#stack fanfic

Elias then rips the door open, and the sight before you makes you feel sick.

A dead man, right in front of the door’s threshold, with blood pooling from his neck’s bitten arteries.

Then you see her—

Mary.

But now, she has crimson coating her lips down to the low collar of her dress. She has countless bullet holes in her body, yet she still stands as strong as a statue. Elijah stands a few feet in front of her alongside Sammie; the twin heaves and a mixture of frustration and anger is radiating from him.

Mary snaps her head in your direction and smirks as if nothing had even happened. You notice the glowing of her eyes, making you shrink even more behind Elias—if that’s even possible.

She does a double take between you and the Moore’s before speaking. “We gon’ kill every last one of ya,” she then sprints out of Club Juke faster than a jackrabbit.

The joint is empty, save for Annie, the Chows, Pearline, and Delta Slim, who run over to the scene.

“What the hell happened?” Annie exclaims. Sammie stutters out the events that occurred, but you find yourself tuning it out.

Mary had killed a man. But not with a weapon—no knife, no gun—but with her own teeth. That glow—that agility even after being shot up more than a hunted deer in the woods.

“We?”…She said "we?” Annie mutters. The thought makes you shiver.

More of those evil souls, with glowering gazes and monster-like movements.

How many were there? Were they just as strong as Mary? Stronger, even?

Your mind was going a mile a minute, as you pondered the endless possibilities of what these people things may have in store.

As if he could read your thoughts, Elias fully turns to you and grabs your upper arms. “Nobody gon hurt’chu, I’ll make sure o’ it,” he murmurs tenderly; he’s still firm and sure.

Elias has kept you towards the back of the joint, sitting pretty on the stage while everyone clambers about. You tried to explain to him that you weren’t some little girl who needed to be guarded, but Elias wasn’t hearing a word. His overprotectiveness both made your eyes roll and your heart flutter in your chest.

After sitting there long enough to make your butt hurt, you faintly hear a voice coming from outside the joint. You see Elias and Elijah share a look, before heading to the doors. Sammie almost immediately follows, holding onto Pearline’s hand; Slim, Grace, Bo and Annie reluctantly follow along.

The doors open and you hear Elijah talking to whoever resides on the other end of the threshold. You decide that sitting down isn’t in your best interest.

You’re getting up to stretch your legs—not because you can’t fight the urge to be nosy.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

The closer you get to the door, the more you start to pick up on the voice of the unknown individual.

You can tell it’s a man by the riveting baritone waves of sound. For some reason, his voice resonates within you. The familiarity of his tone nestles deeply between your bones and echoes inside of your skull, all you can feel now is pure, and utter confusion.

After finally getting close enough to peer out the door through the small herd of bodies, your breath catches in your throat. Your heart begins to pound wildly, and you press a hand to your frame in hopes of taming it.

The way that his eyes dart to you makes you feel as if he had a sixth sense dedicated to you. You knew that face all too well.

You almost missed the way that the pupils of his bright blue eyes flickered from a radiant red, back to their normal black shade.

Keyword: almost.

What you didn’t miss, however, was how his shirt, suspenders, and his chain were all caked in blood.

Fuck—was he one of them?

Your thoughts are interrupted once he speaks, “Mo ghrá..” He murmurs. The group parts like the red sea, making it so that you could see him clearly. You’d be lying if you said that hearing his sweet, breathy tone didn’t make your knees weak.

“My love..”

“Remmick..” You murmur, your voice not louder than a whisper in the wind. Your gaze is set on the Irish man, and you miss the confused, yet almost pained look written on Elias’ face.

Remmick’s grin grows tenfold, “I-I knew we’d cross paths again, darlin’.” Your face feels as if it were on fire as everyone looks between both you and Remmick, as if the two of you had grown two heads.

“Chaill mé thú, mo chuisle,” he murmurs, yet it sounds so much louder amongst the silence.

“I missed you, my pulse,”

You shake your head frantically, “No—no, you—you were gone, Remmick.”

Remmick tilts his head at you slightly and furrows his brows, “An-and I missed ya every damn day, darlin’. Believe me when I say that.” He puts his hands out as if he were trying to calm a startled animal.

You lip quivers and your eyes start to burn, your vision grows blurry, but you quickly blink your tears away.

“You’re the one I came for,” he chuckles breathily. “Yeah—yeah, you, a-and...” Remmick pauses once Sammie steps beside you, “Sammie,” he drags out sinisterly, his eyes shining red yet again.

You can’t help but shift and bring yourself in front of Sammie, almost as a way to protect the younger boy.

“I sensed you—I sensed you both. I want to see my people again.” It’s like Remmick was boring into your soul as he spoke. “I’m trapped here…But your gifts can bring them to me.”

Your gaze shifts to Elias, who stands next to his brother as they both keep a hand on their respective weapons. Remmick claps his hands together, diverting your attention back to him.

He did it on purpose.

“Y’all give ‘em to me, now,” Remmick’s tone feigns innocence, “Just give me a lil’ Sammie, and my lass—we’ll let y’all live.” His pleading sounds more threatening if anything. Elias tightens his grip on his dagger and looks at you both wearily and fiercely. It’s sure as hell not because his life was just threatened, and Remmick seems to take note of this.

Remmick cocks a brow at Elias and smirks, “Oh…You ‘n her?” He trails off, pointing his finger between you and Elias. He averts his attention back to you and chortles, “You done replaced me, baby?”

You furrow your brows with a sudden wave of anger, “No–don’t give me that. You were gone for years! Y-you left me!” Your voice grows, your agitation wraps around your words and seeps into the night sky.

“Yet my undead heart still beats for you, and you only.” He speaks slowly and squints his eyes at you, almost in disbelief at your defiance. His smile quickly returns to his face, but instead of making you feel warm, and fuzzy as it once did, it makes you feel nervous, and even scared.

“Y’know what? That’s alright, darlin’. Yeah…I hope he been lovin’ you the way you needed,” he pauses and damn near giggles. “‘Cause ole’ Rem is back now, baby. ‘N once I getcha, I ain’t fixin’ to leave ya, ever again.”

“That’s enough,” Elijah grumbles, before stepping in front of you. Your chest feels tight, and you hide yourself within the back of the group as they all stand next to Elijah, before you eventually walk back to the end of the juke joint.

“They belong to us—they belong with us,” you hear Slim state firmly.

“‘N I ain’t gonna let that happen.” Elijah spit.

There’s a tremble in your step as you inch closer to the wooden platform. You can practically feel Elias’ anger radiating all the way from the barn’s opening to where you sat—a jittering mess.

Would Elias think of you differently now?

In all honesty, you know you did no wrong. I mean, did he expect you to only keep yourself company while he was off doing God knows what with dozens of women every day in Chicago for seven whole years?

It’s not like you shared a bed with Remmick; the thought had crossed your mind once or twice, but no matter what, your heart still belonged to Elias.

A part of you truly wishes that you could’ve pushed your feelings aside to allow Remmick to love you in ways nobody had. He was one of the kindest spirits you’ve ever encountered, and you had always fancied his promises of eternal love and life.

You couldn’t stray too far from Elias, despite how hard you tried, your soul wouldn’t allow it.

The commotion dies down, but the sound of heavy, quick footsteps does not—unfortunately for you. You don’t even know why you’re worried, but your heart’s restless beating doesn’t falter for a minute.

You look up at him and his face shows more than just mild irritation. You can’t tell if Elias is mad at you—for whatever reason—or at the fact that his first night back in the Delta was ruined…Maybe it’s both?

“Y’told me I was the only man you been with? What–so you was lyin’ t’me?” Elias wastes no time in interrogating you. You can see the group looking your way behind Elias, but once they meet your gaze, they disperse. Elias clears his throat once he notices your attention diverted.

You scoff, “No, ‘Lias! When I said I only been with you, I meant it!”

“So what was that? He over here callin’ you baby ‘n shit for no reason, then?” He throws his hands up in disbelief, letting them then slap the sides of his thigh.

“Okay–yes I dated him! But me ‘n him didn’t do nun, believe me when I tell ya, Elias.” You say with a sigh of irritation.

Elias’ face darkens, you can both see and sense the new-found tension pulsing. “So..He ain’t ever touch this body of yours? That’s whatcha sayin?” He inches closer to you, making you stand up on the stage to somewhat match his height.

You look down at him slightly as your faces remain close together, “I ain’t a liar,” you whisper.

And with that, Elias grabs you by your waist, hoisting you off of the stage and over his shoulder. You paw at his back as you let out a squeal, which sounds more like a screech.

Nobody seems to acknowledge the pair of you heading back to the very same room you were in earlier in the night, or at least they choose not to speak on it.

Nobody but Elijah.

He saw the grip that Elias had on you as he walked, his stride oozing both confidence and exasperation.

‘One track mind, that boy’, he thinks to himself.

As much as Elijah wanted to scold his brother for fooling around at a time like this, he thinks that maybe it’d be best if Elias got some weight lifted off of his shoulders. Maybe then he’d be more willing to come up with a plan with the group rather than going outside and trying to fight some haint and his army.

So, Elijah glares at his twin brother’s back before shifting his focus onto his gun in need of loading.

You watch as Elias kicks the door shut, before suddenly, you’re laying on your back once again. You gasp at his abruptness, but Elias doesn’t utter a word.

“Elias,” you sound as if you’re begging, but you don’t exactly know what it is that you’re begging for.

He lowers himself down, resting on one knee as he pushes your dress up, similarly to how he did a few hours prior.

“Baby,” you whisper, trying to push his head away from in-between your legs.

“This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me,” Elias finally utters. “I wanna taste what he couldn’t have.”

And with that, Elias plunges his warm, hot tongue inside of you; he doesn’t tease, which is unlike how he behaved with you earlier.

Elias’ filthy actions are unabated, and your efforts in pushing him away by his shoulders never cease.

‘This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me’

Elias’ words echo throughout your damn-near empty mind.

And he wasn’t lying, because no matter how much you cry out to him for mercy and even forgiveness, he doesn’t let up.

You’re breathless as he continues to fuck your cunt with his tongue. You beg him for a second to regain your bearings, but you know that even if he’d attempt to stop, you wouldn’t let him.

“Mmf—‘Lias, please!” You mewl. “Please—please, please! Have m-mercy!”

The way his finger swirls around your sensitive bud sends your body into what feels like shock. You don’t even notice you’re crying until you feel the hot tears trail down your puffy cheeks.

You sniffle and babble weakly, and Elias chuckles. His rhythm feels ingrained into your brain; the way his tongue flutters in and out quickly as his finger pad rolls even quicker.

The heat between your legs is ever-growing, as well as the pulsing ache that ripples throughout your core. Your back muscles arch instinctively off of the table; you think your bellybutton might just touch one of the twinkling stars in the dark night sky.

It doesn’t take long for you to start reaching your climax, you couldn’t even hold it if you tried due to Elias’ earlier endeavors.

“‘Lias please—I can’t! I—” You hiccup through your sobs, “I can’t take no more!”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you start to see colors circulating through the darkness. You sniffle and cry feebly as you lie helplessly on the table.

“That right?” Elias questions you, and it’s the first words that he’s spoken to you in minutes.

You nod your head up and down vigorously as you continue to cry, and then

Elias stops.

You let out a broken gasp once the warmness of Elias’ face is replaced with an icy chill that you didn’t even think you’d feel in Mississippi.

“No! Nonono—‘Lias please, m’beggin’ ya!” Another sob rips violently through your chest, which feels like it’s been caved in.

Elias peers at you, his expression unreadable, “Thought’cha couldn’t take it?” You try to speak but all Elias can make out are jumbled words and sharp inhales. Elias sits you up, and for a second, you think he’s going to walk out.

But then he sits on the edge of the table and slides you onto his lap.

More specifically: one of his thighs.

You look at him teary-eyed as another droplet trickled down your face. He notices this, and slightly sticks his glistening tongue out, licking the teardrop clean from your face. He does it with little force—such little bite compared to how he obnoxiously slurped against you minutes before. You barely felt his tongue, but his breath fanning over the side of your face made you heat right up.

Elias kisses your neck, lightly, but still present. “I ain’t givin’ you nun else,” he murmurs as he trails up to your chin.

“Why?” You whisper meekly. “What’d I do, ‘Lias? Talk t’me.” Despite your given situation, you still spoke to him with such tenderness.

If he wasn’t trying to prove a point, Elias maybe would’ve even swooned, which is so unlike him.

You make him feel like a different man entirely. You don’t throw yourself at him like the other women he’s encountered—the ones that give themself away for cheap. Despite how shy you were around him, you still held yourself with so much confidence, never arrogance.

