#stack ff

Modern Vampire Stack x Reader(s). Three Generations of black women.

“The eyes are the windows to the soul...”

He had seen those eyes once before. He had fallen for their warm brown hues—tones that reminded him of a simpler time, a version of life before death had touched him. Those eyes made him feel alive in a world where he had long since stopped living. They had once belonged to her, but now… they belonged to someone else. Still, they stirred something deep in him, something ancient. When he looked into them, it was as if his soul—lost for centuries—had finally been found.

Elias “Stack” Moore had been turned in 1932. After the Juke Joint tragedy, he walked the world alone, never letting anyone close. Why would he? He had watched his twin brother, Elijah, die. His lover, Mary, shattered by the guilt of turning him, never recovered. Every bond he formed unraveled in death or abandonment. He remained untouched by time—skin still supple, frozen in the prime of his 30s, even as the decades wore on.

Then he met her in 1992. ShaNiece. She changed everything. With her, life felt worth living—until it wasn’t. Her death tore that hope away.

For years, he drifted, a soul half-buried, until 2025. That’s when he saw her again—not ShaNiece, but someone who felt like her. Solana. There was something hauntingly familiar in her gaze, in her presence. She awakened something in him he thought was lost forever.

What Elias didn’t know was that their connection ran deeper than memory. It was fate—waiting, watching, circling back.

Mini Series. Unsure of how much it will consist of. Just enjoying writing again so here I am… writing!

Summary:

000: https://www.tumblr.com/writerbee-ffs/784659392500023296/000

001:

Atlanta, 1992

ShaNiece McIntyre, 33

Oh baby, baby, baby

I got so much love in me

Ooh (baby, baby) baby, baby, baby

‘Cause if you’re gonna get me off

You gotta love me deep…

ShaNiece swayed her hips to the newest TLC track, wine cooler in hand, curves dipping low with every beat. She was in her element. Vibing. Glowing. Free.

Her mama had finally caved and agreed to watch Shanaye for the night. Fifteen or not, that little girl had more energy than most grown folks, and ShaNiece—thirty, fine, and flying solo—needed a break.

Sure, she’d made what Big Mama still called “the biggest mistake of her life” at eighteen. But that baby saved her. Made her sharper. Wiser. Stronger. She went to college, graduated top of her class, and broke into finance like a storm in heels. In a world full of men trying to “rescue” her from single motherhood, she was already saving herself—six figures deep, child in tow.

She was good. Or so she thought.

“Damn, Niecy! Slow down on them drinks, girl!” Belinda—BeBe to the crew—called out, passing her a murky shot of something strong.

ShaNiece laughed, tossing it back without hesitation. The burn kissed the back of her throat and lit her chest with fire. “Girl, I don’t get out like this often. Let me shake this ass in peace!”

The bass dropped, and the house party roared to life. BeBe kept the shots flowing, and ShaNiece kept dancing like the night owed her joy.

Then he came.

He didn’t ask. He just stepped behind her like he’d been invited by the rhythm itself. He’d been watching, she could feel it. His body slid into place behind hers, close but not too close, letting the music guide them. He wanted to catch what she was throwing—and baby, she threw it well.

When the next beat hit, she paused, teasing, until his breath brushed her ear.

“You scared now?”

His voice was smooth, deep and sure. Her hips responded before she could. Fueled by liquor and laughter, she rolled her ass back into him like it was their song playing—and it damn sure was. He matched her every move, gripping her waist, hips meeting hers with intention. A few heads turned. Let them watch.

“That’s it, lil’ mama,” he murmured, before spinning her to face him.

ShaNiece caught her breath. His golds flashed when he smiled. Coogi sweater. Baggy jeans. Mustache thick and neat. Skin the color of sweet caramel. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was fine. Real fine.

“You tryna fuck me on the dance floor?” she teased, snapping her fingers in his face. “Helloooo?”

“You always got an attitude like that?” he asked, raising one brow as he pushed his shades higher.

She smirked. “Only when men act brand new after grinding on me for four songs straight. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Stack.” He lifted his hand to show a gold-plated ring spelling it across three fingers. “Yours?” He already knew it. He’d heard her friend call her name throughout the night.

