#stack moore x black reader

ALL MINE

credit to @uzmacchiato for the dividers

authors note: not proof read or nothin’, but the song inspired me and I’m feelin’ needy for Elias, so you’re welcome.

song sourced: ALL MINE by Brent Fiayaz

content tags: masturbation over the phone, implications of a toxic relationship (but it’s lowkey not, just an unlabeled back and forth), explicit language.

Triflin’ ModernDay!Elias Moore x Black!Reader, in which Elias ain’t shit, but he’s been trynna be better for you, just keeps runnin’ into trouble any time he finds himself almost stayin’ true to his word. All caught up, his behavior often left you with the worst whiplash, never certain he actually meant half the words he professed to you day and night. Though deep down, you knew both of you couldn’t cut the chord, so you kept a safe distance.

This frustrated the hell outta Elias, but, he’s hella competitive. Subsequently, he ensures your pussy knows who touches her best, fucks her best, and loves her best. Not to say it’s any kind of magic he’s usin’.

Nah, that’s the power of him cumin’ same time at 2:12am exact the past month, comfortable on his freshly washed linen—a habit he developed from you… he’s clean, likes takin’ special care to himself and those he loves. But, he never made a point of addin’ any special beads to enhance the scent of his laundry. Just old methods Slim taught him. Not until you. Now he has your scent huggin’ him, his thighs, whenever he pleases—thumbin’ the slit of his cock, his heart hammerin’ to the rhythm of his explicit imagery his thoughts created. You sittin’ near him, timid but incredibly bothered gaze, lips parted. The mere implications of that possiblity stirred the warmth located in his lower abdomen, much like tiger palm to the skin.

Elias Moore loved you, he simply didn’t know he did, and hadn’t known what the word really meant.

However, it wouldn’t negate the fact he’d show you with what he does know.

Makin’ love, though the usual terminology he used was sex.

And god did he do it right.

“You told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame. You come here, I knock yo’ pussy out the damn frame.” Elias’ rough voice soundin’ like an egg cracked over hot asphalt rustled through the phones speaker, all the while he continued the aggressive flick of his wrist, up turn down, trynna not let his breath hitch from fixin’ his attention at the picture of you posted on his night stand, “remember that last time I wet you down with champagne? Remember that?”

Aware his words were workin’ their favor like they tended to, Elias continued, his usual confidence slowly but surely breakin’ through the atmosphere of despair, “and I know I’ve been the worst,” the corner of his mouth crept into a quiet smug grin, “but I’ll love you better. If you let me.”

You squeezed your thighs together, jaw tight, frustrated with the man who didn’t want you unless it was on his timin’.

“Let’s catch a flight, change the weather.”

That made you freeze, brows knitted, confused why he suddenly were offerin’ the world and more. ‘Cause for Elias? Spendin’ his money like this meant business. Not the usual business he gets caught up in. No… the kinda business he had never promised anyone.

And he was.. he was promisin’ forever, apparently.

“All mine… all mine, yeah, you know how it feels.”

You wanted to say, “yeah I know how you fuck, but not too much on the love part.”

It’s hard sayin’ whether you should trust him or not. But, you’d be damned if you could escape the Moore’s grasp.

people I love and lowkey want them to see this masterpiece in the works. these help me practice and see what needs improvement: @aizawash0e @sintizc @lovergirlcinema @umber-cinders

Stack Moore x black reader

Description: these niggas are horny your honor

Warning: the description IS the warning 

A/n: listen… I don’t even have words. Enjoy. Lmao

Octoberfest Masterlist 

“Elias please.” You begged completely fucked out as he continued his assault on your pussy.

“Come again? I ain’t heard you baby.” he chuckled at his own double entendre.

“I’m sorry, daddy, I’m sorry daddy, ah, I’m sorr-“ you cried face pushing into the pillows.

All that sick nigga did was smile as he marveled at his handy work, watching his slick slide in and out of you, juices covering his shaft from the tip to the base. The sheets were destroyed covered in sweet and cum from you and him, Your hair was everywhere, face wet with its tears, drool, and snot; throat raw from the way he abuses your throat earlier.

summary: you’ve caught the eye of a very interesting man and things start to feel like a twist of fate.

warnings: vampirism, mentions of murder, mentions of sexual assault, blood play, predator / prey kink, power imbalance, some witchery, explicit sexual content, unprotected penetration.

author’s note: i don’t know if this counts as a kink, but halloween is close so i wanted to do something a little spooky ooky.

dance troupe: @spiicii, @fearlesschimera, @chocobuttabaybee, @psilovey0u, @uceyliyahh, @empressdede, @drivefouronthefloor, @pittieprincess22, @bigjuiciisushii, @punksyeet, @sgringcndy, @fafomama, @sumbarbietingz, @sualeo, @vaneuso19, @lovelyjay45, @tayswizzlez, @bloodlinedreams, @malreigns, @bloodlineslut, @wrestlingprincess80, @rememberingvirgo, @jennifuz, @nanamiismine, @icopewithfanfictions, @vampygomez, @piinkbenjamins, @passionatedancer05, @lovelikebuttahbaybee.

the stage had always been your first home. from the moment you stepped into the glow of the footlights, you thrived in that spotlight, your body a vessel for stories spun from sinew and grace. being a black ballerina had once seemed an impossible dream: your curves defied the stick-thin ideal, and the profession’s historical lack of racial diversity had stacked the odds against you. yet, you’d shattered those barriers. now, you performed six nights a week as the prima ballerina in an adaptation of dracula, embodying the character of mina murray with a passion that felt eternal. you adored every aspect: the intricate artistry of the choreography, the dazzling play of lights across the stage, the thunderous applause that washed over you like a wave. you could do this for a hundred more years, perhaps even longer, and never tire of it. the beauty of being a dancer lay in its duality: on stage, you were a star, captivating thousands; off it, you slipped into obscurity, elusive and unseen. but lately, that veil of anonymity had begun to fray. a prickling sensation at the nape of your neck whispered that you were being watched, not by the audience as a whole, but by one pair of eyes, piercing and relentless.

A/N: I can’t tell you how long this song has been stuck in my head recently and then I thought over which character can I write this for? It only makes sense 😆

WARNINGS: a little longer than intended, language, acts of violence, & Mary slander.

synopsis: It was supposed to be fireworks in the sky…but yours went off lakeside. You already knew what it was. The water has its own taste. Just ask Mary.

<- rewind to the previous anthology track here.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚

[~Clearlake, CA~]

Stack is driving.

The sky is the shade of cotton candy while the two of you are cruising around the curves of the road, and the windows to Stack’s candy apple red vintage Porsche are down to let the fresh air in—cause you “needed” it, his words not yours.

You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, even underneath his shades as you sat passenger side. He leaned over towards his window, elbow resting on the door with his right hand at the top of the steering wheel, trying to be slick as he’s side eyeing you.

