𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Multiple OC’s x David Jonsson, Damson Idris, Tyriq Withers & Aaron Pierre
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Four successful women and friends in New York navigate love, careers, and themselves while never missing their weekly table at Alba’s.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Strong language, adult humor, mentions of sex, drinking
𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - hey…….hey, how yall doin?….been a minute. I saw my man David Jonsson again and knew I had to write something for him, but I know that community is small, so I decided to help out all of my small communities and show love. Thinking about changing Aaron’s character to Jacob Anderson maybe…idk. Let me know what you guys think. Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,734+
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - ᯓ★ | ᯓ★ | ᯓ★ |
Alba’s was not the trendiest place in New York, nor was it the fanciest. The restaurant sat tucked between a slower shop and a boutique, marked only by its pale yellow awning that sagged slightly from years of rain. But it was theirs. Louise Alba, the owner and longtime friend of the girls, had made sure they never had to fight for a table. Whether it was brunch after a long weekend, a quick drink between meetings, or, such as today, a lunch date that bled into early evening, Alba’s was like their church, confessional booth, stage and audience all in one.
Gabriella was mid-rant, perched in her chair with her ever perfect posture. Her navy blazer clung to her shoulders just right, a necessary cover for the pale coffee stain blooming across the silk of her cream blouse. She jabbed an un-manicured finger in the air as if cross-examining her friends that sat before he as she spoke.
“Do you all understand the kind of day I’m having? I feel like my blowout is starting to look diabolical, I ruined my favorite blouse. And the heel on my professional Louboutin pumps snapped on my way here—on the law firm steps! I had to use the pair I keep in my desk and they are no where near professional. And to make matters worse, I haven’t had time for a mani-pedi in three weeks. Three. Weeks.”
Her voice pitched higher with each offense.
Across the table, Paloma was busy reapplying her lipstick in her compact mirror. The sunlight streaming through the window caught on her silver jewelry as she twist and turned herself in the mirror to spot any missed imperfections. She hummed faintly in acknowledgment, though her eyes never left her reflection. Even stopping to admire herself a bit, offering her reflection a practiced a smile.
India had ordered a fresh round of drinks—a mojito this time, thanking the waiter silently to not interrupt her friends story. Though the drink was her fourth variation of alcohol since they’d sat down. She lounged lazily in her chair, her short pixie-cut sharp against the collar of her oversized black paint splattered shirt, a fashion catalog spread across her lap. Every now and then, she’d lick her finger to flip a page, making notes in the margins that only she could decipher.
Vivian, the baby of the group and the only one still sporting the flushed glow of athleticism, grinned down at her phone. The dimples in her cheeks deepened as she tapped something back, completely oblivious to Gabriella’s tirade.
Gabriella’s eyes narrowed as she stopped, gaze bouncing from one woman to the next. She sat there silently for a bit before demanding. “Are you heifers even listening to me?” She asked in disbelief.
“Yeah.” They chorused in perfect unison, but none of them looked up from what they were doing. Gabriella scoffed, snatching the napkin from her lap and slapping her linen napkin onto the table. She pushed her chair back, rising to her feet. “Oh, nuh uh.” She mumbled, grabbing her bag from the table and was about to turn her body towards the door, and that seemed to get their attention.
That got their attention.
“Okay, wait.” Paloma said quickly, snapping her compact closed. “Don’t go.”
“We’re listening.” Vivian added sweetly, her doe eyes darting up from her phone as she sat up in her seat.
Gabriella’s lips pressed into a thin line then. She plopped back into her chair with a small sigh. “Yeah, right.” She scoffed.
“I wasn’t.” India said monotonically, finally glancing up from her catalog. Her honesty was brutal but delivered with a sly smile towards Gabriella. Vivian’s head snapped towards the woman while Gabriella pointed at India lazily, glancing between the other two women. “At least she has the balls to tell me the truth.” The lawyers stated.
“I mean…” Paloma began delicately, tucking her lipstick away. “You can be a little… argumentative.” She said with a slight wince.
“What do you mean by that? Expound.”
“See?” Paloma gestured with both hands. “Case in point.”
India sighed and closed her magazine with exaggerated patience. “And also, no one wants to hear about your bad day at work on such a fine evening. No offense.” She smiled with false sweetness. “None taken.” Gabriella replied smoothly, flashing the same saccharine smile back. “Though, just curious—aren’t you currently unemployed?” She snipped.
Paloma and Vivian burst out laughing, while India choked on her mojito, chuckling despite herself. “You are such a bitch.” She said in her usual deadpan, though there was a hint of amusement there.
“I told you I was having a bad day.” Gabriella shrugged with a coy grin. Then, with the honesty of someone who wasn’t at a public restaurant, she added. “Plus, my period just started. So, sorry.” She shrugged.
“You’re not sorry.” India said.
“I’m not.”
“I know.” India smirked, leaning back. “Now enough with your bad juju, girl. I told you about that. Think positively and positive things will happen.”
“I don’t think Gabi’s capable of thinking positively.” Paloma murmured before sipping her mimosa. Laughter rippled through the table again, though Gabriella only shrugged, unapologetic.
“And for the record, I’m not unemployed.” India straightened, brushing the bangs of her short hair aside. “I’m just… in between jobs.” She shrugged. “See? Positive thinking.” She grinned over at Gabriella, raising her glass to the woman, who rolled her eyes at her.
“You’ve been in between jobs for weeks.” Gabriella reminded her.
“At least it’s not months.” India waved a hand, ever the optimist. “And it’s only because I dropped my last two clients, I couldn’t take it anymore.” She sighed, placing her head in her hands. “They were signed to Chanel, and do you know how exhausting it is to beg that company for something wearable? I mean, Chanel ready to wear is good, but haute couture? Chanel only gives the good shit to Kristen Stewart and she’s been signed to them since she was, like, fucking sixteen.” She groaned before lifting her head and picking up her glass and downing the rest of her drink for emphasis.
“I mean, I didn’t drop you as my stylist.” Vivian offered with a small smile. “So, you;re not totally broke.”
India sat up, finger raised like she was shushing a child. “Ah, ah! No one ever said I was broke, don’t put that out there.” She stated firmly, lip turned up in annoyance. Vivian raised her hands in surrender, while India exhaled dramatically. “And yes, Viv, I adore you and I appreciate the thoughts. But you’re an athlete, a runner at that. You live in track suits, spandex panties, and don’t go out much.”
“Fair point.” Vivian admitted with a shrug.
“But, no worries.” Paloma spoke up, a large beam encapsulated on her face. “You can dress me, and everyone else at this table, for this year’s Covey Gala.”She said, and the effect was instant. All three women gasped, leaning closer, and voices overlapping in disbelief.
“No way!” Vivian said, placing her phone face down on the table.
“What?” Gabriella demanded.
“You know where it’s being held this year?” India asked eagerly.
“Well, not officially.” Paloma shrugged casually. “I just know that Mr.Cameron had me put together a list of places large enough to fit around 2,000+ people about six months ago, and today, I’m showing this client one of the places on this list. It’s The Glasshouse.” She explained, and watched as her friends practically freak out even more, eyes widening as they looked at her.
“Are you serious?” Vivian said, reaching over and clasping Paloma’s arm in disbelief. “The Glasshouse? Connected to the aquarium? The one with the sky view? Do you know how long I’ve tried to get in there?”
“Yes.” Paloma said to the excited woman. “Two years.”
“Two years!” Vivian echoed, smacking the table.
India whistled low. “That place’s super exclusive. They wouldn’t let one of my clients set reservations once there once, and it was this whole shit show. But the food is supposed to be life-changing.” Once she was done, Vivian’s excitement died a little, blinking at the woman.
“I was more so just excited about us going actually.” She admitted awkwardly. “But, that’s a big deal too.” She said, offering Paloma a small smile, who
winced at that. “Yeah, about that.” She said, removing Vivian’s hand from her arm. “The invites aren’t really official.” She stated with an awkward laugh.
Their smiles all dropped then, and Vivian deflated visibly. “What? What do you mean?” Vivian asked.
“Well, for one, it may not even be the gala.” Gabriella spoke up, toying with the rim of her glass of wine. “I would think they were more secretive than that considering this is one of the biggest and exclusive events in the country.” She shrugged.
“Thank you, Gabriella Garibaldi, Esquire.” Paloma added with a faux grin.
“Attorney at Law.” Gabi winked, only gaining a laugh from India, who wasn’t as bummed as Vivian and as stressed as Paloma.
“I also still have to show them the place to see if they like it.” The real estate agent began again. “And if they don’t that’s a whole other thing.” She mumbled. “But I also have to work my magic and finesse my way in, and then land us all official invitations.” She stated. She gave Vivian a sad smile, who was obviously bummed at the news that there wasn’t a definitive answer.
“You got me worked up for nothing.” The youngest girl mumbled leaning back in her seat with a disappointed shake of her head.
“Oh, don’t be a baby.” Paloma groaned, reaching over to lightly shove the girls shoulder. “There’s still a high possibility. And if it’s a hot man, that makes it an even higher possibility.” She beamed mischievously, trying to cheer her friend up. Vivian simply nodded before her phone buzzed, vibrating the table a bit. She was quick to grab it, a small smile etching its way onto her face when she looked at the screen.
“What if he’s married?” Gabriella chimed in, catching Paloma’s attention, who let out a small scoff as she brought her mimosa to her lips. “That never stopped anything before.” She chortled.
India chuckled with her, while Gabriella shook her head. “You’re a sick woman, Paloma.”
