#stack moore x reader

Silence. Just the heavy, frantic sound of his breathing. Then a broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. M'sorry. Can’t stop. Not when it’s you."​

Your breath stutters, a prickle of heat blooming low in your belly. "You’re getting off to me? On the damn phone?"

​"Every time," he admits, his voice rough and needy, but with a sudden edge of raw honesty. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel the weight of it. "Think about you all the time. That mouth. Those tits. The way your ass looks in those shorts." His pace picks up, the slick, lewd sounds of his hand working his dick filling the line. "Fuck, I’d do anything to see you ride me, just once. Just to see what that look on your face is like when I’m deep inside you."

​You bite your lip, your pulse kicking against your throat. "That’s disgusting. Using my voice to get your nut. You’re nasty."​

He groans like you’ve just blessed him with a touch. "Yeah, I know. But you're all I think about... you’re the only thing that gets me this hard."​

"That's nice, honey. But you really shouldn't think of me like that... you know we're just friends," you murmur, your own hand sliding down to rest heavy on your thigh, the silk of your shorts cool against your palm.​

"Don’t say that." His tone cuts sharp now, all the nice playfulness you've come to love is gone. "I’m not your fucking friend. You call me every day. You tell me you love me. I told you from the start—I’m not your friend." His breath hitches, the wet sounds of his fist speeding up, becoming more frantic. "You let me talk to you like this. And you let me—You let me be in your life knowing how I feel about you."​

Your acrylic nail drags slow across your bottom lip. "Maybe. But I can't give you what you want, and I do love you, but don't throw it in my face," you drawl, a cruel, satisfied smirk pulling at your mouth.

"It’s kinda sad. Stroking your dick to a girl you’ll never have. We'll never be together. I’ll never let you fuck me. All you get is your hand."

​He chokes out a moan, his hips snapping up into his fist with a raw, mechanical rhythm. "Yeah? Then give me something else. Show me. Facetime me, ma. Please."​

You hesitate, the heat pooling heavy and agonizing between your thighs. Then, you click over.​

The screen flickers to life. His camera is shaking, his breath filling the dark room. Sweat beads at his temples, his face flushed a deep, beautiful bronze, his lips parted. You know that tremor in the camera—it’s the force of his fist moving fast.​

"Thank you," he exhales, the word almost reverent as he takes in your appearance.

​"Hi, baby. Let me see your face," you don't ask it like a question. You order it.​

He obeys instantly. His face fills the screen, his jaw tight and corded, his sharp fade a bit messy from the heat and the friction.

​"You look good," you compliment, but the little laugh that follows makes it sting.

​"Keep talking." He’s close, you can hear the strain in his voice. "Don't stop."​

"I want to see."​

He blinks, his eyes glazed and dark. "What?"

​"I'm not repeating myself."

​He lets out a breathless, desperate laugh, knowing your patience is thin. "Take your shirt off then. Let me see what I'm working for."​

You narrow your eyes at the audacity, but you reach down and tug the pajama top off anyway. Your lace bra catches the light, the fabric straining against the fullness of your breasts. You don’t cover yourself; he’s seen you in less, and you want him to see exactly what he’s missing.

​"Fuck," he groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. He flips the camera.​

Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry. His dick is a complete mess—his fist is working tight and fast, the dark, veined length of him glistening with pre-cum. White streaks of cum are already dried tacky over his thighs from previous rounds, and his stomach is flexing with every pull. His abs are glistening, his skin slick with sweat. His thumb smears a fresh bead of precum over the flushed, velvet head until it gleams, dripping onto his knuckles.

​You bite your lip hard, heat twisting through your belly, your shorts already sticking damp between your thighs.

​His moan rips through the line, a guttural, animal sound.​

You whisper his name, your voice low, trembling, and possessive. "... I really want you in my mouth."​

His head snaps back against the pillow, a broken curse ripped from his lungs. "If I had you here? I’d fuck that throat till you cried. Till you gagged around me and begged for air. I’d hold your head and make you take every fucking inch."​

You hum, a low, taunting vibration. "You’re not tough enough for that."​

That pulls a dark, dangerous laugh from him. His hand works faster, the veins straining down his forearm. "Say that shit again. I’d hold your face down and shove my dick so deep you’ll feel me in your chest. I’ll make you swallow every drop."

​Your thighs squeeze together, wetness soaking through the crotch of your shorts. "All talk. You’d fold the second it touched my tongue."​

He groans, deep and pained. "God, you drive me fucking insane." His breath stutters, then—"Take your bra off for me. Now."

​You tilt your head, slow and teasing. "You want a show?"​

"Take it off." His voice is rough, a plea threaded with a hard command.

​You hook your fingers into the lace, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it fall. Your breasts sit full and heavy in the camera’s glow, your nipples tight and peaked in the cool air.​

He chokes on his own breath. "God, look at you. Perfect. Fucking perfect."​

Your fingers lift, tugging lightly at one nipple, rolling it between your fingers. "Like this, baby?"​

His hand drags hard down his dick, the slick sound of it filling your ears. "Yeah—play with them for me. Pinch ‘em. Roll ‘em." His eyes roll back for a second, his mouth slack. "Fuck—I wanna cum all over those tits. Paint you, watch it drip down your stomach. You’d look so good messy with my cum."​

You coo, your voice dirty and soft. "Yeah, baby? You wanna ruin me like that? Wanna cover me ‘cause I’m yours?" You pinch harder, moaning low. "Mmh, I’d let you do it however you want."​

His hips jerk up into his fist, his cock flushed dark, thick, and veined. The head is shiny with slick, and your eyes stay locked on it, transfixed by the weight of him in his palm.​

You whisper, almost reverent. "I can’t stop watching your hands. They're so big and veiny. So strong. You're twitching in your grip—look at you, baby. All that for me."

​He groans raggedly, his fist slapping wetly down the length of his shaft. "All for you. Always for you." His voice cracks, desperate. "Squeeze 'em, touch your tits harder. Let me see you play with those pretty nipples."

​You squeeze your breast, pinch your nipple harder, tugging it until you gasp, your eyes locked on his fist pumping. The sound of it—wet, obscene, skin slapping skin—is the only thing in the world.​

"Fuck," he grits out, his voice frayed. "I’d drag you down and smear every drop over you. I wanna fill you up."

​You laugh softly, mean but sweet. "Yeah? You’d mark me up? Cover me so everybody knows this pussy’s yours? Even though you’ll never get to fuck it?"​

He groans, almost breaking under the weight of the tease. "Stop—don’t say that. I’d fuck you stupid, ma. I’d split you open. Make you cry for me."​

You hum, stroking your breast with slow, deliberate circles. "I bet you would. But right now? All you’ve got is your hand. And me watching."​

His grip tightens, his strokes becoming rough and fast. His stomach flexes, his breath tearing ragged from his chest. You lean close to the screen, your voice low and syrup-thick.​

"Cum for me, baby."​

He moans, a high, guttural sound.​

"Yeah," you coax, squeeze your breast, shifting them again, "make a mess for me. Let me see you shoot it all over yourself. Come on. Show me how much you want me."​

"Fuck—" His hips stutter up into his fist. Precum spills slick down his shaft, his knuckles shiny and wet.

​"Begging you, sweetheart," you whisper, cruel and filthy. "Paint yourself for me. Cover that stomach, those big hands—show me what I do to you."​

He chokes, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw locked tight as his body begins to coil for the release. "M’close—oh fuck, I’m gonna—"​

"Do it," you purr, sharp and commanding. "Cum for me, baby. Now."

​His whole body jerks. A shout rips from his throat, raw and primal, as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his hand, his chest, dripping down his stomach in heavy white streaks. He pumps through the release, groaning brokenly, the cum splattering messy and hot across his skin.

​You sigh, watching the way it looks against his skin, your voice turning sweet again. "That’s it. Good boy. Look at that dick, dripping for me. You made such a mess."

​He’s panting, ruined, his hand still twitching around his softening length. "Fuck... fuck, I love you."

​You tilt the camera, watching him still sprawled—sweat dripping, stomach streaked with cum, hand twitching.

​"Mmh," you hum, soft and wicked, "look what you did, baby. Got me all wet."

​His head snaps up, eyes heavy but blazing. "Show me."

​You smirk, slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, dragging the damp fabric aside. Glossy, honey-thick strings pull as you spread yourself open, the phone angled just enough to flash him a glimpse of your soaking wet center. "See that? All for you."

​He groans, his chest heaving. "Touch it for me. Play with yourself—please, ma."​

Your laugh is low and cruel. "Not a chance. You already got your show."​

His jaw tightens, his voice rough. "Don't play with me. You don't let me watch, I'll make you beg next time. I'll make you sorry."​

You lean close to the screen, your smirk sharp and triumphant. "Try me. You don't scare me, baby. I said no."​

His fist curls against his stomach, frustration pouring through the camera. "Then... at least—fuck—at least let me listen. Please. Let me hear it."

​You bite your lip, dragging your fingers slow through your slickness, making yourself whimper. "You’re nasty."

​"Yeah," he rasps, desperate. "For you. Only for you."​

You sigh, soft and sweet, pressing two fingers against your clit until your hips twitch. "Fine. You can listen. But that’s it. Just your ears."

​Your moans slip out, low and syrupy, filling the line. His breath shudders at the sound, ruined but hungry again. Your fingers circle your clit, the wet, squelching sounds of your own pleasure bleeding into the line. You bite your lip, letting a whimper slip, knowing he’s eating every sound alive.​

"That’s it," he rasps, his voice still raw from cumming. "Rub that pretty pussy for me. God, I wanna be there so bad—wanna hold your thighs open and eat you till you’re crying."​

Your head tips back, your breath shaky. "Mghn—You talk so nasty, baby."​

"You don’t even know," he grits out. "I’d spread you out and pound that pussy till you scream. I’d fuck you till you smell like me. I'd never let you leave the bed."​

A moan rips out of you, high and breathless. Your fingers circle faster, your hips rolling up off the bed as the tension coils.

​"You like that?" he groans. "Knowing how bad I want you? Tell me you’ll give it up one day. Tell me I’ll get to fuck you for real."​

Your laugh cuts sharp and shaky. "N-No, baby. You’ll never have me like that."​

He curses, a guttural sound of frustration. "Fuck. You’re killing me, ma."​

Your moans rise, sharper now, your body coiling tight. "Keep talking. Don't stop."