Your gaze was on your swollen and scrapped up knuckles, until you rolled your neck to send Stack a matching narrow of your own eyes.

“See,” he starts out with his usual Mississippi drawl, “I knew yo ass was crazy from the first day I met’cha.”

You scoff, throwing your head back to tap the headrest.

“Says the man that started to square up with a pigeon.”

“That mothafucker took my piguet.”

“Which you should have left in the car.”

“Fuck would I do that for?” Stack questions, “I needed to flex on these yacht ownin’ sons of bitches, just like they try to show out thinkin’ a black man can’t also be successful…you know what? This ain’t even about me. It’s about you, ma.”

A scoff immediately flies out of your mouth, “And what about me?”

“If I remember correctly,” Stack starts, still leaned over, yet chilling against the steering wheel, “You’re always the one lecturing me to be good n’ shit and there you go.”

You point to yourself, making Stack dip his head at you mockingly, “You act like I don’t know when a bitch tryna bait me.”

The bump on the overcrowded boat didn’t feel accidental. It felt more like a shove. It was hard enough to send the blue lagoon in your martini glass sloshing over the rim. By the time you turned to see who did it, she was already facing you—too quickly. How convenient.

There Mary Sicard stood in a red bathing suit to match her cover-up and, most likely, to match someone else.

Stack’s signature had always been red.

She attempted small talk at the start but the jabs landed quicker.

“You know stack told me he was also comin’ to this big shindig.” She cooed, leaning towards you as if she was letting in on a secret rather than making sure you heard her over the music, “I’m sure as soon as he see’s me he’ll have a drink waitin’ for me. He’s always been good at tending to my needs.”

You had no plans to stick around and talk to her. You knew how to be cordial (when necessary) but liking the little hoe wasn’t on your summer to-do list.

Sighing you respond, “Maybe if you tended to Andrew, you know your husband? And his needs, then he wouldn’t be grabbing on asses that don’t belong to him.”

“Fuck did you just say to me?” Mary snarls.

She shouldn’t be so surprised. Word from Smoke was Mary and Andrew had an open marriage—one Andrew only agreed to when he wasn’t sober.

“You heard me,” you smiled wide, voice dipped in fake sugar, watching her nostrils flare, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be huffing and ready to blow this boat down trying to look for my—let me spell that for you, M-Y, my man. Go find yours before he ends up with a charge from one of these other good women, which disrespectfully…you’re not.”

Mary felt a tick in her jaw as you got the upper hand.

You peeped it. You liked it.

The way your vibrant nails caught the light as you waved her off, mirrored in the shades pushed up into her hair, felt like karma waiting for her, served cold, melting like a ice cream cone that you held, with the brightest of smirks on your face.

The difference between you and Mary was evident. She was stuck living in the past and came looking for a fight that had nothing to do with you.

You were the future. Stack’s.

A rising sun that was meant to stay.

“I’ve got your good woman,” Mary calls out to you, hand going out to grip your shoulder and turn you back to her, “The only thing Stack will ever know is me. I bet every second he’s with you, I’m always on his mind. After all…you did miss out on that business trip to New York. Let’s just say…he didn’t waste his time with sleep. Not with me there.”

It’s the wink. And her hand, still on you, starting to burn like a bullet waiting to be fired. Her sunscreen smells like honeyed grapefruit on her wrist. You can feel your blood begin to simmer, because this girl really thinks she’s won.

Won what, exactly? You’d have to ask the delusion infecting whatever’s left inside her skull.

Stack shakes his head at you, knocking his knuckles against your thigh to pull you back down from wherever you were, “And what did you do? Take the bait. Yeah look at you, daydreamin’ so hard about it, got you showing your tooth gems and back rows. Yo ass is a maniac.”

He was one to talk.

But that was another argument.

For another time.

Shrugging you say, “I warned your heffa of an ex too many times now. Then she had the nerve to lie about New York, like you don’t call me a thousand times a day? She’s lucky I didn’t slice those moles right off her dumb face with my martini glass. Shit, hopefully the sharks will bite them off for me.”

Stack highly doubted there were any sharks in that lake. But you probably knew better—since you’d been keeping up with shark trackings the second summer hit.

He runs his tongue across his own grillz in his mouth.

“And you’re lucky we got off the boat on time before the feds showed up. Last thing I need is them on my dick ‘cause my girl was about to body a has-been who can’t let go.”

You roll your eyes but there’s a sense of pride in you. You wouldn’t lie about that as your bruised hand goes to grip his face, facial hair pricking against your palm while you cupped his face, “You love that shit. And you call me the twisted one.”

He doesn’t deny it, sending you a grin full of dimples. “What can I say? I’ve always been attracted to women who can hold their own. The one sittin’ right beside me will remain in my number one spot, though.”

Keeping his eyes on the multiple curves of the road, he can’t help but to slightly turn towards you with his face still in your hand. You nod your head, also moving forward to peck his lips.

“You know you can’t go around praying that people get eaten by freshwater fish, like it’ll finish the job.”

Sucking your teeth, you squeeze his cheeks together in disagreement before letting go, “Mary isn’t people. She’s a raggedy jezebel with nice eyes and a smart ass mouth. I hope jaws eats those first.”

Stack lets out a low whistle, hand going back to your thigh, “Aight killa, let’s try and focus on the fresh air and scenery instead, huh?”

Giving him a flat look with a purse of your lips, you sigh and let your head fall back against the headrest while Stack runs small circles above your kneecap.

“…You’ll rub my back later?”

Stack snorts, not at the fact that you had chronic lower back pain but because you sounded so damn cute, even after that mess you found yourself in.

“Hell yeah I will,” stack answers, “Might even throw in a deluxe package: booty rub included.

It was on the tip of your tongue to throw Andrew’s name in there at the mention of booties but the alarms in your head told you to keep that to yourself. It was in everyone’s best interest and if Stack found out about that?

Both of y’all would have started singing that one Akon track.

With in sync smiles, he keeps running soothing circles against your skin while you turn your gaze to the right, water beyond the rocks, glistening from the sun, just like what you would see in Stack’s eyes whenever he snuck glances at you.

And he would deny it every time with a smirk right on his lips.

Finally.

His moment of peace.

That he loved having because of you.

Until a few days later…

You’re seated in the dining room, Sammie’s lounging in the living room with his guitar in his hands, fallen asleep not that long ago, still dealing with the aftermath of his ex, Pearline choosing to officially get a divorce from her husband and move out of the delta for good once finalized.

She also had wild dreams of being on stage, much like Sammie.

She even performed with him and solo at a few of his shows!

It was rough for Stack’s younger cousin.

So he flew in for a couple of days, staying with you two for a break, after wrapping up his tour out in Chicago.

It seems like lately it’s always been a case of an ex.