It made Elias want to chase you.

He would’ve if he hadn’t been away.

He would’ve if there wasn’t underlying fear in his heart. Fear that you moved on with someone else, someone different than him.

Or maybe you wouldn’t even want him.

God, that’s why he can’t even begin to describe the pure rage that surged through his heart once Remmick started speaking to you.

Such familiarity in his tone and even his eyes, he spoke about you like you were his.

Elias missed so much—missed so many birthdays and life-changing moments.

But that man—Remmick, he experienced who knows how many.

Elias Moore isn’t scared of much, but he’s scared of losing you. And that’s enough to kill him.

“If y’want it, take it.” Elias ordered.

You stare at him for a beat, beady eyes flickering left and right, mouth agape, and hands finding their place on Elias’ shoulders.

You roll your hips on his thigh, and he tightens the hold he has around your back. Your head feels so fuzzy, like it was filled to the brim with the purest pearly feathers. But Elias’ very presence kept you grounded in ways you didn’t know he could.

You roll yourself against his thigh again, finding your own rhythm. Elias didn’t press; didn’t make you go faster, didn’t force you to release.

He wanted you to take what you wanted from him.

Because he’d give you everything you’d ever want and more.

He knows this, and you’re starting to learn it.

You heave through your nose as you ride him, your hands wrap around his neck, if they’re clammy, he doesn’t mention it.

With a surge of confidence flowing through your veins, you clamber into Elias’ lap, grinding down on his growing erection.

“Mmn—hah, you feel so good, ‘Lias,” you whimper, your voice picking up in pitch.

You swear you hear something from outside, but you can’t find a reason as to why you should worry about that when you’re on top of the man you love—grinding on him so filthily.

Elias groans softly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to see the effect that you have on him. “Fuck baby..Yeah that’s it.”

Your clit bumps against Elias’ zipper, and you let out a throaty moan. His hands come down to slap your ass as you continue to press down on him. You feel his toned muscles underneath his shirt as your hands glide up and down his torso.

Elias’ belt buckle feels cold against your lower stomach; it’s such a stark difference from the warm pressure that resonates within you.

Your legs are sore and twitchy and your hip muscles start to tighten, you whimper at the slowed pace you have to push through.

“I gotcha, don’t you worry,” Elias pants, before quickly rocking you back and forth on his slacks. His tip prods at your inner thigh, you notice that he’s leaked through his pants. Neither of you seem to care.

His grip on you tightens, as he starts to bounce you onto his clothed cock, then rolling your hips into a circle.

“‘M so close—please don’t stop,” you rasp as a new wave of tears streams down your cheeks.

“I know—I know, honey, let go f’me.”

Your plans to stifle your moans are out of the window now as your bottom half starts to tingle in ways you’ve never felt before.

“W-wait! ‘Lias! I-I gotta pee!” you gasp in horror. “M’sorry! ‘M’so sorry!”

Elias’ eyes light up, and he bites his bottom lip as he bucks his hips up into you. “C’mon, sugar. ‘S’all right, gimme whatcha never gave him.” He smiles at you genuinely. Only Elias could grin at you so sweetly while thrusting through your’s and his clothing.

You pat at his chest desperately, “No! ‘Lias please! Y’aint listenin’!” You weep.

“Nah—‘M listenin’ baby, ‘n it sounds like this pussy’s ready to cum.”

Your jaw drops as you slam yourself against Elias’ cock, riding your high as your voice gives out. Your ears ring, and you can barely even hear your own cries.

“F—uck!” The yell rips from your throat.

Elias just watches you in awe, no doubt cumming in his pants at the sight of you.

His lap is soaked and his laughter makes you pinch your eyes open. Speaking of: your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you look at the mess you’ve made.

“Oh God—‘Lias ‘m sorry. I tried to hold it, I swear!” You frown at him, but Elias is beaming, his rosy cheeks are nearly touching his bottom lashes.

“Wh-what? Why’re ya smilin’? Elias I just-“

“Y’just squirted on me, sugar,” Elias marvels.

You pause, cocking your head to the side and furrowing your brows, like you’re trying to decipher his words.

“I-I ain’t ever done that before…Is it good?” You ask softly.

“Best thing I’ve ever seen in m’life,” Elias says through cheerful laughter.

You readjust your dress and roll your foot in your heels, making sure they’re snug. Just in case you need to run from something

“What’d we miss?” Elias boasts, receiving a sharp glare from Annie.

“Well, if you two weren’t foolin’ ‘round, you’d already know that we’re up against vampires.” Annie scolds the both of you; you can see Elias’ poorly-hidden smirk in the corner of your eye, making you bite down a grin. It quickly leaves your face once you notice Bo’s absence.

“They gotta be killed one by one.”

Delta Slim pipes up, “‘N how the hell we do that?”

“Sunlight—a wooden stake to the heart.”

“Why tonight?” Elijah asks angrily.

Sammie takes a step forward, “‘Cause of me.” You frown at him, but before you’re able to speak, he continues. “My daddy told me—he said the devil was comin’ on account of my music.”

“Now, Sammie, that is not true—“ you say with conviction.

“I had a gal once—vampire. She was light skinneded, too.” Slim smiles as you look at the twins in confusion. “Gal bit me everywhere but my neck,” he chuckles.

Then, his smile fades and is replaced with something far more serious. “Sammie…You don’t worry about a thing, hear?”

Sammie’s posture shows his guilt and his fear taking a hold of him. Slim holds his gaze as he speaks, “Devil done came for me plenty of times. If he come knockin’ tonight…He gonna have to go through his old friend Delta Slim ‘fore he get to you. That go for everybody in here—you too.” He says as he turns to you. You smile sweetly at him despite the shake in your knees.

Unfortunately, it’s not from your intimacy with Elias.

Everyone looks at one another, solidifying Slim’s words of protection.

You keep your place next to Elias as everyone disperses. “‘Lias..” You whisper. He turns to you as you speak. “W-what if they get me—what if he gets me? I-I don’t wanna turn—“ Your voice rises as panic takes over your features.

His warm hand goes up to cup your face, stretching from your ear to the side of your neck. “Lemme tell y’sum, sugar,” he murmurs. “Nobody is takin’ ya away from me. Not him, not anybody—ever. Understand?”

You inhale deeply as you nod your head up and down timidly. His thumb presses to the side of your eye, wiping the tear that you didn’t even know had fallen.

Looking into his eyes feels as if you’re in a trance, and you think back to the electrifying moment you had when you were dancing on stage for him.

A scream rips through the building and interrupts your thoughts. “Sammie! Smoke! Stack!” The voice—who you figure out is Pearline—yells.

Everyone gathers to where Pearline stands, and there lies a man pooled in his own blood.

“Well, this had to have been Mary, right?” Grace asks apprehensively.

“Nah. She ran straight out. You saw them.” Sammie says breathlessly.

“Well who bit him then?” You and Grace ask simultaneously.

Elias turns to his brother, “We gotta get him out before he wakes up.”

The twins quickly drag the man to the door, heaving him through the dirt and gravel. You peer out from inside the joint with Sammie, almost as if you both were on look-out.

“C’mon.” Elijah beckons Elias as he starts to head inside, but he stays still.

Elias holds his hand out, motioning for Elijah to stop. “You don’t hear that?” You can’t see his front, but you know for certain that he’s scrunching his face up. You look at Sammie as you both listen to the sounds intertwined with the wind.

That’s when you hear it

Hear him.

“Leave where I was born,” you faintly hear Remmick singing.

“They playin’ music,” Sammie mutters.

“I cut a stout blackthorn.” Thunder rumbles and shines in the sky as he sings.

It leaves a bad feeling in your chest.

For to banish

Ghosts and goblins

You see a circle being formed, full of those vampires, but Remmick’s eyes are clearest as he stands in the middle of the forming ring.

A brand-new pair of brogues

To rattle over the bogs

His song seeps deep within your bones—words flowing through your rib-cage.

And frighten all the dogs

“Hey—hey.” Elijah taps Elias on his chest as he alerts him with a lowered tone. “Let’s get back inside.”

On the rocky road

To Dublin

‘C’mon.” Elijah ushers his brother inside.

One, two, three, four, five

Sammie side-steps Elijah as you reach out for Elias.

And with that: the door is slammed shut, the man is left outside, and Remmick begins to plague your mind.

Everyone looks around at one another without speaking.

“We all gonna eat this clove of garlic,” Annie says with persistence.

“No can do,” Elias shakes his head as he speaks.

“‘N why the hell not?” Annie nearly snarls at the brown-eyed man and his careless attitude.

Elias smirks, “Y’see now..Garlic don’t mix well w’pussy, aint that right Smo—“

You smack his chest with force, “Elias Samuel Moore!” You exclaim. Slim chokes out a laugh, and Grace turns her head, no doubt hiding a smile.

Annie sighs frustratedly, and Elijah doesn’t speak a word. His eyes just flicker between the group; you think he’s in his soldier-mode.

“..I don’t much like the taste of it,” Pearline peeps, glancing around wearily.

Annie snaps her head in Pearline’s direction, “Ain’t nobody saying y’all gotta like it.” She scoffs as she chews on the garlic clove, handing the jar over to Elijah. “We just gotta figure out if any of us left is one of them.”

Elijah passes the jar to Grace, who quickly grabs the garlic. “You ain’t get nun of the pickled ones?” She quirks a brow, voice somewhat muffled from the mouthful of garlic. Elias snorts beside you, and you nudge his arm in return.

Grace carefully hands the half-filled jar to you. You stick your thumb and index finger into the jar, plucking a clove out and handing the rest to Elias.

You grimace at the taste that floods your mouth, and now you do wish that Annie got the pickled ones. You turn your head to Elias, who almost looks apprehensive about eating one, but as soon as he meets your eyes, he flicks it into his mouth.

You blink at him before sticking your tongue out, showing him that you’re finished. It takes him a second to do the same; handing the jar to Pearline while still facing you.

“This is ridiculous,” Pearline blurts with annoyance. And without missing a beat, Elijah pulls his gun out and aims it directly at the girl’s head. You gasp, and Elias holds your arm, keeping you from doing anything you’ll regret. “Pearline.” You plead.

“Smoke—put the gun down,” Sammie nearly squeaks.

“Shut up.” Elias demands without even looking at his cousin. “Eat, or I’ll shoot.”

“Put the gun down Smoke, she ain’t no damn vampire,” Sammie contends.

“How the hell you know that?” Elijah deadpans.

“Just eat the damn garlic girl,” Grace warned.

You know Elias isn’t going to try and stop his brother, after all, Elijah’s just trying to protect his family in the best way he knows how. You admire it, but it also scares you knowing he’s damn-near just as reckless as Elias.

Elijah turns the safety off on his gun with a click, making Sammie panic, and everyone else observes in disbelief. Sammie butts in again, and his interruption unfortunately gets him hit in the nose with the butt of Elijah’s gun. He holds his nose in pain, and you cast a sympathetic glance in his direction, though he isn’t able to see it.

Elijah looks at Sammie for the first time, “Tryin’ to keep ya alive boy, you ain’t t’question me.” His southern drawl makes it all the more menacing as Sammie groans beside him.

You wait with baited breath, hoping that Pearline will just listen and pick from the jar in Elias’ hand.

“You a evil man,” She shakes her head and huffs. Pearline grabs the glass and pulls a piece out, almost sizing up Elijah. “No wonder the devil come f’us.” She chews reluctantly before giving the garlic to Slim.

He eats the clove and a tense wave of silence washes over the room. Suddenly, Slim covers his mouth and backs up coughing. Elijah points the gun in Slim’s direction as Annie inches behind him, and you’re no different with Elias as you grip Grace’s wrist.

“Slim—what’s goin’ on man,” Elijah says with simple directness.

Slim’s throat rumbles as he starts to thrash around, groaning and mumbling unintelligiblely.

“What’s goin’ on, Slim?” Elijah asks again, his voice raising into a yell as he now wields a thick wooden dagger. Slim pounds on his chest wildly and you continue to cower alongside Grace.

Slim’s head is down as he puts his arms out in a pleading manner, “I drank too much,” he grumbles. “That goddamn beer from Chicago—my nerves all fucked up, Smoke,” Slim rasps, gesturing to his face.

“Oh—fuck,” you sigh with relief, letting go of Grace; she still has concern written all over her face.

Everyone calms their racing hearts once Slim straightens up. “I’m fine,” he reassures. “See?” He holds his arms out almost triumphantly.

“You sure that was blood?” Annie asks Elijah, and you look at him, waiting for some sort of answer as to what Annie’s implying.

