she had. But maybe it was a front to lure you out so she could sink her teeth into you for messing with her man. You didn't answer as you pressed pause on the tape recorder and tossing it onto the bed beside you, your wide eyes still lingering on the door.
"I made breakfast, I figured you would've joined us by now. We can still eat, though. Maybe in the sunroom? it's cloudy and the trees blocks out the sun..." Mary spoke calmly as soft chuckles escaped her lips after uttering the word 'sunroom', normally you would've made a joke about vampires even owning a house with such a room that they couldn't even enjoy. But you didn't say a word. A beat passed, no footsteps, Mary hadn't walked away.
Damn was this lady persistent...
With a loud and dramatic sigh Mary spoke again, her voice dripping with playful annoyance. "Come on, sweetpea. Don't make me come in and drag you out! You know I will..." She mumbled, dragging out the nickname she gave you days ago. Sweetpea, that was what she called you, and the nickname always made you feel fuzzy inside whenever she sang it out to you.
Standing up from the bed you shuffled towards the heavy door, reaching for the golden doorknob you twisted it reluctantly, opening the door to become face to face with Mary. She stoon there casually, her arms crossed over her chest while her hip popped out to the side, putting all her weight onto her right leg. She wore a silk soft pink robe that accentuated all of her curves, the silk stopping mid thigh while her brown hair was was wrapped in matching pink rollers.
Her face lit up when she saw you, her caring expression made your heart sank. "Finally!" She gasped out, leaning in slightly as her smile danced wider across her beautiful features. "I was seconds away from kickin' the door down."
You tried to smile at her casual demeanor, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Your gazed dropped to your bare feet, curling your toes nervously, and you hoped that the wooden floorboards would open up and swallow you from this awkward situation. Mary's cheerful expression shifted and her arms lowered to her sides, leaning on the door frame her eyes scanned your body.
"Hey," she whispered, her voice soft and full of concern. "What's wrong?"
"I kissed Elias..." You blurted out, it's best to just get it out the way than to drag it out. Your voice cracked with each syllable you choked out as your eyes clashed with Mary's brown irises. "I didn't mean to, it just happened. It was stupid, I-I feel awful I'm so sorry."
Mary stood there and her expression went flat, her plump lips forming a straight line. Then her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as if she was digesting your words, and without missing a beat a toothy grin was plastered on her face.
And she laughed.
Placing a hand over her chest her laugher grew, it was as if you just told her a joke, not the fact that you kissed her lover. You blinked at her in shock, confused and wondering if she heard you or lost her mind. "You laughin'?" You asked your hand still gripping the doorknob just in case she tried to charge at you, slamming the door in her face, it wouldn't do a damn thing but it gave you some comfort.
Mary waved her hand through the air, simulating swatting away smoke as she spoke in between fits of chuckles. "I-I'm sorry, sweetpea, haha! It's just--Damn, that's why you've locked ya self away in this room? Ya scared of big bad Mary?"
Her expression then shifted again, a teasing pout forming on her lips, tilting her head to the side. "Wait, wait...Did ya'll two--"
"No! No, never that. It was just a kiss, that's all."
"Shame. Was hopin' to hear more about ya'll. He's handsome, ain't he? Smart mouthed, passionate, and tough...It's the grills that do it for me. Is it the same for you?" She asked casually, which made you slightly reel back from her words. She wasn't upset that you kissed Elias. She was upset that you didn't go through with it. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water - everyday that past these two always surprise you in the strangest of ways.
"But I--Ain't y'all together?" You questioned.
"We are." Mary replied, crossing her arms around her chest again, biting her lip as her eyes became half-lidded. Her gaze was unreadable to you now. Was she joking with you or was she flirting with you? It seemed like a mixture of both with something else lingering beneath the surface. Pushing herself from the doorframe Mary shot you a wink, turning on her heel as her hips swayed seductively with each step she took.
"Your breakfast is gettin' cold, darlin'. And I ain't gonna reheat no bacon."
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
Rain poured down steadily, turning the garden outside into a shimmering blur of greens, blues, and greys. Calming pitter patter of the raindrops beat against the screens and windows of the sunroom, the sound creating white noise that made the space you shared with Elias and Mary much more intimate. You sat between them at a small, mosaic round table, your plate was nearly finished save for a few more bites of grits.