You’re smiling down at lil Leroy, Cornbread (Clyde, which still gagged you once you learned his government but Stack was always convinced “Cornbread” was his actual name despite the fact they grew up together) and Therese’s baby boy that you’re watching while the woman had to rush off to the bathroom, complaining about her bladder still not being the same since labor.

You were hesitant since you weren’t around a lot of babies or kids but the braided woman persuaded you that every woman had motherly instincts, whether they were destined to be a mother or not.

It’s just part of nurturing.

Their kid was pretty cute, much to Stack’s surprise but you became good friends with the couple after Cornbread started being around more due to Stack and Smoke’s business endeavors.

He was currently off with Smoke out in Alabama (both men would always be country boys through and through and preferred southern locations over the west) and both you and Stack agreed to keep an eye out on Therese and Lil Leroy.

Therese had a quiet nature about her with a good head on her shoulders and had a photographic memory. Stack was convinced she was a witch too.

That man had something to say about anyone.

Rocking lil Leroy to sleep more than Sammie’s blues, you gaze only shifted to the breath-taking water views out your dining room window, for maybe a minute before you hear footsteps making their way around the corner.

Stack tossed a thick manila envelope on the dining room table, marked: Certified Mail – Legal Notice — making you turn your gaze up to his.

His hand rests on the back of the chair you sat in, toothpick in his mouth as confusion was also the expression on his face.

“You got mail, killa.”

Your eyes zero in on it, taking a deep inhale as you decide, “I’m not interested.”

Stack laughs, reaching over to open it up himself, “C’mon, ain’t you a little bit curious?”

“I’m pretty sure what you’re doing right now is illegal.”

Stack and you both meet each other’s share, holding it before he winks at you and you’re left shaking your head while you slowly rock from side to side with the little one in your arms.

“Gotta keep those hands pretty,” Stack comments as he pulls out papers, “You’re more paper cut prone than me anyway.”

He just wanted to be nosy but alright.

“The fuck?” Is the first thing that comes out of Stack’s mouth as his eyes scan over the words on the paper.

Your eyes go wide, reminding him of the literal child in your arms, “Elias. Baby in the room.”

“My fault, little nigga.” Stack peeks down at the sleeping baby, “Hope the cussin’ from your favorite uncle don’t affect your sweet dreams.”

“Oh my god.” You cover the sleeping baby’s ears, “I see why Bo and Grace don’t want you around Lisa.”

“Please,” Stack scoffs, “That bad ass girl is what? Twelve? Thirteen? She’s taught me some of the best insults I’ve ever heard in my life.”

His eyes are trained back on the paper before he’s flipping through the packet, “Hol’ up…I know this ain’t from Mary’s punk ass man?”

He slaps the paper down on the dining table, face dark and begins to pace, rubbing at his jaw while you lean forward to see his name and Mary’s husband, Andrew, in bold at the top.

You squint. “Is this a lawsuit? I don’t get why it was addressed to me if it’s mostly aimed at you—

Pausing, you flip over the envelope to study the handwriting. You couldn’t be sure but it definitely looked feminine.

She wouldn’t.

Would she?

“This dude really trying to sue us over some boat day shit?”

It was a “us” matter because anybody coming after the other automatically means you’re a target together.

“He wasn’t even around when Mary got her A-S-S handed to her?”

Stack hums, “Hittin’ us wit a civil claim. Says the boat incident led to ‘irreparable financial damages’ and ‘emotional harm to his legal spouse. If I had known that was his business partner’s yacht, we probably wouldn’t have been on that shit no way.”

You throw your hands up at his use of vocabulary with a whole baby in the room again.

“How would he have even known? I don’t picture the two chatting about her beat down over her nasty raisin potato salad. The relationship doesn’t even give secure! He was probably too busy having a heat stroke mixed with that booger sugar thinking that’s enough of an excuse to sexually harass women.” You sass as you also start to flip through the papers, “Says Mary almost drowned—like that’s not her own fault.”

Therese comes back into the room now, clocking the tension as she pauses while she takes in Stack’s heated glance.

Carefully she placed her purse back on the table, while Stack scraped the chair across from you back to plop down in, knee bouncing and elbows pressed onto the table.

“What I miss?” She asked quietly.

Stack sucked his teeth.

You explain with a stretched smile, “Oh nothing just a lawsuit from bitch Mary and her jackass husband.”

“From that boat party during the Fourth of July?” Therese questioned, making you blink at her, “Oh…Annie mentioned something about it, how she was glad Smoke wasn’t goin’ and figured you’d keep Stack in check.”

Stack scoffed, “My sister-in-law should have mixed up a potion to prevent Mary’s ass from starting some shit. I wonder if she knew Mary was going…matter fact, imma call her tonight.”

Annie wasn’t like that.

Yes she was closer with Mary since she got involved with Smoke from the age of eighteen not long after moving up from Louisiana, the two were practically like sisters. Half—maybe but you and Annie were cool too.

She would never set you or even Stack up like that.

Annie wasn’t with the drama.

“Don’t be pissed off when she declines your call.”

Stack shrugged his shoulders like that had no effect on him, “I know where she stay at.”

You laughed.

Therese took it upon herself to take the packet into her hands, sitting at the head of the table to your left, one leg crossed over the other, her single braid resting against her shoulder.

“Emotional distress. Pain and suffering. Property repairs,” Therese summarized, “Looks like he used a template and didn’t even clean up the headers properly. It looks annoying enough. A quick cash grab even but I’m no lawyer, just a postal worker. My cousin practices civil and I can get his entail on it if y’all want?”

You’re nodding your head.

Stack clasps his hands, loudly enough to make Sammie stir but Stack lifts his chin towards the sleeping baby, taking in yet another warning the two women in the room send him, “Say that.”

“We’d appreciate it, Rese.”

She smiles, “Of course. Apparently you got about thirty days to respond…we’ll get this straightened out in less. May I take these with me?”

“Burn ‘em when you’re done,” Stack answers, “I was going to use them as my toliet paper tonight anyway.”

“Boy, ew.” You scrunched up your nose while Therese laughed to herself, placing the packet back into the envelope before sticking them into the outside section of her baby bag.

Therese is back on her feet, “Yeah then it’s best I keep it just in case,” she moves around the dining room to grab the car seat to gently sit on the table, “I best be gettin’ home before it gets dark. My sight is not great at night.”

She thanks you as she takes her baby back into her arms before securing him into the car seat.

Stack is fully waking Sammie up now, ordering him to help Therese to her car. The both of you stand in the doorway watching the three down below in the driveway before you tell Therese to give you a ring when she gets back.

Sammie headed right down stairs once he entered back through the home, ready to fully crash early for the night, leaving you two up on the main floor seated in the living room.

Your legs are thrown over his lap, Stack is slouched down, just finished rolling one up that he split between the two of you.