The group watches Elijah go over to the near-forgotten puddle of blood and gather it on his fingertips. He sniffs it, and you can’t help but recoil—and Elias can’t help but snicker it seems. Everyone waits for Elijah to speak, but he doesn’t. No surprise there, though But he does grab a seemingly empty beer bottle from under a table.

You hear the door rattle, and you quickly turn your body towards the noise. Elias walks in front of you just as quickly.

There’s banging on the door as someone shouts, “Hey—hey, Smoke, let me in, man.” Elijah looks up from his crouched position. “Smoke? Stack? Let me in!”

His muffled voice grows more desperate, as well as his knocking. “Smoke, I swear I paid my tab, man.” He pants. “That’s what this about?”

The knocking grows more frantic by the second, and you’re almost worried that the door’s hinges may falter.

“Stack! Hey, Stack! Whatever y’all need, man!” The man pleads. “Smoke! Some weird shit goin’ on our here, Smoke!” He begs helplessly.

The twins share a quick glance before inching towards the door. “Smoke, let me in! Smoke, let me in!” He hollers as he bangs on the door ferociously.

Elijah rips the door open, gun in hand, with Elias standing beside him with his dagger. Soon as the door opens though, the man is tackled to the ground.

He was tackled by Cornbread.

“What the—oh shit,” Smoke exclaims from his spot in the doorway as he now aims at the rustling heap on the ground.

“Get off me!” The man screams as Cornbread rips the skin from the side of his face clean off.

“Close the door, c’mon!” Annie yells over the loud squelching noise. But before everyone can clamber behind the door, Grace rushes to the frame.

“Wait!” She pants. “Bo.”

That’s when you see none other than Bo Chow, strolling up to the joint as if a man wasn’t being murdered a few feet away from him.

“Hey, baby,” he greets Grace, not even sparing a glance to anyone else. “Come on outside, I got the car started. Let’s go—c’mon.” He nods his head towards the parked car.

You place your hand on Grace’s upper arm as she examines Cornbread on top of the flailing man, your touch serving as an anchor for her.

“What is it, Grace?” Bo tilts his head at her, gathering her attention once more.

Her voice breaks as she speaks, “He’s killin’ him.” And that’s when Bo finally acknowledges the horrific scene in front of him.

“Oh, ya talkin’ ‘bout that?” He’s almost smirking at her. “Don’t worry ‘bout Cornbread—he’s just a lil hungry, ‘s all. Let’s go.” Cornbread growls before standing up.

Grace gasps as Bo presses her, “C’mon!” Cornbread snarls next to him. “C’mon ‘n go! I got the car all warmed up.” He grins and puts his hands on his hips before sighing once he notices Grace’s hesitation.

“Don’t do it, Grace,” you whisper to her, hoping to refrain her from going with him.

Bo strolls up to the door, “Or…” He puts his hand on the other side of the frame. “You let me back in there, and I’ll come in—we can grab our things..” He pauses.

You then notice his irises changing to a sinister silver color.

It wasn’t human.

“Don’t listen to him,” both you and Annie say firmly.

“Grace, we’re gonna find a way out of this, I promise.” Elijah declares, not lowering his gun from Bo’s chest for even a second.

“It’ll be okay,” Elias reassures her.

“I am your way out.” You flinch once you hear Remmick’s voice.

He walks up next to Bo as Elijah tightens the grip he has on his gun. “This world already left you for dead. Won’t let ya build. Won’t let ya fellowship.” He gestures with his hands.

“We will do just that,” he softens his voice—like he’s bargaining. “Together. Forever.” He tilts his head, feigning innocence.

Bo speaks up, “It’s better this way, baby. So why don’t ya go ahead—invite us in.” His smile is long-gone.

Remmick steps forward, “Y’should listen to ‘em, Grace. Or listen t’me. ‘Cause I know everything he knows now. And I want ya to let us in there.” His eyes shine red yet again, and a shiver crawls up your spine like a spider’s legs.

“Or we gon’ go to the grocery store—we gon’ pay little Lisa a visit.”

Grace yells as both you and Annie hold her back; she sobs as everyone holds her frantically. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Oh, yeah, Grace. I know everything now.” He smirks at her, beginning to speak Taishanese.

You have no idea what he’s saying, but you know for certain it’s nothing good with the way Grace crumbles in your arms and Remmick’s voice is now sweetly saccharine.

Then, you hear footsteps coming from the right, and you see Mary’s heels before you see her.

“You ain’t safe here. No matter how many guns, or how much money…They gon’ take it from ya when they want.” Remmick’s teeth are on display as he speaks.

“Ya built sum here tonight ‘n it was beautiful. But it was built…On a lie.” This catches both Elijah and Elias’ attention.

“Hogwood, well he’s the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. That’s his motherfuckin’ nephew.” He points to a man who has his arms around a woman, both covered in dried up blood. Speaking of blood: you feel yours run cold once you hear Remmick’s declaration.

You should’ve known it was too good to be true. Of course the twins were well known in the Delta, but being able to get a place like this so soon? You’re not surprised it came with a price.

If only Elias had told you sooner.

“‘N they was always gon’ kill you. I just happened to show up at the right place at the right time.”

Mary comes up from behind Remmick, standing next to him and gazing at Elias. “He’s tellin’ the truth, Stack. I can see his memories.”

Elias’ shoulders tense up as soon as she speaks to him, and you’re no different.

“Stack, that ain’t Mary.” Slim says wearily.

“This wasn’t no juke joint,” Mary smiles cockily, “No club. This here’s a…Slaughterhouse.”

“It’s a goddamn killin’ floor.” The white man from before says.

The woman in his arm finally speaks, “But what Uncle Hogwood don’t know is we’re gonna start ourselves a new clan—based on love.” She laughs, putting her hands in the air.

“Now that we got numbers, we’ll probably go over to that bigot ‘n rectify him, too.” Remmick sighs blissfully.

“Why can’t y’all just leave,” Annie begs.

“‘Cause we’re not leavin’ without y’all. We’re family—even you, sugar.” Mary chirps, turning her head towards you. Elias’ jaw tightens. “I know it sound crazy, but after we kill y’all..We gon’ have heaven right here on Earth.” The gaggle of vampires behind her let out hums of agreement.

The man that Cornbread killed groans from his position on the ground. Remmick chuckles and waves to him.

Mary steps forward, her sights set on Elias. “Hey—hey, look at me,” she smiles.

“The Mary I know ain’t fellowshipping with no goddamn devil,” you squint at her; as much as you didn’t like Mary, you weren’t dumb.

“Fuck you, it is me!” Mary barks. “‘N I’m talkin’ to Stack right now, sugar…So I’mma kindly ask you to shut the fuck up.”

As soon as the words leave her stained lips, you reach for the dagger in the holster under your dress.

“No—no.” Elias grabs you, tucking you into his chest and holding your arms close to you.

“We was never gonna be free. We been runnin’ around everywhere, lookin’ for freedom. You know damn well you was never gonna find it.” Mary chides.

“Until this—this is the way. Together. Forever.” Mary leers at Elias. “I ain’t doin’ this without ya. There is no me without ya.”

You freeze, hearing Mary’s declaration of love for Elias. She spoke to him like you weren’t even there.

And what makes matters worse?

Elias’ response determines everyone’s fate.

If he goes, there’s a chance they may leave you all alone, and you know for a fact: Elias is the type to sacrifice himself for his family.

That alone terrifies you.

Elijah and Annie close the door, you turn around in hopes of consoling Elias, but before you can get a word out, he brings you into his arms.

“Nobody’s takin’ ya away f’me, ‘n nobody’s takin’ me from ya.”

You just pray that he keeps his word.

But the truth was, you had tried and failed. You tried so damn hard to pretend like other men could take his place. One of them was a trainer with big arms and perfect teeth. He was the kind of man who liked to call you “ma” and rub on your leg during brunch. Another was a quiet, artistic type who smoked clove cigarettes and read you poetry right before bed. The last one you entertained was rough with his hands but soft with his mouth, always asking if you were okay and checking in. You thought he would be a safe choice, but just like the others he didn’t fix the itch you needed to scratch.

Your free hand reached for your phone without thinking, the motion muscle memory by now. You rolled over onto your side and dragged the screen to life as the artificial glow casted shadows against your face. Your thumb moved in idle circles, tapping through names, numbers, grainy selfies, and old flings you couldn’t even remember fucking. You paused on a few and thought about what it might feel like to call one of them, just to get a little taste, but every memory came back warped and lacking. Their touches had all faded from your skin like chalk in the rain, unlike the ones from the asshole that branded himself on your heart.

A flashback ran through your mind and that’s when your fingers stopped scrolling.

Stack.

His name stared up at you, still saved under that stupid contact name you gave him: ‘Mr. Big Dick Headache.’ You swiped up without meaning to, pulled open the message thread and stared at the last thing he ever sent you—‘Lose my fucking number.’ It still made your stomach twist in knots, because deep down you knew he didn’t mean it. You were well aware that this was how Stack operated. He got off on cutting deep before you could slice him first. But this time around you were tired of pretending like you were the only one bleeding out.

Your thumb hovered over the call button, heart drumming a steady rhythm that went nowhere. You didn’t bother pressing it and instead let out an annoyed sigh when you remembered Stack blocked you two months ago, right after that last argument when you finally told him the truth. Told him you did fuck someone else but it was a one time situation to prove a point. The only reason you did it was because you wanted him to feel, even for a second, the kind of sick betrayal you felt every time he came home late smelling like another woman’s perfume. You didn’t cry when he cussed you out and called you everything but a child of God. Instead you just stood there, naked under his T-shirt, arms crossed, and waiting for him to finish expressing his anger so you guys could have makeup sex like you always did.

But this time, it didn’t happen. When he was done, he stormed out of your apartment and slammed the door shut.  And you hated how that still bothered you.

You hated how Stack got to be angry. How he got to act like you were the problem. Like you had broken the sacred code when he never even gave you a title. No “girlfriend,” no “baby,” not even a damn 24 hour instagram story. But oh, his raggedy ass knew how to claim you when it was convenient. Knew how to hold your face still when he slid inside you and said, “This mine. You hear me? Mine.” Knew how to threaten every man that so much as looked your way and leave marks deep enough to last until the next weekend he decided to come back around.

Even though your relationship with Stack was extremely toxic, you weren’t stupid. You knew what it was. You were the one woman who could take what he dished out. The only one who gave him the fight he craved and the submission he needed. And he was the only man who could tear you down, fuck you back together, and make you feel safe while calling you every disrespectful name in the book.

Still holding your phone, you let the rose toy fall limp between your thighs. You weren’t going to cum from silicone and batteries. Not tonight and probably not tomorrow either. Not until you got what you really needed.

Another sigh slipped past your lips. It was drawn out and bitten at the end like it tasted bitter coming out. You glanced at the time and groaned at it being 12:46 AM. If you left now, traffic would be nonexistent and you could be at his door in less than twenty-five minutes. Your heart was still dragging its feet like a disobedient child being told to go inside after playing too long in the rain. Logic was banging its fists against the locked door of your mind, shouting things about pride, dignity, knowing your worth, blah blah blah. But your body was already making decisions your brain didn’t agree to.

You padded barefoot across the cold floor, stepping over the discarded tank top you tried to wear for comfort. Your legs felt heavy, weighed down by equal parts sexual frustration and adrenaline. You flipped the bathroom light on and caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Your face wore a needy expression that made you whine internally and your chest rose and fell in shallow swells that made your nipples pebble from the draft. You looked used but not in the way you wanted. Not in the way he used to leave you.

You opened the cabinet, brushing past your night cream and sleeping mask as you reached for the little container of body shimmer you hadn’t touched since your last night with him. Stack always liked when your skin glittered, he said it looked like sin pretending to be sugar. You twisted the cap off, dipped two fingers in, and rubbed a little along your collarbones and down the center of your chest. Then more between your thighs.

You took your time dressing up. Half of you did it because you wanted to remind him of what he lost and the other half of you did it because you wanted him to notice you again. To see what he had been missing and hate himself for letting it go so easily. You drenched yourself in his favorite lotion, the one he used to lick off your shoulders with that grin that made you forget every lie he ever told. And when it was time to pick what to wear, you went for the nuclear option. Red lace. 