“I’m sure that ain’t what your mama named you,” she said, popping her gum and patting her finger waves. “But I feel you.” Her gold earrings swung with flair—Niecey etched on both. “My friends call me Niecey”

“So we friends now?” he asked, grinning.

“We danced, didn’t we? That counts.” She winked, stepping back into the crowd. “Later, Stack.”

“Hol’ up,” he said, catching her wrist.

A jolt shot through both of them. He dropped her hand like it burned and shook his head like he forgot what he meant to say. “Uh… take my number.”

She smirked as he scribbled digits in her palm before they vanished in opposite directions.

⸻

It was close to 2 a.m. when they stumbled out, trying to make the one-block walk to BeBe’s apartment.

“Biiitch, I’m drunk,” BeBe groaned, hunched over a fence. It was their third stop in a five-minute walk that was now dragging into twenty.

“You ain’t lyin’,” ShaNiece muttered, pulling tissues from her fanny pack to dab the sweat from BeBe’s face and spit from her mouth. “Here. Drink.”

BeBe slumped to the grass. “Go without me!”

“You dramatic.” Still, ShaNiece knew they weren’t making it home like this.

She pulled BeBe’s cell from her jeans and called the number in her palm. A shot in the dark.

“Hello?”

That voice. Smooth, like that dark brown liquor she’d been downing all night.

“Niecey?” His tone softened her name like he already missed her.

“Yeah, um… it’s me. I know it’s late but—”

“Where are you?”

She gave him the corner.

BeBe gagged. “I hope this nigga ain’t no murderer! What you know about him?”

“I know he’s giving us a ride. Hush!” ShaNiece palmed her blade, just in case.

Stack pulled up minutes later. The ride was quiet except for the radio—and his humming. She joined in softly, their voices finding a rhythm even without the music.

When they reached the building, he tapped her thigh. “Take your girl in. Come holla at me.”

She paused. “Or… you could come in.”

She wasn’t the one-night stand type. But something about Stack made her brave.

They carried BeBe to bed. ShaNiece made sure she was okay before returning to the living room, kicking off her Reeboks and tugging her earrings off with a chuckle. “We might’ve gone too hard tonight.”

Stack kicked off his sneakers and sank into the couch beside her. “This every weekend?”

She shook her head. “Not even. Between work and my daughter, I’m booked and busy.”

“Then let’s not waste this rare time.”

He leaned in. Kissed her neck. Hands roaming. Mouth hungry.

By the time their lips met, she was pulling him into the spare room.

Clothes hit the floor in rhythm. His Coogi sweater. Her button-down jersey. Her lace bra fell away and he growled, mouth on her chest. Her shorts slid down and she took him in—his strong chest, curved girth springing free. She reached for his glasses.

He pulled away. “No”

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed her deeper.

ShaNiece gently reached again, this time with both hands, easing the glasses off.

His eyes were unreal—shifting hues of shimmering silver, and something old. They sparkled like a curse and a promise all in one.

She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

“Damn,” she whispered. ShaNiece kissed his lips to reassure him before leaning back.

She stroked her clit watching him take over. He kissed her down to her center, tongue working slow, fingers thick and skilled. She shook beneath him, whimpering, reaching for him.

“I need you,” she moaned, staring into those eyes. “Please.”

He slid into her slowly, possessively. With every stroke, he seemed to pull lightning from her bones.

“Yeees, Stack!” she cried out.

He zoned in on her neck.

Just a taste, he thought hearing her blood pulsating. Calling out for him.

“You like that, baby?” he whispered in her ear. “I’mma keep fucking you until I’m the only thing you think about.” He growled into her ear licking the tip of it.

She screamed his name, eyes wet with pleasure. He flipped her, stroked her deeper. She climbed on top, riding him backwards. He couldn’t resist that pulsating force.

When he bit her neck, she gasped. The bite—sharp, precise.

Pain bloomed, bright and quick, but it unraveled into something else. Heat. Wetness. A pull so deep it made her knees buckle.

She felt the suction of his mouth, the way he fed—not ravenous, but sensual. Worshipful.

Her breath caught, then spilled out in a moan. Her body trembled against his, hips arching, thighs clenching. It was as if he were drinking more than blood—like he was pulling memories, want, soul from her skin.