​He obeys, his voice a low, gravelly anchor. "I’d hold your hips down. Spit in your mouth while I fuck you raw. Fill you up and make you go for hours."​

That does it—your back arches, your thighs clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you. A sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers working frantically over your clit as waves of pleasure slam through your body. You gasp his name, shuddering and trembling, your juices dripping messy against your hand.​

He groans raggedly, listening to the sound of your break like it’s gospel. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl."​

You collapse back, chest heaving, sweat dampening your skin. You let out a low, satisfied hum. "Oh, shit... see what you did? You made me cum, handsome."

​His breath hitches on the other end, broken and reverent. "...I’d do anything to see that."​

Your breathing slows, your chest still rising and falling heavy. Your fingers slip from your soaked folds, leaving a wet sheen on your thighs. The line is quiet except for the sound of you both catching your breath.

He’s the first to break it, his voice ragged. "Man... I swear, one day—"​

You cut him off with a sweet, dismissive little laugh, curling back into your pillow and pulling the covers up. "Shh. Don’t start again."

​The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the things he wants to say. You can feel the ache in his voice, how close he is to spilling confessions you aren't ready to hear. So you give him something else. Something cruel, but honest.​

"Thank you," you murmur, soft and sweet. Almost tender. "I love you so much, baby."​

The phone goes quiet. You can picture him—eyes wide, lips parted, his heart clenching around those words. You know exactly what you’ve done to him.​

You smile to yourself, curling the blanket over your bare chest. "Good night."​

And you hang up before he can even find his voice to answer.

★𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈★

Dividers by @sweetparty

Still, no matter how tough you acted, there was something that always drew in men. It was a competition almost. Any time you walked home from the schoolhouse at age 16, you heard them talkin'. The boys. Betting on who could secure a kiss first, maybe a date.

"First one to kiss the farmer’s daughter gets braggin’ rights for life," one of ‘em would say, real cocky. Like you were a trophy instead of a person.

But you weren’t some daisy to be picked. You were wild thistle — sharp, stubborn, and grown in hard soil.

None of those boys ever made it past your front gate. One tried and ended up limping back home with a busted lip and a bruised ego. After that, they mostly kept their distance. Called you a spitfire. A man’s girl. Trouble wrapped in curls and sunburn.

And maybe they were right.

You didn’t care much for dresses, or dancing, or sitting pretty at socials. You cared about the land, about your daddy, about making it through the droughts and the hard winters. You were proud of the calluses on your hands and the dirt under your nails. You knew how to clean a gun, break a horse, and break a man’s nose if need be. You didn’t need anyone — and that scared the hell out of every suitor that came sniffin’.

Until Stack Moore.

He was the opposite of his brother, though they were both law breakers. They'd come back into town like a storm, claiming it back again when they got sick of being men of war or taking over Chicago. They brought money, they brought booze, and they regained the enemies they'd always had before.

Your daddy knew exactly what type the Smokestack twins were. That's why he was so put out the day Stack spoke to you.

It was hotter than hell that afternoon, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer off the dirt road. You were hitchin’ the mule to the wagon outside the general store, sweat rollin’ down your spine, dust clingin’ to your boots. Stack leaned against a post with a matchstick between his teeth, lookin’ like the devil dressed in Sunday black — suspenders off his shoulders, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your throat go dry.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" he drawled.

You didn’t answer him. Just wiped your brow and kept workin’, jaw tight, heart louder than it oughta been. You felt his eyes on you like heat from a fire. That was the first time he spoke to you.

You grunted, finally getting it hitched, before glancing up at Stack with irritated (and curious, though you wouldn't admit it) eyes.

"I got it. Somethin' I can help you with, Stack?" You responded coldly. In a moment, your daddy would be coming out of the store. He wouldn't take kindly to Stack chatting you up.

Stack smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world and not a care who saw him spending it on you. That matchstick rolled between his teeth as he looked you over, not lewd, not disrespectful — but bold. Real bold.

"Nah, darlin’. Just figured I’d say howdy," he said, voice molasses-smooth with that slick edge he and his brother hadn’t lost, even after years in the city. "Hard not to, when you’re standin’ there lookin’ like trouble in a skirt."

You narrowed your eyes. "Keep talkin’ like that, and you’ll find yourself wearin’ that matchstick in your eye."

He laughed — a warm, low sound that made something flutter deep in your belly, though you kept your scowl firm. He liked that. You could tell. The way his head tilted slightly, his eyes sharpened like he was memorizing the way your mouth twitched when you were pissed.

"I like a woman who bites," he said.

You opened your mouth to fire back, but the screen door of the store slapped shut behind you. Daddy stepped out with his purchase — a sack of flour and a bottle of tonic. His boots hit the porch with that heavy rhythm that always said someone was about to get corrected.

Stack’s smirk didn’t fade, but he straightened up. He tipped his hat slow and easy, like he wasn’t worried one bit about the man standing between him and a shallow grave.

"Afternoon, Mr. L/N," Stack said, polite as a preacher.

Your daddy didn’t respond. Just stared Stack down, eyes like steel under the brim of his weather-beaten hat. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick and dangerous.

"You got business here?" your daddy asked, voice flat.

"Just admirin’ the view," Stack replied, not looking away from him — but the weight of his words sat heavy between you and your daddy. Like a line drawn in the dust.

You cleared your throat, loud enough to break the moment. "We done here, Daddy?"

Your father gave Stack one more look — the kind that could kill a lesser man — before nodding to you. "Yeah. Let’s get home. Storm’s comin’."

You climbed into the wagon without another word, trying not to think about how your skin still tingled from Stack’s gaze. As the mule started off, you glanced back once, just once — and saw him watching you, arms crossed, eyes lit up like he’d just spotted a gold vein in a rock.

It was the first time Stack Moore spoke to you. And the last time you knew peace for a long while.

When you got home, Daddy cleared his throat awkwardly, cleaning his gun in the common room of the house.

"Y/N." He called to you from where you stood in the kitchen.

You paused, hands deep in the dish basin, the soapy water stinging a nick on your finger you hadn’t noticed ‘til now. His voice was gruff, but there was something under it — something tight. Wary. Protective in that way only a father could be when he knew his daughter had just caught the eye of a wildfire in a man’s body.

"Yes, sir?" you called back, wiping your hands on a dish rag as you stepped through the archway into the common room.

He didn’t look up right away. Just kept running the cloth over the barrel of his Winchester with a quiet, deliberate focus. You could tell he was turning something over in his head, chewing on it like a dog with a bone.

"Stack Moore," he finally said, like the name tasted bad. "You stay away from him."

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.

"Didn’t plan on inviting him for supper," you muttered, crossing your arms.

Daddy looked up then — sharp and dead serious. "I ain’t jokin’, girl. That boy’s got blood on his hands and more comin’. His kind don’t leave nothin’ but ruin behind."

You didn’t say anything. Mostly ‘cause you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. It was the first time a man had looked at you like you were a woman and not just the farmer’s wild daughter in scuffed boots. And maybe that was dangerous. Maybe Daddy was right. But maybe you didn’t give a damn.

"I know you think you’re grown,” he went on, his voice softening a bit, “but there’s men out there who take one look at a girl like you and see a challenge. Not a future. Stack Moore’s one of ‘em."

You swallowed, throat dry. "I’m not stupid."

"I didn’t say you were. I said he’s trouble. And I’ll be damned if I let him put you in harm’s way."

Silence hung between you. Thick as molasses. You could hear the wind picking up outside, dust scratching against the shutters. Storm was comin’, alright. But it wasn’t just in the sky.

You finally nodded. "I hear you."

He held your eyes for a long moment.

"You're better off with that Boone. If you really hafta marry. He's a nice boy and ain't gonna put you out when he has his fill."

Boone was a ranch hand your daddy had hired. He wasn't unattractive, no. He was tall, strong, worked with a smile and never complained. His parents were respectful and they were fans of how your daddy did business. Boone was who you should've been with, if you gave any man a chance.

He'd been pining after you since the two of you were sixteen.

You rolled your eyes, smirking in amusement.

"You like Boone so much, why ain't you marryin' him?"

Daddy’s face went dark, like you'd just knocked over a beehive.

"I’m your father. I make the calls ‘round here."

I folded my arms and leaned against the table, matching his glare. "Ain’t no law says I gotta marry the man you pick."

He set the gun down with a heavy thud. "It ain’t about law, girl. It’s about keepin’ you safe. Boone’s steady. He don’t bring trouble like those Moore boys."

You groaned.

"I ain’t sayin’ I’m takin’ up with Stack. But don’t reckon I’m gonna be Boone’s bride just ‘cause you want it."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re stubborn as a mule, just like your mama."

You knew that was the final word.

But that night, long after the lights were out and the crickets had taken over the silence, you found yourself sittin’ on the edge of your bed, fingers twitchin’, heart restless. Because even though you’d said you understood, and even though you knew what kind of man Stack Moore was…

You also knew you weren’t the kind of girl who turned her head away from fire.

Your friend Lizzie had to beg you to go out.

"I swear, Y/N, one night won’t kill you," she said, tugging at your arm as you rolled your eyes. "You need to dance. Laugh. Hell, even just drink something that ain’t water or dust."

You weren’t exactly the type for blues clubs or lipstick-stained whiskey glasses, but Lizzie had that kind of persistence that wore you down like river water over stone. So by the time the sun dipped low and the sky bled pink, you were dressed — not dolled up like the city girls, but enough to turn a few heads in town: a dark skirt that hugged your hips, boots polished cleaner than usual, and your wild curls pinned just enough to look like you tried.

Club Juke was loud, smoky, and packed to the rafters. Lights glowed like sin on velvet, blues players' moaned from the corner stage, and the air buzzed with liquor and secrets. You followed Lizzie in, your fingers hooked into the belt loop of her dress, and tried not to flinch when a man brushed too close or looked too long.

You made it to the bar and ordered something you didn’t even hear over the noise — some whiskey drink served in a chipped glass. Lizzie had already pulled a fella onto the dance floor, leaving you with a half-sip of burn down your throat and the sudden awareness that someone was watching you.

You didn’t have to look far.

There he was. Stack.

Sitting in a corner booth like he owned the place (because he did), sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, smoke from a lit cigar curling around his jaw. His eyes were on you, unmoving. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just looked like he’d found exactly what he came here for.

Your pulse jumped. Damn it all.

You turned back to the bar, heart thudding. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d —

A warm voice slid in behind your ear like a sin on Sunday morning.

"Well now," Stack drawled, low and slow, "ain’t you a sight. Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this."

You didn’t turn around. Just took another sip of your drink, ignoring the heat rolling off him in waves.

"Didn’t come for you," you said coolly.

He chuckled. "Maybe not. But I figure fate don’t give a damn."

He moved beside you, close enough that your elbows brushed. You could smell leather, smoke, and something sharper — danger, maybe. He rested his forearms on the bar and nodded to the bartender.