This particular lace bra left nothing to the imagination and put your hardened nipples on display. It came with a matching thong and a garter belt, that hugged your waist and did absolutely nothing to hide the curve of your ass. You pulled it on and smoothed the material over your hips before stepping into a pair of cherry red stilettos you hated but knew he loved. They were tall and dangerous, the kind of shoes that made you walk with your back arched and your thighs pressed tight together just to keep balance. Every step in them reminded you of how sore he used to leave you. How shaky your knees would get when he forced you to hold yourself open while he watched, arms folded and voice like poison wrapped in domination as he told you how you better not finish without his say-so.

You threw on a black trench coat over everything, buttoned only once at the waist, just enough to protect your false sense of control. The hem flared like a threat every time you moved, brushing the tops of your thighs. You grabbed your keys and didn’t think twice about your reckless decision. You didn’t bother calling a friend to talk through your emotions, you just walked out the door like a woman with no shame left to lose.

The drive to Stack’s home was quiet. Streetlights blurred past in long golden lines, smearing your reflection in the windshield. Your phone sat facedown in the passenger seat, untouched. Right now you didn’t need music or any outside distractions. You just needed to see him. Feel him. Erase the last two months in one filthy, hate-laced night.

You parked across the street like you used to, tires crunching over the gravel. His porch light was off, just like always. Stack was a man of routine. Lights off, cameras on and doors locked. You crept up the path in your heels, trench coat catching in the wind as you breathed hard enough to fog the air while your nerves screamed beneath your skin. Your fingers reached for the potted plant beside the steps, the one that always hid the spare key he swore he would never take back. Except… It wasn’t there anymore.

A frown creased on your forehead as your fingers scraped dirt, then mulch, and finally the hollow space where the key used to be. He actually got rid of it. That trifling son of a—

“The fuck you doin’ out here dressed like that?”

The sound of his voice made you freeze and caused every nerve in your body to flicker. You turned slowly, heartbeat hammering. There he was, the bane of your existence looking annoyingly handsome and sweating through a gray tank top so damp it clung to every carved inch of his torso like a second skin. A black gym bag was slung over one shoulder, the strap dragging across the round curve of his delts. His shorts were loose but not loose enough, there was a very distinct eight inch bulge pressing forward, barely restrained, and you knew he was already more than halfway hard.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it as his eyes roamed and his tongue pressed against his cheek like he was already chewing on the storm you dragged with you. “I said…” He walked up the steps, each footfall heavy. “What in the entire fuck is this?”

You straightened your back, fists curled in the pockets of your coat. “I came to talk.”

“To talk?” he repeated, voice dropping to an octave that wasn’t soft or friendly, just low like fire burning underneath your skin. “You tryin’ my patience, woman. Look at you. Out here in the middle of the night dressed like a five dolla’ whore. You really this desperate?”

You squinted your eyes and clenched your fist tighter inside of your pockets. “You got rid of my key.”

“Damn right I did.”

“So that’s it, huh? All that time we spent together and you treat me like I was just… disposable?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You fucked on another nigga, then you wanna stand on my porch talkin’ ‘bout what I did?”

“You cheated on me first, Elias! You didn’t even claim me and I still let that shit slide! The one time I gave you a taste of your own medicine, you ghosted me like I was a side chick and took away my key like I ain’t never meant shit to you!”

His stare didn’t falter. It was as if what you were saying to him went in one ear and out the other. He didn’t bother engaging in an argument with you or meeting your tantrum with one of his own. Instead he looked at you and the wheels in his head began to turn. A breath slid through his teeth, low and crooked, like he couldn’t believe he was wasting time hearing you speak when your coat was flaring just wide enough to expose a hint of candy red lace underneath.

His eyes sharpened like broken glass and then the smirk came. One side of his mouth pulled back lazily like a lion watching a rabbit try to make demands. “So that’s why you here.” He dragged his eyes back up, voice curling around every syllable. “Lil’ nasty.”

You didn’t even blink when he stepped right up in your space, towering over you, his body hot and damp and stinking of exertion. He still smelled like whatever cologne he wore to the gym. It was expensive, dark, and spicy, but beneath that was him. Pure Stack. Sweat, testosterone, disrespect, and everything your body was already begging to wrap itself around.

He adjusted the strap of the gym bag and pushed past you like you were nothing more than an object in the way. You caught the heat of his bicep as it brushed your shoulder. He stopped at his front door and pulled out his key before turning the knob and opening it. To your surprise he didn’t step inside first. Instead he held the door open with one hand and looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes were darker now… full of mischief and hunger.

His voice dropped lower, forcing his Mississippi accent to hang heavy in the air. “Go ‘head, baby. Crawl.”

You blinked, heart punching your ribs. “What?”

Stack leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, cocked his head, and licked his bottom lip like he was savoring the sight of your confusion. “Since you wanna act like a bitch in heat, tryna hump whoever’ll take you…” He nodded toward the entrance. “Get on ya hands ‘n knees. Crawl inside. Show Daddy you know what you came here for.”

For a split second you didn’t move as your thighs squeezed together and the wetness you thought dried during the drive came back in full force. You swallowed down whatever pride you had left and let it rot where it stood.

The porch light stayed off. The street stayed quiet. The night wrapped around the two of you like it was complicit. For a long moment you just stood there, trench coat fluttering slightly around your legs, heels biting into the concrete, your mind screaming while your body leaned forward a fraction of an inch without permission.

Stack didn’t rush you as he stayed rooted in his spot like this wasn’t the most unholy sight he had seen all week. His eyes stayed locked on you, patient in the most infuriating way, like he already knew exactly how this was going to end and was enjoying watching you fight it.

“Clock tickin’, baby,” he drawled quietly, accent thick and lazy around the edges without softness. “Ain’t got all night. Legs already tired from the gym. Don’t make me wait.”

A lump bobbed in your throat and you hated that your knees trembled. Hated that your stomach flipped in that familiar way that always happened right before he stripped you of control. You peeled your hands out of your coat pockets slowly, fingers curling once at your sides as if bracing for impact. Then you bent.

The concrete was cold when your palms touched it. Rough and unforgiving material scraped faintly against your skin as you lowered yourself all the way down. Your trench coat fell open immediately, exposing lace and bare thigh to the night air. The stilettos made the position awkward and forced your back to arch instinctively just to keep balance while your ass lifted without you meaning to present it.

A sound left Stack’s throat, like a king satisfied with his subject. “Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with that Delta drag that always made your insides melt and twist at the same time. “Ain’t shit changed. Still real pretty when you remember where you belong.”

Heat flooded your face and humiliation burned sharp and bright, chased immediately by lust so strong it made your fingers curl against the concrete. You crawled forward like he told you to, each movement obedient but shaky, heels wobbling, thighs brushing together, lace stretching tight across your body with every shift.

You crossed the threshold on your hands and knees, palms pressing into cool hardwood now instead of cement. The smell inside his house hit you instantly. Clean laundry, leather, his soap, and the faint metallic tang of bullets and blood that followed him everywhere. It wrapped around you like a memory you couldn’t escape.

Stack shut the door behind you and locked it. You barely had time to process it before his foot nudged your thigh, firm but not violent, just enough pressure to remind you who was setting the pace tonight. The toe of his sneaker tapped just beneath the curve of your plump ass like he was testing how obedient you were really going to be and if you were going to follow through with the filth you came here begging for. Like he wanted to see if the woman who stepped on his heart two months ago with venom in her eyes was really about to crawl back into it with no shame left to burn.

“Don’t stop,” he said behind you, voice thick and quiet, laced with something sticky and mean. “I ain’t tell you to pause.”

Your knees scooted forward across the hardwood, muscles shaking as you forced your hands to move again. You had made it halfway down the hallway, the heels on your feet doing more damage than good as they forced your hips higher and your back deeper into that humiliating arch he liked so much. Your palms were starting to sting and the material between your legs had turned from cute to torturous, soaked and clinging, as it stuck to your folds with every little motion.

Stack didn’t follow right away, you could hear him behind you, the quiet shifting of his weight as he leaned a shoulder against the frame and watched. You didn’t have to look back to know the expression on his face. It was the same one he always wore when he was winning. That infuriating calm, like none of this mattered to him.

Your fingers curled into the floor beneath you and you dragged yourself forward another foot. Then another. The silence pressed in on you and it was ironic how it was so loud it made your ears ring. The only sound was the faint creak of your heels and your own shaky breathing, each exhale catching as the air from the vents skimmed over your exposed skin.

By the time you made it past the hallway and into the wide mouth of the living room, your arms were aching and your pride was somewhere back on the porch. The soft lamp glow from the kitchen spilled across the floor in broken amber lines, casting your body in fractured shadows. You dropped your forehead against the hardwood, not from exhaustion, but to breathe through the heat blooming low in your stomach. It was unbearable now. This was the kind of ache that turned your thoughts into soup, made your jaw tighten and your mouth press shut to keep from saying something you couldn’t take back.

He let you stay there for a long minute. Just kneeling and waiting, trying not to fall apart before he even touched you again. Then the sound of footsteps filled your ears.Each one dragged with intent across the floor, cutting through the silence like the blade he kept hidden under his mattress.

He stepped into the living room behind you and stood there, long enough for the heat of his body to lick across your skin in a wave. You stayed exactly where you were, heart hammering against the floorboards, fingers trembling slightly against the wood.

“Look at you,” he said. “Actin’ like you ain’t just spend two months tryna replace me.”

You didn’t respond but you felt his presence shift behind you as he got closer and lowered himself down. His voice cut through the space between your shoulder blades like a brand being pressed to your spine.

“Raise it up.”

You knew what he meant. Your elbows bent immediately and you lifted your head from the floor before arching even deeper and spreading your knees. You pushed your ass back until your cheeks tilted up toward him, the lace cutting into your hips and barely covering anything now. The coat spilled open completely, bunching beneath your stomach like discarded evidence.

Stack exhaled hard through his nose. “That’s better,” he said, voice darker now, simmering under his accent like a storm behind his teeth. “Don’t come to my house beggin’ unless you prepared to earn it.”

His hand skimmed up the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the stickiness smeared there, dragging unbothered circles into your skin like he had all night to figure out exactly how wet you were. He paused at the edge of your panties, thumb dipping beneath the elastic, pulling it to the side with a snap that made you gasp.

He stared silently for a moment and you could feel his eyes on your skin. That heavy intense stare he did whenever he was pretending not to be impressed. Pretending you didn’t still mean something to him.

“Damn,” he hummed. “You came here drippin’, huh?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I tried… I tried everything else...”

That made him laugh, like full on belly laugh.  “You think I give a fuck ‘bout what you tried?” His fingers slid down the crease of your folds without warning, dragging through your sticky honey like it was something that belonged to him. “You think I care you been ridin’ other dicks that ain’t make you cum?”

You gasped as his fingers brushed your clit, just once, before pulling back.

“I ain’t no substitute,” he said. “I’m the fuckin’ standard.”

You whimpered and your toes curled so hard inside your heels you thought they might snap off. His words landed heavy, settling deep in your chest and lower, right where your desires lived. You swallowed but your throat was dry and your skin buzzed like it was stretched too tight over your bones. He stayed pressed behind you for a heartbeat longer, letting the truth of it sink in and letting you feel how solid he was.

Just when you thought he was going to give you what you wanted, he pulled away. The loss of his heat was brutal. It left you empty and aching, forcing your hips to rock back instinctively like your body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, fingers curling against the floor as you tried to steady yourself once more.

Stack stepped around you and dropped onto the couch with a careless sprawl, like none of this cost him anything. The cushions dipped under his weight. He leaned back, elbows spread wide, gym clothes still clinging dark and damp to his chest and thighs. Sweat traced slow paths down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his tank. His shorts sat low on his hips, the outline was still there and unmistakable. His third leg was so thick and heavy even without him touching himself.

He looked at you like you were an unfinished task. “You got two minutes,” he said, checking an invisible watch on his wrist, voice flat and merciless. “Convince me I should fuck you ‘fore I kick you out my house, take me a shower, an take my black ass to bed.”

Your heart slammed hard against your ribs.

“Two minutes,” he repeated. “That’s it.”

You didn’t argue or stall, the second the words left his mouth your body moved like it had been waiting for permission. You pushed up off the floor, heels wobbling and knees screaming as you staggered toward the bathroom. The light flicked on and you grabbed a washcloth from the rack before running it under warm water, and wringing it out fast while your hands shook with urgency and panic and need all tangled together.

You came back into the living room just as fast, cloth in hand, eyes already tracking him like a magnet. You dropped down in front of him, knees hitting the rug, trench coat falling open completely now as you reached for his thigh.

His hand shot out and caught your wrist mid-motion. “Nuh-uh,” he said quietly. “I ain’t tell you to touch me like that.”

Your breath came shallow. “I just wanna—”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, face close enough now that you could see the glint in his eyes. He was testing how far he could push you tonight since he was still pissed. “Don’t come at me with no damn rag. You know better than that.”