Mary leaned back in the metal chair, her legs crossed as she twirled a cherry flavored candy in her mouth. Her tongue clicking and popping around the sweet as her eyes gazed up at the sheer roof, it was as if she was in a trance, deep in thought about something you weren't privy to. Your eyes lingered onto Mary for a split second before looking back down at your plate.
"I was wondering...Can ya'll eat? Like, human food?" You asked. Elias was the one to answer your question with a roll of his broad shoulders, his voice deep and rich with a southern drawl. "Only in moderation, eat too much an' we get sick, same with drinkin' from somebody with an illness."
Mary nodded at his words in agreement, the bright red candy bulging at the side of her cheek as she chimed in on the conversation. "I just like suckin' on sweet things - satisfies the craving...Sweetpea." She then looked at you, sending you a wink that made your cheeks tingle. Surly she was just talking about candy...Right? Clearing your throat, you wiped your face off with a napkin, inhaling the thick air before you spoke.
"I just wanted to say, to the both of you, I'm sorry for the kiss. For oversteppin' and makin' things messy..."
"We been messy way before you were even a thought, you ain't do nothin', ma." Elias said in a jesting tone, but you could tell he was sincere with his words. Even being graced with their forgiveness, your heart couldn't stop racing - not out of fear, but with something much more stronger. Much more passionate, much more needier. And it didn't help that Elias was sitting right next to you in nothing but low rise sweatpants and a gold chain, the Jesus piece resting against his bare chest. His muscles flexed with each shift he made, and the soft sheen of the cloudy skies illuminated his brown skin, making him shine within the grey atmosphere.
Elias was temptation in the flesh and Mary was the snake that beckoned you to take a bite.
"So, since we're on the topic of Elias kissin' up on our guest. I gotta know - how did she feel?" Mary purred, a mischievous smile danced across her face, you choked on your orange juice at her words. Coughing, your eyes landed on Elias, who seemed to be unfazed by Mary's question.
"She felt nice, real nice." He said simply. His strong hands scratched at the side of his face, fixing the stray hairs within his neatly trimmed beard. "She got the softest lips and she taste sweet...Like candy." Your breath was caught in your throat, they were talking about you as if you weren't even there. But the way that Elias spoke about kissing you and the way Mary's hips slightly rolled from him recalling the memory made your core tingle with desire, your pussy was clenching around nothing, you desperately needed to be touched and stroked.
And these two will gladly deliver.
The cherry flavored candy clicking loudly between Mary's fangs. "Well, ain't that just precious...But now I'm curious." Her voice was like velvet and she leaned forward towards you, eliminating the space between the two of you as her eyes flicked between your open mouth and hazy irises. "How do you taste, darlin'? You as sweet as my Stack says?"
Before you could even think about answering her, Mary plucked the bright red candy out of her mouth, and planted a heated kiss onto your lips. Her mouthed moved against yours with a feverish rhythm, demanding your attention more than asking, her lips were sweet but the kissed you shared with her wasn't. It was possession in its purest form, it was nasty, and it was passionate. She licked into your open mouth, swallowing the gasps that slipped past your lips as if she was starving for you. Her kiss was different from Elias - it was hungrier and she was in charge with how your lips and tongue moved against hers. Kissing Elias felt like dancing, kissing Mary felt like entering a fight that you didn't mind losing.
Your hands trembled slightly as you cupped Mary's face, trying and failing to steady her kisses, your eyes shut as you pulled yourself into Mary's embrace. Your breast laid flush onto hers, and the feeling of her nipples hardening and rubbing against yours made your head spin. Your heart was pounding wildly within your chest and your legs squeezed together tightly to ease the aching throb of your core. The cotton fabric of your nightgown was bunched on top of your pussy, and you rolled your hips against the rough fabric, your clit jumping at the sensation of the cotton pressing against it.
But it wasn't enough.
With heavy lidded eyes you gazed at Elias who just watched on with pure amusement, lazily slouched back with one arm hooked around the back of the metal chair. His mouth curled up into a mischievous grin that oozed with lust, his golden capped fangs shining brightly through the grey atmosphere within the sunroom. Those dimples, the same ones that you've been obsessed with the moment you saw him deepen as his smile grew, his eyes were locked onto yours as Mary skilled tongue massaged over yours - pulling yet another moan out of you.