“You’re a fucking lawyer, Gabi. You’re, like, top five sickest people on the planet.” Paloma stated.
“And who’s the rest?” Said lawyer questioned, and at that, both women turned to the one with the pixie cut, who was quick to answer.
“Excluding rapists, racists and pedophiles because they will all perish from a long death and be burned and tortured in the afterlife.” India began, gaining nods of approval from the other women. “We have, billionaires, politicians, people that do hedge funds or anything stock market related, the HOA, and Lawyers.” She listed, holding up and finger on each name. “And right under that is reality tv producers.”
“And that’s not worse than a lawyer?” Gabi questioned.
“Very close, but no.” Paloma said in faux sadness, shaking her head. A laughed erupted then, causing all of the women to look over at Vivian, who was back to being encapsulated in her phone. They three older women looked at her before eyeing one another.
Gabriella leaned forward, lowering her voice. “How much longer are we going to ignore this?”She began. “It’s already been two months.”
“Damn, two months?” India muttered sharply in shock. “I only noticed last week.”
“I don’t even know what the hell y’all are talking about.” Paloma added, causing Gabrielle’s to roll her eyes before looking over at the athlete.
“So, who’s the guy?” She spoke up, catching Vivian’s attention. She looked up, eyes widening in shock at the sight of all three women looking at her. She looked to her left, locking eyes with Gabriella. “Huh?” She asked, though she heard the woman perfectly clear, simply stalling to come up with a lie.
“You heard me.” Gabi said, seeing right through her, causing Vivian to sigh.
“This guy.” She started, trying to bite back her smile at the mere mention of him, though she had little luck.
“We’ve gathered.” Paloma said dryly. “Now spill, who is he, what does he do for work, how old is he, does he have good credit, and is he in need of a home?”
“Or a stylist?” India added with a lazy shrug.
“Or a lawyer?” Gabi asked with a smile, and Vivian blinked at them all in shock. She hesitated for a bit, trying to take in all their questions, but also trying to decide whether or not she wanted them to know. Sensing her internal conflict, Gabriella leaned forward, edging closer to the woman.
“You’ve been talking to this guys for what, three months—.”
“Four.”
“Four months now.” Gabi finished. “You usually tell us at the two week mark.“
“I know.” Vivian groaned, throwing her head back. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. It’s like, as soon as I tell you guys, he’s turns out to be a piece of shit or a total bum. And then I’m embarrassed a year.”
“That’s why you should tell us.” Paloma spoke up. “So we can see if this guy is a piece of shit or a total bum.”
“Plus, you’re still young, you’re supposed to date, sleep with and steal from pieces of shit and total bums.” India added. Vivian furrowed her brows at her while Gabi looked over in shock. “Steal?” She echoed. “You said you never stole from Brian. Were those diamond cufflinks you gave me his?” The lawyer asked her friend in disbelief, voice rising in shock.
“Brian was rich and stupid and I steal from all my ex’s.” India shrugged. “Now this isn’t about me, this is about Vivian, shh.” She said before looking back over at the youngest girl.
“I know that you guys are helpful and have saved me from plenty of douches.” Vivian started. “But, I really want this one to last. Even if he is some secret loser that I can’t see yet. I really like him.” She said, looking between her friends. “He makes me laugh, he’s great at giving gifts—.”
“Oh, honey, you can stop there. That’s all I needed to hear.” Paloma said, placing her hand on top of Vivian’s. “You keep a man like that.” She grinned.
“Well, at least—“
“Wait!” India cut Gabriella off, causing their heads to snap over to her. “Is the sex good?” She asked.
They all looked back at India, who had heat creep up her neck as she smiled bashfully. “Yeah.” She chuckled.
“Okay, now you can stop.” India said with a nod, leaning back in her seat.
“As I was saying.” Gabriella started again, pausing to give the other two looks incase they wanted to cut in again. “At least tell us more about him.” She said.
Vivian nodded, sitting up more in her chair. “Okay, well, his names Tyriq. He plays football for a living, he’s my age. I don’t know how good his credit is but when we go places, we always fly first class and get access to the lounge areas. In need of a home? No. A stylist, I don’t think so. And I hope not a lawyer.” She listed off, answering all of their previous questions. India nodded while Paloma ooh’ed at the sound of the man’s credit. Gabriella squinted at Vivian then before letting out a soft hum.
“Hm. You better be lucky I don’t know much about sports enough to find out this guys is.” She said.
“I’m pretty sure it would be easy to google.” Vivian stated.
“I don’t care enough.” Gabriella shrugged. “I’ll leave that until we meet him in person.” She said. She then looked down at her watch, which was right on time. “And it looks like I have to get back to work anyways.” She said and then began to get ready to go. She took a few bills from her purse that was on the table and placed them on the white cloth before shouldering her purse and touching up her makeup in the reflection of her wine glass.
“Okay, see you ladies later.” She said with a flick of her hair over her shoulder. She stood up from her seat, faint goodbyes from her friends echoing before she left.
you thought he was the personification of your dream man and now the bubble is burst because his girlfriend likes to shake her ass and cuss sometimes and talk loud
you tried to use his characters as cover for you to project your ideas of him through, now look….. whomp whomp
I wasn’t going to speak on it because I’ve already been black by a few writer that I actually enjoyed, but let’s weed out the crazies here.
Teyana is actually carries herself very well. She’s very smart, soft spoken, and an excellent creative. The perception that she was anything but what that was video from parties, clubs, or on stage…places where you’re supposed to be loud and shaking ass.
The real gag is that she’s not the cookie cutter image as the rest of the girlies. She’s a tomboy, her style is eccentric, she’s unconventional in most things(that end up become a trend), and she loves where she’s from and who she is and is authentic in every sense of the word.
Warnings: none right now. Past mentions of trauma, nothing tew crazy.
Summary: Athena, a guarded and sharp-tongued journalist, is reluctantly assigned to interview Adonis Creed, a boxer whose painful past mirrors her own. What starts as a tense professional encounter soon shifts into something unexpectedly personal, as Creed’s vulnerability disarms Athena and a flirtatious challenge turns into undeniable chemistry. With unresolved family trauma, journalistic pressure, and a spark neither saw coming, both realize this interview might change far more than a headline.
Notes: takes place after the 2nd Drago fight, Bianca doesn’t exist in this AU 😭Guys, I wrote this in one day, it's not proofread and probably poorly written, forgive me for my mistakes, college courses just ended, and I'm like exhausted, but I've been inspired to write, lmk if you want to be tagged in pt 2! Also, I really need to learn how to work Tumblr, y'alls posts are super cute and I don't know how to add any colors or different fonts, someone TEACH ME I beg
Athena watched as her boss, Christian, walked angrily to her office holding a stack of papers, her latest article, actually, that she had placed neatly on his desk this morning before he came in. His assistant, poor Sherri, who happened to be her only friend since moving to LA, was following behind him closely, subtly warning Athena as she tripped over her heels to follow the man’s long strides. Athena braced herself in her office chair before releasing the tension in her shoulders and placing a cool smile on her face just as he made it to the door. \
“Athena, what the hell is this?” Christian wheezed angrily, trying to gather his breath as he threw the papers back on her desk.
“An article, just how you wanted, sir,” Athena tried to sound at ease, but the way her tone trailed off at the end, she knew she was cracking slowly. Sherri gave her a nervous smile before sitting in one of the office chairs.
“Athena, I don’t pay you to write bullshit about people, you’re one of the best senior writers I have, and when I ask you to write about the most popular boxer in the United States right now, you resort to using Google. For what? Because you’re too scared to interview him?”
Her demeanor fell, Athena refused to look at him; in all honesty, her eyes darted everywhere besides his face. Adonis Creed was one of her toughest stories yet, not only because she hates writing about boxing, the violence wasn't her thing, but because she related to him in more ways than one. The abandonment, the single parent, the humble upbringing—she feared that by learning about his trauma, she’d have to relive her own, which wasn’t a step she was ready to take just yet, even after all the years of therapy. She looked at Sherri, who was smiling sadly at her. She knew of Athena’s trauma and knew why she didn’t want the story in the first place, but she would refuse to go against the likes of Christian while he was in this state.
“Honestly, Christian, while I am extremely lucky to be working at this company, and even happier to be given this story, I find it disrespectful to make this man relive his childhood trauma right after he just fought the son of the man who killed his father in the ring. I know he won and he’s still the “Heavyweight Champion,” but this was a rematch after he, too, was almost killed by a Drago. I just don’t really think it’s a great idea and might come across as distasteful, especially with the way we’ve been trying to make the company come across as more serious,” Athena leaned forward onto her desk, folding her arms over the other as her cardigan stretched in the sleeves as she spoke. Christian sighed and sat on the cushioned chair next to Sherri, rubbing his forehead before clapping his hands.
“Athena,” he spoke lowly, elbows on his knees, Athena watching as the fabric stretches around his forearms, “You do this interview that I set up, or I’ll give it to a Junior writer and see if they deserve this office more than you do.” Christian stands, as Athena whispers a small “yes, sir,” beckoning Sherri to follow him. Sherri stands, nodding at Athena, mouthing a quick “we’ll talk after work,” before quickly following her boss out of the office.
Leaning back in her Athena let out a deep breath before groaning. This is going to be the longest week of her life.
“The interview is scheduled for tomorrow at 2 PM, at the Delphi Gym. Questions have already been screened by his team. Make sure you’re there 15 minutes before to get a look at the gym.
Athena, don’t make me regret giving you this promotion.
Christian.
