L-U-X Writes

She/Her ✨ Just a mf girl 🎀

[l-u-xwrites]

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎ Masterlist ♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ Hi thereeee its L-U-X ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

she/her • twenty-seven • libra. • va

Disclaimer: All of my works are written with a black female lead. If you don't like that, keep your opinion to yourself... Thank yaa ! <3

💬 Requests: Ask away! It's open. I would love to hear your ideas. 🚨 Content warnings & tags are always listed. If something needs to be marked clearer, please let me know!

Fluff, Angst, Smut 18+ Minors DNI

I write feelings like they owe me moneyyy. Certified lover girl to the core!! so I try to let my work represent that. Let me live my delulu life.

Anywaysssss, thanks for being here. I hope something I write makes you feel seen and desired. Us black girls deserve that. 💌

Lastly, if you would like to be added to my taglist please let me know in the comments. :)

Updated: 8/18/2025

One-Shots

Fics marked with * contain mature content 18+ Minors DNI

Aaron Pierre - Terry Richmond (Rebel Ridge) x Black Female Reader :

Say My Name *

Handled *

Yours, Even Still

Maintenance Required *

Michael B. Jordan x Black Female Reader:

All This Weight and You

Kindle

Ongoing Series :

Aaron Pierre-Terry Richmond x Black Female OC:

• Without You, Without Me (Terry and Ezra)

- The Weight of Coming Home

[blowmymbackout]

can all the terry richmond writers come back now..... 😩😩😩😩

come back to me sisters

[abihuluv2hate]

[iam-whoyouwantmetobe]

Peaches

Synopsis: Stack absolutely hates when you post on social media.

Warnings: Heavy Smut, degrading, overstimulation, Stack is insatiable, pregnant sex, cursing, use of N word, overstimulation, squirting, Stack talks you through it.

MINORS DNI

-

You were the perfect picture of innocence. A rare beauty that stopped anyone dead in their tracks, with a smile so warm they could practically melt. A southern belle with an accent thick enough to make anyone swoon. You had always been the center of attention and yet remained humble enough to ignore it.

You also ignored all the boys that tried to tie you down, not interested in the cookie cutter, goodie two shoes that were convinced they’d be perfect for you.

Your mother begged you to settle down with a good man like Johnny, who goes to church every Sunday, or Thomas, who was the pastors son. But you didn’t care for them, they bored you out of your mind. Too soft to handle you like how you truly wanted.

You were convinced that Mississippi didn’t have the version of the man you craved and that at some point you’d have to settle for one those men your mom kept trying to put you on to.

That was until the twins moved back. You hadn’t heard of them, too busy wrapped inside your own little world to worry about what others had going on but once they came back, the word spread like wildfire. The flames were big enough to knock the walls down of your domaine and the whispers echoed loudly in your ears.

“Heard they just came back from Chicago.”

“I heard they was over there stealing and killing people.”

“I’m surprised they ain’t locked up. Somebody should do something.”

You minded your business though, tended to your horses, dogs and your bakery business.

Cookies, pies, cakes, brownies and just about anything sweet that you could name, was your specialty. You started getting called Peaches for your obsession with making peach cobbler and handing it out to your neighbors. You had learned to cook and bake from a very early age, your mother making sure you knew how to throw down in the kitchen so that you could impress your potential husband.

But you didn’t care for that, you learned because you liked it, loved it actually, and eventually you took your talents elsewhere.

To Tik Tok.

Pink kitchen and utensils caught the attention of millions of people who liked to watch you do what you do best. You hadn’t expected the surge of attention, the videos only being posted in hopes to your reach your friends and family, but the algorithm had other plans. And so that’s how you spent your days, tending to your animals and baking sweets for your millions of fans and to share with your neighbors. Eventually you became the talk of the town, everybody wanted to try a piece of your desserts and before you knew it, you had people showing up at your doorstep asking for anything, a crumb even.

One night, while you were preparing sugar cookies, you heard a knock at your door that wasn’t frantic like it usually was. It was slow and loud. Just two knocks.

You wiped your hands on your pink apron, long curly light brown hair cascading down your back as you walk towards the entrance, the shorts you wore barely covered your ass and the cropped tank top hugged your upper body tight. You weren’t expecting anyone this late, no one usually showed up at this time.

The clock ticked to 11PM just as your hand reached the handle. A man, who you hadn’t seen before, stood there in a all black suit. His face was expressionless but his eyes stayed on the way your cheeks reddened before they traveled down your body, zeroing in on the deep brown moisturized skin that glowed against the moonlight.

Something about his demeanor made your stomach turn, nerves clawing at your body, but there was something else, a heat hidden behind the fear.

“Oh. Hi! H-How may I help you?” Your voice was soft and something about it caused Stack’s jaw to tick slightly, that and the way you smelled of fresh vanilla and peaches.

“Evenin ma’am. Names’ Stack. My apologizes for disturbing you so late. I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Delphine, says her husband sick and in the hospital again, been craving sum of them lemon cookies you be making.”

His voice was deep and rough in a way that would send anybody else running. Accent slow like molasses and thick just like yours. Your thighs clenched before you could stop yourself.