"Two of whatever she’s drinkin’."

You shot him a glare. "What’re you doin’, Stack?"

He looked at you then — really looked — and for a moment, the noise of the club faded under his steady gaze.

"Tryin’ to figure out why a girl raised to fear me keeps lookin’ like she’s itchin’ to find out what makes me so damn interesting."

You swallowed.

Then, you fixed the usual glare back onto your face.

"Well, what the hell makes me so interesting? Everyone with a dick in this town can't look away."

Stack barked a quiet laugh, low and raspy, like he wasn’t expecting you to come back that sharp — but damn if he didn’t like it. He leaned in just a hair closer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again, that grin of his growing just a little wider, a little darker.

"What makes you interesting?" he echoed, voice like smoke. "You walk into a room like you own the land under everyone’s feet. You don’t smile unless you mean it, and you don’t flinch at a man like me." He tilted his head, still watching you. "That kinda thing makes folks look. Makes ‘em wonder."

You crossed your arms, hip cocked, not letting him get the upper hand. "You mean it makes ‘em bet. Run their mouths. Act like they got a chance."

Stack shrugged. "Let ‘em. Boys bet. Men watch. I’m just here enjoyin’ the view."

You scoffed. "You’re all the same."

His expression shifted then — just a flicker of something deeper beneath the charm. He leaned in again, but this time his voice dropped lower, real low, just for you.

"No, darlin’. If I were like them, I’d already be braggin’ about what I could do to you. Not sittin’ here waitin’ to see what you’ll let me do."

That shut you up for a second. Long enough for the air between you to grow thick and heavy.

Before you could fire back, the music kicked into a new number — a slow, sultry blues rhythm that rolled across the club like honey.

Stack held out a hand. "Dance with me."

You looked at his hand like it might bite you.

"I don’t dance."

He smirked. "Then just stand close and sway. I promise I bite softer than I look."

You stared at him, heart thudding somewhere stupid.

And then, without knowing why, you placed your hand in his.

His palm was warm. His grip was gentle. And your daddy’s voice was nowhere in your head when Stack pulled you onto the floor like he’d been waitin’ his whole damn life for this.

The floor didn’t feel real under your boots.

Stack's hand rested firm against the small of your back, pulling you close — but not too close. Just enough to feel the heat rollin' off him in waves, enough to smell the faint scent of whiskey and smoke on his collar. Your fingers hovered just barely on his shoulder, stiff at first, like you were afraid of giving in.

"You’re stiff as a fence post," he murmured against your temple, voice rough and warm. "Ain’t nobody lookin’ to bite."

"You just told me you were," you shot back, eyes narrowing even as you swayed to the rhythm.

That earned a quiet chuckle from him — one that rumbled in his chest and traveled straight through you.

The music curled around the two of you like a fog, blues guitar crooning through the haze of cigar smoke and perfume. Other dancers swayed nearby, but none quite like you and Stack. You moved like magnets pulling in, fighting it, pulling in again. A war with no guns — just glances, breath, and the occasional accidental brush of leg against leg.

His thumb stroked a small, deliberate circle at the back of your waist. You stiffened — just slightly — and he caught it.

"You alright, spitfire?" he asked, voice a low purr. "Ain’t used to men touchin’ you, or just not used to likin’ it?"

You glared up at him, lips parting to throw fire — but the words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the warmth blooming beneath your ribs.

"…You think just ‘cause you talk smooth, I’m gonna fall at your feet?" you finally snapped.

Stack leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed the edge of your jaw.

"No," he said. "I think you’ll fight me every inch of the way. And I like a fight."

The tension snapped taut between you, so tight it hummed. His hand slid just a breath lower on your back. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t pulling away, either.

"I ain’t your conquest," you muttered.

"No," Stack said, eyes locked to yours like a vow. "You’re the kind of woman a man earns. Or dies tryin’."

The music slowed to a crawl. The last long note of a saxophone kissed the silence.

Neither of you moved.

You didn’t know who leaned in first — but suddenly your face was inches from his. Lips barely apart. Breath tangled.

"Lord.. If you ain't the devil."

His mouth curved just slightly — not a smile, not quite — something darker. Hungrier.

"Then what’s that make you, sweetheart?" he murmured, breath brushing your lips. "The lamb wanderin’ into the fire… or the flame that keeps draggin’ me back to hell?"

You blinked up at him, your heart thudding so loud you swore the whole club could hear it.

Everything inside you screamed to pull away — to do what you’d always done when boys got too close, when their hands wandered and their eyes lingered too long. But Stack wasn’t like those boys. He didn’t leer. He didn’t plead.

He waited.

Like a man sure of the storm and patient enough to let it come to him.

Your voice came low. Dangerous.

"I ain’t no lamb. And I sure as hell ain’t chasin’ you."

He laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that rolled through his chest.

"No," he said again, like he was committing it to memory. "I'm chasin' you, baby."

Then his hand slid up — not low, not greedy — just firm and reverent, fingers skimming the side of your jaw like he was feeling the edges of something sacred.

"And I’m tellin’ you now," he added, voice dropping like molasses in your ear. "You keep lookin’ at me like that… I will find out what you taste like when you stop pretending you hate me."

Before you could bite back, before you could even think, the club doors burst open again —

And Boone’s voice came, loud and panicked: "Y/N! What the hell are you doin’?!"

The spell shattered.

You jerked back like burned, your spine stiffening, eyes snapping toward the entrance.

Boone’s chest heaved, face red and soaked in sweat. Eyes darted from you to Stack, and the rage built fast — like a match tossed in dry brush.

Stack turned lazily toward him, jaw twitching. The charming smirk faded into something else. Something sharp.

"You know," he said, stepping just slightly in front of you, “if he was any kinda gentleman, he wouldn't swear at a lady."

Boone didn’t flinch. Just pointed a finger, shaking with fury. "Your daddy’s gonna hear ‘bout this. And when he does, he’ll bury that bastard himself."

Your breath caught.

"Boone, it's—"

"Oh hell no. This ends now."

You stiffened, pulling away from Stack slightly. A glare rose to your face.

"You think you control anything I do? You're daddy's ranch hand, you ain't his informant, and you definitely ain't my husband, so I don't reckon you should be telling me what ends now."

Boone's jaw dropped.

"You know this is against his damn wishes. He wants you with me, not with Stack Moore."

Stack smiled, his gold grill glinting in the light of the juke.

"She don't want you, Boone Jones. Hell," he snorted, stepping forward. "She don't even really want me. I suggest you get to movin' before my brother and I toss you out this juke."

Boone’s eyes flashed, muscles tightening like coiled steel. "You got a real mouth on you, Stack. But don’t think for a second I’m scared of you or your brother."

He stepped forward, the heat between them crackling like a storm about to break.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The tension was thick enough to slice through, and neither man was backing down.

Stack’s grin twisted, teeth flashing like daggers. "Well then, looks like we got ourselves a showdown. You ready to back that up, Boone?"

Boone faltered for a moment. He spotted the gun on Stack's hip, glinting under his jacket. He was torn. But eventually, he turned away from the two of you.

"Get home, Y/N. I'm warnin' you. Your daddy'll be out lookin' for you soon as I tell him this shit."

With that, Boone spat on the floor and walked out.

The jukebox sputtered a slow country tune as Boone’s heavy footsteps faded into the night. Stack turned to you, smirking like he’d just won a war without firing a shot.

"Well, looks like the ranch hand knows when to fold ‘em."

You stood frozen, the weight of Boone’s warning settling deep in your chest.

Stack’s voice softened, almost mockingly gentle. "Now, tell me… what’re you gonna do with all this heat you’re sittin’ on?"

Your eyes burned with quiet defiance, but inside, a storm was brewing — one that wouldn’t be settled so easily.

Without another word, the defiance and want burning in your chest boiled over. You pulled Elias Moore into a crushing kiss, ruffling his suit jacket.

Stack’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of surprise flashing behind his gold teeth. His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing the side of your jaw with a teasing, deliberate lightness that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, like a velvet promise edged with steel.

"Careful, baby. You’re playin’ with fire."

But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your breath hitched, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears like a wild stallion breaking free. The air between you thickened, charged with a heat that wasn’t just from the summer night or the sticky tension in the jukebox’s flickering neon glow. It was raw, electric, and impossible to ignore.

Your fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer, hungry for the heat that radiated off his body. The scent of leather, musk, and something uniquely Stack invaded your senses. Your lips pressed harder against his, demanding more, needing more. His hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left — only the desperate dance of two bodies claiming their own wild territory.

His mouth moved over yours with fierce intention, teasing and tasting, trailing a path of fire down your neck. You arched against him, breath mingling, every nerve alight. The weight of Boone’s warning dissolved somewhere in the back of your mind, drowned out by the thunderous storm between you and Stack.

Stack’s voice, rough and low, was a whisper against your skin. "You gonna be my woman. One way or another."

His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding you even as your pulse raced with reckless abandon. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, exposing the warm skin beneath, your nails grazing, marking. Every touch was a challenge, every breath a promise.

Your lips parted in a silent plea, and Stack answered, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw, down to the swell of your collarbone. The heat in your chest ignited into a blaze, scorching and sweet. It wasn’t just passion — it was war, desire, defiance, and something dangerously close to surrender.

The air thickened, charged and heavy with all the words neither of you dared say. His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wanted to press you into him and make sure you couldn’t slip away. Your hands trembled slightly, caught between the urge to push him away and the desperate craving to keep this fire alive.

Stack’s breath hitched as his mouth dipped lower, kissing the hollow at your throat, leaving a trail of heat that seared through your skin. Your fingers tangled in the coarse fabric of his shirt, dragging it open just enough to feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your touch. Every beat was a promise, wild and relentless.

That night, you thought you'd be in wicked trouble with your daddy.

You got home and he was sitting in his chair, rifle by his side. There was no glare. No anger. No fight. Just disappointment.

His eyes met yours — quiet, heavy, like the weight of every unspoken word between you.

"Boone stopped by. Said you was almost kissin' Stack in the back of his juke joint. That the truth?"

You froze in the doorway, the screen creaking shut behind you. Your boots felt heavy against the floorboards.

"Is that the truth? I won't ask again." he asked again, voice like gravel and smoke, worn down from years of silence that meant more than shouting ever could.

You swallowed, but your throat was dry. "Yes, sir."

Your daddy looked away then, toward the window. The moonlight spilled across the hardwood like spilled milk, cold and pale. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even shift in his chair.

“Didn’t raise you to chase heat just ‘cause it burns bright.”

You stepped further inside, your heart thudding in your chest. “It ain’t just heat.”