Athena stared at the screen as if it had bitten her. Sitting on her couch in her favorite cotton shorts and big t-shirt combo, she was exhausted. This actually couldn’t be real, she was doomed. She stood, closing her computer, and walked towards the kitchen of her high-rise apartment located in Downtown LA, one that she wouldn’t have been able to afford had she still been in Atlanta. Athena would have to admit, the job at LimeLight Wire paid handsomely. Enough for rent in a two-bedroom sky-rise with the perfect view of the Hollywood sign, floor-to-ceiling windows, and 24-hour security in her apartment building. Her apartment was decorated with plants and earthy decor, reminding her so much of her home in Georgia. Los Angeles was fun, but there was nothing like the Georgia air and southern charm.
Once in her kitchen, she grabbed herself a wine glass from her top cabinet before opening her fridge, grabbing her favorite bottle of cheap wine, it was cheap, but the buzz got the job done, and she didn’t care enough to spend so much on a bottle, especially when she didn’t feel like it was worth it. After pouring herself a glass, she walked back to her couch, plopping down with a huff and sipping her drink, she stared into space for a moment. She didn’t like this. She adored the job as a journalist, but not when she felt like she was being forced to do something. Google had enough about Creed for her to write a full article about him, but that wasn’t good enough for Christian. She had heard all about Adonis Creed, how his first fights went, how much trouble he had as a child, always knowing who his father was but never knowing him, even him almost dying in his first fight with Drago. Before she could get lost in her thoughts, her phone rang. She slid it off the glass center table she had, glancing at the screen, Dad.
She answered, slipping back into her facade, “Hi, Daddy!”
“Baby, how are you?” his southern accent glided through the phone, “you know your granny miss you.”
“I know, Daddy,” Athena sighed, “I’ll be back to visit sometime this Fall, I’ll even try to make it for Thanksgiving.”
“Baby, that’s over 6 months from now. Now I know Georgia ain’t got much to offer you, but you have a family, as small as it may be,” her dad spoke softly. She would never tell her dad, but there was a reason she avoided home, and he would never tell her, but he knew what the reason was.
“I know, Daddy, work been busy and I’ve just been trying to keep up with the quota, I’ve got a big interview coming up, actually, you’ll be excited to know who it is.” Athena tried her best to gently redirect the conversation.
“Wesley Snipes? Boy, you know I loved him in Blade!”
“No, daddy,” Athena laughs, “It’s with the Creed guy, the boxer.” Her Dad paused before laughing.
“I know him! Watched him fight that big Drago boy. I don’t know how that boy won that fight, looked like he was going through pure-dee-hell tryna take that big ass boy down,” He laughed, “But congratulations baby girl! We so proud of you!”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she smiles over the phone, “please tell Granny that I love her and will be home soon as I can, matter of fact, I’ll just call her tomorrow.” Athena took a sip of her wine, grabbed her computer, and walked to her bedroom, deciding to just call it a night.
“Yeah, baby, you should call her, and I know you guys don’t talk, but you should check in on your brother, you know, he proposed to Olivia,” he drawls, his voice now more serious.
“Daddy, that’s good for them. I’ll send flowers, I promise,” she shot back, almost immediately, not really wanting to have that conversation at the moment, “I love you, I gotta go.”
She sighed, hanging up her phone and climbing into bed.
“Just go inside, be nice, smile, from what I’ve heard, he’s a nice guy, just don’t worry about it, Thena,” Sherri said over the phone. Athena sat in her car right outside the Delphi gym. She had opted to dress casually so as not to make herself seem too formal. She went for a brown bottom-up tucked into boot cut jeans and black boots. Her hair was pulled back into a slick puff with tiny gold earrings lighting up her look.
“I’m not worried about whether he’s nice, Sherri, I just don’t want to seem disrespectful,” Athena replied, turning off the car and opening her door. She looked down at her gold watch, 1:38 PM. “Let me call you when I’m done, I’m gonna head in.” On the other end, Sherri mumbles a response and hangs up. Athena grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Looking up at the glass windows with the Apollo Creed mural on the front, she closed her door.
Walking into the gym was truly something. She looked around at the gym equipment everywhere, the walls covered in gray paint. Grunting catches her attention, and she turns, beginning to watch the men in the ring sparring intently, something about the way they moved so calculatedly entranced her.
“Hey, you must be Athena,” a voice says behind her, startling her. She turned, staring at the dark skin man behind her.
“That’s me,” she gulps, clutching her purse closer to her shoulder.
“ Nice to meet you,” she smiles at him before nodding, “The name's Duke, I took over the gym after my Pops, he trained Apollo, now I train Donnie. But you’re not here to interview me. Donnie’s upstairs getting ready, I’ll give you a tour of the gym while we wait for the okay.”
Duke leads around the gym, showing Athena each piece of equipment and how you’re supposed to be trained on them. By the time he’s finished, Athena has laughed enough times to give herself the hiccups, she’s also sure that she could take an exam on boxing and pass with flying colors. Duke had also tried to convince her to come back sometime to take some boxing classes, to which she refused, as tickled as she was by the offer.
“Duke! He's ready!” A female-voiced call from upstairs.
“We coming,” Duke yells back, beckoning Athena to follow him up the stairs. Once inside the office upstairs, Athena immediately sees him, tall, muscular, brown skin warm and glowing under the gym lights, and looking like a walking Nike ad in a white sleeveless tee and basketball shorts. Moisturized to the gods, she notes—that man clearly owns lotion. Her eyes trail to the gauze around his knuckles, the bandage on his eyebrow, the angry swell still hugging his left eye. He looked like he lost the fight, but carried himself like he won.
She grits her teeth. This interview was not a good idea at all.
Before she could spin on her heel and bolt to her car, he speaks.
“I’m Adonis, but you can call me Donnie if you want. You’re very pretty, by the way. I like the fit.”
His voice is low and playful, but she hears the smile behind it.
Athena blushes. “I know.”
His eyebrows raise, clearly thrown. She scrambles.
“Well, obviously I don’t know that you think I’m pretty or that you like the fit, but I do know your name is Adonis because I’m here to interview you, and it’d be really stupid if I didn’t, so that’s not what I meant—I’m rambling. Let me start over.”
She drops her purse onto the chair with an uneasy laugh, slyly wiping her face, then gives him a nervous smile.
“I’m Athena. Senior journalist with LimeLight Wire. Just here to interview you.”
Adonis leans back with a full grin, flashing perfect teeth. “You sure? ’Cause right now it feels like you’re here to make me blush.”
That makes her laugh—an unexpected, genuine sound—and Adonis eats it up like a post-fight meal.
“Nice to meet you, Athena,” he says, holding his side as he lowers into the chair across from her, smile still wide. “Have a seat and we’ll start. Duke, y’all can go ahead, we’ll be fine.”
Duke and the brown-skinned woman Athena had seen downstairs exit the room with smiles that feel a little too knowing.
“We’ll just be out watching them spar, Donnie. Call if you need anything,” the woman says with a wink. Athena clocks her as probably his agent or PR specialist.
“Thank you, Janine,” Adonis says.
Athena sits down, pulling her laptop from her purse and opening the interview notes. She taps record on her voice memos.
“So, Donnie, before we get started, I know you’ve seen the questions, but just know if anything makes you uncomfortable, you’re welcome to say so. I’ll immediately redirect or come up with a different question.”
“Not a problem. Let’s go ahead and get started.”
He folds his arms, muscles flexing just enough to make her feel ridiculous for noticing, and leans back casually.
“Okay, first question,” she laughs lightly. “How does it feel to move from training with Rocky full-time to now being a part of the Delphi Gym, knowing the legacy?”
“I miss Rock most days, but we still call. He got family in Canada that he wanted to see. It’s been an adjustment, but I like it here. Closer to my moms, and I feel like I’m getting to know my pops even more… even though he ain’t here, he’s here though, every bag, the walls, and even the ring.”
Athena types out his answer quickly, tongue caught at the corner of her mouth in concentration. Adonis watches her over the rim of his water bottle as he takes a sip, amused. She’s so different from every reporter he’s had, no fake professionalism, no cold detachment. Real. Sharp. Gorgeous, and God, those curves in those Jeans.
And that smile she gives after his answer? Deadly.
“Question 2,” she announces, acrylic nail tapping her keyboard. “You haven’t talked much about the fight with Drago since the rematch, in fact, you declined to interview afterwards, is there a reason for this?”
“Yes, actually, the win wasn’t about me, it was about avenging my Father, proving that a Creed could beat a Drago, specifically me. It wasn’t my best fight, but I had something to prove, to everyone in that moment. But Drago and I, we’re cool, we’re more than who our Dads are, and it’s what we’re both trying to prove.”
Athena smiles, “Well said,” before she begins clicking on her keyboard again. Something about her smile was infectious, and Adonis knew she was reeling him in already; he didn’t mind it, though.
“A year ago, you were in a public fight after a man called you 'baby Creed.' You’ve also been publicly upset about the notion of being called ‘baby Creed' and fighting under the name of Creed. Why is this?”
“When I started boxing, I didn’t even use the Creed name, I didn’t want to. I always knew that was my Dad, but I decided to use my biological mom's maiden name. I wanted to start my legacy and build from there, shit, I don’t know if I would be fighting under the Creed name now if it wasn’t for them leaking my identity. It wasn’t me wanting to be bigger than Apollo, it was about me wanting to be different, something on my own. I’m not Apollo Creed’s son, I’m Adonis Creed, period.” Questions went along like that for the next several minutes, Athena asking questions and Adonis answering them with a smile on his face. It wasn’t until Athena got to the last question.
