Sweet lies part 3???? My baby Smoke omg😩😩😓
♱ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐓 3 ♱
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Elias “Stack” Moore
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you’re a complicated woman caught between your current boyfriend, Elijah “Smoke” Moore, and your ex, Elias “Stack” Moore.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ well, hellooo! long time no see, huh? i promise the confrontation between the two twins are coming up.. soon. also, im not trying to drag this story out at all, so part 4 is the last one. enjoy, and i’m definitely back to posting like i use to.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ➤ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4??
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 3.7k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ deep postpartum anxiety and uncertainty, loneliness and abandonment, pregnancy stress, verbal altercation, black reader (but anyone can imagine themselves)
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your sister lived on the east side, in a two-bedroom walk-up with chipping paint and plants in every window. she opened the door before you even knocked, arms already out, eyes already full.
you didn’t cry in front of smoke.
but here? you folded.
she held you in silence, your face buried in her neck, shoulders shaking with the kind of sobs you’d been biting back for days. her hands rubbed soft over your back, warm and slow like childhood.
“i got you,” she whispered. “you gon’ be okay.”
you didn’t feel okay.
you felt broken. used. rejected. your belly didn’t feel like a miracle anymore—it felt like a weight. a choice you made in one moment that unmade every other part of your life.
you moved into the spare room. the one with the purple curtains and a full bed and a vanity that still had your old lip glosses from the last time you stayed the night after a fight.
your sister didn’t ask questions. just made sure you ate. made sure you rested. ran her fingers through your hair on nights you couldn’t sleep.
stack texted you once:
| let me know if you need anything. i’m here.
you didn’t reply.
smoke never reached out.
you tried not to blame him for that. he had every right. but it still stung every night you laid alone in that bed with your hands on your belly, wondering what it would’ve been like if you had just said no that day. if you had just stayed loyal. if you had just been ready for what smoke was giving.
your sister took you to your first ultrasound at ten weeks.
the nurse asked if you wanted to know how many.
you blinked. “what?”
“you’re having twins.”
your sister gasped beside you, covering her mouth. you just stared at the screen.
two heartbeats.
two little flickers pulsing in the dark.
you didn’t even know how to feel anymore. you laughed, then cried, then wiped your face with the back of your hand like none of this was real.
on the ride home, your sister looked at you sideways, lips pursed.
“you sure you told stack?”
“i told him.”
“and what about elijah?”
you looked out the window. “ain’t got nothin’ else to tell him.”
she didn’t press. just nodded and turned up the music a little.
but you knew you were lying.
because a few days later, you sat on your sister’s couch, staring at two tiny baby onesies in your lap, and your phone in your hand.
your fingers hovered over smoke’s name for a long time.
you didn’t call.
but you did save the ultrasound photo.
and you sent it to him with just one message:
| they’re girls.
you locked the phone and set it face down.
you didn’t expect an answer.
but your heart was still waiting anyway.
you waited a whole day.
then another.
and still—no reply.
smoke read the message.
left it on seen.
nothing more.
and that silence hurt worse than the yelling ever could’ve.
you thought maybe knowing they were girls would crack something in him—melt some of that coldness he’d wrapped around himself since the day you left. but it didn’t.
he stayed gone. stayed quiet.
left you in that silence with two beating hearts under your ribs and no answers in your hands.
stack came over a few days later.
he brought baby wipes, diapers, some half-folded onesies, and a look in his eye that told you he didn’t know how to stand in this new space yet.
“you ain’t gotta do all that,” you said, watching him unpack like he belonged in your sister’s kitchen.
“don’t gotta,” he said. “but i want to.”
you stared at him for a long time.
he didn’t flinch.
“why?”
he looked at you like you were asking something stupid.
“’cause they mine.”
and just like that, the words sank through your chest.
he didn’t try to touch your belly this time. didn’t move too close. just sat on the couch across from you, legs wide, elbows on knees.
“look, i ain’t tryna be your man. i told you that already. i’m with mary. i’m staying with mary.”
you nodded.
“but i’m not gon’ be like them other niggas that disappear when shit get real.”
you nodded again. “okay.”
“i’m gon’ be at that hospital. i’m gon’ sign them papers. i’m gon’ raise them girls like they royalty. even if you hate me. even if you still love him.”
you looked down, lips pressing together.
you didn’t say it out loud. but in your heart, you knew—
you did still love him.
not stack.
smoke.
the difference was brutal.
you went to bed early that night. body sore. emotions burnt out. and sometime around 2 a.m., you woke up and checked your phone again.
still no reply.
and for the first time since you took that test…
you let yourself hate him. just a little.
two weeks passed.
you hadn’t seen smoke.
hadn’t heard his voice.
and the crazy part was, he was out there. still moving. still living.
and somehow, that made you feel smaller.
you ran into mary at the pharmacy.
she had her hair slicked back and a latte in hand, looking like she hadn’t broken a sweat since ’99. you were in an oversized tee with a baby bump that couldn’t be ignored and a headache pounding behind your eyes.
she didn’t say anything at first. just stared.
then, with that calm, low voice of hers, she said: “you good?”
you blinked slow. “i’m pregnant, mary.”
she nodded once. “i know.”
a long pause.
you sighed. “look… i’m not tryna—”
“don’t,” she cut in, sharp. “you not gon’ give me some sad little half-ass apology in aisle six while my man’s baby stretchin’ out your rib cage.”
you swallowed.
she stepped closer. “i been knew about y’all. before the test. before he told me. before the ultrasound. women know. we always know.”
you didn’t speak.