“You ever think life’d be quiet when we settle down?” He starts, after exhaling.

Lolling your head over to meet his eyes you grin, “You? Settling?”

Stack raises a brow, “You actin’ as if we ain’t been locked in. Bout to catch a case over yo ass and everything too.”

“That’s not settling.”

“What is it then?” He inquired.

A twitch of your lips is prominent, “Ride or die.”

He snorts but gently knocks his forehead against your face before handing the joint back to you, “Corny.”

You laugh once more, taking it and enjoying the quiet.

“Speaking of dying,” Stack begins drumming his fingers against your thigh, “…What’s this I hear about coke head Andrew sexually harassing women? There sum’n you need to tell me? Do I gotta bring Tony out?”

“Tony,” as in his favorite piece he bought from some Italian mobster man when Stack got his business started in Chicago.

Oh no.

At the end of the day…somebody’s gonna get dealt with.

It could have all been so simple, if everyone just learned to stay in their own lane.

Yet with someone like Andrew Sicard, they forget that the streets don’t do lawsuits. His mistake was thinking he could put fear in Stack Moore’s chest.

Andrew liked numbers.

Stack?

He loved headlines.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ ‧₊˚

𝔅𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔱 𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔖𝔦𝔫

Welcome to Season one, episode two of my kinktober list. I would love to give you guys a 31 back to back fic series or even just random fics for this season but unfortunately School is whoopin my ass and Im too many days days to late so, here’s to my 10 - 15 episodes (hopefully.) Enjoy

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Kassidy (OC)

Elias Moore x Black!Reader

blurb | drabble

wc: 801 approx.

synopsis: you and elias needed a break from the rest of the word. so you challenged him to a game of jump rope. and you bet he accepted the challenge. more than actually.

authors note: i needed some practice, im still strugglin’ with what to say beyond description and how i can express thoughts without the word ‘thought’ for example. hopefully y’all enjoy the short fluffy blurb. def not proof read, so I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

content tags: fluff, humor, playful teasin’, fond memories and insinuated sex (adult language used). oh modern au, lol, forgot to mention that.

song inspo for the title name get involved by raphael saadiq & q-tip.

“Bet I can jump rope longer than you.”

Today you’d been in a better mood than most, so you longed to cherish the moment by creatin’ a fond memory, and Elias were the best company anyone could keep.

Fond memories practically clambered behind him.

“Bettin’ on jump rope like I don’t rob men for a livin’. Be serious, suga.”

“Elias, you do a lot more than robbin’ and no, come on, I’m darin’ you.”

“That’s filthy, you know I can’t deny no dare.” You understood him loud and clear. He really meant, sign me up. How did you know? The fact he sucked his teeth, flickin’ the toothpick from out under his teeth to the tall southern grass nestled by rickety wooden panels near your feet. “Alright, if I win, you owe me a kiss- nah, actually? You owe me plenty of ‘em. But, if you win? I win. We got ourselves a deal?”

“Somehow you find a way to slime ball out of situations. Fine, whatever, get ready.”

“Watch and learn. You probably gonna be weepin’ by the time we hit forty, I know it.” Elias teased before he attacked your cheek with playful lovin’ kisses and stopped at your responsive swats to his chest.

“Stop judgin’ ‘cause I couldn’t go past forty on the pacer test. that was years ago Stack!”

“Aye, address me proper, it’s ’Lias to you… not Stack,” You rolled your eyes at his accusatory jutted finger near your face, but he kept his eager smile bright and brows stern. “Now, let’s get this show on the road, we ain’t got a lot longer before sun sets.” Fixin’ his the waste band of his slacks, Elias removed and threw his shirt the same direction as his toothpick, gettin’ into position, crouched the slightest for extra advantage.

That’s what you assumed anyway.

When thirty minutes came and went, to say he was right would be understatement of the year. You didn’t have the lung capacity to exceed forty suicide-runs. So why the hell did you propose Stack a stupid game of jump rope in the first place?

Good fun. Seein’ him happy, in need of a break after the week Elijah and Elias had. Even if the words weren’t said aloud. They were certainly felt.

Your ability to sense the shift of his emotions, the environment, greatly frustrated Elias, but it also made things easier on him when vulnerability were a part of the conversation.

‘Round jump 46 you tapped out, chest heavin’ as you dramatically collapsed near the porch, riddin’ your forehead of the dirt muddled sweat that migrated there from your hairline.

“See! I told ya, shit, I could do this here all day. Count for me baby, each jump is how many rounds in bed I’m gonna have you tonight, yessir.”

“This man don’t think about nothin’ but pussy… ain’t he tired?”

“That’s sixty, suga! By the looks of it, you won’t be walkin’ for awhile. Go prep the bed, tonight’s my night looks like.”

Sweat trickled the curve of his gaunt jaw, and you stood there amazed at just how lively Stack was.

However, the summer heat irritated you and you’d rather retreat inside than withstand another second smothered by two blazin’ flames, let alone one.

With a wave of your hand, you entered the shared one-story home you, Elias havin’ bought the property and land months prior to prove his devotion to you.

Though, once thirty more minutes passed of fixin’ the bedroom accordingly, you noted the severe lack of gloatin’ and physical affection Elias usually supplied before you realized; he’s outside still. Finishin’ the arrangements, you couldn’t help but pad toward the window and check to see why he hasn’t returned yet.

There on hot asphalt, limber frame hoppin’ every which way, was your insane boyfriend.

The golden hues shaped the overgrown smile etched into his cheeks quite nicely, albeit you failed to supress the partial scoff of a laugh that exited your mouth as you shook your head, astounded he had so much energy, hell, he hardly seemed like he were exhausted.

You tossed the blanket you began to fold aside, nudgin’ the window open further then shouted, “Alright, Elias. You won, come in already. It’s gettin’ cold out and I can’t have you blamin’ me into next week for your “near death” sickness. We’ve had enough of those.”

“Just one second, baby. Almost at two hundred. Aimin’ to fuck you into next week.” His signature grin curled his lips, and you wished so deeply he knew when he shouldn’t be vulgar.

“Whatever you say.” Wavin’ him off, you shut the window and went back to your previous suggested activities.

Sooner than later, he excused himself, murmurin’ his words of victory under labored breaths, “fresh coo is on the menu tonight, tomorrow and next Thursday. Who’s the man? You’re the man, strong healthy black man.”

Elias quoted, hummin’ the rest as he strode down the long corridor.

Elias "Stack" Moore x Black!Reader

Includes; mentions of sex, fluff, banter, awkward!Elias, friends to lovers, slow burn, self pleasure, modern AU, reader is from Alabama and visits durin’ the summer/holidays.

Word count: 1,927

Thought I’d tag those who anticipated this the most: @umber-cinders @storiesbyasl @migosis @westside-rot @greedyhoneyz I hope yall really like what I wrote and feel free to leave any constructive criticism!