Back away from the kiss, the string of saliva that connected your bottom lip with Mary's snapped, the thin spit clinging on your chin. You tried to lean in to kiss her again, but she pushed you away by your face, her hand gripping your jaw firmly which made your lips pucker in a pout.
"Uh, Uh girl. I'm the jealous type, focus on me, and only me unless we say somethin' otherwise." Mary tutted out in her normal sing song tone. You were caught between the scorching heat of Mary's attention and the intense weight of Elias's stare, you felt yourself unravel by the second. In the back of your mind, red flags and warning bells were firing off, but your lust was stronger than your inhibitions.
With the candy still within her fingers, Elias leaned forward, he was sitting behind you, and his mouth wrapped around Mary's delicate fingers. Licking them and savoring the artificially sweet cherry flavor that clung onto her pale olive skin, slowly he pulled his mouth away with a wet pop - the candy was gone, it was now in his mouth. Mary's fingers were slick with spit and slightly sticky from the candy, your breath hitched in your throat as she wiggled them in your face teasingly.
"Go on, Mary. Stop pickin' on her..." Elias spoke as he sucked on the hard sweet. A giggle fell from Mary's swollen lips and she whispered: "Pull up that nightdress for me, sweetpea. I wanna see that pussy weep." With a rushed nodding of your head you did as you were told, pulling up the fabric and bunching it around your waist, your bare sex exposed under the needy gaze of Mary and Elias. Her fingers that were slicked with Elias's spit reached down to stroke you, earning a whimper from your lips. It's been too long since you've been touched like this by another person, and it seems like your body realized this, you were already soaking.
"Shit, so fuckin' pretty...Pussy fat as hell, you've been hiding her under all them clothes, tragic." Mary whispered, biting her lip as she dragged her slicked fingers over your folds, pulling your wetness up towards your thumping clit. You squirmed under her touch, leaning back against Elias's strong chest. Instinctually you closed your thighs shut, which made Mary's hand that rested on your jaw land on your knee, prying your legs open as she dipped her ring and middle fingers between your wet pussy lips.
A strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly in place, while another was pressed between the soft mounds of your breasts. Elias's hand rested on your throat, not tight yet, but his grasp on your neck still held pressure. He could feel the fast paced pounding of your pulse under his calloused fingers, the feeling of it made him strain against his grey sweatpants, placing tender kisses on your cheek and the shell of your ear he whispered.
"You heard what she said, ma. Watch her stroke that pretty pussy, you ain't ready for me yet."
And your glassy eyes peered down at Mary trying your best, and failing, to ignore Elias's hot kisses on your skin. Mary's slim fingers rubbed tight circles on your sensitive bud, breaking the circular movements sporadically to rub your clit from side to side, earning a raunchy wet from your cunt. Mary gasp as she felt you grow wetter under her hand, your hips rolling to catch up with her mean strokes against your sex, and slowly her fingers crept down to your slick opening. She dug her nails into the soft skin of your knee, earning a painful mewl mixed with pleasure from you, and she chuckled as the tips of her fingers pressed inside of you.
She didn't push all the way in, only stopping at the second joint of her fingers until she pulled out of you, rubbing your clit again. Your face twisted in primal need as your hips bucked forward and your hands scratching at Elias's strong forearm that was wrapped tightly around your waist.
"Damn, you hear that? She's wetter than a fuckin' pool." Elias said against your ear as he watched Mary's fingers turn you out.
"Mhm, music to my ears. I wanna taste her, I wanna show her what you taught me, Stack..." Mary replied with her eyes locked onto his, as if asking him permission to continue giving you pleasure.
"Do it, ma. Put that tongue to work."
Then she lowered her head, slipping out of the chair she resided in, and slinked onto her knees. Propping your legs over her shoulders, her tongue slowly licked you from your aching core towards your bundle of nerves, fluttering her long eyelashes with each long stroke she made with her skillful tongue. Sucking on your clit as if it was the same piece of candy she held within her mouth moments prior. You grinded against her face, which made her flatten her tongue, allowing you to fuck yourself on the pink muscle.
Whimpers, whines, and groans rolled out of your mouth with each lick Mary had made over your soaking pussy. Her hands held onto your thighs, holding them open to make sure she truly tasted every inch of your sex. The hold that Elias had on your throat tighten, but the mild pain only added to the intense pleasure Mary was giving you. Elias whispered praises in your ear, telling you how good you're taking Mary's tongue, how pretty your moans sound, and how he couldn't wait to fuck you next.