“i told him to step up. i told him to take care of them babies. but don’t get it twisted—he ain’t leaving me. he can’t. and even if he did, it wouldn’t be for you.”
it didn’t come out cruel. it came out factual.
like a line in the sand you weren’t even allowed to cross.
you nodded. “i don’t want him. not anymore.”
“good,” she said. “but them girls? they mine too now.”
you didn’t expect that. your brows lifted.
mary gave a small shrug. “i ain’t gotta love you to love what you made.”
and with that, she walked off, her heels clicking like the conversation never happened.
that night, your phone lit up with a text from an unknown number:
| you got time to talk?
you knew who it was.
your heart kicked hard.
fingers hovered.
then typed:
| you mean you finally ready to stop acting like they ain’t real?
three dots.
then they disappeared.
two minutes passed.
| i mean i wanna see you.
and you sat there in your sister’s dim living room, phone in hand, belly heavy with the weight of your consequences, wondering what the hell seeing you was supposed to fix.
you didn’t answer.
not yet.
but your heart was already walking toward him.
you told yourself you were just going to talk.
you got dressed slow—pulled on something soft, neutral, nothing that hugged your belly too tight. you didn’t want to walk in there looking like a memory or a weapon. you just wanted to walk in.
smoke sent the address. a hotel downtown, not far from where y’all used to eat brunch on sundays before everything broke apart. penthouse suite. quiet. expensive. detached.
you knocked once. the door opened immediately.
he looked… tired.
not weak. not worn. just like he hadn’t really slept in a while. the kind of tired that sits in your bones when you’re carrying something too heavy for too long.
you stepped in.
the door clicked shut behind you.
neither of you spoke right away.
you just stood there for a minute, breathing the same air for the first time in weeks. the silence wasn’t cold this time. it was warm. pulsing. like both of you had something in your chest that wouldn’t let you move too fast.
you were the first to speak.
“you wanted to see me?”
he nodded once, slow. “yeah.”
you glanced around the room—clean, neat, untouched. just like him.
“you could’ve called.”
“you would’ve ignored it.”
you didn’t deny that.
your arms folded over your chest. “so?”
he stepped forward. close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.
“i miss you,” he said.
simple. direct. like it cost him something just to say it.
you blinked.
he didn’t look at your stomach. not yet. he kept his eyes on your face. like he didn’t want to see what he lost, only what he still remembered.
you swallowed. “you left.”
“you cheated.”
you looked down.
“i did,” you said. “and i’m sorry. i’ve been sorry every day since.”
he stepped closer. now you could smell him again—cedar and smoke and softness that used to wrap around you at night like safety.
“you ain’t the only one that’s been hurting,” he said. “but them girls… they mine in a way that ain’t got nothin’ to do with blood.”
your eyes snapped up. “what?”
he finally looked down—at your stomach. at the weight of what grew there.
“they came from you,” he said, voice low, thick. “and i loved you before they were even real. so yeah. i’m mad. i’m still tryna forgive you. but i ain’t gon’ punish no babies for grown folks’ mistakes.”
your throat tightened. your lip shook.
“you serious?”
he stepped even closer. now his hand hovered at your belly, like he was asking permission with his breath.
you nodded.
his palm pressed flat. warm. steady. the kind of touch that made you feel anchored.
your breath caught.
he whispered, “they kick yet?”
you nodded again. “sometimes at night.”
his hand stayed there. firm. sure.
you whispered, “i didn’t know who else to be back then. i didn’t think i deserved someone like you.”
he looked at you for a long time.
then said, “then become her now.”
and you broke.
you fell into him, crying hard into his chest while his arms wrapped around you like he never stopped wanting to. he held you like a man who’d lost something sacred and decided he still wanted to fight for what remained.
he didn’t kiss you. not yet.
but the forgiveness was sitting between you, slow and real.
he pulled you to the couch, let you lay in his lap. hands on your belly. thumb stroking your thigh.
no sex. no seduction.
just touch. just presence.
and in that moment, you realized—
this was what rebuilding felt like.
not loud.
not easy.
but possible.
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.
(you said this part is all over the place? i know, and i’m sooo sorry! part four will definitely make up for it!)
𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 3; @longlivemalyce @solarssins @bluudsucka @ultralspblr @transparentphantomface @imqueenmelanin