Athena looks up at Adonis nervously as she reads the next question on her computer, “you don’t have to answer this one if it’s too uncomfortable.” Adonis nods, giving her a reassuring smile.
“You’ve said that so many times already, and I’m yet to be uncomfortable. Ask away.”
Athena clears her throat, “We all know that you are Apollo’s illegitimate son, and he had a separate family during that time. You have siblings, but we never see them with you. Do you all speak?” Adonis sits up, gripping his side as he adjusts.
“Nah, we don’t,” he strains, much to Athena’s dismay, “They never really cared for me when my Mama got me; refused to see me as family. I don’t blame them, though; I wouldn’t be okay with it either if it were me. But I got love for them, they’re my siblings either way. I don’t think they hate me, they just keep their distance. Didn’t really have much family growing up anyway, but I was okay with that.”
Athena, ever the attentive one, noticed his body tensing as he winced at the story.
“Hey,” she spoke softly, “we can stop for now, pick up at a later date if it’ll help.”
“Nah, I’m good, ribs just still hurting from the fight, and I don’t usually talk about home life, I can answer another one, only on one condition though,” Adonis speaks with a smile. Athena immediately begins to nod.
“Whatever you need, as long as you’re comfortable.”
“You go out to dinner with me.”
Athena blushes with surprise, with her brown skin, there’s only a tinge of pink, Adonis notices though. She laughs, closing her laptop. She only stops when she sees that Adonis is being completely serious and was not laughing with her at all.
“Wait for real?” Adonis laughs, nodding his head.
“Yeah, and you gotta let me ask my own questions to you.”
“Like a professional dinner, though, right?” Athena breathes, closing her computer.
“Only if you want it to be.”
@jazziejax (idk if you wanted to be tagged queen, I did just in case)
I’m writing for Jumpin’ right now and I just had this thought. Yall know that Michael B. Jordan commercial for Alexa? Yeah, what if I wrote for something like that?…would yall read? Idk I’m in my creative bag rn and I’m pumping out any idea that I have before I get burnt out.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - in which a woman receives a mysterious crate that changes everything she thought she knew about solitude, control, and connection.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild language, slow burn, emotional vulnerability, light sci-fi themes, let me know if I missed anything! Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes!! Go easy one me <3
𝐅𝐨𝐱𝐲’𝐬 𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩𝐛𝐨𝐱 - I had the idea, and I thought “Why the hell not?” And here we are….
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,637+
There was no room for weakness in Nadine Nelson’s life.
Not in her closet, where the hems of her Italian suits and Asian silks hung like armor. Not in her penthouse apartment in the heart of Manhattan, with its clean marble surfaces and city skyline views. And definitely not in the courtroom, where a well-timed objection could make or break a multimillion-dollar case.
Nadine was steel, wrapped in silk.
Her alarm rang at 5:45 AM, a single chime before she cut it off and sat up. Not a single grin or anything, just a long cat stretch before rolling over and letting her feet hit the floor. And already, her mind was racing.
Deposition at 10. Client call at 1. Lunch with the DA’s assistant—, no I’m skipping that. Trial prep at 4. Court by Thursday.
She moved like a machine all while thinking. First her perfectly manicured feet slipped into her slippers before she was up and tossing her arms into her deep blue silk robe. Then she was turning on the bathroom light, standing in front of the mirror before the sound of her electric toothbrush humming filled the space. Once she put into the sink, cold water hit her face, a nice cleaned scrub applied to her skin with some expensive soap before multiple serums and creams soothed her epidermis. Then she was down the hall and into the kitchen, her domain of silence.
She barely blinked as she moved around, effortlessly pulling together an authentic espresso. Double shot, four sugars, two creamers. She sipped out of the small cup that she placed on a saucer as she made her way to the living room, clinking on the large television with a simple tap to the panel near the light switch, as well as opening the curtains to the floor to ceiling windows of the space.
It was the news on low volume, something she played in the background as she sat on the couch and began the first part of her work day, which was checking notifications. Stock tickers scrolling. Loads of emails, and real mail. Even a text from her assistant.
Jane: Morning. Confirmed meeting with Sloane. Added an extra hour for court prep. I had to push your massage again. Sorry.
Nadine didn’t even flinch. Self-care was for people with the luxury of losing. She had no such privilege. As she continued to check and sort through her things, she came across a letter, which was rare nowadays in their advanced society. But she didn’t sit to read it for long once she saw it was some sort of survey with a government seal.
C.R.I.S.
(Cognitive Robotics & Intelligence Systems)
Confidential Prototype Program | Not for Public Disclosure
To Ms. Nadine Nelson,
Congratulations.
You are one of only twenty individuals selected to participate in the private beta phase of AURA—the world’s most advanced artificial intelli-
With a sigh, she tossed the paper into the rest of the junk mails she’d gathered, not even giving it a second thought.
By 6:30AM, she was showered and dressed in navy Balmain with matching slacks, gold cufflinks fastened, and her Louboutin heels clicked against the floors like a metronome. Every detail was precise. Her eyeliner was sharp, her decently pixie bob cut was curled and bouncy, not a strand out of place.
That was the version of herself she showed the world.
The version no one saw was the one who stared at herself in any reflection for a moment too long, trying to spot any imperfections and critiquing the ones she had. The one who pressed the ends of her hand to her temple when things became too much, roughly rubbing against her skin to not panic. The one who felt the beginnings of a headache every morning before she even stepped outside.
But there was no time for that.
Today was a big day. So big that she nearly ran over one of her co-workers in the complex’s private parking lot. The woman leaned out of the window, looking at her co-worker, Simon, was entrapped within his phone, coffee in other hand.
“Simon.” She clipped as she exited the car, standing beside the driver’s side with her bag slung over her arm and her eyes narrowed like the barrel of a gun.
Her junior partner, Simon Gellar, flinched, nearly spilling his coffee. He was leaned against the concrete column next to his vehicle, relaxed as if he had no multi-million-dollar contracts waiting for him upstairs.
“Nadine! Goodmorning.” He blurted, straightening up, phone still in hand. His thin wire glasses were crooked from how fast he’d jerked up.
She leveled a gaze at him. “You’re in my line of motion. Next to my parking spot. Were you planning to get hit by my car?” She asked, and though she was being sarcastic, her stoic face didn’t lean into that notion.
Simone scrambled back, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, sorry. I was—uh—watching something.”
“I gathered.” She pushed past him, heels echoing. Still, curiosity peeked through her otherwise impenetrable wall of ice. She pivoted at the elevator. “What was so important it made you forget spatial awareness?”
Simon followed her with a sheepish grin, lifting his phone to show a paused video. “This new AI prototype. It’s a for a government project. They’re calling it a fully integrated domestic interface. Basically a robot with a personality. They’re doing a limited civilian roll-out.” He explained.
Nadine gave a single, unimpressed glance at the screen. It was paused on a thumbnail image—what looked like a man stepping out of a delivery crate, bare-chested, perfect skin, electric-blue eyes, and a jawline engineered with an questionable precision.
“They sent you a stripper?” She deadpanned.
Simon choked. “We-well, no! Th-this isn’t mine, this is some guy online. A-and he’s, uh, he’s supposed to be adaptable. Learns your habits, routines, even preferences. The AI body is designed to assist with home tasks and companionship. There’s an application online—”
“Companionship?” Nadine asked, one brow arching as they stepped into the elevator.
“Not like that. I mean—maybe like that.” He said, squinting. “But—anyway, apparently they already started selecting people to house the prototypes.” He sipped his coffee, missing the twitch of Nadine’s jaw. “Random civilian testing. They’re sending out offers from low to high-income environments.” He continued.
The elevator dinged. Nadine stepped out before the doors fully opened.
“Mm, sounds like a weird distraction. Who has time for pet projects from a government that doesn’t care about them. Let me know when they build one that can argue in court and bill clients.” She deadpanned before the elevator dinged and she stepped off, stuttering down the hall to her office.
“Will do.” Simon called after her, blushing as he pushed up his glasses and watched as the woman walked away from him.
✦
Nadine’s office sat at the top floor of the firm—an expansive corner with floor-to-ceiling windows, brushed gold fixtures, and enough clean lines to make any minimalist cry from joy. But it wasn’t decoration that mattered, not to her at least. It was power. Clients walked in and knew exactly who was in charge and who was a leader.
She dumped her bag on the chair and was halfway through her espresso number two when the day officially launched.
By 7:15 AM, she was pacing through an emergency strategy meeting regarding an international corporate dispute. She cut through the legalese with surgical precision, offering airtight solutions and eviscerating anyone who hesitated.
By 9:00, she was on a three-way call with the CEO of a pharmaceutical giant and their scandal-scrambling PR team, coaching them through deposition answers while reading through a second case file on her desk.
By 10:00, she was downstairs in one of the firm’s conference rooms, dressed in a power stance that had the opposing counsel checking their notes twice before daring to even speak. She flipped through paper evidence like chapters of a book she’d already read, correcting a junior associate mid-sentence with nothing but a hard stare.
Every moment, every move, every gesture, was precise. Intention was behind it all.
There were no lunch breaks for her, only a small snacks here and there, or of like the food version of a power nap. And even then, she canceled today’s one-on-one with the DA’s assistant five minutes before she was supposed to show. Nadine opted to pace the rooftop patio instead, shoes clicking against stone as she answered emails, reviewed evidence, and toggled between two back-to-back client emergencies.