"Oh, fuck. Y-yes, like that..." You sighed out, your voice fraying at the end of the sort sentence. Mary's soft lips wrapped around your clit before pulling away with a wet pop, her tongue now licking at you with fever, her tongue dragging figures across your dripping cunt.
And then it hit you.
She was spelling her name out with her tongue.
On your pussy.
Nasty. That was all you could muster to think and you loved it. You wondered what great deed you've done to end up being rubbed, licked, and sucked on by two beautiful people. The sharp feeling of Elias's fangs scratched the shell of your ear slightly, earning a shiver to race down your spine. Mary circled around your clit with her tongue faster, sliding in her fingers inside you again, this time she pressed them all the way in stopping at her knuckles. Your pussy squeezed around her nimble digits, her fingers making a scissoring motion inside your wet core, making you yelp out in pleasure.
Your hands that were once on Elias's forearm rested on Mary's neck, you tried your best not to grip at the rollers in her hair, your legs shaking around her head which earned a chuckle from Elias. He was enjoying the view greatly, he knew you were close, squeezing your neck to earn that fuzzy feeling that nipped at your brain. A breathy sob fell from your open mouth as your eyes shut tightly, holding your head back Elias's lips crashed onto yours, kissing you as your orgasm ripped through you. The cherry taste from the candy still in his mouth flooded your senses, his tongue pushing the hard candy past your plump lips, making you suck on the sweet in delight.
Mary pulled away from your spent pussy, her plump and swollen lips shiny and covered with your juices, but she swiped her tongue across her bottom lip shaking her head in approval at the taste of you. "You are sweet, baby. Stack wasn't lyin' - not one bit," she laughed as her fingers helped you ride out your orgasm, slowly fucking into your twitching pussy. "Such a sweet pussy, I'm glad I came up with that nickname for you. Sweetpea, it's fittin' for you."
Still trembling from reaching your climax, Mary lifted herself from the ground, planting a open mouth kiss onto yours. You could taste yourself on her lips as you deepened the kiss, holding her face as your tongues danced, you were getting use to her intense kisses. It was your turn to turn her into a moaning mess, gasping for air.
"Damn, nasty as fuck. She love the taste of her pussy on ya mouth, I like that, we ain't even have to train her to do this." Elias spoke with reverence as he watched the two of you makeout with each other, Mary hummed against your lips at his words, pleased to know that you weren't as uptight as you lead on to be. Her tongue fished for the candy that rested within your cheek, dragging it out of your mouth and into hers. Pulling her lips away from yours, Elias's squeezed your throat again, hard this time. Your eyes fluttered in pleasure as tears pricked within the corners, your mouth was open slack in an attempt to inhale a bit of air, but Mary hovered over your gasping mouth with puckered lips.
A thick string of drool slipped past her slicked wet mouth, landing right into yours, earning your eyes to roll back. The taste of artificial cherry and your pussy juice made your head spin, swallowing up her spit as if it was holy water, Mary bit her lip at the sight. She was happy that she saw you in the bar weeks ago, she knew you would be trouble, and she couldn't wait for you to ruin her and Elias during the rest of your stay here. Reaching for her silk robe, Mary slipped it off of her petite frame, letting the soft fabric hit the ground with a light thud. She stood in front of you and Elias naked, she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
"Both ya'll not wearin' any panties under your pajamas is drivin' me crazy," Elias sighed as his grip on your neck loosened, allowing you to catch your breath. "Ya'll planned this out?"
"Nah, baby. She just freaky as hell, just like me." Mary tutted out. Your eyes soaked up her nude body, toned and curved at just all the right places, it was as if her body was chiseled by master artists - a fucking Greek statue of a goddess coming to life. That's what she looked like, and your mouth watered at the thought of holding her in your arms. Elias noticed your staring and he smiled proudly.
"You like that, huh? She pretty ain't she? Go on, taste her too." Elias urged, helping you out of the chair you resided in, landing a smack against your ass with his strong hand as you sank onto the ground. A hiss escaped your lips from the action, but you still followed his orders, looking up at Mary with adoration. Your hands roamed her thighs, stopping at her waist to pull her closer towards you, making a gasp fall from her lips. Without missing a beat you latched your mouth onto her clit, your tongue lapping up her pussy like it was a delicacy. She was dripping, and the thought of her getting this wet just by eating you out made your loins burn with desire.