Your stomach flipped. “Stack—”

“Uh-uh.” His thumb pressed into the inside of your wrist. “Use ya mouth. Same way I taught you... If you still remember.”

Heat flooded your face and your thighs squeezed together. Shame and want twisted up so tight it made your head spin. You dropped the washcloth to the floor without another word and settled back onto your knees, posture straightening automatically, shoulders back, and chin lifting just enough to show him you were listening.

He leaned back again, spreading his legs wider this time, gaze never leaving your face. “Clock still tickin’, baby,” he said. “You wastin’ time.”

You scooted forward on your knees, hands resting on his thighs, thumbs brushing over damp fabric. You bowed your head and pressed your lips to his knee first, then higher, kissing the sweat-slick skin through the thin cotton of his shorts. Your mouth worked slow with devotion, tongue tracing the outline of his quad, teeth grazing lightly where you knew he liked it.

A quiet sound slipped out of him before he could stop it. You smiled to yourself and leaned in further, mouth open now, dragging kisses up his thigh and your hands tightening as your confidence crept back in. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and paused, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Please,” you said softly. “Let me.”

He stared down at you for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Go on,” he said. “But don’t rush it. You rush, you done.”

You tugged his shorts down just enough to free him, the weight of him heavy in your hand, hot and already throbbing. You leaned in and dragged your tongue along the underside, slow and thorough, tasting sweat and salt and him. Your mouth closed around the head, lips stretching and tongue pressing flat as you took him in inch by inch, just like he liked.

His hand came up and tangled in your hair immediately, not pulling, just reminding you who’s in charge.  “There you go,” he groaned, voice low and thick. “That’s it... Show me you ain’t forgot.”

You worked him with your mouth, steady and eager, hollowing your cheeks, tongue tracing familiar paths. Your jaw ached but you welcomed it. You wanted to hurt. Wanted to prove something. Your hands slid up his thighs, nails digging in, grounding yourself as you took him deeper.

“Time still runnin’,” he reminded you. “Why shouldn’t I throw you back outside when I finish?”

You pulled back just enough for air, saliva shining on your mouth, your chin damp and eyes sharp when you looked up at him. “Because you like me right here,” you said confidently. “Because this is the only thing that gets you to shut you up.”

His mouth twisted with annoyance and he pushed your head back with two fingers under your chin, not rough, forcing you to look at him. “Nah,” he said. “You know what I think, sweetheart? I think you should go call that nigga you fucked. Bet he’d love to see you on ya knees like this. Go on. Call him.”

The words hit like a splash of cold water and gasoline all at once.

Your eyes flashed with anger. “Fuck you.”

He smiled wider, taunting you. “There it is.”

“You really sittin’ there actin’ brand new,” you shot back, voice rising and heat pouring out of you now that the dam was cracked. “Like you ain’t been runnin’ through bitches since the day I met you. Like I ain’t swallowed your lies and your dick with the same damn mouth.”

His brows lifted slightly amused at your audacity.

“I mirrored you,” you continued, getting to your feet, anger stiffening your spine, heels planting hard against the rug beneath you. “That’s all I did. I mirrored you. And suddenly it’s a problem when it’s not just you doing the dirt.”

He leaned back against the couch, arms stretched out against the cushions. “Difference is,” he said calmly, “I ain’t never pretended I was loyal. You knew the type of man I was ‘fore you got with me.”

“And I ain’t never pretended I was yours,” you fired back. “You don’t get to cheat on me and then act like I committed some unforgivable sin.”

His gaze dragged over you like a blade, not even bothering to hide the contempt crawling up the corners of his mouth. “You never was mine,” he said, voice dipped in venom now. “Just some decent pussy to fuck when I ain’t have nothin’ else to do.”

A breath left your chest like he had punched it out of you. You blinked twice and then your throat worked around the lump swelling up like fury and heartbreak at once. You knew Stack fought dirty. You knew it. And still, every single time somehow, he found new ways to dig beneath the skin and pull the ugliest parts of you right out in the open.

“Wow,” you whispered, voice raw. “That’s how you really feel?”

He tilted his head and smiled like someone who knew they were hurting you and liked how quiet it made you. “If I wanted somethin’ real, I would’ve picked a bitch that didn’t need to fuck somebody else to feel seen.”

You lost your mind for a second as you moved and your palm cracked across his face. Your fingers stung instantly from the hit and his head jerked a little from the impact, but his expression didn’t change. That same crooked grin stayed there, blooming wider now, like you had just handed him a gift.

“Damn,” he breathed, blinking slow. “There she go.”

“Fuck you, Elias,” you hissed.

He didn’t bother answering you with words.  One second you were standing in front of him, chest heaving, eyes burning, and the next his hand shot out and yanked you down onto his lap. You let out a sharp gasp, palms flying to his shoulders, and before you could push off, he twisted his body and pinned you underneath him on the couch. Your back collided with the cushion, coat open wide and legs spread by the force of his hips between yours. The position was too familiar. Too natural. Your body molded to it like it had been waiting.

His hands were on either side of your head, arms caging you in, tank top still sticking to his chest as sweat clung to both of you now. His eyes locked on yours, and his voice dropped to that lethal hush that always came before you lost all control. “I’mma tell you this one time an one time only,” he said, inches from your mouth. “Don’t put ya fuckin’ hands on me.”

You glared up at him, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of him. “You act like I’m supposed to forget all the shit you did and let you talk to me crazy just ‘cause your dick big,” you spat.

He leaned in closer, nose nearly brushing yours. “It ain’t just my dick that got you showin’ up in the middle of the night dressed like a whore.”

Your hand flew up to slap him again, but he caught it mid-air, fingers tightening around your wrist before pushing it back into the cushion above your head. 

“You think I ain’t peep that lil’ lingerie set?” he sneered. “That coat. Them heels. Walkin’ up to my door like a treat I ain’t earned. Baby, I own this pussy. Don’t matter what I say or do, you’ll always come back to me.”

“You don’t own shit!” you shouted, twisting beneath him. “I let you fuck me, that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like this—”

“You begged me,” he growled. “Ain’t no lettin’ me. You need me!”

“You need me!” you screamed back. “You're just too scared to say it!”

That cracked something open as Stack dropped his weight against you in one hard push, hips pressing into yours, and kissed you so fiercely it felt like a car crash. This kiss was lip bruising and tongue invading. The kind of kiss that destroyed logic and rebuilt it in his name. Your free hand clawed at his back. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so he could bite your bottom lip, breath mixing with yours, teeth scraping, mouths cussing between kisses.

“Stupid-ass bitch,” he gasped against your throat.

“Piece of shit motherfucker,” you panted, grinding up against him through your soaked panties.

His hips jerked at the friction, letting out a ragged breath that vibrated against the side of your neck. His teeth grazed the skin just below your jaw, not biting yet, just dragging slow like he was thinking about it. Like he wanted to leave a trail of bruises so deep even your next lifetime would know who you belonged to.

Your back arched off the couch, legs spreading wider without permission and heels digging into the cushions for leverage. The trench coat had bunched beneath you, and the lingerie clung to your body like second skin, sheer and stretched and soaked straight through.

Stack pressed his forehead to yours, eyes burning, breaths coming through his nose like he was holding back something ugly and hungry. “You think anybody else could handle this mouth?” he hissed. “You think that nigga you cheated with could deal wit’ you screamin’ an scratchin’ like this?”

“I wasn’t screamin’ for him,” you shot back, voice wrecked. “Wasn’t scratchin’ neither.”

He grinned with cocky triumph. “‘Course you wasn’t,” he said, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth. “Cause ain’t nobody ever fucked you like me.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at his arrogance. “Unfortunately.”

His hand shot down between your legs and pressed against the damp fabric of your panties, cupping you so hard your words turned into a stuttering breath.

“Still talkin’ crazy when this pussy cryin’ for me,” he growled. “You lucky I ain’t make you beg out loud in front of my neighbors.”

“Fuck you,” you gasped, hips grinding against his palm now, unable to stop.

He pulled the fabric to the side roughly, letting the elastic snap once before sliding two fingers along your drenched lips. He didn’t push his fingers in, just dragged the tips over your clit in tight, taunting circles.

Your head dropped back, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s what I thought. Same mouth that said I wasn’t shit… now you beggin’ me to fuck it full.”

You frowned and bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, to leave evidence and remind him that you weren’t just going to take this lying down… except that’s exactly what you were doing. Laid out under him, back pressing deep into the cushions, thighs spread, coat falling off your shoulders, heels still on. He smelled like gym sweat and pride and the type of anger that didn’t go away with time, only with friction.

He laughed quietly in your ear, voice sticky and dangerous. “A temper tantrum ain’t gon’ save you,” he said. “You came here to get used. So I’ma use you.”

“You keep acting like I didn’t let you,” you bit back, legs twitching around his waist. “Like you ever had control without me giving it to you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at you and stare down at you like he was re-reading a sentence that pissed him off. His lips twitched and he spoke. “You really sittin’ under me talkin’ like you special,” he said, voice drenched in disbelief. “You not. You convenient pussy. Easy an familiar.”

You blinked once, and the sting in your chest made your hands curl into fists. “Right,” you scoffed. “That must be why you nutted inside me four times last time and said you felt like crying when you had to pull out of me.”

His jaw ticked, the muscles underneath his skin showing his visible frustration. 

You smirked. “Oops. Forgot I wasn’t supposed to remember shit like that, huh?”

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“You know what?” he said, shaking his head, the smile on his face as ugly as it was honest. “I don’t even like you.”

“I don’t like you either,” you shot back, dragging your nails up his sides just to feel him twitch. “You think that dick of yours makes up for that trash personality.”

“Maybe it do,” he said, and shoved his hips forward once, hard enough to make the breath leave your lungs in a gasp as your eyes rolled back for a moment. “Cause it got you showin’ up like a damn junkie beggin’ for another hit.”

You sucked in air through your teeth, hands gripping the cushions beneath you, anger and want tangling together until they both combined into needy desire. Your chest rose and fell hard, sweat slicking your skin, hair sticking to your temples.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Elias,” you shot back, voice strained but biting. “You ain’t special either. You are nothing but a placeholder until I find someone better.”

Way to go, that was the straw that finally broke the camels back.

Something in Stack’s expression shifted. It was quieter and dangerous as the amusement drained from his eyes, and replaced itself with something focused and tired of the back-and-forth. He straightened over you, hands braced on either side of your head, studying your face like he was deciding how best to break you without touching you at all.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m done arguin’.”

Before you could respond, his hands went to your shoulders and dragged the trench coat down your arms, fabric sliding rough against your heated skin. You barely had time to register the cool air hitting your chest before he yanked the coat free completely and tossed it aside like trash. His attention dropped to the lace beneath, cherry red and vibrant against your skin.

His mouth curled. “Real cute,” he muttered. “Shame you think you get to keep this.” He hooked his fingers into the straps at your shoulders and pulled hard. The lace protested before it stretched and tore with a sharp rip that echoed too loud in the room.

Your breath caught. “Stack—”

“Oops,” he said flatly, not sorry in the slightest. He tore the rest away in quick, ruthless motions, fabric shredding under his hands until there was nothing left but scraps clinging uselessly to your hips. “Ain’t nobody else need to see you in this.”

Heat flared through you, equal parts fury and arousal. “You don’t get to decide that!”

He leaned down, face close enough that his nose brushed yours, eyes dark and unblinking. “Just did. Don’t like it, then leave.”

Then he pushed your knees apart wider and slid down the couch, grip firm on your thighs as he repositioned you exactly how he wanted. Your back arched instinctively, skin buzzing and legs trembling as he settled between them. The sight of him there, his broad shoulders filling the space, hands steady, and jaw set made your stomach twist tight.

He looked up at you once more. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound,” he said quietly, accent thickening, voice sharp with warning. “Tired of hearin’ that mouth.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You know that I can’t—”

His mouth met you without mercy. You didn’t even get to finish the sentence before his tongue pressed flat against you, licking up the mess you had made just by thinking about him. The laughter on your tongue died instantly, strangled into silence as your back twisted off the couch, hands scrambling to grip anything that would hold you down.

He didn’t ease into eating you out. There was no building or softness, just Stack’s reckless mouth moving like he had been waiting two months to remind you who the fuck you belonged to. Every lick felt personal and every swirl of his tongue was laced with malice and memory.

And then a sound that was small, high and involuntary broke loose from your throat. His head lifted and one eyebrow arched. You barely had time to blink before his palm came down hard on the inside of your thigh. The slap echoed like a gunshot in the room, heat blossoming where his hand struck.