Her assistant, Jane, appeared like a ghost, silent as ever behind her at 2:35 PM. “You’re behind by twenty minutes.” She said softly, placing a fresh folder on the edge of the table. “And you haven’t eaten.”
“I’ll eat…later.” Nadine replied, flipping open the folder.
Jane hesitated. “Should I reschedule your chiropractor again?”
“Does he do brain surgery now? If not, no.”
✦
The rest of the day continued in a blur of depositions, and back-door negotiations. She squeezed in a quick stop at the firm’s media floor to prepare for an interview with New York Legal Elite next week—her sixth cover in two years.
By the time she returned to her office at 6:47 PM, her makeup was still flawless. But her shoulders had a weight she didn’t let show and her temples ached with the pressure of having to always be better. A pressure she put on herself everyday.
She sat at her desk, the city lights beginning to glow outside her window, and pressed her fingers to her forehead.
Three seconds. Just three seconds of quiet.
But then her phone buzzed.
BiBi: On our way up. The twins are bringing “surprises.” Brace yourself.
Nadine closed her eyes for one heartbeat before standing.
Her apartment was ten minutes away. She could beat them there, she thought. Maybe.
She did not beat them here. Inside, chaos was already blooming. Her penthouse was already lit up when she stepped inside at 7:15PM. She barely had time to set her bag down before she heard the commotion. Marley was dancing on the rug in her socks, while Micah had discovered the fridge’s smart screen and was trying to play Mario Kart through it.
“NADIIIIINE!” The two high-pitched voices screamed in unison. The twins came barreling toward her, curly hair flailing behind them like capes. They launched into her legs with the force of tiny meteors.
“Oof.” Nadine said, catching her balance. “Are you two ever not moving at Mach 10?”
“Nope!” Markey grinned. “We made cookies!”
“With Aunt Bianca’s help.” Micah added with a proud nod.
Bianca appeared behind them, holding a wine bottle and looking way too comfortable. “And I brought provisions. You look like you’ve had one of those weeks.” She said with a small pout on her lips.
Nadine raised a brow, looking over at the older woman. “I have those every week.”
“Exactly my point.”
“I missed the Nelson Towers!” Micah said, throwing herself dramatically onto Nadine’s ivory couch.
Nadine gave her a small smile, sliding off her heels. “Your mom should’ve brought you to court last week. You would’ve seen me destroy a man three times my size.”
“Did you throw a chair at him?” Marley asked.
“No, I used the law.”
“That’s boring.”
“No, my friends, that’s winning.” She grinned. As she moved around her home, making her way into the kitchen. Bianca settled onto a stool at the kitchen island, watching her sister silently. After a beat, she asked, “What time did you go to bed last night” she questioned, the sudden ask causing Nadine to scrunch her face as she looked over at her. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Bianca spoke again. “When was the last time you slept through the night?”
Nadine simply sighed as she turned her back and opened the fridge. “I sleep.”
“That’s not what I asked. I said through the night, not on your files. What time?”
Nadine pulled out a green juice and a yogurt, even though her stomach was already tight with stress. “B, I appreciate the visit. But I don’t need a wellness check. I’m at the top of my game, so I would say I’m doing pretty fine.” Nadine said with a small smile.
This only caused Bianca to give her a look. “You’re at the top of your ulcer.”
Nadine’s sarcastic grin dropped as her jaw flexed, nostril flaring as she glared at her sister.
Bianca continued, gently now. “Nay, you’re doing amazing. But you’ve been in trial mode for two straight years. You don’t date. You barely see sunlight. You don’t even blink unless it’s part of a strategy or some shit.”
Nadine stayed quiet, her spoon tapping the edge of the yogurt cup.
“You don’t have to prove anything anymore.” Bianca added.
And that struck something. Not that Nadine showed it.
“It’s not about proving.” She finally said. “It’s about maintaining. You fight your way up from nothing, and you learn fast—falling isn’t dramatic. It’s silent and quick. It’s one missed call, one lost case. One person thinking you’ve lost your edge.”
Bianca didn’t press further. Instead, she let out a sigh before she called out to her children. “Alright girls, thirty minutes, then we’re heading out.”
The twins groaned but obeyed, bouncing off to the guest room.
Bianca reached for Nadine’s tablet to put on a cartoon on the television, or something to entertain them while she packed snacks.
What she didn’t notice was Micah and Marley sneaking back in and whispering behind the kitchen counter. They had a letter in their hands, a piece of paper they found tossed haphazardly in the living room. And once they read it, the twins were all on board.
“There it is!” Marley whispered.
“I wonder why she didn’t answer. Robots are so cool.” Micah questioned, rereading the page over and over again in excitement. “Maybe she didn’t want one.”
“That’s dumb.” Markey sighed before pulling out her purple glitter pen from her back pocket. “Should I do it?” She questioned, looking over at her twin. There was a moment of silence that passed between them, staring into the other’s eyes before looking back down at the paper.
“Do it.” They said at the same time.
With sticky fingers and wild curiosity, they marked the “Accept Housing Unit” checkbox on the government letter Nadine had flagged but never opened. Marley then folded it back up before move to place it into the mail slot next to the front door, hearing the suction sound as the letter was whisked away back to the owner.
A pop-up confirmed the delivery on the screen next Mail Drop, causing the to high-five before they scurried off. “Okay, now we have to fill this out.” Micah said, pulling the retractable delivery screen closer as the screen loaded a soft blue logo. AURA | Adaptive User Response Assistant. Marley was already typing on the screen like she worked at NASA. “We so can’t tell mom about this.” Micah mumbled nervously.
“No one’s telling Mom.” Marley muttered.
“Okay, well, if Auntie Nadine gets mad, I’m blaming you,” Micah said, peering at the glowing tablet in his sister’s lap. Marley let out a sigh, rolling her eyes at her brother. “She’s not gonna get mad,” Markey tressed with a whisper. “She’s gonna love it. You saw the commercial—this thing can do laundry, make dinner, answer emails. It’s like if Iron Man was a butler.”
“No, it’s like if Pennyworth was a robot.” Micah added, eyeing the girl next to him. “That was a really bad…analogy? Have you ever even read Ironman?” The boy judged.
“Shut up.” Marley deadpanned. “We’re making Auntie Nadine’s house ten times cooler. You think she’s gonna notice another package with all the stuff she orders?”
“She will if it walks and talks.”Micah said, grinning. “Now hurry. I think this is the setup survey and anyone can come checking up on his at any minute.”
The screen adjusted to a smooth, futuristic interface.
AURA Configuration Survey. Optional. But, if you want to make the experience unforgettable…
“Unforgettable.” Marley repeated with a smirk. “Let’s go.”
Private Configuration Survey – AURA Unit #007
Answer honestly to ensure optimal user experience.(Note: Once submitted, preferences are locked in for bonding phase.)
1. What kind of support will the user benefit from most? (Select all that apply):
[ ] Assertive and directive. [x] Calm and grounded. [ ] Humorous and light [ ] Silent until prompted
4. What kind of presence should AURA have in the home?
[ ] Subtle but attentive. [x] Always on-hand. [ ] In the background unless called. [ ] Commanding and structured
5. How emotionally intuitive should AURA be
[ ] Not at all—task-focused only. [ ] Moderately—pick up on moods, offer support. [x] Highly—understand shifts in tone, body language, even silences
“Okay, she’s gonna love that.”Marley said with a grin. “Remember when she cried at the end of Paddington 2?”
“Well, so did I….”
6. The user prefers companions who are…
[x] Thoughtful and calm. [ ] Straightforward and direct. [ ] Reserved and quiet. [ ] High energy and expressive
7. Ideal communication style?
[ ] Formal and efficient. [x] Warm and intuitive. [ ] Light and witty. [ ] Minimal
8. Would the user appreciate personal attention to detail? (e.g. remembering birthdays, moods, routines):
[x] Yes. [ ] No. [ ] Only when relevant
9. AURA should interact like…
[ ] A professional assistant. [x] A loyal companion. [ ] A discreet observer. [ ] A supportive coach
Micah tilted his head. “What does ‘loyal companion’ mean?”
Marley shrugged. “I think it just means cool sidekick energy. Like Watson or Chewbacca.”
“Nice.”
10. Anything else we should know about the user? (Optional):
Marley hummed in thought for a moment before she began typing quickly. “She drinks coffee every morning at 6:45, she falls asleep with documentaries on, animal or history, and she forgets to eat when she’s on high emotions. Anger, stress, sadness. She likes it when people notice little things but gets weird when you say nice stuff too directly. She’s kind of secretly lonely but she won’t admit it. Oh, and she likes jazz but not the weird kind with screechy horns.”
Micah blinked. “Whoa. That’s kinda deep. You really know your stuff.”
“I pay attention.” The girl said. Marley then hit SUBMIT with a grin.
The screen flashed. Profile Logged. Preparing AURA for transport. Estimated arrival: 2-3 business days.
The twins then high-fived. “She’s gonna freak out.” Micah whispered.
“In a good way.”Marley added. “Hopefully.”
✦
It was now the next day, and if you couldn’t tell by now, Nadine Nelson was not one to wake up late.
That was the first rule of her universe. The first part to her routine. Her alarm chimed at precisely 5:45 AM, every morning without fail, a single soft note, like the chip of a bird, before she silenced it, sat up, and began the orchestration that was her life. Her body and mind moved like synchronized gears in a Swiss watch—sleek, efficient, and expensive.
So when a loud, jarring knock knock knock banged against her front door at 6:15 AM, it was not just an interruption.
It was an affront.