Rolling her hips Mary grinded her pussy against your tongue, you flatten it enough for her to use it to her liking, only stopping to suck at her swollen clit. Leaning back onto your knees you stared at her glistening sex, and with a pucker of your lips you spit onto her sensitive bud. A low and guttural moan escaped from Elias at the sight, he was shocked with how natural all of this was for you, as if you've done this with them a thousand times by now.
Mary cupped her breast, pinching her nipple as your fingers rubbed her clit, pressing down slightly with each stroke you gave. Sliding in a finger you began to fuck into her and her head whipped back with pleasure, attaching your mouth back onto her clit you began to suck harder, your finger pumping into her faster.
"So damn tight, your pussy is grippin' me...Swallowin' me, baby." You muttered against her wet cunt, your raunchy words earning desperate buck from her hips. Your sucking on her clit grew faster and you added another finger inside of her, Elias stood up from his chair now, walking towards Mary and placed a sloppy kiss onto her mouth. He held her face within his strong hands and she moaned into his mouth, his tongue licked past her lips, he was practically devouring her whimpers of pleasures. You, still on your knees watched in awe, sucking and rolling your tongue on her twitching clit.
Mary grabbed the back of your head, her breathing fast now, you could tell she was close with how her hips wildly grinded against your face. Elias sucked at her neck, leaving behind bright red hickeys, earning mewls of pleasure from her. Mary's legs began to shake uncontrollably, her weight slowly pressing against your mouth, and without warning she pulled your mouth away from her creamy wet sex. Her eyes rolled back as you watched her tremble above you and you licked up her juices off of your fingers with delight.
Elias broke away from the passionate kiss he shared with Mary, pulling you up from the hard floor of the sunroom, and in his tender embrace. Your lips crashed into his, fighting for dominance as Mary watched on in hunger, catching her breath as she came down from reaching her orgasm. Her lips were added in the intense makeout session, she was kissing you while you kissed Elias, and Elias was kissing her. All three of you were desperately trying to taste each other in the heated exchange of tongues.
With teeth bumping against each other and the taste of Mary's savory pussy juices on your mouth, you moaned with pleasure as she pushed the hard cherry flavored candy back into your mouth, the candy was now smaller than the last time you sucked on it. The sweetness of the candy still held the taste of you that made your head spin.
Mary's hands ripped at the collar of your nightgown, the sharp sound of tearing reverberated off of the screen walls within the sunroom, the cotton that once covered your body now hung loosely over your frame, you were nude now too. Elias pulled off the blue nightdress from your shoulders, goosebumps forming on your skin as the cool air hit your naked frame. The tattered nightgown fell onto the floor as Mary snaked behind you, placing kisses onto your neck and jaw, her hands roaming your body as if memorizing your every curve.
Pushing the plate that carried your breakfast onto the hard floor, the shattering sound of glass made you jump into Elias's arms, Mary sat onto the mosaic table. Stepping back into her embrace your swollen lips danced with Elias's, both of you humming into each others mouths at the sweet taste of Mary's pussy and the candy on your lips. Biting his bottom lip you pulled away from the kiss, leaning on Mary as her hands cupped your breast.
"That ain't fair, baby. We both naked and you got these sweats on..." You said as your hands traced down his toned body, feeling every dip and valley of his muscles, stopping at the waistband of his grey sweatpants. "She right, take those off." Mary chimed in, rolling your nipples between the digits of her fingers, the sharp yet pleasurable pain raced through your body and straight towards your needy pussy.
Without speaking a word Elias pulled his sweatpants off and your eyes widened.
"...'Lias." You whispered out his nickname at the sight of him, you were at a loss of words as your hazy eyes landed on his hard dick, and Mary laughed at your reaction. He was long, thick, and heavy. The veins pulsed down his girthy shaft and his dick curved a bit to the side, he was the biggest you've ever seen, and you're sure you'd be walking with a limp after this. You weren't sure he could fit inside of you and you clenched your legs together instinctually. It was as if Elias read your mind and he calmy stated: "Imma go slow until I know your pussy can handle me."