She was floating. Melting.

And Stack groaned against her, one hand sliding to pinch her chocolate perky nipple.

“You look so fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned, licking the blood. “Had to taste.” His eyes sparkled more.

She turned to kiss him, tasting herself and him and whatever magic sparked between them.

“You’re mine now, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Whatever you had before—dead that.”

She stared, expecting a laugh. None came.

Their bodies slapped in time, her bangles rattling like wind chimes. She gave him everything—and he took it, pushed her further, until the world fell away.

When they were done, tangled and sweaty, he whispered, “You’re beautiful,” against her frizzy finger waves.

She laid there, one hand on his chest, circling gently.

He meant every word.

She told herself it was just the drinks talking. Tomorrow, he’d be a faded memory.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was everything.

⸻

Atlanta, 1992

Elias “Stack” Moore POV

He should’ve never touched her.

The moment her ass backed up into him on that dance floor, something in his chest cracked open. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull in decades—not since Mary. But this? This was different. This woman wasn’t casting a spell. She was the spell.

ShaNiece. Niecey. That name settled on his tongue like honey and heat.

When she called him later, voice soft and a little slurred, asking for a favor—he didn’t hesitate. He was halfway to her before she dropped the cross street. It wasn’t just lust pulling him. It was instinct. Fate. Hunger.

He helped carry her friend inside, eyes flicking to every corner. He didn’t sense any other presence. No one watching. No threats.

Except the one inside himself.

When she invited him in, he knew he should’ve said no. He had rules. Boundaries. Protocol. Fallon would curse his whole bloodline if she knew he was entertaining a mortal woman this drunk, this vulnerable.

But she wasn’t vulnerable. She was vivid. Fully alive. That rare kind of woman who knew who she was and didn’t apologize for it. And that laugh? It had weight.

He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to.

So he followed her into the back room, watching as she stripped with casual grace, like she’d done this dance a thousand times for no one but herself.

Then she reached for his shades.

“No,” he said too fast, too sharp.

She blinked but didn’t flinch. Just eased her hands back. “What’s wrong?”

But he saw it in her eyes—curiosity. Maybe a little hurt.

He couldn’t let her see. Not yet. Not until he knew what the hell was happening between them.

Because something was happening.

And it scared the hell out of him.

When she touched herself, moaning his name, his resolve cracked. She smelled like warm rain and vanilla and the faintest trace of something familiar. Not perfume. Not lotion.

Bloodline.

The first time he tasted her, tongue pressed to that aching pulse between her legs, it was electric. Tense. She trembled like her body already knew him—like her soul was calling out something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Then she begged for him.

“Please.”

He gave in. Sank into her slow, controlled, trying to keep the beast leashed. But the moment her nails dug into his back and her cries filled the room, he felt it rise The thirst.

He pressed his mouth to her neck and just breathed, trying to ground himself. She smelled divine. Real. Unfiltered. Not the sterile, synthetic blood bags he forced on himself. This woman carried something pure—unspoiled by darkness.

Just a taste, he told himself. Just enough to remember who he used to be.

When he bit down, she gasped. He moaned against her skin.

The blood hit him like a lightning strike. A rush of her hit him—heat and copper, sun-drenched laughter, a child’s cry, an old gospel hum from a porch swing on a Sunday afternoon. Her blood poured over his tongue like silk, thick with grief and joy, survival and sweetness. It wasn’t just sustenance. It was a story.

He gripped her tighter as her body bucked beneath him, her moans hitching on the edge of pain and pleasure. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears, steady and brave. She didn’t scream. She gasped. Then melted.

“Damn, you look so fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, licking the wound gently, sealing it with his tongue.

The moment he did, her body arched again. Her orgasm hit with tremors—shaking both of them. The taste of her climax still clung to his lips when she turned to kiss him, like she needed to taste what he’d taken.

She kissed him like she knew something.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push him away. She turned and kissed him like she knew. Like she wanted him still.

He wanted to stop.

But he needed to finish.

So he fucked her like he’d been waiting lifetimes.

Because maybe… he had.

She came apart in his arms, all curses and moans and fingernails, and he held her through it, burying his face in her hair like a man at prayer.

Afterward, she curled against him, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

Not from the sex. Not even from the bite.