Her eyes snapped open, head jerking toward the illuminated time panel beside her bedroom light switch. 6:15? Her jaw clenched. She was already behind schedule.
Muttering under her breath, she shoved off her covers and grabbed her silk robe from the hook near her bed. Her movements were less precise this morning, more agitated than usual, and still a bit sleepy as her slippers scuffed across the hardwood as she stormed to the front door.
When she opened it, ready to deliver a verbal cease and desist, she paused.
There was a man at her door, next to a large package. But the man at her doorstep didn’t look like the usual FedEx or UPS guy. He wore a crisp black-and-white suit with polished shoes, a slim earpiece tucked behind one ear. He stood beside a large, square wooden crate perched on a steel dolly, taller than he was and easily the size of a refrigerator.
“Yes?” Nadine asked, her tone sharp as broken glass.
The man, unreadable behind dark glasses, tilted his head. “Are you Nadine Nelson?”
She didn’t like the way he asked it. Like he already knew the answer.
“Yes.” She replied flatly, arms crossed over her robe.
“Great. This is for you.” He said, stepping forward and pushing the crate toward her. Nadine moved out of shock, and instinct with a crate that size barking towards her, inevitably letting the man in with the crate, but once she realized she was coming drier into her honey she stepped in, palms up. “Uh, excuse me!” She said, stopping him. “I didn’t order anything. And certainly not something that looks like it should be in a warehouse.”
The man didn’t blink, but that the should tell through his glasses. “You are Nadine Nelson, correct?”
She sighed, jaw tight. “Yes. I already said that.”
“Then this is for you.”
Without another word, he wheeled the box into her foyer. Her eyes widened as the dolly clacked over her expensive floors, the crate casting a looming shadow across the pristine white walls of her home, from the sun shining through the large windows.
“Wait—hold on.” Nadine said, gripping the belt of her robe. “I’m serious. I did not order this. You need to take it back.”
The man was already turning for the door. “Take it up with customs, ma’am.”
“What? Customs? What customs?”
He ignored her completely. As he stepped outside, Nadine caught him press two fingers to the earpiece tucked behind his ear. “It’s been delivered.” He said coolly, then walked down the hallway of her luxury building as her front door slid shut on its own.
Nadine stood there in stunned silence, her arms hanging at her sides as she stared at the box now squatting in the middle of her living room.
Then she screamed.
A long, guttural scream that echoed off the marble and glass of her carefully curated life. Something she tended to do to let out her overflowing emotions.
And after a minute or two of huffing out of breath and anger, she turned on her heel and stormed back to her bedroom. Her phone was still on the nightstand, glowing from a few missed notifications. She didn’t even bother to text. She opened her voice message, hit record, and in her usual no-nonsense tone, she snapped.
“Clear my schedule for today. All of it. There’s some bullshit I need to take care of.”She pressed send to Jane, and then tossed the phone onto the bed without a second thought.
Back in the hallway, she opened the hall closet and pulled out a crowbar from the bottom shelf of her emergency tool kit. She hadn’t touched it since she assembled her custom bookcases two years ago, but it felt oddly satisfying in her grip.
The walk back into the living room was almost cinematic if someone else was there to view it—robe flowing, face full of anger, slippers skimming the floor, crowbar in hand. The crate sat there like a taunt. Uninvited. Immovable.
She didn’t hesitate to go to town, unleashing her irritation onto the box. Nadine wedged the crowbar into the gap between the wood slats and yanked. A nail groaned before it snapped loose, followed by another, and another. She was methodical but furious, stripping the crate open like a woman possessed with rage. Bits of sawdust and packing foam floated through the air, nails flying left and right, a bit dangerous but she didn’t seem to care at the moment. All of it littering her previously immaculate living room.
Nadine kicked aside the last of the packing material, breath puffing from her lips in irritation. She was done. Done with the entire thing. She expected to find an overpriced espresso machine or something.
But instead, she opened the crate and was met with… another crate?
Her brows lifted, her irritation fading into a slow, confused frown.
It wasn’t like the shipping box. This one was different. Striking. A dark wood, deep mahogany with an almost matte sheen. The surface gleamed with intricate carvings, elegant but oddly ancient, like something pulled from the archives of some old, forgotten dynasty from long ago. And in the center was a large gem. Oval-shaped, but a natural look to it, like it was just pulled from the earth and placed into the center. It was embedded like a heart, its color a deep blue, almost black in the shadows but gleaming cerulean where the light hit. It shimmered like water at midnight.
Nadine let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her fingers hovered over the jewel, almost drawn to it, like it was calling to something beneath her skin. Something primal.
She reached forward.
The stone was cool. Smooth. Her fingertips just barely grazed the surface when—
FLASH.
The gem lit up instantly, glowing from within like a waking eye. Nadine gasped and jerked her hand back, stumbling slightly.
“What the hell?” She whispered.
But she couldn’t look away, no matter how bright the light got
The light from the gemstone pulsed slowly, rhythmically, like it had a heartbeat. And then, as if in response to her shock, the carvings along the chest began to glow as well—lines of a sliver blue creeping from the jewel into the grooves and patterns etched into the wood, filling every line until the whole thing shimmered in a way that made her chest tighten with unease and…awe.
Nadine blinked, and her heart thudded against her ribs.
This—this was definitely not something you could order off Amazon.
And that’s when she noticed it. Taped to the inner panel of the crate, partially obscured by packing straw, was an envelope. Thick. Heavy. Cream-colored paper with a glossy finish and silver wax seal.
She reached for it, peeling it free. The seal bore the emblem of the United States, but stylized. Sleek. Futuristic. Her name was printed across the front in smooth, robotic cursive.
𝐓𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧
She frowned. A deep, suspicious furrow. This crate was for her?
Snatching the envelope, she tore it open and unfolded the single sheet inside. The words were printed, formal, precise. But they sent a jolt down her spine.
There was a purple glitter check mark by the question. And she closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath, already knowing who to blame for this. Nadine stared at the letter, then at the crate, then back again.
She was going to kill her niece and nephew.
And then—once the twins were grounded for life and Bianca was chewed out for letting them touch her mail—she was going to sue whoever thought it was cute to send her a six-foot robot without consent.
But for now, she placed the letter down slowly and stepped closer to the chest.
It hummed. Just once. A low vibration that rippled across the wood floor and into the soles of her feet. Then, the chest unfastened with a hiss.
The lid groaned.
A long, sinuous sound of pressure escaping, like the breath of something long dormant finally allowed to exhale. Mist pooled from the edges of the ornate coffin-like crate, curling along the floor like tendrils of fog. The dim morning light poured through the windows, catching the shimmer of the gemstone embedded in the chest—still pulsing with a slow, deliberate rhythm, like a heartbeat.
Nadine stared, crowbar slack in her hand, chest rising and falling too fast for comfort.
Inside, the shape was obscured. Cloth. A velvet-like black material draped across something… someone.
Another hiss whispered from the crate. The latches disengaged with an audible thunk. And slowly, ever so slowly, the coffin-like chest began to open—hinges smooth and silent, assisted by unseen tech. The lid released fully and slid backward, revealing more of the figure beneath.
Nadine inched forward, each footstep muffled by the hush of mist and the pounding of her heart. Her instincts screamed at her to stop. To turn around. To call someone. Her sister. Jane. The FBI. The CIA. The Pope.
She stared at it, eyes narrowing. “What did you two do?” She muttered, already picturing her nieces, innocent smiles hiding devilish delight, whispering and giggling as they plotted this chaos.
But her curiosity was stronger. That damned glimmering jewel. That sleek envelope with her name etched like some sort of prophecy. That letter that claimed this… thing knew her already.
The cloth stirred and Nadine froze.
Then the fabric peeled itself away—mechanically, precisely—revealing skin.
Well, no, not skin. It couldn’t be. It was just some beautiful mimicry of it. Smooth and matte. A man’s chest, carved with symmetrical precision and framed by sculpted shoulders. They were bare and powerful in the right compression shirt with the cut sleeves.
Nadine’s breath hitched.
And then he sat up. The fabric slipped off like water while Nadine stared, mouth slightly open.
It was slow and graceful, like someone waking from a century-long slumber. The man—because that’s what he looked like, down to the subtle flex of his hands—was breathtaking. Sculpted. Not just handsome, but deliberately so, he was made this way. Smooth dark skin, eyes like obsidian glass, and a face that didn’t seem designed but born from every secret longing she’d never dared voice. His eyes opened—two smoldering pools of warm obsidian, rimmed faintly with glints of silver. They found hers immediately.
Nadine staggered back a step.
He blinked once. Tilted his head. And then—smiled.
Not a robotic, lifeless twitch. But a curve of the mouth that felt… devastatingly real. It was warm and gentle. Intimate in a way.
Nadine almost forgot he was meant to be a robot and not some random man in a box.
“Nadine.” He said.
Her name, from his lips, made something low in her belly twist. His voice was deep, perfectly modulated, with just enough grit to make her toes curl. It was soft but strong, like thunder rolling far away across the sea.
“You—you know my name?” She asked, trying not to sound like a complete idiot. But she did anyways with the uncharacteristic stutter that slipped through, totally unlike her. The crowbar was still in her hand, but it felt laughable now. She wasn’t in danger. She was… almost enchanted in a way.
“Yes.” He said, stepping forward with fluid, feline grace. He towered a good foot above her, dressed in a fitted black uniform that shimmered faintly in the light. “I’ve always known your name, known it since you were assigned to the prototype queue.” He replied. “I was made for you. I’ve been learning you ever since.”