He turned back to you, slow and steady, the way storms roll in without hurry. "That boy’s trouble, Y/N. His people bring it like flies bring rot. You think Stack Moore gives a damn about you come winter? When the crops are dry and the nights are long?"

“I ain’t askin’ for your blessing,” you said, quietly. “But I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness, either.”

His jaw worked, clenched and tight. The rifle stayed at his side, but his hands curled on the armrests like he was gripping the weight of every fear a father could carry.

"You know I’d ride to hell for you, girl." "I know."

A beat. A breath. The porch creaked under the weight of the wind.

"Then don’t make me bury you for someone who wouldn’t ride back. If you think Stack Moore is worth it, I can't stop ya," he asserted wisely. "But he better be. Because if a single tear drops to this floor and he's responsible for it, I'm buryin' him. And his brother."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show.

He wasn’t threatening. He was promising.

That old chair creaked as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, eyes pinning you like a hawk pins its prey.

"You understand me, girl?" His voice was low, but there was thunder in it — a quiet kind of rage built on love and fear and the kind of heartbreak only a father can carry.

You nodded, chin up even though your chest was tight. "I understand."

He let out a long breath through his nose, like he’d been holding it for years.

"Then go on to bed. And think real hard ‘bout the kind of man you’re givin’ your name to. 'Cause once you do… you don't get to take it back."

You stood there for a moment longer — the screen door groaning open behind you again, the wind pushing against your back like even the night was trying to warn you.

But you didn’t look back.

The next day, Stack stopped by the ranch, as if he was askin' for a gun to go off towards his head. You were out back, tending to the horses, brushing your favorite tenderly.

The horse, Annie was her name, blew air out of her nose, as if she knew trouble was approaching. You cooed at her.

"Settle down, pretty girl. Ain't nothin' comin' to get you."

But even as you said it, your eyes flicked toward the dust trail creeping down the long dirt drive — slow and deliberate. A dark car. Stack’s.

Annie shifted under your hand, hooves stamping once against the earth. You didn’t blame her. You felt the same tight pull in your chest. That mix of anger and ache, nerves and want, all tangled together like barbed wire.

Stack stepped out like he owned the goddamn world. Boots still dirty from whatever hellhole he'd walked through last, and that cocky tilt to his mouth like he'd slept just fine while the storm he stirred brewed all night long.

He spotted you in the paddock, and his smirk deepened like he’d expected a bullet and got a welcome mat instead.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t call out.

Just kept brushing Annie’s side like you weren’t burning from the inside out.

Stack leaned on the fence, one arm slung over the top rail, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that ever moved slow in his world.

"You didn’t call," he said, voice low and teasing. "Thought maybe Boone talked you outta me."

You looked up then, slow and measured.

"No one talks me outta anything, Stack. Least of all a man who runs when daddy’s rifle’s on the porch."

That knocked the smirk clean off his face for a second. Then he chuckled — slow, deep.

"Figured I’d come back ‘round today. Let your old man know I ain’t runnin’. I’m standin’."

You shook your head, a bitter little smile tugging at your lips.

"He already knows. Question is… do you?"

Stack’s jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to your hands on the horse — the way they moved, firm but gentle. Like you could break things and fix them all the same.

He straightened off the fence.

"I ain’t scared of your daddy," he said. "And I ain't here for a quick trip to the sheets. You're the typa woman worth marryin'."

You froze.

Annie huffed beside you, but you barely heard her over the rush of blood in your ears. Stack’s words hit you like a hammer to the ribs — not because you didn’t believe him, but because deep down… maybe you did.

Still, you kept your hands busy, brushing through Annie’s mane like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You don’t even know what marryin’ me means, Stack Moore," you said quietly. "It ain’t just Sunday dresses and kissin’ under porch lights. It’s long winters and hard land and family that don’t forget where you came from."

He stepped into the paddock without asking, boots crunching over the straw and dirt. That alone told you something — Stack had never waited for an invitation in his life.

"I know it won’t be easy," he said, stopping just a few feet from you. "I know your daddy don’t think I’m good enough. Hell, maybe I ain’t. But I know this — I’d rather fight every damn day for your heart than spend a single one without it."

Your hand paused on Annie’s shoulder. For the first time, you looked at him — really looked.

There was no grin now. No sharp teeth. Just a man, standing there with his scars and swagger stripped down to something real.

"You’re serious," you said, more to yourself than him.

"I’ve been in fights I ain’t walked away from. I’ve stared down the barrel more times than I can count. But you?" He stepped closer, voice low and steady. "You’re the first thing that’s ever made me scared to lose."

Your chest tightened.

Goddamn him.

Because you wanted to believe it. Wanted to throw your arms around him, take him in the barn, and kiss the past right off his mouth. But you’d learned too young that want didn’t make a man stay. Promises were easy when the sun was out — it was the nights that told the truth.

So you swallowed hard and said the only thing you could.

"Then don’t say you want me, Stack. Show me."

His eyes flickered, something fierce and warm lighting in them.

"I intend to, darlin’," he said. "Every damn day. Starting now."

And when he reached for your hand, you let him take it. Just for a moment.

Just long enough to remember how it felt.

He raised it to his mouth. Kissed it gently, if Stack Moore was even capable of being gentle.

"Now.. Take me inside to see your daddy. I'm sure we can find somethin' to agree on. Gotta get along before I ask for the blessin'."

You snorted, tying Annie up and kicking his boot with your own.

"It ain't that easy. You've got to court me before you marry me, and even then, you gotta impress daddy."

Stack chuckled low in his chest, the sound rich like molasses and twice as thick with trouble.

"Darlin’, I didn’t think anything about you would be easy," he said, falling in step beside you as you started toward the house. "Hell, if you were, I wouldn’t be out here riskin’ a shotgun sermon and a boot up my ass."

You cut him a sideways glance, amused despite yourself. "You’ll get more than a boot if you don’t stop runnin’ that mouth."

He grinned, flashing that infamous gold tooth like a warning sign. "That mouth’s gonna be the reason you marry me, just you wait."

You stopped at the bottom of the steps, boots crunching in the dirt. Stack did too, waiting for your lead. Waiting, you realized, for your say-so — and that was rare.

"You serious about this?" you asked, voice lower now. No teasing. No fire. Just the honest question of a woman who knew how easily hearts cracked under pressure.

He nodded once. No swagger this time. Just steel and heat.

"I want a wife. I want babies. I wanna hang my guns up until I need 'em. And I want you. So, little lady, let's go."

you never really cared when sibella and her man got loud.

they could be in the next room, door cracked open, her voice moaning high-pitched and desperate while his sounded like it came from his chest—gritty and mean like he enjoyed knowing she couldn’t keep quiet. it happened too often for it to phase you. maybe the first time you’d been embarrassed. maybe you’d rolled your eyes, stuffed a pillow over your head, huffed loud enough for them to hear. but now? you were used to it. background noise. like the heater kicking on or a pot boiling over.

sibella had always been the wild one. you were soft. quiet. watched and listened more than you spoke. you liked your room, your books, your own air. sibella, on the other hand, liked attention, chaos, dick. she’d tell you things you never asked to hear—how good it felt when he held her neck, how she liked it rough, how you were too uptight for your own good.

“you gon’ die with that pussy untouched,” she said one night, fresh out the shower in a towel, her eyes still lined in smudged makeup.

you just looked at her from your bed, a little amused. “and?”

“girl,” she laughed, climbing up beside you, “you act like keeping it makes you better. ain’t nobody judging you, but you really ain’t even curious?”

you shrugged. it wasn’t that you thought you were better. you just didn’t want to fake wantin’ something you didn’t feel yet. and maybe it wasn’t even about sex, just the idea of someone close—really close. breath on your skin, hands down your thighs, someone else seeing all of you. you didn’t know what that would feel like, and you didn’t think it was something you wanted to rush. sibella had called you “old-fashioned.” her boyfriend, troy, had called you “uptight” once, but you didn’t care. it was your body. and they could live how they wanted, but so could you.

until he started coming around.

stack.

the first time he showed up at your apartment, you ignored him like you always did with troy’s friends. they’d come in loud, laughing, all of them trying too hard to impress each other. chain-smoking, playing music, shouting about basketball or some shit you didn’t care about. you usually stayed in your room. maybe came out to grab something to drink or use the bathroom. most of the time they barely noticed you. but not stack.

from the second he laid eyes on you, it was like he already knew you were gonna be a problem for him. and he decided to be one right back.

“damn,” he’d said loud, grinning, watching you walk to the fridge in your house shorts. “she don’t say hi? too good to speak?”

you didn’t answer. not even a glance. pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to your room. door closed behind you.

that was the beginning.

he started showing up more after that. it didn’t matter if troy was around or not. sometimes he’d knock on your front door with food for sibella, claiming she asked him to drop it off. sometimes he’d come by just to talk to troy, linger around the living room even when the conversation dried up. you caught him staring. a lot. and he didn’t try to hide it either.

“yo,” he said one night from the couch while you passed through in leggings and a hoodie, “you ever wear anything that don’t hug that ass?”

you gave him a flat look. “do you ever shut the fuck up?”

he grinned like he liked that answer. like you fed him instead of shut him down. “mmm. lil attitude. i like that. you actin’ mean, but i know that’s just ‘cause you shy.”

you rolled your eyes. sibella laughed from the kitchen.

“you might as well get to know him,” she said later, when y’all were alone. “he not that bad. cocky, yeah. but that’s just how he is. underneath all that extra shit, he cool.”

you weren’t convinced. but three months of him showing up, finding you in whatever room you tried to hide in, cracking jokes, complimenting your skin, your mouth, your shape—he wore you down. maybe it was the way he’d make you laugh without meaning to. or the fact that when you actually sat down and talked to him, he had more to him than you thought. he was smart. surprisingly observant. he’d tell you about his childhood, his mom, his twin brother. and when you spoke, he listened. remembered little things you said in passing and brought them up days later.

“you like strawberry cream in your coffee, right?”

“you said you like sade—put this on.”

“you was talkin’ ‘bout them earrings you saw at the mall. i got you a pair.”

and it started getting harder to treat him like the rest.

you didn’t mean to let your guard down. but it was hard not to with him. stack had a charm about him that crept up slow. he was always touching you. not in ways that crossed lines at first—just light brushes against your waist when he passed behind you in the kitchen, knuckles on your thigh when he leaned too close, fingers tucking a curl behind your ear. at first, you shut it down. pushed his hand off your leg. shifted away from his body. made sure he knew you weren’t that type of girl. but he never got mad. never pushed. he just gave you that same cocky-ass smile like he knew you’d give in eventually.