But from the knowing.

ShaNiece wasn’t just some fling. She wasn’t random.

He’d felt this before—decades ago, in shadows and dreams. Every couple of years or so, someone would spark that flicker, but it always faded.

This? This burned.

He looked down at her, sleeping like she trusted him.

He didn’t deserve it.

He’d tasted her blood—and buried in it, something simmered beneath the surface. Not just sweetness. Not just warmth.

Something immortal.

Something dangerous.

And for the first time in a long time, Elias “Stack” Moore felt something close to fear.

Because he didn’t know if he’d been sent to protect this woman… or destroy her.

Atlanta, 1992- The Next Day

Elias “Stack” Moore POV

The sky was still painted indigo when he walked into the back office of the club. The city wasn’t fully awake yet—but Fallon was.

Of course she was.

She leaned against the desk, arms crossed, in a black turtleneck and gold hoops. Her eyes—that sharp hazel gold—tracked him like prey.

“Where the fuck were you last night?”

Elias didn’t answer right away. He took off his sweater, dumping it to the side. Peeled off the rest of his clothes one item at a time down to his boxers. He needed to shower.

Fallon didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You didn’t check in,” she said, voice low and flat. “And you didn’t feed yesterday.”

He looked up then, jaw tight. “I fed.”

“You fed,” she echoed, nostrils flaring. “Not from a bag.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked past her to the small bar and poured two shots of bourbon. It burned going down, but not enough. He still tasted her.

“I told you,” she said, stepping closer, “the girl from the party. She’s not clean.”

His hand stilled on the glass.

“I didn’t say she was dirty. I meant she’s… special. Like she’s different or something.”

“You think I didn’t feel that?” he muttered, turning toward her.

Fallon’s eyes narrowed.

“So you did see her?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.

Fallon’s jaw locked. “You bit her.”

He stayed silent.

“You fucking bit her?” Her voice dropped, but it hit like a punch. “Jesus, Elias. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She was already in it,” he said quietly. “Before I touched her. Before I knew her name.”

“Don’t give me that ‘destiny’ bullshit,” she snapped. “You felt a pull? Great. You know what that means.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Her face was tight with fear—not anger. That scared him more than anything.

“She didn’t scream,” he said. “Didn’t push me away. When I bit her, she leaned in.”

Fallon shook her head. “You don’t get it. That’s worse. That means she already in trouble.”

He stilled. “What?”

Fallon lowered her voice. “Mary.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then she whispered, “The Juke, Elias.”

“Don’t” he growled.

“They died, Stack. And it tore a hole in you big enough to crawl through. Don’t pretend like this ain’t déjà vu.”

He turned away, gripping the edge of the desk until the wood creaked.

Fallon stepped closer, softer now. “You said she was the only one who ever made you feel like this until she didn’t”

“She broke me on purpose.” He thought of her and the curse she forged in him.

“But this one,” Fallon pressed, “ShaNiece. She’s making you feel again.”

He nodded once. Slow. Painful.

Fallon’s voice trembled. “Then we got a problem. Because if you felt that bond, Stack, if you took ShaNiece’s blood because it called you—you know what comes next.”

He closed his eyes. “Mary.”

Fallon nodded. “She always knows when you give yourself away.”

“Art Thou Forgiven” A Sinners Fanfic

You’d always admired your Daddy’s love for music. Sometimes you questioned if he actually loved it more than he loved you but you were sure that was your Momma’s doing. Her and Daddy were always bickering about something. Mostly because of music and how it managed to take him places that never had any room for her to be apart of. He’d tell her that the music was his escape. A place that made him happy because living in the souths of Mississippi and working for the white man wasn’t a place you wanted to stay grounded in. Just like Daddy loved his music, you loved someone equally important but just like Momma, you hated the life they chose and how it never included you…

The Mississippi Delta, 1932

The sun beamed on the back of your neck as you made your way towards the market. You silently crused yourself because why the fuck wouldn’t you grab the hat off your kitchen table before walking in the thick Mississippi heat.

You let out a slow breath as you walked inside of the Chow’s market anticipating the cool air. Grabbing basket, you nodded towards Lisa, Grace and Bo Chow’s daughter, who was working the register. She gave a half uninterested smile continuing to check customers out.