“Learning me?” She repeated, throat dry.
His eyes softened as he nodded. “I’ve watched your presentations. Your interviews. I’ve studied your calendar. Your habits. Your moods. What calms you. What drives you. What keeps you up at night.”
Her brows furrowed. “And why would you do that?”
“So I could be ready when you needed me.”
The words hit her like a wave. Sudden and unsettled something deep within her. It was undeniable.
“I didn’t need anyone.” She snapped at him out of instinct.
The man tilted his head, his eyes glowing blue as he scanned her face. ‘Defensive’ it flashed across his eyes. “No.” He agreed. “But you deserve someone.”
And then there was silence. A thick, emotional silence hung between them as Nadine stared up at him. His face was symmetrical, almost distractingly beautiful—like something a sculptor would weep over. But it was his gaze that disarmed her. No flicker of code was viable besides the unnatural glow, and even that was a bit comforting. There was no empty mimicry. He just looked at her, his eyes never once leaving her face.
“Who… what are you?” She whispered.
He then extended a hand with a small smile. Palm up. As if offering her not just an answer, but himself.
“I am AURA-7.” He said. “My designated name is Michael, but you can call me whatever feels right.”
Nadine didn’t move at first, her brain screaming a thousand warnings at her as her eyes flicked between his face and hang. Her chest was tight, unsure.
But her hand reached out anyway.
And when their skin touched—when her fingers slid against his palm—it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t metal. It was warm. Comforting and real. And this was the first time she’s touched someone in such a non work manner in a long time.
He smiled again, this time slower, more intimate.
And Nadine Nelson, woman of routine, disciple of control, high priestess of solitude… felt her entire world shift beneath her feet.
Imma only be reading Sinner fanfics from black people, cos I just saw a remmick fanfic where it's an x reader, but the reader is the daughter of a plantation owner. WTF. This is the straw that broke the camel's back. Between ignoring the black characters of sinners, centring the white ones, unironically making stereotypes of the black characters and misunderstanding the movie entirely, I've just seen so much trifling behaviour from non black sinners fans. This goes without saying, this is obviously not all white white people or non black people.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of gross bodily fluids, twin nephews, rpf…
𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I don’t know why I wrote this, I had an idea (that I still might do, because it invoked trailride MBJ…) and I felt like I needed context to the characters connection, so I wrote this. But it was also commenting to get different dynamics and creativity flowing. Sorry for any grammar mistakes or spelling errors.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 3,314+
𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓
“Will you stop rubbin’ your hands on the dress? You’re gonna get the fabric all spotty with your sweat.” The southern lily from the older woman next to her rang out in the black SUV. Her words were aimed at the woman sitting next to her, whose gaze was focused on the passing New York scenery out of the tinted window.
“The dress is black, you wouldn’t see it anyway.” The woman responded, not taking her eyes away from the yellow cabs she still wasn’t used to seeing, and she always had the same thought whenever she saw them soled by. Do people still even use taxi’s?
“Well, first off, the dress is a dark navy blue.” The woman next to her added, not missing a beat as she stared at her extremely nervous sister. “And second, not matter what, those camera are gonna catch those spots of oil and sweat.”
“Mentioning the cameras is not going to make me feel any less nervous, Ebony.” The other woman spoke back up, turning her head away from the window, blinking as she took in a sight other than the moving city, in what felt like hours. Her eyes automatically connected with ones that mirrored her own. The big brown orbs of her sister, a woman with a face so similar to hers, simply blinked as she pursed her lips.
“I want trying to make you feel any less nervous. I’m just telling you the truth so you’re not angry at the world later when you see photos of spots on your dress.” The woman, Ebony, answered sassily. “Ivory.” She added at the end, moving the girls walker comment.
Ivory rolled her eyes as she let out a small groan, slumping back in her seat and training her eyes back out of the window. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” She groaned.
“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t eat.” Ebony grinned, moving her hand over to give the woman a small pat on the arm. Ivory cut her eyes to her sister, giving her a lethal side eye as she blinked hard. “I can throw you stomach acid.”
“You can only do that when you’re sick.” Ebony stated.
“Well I had a pop tart last night as a midnight snack and I still haven’t pooped out of sheer nervousness.”
“I don’t think you’re gonna throw up a pop tart.”
“Can you two quit your fussin’?” Another voice chimed into the conversation, causing both women’s eyes to move to the passenger seat of the SUV, where a teen girl that sat, dressed all nice with her make up and hair did. Her body was angled to look back at them, and she gave a sheepish smile at the cold glares she received in response. “Sorry.” She said, letting out a small laugh before she sat back in her seat correctly.
“Well I’m not.” Another voice chimed in, but this time from behind the women. It was a male voice, though not anything deep. The sister in the front didn’t even tune to look back at him, and he didn’t seemed to care as he continued. “I don’t want to hear about vomit and poo right now. And especially not my TT’s.” He said, letting out a small groan.
Ebony looked back at that, looking her son in the eye. “We’re all family here, Nasir, you can hear about your aunts bowl movements. It’s totally normal.” She said, and the car was instantly filled with laughs, though the woman was very serious.
“Yeah, Nas, don’t ruin the familial mood with your antisocial behavior.” Another male voice chimed in. Nasir sucked his teeth as she looked over at the male next to him, who shared his exact face. “Shut the hell up, Cai.”
“Uh!” Ebony, Ivory, and the girl in the front seat, all chimed in simultaneously, turning to look back at him.
“What your mouth, mister.”
“Nasir, you might be grown, but I’m still your mother. Don’t you use that language in front of me, you hear?”
“Oooo.”
Nasir smacked his lips, his down turned eyes blinking as he looked between his aunt and Mom. “My bad.” His eyes the drifted to the girl in the passenger seat, who was looking at him with a mischievous smirk on her face. “Moriah, quit being annoying. You’re acting like a child.” He hissed.
“It doesn’t matter how I act, I’m younger than you and you’re a man. Deal with it.” The girl deadpanned, not even bothering to acknowledge a response as she turned back around in her seat. Facing forward again made her glance over at the driver when the car started slowing down. She pursed her lips at the older white man. “Sorry about my family, they’re a bit country and immature.” She apologized playfully, in a tone that was meant to be low, but she knew her nosy family was listening. And it wasn’t like the statement wasn’t meant to be heard.
“Moriah!” The girl heard the entire back of the car yell at her, but she ignored them as she watched the old man chuckle. “It’s fine, car rides like this are my favorite. Better than the silence or whatever they play on the radio nowadays.” He said, his Italian accent a bit thick and something unlike Moriah’s ever heard with ear won ears. She was fascinated being in the Big Apple.
“Well, I’m glad you find amusement in this circus.” The nineteen year old girl continued. “So, how long you been doing this here job?” She asked.
“Not long, not longer than most. I’ve been driving around celebrities for about eight years now.” He said.
“What’s it like?”
“Rich, stop questioning him. That’s rude.” Ivory said. “Yeah, you sound like the police.” Cairo added from the far back, not even looking up from his phone. The girl was about to turn around in her seat, for the hundredth time again, to say something smart or her brother, but was stopped by the older gentleman speaking. “No, it’s alright. I like the question.” He stated. “The jobs not all too bad, but I’ve always been sort of an…observant man. And the stories that I have?…Let’s just say that my daughter love them.” He said, causing the car to erupt in light chuckles. “You all remind me of my family.” He added. “Very authentically yourself. I like that about you.”
“I don’t.” Ivory added, a small smile on her face as she looked out the window. Moriah let out a small gasp at that, looking back at her aunt. “What?” She asked, and though she tried to mock offense, the grin that was appearing on her face gave away her joke to those who knew before she even said it. “Why can’t be ourselves, huh? Why can’t I be me? Are you ashamed of us?”
“Very.” Ebony and Ivory said at the same time, and the car was instantly loud with laughter from them, though the joke might not have been fully understood on Ebony and the drivers end. And it seemed that was just the moment that was needed before the family had to exit the car, the vehicle slowing down making them privacy to the premier that was happening right outside. Moriah let out a small gasp again, moving to roll down her window a bit, and the loud city instantly met their ears over the already boisterous hustle and bustle that was New York City. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m at a movie premiere!” Moriah squealed with a large grin on her face.
Ivory, who was looking out of the window at the crowd full of screaming fans and flashing cameras with a dar away look in her, let out a small hum. “Me neither.” She mumbled. She blinked as the car pulled closer and closer to where they would have to get out and then walk the carpet. They pulled in beside some other cars and a gentleman in a black suit with an ear piece walked over and opened, Ivory’s door. They pulled in girl looked back at her sister one last time, knowing they would have to get it at another spot and then walk the carpet with her.
“The dress is black, not navy.” She said before getting out and closing the door behind her. And through she was nervous, her face held a small grin as she placed her hand on the man’s arm and he began to lead her away, all while she heard the sound of Mariah’s faint laugh since her window was still down.
════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════
The second Ivory’s heel touched the pavement, the world seemed to shift. Flashes from cameras exploded in front of her, bright and blinding, like tiny bolts of lightning striking her from every direction. The sound of the crowed became a muffled roar in her ears. A mixture of excited screams, shouted questions, and pulsing music from somewhere nearby all vibrated against her chest.
For a moment, she just stood there, feeling rooted to the spot almost like a deer in the headlights as she waited to step onto the carpet. And as soon as she did, it was like switch had been flipped as she beamed and waved at those around her. She tilted her chin up, pasted on a small but dazzling smile, and stepped fully onto the carpet.