“you playin’ hard to get,” he said once, his thumb dragging lazy circles across your bare knee. “but you like that i’m on you. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

you didn’t even respond. but your breath had caught in your throat when he said it. and he noticed.

he always noticed.

still, you never told him you were a virgin. it wasn’t something you wanted to throw out casually. you figured he probably assumed you were just picky. maybe waiting for the right one. sibella never told him, and you doubted troy knew either. and honestly, you liked keeping that part of you tucked away.

then came that one night.

it was a friday. sibella and troy had gone out, probably wouldn’t be back ‘til the next morning. you were stretched out on the couch in your usual—short shorts, tank top, no bra, nipples pressing faintly through the fabric. you weren’t trying to be sexy, but you weren’t hiding either. you texted elias just outta boredom.

you busy?

he texted back quick.

for you? nah. slide thru? or you want me over there?

come here.

ten minutes later, he was knocking.

he smelled like his cologne, the one you were starting to recognize. brought a little weed with him, a smirk that made your stomach flutter even though you pretended it didn’t. y’all rolled up on the floor first, sitting cross-legged across from each other, talking shit. smoke drifted lazy through the room. the air got thick, quiet between laughs and teasing.

you felt good. loose. warm behind the eyes.

“i don’t get you,” he said low, leaning back on his elbows, watching you from the couch now. “you sexy as hell, smart, got that attitude on you… but you act like you scared of me.”

“i ain’t scared,” you said, biting your lip slightly.

“nah. you are. or maybe you scared of you. ‘cause if i touch you again, you gon’ fold. i see it all on your face.”

you didn’t answer. you were already crawling into his lap, slow and deliberate like your body moved before your brain. the weed had you floatin’. his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“yeah?” he said, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, fingertips just under the edge of your shorts. “you sure you want me touchin’ you?”

you nodded, heart racing.

you kissed him. for real this time. not like the other stolen little moments when he’d pressed his mouth to yours and you turned your head too quick. this was deep. hot. full of tongue. he gripped your hips tighter, groaning into your mouth like he’d been holding back too long.

his hands moved. over your ass, up your back, fingers gripping the sides of your tank. he kissed your neck, sucked at the curve of your collarbone. heat spilled down your belly. your legs were straddling him now, his dick hard under you through his sweats, pressing up against your core.

he flipped you under him, moving slow like he was waiting for you to say no. one hand slipped down your stomach, toward the waistband of your shorts, and just when he hooked his fingers in—

“wait,” you whispered.

his eyes flicked up.

“what’s up?”

“i’m a virgin.”

his face went blank. still. he blinked, mouth parted just slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“what?”

you looked away. “i ain’t never… like, at all.”

he sat back on his heels, staring at you for a long second.

“you serious?”

you nodded.

he exhaled slow, ran a hand down his face.

“…fuck.”

his “fuck” lingered in the air like heat.

for a second, you thought he might leave. thought maybe you read it wrong—maybe the way he’d chased you down for months didn’t mean he actually wanted you like that. maybe it was just for show, a game to get you to break. but he didn’t move. didn’t get up. didn’t pull away either.

he just looked at you different now. softer, but still sharp. eyes a little darker. mouth twitching like he had a hundred thoughts moving at once.

“…you shoulda told me that shit,” he muttered, finally. “damn.”

you swallowed, feeling small under him, but not in a bad way. just new. raw. like being seen too clearly.

“you mad?”

he shook his head slowly. “nah. i ain’t mad. just… surprised. you ain’t act like no virgin.”

“how they act?”

he leaned forward again, lips brushing your neck now, voice dropping lower. “not like this. not sittin’ in my lap wit’ no bra on. not kissin’ me like that. shit, i thought you was just takin’ your time. had no idea i was gon’ be the first.”

you shivered under his mouth.

“you want me to stop?”

you shook your head.

“aight then,” he breathed, hands sliding back down your thighs. “you sure, you let me handle it.”

he kissed you again. deeper this time. slower. like he was tasting you different now. his hands didn’t rush, but they didn’t hesitate either. he dragged your shorts down your legs, steady like he was unwrapping something delicate. your tank top went next, peeled off and tossed aside. your whole body burned. you covered your chest at first, instincts kicking in, but he gently pulled your hands down.

“nah. don’t hide all this. lemme see it.”

you looked away, but he tilted your chin back to face him. he stared for a long second, eyes trailing down your curves like he was trying to memorize every line.

“god damn, girl,” he whispered, low and reverent. “you really built like this under all them hoodies?”

you blushed, biting back a laugh.

he moved down your body slow, mouth brushing your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. then he was kneeling between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world.

“shit,” he murmured, thumb dragging over your folds. “so fuckin’ pretty. pussy fat as hell.”

you squirmed under his grip, toes curling.

“you ever play wit’ it before?” he asked.

you nodded. “sometimes.”

“show me.”

you hesitated, but he gave you a look that melted any doubt in your chest. you brought your fingers to your slit, shy at first, dragging them up the center like you were doing it in secret. he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. eyes locked. jaw tight.

“mmm. there you go. you wet already?”

he ran his fingers over yours, dipped one between your lips and brought it up to your mouth.

“taste that shit.”

you sucked his finger slow, your own breath catching as you did.

he groaned. “fuck, you nasty already. i like that.”

then he lowered his head.

his tongue was slow at first. wide, wet licks that made your whole body tremble. he took his time, holding your thighs open, lips sealed around your clit, tongue dragging figure eights against it ‘til you moaned out loud without meaning to.

“don’t hold it in,” he said against you. “i wanna hear that shit.”

he sucked harder. circled your clit faster. then slid a single finger inside you and your hips jerked up from the bed.

“tight,” he growled. “fuckin’ gripping me.”

you grabbed at his hair, breathing fast now, your whole body winding tighter and tighter until everything snapped. your legs shook around his head, mouth open but nothing coming out except a breathy sob as you came for the first time with somebody else’s mouth on you.

he pulled away slow, lips shiny, licking his bottom one like he’d just finished dessert.

“damn. you taste like peaches or some shit,” he said, laughing low. “sweet ass pussy.”

you were still trembling when he moved back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

then he pulled his sweats off.

your eyes widened.

“…elias.”

he smirked. “yeah?”

you didn’t even know what to say. he was thick. long. heavy. it curved up slightly, veins bulging down the shaft, head dark and already leaking. he stroked it slow, watching your face like he wanted to see your brain short-circuit.

“this too much for you?”

you nodded, honestly. “i dunno if it’ll fit.”

“it will,” he said, voice low and certain. “i’m gon’ go slow, baby. i got you.”

he kissed you again, then guided the head to your entrance, rubbing it through your folds.

“just breathe. let me in a lil at a time.”

he pushed slow. real slow. and it still burned. you winced, grabbing onto his arm, and he stilled right away.

“you good?”

“keep goin’,” you whispered, nails digging into his skin.

he went deeper. inch by inch, until your eyes rolled back and your breath caught. he filled you completely, bottomed out with a groan in your ear.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you tight as a fuckin’ vice. shit.”

he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust. kissed the side of your neck, your shoulder, your cheek.

“you takin’ it so good, baby. ain’t even cryin’. first dick and you already built for it.”

he moved his hips slow, dragging out, then back in, just enough for you to feel the stretch again. it was painful, but the pain faded quick. pleasure started creeping in, humming low in your belly.

“see that? told you i’d make it fit.”

you whined beneath him, eyes fluttering.

“that’s it,” he said, fucking you a little deeper now. “let me ruin you.”

your fingers gripped the sheets. he held your throat lightly—not tight yet, just enough to feel the pressure. his other hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple.

“feel good?” he asked. “you like this dick, don’t you?”

you nodded, breathless.

he tightened his grip on your neck just enough to make your head float.

“say it.”

“i—i like it,” you stammered, brain going fuzzy from the pressure, the stretch, the sound of his voice in your ear.

“yeah you do. got that virgin pussy dumb already.”

you moaned louder.

“you ain’t never gon’ forget this dick,” he said, cock driving deeper now, hips smacking yours. “first one in it, first one to stretch it, first one to own it.”

you couldn’t even speak.

he flipped you over, pulled your hips up and fucked you from behind now, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hair.

“this the angle that’ll fuck the innocence out you,” he muttered, dragging his dick slow then slamming back in, making you scream into the mattress. “you feel that in your gut?”

your whole body shook. you were drooling on the sheets, eyes wet, legs trembling.

“lemme see that face,” he said, pulling you back by your hair. “look at me while i break you in.”

you glanced over your shoulder, mouth parted, and he almost came right then.

“beautiful ass girl. i swear to god, i’m gon’ fuck you stupid.”

and he did.

he didn’t stop. kept going, made you cum again—twice, maybe three times. you couldn’t keep track. everything was wet. the sheets. his chest. your face. your thighs. he lifted your leg, drilled into you from the side, choked you through another orgasm. your moans turned into sobs. pleasure ate your brain alive.

“stack—fuck—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growled, pounding into you. “you takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ.”

your nails raked his back. his hand squeezed your throat again, hard enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

you came one more time, back arched, toes curling, legs locked around his waist.

he groaned deep, spilling inside you with a twitch.

everything went still.

all you heard was your heartbeat. your breath. his deep, ragged one against your skin.

you were ruined. for real.

he kissed your forehead after, gently. ran his hand up and down your back.

“you good?”

you nodded, tears drying on your cheeks.

“…i ain’t never lettin’ nobody else touch you,” he said, voice low, possessive. “you mine now. you know that, right?”

you just nodded again.

because deep down, you already knew.

you woke up before him.

barely. the sun hadn’t even fully crept through the curtains yet. just a strip of light cut across your comforter, hitting the edge of the bed where elias was sprawled out, ass-naked, sleeping like he’d just come home from war. one arm slung over his eyes, the other draped where your body had been. the sheets were a mess. the air still smelled like sex, weed, and sweat.

your thighs ached.

you groaned softly when you moved, careful not to wake him. every inch of you felt sore—inside, outside, places you didn’t even know could hurt. your hips were tender. your legs had that heavy, overworked kind of weight to them. and your pussy? bruised. not in a bad way. but like it remembered every single stroke.

you held onto the edge of the dresser for balance while you stood up, wobbling a little. took a second to catch your breath. your legs did not feel normal.