AUTHORS NOTE: Finished this ‘cause ‘Love Jones’ inspired me. Everybody say ‘Thank you, Love Jones!’ And go watch it if you haven’t yet. Stat. It’s a requirement for black history month.

No soon as you stepped into the Mississippi Delta air, hoards of sweaty bodies exited the compact train behind you, nearly knocking you onto your ass. However, fortunately, the pillar a few spaces away prevented the possibility for embarrassment to occur.

Amidst the chaotic atmosphere; Elias Moore, who caught wind of your return, stood to your right. Of course you were too immersed playin’ Miss Priss to notice his intense yet curious gaze, the one that made you lose focus.

Each time he side stepped, you turned searchin’ for another thing you assumed needed fixin’. Then you side stepped and Elias managed to miss his chance again.

Eventually, you both turn in a synchronized manner, an awkward charm forcin’ the worst parts above the surface. The otherwise polished caricatures performed by you or him, evaporated.

“Elias… Moore?”

“The one and only.”

“Why- how did you… did Annie send you? That pretty woman scares me, I often think she knows my every move ‘cause of her hoodoo.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.” He said, a little more out of step than usual if confronted by your presence.

Throat cleared, he adjusted his thermal black shirt tucked into his matching slacks; the large leather jacket hugged around his upper body shifting with his feet. “I mean, I heard you movin’ back here? Need help with business? What Smoke told me anyway. Your people know our people. You know how it is.”

“Elias if my people know your people, I’m scared to ask about the company I keep,” a soft breath left your pursed lips, the hand perched on your hip followed whatever you spoke, “Tell me why you’re really here.”

“We ain’t said nothin’ since we last…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed and flashed his deflection tactic straight at you, “not one word. Just wanted to see if you needed any help feelin’ welcomed. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Your brow raised.

“Maybe more.. if you’ll listen instead of runnin’ that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Define more… Stack. You know I’ve got a long list of responsibilities waitin’ on me.”

Stack. Bein’ addressed as Stack by you was like walkin’ across a fire pit, bare-assed and beaten from the inside out. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Why you gotta go callin’ me Stack? Call me Elias, ‘Lias. Anythin’ but what just came out your mouth.”

“Watch yours and I’ll think about it.” You sneered sweetly, arms crossed over your chest.

You knew you hit a nerve from the way Elias sucked his teeth, the toothpick between the pearly whites on the brink of snappin’ if he clenched any harder.

But, what you didn’t know is he was tryin’ to not get anymore hard than he was. ‘Cause if he did, he knows it’d just draw attention to his problem and you.

The last thing he needed was a SmokeStack twins foe hot on your tail, puttin’ you in grave danger. Literally.

“Listen, alright? Lemme help you, I know a place close by, real quaint. I’ll take you to dinner. Nothin’ wicked. Just two grown folk handlin’ business and catchin’ up. Sound good?”

“Maybe.”

“Woman.” Elias turned away then back, his nose scrunched momentarily.

“Better than what you usually call us women. You outta start workin’ on that too.”

With a shake of his head, Elias scoffed and reached for your hand, his dark eyes squinting at your refusal to comply.

“Y/n/n.”

“‘Lias.” You countered, unwilling to budge on account of his disrespect nor impatience.

“Watchu want me to do y/l/n? Hm? ‘Cause I for damn sure ain’t beggin’.”

“Guess it’s not that important then.” You said, the faintest grin curving the corner of your mouth then directed your attention onto the color of your dress like it were the most curious thing in the world.

Too exhausted, too hot, too sexually frustrated to deal with your fussy bratty behavior, but too respectful to act careless like he normally would in a situation like this. He began counting backwards under his breath, then eyed you.

“Please get your stubborn ass on, so we can discuss business.”

“Nicer… fine, let’s go.”

The loudest sigh of relief left him, although didn’t last long as you whipped your head around, glarin’ and his hands shot up instinctively, though soon fell onto his hips once you both began trudging through the humid afternoon.

A year had passed since then, and business went much slower than when you first arrived.

And with slow days, came heat waves, overthinking, and lust.

Lust… definitely occupied your mind tonight.

“Elias..” You moaned under your breath, tugging at the silk pillow case just under your fluffy y/h/c strands, plush thighs squeezed tight together, back arched off of the bed the slightest bit. “Mmf.. fuck, please.” Your keen whine echoed in your ears, a subconscious reminder you’d regret touching yourself to him once the clarity dawned later. But until then, you rubbed slow circles on your clit, imagining the man you shared sexual chemistry with munching your box.

“Sugar, imma need you to be decent, we got some talkin’ to do and I don’t get to see you ‘cept six months out of the year.”

Flushed cheeks tingling, you yank your hand from your shorts, y/e/c eyes wide as Elias opened your bedroom door, eager to admire your disheveled appearance, damn near trippin’ on his own two feet trudging past the entryway.

“Fuck baby.. I ain’t mean to disturb you-“

“Shut up! Dont start!”

“Pretty lady,” He started anyway, his brow raised subtly, head jutted forward a bit, darin’ you try him. “You hit your head on that little headboard of yours for I came in? ‘Cause two seconds ago I heard you moanin’ for my tongue and now you want my mouth closed? Somethin’ ain’t addin’ up sugar.”

“How the hell would you know? I didn’t moan that!”

“I don’t care what you moaned, I know you. I know your body. And I know that pretty pussy of yours is beggin’ for somethin’ flat and wet. Ain’t it? Dont lie now.”

“You’re so gross.. how do you say the sweetest things to me and then turn around to proclaim you’re a certified pussy eater waitin’ to chow down?”

“Can’t blame me for wantin’ a taste. Bet she tastes as good as you’d look with those there thighs wrapped around my neck.”

“God, I’m tired, leave me alone.”

“I could fuck you to sleep if you let me.”

“Is that all you think about? Good pussy?”

“Don’t act like you don’t think about it just as much as I do, sweetness. You ain’t no better than the rest of us Sinners. But, I’ll tell you what, since you so pretty, I’ll help you up onto that high horse of yours. He’s been waitin’ for a ride from you for quite some time anyway.” Elias said, a devilish grin pulled at his sickeningly perverted face, his thumbs tucked under his belt loops.

It seemed every time you saw the man of your affections, you were constantly in a predicament.

You supposed today wouldn’t be any different. His excitement all too clear and confident demeanor returned around your particularly once the two of you grew closer with time.

Steppin’ off that same train he knew too well and as did you, like it were apart of some routine Elias and you had goin’

You huffed a soft breath, arms crossed.

“Hurry up and get your smart ass comment out the way before I decide I’m needed elsewhere.”

“See that cute ass of yours filled out nicely since the last time I seen you,”

“Stack.. asses don’t grow in nine months.”