You cried out in surprise, but quickly slapped your own hand over your mouth.

“Thought I said quiet,” he said without lifting his voice. “You act like you don’t remember how to fuckin’ listen.”

Then he dove back in, tongue flicking fast against your clit, lips sealing around it, sucking once more and just when you felt another moan building, another slap landed on the other thigh. This one was harder and stinged with correction. 

You jerked under him and whined. “Stack—”

Smack.

“You don’t follow my rules, you get punished,” he said against your flesh. “Ain’t nothin’ changed.”

You tried again and bit down on your knuckle. You squeezed your eyes shut and dug your heels into the couch cushion before lifting your hips as if that might help, as if meeting his mouth halfway would take the edge off. But Stack wasn’t letting up. His tongue flicked with devastating accuracy, and just when you thought he might give you a break—smack. Another hit. This time lower, right under the curve of your ass.

You whimpered, unable to hold it in.

“Every time you make a sound, sweetheart,” he said without pausing, “I’mma hit you harder.”

Another moan, this one sharper.

Smack.

Your thighs were shaking now, red and stinging, your body caught somewhere between unbearable pleasure and brutal discipline. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you open wider, mouth locked in place like he had nowhere else to be but right there, destroying you slowly, thoroughly, deliberately.

This went on for three minutes and then he just abruptly stopped. The sudden absence hit harder than any slap. Your hips jerked, chasing what disappeared, a broken sound spilling out before you could trap it.

Stack lifted his head and stared at you, mouth slick, eyes flat. “Still loud,” he said. Not angry. Just done. “Guess I gotta give you somethin’ worth all that noise.”

He rose to his feet without another word and left the living room.

You laid on his couch exposed, legs trembling, chest heaving, and skin still burning from where he had hit you. The quiet was unbearable and every second that passed amplified how you could feel your body screaming for contact while your mind spun in frantic circles, wondering what he was about to do.

You barely had time to gather yourself before he came back. Stack re-entered the room already stripping his soaked shirt over his head, fabric peeling off his skin and tossed aside carelessly. Sweat glistened across his chest and shoulders, muscles flexing as he rolled his neck once, twice, like he was resetting himself. Like he was preparing for work.

In his hand was a small black bullet vibrator. Your breath stuttered and he didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he bent down and picked up your phone from where it had slid onto the floor earlier. His thumb flicked the screen awake. One glance at the contact list. One name.

He smirked.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You really do keep trophies.”

“Stack,” you warned weakly.

He ignored you as he tapped the screen. The FaceTime ring tone filled the room, sharp and intrusive, bouncing off the walls. Your stomach dropped and the screen lit up with Calling…

He set the phone on the coffee table, angled just right so you could see it, so you could hear it. Then he crouched between your legs again, calm as an undisturbed river.

“Relax,” he said quietly. “The nigga ain’t answer yet.”

The ringing continued and your heart pounded so hard it made you feel light headed.

“Hang it up before he answers,” you snapped. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He leaned in close, voice low and even. “Teachin’ you how to shut up.”

Your skin crawled in anticipation, heat crawled up your neck, and your chest rose unevenly as you tried to keep still beneath the weight of that voice… That intent. One more ring came through the speaker of your phone before that dreaded FaceTime Connected sound blasted loudly. You gulped as the screen went to a live, front-facing video of the man you cheated on Stack with. 

His room was half-lit and he was sitting shirtless on a couch, blinking in confusion as he stared into the camera. “Hello…?” he said, rubbing his face. “Yo—who the fuck—?”

Stack didn’t even look up from between your thighs. “Bitch-ass nigga,” he said dryly, thumb still resting on the power button of the vibrator but not moving it yet. “What’s good?”

The man’s face twisted instantly. “Huh? Who the fuck is this? Where my girl at?”

You tried to sit up, panic flooding your body in waves, but Stack’s hand landed on your stomach, pushing you back into the couch like your body belonged to the furniture.

“She busy,” Stack said casually. “But I figured since you was so damn memorable, I’d let you watch how it’s really done.”

“Stack,” you hissed through gritted teeth, trying to grab the phone. “Turn that shit off—”

Stack pressed the vibrator directly onto your clit and your whole body bucked. The sound that flew from your mouth wasn’t human.

“That’s my woman!” your ex shouted, his jaw tightening on the screen. “You really went back to that fuck nigga? After everything he did? Have you lost your mind?”

Stack’s laugh rang through his living room like an angelic melody.  “Nah,” he said, keeping pressure on the toy with his palm as he looked directly into your pleading eyes. “You must’ve lost yours thinkin’ she actually belonged to you.”

You weakly slapped him on the chest. “E-Elias! H-Hang up!”

He shoved your thigh wider, eyes narrowing, tone turning darker.  “Nah,” he growled. “You wanted to be mouthy tonight. This the price.”

“Aye, fuck you, bruh,” the ex barked, voice rising now. “You outta pocket. Who the fuck even are you?”

“I’m the nigga that you’ll never be,” Stack fired back. “I’m the reason she won’t be answering ya texts anymore. I’m the reason she drippin’ all over my couch right now.”

“You sound real comfortable behind a screen, bitch,” the man snapped.

Stack finally looked up, sweat glistening across his chest, muscles flexing as he tightened his hold on the toy that was now pulsing rhythmically against your most sensitive spot. “I am comfortable,” he said into the screen, his voice calm and cruel, Southern syllables slithering out like a threat made of silk and blood. “I’m sittin’ on my own couch, shirt off, dick hard, while my bitch squirmin’ under me.”

You let out a strangled moan, hips bucking against the toy, one hand grasping at the armrest above your head while the other curled uselessly at your side. The vibrator buzzed in relentless, brutal circles against your clit, sending fresh waves of heat crashing down your spine like tidal water laced with shame.

Stack didn’t spare you another glance. His eyes were locked on the screen. The tight smirk on his lips made it clear, he wasn’t just speaking to your ex. He was performing. Declaring. Marking his territory with his chest out and his toy buried between your trembling thighs.

“You ever see her like this?” Stack asked, brows raised, tone sharp and casual like he was talking over a card game. “Nah. You ain’t never earned this.”

“Stack—fuck—I can’t—” your voice cracked, high and shuddering.

He looked down at you then and he saw everything. The tremble in your lip, the glassiness in your eyes, the way your thighs jerked with every pass of the toy, and how your back lifted off the couch like your body was seconds from coming completely undone. You were close, too close. Closer than he wanted anyone else to see you. 

Stack’s jaw ticked once, then he reached forward and ended the call.

Click.

The screen went black and he tossed the phone behind him like it wasn’t worth another second of his attention before looking back down at you. His woman. Spread out beneath him completely ruined and needy without him fucking you yet. On the edge of something too raw for pride to interrupt.

“Ion’ share,” he said simply, voice low, dragging and thick with possession. “Not even that part.”

Your hips jerked again, thighs trembling as you choked on another moan, but he didn’t let up. He pressed the toy harder on your clit, the rhythm brutal, your orgasm so close it felt like static in your veins.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You tried but you couldn’t stop your eyelids from fluttering. The pleasure was pulling you under too fast, forcing your mouth to hang open on a sound you couldn’t hold back.

“Look. At. Me.”

Finally your eyes met his and your body shattered as your climax hit like a car crash. Your legs clamped around his wrist, hips bucking, every muscle locking and twitching as the orgasm tore through you. You screamed without sound, hands digging into the cushions like you were trying not to disappear through the floor. Your whole body convulsed under his hand, thighs shaking violently, tears slipping down your cheeks as you rode it out in full view of the only man who could ever drag something like this out of you.

Stack just watched silently. His lips twitched into a smirk as you finally collapsed with your chest heaving like you had just run a mile. “That’s what the fuck I thought,” he said, pulling the toy back and tossing it to the floor like he was done with his appetizer and finally ready for the main meal.

You blinked up at him, dazed with your mascara streaked and body wrecked. But still there was that look in your eye. A bratty little spark that never died.

Stack saw it and his smirk deepened. He hovered over you, his breath heavy and hot as it poured down across your flushed face. His bare chest gleamed in the dim light, the scent of sweat and satisfaction clinging to his skin like warpaint. His forearms caged your head back in place, and he was far from finished.

You could feel his desire for you pressing right against your inner thigh. His dick jumped with excitement as his swollen tip left streaks of precum across your skin. Every inch of him hovered above you, commanding and still, like a beast watching his prey blink back into focus after the first strike.

“You look like you seen a ghost,” he said quietly, one brow raising. “That lil’ nut took it outta you?”

You swallowed. “You act like you didn’t just try to kill me.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, and dragged his words across your skin like teeth. “That nigga still breathin’. I was bein’ nice.”

Your eyes shut closed, breath catching as his hips pressed lower, the weight of him grinding against your bare center.

“But since you still wanna act like a mouthy lil’ bitch,” he continued, voice calm and sharp, “we can do this the other way.” Your thighs squeezed reflexively. He chuckled, deep and full of filth. “Ahh… there she go. Actin’ like she don’t love when I talk to her like this.”

You wanted to tell him to shut up. You wanted to say something mean and nasty, just to keep up the tension, just to keep the game going. But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Your brain was still recovering from the overload he gave you. All you could do was lie there, stripped bare of pride, heart hammering, and thighs still shaking in that aftershock rhythm.

He bit down on his bottom lip as his hands tugged your ruined panties down the rest of the way and off your ankles. His fingers trailed down the curves of your thighs with a sick kind of admiration, like he was preparing a meal he had waited too long to devour. His gaze dipped down between your legs, and he let out a low breath.

“Still twitchin’,” he groaned. “You that fucked up already? Two months without Daddy got you this sensitive?”

You managed a weak, bratty laugh. “Please. I’m just getting warmed up.”

He looked at you then and that trademark Stack expression spread across his lips like a storm: proud, annoyed, aroused, and possessive.

“Cute,” he said. “You still talkin’ like you in control.”

He spit into his hand before palming his dick and giving it a few tugs. Veins wrapping down his brown shaft like he was built to destroy and nothing else. He had the kind of dick that made your mouth water and your eyes widen. The kind of dick that made your thighs instinctively shift apart to make room even when your body was already shaking from everything he had just done.

“Turn over,” he ordered. “Face in the cushion. Ass up.”

You unintentionally hesitated and Stack was on you in an instant, flipping your body like you weighed nothing. He grabbed your hips and dragged them up until your knees sank into the couch and your ass arched high, back bowed, face buried in the cushion like a punishment.

“Yeah,” he praised, voice thick now, tone changing. “This how I like it. This how I missed it.”

His hands roamed down your back like they were retracing territory that had been stolen from him. His palms dragged along the curve of your spine, heat radiating through his fingers like fire looking for somewhere to catch. He gripped your waist again tighter this time before his thumbs pressed into the dips just above your ass as if molding you into the position he wanted, not what you thought you could give.

You were open and vulnerable in a way that should’ve made you ashamed, but all it did was make your walls flutter around nothing, already begging for him. Stack’s length slid between your swollen lips, heavy and dragging through the mess he just made, tip nudging your entrance without going in. And he just held it there as he let his possessiveness fester.

You could feel it before he said anything. How it boiled in his skin, pulsing behind his grip. That jealousy he never liked to admit. That quiet rage tucked beneath the bravado. It was all there, swelling under the surface, waiting for an excuse to come out and you were the perfect excuse.

His voice dropped lower and rougher. “You gave him this?” he asked, hips pressing forward just enough for the head to breach, then pull back again.

You opened your mouth to speak and swallowed the words back down.

“You let him touch what I broke in?”

You swallowed hard, face still buried in the cushion. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His hand came down hard on your tender ass, palm stinging against your skin, the sound loud and final. You jolted beneath him, a gasp falling out of your mouth before you could catch it.

Stack’s hand stayed there, firm and heavy like a silent warning. “You got me fucked up thinkin’ I’m just another nigga in rotation,” he said, grinding the tip against your entrance. “This mine. You don’t get to hand this shit out like clearance candy.”

Your hips jerked back on instinct, chasing the contact, the friction lighting you up in a way that made your thoughts scatter. The denial sat sharp in your chest, equal parts anger and need, and it made your voice come out reckless. “You don’t get to say that,” you shot back, breath uneven and fingers bunching the cushion beneath your cheek. “You don’t get to claim shit when you disappear whenever it suits you.”