“damn…” you muttered, barely able to walk straight as you grabbed a towel and slipped out the room.

the water in the shower hit different. you stood there for a minute, letting it run over your body, steam curling around your face while you leaned a hand against the tile. your whole body was humming—raw, open, still floating a little from the night before. flashes kept replaying in your head. his hands on your throat. the way he moaned your name against your ear. how many times you came. how he kept going even after you said you couldn’t take it.

you touched between your legs under the water and winced.

he really meant that shit when he said he was gon’ ruin you.

by the time you dried off and wrapped up in a big t-shirt, your legs were moving better. you still had a little limp, but nothing dramatic. the hallway felt quieter than usual. you figured sibella and troy hadn’t come back yet. probably stayed at his place.

you walked out into the kitchen, yawning, about to fix some eggs or something light, when you saw her.

bella.

sitting on the couch in her work clothes, sipping a mug of coffee and staring right at you.

your stomach dropped.

“…you back already?”

she didn’t even blink. didn’t even answer.

just smirked.

“…you got your lil virgin ass fucked, huh?”

you blinked, froze by the fridge.

“what—?”

“don’t even try it,” she said, standing up slow, walking over to lean against the counter across from you. “we came back early. me and troy. around two. figured we’d crash here instead. we wasn’t even gon’ bother you—until we heard you screamin’.”

your face heated instantly.

“bella—”

“nah,” she cut you off, wide-eyed and laughing, “nah, girl. you was in there hollerin’ like somebody took the damn soul out your body. like—goddamn. i was impressed! my lil sis got some lungs on her!”

you groaned, turning around to hide your face behind the fridge door. “please shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up,” she cackled, sipping her coffee louder. “you had my man like, ‘ayo, is that stack in there?’ i said, ‘who else would it be?’ you know he ain’t never quiet. i shoulda known from the second he started comin’ over too often. he was locked in on you. and you was playin’ all innocent.”

you mumbled under your breath, grabbing eggs from the fridge.

“girl, spill the damn tea,” she leaned closer. “was it good? how big was it? that man fine as hell. look like he dickin’ every bitch down, and now he got you stuck.”

you refused to give her full details. your body still felt too open, too exposed from what happened just hours ago. like your skin still remembered his hands. like it wasn’t meant to be talked about yet.

so you gave her one thing.

you looked up at her, dead in the face.

then held your hands apart, slow.

a little bigger.

then a little bigger.

then wider.

her mouth dropped.

“…bitch.”

you smirked. “exactly.”

bella screamed into the kitchen towel, spinning in a circle like she just heard the juiciest gossip in her life.

“i knew it! oh my god. no wonder you limp-walkin’. ohhhh, he really broke you in!”

“bella, please go to work.”

“no, bitch, you need to call out. i know you not sittin’ in no office chair today.”

you shook your head, laughing quietly, cheeks hot, chest fluttering at the memory. she eventually left, still shaking her head and giggling like she’d just found out her favorite show got renewed. and as soon as the door clicked behind her, you walked back to your room.

he was awake.

half-sitting up on your bed now, chest bare, sheets low on his waist. eyes still a little heavy but locked on you the second you walked in.

“where you go?” he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy.

“shower.”

he yawned, then grinned slowly as his eyes trailed down your body again.

“how you feel?”

you climbed back into the bed, under the covers. still warm from where he’d been laying.

“…sore.”

he smirked, proud. “good.”

you gave him a look, rolling your eyes.

“what?”

“you proud of yourself or something?”

he pulled you in, kissed your neck slow.

“yeah,” he muttered. “you still here, ain’t you?”

you didn’t say anything. just buried your face in his chest and let your limbs tangle into his. his fingers found your thigh again. light, lazy touches.

you already knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

not even close.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

It wasn’t supposed to happen, that night hadn’t meant to end the way it did and yet it constantly replayed in his head. He had already grown too attached before she even stepped foot in his house. He’d stay up waiting for her FaceTime calls, always checked his phone to see if she texted him, stalked her socials for any new pictures she’d posted.

Elias was down bad and he knew it, then that night happened and now he was borderline obsessed.

His thoughts were filled with nothing but her.

Daisy had a hold on him and she didn’t even know it.

-

Stack had made sure to double and even triple check with Daisy, to make sure she was absolutely positive that he could post the video of the two of them.

She told him yes every time.

So he sat at his desktop and edited it. He stared at the thumbnail, her pretty face smiling shyly at him and a part of him almost didn’t want to post it, he felt possessive.

A deep sigh escapes his lips as he prepared to post a snippet on Twitter but then he stops, watches the clip, eyes wide with lust and jealousy.

The mouse hovered over the delete button, heart racing in a way that meant that he cared about this way too much, which meant the way he felt about her was deeper than he thought.

Stack groaned out loud, like it physically pained him to do it. He needed the content seeing as he hadn’t posted in weeks and Daisy was practically giving him the easy way out. No need to schedule a meet up with another creator, no need for contracts, no need for managers to get involved. Nothing.

“I’m doing too much.” He mumbled to himself before finally posting it.

-

The days that followed after that had been hectic, the video had gone viral. It was the most views Stack had ever gotten. Comments flooded his Twitter account every second of the day.

“Damn this was intense.”

“We need more videos with her.”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Yeah this is your best video yet.”

“Have kept this video on repeat.”

People speculated about the two and yet they both ignored it. He read the comments, people saying that they looked like they were in love.

Something about that bothered him, whether it was because it was true or because it wasn’t. He didn’t know.

Stack had tried to stay off the internet after that. He couldn’t deal with the assumptions because in all honesty, he didn’t know what this meant for the both of them.

It wasn’t like he was scared to ask, he was more scared of what’ll happen afterwards. Whether good or bad, a part of him didn’t feel like he was ready for it.

-

Daisy tried to return back to her normal life but she felt restless. She couldn’t stop thinking about Elias even if she tried. He showed up in her dreams and in places she thought were only reserved for her alone.

She had only known love in the form of family, pets and friends. Her past lovers hadn’t ever been able to pull that out of her despite how badly she wanted it. Daisy wanted nothing more than to be in love and to feel it in a romantic sense and yet, it never happened.

Daisy didn’t want to admit she liked Elias or maybe she didn’t want to admit that she liked him more than she thought she did. Her body craved to be around him, it missed him even when he was near and it was driving her insane.

They spent more time together, even without meaning to. He’d show up at her house unannounced with food and wine.

She’d show up in his vlogs and whenever he went live.

-

“Y’all Daisy making me watch this lame ass anime called Saiki” Stack chopped onions on the wooden cutting board, camera capturing his broad shoulders and right behind him, Daisy sitting on his kitchen island. It was a random Saturday, Stack dragged her out of her house and forced her to keep him company while he meal prepped for the week.

“It’s not lame! And you like it, clearly. You always talking about it.” She playfully rolled her eyes.

Stack turned his head to look at her, “yeah so that I can have a reason to keep talking to you.”

Daisy lowered her head, face turning a light pink. “Shut up.” She mumbled and Stack couldn’t help but laugh.

-

“Daisy, I’m not wearing that shit.” He glared at her as she held up the sexy Santa costume in her hand.

“Why not? I think they’d like to see you in it, no?”

Stack rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. “If you wanna see me half naked, you could just ask mama.”

Daisy sucked in a breath. “Stack shut up.” She turned away from him and the camera, face hot from embarrassment.

He smirked in triumph before grabbing the costume. “Matter fact, yeah. I’m putting this on. Come on.”

Daisy’s eyes widened in fear. “Okay. No. It was a joke.”

“Nah I’m not playing. Come on.”

“I’m going home.”

“No you’re not.” Stack laughed, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the cash register. The sales clerk tried her hardest to keep a poker face as she rang up the silly costume, meanwhile Daisy was on the verge of passing out.

“You’re not seriously wearing that, right?” Daisy huffed as they both left the store.

“I am. Ima save it for a special occasion. You gon walk in and just see me in this.”

“Oh hell no. I’m never coming over again.” Stack cackled as he watched her walk ahead towards the car.

-

“Chat she’s forcing me to buy her shit.” Stack complained to the camera as they walked around the mall.

“Um no. You broke my favorite mug so you owe me.” Daisy shrugged.

A slick smirk sat on the corner of Stack’s mouth. “You right. I owe you.”

“Exactly” Daisy commented. He watched her smile for a little too long before turning his head back to the camera.

“She a little too happy to be spending my money.”

Daisy giggled and rolled her eyes. “You offered. I just simply complied… now let’s go get my nails done.” She wiggled her fingers in front of his face before walking ahead.

Stack chuckled, amused and enamored with how much more confident she was around him and the camera. His continence constantly tempted with every slick comment she threw at him.

Back at his house, Stack had the camera propped up while he prepped to make dinner. His eyes skimmed the comments, everybody asking about Daisy and her fresh set.

“Daisy, come here mama. They wanna see what you got.” He called out to her. She popped up at his side with her cheeks tinted a light pink. Still not used to him calling her that randomly.

“Um okay.” She giggled shyly as Stack angled the camera towards her hands that showed her acrylic nails painted a soft pink with white polka dots.

“Show em ya toes.” He mumbled. His body too close to hers.

Daisy sat on the kitchen counter while Stack grabbed his camera and pointed them at her feet. “They match my nails.” She squealed.

Stack smiled before grabbing her foot. He placed a kiss on top of it before turning his head back to the camera. “They cute right?”

“Staaackkkk” Daisy whined, trying to remove her foot from his grip but he was too strong. He just laughed while her face burned in embarrassment.

“What? You gon act brand new like I don’t be kissing ya feet?”

The chat had erupted, everybody wondering when the two were finally going to admit that they were dating.

“Shut up.” Daisy mumbled and Stack shook his head.

-

By the start of the week the news was already announcing the huge snow storm that was set to hit Chicago starting Friday. Schools were already canceling classes and jobs were sending out memos to let everyone know they’ll be working remote.

Daisy had barely payed attention to the warnings that were constantly being sent to her phone. Her mom reminding her to get groceries, her best friend telling her to close her windows, her co workers all texting in the group chat about the amount of money they’ve spent on toiletries and other necessities.

All of it flew right past her head, as her mind was wrapped up on one thing only. Elias Moore.

That’s why when he showed up at her door, face serious in a way she’s never seen before, and told her to pack a bag and go with him, she did so absentmindedly.

Daisy wasn’t a stranger to Stack’s weird shenanigans, sometimes he’d hold her hostage and make her go with him on a five hour drive just for some donuts he was craving. Other times, he’d lie and say he was sick and needed her to take care of him just so she’d go over his house and stay the night. He’d wrap his arms around her tightly, even in his sleep. It was nights like that, that had Daisy wondering what exactly they were doing. This was past a friendship and yet the two hadn’t kissed or touched since that day.

Daisy sat in his passenger seat, confused but quiet. Stack noticed her energy but said nothing. He’d already made up his mind on how the evening was going to go and so with that, he drove in silence. Soft r&b played throughout his car speakers but the tension in the car couldn’t be soothed.