"And besides this won't be the last time he fucks you. Right, sweetpea? We'll make sure you get use to it." Mary reassured as she planted a soft kiss onto your cheek, twirling you around so you faced her. Elias held onto your waist, lifting you up into Mary's lap, you were straddling her now and she leaned back holding you in place. Her hands gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as your hands rested behind her, your breasts pressed firmly on hers.
Mary's thighs were pressed on the back of yours, making sure to keep you steady, and the both of you looked over your shoulder at Elias. Slowly he rubbed his tip against your wet folds, the sensation made you shiver in anticipation. With a kiss on your shoulder Elias entered you, his face twisting in ecstasy at the feeling of your soft walls pulsating around his thick member.
"F-fuck, you feel too damn good, ma." He groaned, his hands held onto your hips, the feeling of your velvety wet pussy clenching against the veins on his cock almost made him come right then and there, catching his breath he pushed himself inside of you to the hilt. The feeling of his thick dick stretching you out made you whimper, tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes fell onto your warm cheeks, which made Mary lean forward to lick and kiss them away.
High pitched grunts fell from your lips with each mean thrust he made, and it didn't help that Mary held your ass cheeks open, his dick drilling into you deeper. Your legs were turning into jelly as he hit that sweet spot inside of your pussy. Sucking onto the candy in your mouth you tried your best to stifle your whimpers and cries, your face was covered in tears and spit as Mary lapped up your salty teardrops, humming out in bliss at the taste - she was enjoying seeing you come undone from Elias's dick pounding into you.
"Keep cryin', ma. Shit--You so fuckin' tight." Elias praised as his hand that was once holding the softness of your hip rested at the back of your neck, his calloused fingers pressing firmly around your neck, your heavy breathing becoming deliciously strained from the pressure. A creamy mess was quickly formed between you and Elias due to the friction and your wetness, the raunchy wet sound of his dick fucking into you was music to Mary's ears, her hand reached between your flushed bodies as she rubbed tight circles on your clit.
The metal legs of the small circle table scratched against the floor with each buck of Elias's hips. Your head went fuzzy again from the overbearing sensation of Mary's fingers playing with your pussy, Elias's dick fucking into your g spot, and his strong hand restricting your airflow that you didn't realize what you were whimpering out.
"Fuckin' break m-me!" You cried as Mary's hand moved with the speed of light. "Please, please, please..." The feeling of Elias's cock twiching inside of your pussy from your request made you back up into him, meeting his hips halfway with a lazily smile plastered onto your face.
"Fuck! You hear her, baby?" Mary asked, as she watched Elias's eyes roll to the back of his head, his mouth hanging open slack. "Why settle for a few months when we could have her forever?"
"I can fuck this pussy forever, d-damn. You like that sound of that, ma? Forever with us?" Elias muttered as his hips snapped into you sporadically. Your mind was clouded with lust and the desperate need to be released that you weren't fully grasping what they were talking about, only breathy sobs came from you.
But that was enough for Elias.
With one last long mean and nasty thrust his release crashed into him like a wave, finishing inside of you as his hips rocked into you with force, making your weight rest on Mary's chest. Your body trembling at the warm sensation of being filled to the brim with his seed, he was giving you his everything and the creamy mess of your wet sex mixed with his come froth between the two of you, dripping down towards Mary's soaking pussy.
The sensation of Elias pulling out of you slowly mixed with the skillful fingers of Mary stroking your clit made the knot within your stomach tightly wind up and snap. The burning hot feeling of your orgasm rattled through your bones, making you squirt all over the mosaic table, Elias's abdomen, and Mary's thighs and pussy. It was like a faucet that wouldn't stop and the candy that was in your mouth was crushed into tiny pieces from your teeth. Elias gave your core a playful smack with the shaft of his dick, soaking up your pussy juices that was now everywhere.
"You so messy, ma. So filthy..."
"Good job, sweetpea."
Your breathing was rapid and your body slick with sweat, it felt like you've been running a marathon, your body was so weak and fucked out. But the one fact about vampires that still amaze you rattled through your dickmatized thoughts: they had stamina. Mary's arms wrapped around your waist, earning your legs to wrap around her waist in the process, she guided the two of you on the soaked ground with the help of Elias.