His grip tightened, it was hard enough to make your body register it as a command. He leaned in, chest pressing along your spine and heat seeping through you like a warning flare. “I get to say and do whatever I want,” he replied, accent thickening, words cruel and dangerous. “You still spreadin’ yourself open for me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as he rolled his hips again, the head of him dragging through you with maddening patience. It felt like he was tracing your outline, memorizing every reaction and cataloging every twitch like proof.

“See that?” he continued, voice low near your ear. “That little shake. That’s you rememberin’.”

“I remember you lying,” you snapped, still bratting, still biting even as your knees trembled. “I remember you saying you’d be back and not showing up.”

His hand slid from your ass to your hip, fingers digging in, holding you steady. “An I remember you answerin’ texts you shouldn’t have,” he countered. “I remember you lettin’ another nigga think he had access.”

The tip pressed in a fraction, then retreated. Again. Again. Each time closer, each time crueler.

“You still wanna argue?” he asked softly. “We can argue like this all night, baby.”

Stack nudged forward just enough to make you gasp, not enough to satisfy, then pulled back again, leaving you empty and aching. Your thighs shook. A sound threatened to escape, and you bit it back, teeth sinking into the cushion. A quiet sound slid out of his chest as his hand left your hip and slipped beneath your thighs, fingers spreading you wider, lifting just enough to change the angle and steal what little balance you had left. The shift sent a sharp jolt through you, heat pooling fast and heavy. His thumb brushed your bundle of nerves once, feather‑light, like an accident he planned from the start.

“There it is,” he said, voice calm, almost patient. “That little twitch. You still wanna talk?”

You didn’t want to give Stack the satisfaction of giving up so easily as your mouth opened with something sharp lined up, something mean and clever, something that would keep the fight alive. Instead, another broken sound slipped out, thin and helpless, and you hated yourself for it.

He smiled without looking at your face. His thumb circled your clit again, firmer now, tracing slow, taunting paths that made your toes curl and your back bow deeper. You could feel him pressing into you at the same time, the head of him thick and insistent, slicker now. The heat of it pulsed against your inner walls, and you felt the telltale warmth spread where he leaked into you, sticky and undeniable.

“I know you feel that,” he taunted, almost conversational. “That’s from me bein’ backed up an irritated.”

Your breath came uneven, chest dragging air like it wasn’t enough. “You always gotta make everything a fight.”

He laughed quietly. “You the one who won’t shut up.”

His thumb pressed harder, just enough pressure to make you see stars. You tried to pull away, more reflex than plan, and his grip tightened instantly, fingers locking you in place.

“Uh‑uh,” he warned. “Stay.”

Your hips betrayed you, rocking back into his hand, chasing the contact even as your pride burned hot. He felt that too as he leaned in closer, chest brushing your back, voice dropping lower and heavier.

“Finish sayin’ whatever bullshit you had ready so I can finally fuck you proper,” he said. “Go on. Get it out.”

“I hate how you do this,” you managed, words breaking apart. “You act like you don’t care and then—then you—”

His thumb swept just right, and the sentence died in your throat. “An then I what? Huh? What does Daddy do to you?” he prompted, pressing into you again, letting more of that heat spill inside. You felt it this time, unmistakable, his need leaking into you as much as yours was pulling him in.

“And then you make me forget why I’m mad,” you admitted, breathless and angry at yourself for it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

His hand moved with more purpose now, thumb working steady, fingers lifting your thighs higher to keep you open, exposed. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t let you drift. He kept you right there, suspended, arguing with him in half‑sentences and broken sounds while your body told the truth for you. The truth was, despite everything, you were his. You hated him. You wanted him. You were brattier than he could stand, and he was meaner than you could handle, and yet, here you were, strung out on his touch.

Stack kept his hand between your thighs until your legs trembled, until your head dropped forward, until the only sound leaving your lips was a strangled whimper. Then when you were back on the edge of no return, he pulled his hand away, and slammed himself into you with no warning.

You sobbed with delight from the sudden fullness, your hands clawing for anything to steady you as he bottomed out inside you, all that leaked frustration now buried deep in your walls, throbbing with each brutal inch.

His breath left him in a grunt. “Fuck.” All the anger, all the months of silence, the imagined visions of you with someone else, the ache of missing you but being too damn prideful to admit it… it all hit at once.

Stack gripped your hips like they were handles and dragged you back onto his dick with vicious, hungry strokes. His rhythm was punishing, each thrust landing like he was carving his name into you from the inside.

“You don’t get to leave me like that,” he growled, sweat rolling down his spine, skin slapping yours in loud, wet echoes that filled the room. “You don’t get to walk out, give this shit to somebody else, then come back actin’ like I owe you a soft welcome.”

You cried out beneath him, head dropping, arms collapsing beneath you.

“Couldn’t even breathe without thinkin’ about this pussy,” he spat, pace never slowing, dick punching into you with a rhythm that forced your body to comply. “Had me losin’ sleep. Dreamin’ ‘bout you. Wakin’ up hard, mad as hell I ain’t hate you enough to let it go.”

Your only answer was a cry that was raw and desperate and torn from your chest as his grip tightened and his body crowded yours. The couch groaned beneath you both, cushions dipping with every drive of his hips, the room filling with the sound of skin meeting skin and the rough drag of breath you couldn’t steady. Your thoughts scattered. Every time you tried to form a word, he stole it back with another thrust, deeper, firmer, and claiming space inside you like he was filling the silence he had carried for months.

He leaned in, chest pressed to your back, sweat slicking you together. His forearm slid beneath your thighs again, lifting, changing the angle, making everything feel sharper and closer all at once. The pressure bloomed, hot and demanding, and you felt how wet you were around him, how you took him without hesitation despite every argument you had thrown like knives.

“Say somethin’,” he urged, voice rough at your ear. “Say you hear me.”

“I hear you,” you managed, words breaking apart as your hips betrayed you, pushing back to meet him. “I hear all of it.”

He answered by setting a pace that made your legs tremble. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, fingers spreading, holding you still when your body tried to run ahead of him. Then everything shifted as he hauled you up and over in one fluid motion, strength effortless, like he had been waiting for this angle the whole damn time. Your back hit the couch cushions again, breath spilling out of you as he folded you in on yourself, thighs pressed tight to your chest, knees hooked over his shoulders. Your body bent and open, nowhere to hide, nowhere to look but straight at him.

“Eyes on me,” he said, already there, already lined up.

His legs planted wide on either side of the couch, muscles locked, stance solid as he drove back into you. The change left you breathless and getting fucked like this felt different. Every thrust felt deeper and louder in your body. Every stroke pushed something loose inside you. Every pullback made your toes curl as he came right back in again, hammering with intent and with all that pent‑up frustration he had been carrying since you guys broke up.

You grabbed at his forearms, fingers digging in, nails leaving marks you would see tomorrow and pretend not to remember.

“Look at you,” he said, breath heavy now, eyes dark and fixed on your face. “Tryna argue with me when this how you fold.”

“I hate you,” you said, but it came out thin, breathless, wrecked by the way he filled you.

He smiled and let out a chuckle. “Say it with your eyes,” he told you, thrusting harder, hips snapping forward until the couch thudded against the wall. “Say you ain’t been thinkin’ ‘bout this every night.”

Your gaze locked with his, pupils blown, jaw tight as another wave rolled through you. You nodded once, sharp and helpless.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t lie to me now.”

His grip shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you higher, folding you tighter until the stretch made your muscles burn. His legs braced, powerful, keeping him steady as he drove into you again and again, each stroke landing right where you were weakest.

The couch creaked under both of you, the rhythm harsh and unforgiving. You couldn’t catch your breath and your body was coiled so tight it felt like you were unraveling one nerve at a time. Stack didn’t let up. He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. His eyes tracked every tremor, every twitch, like he was reading a code only your body could write. But then a wave of tightness squeezed his dick and he paused for just a second as his brows lifted.

“You tryna cum again?” he asked, words like smoke curling off a live wire. “Hmm? This dick got you feelin’ good?”

You whined and nodded as your thighs shook and clit throbbed in time with your heartbeat. He smirked and then spit. Thick and hot, the trail of it landing right between where you were joined. It dripped down, sticky and warm, and made your whole body jolt.

“Ight,” he said, the edge in his voice cutting deep. “I been doin’ all the work. Rub it out. Right now. Make a mess of that pussy.”

Your hand trembled as you reached down, fingers slipping between your folds, circling that swollen bundle like it owed you something. It was too much to handle with his dick buried inside of you, the way he held you there, stuffed full and stretched wide, and the filthy slick sound of everything between you amplified by spit and slick and need.

Your other hand reached out on instinct, bracing against the only thing that felt real, Stack’s lower stomach, firm and warm, rippling under your palm.

“Uh uh,” he warned, eyes narrowing with something darker. “Move that hand.”

You froze.

“Get that hand off my stomach an keep rubbin’ that clit.”

“I—I just needed—”

“You need to follow directions,” he cut in, voice sharp enough to leave marks. “Wanna cum so bad, but can’t even keep ya hands to yourself.”

You whimpered again, dragging your hand back to your side, focus breaking from the ache to the heat in his tone. But you didn’t stop touching yourself. You couldn’t. The pressure was too much.

“Daddy,” you whispered, desperate now, hoping the nickname might soften something, anything. “Please, Daddy—”

His face didn’t move. He didn’t show not even a flicker of sympathy. His jaw stayed tight, eyes fixed on your face like he saw through the plea and down into the part of you that was trying to manipulate him. “Oh now I’m Daddy again?” he asked, not amused. “You only call me that when you want somethin’.”

Stack held you there, folded and full, letting the words hang heavy while your body kept betraying you. You could feel it happening anyway, the way you clenched around him, the way your clit twitched beneath your fingers like it had a mind of its own. Heat spread and pooled, slick gathering faster than you could control. It leaked down, warm and shameless, making a soft sound every time he pressed deeper.

“There it is,” he said, voice cutting, eyes tracking the way your body responded. “Be a perfect lil’ slut an make a mess on me.” 

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, breath coming apart. “I—I—I—”

“Don’t tell me you can’t,” he cut in, rolling his hips just enough to make you gasp. “I can feel you. You grippin’ me like you scared I’m gon’ leave.”

He leaned in closer, one hand braced by your shoulder, the other steadying your thigh so you couldn’t close. His gaze never left your face as he spoke, like he wanted you to hear every word right as it landed. “Go on,” he taunted softly. “Rub it just like that. Small circles. Squeeze that pussy an cum for me.”

Your fingers obeyed, trembling, slick sounds filling the space between your bodies. The sensation climbed sharp and bright, making your toes curl and your back bow tighter. You could feel yourself leaking more now, heat spilling as the pressure built.

“That’s it,” he said. “See how wet you get when you stop arguin’?”

Your mouth opened on a sound you couldn’t stop, eyes squeezing shut as your hips jerked.

“Eyes open,” he ordered, tightening his grip. “I wanna see it.”

You forced them open, meeting his stare just as your body tipped closer to the edge. The look in his eyes was dark and intent, not cruel now, just focused, like he was guiding you through something inevitable.

“You right there,” he continued, voice steady, almost instructional. “That shake in your legs? That’s it comin’ on. Don’t fight it.”

Your breathing turned uneven, chest rising fast. “Stack, E-Elias— D-Daddy I—”

“Let it happen,” he said. “You leakin’ like that ‘cause you want it. ‘Cause ya body know where it belong.”

Stack watched you the whole time. He watched the way your brows knit, the way your mouth tried to hold back sound and failed, the way your thighs quivered against his forearms as he kept you folded and open.

“Mmmhmm,” he murmured, eyes narrowing as another shudder rolled through you. “There it is...”

You tried to speak again and couldn’t. Your fingers slick and shining kept moving just like he told you, small circles that tightened the pressure until it felt like your body was winding itself into a knot. The couch creaked as he drove in again, not harder, just deeper, making the fullness bloom and hold.

“Good,” he said, catching the hitch in your breath before it broke. “Stay with it. Don’t pull away now.”

Your head fell back against the cushion, eyes glassy as the heat climbed and hovered, bright and unbearable. The leaking turned into a steady spill, warmth spreading as your muscles constricted and grabbed without permission.

“That’s it,” he coached, tone unwavering. “You right on top of it. You ain’t gotta say nothin’. Just cum for me.”

The last sentence tipped you over. Your body seized and shook, legs drawing tight as the release tore through you in long, rolling waves. A sound finally escaped, broken and honest, as you rode it out, breath stuttering while he held you exactly where you were, steady and present through every tremor.

Stack stayed buried deep, letting you finish on him, letting your body milk every last aftershock without interruption. He watched your face as it happened, watched the way your jaw slackened and your eyes glazed, watched the way your fingers curled uselessly at his forearms like you needed something solid to keep from floating away.