Stack remained equanimous the whole ride. They drove past the city, past his apartment and everything that looked like civilization. The sun cleared a path for them to follow, warming up the roads one last time before the storm eventually came through.

“You good?” It was the first words he’d say to her in the last two hours.

“Um yea.” She answered, her voice small and unconvincing. “Where are we going?”

Stack smirked slightly, stealing a quick look before focusing back on the road. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

She nodded her head, choosing to drop the subject because she knew Stack wouldn’t cave if she persisted for answers.

By the time they arrived, Daisy had fell asleep and woke up to the sound of gravel under the wheels. They were in the middle of the woods, her eyes drifted to a huge cabin that sat next to a small guest house.

“Uh… Elias? What are we doing here?” She got out of the car slowly, watching as he made his way to the trunk to pull out their bags.

“I told you. It’s a surprise.” He had a small smile sitting on his lips as he walked to the guest house, motioning for her to follow.

The sun had already set and her stomach growled as they took a tour of the place.

“Hungry?” Stack asked her.

“Yeah. Anything to eat in here?”

They made their way to the kitchen. The fridge was already stocked with snacks and fruits.

“Grab something from here then head upstairs to your room to get ready. I’ll be making dinner in the cabin.”

Daisy’s eyes widened in confusion. “What are you talking about? Get ready for what?”

“You’ll see. I left you some clothes upstairs to change into. Meet me in the cabin when you’re done.” He leaned down, kissed her forehead and then walked outside, leaving her with even more questions than she already had.

The room was comfortable, soft white walls and fresh sheets. On the bed sat two large boxes that she immediately recognized.

“What the fuck?” She whispered to herself as she opened the first black box. There sat a silk, dark red, long sleeve dress. The front had a low cut, designed to show off your chest with a small Versace clip right in the middle.

She scoffed in disbelief.

Daisy had been obsessing over this dress for weeks. So much so that she kept trying to justify the ridiculous price. Stack had told her to just pull the trigger, buy herself something she truly wanted for once but Daisy kept going back and forth it until one day it was sold out.

She anxiously typed her email to join the waitlist for the restock, frustrated with herself for not getting it sooner. Eventually she let it go, decided it wasn’t meant to be.

But Stack seemed to know Daisy more than she knew herself and so while he still was trying to convince her to buy the dress, he had already went and purchased it.

Daisy grabbed her toiletries bag, the smile she held on her face refused to go away even while she freshened up. The butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t settle while she tried to convince herself that this was nothing more than another one of Stacks stupid videos or silly little prank.

But it definitely didn’t feel like that. This felt different.

She did her makeup to the sounds of D’Angelo, trying to calm her nerves that were practically eating her alive.

Daisy held the dress in her hands, shaking her head slightly at the audacity of that man before stepping into it, and then sliding on the heels that he also bought to match. Her hair was already done, soft curls surrounding her head, freshly dyed a honey blonde.

Her hands shook and her steps slightly faltered as she walked down the stairs. It had been close to two hours since she last heard anything from Stack and so with a deep breath, she stepped outside and quickly walked to the main cabin.

The snow had already started falling, creating a thick layer of white on the ground, but Daisy’s focus was far from that.

She opened the door and immediately was engulfed by the smell of food. The cabin was warm, filled with light green walls and mahogany wood.

On the floor were rose pedals that she followed to the living room. On the TV played reruns of pictures that the two of them had taken, one in particular being the morning they woke up after that night. Daisy smiled, her eyes roaming around the room that had multiple bouquets of her favorite flower. Lillies.

“Oh my God” she whispered, leaning down to smell them. “Elias!”

She called out to him, following the red path that led to the dining room. Stack stood by the table, small smile sitting on his lips. Two plates full of vodka pasta and a glass of red wine awaited her.

“You look… gorgeous.” His eyes trailed her from the top of her head down to the tip of her toes. “Wow.” He breathed out. “Um…I ain’t know what to make you. I bought a bunch of groceries and then panicked when it came down to figuring something out.” His eyes nervously darted between the food and her.

Daisy’s face was flushed, biting her lip to keep her smile from spreading. “You’re lucky you’re a good cook. I’ll let it slide.”

Stack shook his head with a slight chuckle. He walked over to her side and slid the chair back for her before returning back to his seat.

Daisy’s fingers slightly shook and her breathing kept skipping. She didn’t know what to say or do and so she sat in the silence, waiting for Stack to lead.

“I um— I wanted to take you to a fancy restaurant, properly wine and dine you but the snow storm ruined everything and to be honest… I just couldn’t wait another day.”

“Couldn’t wait another day for what?” Daisy’s eyebrows furrowed. She tried to look normal, play it off as if she was prepared for whatever was happening but Stack saw right through her.

“We should eat first. Don’t want the food to get cold.” He smiled like he was hiding secrets behind it. Daisy just simply nodded before picking up her fork and digging in.

They made small talk, about the weather, her job and his new camera that he just bought. She scolded him for buying the dress, he rolled his eyes and pretended like he actually took her threats seriously.

By the time the pasta was done and they were three cups of wine in, the air in the dining room suddenly became suffocating. The tension eased itself into their space, tightening at even the slightest change of breath from either of them. Stack stared at her with the weight of a thousand unsaid words and a shiver ran down her spine while she tried to maintain eye contact.

“Elias… w-what is this all about?” She chewed on her bottom lip, picking at the bit of skin she felt.

He cleared his throat and then stood up. Stack began grabbing the dirty dishes and placing them in the dishwasher, letting her question hang on for longer than she could handle. He poured them one more glass of wine though he already felt slightly light headed and a bit tipsy but his mind was clear. He knew what he was doing.

Stack walked over to Daisy’s side of the table and extended his hand. He felt her hands trembling as she placed it on top of his.

“Cold?”

“No” she mumbled, embarrassed at how nervous she was.

He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “You’re okay, you know that right? You’re safe with me. Always.”

Daisy nodded, not trusting her mouth to produce a correct sentence.

Stack took a sip of his drink before setting it down and grabbing her other hand. They were close enough to where she could see the way his eyebrow slightly twitched and he could see her pulse thumping from her neck.

“Elias.” She whispered, not being able to take the suspense.

“For the past few weeks I’ve been going fucking crazy tryna figure out a way to tell you how I feel. Shit. I even asked my brother what I should do and I rarely listen to that nigga.” He chuckled slightly. “I ain’t realize how scared I was to say how I feel about you, out loud, up until this moment right now.”

“I ain’t realize that me going crazy to plan this perfect moment with you was a sign of how nervous I was - am.”

Their eyes locked. Stack took a deep breath, steadying himself like his brother taught him too. He still held her hands, a bit tighter now.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush because I’ve never done that with you… Daisy I’m in love with you and I have been for a while.”

Daisy stood frozen in a state of disbelief.

“I can’t get you out my head no matter how much I try. Not that I’m even trying to anyways.” Stack pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. “It’s like an obsession that I have with you and I’m tired of running from it. Tired of acting like this ain’t something special. Like you don’t mean more to me than you already know… I want you. Wholeheartedly. I want it all. You hearing me Daisy?”

“Y—yes” She managed to whisper. “I— I’m in love with you too, Elias.”

-

The snow outside had gotten more aggressive. It packed on, building thick inches of white on the ground. The news officially sent out warnings for everybody to stay inside and to remain warm.

Daisy tightened her arms around Stacks neck, back arching off of the bed as beads of sweat rolled down the smooth of her skin.

“Say it. Let me hear you say it again.” Stack thrusted slowly into her tight walls, making sure he was balls deep before pulling out and doing it again.

Daisy’s legs shook as she whimpered into his ear. “I love you, Elias. I love you.”

He groaned in response, hips now moving a bit faster just so he could watch her tremble under him. His thumb drew circles around her clit, making her cream around his dick.

“Oh my—fuck.” She moaned, turning her head to the side and biting her lip. The pleasure was too much to handle.

“Nah. Don’t hide from me. Let me see you. Keep your eyes on me mama.” He grabbed her jaw, turning her head to face him. Her eyes were watery and wide, full of lust and adoration. “Mhmm just like. Good girl baby.”

His thrusts picked up speed while this thumb remained at a steady pace. “Look at how good you’re taking me.” Stack leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers before their lips met in a soft kiss that didn’t match the way he was fucking her. “So fucking perfect.”

“E—Elias. I’m gonna … cum. Fuck!” Daisy’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she let out a scream. Her squirt drenched Stack but he kept going.

“I want another one. You gon give it to me? You gon make daddy proud?”

Daisy nodded, completely dazed and covered in goosebumps.

“Nah I wanna hear you. Let me hear that voice I love so much baby.” He leaned back but remained close enough to keep kissing her. Thumb still playing with her button while his hips continued moving. “Talk to me. Come on, you can do it.”

“Yesssssssss. Yesss daddy.” Daisy sobbed. Her body shook, already overstimulated but Stack was nowhere near done.

She came again before her body could even process what was going on. She twisted away from Stack but he held her in place, still giving her the same deep strokes that had her seeing stars.

Daisy cried, finger nails leaving fresh scratches on his back. “I can’t. I can’t Elias. I can’t.” She tried to run but Stack wouldn’t allow it.

“Yes you can. You not giving up on me right baby?” His dick still slid in and out of her stretched hole, his thumb still moving on her clit. “Show daddy how messy you can get.”

Daisy’s mouth hung open in a silent scream, clear liquid painting Stack until he was practically covered in it.

She panted under him, hands still gripping his back while her body tried to settle down. Stack placed kisses around her face and down the sweaty crevices of her neck. He made his way to her perked nipples, placing one his mouth while his hands soothed past the smooth of her skin.

“Elias.” Daisy whispered. “Baby.”

He hummed, looking up at her eyes that were already drooping from exhaustion. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Stack laid sideways, pulling her to his chest and bringing her leg to sit on top of his waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering at the feel of his dick rubbing against her swollen folds.

Stack’s eyes remained connected to hers as he slowly slid inside of her abyss that was still so wet and warm.

They moaned into each other’s mouths, their eyes connected while he sensually thrusted into her. Stack held the back of her head, keeping her face close to his.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groaned, gripping her hair to keep him from falling over the edge.

Daisy’s eyes kept rolling back every time he was fully inside of her. His dick kissed her g spot with every move he made, making her legs twitch continuously. “Shiiiiiit” she sobbed, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.

“What’s my name? Hm?” Stack grabbed her face, bringing them closer together.

“Daddyyyyyyy”

“Mhmm say it again. Louder.” His pace never changed and Daisy’s body shook with the need to cum again.

“Daddy, daddy fuck please!”

He leaned in and kissed her. “You’re mine Daisy, you listening to me? Ima make you cum till you can’t even do so much as look at another nigga.”