"Ya'll gotta clean this up." Elias spoke casually, his dick still twitching from reaching his orgasm. Still within Mary's sweet embrace your trembling hand reached for Elias's girthy cock that was drenched in your wetness, your tongue dragging across the thick vein that raced towards the tip of his dick. Mary joined you, her tongue working at the base of his dick stopping to plant small kisses at his tip, your mouths and tongues bumping into each other.
Elias looked down at you two with a cocky smile, two beautiful women lapping up his dick would make any man fill with pride. With his hand tangled into your soft coils he raised up his other arm, flexing his bicep as a booming chuckle of pure gratification fell from his lips, you couldn't help but to roll your eyes at his arrogant display. Pulling your mouth away from his dick you placed a bite onto his v line, he hissed at the action, but his smile only grew wider.
Those fucking dimples will be the death of you.
Mary cupped your cheeks gently, turning your head to face her as she planted a soft and tender kiss onto your lips. This kiss wasn't primal like the others she gave - it was grounding. It seemed like she was making sure that you were okay, that you were still here. Breaking away from the kiss she rested her forehead onto yours, her beautiful deep brown eyes that you easily got lost in peered into yours.
"We're serious about out offer," she hummed out, biting her bottom lip as she wiped away the tearstains from your cheek. "We can do this forever, sweetpea. It's up to you, of course."
"I-I'll think about it." You mumbled, which earn a nod of understanding from her. Turning into a vampire was a daunting idea, being banished from the sun and having to survive off blood seemed like a burden that you weren't willing to comment to.
Yet.
"Good things come to those that wait; and we'll wait eternity for you, ma." It was Elias who said that. You and Mary lifted yourself from the ground, your arms slung around Elias's broad shoulders while Mary pressed against your backside, hugging you from behind. Your bodies tangled in the raw afterglow and your once foggy mind was set ablaze. Calling Elias and Mary your muse was an understatement of the century - they're your brilliance, your new found obsession, the passion behind each and every stroke of your pen. You didn't just feel inspired; you felt fulfilled.
college!au stack being obsessed with his cute, sweet girlfriend. (nsfw under the cut)
you two got an off-campus apartment right after you became upperclassmen. he let you put your plants in every corner of the place and your incense in a jade vase on the little kitchen island. the clean scent reminds him of you— all vanilla and coconut soap.
waking up next to you doesn't feel real to him. he's afraid that you'll slip through his fingers like every other feeling of happiness he's had in a while. however, he watches the way the sunlight catches in your collarbone and in your eyes, and he hears you murmur "elias" in that soft, sweet tone, and he pushes the uncertainty away. tells you your morning breath could peel paint instead (but still pulls you closer, hands around your ribs to make sure you have breath in your lungs).
thinking about stack shoving his hand down your shorts as soon as he comes home from work and sees you. you in your cute little pajama set, red with a black bow on the waist. he walks into your room to see your smile as soon as he says, "hi, baby" and instead he's the one smiling at the sight of your ass hanging out of your shorts. all he wants to do is turn the lightwash fabric dark with all of your slick.
"this all mine, huh?" "been thinkin' about this pussy all day..."
Reader works as a translator for the Italians in Chicago.
I saw post on here theorizing that Smoke and Stack pretend to be one person in order to fool the I wish and the Italians based off how they dress. I like that idea a lot but not for this little blurb.
The Smokestack twins meet with a member of the Italian organization on a weekly basis during the first couple of years working for them.
The Italians have translators & interpreters in all races because it loosens the person they're dealing with. You were hired by the Italians because you were black and and spoke Italian. You didn't want any trouble but the pay was good and gave you some protection.
When you met the twin for the first time you breath catches. They ooze danger and paired with their looks you're drawn to them. But because of your job you keep your head down and refrain from seeking them out. You don't want any trouble.
After weeks of translating contracts, orders, plans and more for and during these meetings you've noticed a bit more about the twins. Smoke is was level headed and even though he took charge more often he was ... withdrawn. You'd once seen him on your block, watching some kids run around. The grief pouring off of him was intense. You resolved not to touch that with a ten foot pole.
Stack on the other hand was like a root fire. Cool and collected on the outside with sarcasm and snappish comments hinting and the raging fire underneath.
You'd seen him around with of your neighbors late at night or early in the evening. You were slightly tempted but the rare fights you'd barely glimpse but hear all about the next morning gave you pause.