You strolled through the aisle slowly just so you could take in the crisp air a little longer. You would often hear the ‘welcome’ bell from the door ring as you walked around.

“Daaaaaaaddy?!” Bo’s daughter yelled just enough for him to come from sliding out of the back.

“What?” He questioned throwing his hand towel out of his hand.

Making your way towards the dry goods in the back section, you heard a familiar voice. “Bo Chow” Your ears perked up as your head ducked towards the lower parts of the seasoning.

“Look at what the damn cat dragged in.”

You dropped the basket making your way to the exit of the market. You didn’t want to look back because if one was in town that meant the other one wasn’t too far off.

“Lil Slim.” You’d always hated the nickname but when folks around town saw you they knew exactly who you belonged to. Thee Delta Slim. You adorned the same features from your cocoa skin, full lips to you brown sleepy eyes. “Don’t make me call you again, woman”

You halted in your tracks before turning slowing, kicking up dust in the process. You met his gazed as you sauntered towards him. “Elijah?” You let out more as a question. “I see you’re back in town”

“Elijah? Damn Lil Slim first name basis?” He looked you up and down taking another pull before flicking the blunt from his lips. You know I saw you runnin’ out that damn store like you seen a ghost or sum shit..” Rolling your eyes slightly, you moved from his eyes to his hands due to the rustling. “I bought up that lil’ basket on my way out. Call it a gift…”

“I’m just fine, Smoke.” You pursed your lips tightly together so he wouldn’t notice the lie that had left your lips. “The devil never gives gifts only favors.” You wanted to hurt his feelings so he could leave you alone like he did 7 years ago.

“Take this bag, woman.” A chord hadn’t even been struck by your words. He was use to the sass flying out your mouth. He’d grabbed your hand swiftly dropping the straps into your palm. “I’ll be seeing you, Lil Slim.”

He jumped in his truck without another word. The engine purring as he made his way down the dirt road.

*

“(Y/N)! I’ll be back girl. Gots to go down to the station and make a lil money before tonight’s show at the club.” He’d kissed your cheek, smelling of corn liquor, before walking out the door.

You were too hot and tired from your walk back to disagree long enough to stop him. Slim might have been making money but you only saw it in the form of a bottle turnt to his lips. You sat on the small sofa gathering yourself before making your way to the kitchen. This had become a routine on your days off from working. Making a market run, cleaning up a little and cooking something heavy for Slim to put on his stomach after a night of drinking and caring on down at the club.

You wanted more for yourself but after your Momma had passed on and the Moore men leaving, you felt the need to try to get closer to Slim because he was all you had left. Ol’ drunk and all.

You let up all the windows trying not to get the smell of catfish frying in your hair. A couple of hours ago, your best girlfriend had invited you out to this new Juke Joint earlier after hearing some dudes talking about how some other dudes got shot over trying to steal liquor from the owner. You were a little worried about going but you needed to let your hair down and have some fun.

*

You could hear the music as you and Pinky pulled into the lot full of cars straight towards the middle to show off her brand new gift. Pinky, also known as Priscilla, was your best friend that loved to show off the gifts that her husband bought her. Since she hated her much older husband she was always down to cut loose. Her husband knew how she got down but apparently he did the same. That was their business and you never asked too many questions but always listened when she needed to talk.

“(Y/N), don’t that sound like your daddy on that harmonica?” She smiled taking your arm to loop around hers. “Ooou it’s hot in here tah’night.”

“Well don’t y’all look like some mighty fine woman?” Another familiar voice. “How you doing, Lil Slim?” He smiled helping you after Pinky into the threshold of the club. “Delta in hea’ got these people feelin’ good.”

You smiled giving him a slight hug taking in the full atmosphere. “Doing good, Cornbread. How’s the wife?” “You in here working the door?” All he could do was nod and tell you that she was doing well before you were whisked away to the bar.

“Now what we drinking, ladies?” The bartender asked going back and forth between you and the gentleman sitting at the end.

“Whateva’ they asking fo’.” Although they were twins, you could always tell them apart. You didn’t even want to look up but you also wanted him to know he didn’t have any effect on you anymore. Neither of them did. The bartender had passed rounds of moonshine with fruits inside.