“Shit, sugar, you’re cornbread fed. Your family knows how to throw down in the kitchen. And if you woulda given me a couple weeks, I coulda put you through the mattress, hell you’d probably be expectin’,” his intense flirtatious gaze focused on the Rolex huggin’ his wrist, then he glanced back to meet your incredulous eyes already watchin’ him, just how he liked. All mean, sassy, stubborn. Fuck, he can feel his dick stirrin’ to its full potential thinkin’ ‘bout the quirks he adored most from you. With a smug grin, Elias finished his sentence, “Nah, you’d be in labor, squeezin’ my hand real hard like you should somethin’ else of mine. Thoughts?”

“And prayers. You’re gonna need them if you keep playin’.”

“Who said I was jokin’? I could knock you up real good, give you a new reason to be walkin’ ‘round with a special kinda pep in your step. Maybe a little off kilter, but that’s just the-”

“If you finish your sentence, I fear you won’t ever be able to speak another again.” You jutted a finger at him, and pressed the ‘F5’ button on the vending machine you’d found your way to amidst the conversation between you and Elias.

“Quick at the draw, I like that in a woman. You trynna be mine?”

Ever smug, he propped himself against the cold surface, his stare somehow sexual and soft.

He licked his lips as he reached for your hip, pulling you into him.

You never did give him what he wanted, and so he didn’t fight you as you slapped his hand lightly, more concerned for your food than him. Typical.

“You should consider pickin’ up new lines instead of anythin’ breathin’ your general direction.”

“Nothin’ sweet as you has ever breathed near me. Can’t say many people do leave breathin’ ‘round me. But, you? I think I want you breathin’ a little harder, quicker, yeah.. bet I could make a livin’ off-“

While Elias rattled on about his obnoxious exaggerated well orchestrated fantasies of you. A small stubborn part of you wanted to rebuttal “Do you always talk this much, or am I your special brand of Henny?” But, you decided against it, semi-soft digits smoothing over your hoodie string.

“I wanna go dancin’ with you… will you come?”

Stopped mid bite into your chocolate bar, the sweet substance smeared across the corner of your mouth now, you swallowed, thinking maybe if you blink enough times, you’ll find the perverse best friend you knew well enough.

Instead, Elias remained planted in front of you, hands shoved inside his pockets, the usual grin present on his face. Except it’s not there for familiar reasons.

“Dance? With you?”

“Why not? Would you rather sit on my face? I like the sound of both.” he laughed, the sound warm like the scent of timber and whiskey. “Need you, baby. Don’t you need me too?”

You would’ve said ‘ew’ aloud if not for how your heart dropped below your chest. Hatin’ how he knew what got you based off the movies you watched whenever he frequented your place.

“Your greed sickens me…” It’s a half joke, but also joking protected you from vulnerability and Elias never seemed to mind. Knowing all too well the pros of deflection in uncomfortable situations.

“Pick you up at 8. Don’t be late,” licking his lips, he stepped forward, palms gently caressing your hips and kissed the center of your forehead, “wear those sexy string drawls I saw in your dresser the other day, I think I’ll be seein’ them too by the end of the night.”

Flustered, you begrudgingly laughed as you slapped his chest, shoving him away from you while you tried to accept the fact you were really going dancing with Elias Moore of all people.

This can’t be good for anyone, especially not you.

Smoke x black reader x Stack ( Scream AU )

Description: October doesn’t feel like fall anymore—too hot, too alive, too full of ghosts wearing familiar faces.

You thought it was just another Halloween party.

You thought you knew the man behind the mask.

You were wrong.

Warning: blood and gore

A/n: I wouldn’t say this is rush, but it also kind of is and it’s definitely not beta’d. But yall know the drill. I kinda hate it actually lmao but here. Whatevz. Hopefully there arent too many errors and shit makes sense, since I wrote half of it in my notes and the other half on Tumblr on my phone 🙃🫠

Octoberfest Masterlist | Masterlist



October in California never felt like fall to you.

The air still clung to summer—warm, dry, faintly sweet. Pumpkins sat out on porches under palm trees, candles melted too quickly, and the wind only pretended to cool the nights down. An ‘Indian summer’ is what everyone called it, though you never knew why despite hearing it your whole life.

You and Smoke were curled up on the couch, windows cracked, TV flickering between horror classics and news reports. The room smelled like cinnamon and burnt popcorn. His arm was thrown lazily across your waist, heavy and warm, his thumb idly tracing small circles against your skin.

“You ever notice how all these movies start the same way?” he murmured.

“How?” you asked, voice half-muffled by the blanket.

“Somebody thinkin’ they safe,” he said, a slow grin spreading. “Thinkin’ monsters only live on screen.”

You laughed, swatting his chest. “That’s the point, babe. We watch scary movies so the real world feels normal.”

Something flickered across his face—too quick to name. A shadow. Then he kissed your temple. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Normal.”

He’d been strange all month.

Not bad-strange, just… off. Jumpier when the sun went down. Overly cautious about locking doors. Sometimes, when the news mentioned those Halloween killings upstate, he’d turn the volume down and stare at the screen like he could see straight through it.

You chalked it up to stress and trauma. You knew he had been through a lot growing up. His father abusing him and his mother, to his father murdering his mother —every now and then he’d mention it but only in half sentences. “they never caught him, but I know he’s gone. U know he suffered.” was all he ever said.

You told yourself it was him speaking about karma. It was something you talked about believing in a long time ago. How everyone always gets there comeuppance. So that had to be it.

Later that night, after dishes clinked in the sink and the smell of takeout lingered, you caught him standing at the window, staring out into the street.

“Elias?” you called softly.

He didn’t turn. “Just lookin’,” he said, voice low.

“At what?”

“Nothin’.” He shook it off as if it were nothing, he was merely daydreaming.

The street outside was empty except for a single black hoodie hanging from a lamppost—Halloween decoration maybe, fluttering in the breeze. You pressed your hand to his back. His muscles were tense, solid as stone.

“You sure you okay?” you asked.

He nodded once. “Yeah. Just… October always feels like somethin’s waitin’ to happen.”

You smiled faintly. “Mmm like there’s a masked murderer on the lose, gunnin’ just for you?”

He laughed, tension breaking. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He pulled you closer, chin resting on your shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”

“You tell me enough,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he said again, quieter this time. “But I don’t say why.”

You turned, meeting his gaze. “Then tell me.”

He hesitated. For a second, the mask slipped. His eyes were dark—not just deep brown, but hollowed, haunted.

“’Cause you make me forget,” he said. “You make me feel like I’m somebody else. Somebody better.”

The words hung between you, too heavy for a night that should’ve been light. Before you could answer, he leaned in and kissed you—slow, grounding, desperate.

You felt him shake against your lips. Just a tremor. But enough to notice.

You wanted to ask forget what?—but you didn’t.