The flashes only intensified as she moved forward, one slow and careful footstep after another, her hand gently skimming the fabric at her side to make sure she didn’t trip. Her dark…navy or black—she still wasn’t sure—dress shimmered under the lights, the silky fabric catching in the breeze.
“IVORY! IVORY, OVER HERE!”
“WHO ARE YOU WEARING?!”
“LOOK THIS WAY, BABY!”
The paparazzi were barking her name now, their voices cutting through the chaos. Ivory turned her head toward the shouting, her smile widening into something more natural, though it was mainly out of the pure nervousness she was feeling, showcasing her silver fanged grills. She adjusted her shoulders the way Ebony had instructed a hundred times — roll them back, open your chest, make yourself look taller — and tried her best not to blink against the assault of camera flashes. She struck another pose after pose, just a simple shift of her weight to one hip and a tilt of her head — and heard the reaction: a louder flurry of clicks and a few whistles from the crowd. She even gave a then a better show of her plated teeth, bringing her manicured nails up to pull lightly at her glossed lips, showing her silver canines, top and bottom. Another frenzy.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of how big all of this felt. But Ivory found herself laughing. A soft, genuine little chuckle that she tried to suppress but couldn’t quite keep inside.
And just like that, it wasn’t so terrifying anymore.
A man with a clipboard approached, motioning her forward toward the backdrop where more photographers stood.
Ivory walked with careful, deliberate steps, remembering every tip Ebony had crammed into her brain: small strides, no stomping, soft hands, relaxed face. She reached the backdrop and turned slightly, letting the train of her dress fan out behind her as she poked her leg out of her slit. The photographers barked at her again:
“TO YOUR LEFT!”
“GIVE US THAT SMILE!”
“SHOW US THE RING!”
Ivory blinked. Ring?
Oh — right. She had thrown on a few pieces of jewelry last minute, including a silver ring she wore on her right hands middle singer, one that she stated prior was her and Ebony’s good luck charms. She was surprised someone even revered that, and who ever said that had obviously done their research on her prior. She lifted her hand a little, showcasing the ring without making it obvious she had no clue what she was doing.
More flashes. More shouting.
The nerves were still there, fluttering like birds in her chest — but now, something else joined them.
Excitement.
Pride.
A growing sense of, Hey…maybe I belong here after all.
And even as she had that thought, those words quickly morphed into an all too familiar voice. One that’s been saying those exact words to her for months now. One that paired with a handsome face and brought her a warm feeling to her heart. She turned as she was posing, and it was as if her thoughts simply conjured him up. She spotted the familiar face out of the corner of her eye, but soon an another staff member waved at her, signaling it was time to start the walk down the carpet for interviews awaited.
Ivory gathered her courage, gave one last smile to the screaming crowd and the flashing cameras and turned toward the next part of the night.
Behind her, the flashbulbs popped like fireworks.
Ahead of her, the adventure of a lifetime was just beginning.
════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════
Ivory’s heels clicked softly against the carpet as she made her way toward the first interviewer. A woman with a sparkling microphone and an even sparklier smile waved her down, and Ivory paused in front of her, smoothing a hand over her hip.
“IVORY!” The woman chirped brightly, already grinning. “You look stunning tonight! How are you feeling?”
Ivory tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled, the nerves turning into something easier to carry. “I’m feeling…a lot, honestly.” She admitted with a soft laugh. “It’s overwhelming, but exciting. Like — I don’t know — stepping into a dream you didn’t even know you had until it’s right in front of you can be a bit much but it’s still something I appreciate. ”
The interviewer warmly at her. “Wow, that was so beautifully put. And might I say — your dress is everything! Absolutely to die for! The teeth?!” She complemented, causing Ivory to smile as she laughed. “Thank you, thank you.” She said, bowing her head a but at the woman in acknowledgment to her compliment. “Who are you wearing tonight?” The interviewer asked.
“Uh, it’s a Schiaparelli haute couture by Daniel Roseberry.” She responded in a soft one, feeling weird telling that information. This was her first time having to or simply being able to say things like that, and she still feeling the nervous buzz from being on the carpet. “It’s custom, we wanted something that sort of fits the edgy scheme of the film.” She added with a nod. The interviewer nodded with a polite smile before continuing and the rest of their time didn’t last even a few minutes until Ivory thanked her and moved forward to the next stop.
The second interviewer was a tall man in a sharp black suit, holding his mic a little closer to Ivory once she stepped up.
“Ivory, you’re having a huge moment right now. This is sort of your big acting debut, so tell us, what’s been the biggest pinch-me moment you’ve experienced so far?”
Ivory thought for a second, the lights glinting off her grills as she smiled thoughtfully. “Hmm, Honestly…it’s the people.” She said. “Being in rooms with like minded creatives and actors I grew up admiring, Like Delroy Linda and Omar Millar, and realizing they’re just people with dreams just like me. Very kind people. Some others have even become friends.” She hesitated for a heartbeat as her smile widened, her mind flickering to a particular someone. “People I hold dear to my heart now.” She finished, her grills nipping at her lips as she smiled. “So, yeah. It’s the people, definitely.” She nodded.
The man leaned in, intrigued. “You’re smiling, are there some names you wanna drop there?” He asked with a grin.
Ivory laughed, flashing her silver canines. “Not yet.” She teased. “Gotta keep a few things to myself.” She said, and they shared a small laugh before he asked her a few more questions and then she was onto to the next.
She moved on to the last interviewer, who was waiting for her at the far end of the carpet. This woman was about her age, deep brown skin and sharp-eyed. She greeted Ivory warmly. “Miss Ivory.” She said, her voice smooth and practiced. “Congratulations. I have to say — you are truly a vision tonight.”
“Thank you so much.” Ivory said shyly as she poached a hand on her shoulder. “You look amazing as well.” She then gave the woman a small curtsey that made the her chuckle. “Now, I have to ask.” The interviewer continued, tilting her head slightly. “We’ve seen the trailer, we’ve seen the leading man.” She began, causing Ivory to let out a laugh, already knowing where this conversation was going. “And we’ve seen the reviews about how sexy this movie truly gets. So me, and the people, want to know if the rumors are true and your character is involved with a certain main character?” The woman asked, amusement clear on her face. Ivory laughed, a genuine laugh leaving her lips. “Oh wow.” She chuckled, her silver fangs poking at her bottom lip as she grinned. “Uh, I can’t say.” She answered with a shrug. “You’ll honestly have to watch the film to see. I know the trailer shows moments between Michael and Hailee, but there’s a clip of me and him in there, but you all will have to see how it all plays out.” She said.
The interviewer hummed before looking back at the camera behind her. “There it is guys, she’s gonna be getting steamy with Michael B. Jordan.” She said and Ivory’s cheeks warmed at that as she laughed — and before she could figure out how to politely stir the conversation else where, a familiar hand gently touched the small of her back.
She turned — and there he was.
Michael.
Looking heartbreakingly good in a sleek blue suit with black lapels, a grin spreading across his face the second their eyes met, showing his similar silver fanged grills. “Sorry to interrupt.” Michael said, his voice low and warm, but easily picked up by the cameras. He slid his hand from her back to gently take her hand, lifting it to press a kiss just above her knuckles. “I haven’t seen you in so long.” He said to her, looking her in the eye. Ivory grinned up at him, not saying anything but a soft ‘Hi’ that the microphone caught.
The interviewer blinked, delighted — as did the few from the crowd that caught the sight of their main man.
“No interruption at all.” The woman laughed. “In fact, you having perfect timing. We were just talking about you.”
Michael smiled as he turned to the interviewer, never quite letting go of Ivory’s hand. “I just couldn’t let her stand here answering questions about me without at least showing my face.” He said and Ivory let out a soft, slightly breathless laugh, looking up at him in a way that said more than any words could. The interviewer, picking up instantly on the energy between them, smiled knowingly. “We were just speaking on your characters potential connection in the movie and you two seem very comfortable together. The people out there want more of this bond.”
Michael squeezed Ivory’s hand gently, his thumb stroking the back of it like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “She’s the absolute best. My best girl.” He said simply, looking at Ivory, not the cameras. “I’m her biggest fan.” He said, knowing that the words would affect the girl. Which was proved right by the way she ducked her head at his words with a large smile on her face. The crowd nearby let out a soft chorus of laugh, as well as some aww’s, and the flashes from the cameras picked up again when she looked back up at him.
“Oh, you nasty freak! Why didn’t I know about this right after it happened?! Did you do it at the same time?”
“We are in a church parking lot! Have some couth!”
It’s the summer of 2003 in the deep heat of Mississippi, and Juicy’s just trying to live life loud—jewelry clinking, hips swinging, and lip gloss always fresh. Between running around with Mary, eating good southern cooking, keeping her name clean in a town full of loose talk, all while taking a break from behind a perfect college student, Juicy doesn’t have time for love… not that it stops love from finding her anyway.
The Moore twins are back, and so are the memories they all tried to keep buried. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore is silent and steady. And he still had those burning eyes like he knew things she hasn’t even admitted to herself yet. Observant as ever. And Elias ‘Stack’ Moore is still as bold, reckless, and shameless in the way he flirts, always saying the wrong thing at the right time just to see her blush.
It was just like old times. They’re her brothers best friends, and she’s not supposed to fall for either of them—let alone both. But in the hectic summer of ‘03, feelings begin to slip through the cracks as they all depend on one another, just how they did when they were younger.
What starts as teasing glances and late-night conversations grows into something tender, tangled, and far more complicated than Juicy ever expected. She’s never been one to choose between sweet and wild… so why start now?