Almost a year after the twins came to your side of Chicago they were steadily amongst some of the Don's more trusted associates. Your were asked to attend a dinner party for the associates and the twins were attending. After a night of sticking to the shadows you notice Stack staring at you from across the room. When your eyes meet your face feels like it's on fure but you can't look away. He drains his drinking before walking towards you and you swallow hard.
Any chance of you slipping under his notice just went up in flames.
₊⊹ Sweeter Than Sin [ All Genres ] ᝰ After the horrific night at Club Juke where Stack was turned, you’ve never been the same. You tried praying, drinking, even fucking somebody else, but nothing could stop your body from yearning for Elias. After being gone for years, he’s finally returned to you, part vampire, part demon, but all of him is starving for the taste of your sweetness on his tongue.
Can somebody, anybody, heck everybody please write some stack x reader or stack x oc angst where she doesn’t take stack back. I need something to put me in my feelings one good time.
➠ notes: when sinners is such a wonderful movie metaphorically, cinematically, and emotionally, that i start writing again. wow....
smoke.
⭑ he's a businessman that leaves your apartment for days at a time, but when it comes back to you, he's all elijah and no smoke. you're his peace, and when he hugs you, his arms snake around your lower back as he takes in your familiar scent.
⭑ he calls you his lady when he's outside. makes sure everyoneee knows y'all go together real bad.
⭑ he's normally so stoic, but when you're in his lap, he's incredibly unrestrained. gets kiss-drunk reallll easy. immediately flips your position to kiss you stupid too so you're grasping at him and rolling your hips closer to him.
"girl, you a damn distraction. keepin' me away from my work... you miss me?"
⭑ definitely has a sleeve tattoo.
⭑ he loooves r&b. definitely has a vinyl player in his house. he listens to sade, d'angelo, musiq soulchild, brandy, lauryn hill. on occasion, he'll put on some j. cole or kendrick. he listens to the type of music where you're like "whatchu know about this?"
⭑ looooves it when you hang onto his arm in public. he be trying to hide his smirk.
⭑ enjoys taking down your braids with you and washing your hair. he finds the intimacy of it so peaceful.
⭑ very intuitive to your needs. he can sense when your mood shifts on a dime.
⭑ he's a person who adores acts of service even though he would never admit it to you. his frown deepens when he gives you a black card of his, and he gets no notification of it being used.
⭑ he realized that you were the one the day he opened up to you frfr. he was talking about his father and other people that have hurt him, and you kissed his chest because "it was the closest i'll get to kissing your heart." that day he knew he wanted to take care of you the same way you adore him forever.
stack.
⭑ he tries out an assortment of nicknames on you to see which ones make you flounder a little, let out a small sigh of contentment. he settles on angel, pretty girl, and the occasional drawl of baby. if you send him a selfie of you that's particularly striking, he'll call you his dime piece.
⭑ loves a brat. ohhhhh, he adores the chase. the eye rolls, the lash flutters, the teasing— it excites him. the more you pout and sass, the wider he grins. he likes it when you yell at him (playfully.) when your glossed lips start to move a bit faster and there's a fire in your eyes.... his dick twitches a little.
⭑ y'all have matching grillz.
⭑ this nigga loves physical affection. always has a hand on you, whether it's your lower back when you're wearing a sundress or your ass in the jeans he bought you. when you two are cuddling at night, he would literally climb into your skin if he could.
⭑ y'all be weird as hell together... when he's in the privacy of his own home, stack's weird as fuck. he lets you "bite" him. the better phrase for it would be lightly sinking your teeth into his bicep, but his ass will narrow his eyes and stare at you as if he didn't shove you off of him.
"my girl a freaky lil' shit..."
⭑ he has the music taste of a whore. i'm talking partynextdoor, brent faiyaz, smino, don toliver, dvsn, and miguel. he kisses his teeth whenever you put your playlist on in the car, but you can see him vibing to it regardless. (he will never ask you the artist name himself though.)
⭑ loves to text you the most dirtiest things. i will not be providing further context.
⭑ he looks away when you ask him for something, because if he looks directly at you and your soft, glowy skin, he will in fact cave immediately.
⭑ loves taking photos of you. you when you're dressed up, you when you're just in his shirt, you when you're out in complimenting outfits. he keeps a polaroid of you two together in his wallet.
"baby, what are you doing?" "i have the prettiest damn woman."