“SJ” He grinned flashing that fancy smile your way. He knew how much you hated “Lil Slim” back in the day so he’d decided to call “SJ” short for “Slim Jr”.

“Hello Elias” You grumbled “How you doing?” You asked pulling yourself from the bar after taking the drink in one gulp. You shimmied onto the dance floor with a random man. You really didn’t care how or what he was doing these days. Last you heard the SmokeStack twins had went north to cause trouble.

You kept your feet moving no matter the song. You’d even witnessed Sammie and your damn Daddy playing a couple of songs together. You noticed everything in the joint. You’d been taking mental images of the night’s festivities and how everyone seemed to be freed by their burdens. How they came in letting loose and feeling good.

“Why’d you sto-“ you turned to ask the guy you had pretty much held captive to avoid Elias from coming your way.

“Stack, this your woman?” The man was already a foot away from you surrendering you to the devil himself.

“Scary ass nigga” You spat looking up at him. “You love messing up a good thang, don’t yah?” All he did was grin at you showing a glint of gold. That sly smirk had gotten you in so much trouble in the past. “Well?” You questioned releasing the shawl that matched your dressed perfectly onto a near by chair. “You gon ask me to dance or what?”

There it was. You giving into him without him saying a word. That was how it went with you and them. Elijah was a giver while Elias loved to take.

“Damn SJ” he spun you around placing your back against his chest. “You not so lil no mo’” you felt him touching your hips adding pressure to his grip. “Seven years did you some good.”

“Hope this isn’t your attempt to get me in some back room, Stack.” He guided your hips into a slow grind. “Half of these Mississippi Delta women have their eyes on you and Smoke. Won’t you go grind on one of them”

As soon as those words left your lips, she’d approached them attempting to cut in.

“Well well…if it isn’t Little Miss Slim” Her southern drawl was laced with venom. “Not so little anymore are we” She smirked. “Maybe you should go cool down with a drink, honey. You’re looking parched”

You couldn’t understand her issue with you. You knew her and Stack would mess around every now and then but everyone knew that their relationship wasn’t serious. Never would be and never could be.

“That’s (Y/N) to you” You smiled as you slowed your hips down. Elias still behind you. “It’s a beautiful night. It’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other and here you are ready to cause drama” “I thought you white women were supposed to be classy?” You couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t hate Mary but you hated how out of character she could be around Elias or Stack as she loved to call him.

You had already understood that Mary and Stack’s relationship wasn’t serious purely based off of it being forbidden. She was a white passing dainty woman and he was a black man. This world would never accept it but that was the danger was the foundation of it. Elias was the one that had pursued you. He’d always say you were different and too damn independent for your own good. You could read him like a book and he could do the same. Neither of you ever acted on your feelings but you both knew that there was something there.

“S’cuse me?” Her face went pale as you felt Elias’ lips smiling into your neck.

“Stack, you gon let her talk to me like that?” She’d moved on to fighting with him. She knew better than to keep going on because eventually you would get tired and get physical.

“What you want me to say, woman?” He let you go but you stayed in between them. “I told you to stay the fuck away from me at that station.”

“Mmmh…” “Well make me leave then, Stack!” She muttered. They bickered completely ignoring your presence as if you’d somehow managed to become invisible in seconds.

You had had enough of their bickering before it started. You made your exit looking for Pinky so you could leave and make it home so you could make sure Slim didn’t pass out on the floor instead of his room.

“Lil Slim, you seen Stack?” Elijah asked as you were walking around the area.

“I’ll tell yah if you take me home?” You smiled attempting to make a way. “You know you can’t let your hopeless friend be stranded and walking home in these parts at night.”

His hard exterior softened but he never smiled. You could tell he was thinking it over. You knew he wouldn’t let you walk at night but after finding out the Juke Joint belonged to him and Elias, you knew he had to be here for the business.

“I’ll have Stack do it.” “Last I seen Pinky she was making her way to the back with Preacher talking about ice cream.” He shook his head a little confused as he moved towards the crowd.

“He was arguing on the dance floor with Mary last time I saw him!” You called sitting at the bar again. You knew they had probably moved on from the argument into each other pants but who were you to care. He wasn’t yours.