When the shaking eased and your breath finally found a rhythm again, he shifted and the change pulled a startled sound from you, oversensitive and spent, and that’s when he finally let himself react. A low groan rolled out of his chest, rough and dragged straight from his gut as hips started to move again with intent that had nothing left to prove to you and everything to prove to himself.

“Ight,” he said, voice strained now, edges fraying. “My turn.”

He adjusted his stance, legs planting wider, muscles tightening as he set a pace meant for him. Each thrust was full and claiming, the kind that dragged sensation from your spine down to your toes even though you were already wrung out. You felt how hard he was, how slick he had made you both, how his control shifted from instruction to hunger.

His hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in possessively. “Look at you,” he taunted. “Two times an you still takin’ me like you ain’t tired.”

You tried to answer and couldn’t. Your body answered for you, soft and open and still welcoming every drive.

“That’s what get me,” he went on, breath uneven, jaw tight. “You talk all that shit but ain’t nobody else gettin’ this. Ain’t nobody else see you like this an live to tell it.”

His rhythm grew heavier, more insistent, the couch rocking beneath you both. He leaned in, forehead brushing yours, eyes locked on your face like he needed to see exactly who he was finishing with.

“You mine tonight,” he said, ego flaring as the pressure built. “Say it.”

You could barely form a thought, let alone a word, but that didn’t stop your lips from parting, voice raw and sweet from overuse. “I’m yours.”

That was all Stack needed to hear before a growl tore from his throat like it had been caged too long. His grip shifted, possessive hands dragging your hips down to meet every bruising thrust. The sound of your skin meeting and the sloshing of your wetness filled the room but he didn’t let up. He fucked you like it was the last time. Like someone might steal you if he didn’t leave his mark in every damn place they could reach. Like he had been starving for months and your body was the only meal worth waiting for.

“That’s right,” he gritted out, voice rough and strangled now. “Say it again. Say who this pussy belong to.”

You tried to speak again but all you managed was a broken moan and his name on a breath that sounded more like worship than surrender. Stack leaned over you, sweat dripping down the angle of his neck. His chest heaved, body strung tight with all that possessive rage simmering just beneath his skin.

He spat on his fingers before sliding them on your overworked clit again while he kept pounding into you, each stroke hitting deeper than the last, chasing his own high now with no regard for mercy.

“Say it.”

“Y-you—E-Elias, it’s yours—it’s always been—”

“Damn right,” he snapped, body trembling now. “Ain’t no other motherfucker ever gonna touch what’s mine. Not ever again!”

And then you felt it, that slight hitch in his movement, that drop in control, and that telltale sign that he was seconds away from losing every ounce of composure he had left.

Your legs gave out as you had finally reached your own limit for the third time tonight and were done fighting it. “D-DADDY—”

“I know,” he breathed, voice breaking. “I know, baby.”

He slammed into you one last time and stayed there, everything in him going rigid as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding your insides in waves. His jaw tensed, teeth bared, and his breathing became heavy as he heaved through flared nostrils while his orgasm tore through him. And he stayed buried in your pussy like it was his second home. Arms braced around your trembling thighs, eyes locked to yours even as they narrowed from the intensity.

Stack stayed buried deep, twitching inside you, body refusing to move even after the worst of it had passed. His breath came ragged now, chest rising like bellows, nostrils wide, jaw still locked like he didn’t trust what might come out if he opened his mouth too soon. Sweat beaded at his temples, rolled down the line of his neck, dripping onto your collarbone like proof that he had left every drop of himself inside you.

He moved, barely, but just enough to lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead, and even that felt like a threat wrapped in tenderness. His weight dipped, elbows framing your head as his palms flattened beside your shoulders. His hips jerked once, deep and involuntary, and it pulled a gasp from both of you. Yours was softer, stunned; his like he was mad sex with you still felt this good even after the fight, even after the mess.

Your fingers moved instinctively, trying to remold his damp waves back into place, trying to soften him, but he didn’t want soft from you. Not yet.

“Uh-uh,” he warned, grabbing your wrist and pinning it down to the cushion beside your head. “You don’t get to touch me all sweet and pretend like you ain’t start this shit.”

You squinted your eyes ready to rebuttal his claims, but he tilted his head, eyes sharp, daring you to test him again. “I said you mine,” he breathed. “You’ve been claimed. Ain’t no goin’ back. Not after this.”

He pulled back just enough to look between your bodies and see the creamy mess already starting to spill from where you were stretched around him, at the obscene mix of arousal and release that soaked both your thighs and glistened in the low light. He groaned under his breath, rough and pained.

Then without warning, he rolled his hips again, slow but deep, grinding his softening dick inside you like he wanted to push everything back in.

“Still fuckin’ twitchin’,” he said, eyes narrowing again. “Greedy ass pussy… We got two more rounds left before I forgive you. Turn over again, baby.”

.

.

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Author's Note: Let's just pretend I haven't been withholding these updates again *cough* I'll be back 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

“stay your ass right there.”

his voice came out low, a warning for you not to move or there would be consequences. you barely had time to catch your breath before stack’s palm pressed down between your shoulder blades, keeping your arch deep and your face buried in the couch cushion. his other hand gripped your hip tight, using you exactly how he wanted you.

“thought you was slick, huh?” he growled in your ear, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt the whole damn couch. “actin’ up in front of them people, tryna embarrass me, now look at you.”

the slap of skin echoed with every thrust. the way your pussy sounded every time he moved, had stack groaning. his pace didn’t slow—not even when your legs started shaking or when your fingers clawed at the cushion for something to hold on to. you couldn’t see him, but you felt him everywhere, the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, his voice when he leaned in and muttered straight nastiness in your ear.

“you takin’ it good though mama,” he murmured, almost mocking. “so desperate for me to fuck the attitude outta you.”

you whimpered something—maybe his name, maybe a curse—but he didn’t let up. his tattooed hand with your name on it wrapped around your throat from behind, pulling you up just enough for his chest to press to your back.

“stop all that fuckin’ crying. this what you wanted, right?” he snarled against your temple. “actin’ like a brat so i’d break you in.”

the couch creaked beneath you, the rhythm deep and punishing, like he had a point to prove. stack didn’t fuck like he loved you. nah, he fucked like he owned you.

“Ain’t wrong though,” he said, leaning in close enough for you to feel the ghost of his breath on your neck. “You smell better than anything I ever ate when I was alive.”

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, thumping beneath your skin. He sensed it, of course, and his grin deepened, his fangs flashing for just a second.

“Watch out,” you murmured. “You lookin’ at me like I’m dinner.”

“Maybe dessert,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “But I promised I wouldn’t bite.”

You popped another piece of fruit into your mouth, chewed slowly, then said through a smirk, “What if I bite you instead?”

That pulled a rough laugh from his chest. “Yo ass play too damn much.”

“No,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “I think you like it when I do.”

He went very still. You could see the muscle in his jaw flex and the faint quiver at the corner of his mouth, the kind that meant he was this close to losing that distinguished vampire fortitude.

You leaned closer after placing the bowl on the table. His shining eyes followed every slow inch of your movement. When your mouth brushed the base of his throat, he let out a low, involuntary sound, half growl, half sigh.

“You really wanna test a nigga, huh?” he murmured.

“You said you won’t bite me,” you whispered back. “So what happens if I bite you?”

He laughed softly, though the sound came out a little shaky. “You think imma stop you?”

You caught his lower lip between your teeth, just hard enough to make him tense. The air between you changed; that faint, metallic note you’d come to recognize slid through the space.

“Damn,” he breathed, voice gone low. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

Oh, but you definitely did.

Your teeth grazed his skin again, this time at the curve where his neck met his shoulder. His hands tightened around your waist, just anchoring you there. He didn’t breathe for a long second.

“Stack?”

“I’m good,” he said quickly, voice shaking with restraint. “Just… keep doin’ whatever you’re doin’ while you sit on this dick.”

You giggled against his skin as you straddled him properly, the heat of his body contrasting with the unnatural cool that lingered beneath. It only took him three seconds to pull himself free from his sweatpants, already hard and aching. You hiked your skirt up and pushed your panties to the side before sinking on him. As always, the stretch stung so good.

Every small bite drew a different sound out of him—a sigh, a grunt, a low curse. Between your teeth scraping his skin and your pussy squeezing his dick he was closer and closer to losing all his composure. Still, he never once pulled away, just gripped your waist tighter.

“I like when you trust me,” you panted softly as you bounced a little harder.

“Ain’t all about trust,” he rasped, planting his feet against the rug as he bucked his hips, meeting your bounces. “It’s about how you make a nigga feel like I’m alive again.”

When your orgasm finally ripped through you, you sank your teeth into his shoulder, biting down harder than usual.  He groaned deeply as he spilled inside you.

When you finally pulled back, there were teeth marks, deep and perfect against his skin.

“You’re bruisin’, baby,” you gasped curiously. Usually a mark or scratch never stayed longer than a few seconds before he healed supernaturally.

Stack brushed it with his fingertips, grinning like it didn’t even hurt. “Good. I want it to stay for a minute.”

“Why?”

“So I remember what it’s like to be human.”

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

“Hey miss thing,” She said. 

“I wasn’t so loud, was I?” 

Annie laughed. 

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

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

“Oh girl, stop. Didn’t bother us.” 

“Still-”

“Hush.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I can have this?”

“I got it out for you.” 

Your warmth had nothing to do with embarrassment now. 

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

She looked offended. 

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

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

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

You did.

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled. 

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

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

“Alright, then. You have my gratitude.” 

You gathered yourself to leave. 

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

“Big plans?” 

You peeked shyly at her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooh, this is just what I needed.” 

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

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

“Just running errands.” You smiled. 

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

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

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

“He should be here. Annie sent me.” 

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

Another man appeared looking you up and down. 

“Who wanna know?” 

“Annie.”

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“Annie sent this for you.” 

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

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

The door opened and you jolted. 

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

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

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

“Saw your momma after you left yesterday,” 

You looked at her. 

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

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

Saleema sat beside you and you looked up at her. 

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

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

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

You smiled for a moment, unsure how to feel. 

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

Saleema sat there nodding like she understood. 

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

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

“Annie sent this for you.” 

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

“What is it?” You asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look.” 

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

“Was dis?”

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

“Shiiet. Yo momma stealin’ in church?”

You chuckled. 

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

“Whole lotta severance.” 

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

He looked at you, his brows pulling together.

“Pay yo way?” 

Your smile was softened by confusion. 

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

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

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

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

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

“What you wanna do?” 

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

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

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

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

“Daaang, this yo car?” 

Stack swirled a toothpick in his teeth. 

“Nah, I’m keepin’ it warm.” 

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

“Where you been at?” He asked.  

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

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

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

Your shoulders sagged seeing the worry in his face. 

“Listen, I want you to have this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes ma’am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stack, come on, now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stack was seething. 

“You followin’ me?” 

Mary scoffed. 

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

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

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

Mary shook her head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You leaned back, finally catching your breath. 

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

Stack let out an incredulous sound. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wassup?” 

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

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

“Whatchu thinkin’, Shug?” 

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

“Put em on.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feels good.” 

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

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

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

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

“Bein’ nasty tonight, Shug?” 

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

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

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

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

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

He brought his face close to yours, kissed you. 

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

You sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what you want me to do.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shug,” he sighed, "Lil Suga sweet.” 

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

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

“Daddy,” you moaned, “feels so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy Stack,” you whined.  

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

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

Heat ticked up into your cheeks. 

“S-sorry,” you stammered.

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

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

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

“Whose pussy is dis?”

“Yours, Daddy Stack.”

“You like how I’m fuckin’ it?”

“Yes, Daddy Stack.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whined, “Yes, Daddy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stack stirred, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Shug? You up?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered. 

He pulled you in closer. 

“Why you ain't sleep?” 

You hesitated. 

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

He chuckled. 

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

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

“Shug I told you not to worry.” 

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

He looked at you, his eyes roaming your face. 

“You watchin ma back?” 

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

He smiled.

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

He chuckled softly, on the verge of dozing off. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Mind if I…?” 

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

“Ya live here.” 

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

“Couldn't sleep?” you asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since you kept ma black ass outta jail. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn't sleep.” You said. 

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

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

“Who is this?”

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

“Debussy.” 

You sat up and looked at him. 

“You like classical music?” 

He gave you a look. 

“Surprised?” 

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

Then the years. 

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

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

The confrontation with Mary. 

Shug and Stack's first fight. 

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

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

The first time they say “I love you” 

What kind of work Shug finds for herself. 

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

Muah~