Her jaw dropped, breaths coming out in short gasps.

“So fucking perfect. I can’t get enough.” Stack groaned, moving faster as he felt the build up. “You stuck with me, you know that? I ain’t letting you go.”

“Yesssss, yess I know baby. Fuck! I—I love you. I’m all yours.”

Stack whimpered at the sound of her voice breaking. She couldn’t stop crying, body arched and shaking from being overstimulated.

“Cum in me please. I’m all yours. All yours please.” Daisy begged, as her body finally snapped.

“All mine. All fucking mine. Take all this nut baby. Good girl” Stack gripped her hips as he emptied himself inside of her. His face was buried in her neck, moaning her name over and over again.

Daisy came right after, her juices flowing out of her like a faucet. She cried out his name. Her hands grabbed onto his chest in hopes to bring herself back down to earth

They stayed glued together, Stack still inside of her and Daisy still twitching. He rubbed her back, enjoying the feel of her warm skin touching him.

He placed a barely there kiss to her shoulder. “I love you.” He whispered.

Daisy smiled, all 32 shining in the dark room. “I love you too.”

-

Tag list

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

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

Then you see her—

Mary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

Keyword: almost.

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

Fuck—was he one of them?

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

“My love..”

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

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

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

“I missed you, my pulse,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did it on purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would Elias think of you differently now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody but Elijah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elias stops.

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

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

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

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

More specifically: one of his thighs.

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

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

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

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

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

It made Elias want to chase you.

He would’ve if he hadn’t been away.

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

Or maybe you wouldn’t even want him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted you to take what you wanted from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know—I know, honey, let go f’me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They gotta be killed one by one.”

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

“Sunlight—a wooden stake to the heart.”

“Why tonight?” Elijah asks angrily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you hear it

Hear him.

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

“They playin’ music,” Sammie mutters.

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

It leaves a bad feeling in your chest.

For to banish

Ghosts and goblins

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

A brand-new pair of brogues

To rattle over the bogs

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

And frighten all the dogs

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

On the rocky road

To Dublin

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

One, two, three, four, five

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

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

Everyone looks around at one another without speaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was tackled by Cornbread.

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

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

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

“Wait!” She pants. “Bo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t human.

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

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

“It’ll be okay,” Elias reassures her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only Elias had told you sooner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what makes matters worse?

Elias’ response determines everyone’s fate.

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

That alone terrifies you.

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

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

You just pray that he keeps his word.

There could be a lot said about Elias “Stack” Moore. He was hardheaded, a slick talker, and dangerous. Keen on having all his suits tailored to perfection, he nevver stepped out without the matching tie and pocket square, tie clip, hat—every element meticulously chosen.

Some nights you’d finish your entire night routine, nestling yourself right into the covers ready to finally get some sleep after a long day, just for your husband—who’d probably had an even longer day—to keep you up with his antics.

“How you feel about this one baby?” He asks, stepping out of your shared closet with a silky red tie in his hands.

“Looks like the ten other ties you’ve shown me, Elias,” you huff, trying to keep your smirk down, knowing that’d get him a little frustrated. He took the little details very seriously. And right on schedule, he kisses his teeth and sends a pointed glare in your direction before retreating back into the closet.

“No vision,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“I should lock you and that vision of yours in the damn closet so I can get some sleep,” you grumble, just wishing he’d just get in the bed already.

“You know you can’t just lock all this pimpin’ in the closet, pretty girl,” sending a sly grin with a wink in your direction, he turns out all of the lights, finally putting his outfit planning antics to bed for the night.

Stack even made sure his brother, Smoke—who couldn’t care less about what he was wearing unless the job got done—was put together. Because in Stack’s words, “I have a reputation to uphold,” and “If you got my face you gotta look the part.” He practically considered it his “duty” to stay fly. So naturally, when you two got together, he did the same with you. Despite your countless objections, he was insistent on having some of your dresses custom made, making sure he had the best seamstress in town—who just so happened to be your mother—have a nice pocket square and tie made out of the extra fabric. In fact, Stack was your mama’s best customer—always insisting on damn near doubling whatever she asked for, which was already too low in his opinion. He was never one to turn down an opportunity to remind everyone that you were his, and most importantly, that he was all yours.

You had one more fitting for the dress Elias commissioned your mother to make over Sunday dinner a few weeks back, and he was more than willing to take you. Already heading into town to handle some business with Smoke, your husband brings you along to drop you off at your mother’s shop. But that plan was on the verge of falling apart since he practically held you hostage in the car. Trapping you with “just one more kiss baby” after every kiss. And even then, if you so much as thought about touching a door in his presence, he’d throw a fit. It wasn’t until you reminded your oh so affectionate husband that all the ladies in the shop, including your mother, along with everyone walking down the street could see you two and that his brother would come looking for him if he was late, that he stopped coming in for more kisses. And not to anyone’s surprise, only the threat of his brother got him moving right along.

You blissfully spent the next two hours in your mother’s shop. You’d gotten all the best gossip, taking a mental note of all the details and questions you’d bring back to Stack, who to his credit, always patiently listened and indulged in whatever gossip fell into your lap. You went back and forth with your mama, insisting she could bring the neckline down just a little, huffing and puffing that you were grown and married, until she begrudgingly gave in. You got to recount bits and pieces of your married bliss, the two younger girls in the room hanging onto your every word as if you were reciting the best fairytale ever written. And you even managed to successfully dodge any questions related to why you’d been married for a little over a year now with no baby Moore on the way. You’d consider the day a success.

“And I don’t know why I need a new dress. Elias said it’s for when he takes me dancin’, but we just went out last weekend,” you reason, trying to figure out what he was up to.

“You know that boy love to spoil you Y/n,” one woman pipes up, stopping her work on the garment in front of her to give you a knowing look.

“Maybe he wanna—,“ but before the young girl could even finish her starry-eyed guess the small bell above the front door rings, forcing everyone’s attention in that direction. And speaking of the devil, in walks your husband with a toothpick between his teeth and a smile brighter than all the stars combined.

“Well ain’t you just prettiest thing the Delta done ever seen,” Stack muses, pulling the toothpick from between his teeth and taking in your red clothed form. Your cheeks immediately warm up at the grandeur of his compliments. It didn’t help that you were front and center in the room, standing right on the small platform with the threefold mirror staring right back at you.

Walking further inside, he takes the structured hat off of his head and greets all the women, stopping to properly greet your mother with a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Ain’t she so pretty,” he adds, stepping right up to your side, taking in the dress that was in his signature crimson, it hugged your body perfectly, the delicate pattern catching the light just right. The unanimous hum of approval from all the ladies only makes your cheeks hotter.

He then lifts your left hand in his and plants a delicate kiss to your jeweled ring finger as he admires you through the mirror in front of you.

“Hell, all of Mississippi ain’t got shit on you,” he breathes out, taking all of you in one more time.

“You better watch that mouth Elias,” Mrs. Bea grumbles from your right side, causing your mother to snicker behind you—already being somewhat used to his potty mouth.

“Now how you doin’ Ms. Bea,” Stack beams sweetly, peeking out from your side to flash the golds in his mouth to the older woman across from him.

“Doin’ fine. Would be better if you stopped all that cussin’,” she shoots back, causing you and everyone in the shop to erupt into laughter.

“Now I can’t make no promises ‘bout that ma’am,” Stack truthfully confesses.

“Plus ya girl right here love it when I cuss real good,” his eyes are locked squarely on yours, a sinful glint blooming behind them. By now, your husband is grinning from ear to ear, the dimple on his left cheek on full display. You were just itching to poke it if that meant he’d stop.

“Boy you better stop, you know this girl gon’ burst into flames,” your mother snickers, placing the last pin in place for alterations. Was everyone out to get you right now?!

“Alright baby, you can go take this off, should be done by the end of the week,” she adds, helping you down from the platform alongside Elias.

“Thanks mama,” you softly breathe out, the corners of your mouth curling up into a gracious smile as you squeeze her hand. She reciprocates with a soft smile and sends you off on your way to go change.

“Need some help Mrs. Moore?” He offers, his voice laced with nothing but sin and a smirk plastered across his face to match. Your head immediately whips in his direction, eyes screaming, begging for him to stop. You step in closer to him, palms planted on his chest, eyes searching his for any hint of sense.

“Can you wait outside for me, I’ll be right out. I promise,” you whisper sweetly, gripping onto his suit lapels, smoothing out the crisp edges. While you were trying to be firm, you couldn’t stop yourself from your senses being pleasantly overwhelmed with the scent of his cologne mixing with the tobacco from his cigarettes.

“Nah, I’m good right here babygirl,” Elias pokes back, enjoying the way he was making you blush.

“If you go wait in the car, I’ll be real sweet to ya when we get home,” you lean up to whisper right in his ear, softly and ever so slightly pressing your body against his, knowing his ultimate weakness was you.

“That’s all you had to say, woman,” your husband beams, lightly wrapping a hand around your forearm and planting a small kiss to your lips before stepping away from you. You send a wink his way before turning towards the changing rooms, Ms. Bea following behind you, giving Stack a pointed look—almost daring him to watch you walk away. And he still did anyway.

“And before you even ask, I already set aside some extra fabric for that tie and pocket square of yours,” your mother informs, cleaning up her workspace.

“You know you my favorite mother-in-law right?” He proudly asks, earning a couple laughs from some of the women in the room and earning an eye roll from your mother.

“Gotta be able to match my favorite lady,” he proudly states, his smile softening at the thought.

“I’m gon’ get out y’all’s way now. The missus wants me gone I suppose,” Stack continues, feigning hurt as he carefully places the hat back on his head.

“I’ll see you on Sunday,” he finishes, giving your mom one final hug and kiss to the cheek and making his way to the door, sending a small wave to the other women in the room.

“That mean I’ll see you at church too, right?” Your mom quips, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t know about all that now,” your husband laughs, shaking his head as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hot Mississippi air.

You can hear the ladies chatting back and forth as you carefully take off the dress in progress and put your original outfit back on.

“He sure is some trouble, that Elias Moore,” one woman grumbles, eyes looking towards your mother as she gets her own alterations done.

“But ain’t he just so sweet to her?” A much younger seamstress sighs, completely entranced with yours and Elias’ love story.

“That he is,” your mom replies to them both.

“But they a perfect match, that’s for sure,” she continues, looking out of the window to see Stack leaning against the car puffing at a cigarette and a bright image of your smile whenever you’re with him etched into her mind.

And you in the dressing room, hearing all the chatter, were fighting back the widest smile—the kind that hurt a little if you smiled for too long. Because it was true—you and Elias were a perfect match.