Because the night was too warm, and he was holding you too tight, and touching you as if it were the last time.

The next morning, the light came soft and gold through the blinds. You woke before he did, tangled up in his arms, his breath steady against your neck. For a moment it was perfect-warm, safe, ordinary.

Then you felt him twitch.

Not the sleepy kind of movement. A full-body jolt, like someone startled awake mid-nightmare. You turned in his arms just as his eyes snapped open.

"Hey," you whispered. "Bad dream?"

He blinked, then shook his head. "No. Just... thought I heard somethin"

You didn't. The apartment was still except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of a distant lawnmower.

He got up, shirtless, tattoos catching the sunlight, and walked to the window. You watched his shoulders tighten.

than you meant.

He didn't smile. Just stared out at the street until you came up behind him and slipped your arms around his waist.

"It's just the neighbors hangin' decorations," you said. "Halloween's next week, remember?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "Hard to forget."

He stayed like that for a while, silent, his heartbeat heavy under your ear. Then he pressed a kiss to your forehead and forced a grin.

"We goin' to that party?"

"You mean the one you swore you didn’t wanna go to because Kesha was hosting it this year ?" you teased.

"Yeah, well. I changed my mind."

You smiled up at him, but something in his eyes didn't match the easy tone. They looked... resigned. Like he'd already made peace with something he couldn't tell you.

A few days later, while vacuuming, you find a mask under the bed - white rubber, black-hooded, the stretched mouth of Ghostface. It smells faintly of smoke and metal. When you hold it up, Smoke laughs, maybe too loud.

"It's for the party," he says. "Thought I'd surprise you."

You nod, believing him.

After all he did didn’t know that Scream was your favorite scary movie franchise.

Halloween night arrived like it had been waiting for you.

The street shimmered in orange and purple lights; jack-o'-lanterns glowed crooked grins on porches, and the air smelled like cheap fog machines and caramel. Music thudded from a few blocks down— friends, costumes, a chance to forget Smoke's mood these past few days.

He didn't dress up at first. Said he wasn't in the spirit. But you caught him watching you from the doorway as you adjusted your costume in the mirror—a little black dress, a mask with glitter edges, and a devil tail that made him smile in spite of himselt.

"You sure you wanna go?" he asked, voice low, lazy.

"You sure you don't?" you teased. "Could use some fun. It's just one night."

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands. "Just one."

You didn't notice the small black duffel by the couch when you left. You didn't see him zip it shut.

The music hit you before you reached the porch—bass rattling through your ribs, laughter spilling out into the October night. Someone had gone all-in on the decorations: cobwebs in the hedges, fake tombstones on the lawn, a skeleton slouched in a lawn chair with a beer in its hand.

Smoke’s hand rested at the small of your back as you climbed the steps. “You sure about this?” he asked, half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“Uh uh nigga don’t start. We already hear, you the one who called and told me to wait for you. ” you reminded him, as he held the door open for you chuckling. Heat, noise, perfume, and spilled beer rushed out to meet you as you pushed through the sea of people.

Doechi’s “Spookie Coochie” slapped —bass deep enough to make the walls breathe, the smell of liquor, beer, perfume, sweat, and plastic from dollar-store cobwebs. Costumes ranging from gory to slutty. You were already laughing when Smoke tugged you through the foyer of the giant house, the one everyone in the small town somehow ended up at every Halloween. The night outside had that California warmth that refused to die, but inside it felt like August in hell.

“Oh it’s lit in here,” he said yelling over the music .

When you turn back, he’s there — black hoodie, Ghostface mask gleaming. The crowd whoops as he lifts a plastic knife in greeting. The Halloween party throbs with bass and sweat. Orange lights pulse over the crowd.

You laughed shaking your head as yall headed to get a drink.

Smoke hovered near you at first, mask pushes up to the top of his head, one arm slung easy around your shoulders, eyes scanning every mask that passed.

“Relax,” you said, grinning up at him. “You look like security, not my man.”

“Maybe I’m both,” he muttered, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You lost him sometime after your second drink. A friend dragged you onto the dance floor, lights strobing orange-purple across fake cobwebs and half-deflated balloons. Someone spilled cider down your arm; you laughed it off. Somewhere behind you a Ghostface brushed past, robe whispering against your leg. There were a dozen of them tonight—no reason to think twice.

By your fourth song and third drink, you were glowing with sweat and sugar, everything soft around the edges. When the same Ghostface appeared again—tall, broad shoulders, the robe hanging familiar—you just smiled.

“Took you long enough,” you teased.

No answer. He only tilted his head, knife prop glinting in the light.

“Oh, we’re doing the whole act now?”

A nod. Then a gloved hand sliding to your waist.

He smelled like Smoke. Same cologne, same low heat rolling off his body. The voice behind the mask when he finally spoke—low, distorted by fabric—made your pulse skip.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”

You laughed, half-tipsy, half-thrilled, and followed him upstairs. The hallway was quieter, the music a heartbeat below your feet. You thought about the first time Smoke had kissed you, that same quiet gravity before everything spun.

He closed the door behind you. The room was dim except for the orange glow from a plastic pumpkin lamp. The mask gleamed white in the dark.

“You’re takin’ this horror thing serious,” you joked, leaning back against the door.

You think it’s the costume, the night, the adrenaline. Something in him feels unfamiliar—hungrier—but you like the danger humming beneath the surface. When you reach for the mask, he catches your wrist.

“Leave it,” he says.

“Didn’t know we were role-playing,” you whisper.

“Go with it,” he says, voice low, distorted through the mask.

He stepped closer until you could feel his breath through the mesh. The mask lifted just enough for you to see his mouth—familiar curve, faint scar on the lip—and then he kissed you. Harder, hungrier than usual. The plastic edge pressed cool against your cheek; his hands found your hips, rough and sure. You tasted beer and heat and something metallic that shouldn’t have been there.

For a second you pulled back.

Your heartbeat tripped. The room tilted; maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was him. You let the mask drop back down and reached for him anyway. The next few minutes blurred into motion—his breath against your throat, the faint rasp of gloves against skin, your body remembering what to do even while your mind floated somewhere between excitement and wrongness. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the thrill of fucking in a semi public place, the adrenaline of almost being caught egging you on. The confusion melted into surrender, heartbeat pacing with his, until everything went quiet except for the sound of the mask shifting when he bent to your ear.

Something in his tone—low, commanding—sent a shiver down your spine. You told yourself it was Smoke playing around, that it was fine, that you liked the game.

He kissed you harder. His hands were rougher, less careful, tracing the outline of your costume, gripping your hips like he needed to feel proof you were real.

The front buttons of your nurse costume completely open leaving your lace bra and matching panties on full display. They panties were crotchless, a gift you had for Smoke later, but now what a much better time considering how turned on you were.