*

After arguing with Elias the whole way, you’d finally made it back to your place. Turns out him and Mary had did more than argue just like you knew they had.

“What’s on your mind?” He spoke cutting the engine looking towards you. “Thinking about us?”

You looked over at him, pulling the shawl closer to your body. “Stack, you and Mary are meant for each other. All you do is lie and cause trouble.” You were hurt and he knew. You were tired of being second to her when it came to him. You couldn’t deal with it anymore.

“Stack?” Was all he mustered up before touching your thigh. “Mary ain’t got shit on you, SJ. You know that, right?” He rubbed circles into your thigh with his finger. “Mary ain’t the one that i want to make it back home to when I’m away.”

“But Mary gives you what you want?” You’d never had sex. You wanted to save yourself for your husband. That was thing yah Momma had drilled into you. ‘Don’t no man want a ran through woman.’ A part of you hoped that would be Elias but he was too caught up in the high life and the web that Mary had spun around him to notice you and cater to your body in that way. “It’s fine, honey.” Your lips curved into a tight lipped smile. “You’ll always belong to Mary and the streets. There’s nothing wrong with it. Just don’t get hurt messing with ha’” You surrendered grabbing up your purse while you touched the handle of the door prepared to get out.

“But Mary ain’t the one who’s got my heart, (Y/N)…” He grab your thigh catching you off guard halting your movement. As you looked up at him you were met with his deep brown eyes staring at you softly before laying a kiss on your lips. “I miss you. I love you.” He mumbled against your lips. “My heart belongs to you, woman.”

Summary: Elias lost her once in 1992. In 2025, her eyes find him again—through someone new. But some love stories never die… they just wait.

000:

Mississippi Delta– 1932

Elias laid there in a back room of the juke, shirt torn, blood soaking the front. His hands trembled—not from pain, but from the weight of what she’d just done.

He’d broken free from the hold his twin, Elijah, had him in before reuniting with Mary and the others. He just needed his brother and his wife, Annie, and their little cousin, Sammie. He needed them to feel the joy and excitement.

But then it all fell apart. The Juke Joint had turned into a massacre. Blood, death and destruction all from a powerful hem.

“I gave you life,” Mary whispered behind him, her voice soft as poison. “You were a selfish man.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, jaw clenched.

“But you let me.” Her heels tapped once against the pinewood floor. “On that floor. In that back room.” She smirked. “You came for me, Stack.” The flirtatiousness in her voice wrapped around his body.

He turned around. Her face was beautiful but cold. Pale curls down to her collarbone. Her eyes gleamed in the poor lighting.

“That don’t mean I wanted this.” He was coming to his senses. Smoke was gone.

She smiled bitterly. “But now you’ll never leave me. Not again.”

Elias took a step back. “Mary…”

“You think I didn’t feel it?” Her voice cracked—just once. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at all of them? All those colored girls in the Juke?”

“That wasn’t—”

“They wasn’t me!” Mary screamed like thunder rattling through.

“I’ve given you everything,” she said, stepping closer, eyes glowing now, inhuman and hungry. “Power. Life. Eternity.”

“I don’t want eternity, Mary. Not if it means being yours.”

Her face twisted. “Then you’ll have it alone.”

She raised her hand. Blood dripped from her wrist, and she spoke in the old tongue, the one her mother taught her before she died under a pale sky.

Elias fell to his knees, choking, as the room grew darker—colder.

“From this night forward,” Mary intoned, “you will walk this earth never knowing peace. You will remember every face you love, and every one you lose.”

Blood spilled down his chin. His gums ached. His heart beat once—then slowed.

“I curse you, Stack. You will hunger, but never be filled. You will love, but never be loved back. And every woman you desire will feel my shadow on her soul.”

The final word hit the air like a storm breaking. The candlelight blew out, one by one.

Mary knelt beside him, cupping his face.

“I made you, Stack,” she whispered. “And I’ll unmake anyone who tries to take you from me.”

She kissed him, slow and coldly, and when she pulled back, her lips were red with his blood.

He screamed into the darkness as the curse settled in his bones—burning, binding, eternal.

From then own, Elias vowed to be alone. He hated Mary. She bound him to her. She was selfish, envious and entitled. Qualities he never saw from her growing up until that night.