There was nothing left but heat. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the thrill of not knowing what he’d do next. You let yourself drift into the rhythm—his breath, your heartbeat, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath you.

“Fuck, y/n.” He groaned as he bottomed out. Thumb lazily drawing circles on your clit as he adjusted to the feel of your walls around him.

When he whispered your name, it sounded almost right. Almost. You told yourself the roughness was part of the game, that the little differences were just adrenaline. Because the stretch of him was always welcomed.

The filth he whispered in your ear as he pounded into you had you cumming almost instantly.

The world narrowed to motion and sound—the thud of music below, the brush of fabric, the muffled rasp of his breathing behind the mask. Every time you thought he’d stop, he pulled you closer.

It ended in a blur of breath and heartbeat. You collapsed against him, laughing softly, dizzy from the rush.

“You’re insane,” you murmured, smiling against the mask.

“You’re crazy,” you murmured, smiling against the mask, playfully hitting his chest. “Take the mask off already.”

He didn’t move. Just straightened it.

You frowned, still smiling. “Smoke?”

Then a noise — a door hitting a wall — cleaves the silence.

A voice you know, raw and terrified:

“Yo— what the hell is this?”

The figure pressed against you stiffens. You twist toward the sound. The door burst open; another Smoke stands in the doorway, no mask, eyes wide as a mirror.

“Who the—” you begin, but the man behind you laughs, low and delighted.

“Baby?” he gasped.

The figure beside you turned, slow, measured. The mask lifted completely this time, and in that instant you saw it wasn’t Smoke at all—same face, same mouth, but colder, amused. For a second your mind refuses to split them; the room doubles.

“Trick or treat,” Stack said softly.

"Stack," says Smoke, voice breaking.

"I’m hurt you didn’t tell her about me."

The knife that had looked like a toy catches light-real, wet, wrong. You back away, the walls tilting.

“Smoke, what the fuck is going on?” Voice barely above a whisper as Smoke cautiously moves closer positioning himself between you and his twin. 

“Everything’s gon be okay baby,” Smoke says voice low.

“Liar.” Laughed, his identical counterpart.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun bruh.” Stack smiled, manly knife in his hand, twisting back-and-forth, blade catching the light.

 Smoke didn't answer right away, just kept his eyes on Stack, tone sharp but strange, too steady. "Put the knife down. You don't want this to go bad."

Stack's grin widened. "Oh, I think we do."

"Let her go." Smoke's voice rose, half-pleading, half-command. "You don't need to do this."

"You always say that," Stack murmured. "But you never mean it."

You pushed past the confusion, clutching Smoke's sleeve. "Smoke, please-we have to go! He- we need the police. Kesha’s boyfriend is here let’s just get him and go!"

He kept his eyes on Stack, hand tightening around yours. "Put the knife down. Don't make me do something stupid."

Stack laughed, low and delighted. "You already did."

The tension in the room pulled tight. Music from downstairs trembled through the floorboards, a warped heartbeat. Smoke stepped sideways, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

"Stay behind me," he said, voice sharp.

You believed him. Panic surged; you looked toward the door-open, your way out. “Fuck this!”

Smoke moved first. The slam of the door shook the frame, the sound cutting clean through the music, causing you to flinch.

His palm stayed flat against the wood.

You took that half-second as an opening, turned toward the door, heart pounding. "Smoke, come on-let's go!"

"Baby," Smoke said, voice almost gentle, almost pleading. "I can’t let you do that."

"What?"

He swallowed hard, eyes never meeting yours. "I can't let you go. Not now."

Stack chuckled behind you, the sound low and delighted. "Told you she'd run. They always do."

Smoke's jaw clenched.

You blinked between them, backing as far away from both of them as possible, a chill crawling up your spine. “Smoke… what’s happening?”

Neither answered. Stack’s laugh filled the space instead—soft, delighted. “She still doesn’t get it.”

Smoke crossed the room slowly. Every step was measured. The mask lay between them on the floor, its hollow eyes staring at the ceiling. He stopped in front of you, reaching out to brush his thumb along your cheek. The touch was tender, almost reverent.

“I wanted this to last,” he said. “You made me think I could stop.”

Stack’s smile widened. “But you couldn’t.”

Smoke shook his head. “Couldn’t.”

His eyes stayed on you. “You make a man forget what he is, baby. But forgetting never lasts.”

Your breath hitched; your body finally understood what your mind refused.

“Elías, this is a joke right?.” Your voice shook

Stack moved to the doorway, watching like an audience member who already knew the ending. “Tell her, brother. Tell her how good we used to be.”

Smoke’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Stack got caught. I didn’t. We planned it—he’d draw the heat, I’d stay clean till he came back. And you…” His hand lingered against your jaw. “You were supposed to be a story I told myself while I waited.”

Stack chuckled. “She was a good story.”

Something in Smoke’s face flickered—love, regret, hunger tangled together. For one long beat, the room went still except for the muffled bass beneath the floor.

“ I wanted to last longer you know? Pretend for just to a little more.” He paused. “I did love you,” he said quietly. “But that’s not enough.”

The sound that followed wasn’t loud—just sharp, fast, final.

Your eyes travel down one of your hands, leave the side of his face, touching your stomach and now covered in blood from the knife he had shoved into it.

“Elías..” a single tear rolled down your face.

For a heartbeat, Smoke looked at you the way he used to—tender, tired, something like love underneath the ruin.

“I really did care,” he murmured, holding the knife in place, both of hands covering his as you looked at him in shock and horror. “You made it easy to forget what I am.”

Then, to Stack: “Make it quick.”

The motion that followed was fast, a blur of light and sound—the rasp of fabric, the sharp exhale of breath, the music downstairs swallowing a portion of a scream that turned into the sound of gurgling. The twins stood there watching as you choked on the blood sprayed from your neck.

Silence after.

Stack wiped the blade on the bedspread, grin widening. “Still got it.”

Smoke kneels beside you. His face is calm, almost tender. He brushes his thumb across your cheek; warmth and chill mingle.

For an instant he looks like the man who carved pumpkins with you, the man who woke shaking from dreams. Then his eyes clear, flat and empty.

Still he just stood there, jaw tight, then reached down and pulled the blanket up over you with a strange, careful neatness.

"It was nice pretending," he said again, almost to himself.

Stack stepped past him toward the door. "Come on. Party's still goin. No one'll hear a thing."

They walked out together. The door shut with a soft click. The bass from below surged back to life, muffled laughter echoing through the floorboards.

On the landing, Stack tugged the Ghostface mask back into place.

"You really liked her," he said.

Smoke's voice was barely audible. "Yeah. I did."

Stack clapped him on the back. "Don't look so sad. There'll be more."

Smoke said nothing. They reached the bottom of the stairs, orange light flashing across the mask one last time before the door opened and the noise of the party swallowed them whole.