“Oh um. Y-yeah. I have some. I just gotta pack them up for him. Um—” You hesitated, teeth sinking into your plush lip before mentally telling yourself ‘Fuck it’.

“Um— Do you want to come in and wait while I get everything together?”

Stack nodded, a small smirk appeared on his lips before he stepped inside your little world that you had carefully crafted for yourself.

And the rest was history.

Your viewers started to notice the change, the way you recorded videos with a smile so wide you’d think the measuring cups had told you a joke. They noticed how softer you were, the dreamy look on your face and the way you just glowed.

Assumptions about a man being in the picture were in almost every single video you posted. You didn’t bother confirming nor denying anything. Just let them keep guessing.

Until you popped out with a ring on your finger. You weren’t even bothering on being discreet, your perfectly manicured hand was all in the camera as you recorded how you baked a cheesecake. The boulder on your finger catching the light and making its presence known.

You tried to remove the ring, your audience too distracted by it to pay attention to what you were making but Stack wasn’t having that. Not one bit.

“Stop fucking playin with me. Put that shit back on.”

He groaned as he watched the video you had posted without it. Stack didn’t even have a tik tok account before you, didn’t even care about anything pertaining to social media. But once the two of you got together, he made sure to watch anything you posted.

‘User3829928’ liked your video.

He didn’t even bother making a name for himself, didn’t care to post or even watch anything else. His only purpose was to watch you. Sometimes you’d post things to get under his skin. A picture with a miniskirt that was wayyyy too short. A dress that hugged your curves too tight for a video on how to make homemade ice cream. Or starting a ‘get ready with me’ video in a silk robe that showed a little too much for him. Each time ended with you on your knees, attempting to apologize to him as he fucked your throat. You promised you wouldn’t do it again through tears that seeped through the pillow case while he fucked you silly.

But you never kept your promises.

-

You shouldn’t have done it, but you were frustrated beyond belief. Stack had left early that morning with the lie stuck on his lips that he’d return in time to make cupcakes with you. It was a cute little tradition the two of you had started since you first got together.

Every Friday, the two of you would spend the day baking or cooking something. Anything.

Last Friday, Stack wanted tomato soup and grilled cheese. So the two of you spent the day making that, even had more than enough to send over to Smoke and Annie.

This Friday though, you and the small little bean growing inside of your belly were craving cupcakes and Stack had given you his word. Said he just had a few errands to run with Smoke and that he’d be back early enough to bake the cupcakes so that they’d be ready by dinner time.

By 5PM you were still waiting for him, the pout on your face deepened as you texted him for the 8th time in the past 10 minutes.

By 5:30 you have had enough. You changed into a red halter top, mini dress that Stack had specifically bought just for you to wear for him, fluffed out your curls and touched up your makeup. You grabbed your phone, set it up on the tripod in the kitchen and started the live.

Comments flooded in seconds, compliments being thrown left and right. Some from the ladies but most from men.

“Hi guys!” You waved to the camera, the stack of bracelets dancing loudly on your wrist. “It’s a bit late but I was planning on making cupcakes so I figured you guys would like to join me.” Your smile was sweet, as it always was. No one suspected your ulterior motives.

No more than 5 minutes of you starting, your iPad started ringing. Your phone, which was placed on DND, recorded as you watched your iPad ring before shutting it off.

It only took Stack 20 minutes to drive home. You were distracted, too deep into explaining your recipe to notice him walk into the kitchen. His heavily tatted arms were crossed across his chest, his body stiff behind your phone. White T shirt clung to his muscles, black jeans handing low on his hips, some Jordan’s and chains sitting heavy on his pretty neck.

“Okay so make sure that you’re adding enough vanilla extract or it’s going to taste like—” You jumped once you noticed him, heart racing loudly in your chest. The viewers noticed, half concerned, half excited to maybe get a glimpse of your man.

“Is that him?”

“Omg don’t tell me we’re about to meet Mr.Peaches himself.”

“Guys have you noticed that she looks a bit pregnant here?”

Stack eyed you. Fully. From the top of your head, down to the French tip pedicure on your toes. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the dress you wore.

“End the live fa me, baby.” You bit the side of your bottom lip, eyes wide and staring up at him. Somewhat embarrassed that this was happening on live, somewhat turned on from the intensity of his stare.

“I—I’m not done, papa.”

“I know you ain’t done but we gotta talk, so end the live.”

“Ooop not my good sis done fucked up”

“Shiiiitttt girl he sound like he not playing, ga head and end the live.”

“Why do I feel like I’m the one getting in trouble?”

You nodded. “Okay guys, I’ll see yall in a bit.” The screen went dark as soon as the live ended. You locked your phone and placed it on the counter. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you but pretended not to.

“You like playing with me?” Stack slowly walked up to you.

“Stack—”

“Nah, answer me. You like pissing me off?” He stood right in front of you, arms on either side, holding on to the counter behind you. He leaned down and it took everything in you not to throw yourself into his warmth. He smelled of cologne and weed, scent strong enough to make you dizzy with desire.

“No…” your lips formed a pout, eyes wide in the way you knew could get you anything you wanted. His lips twitched, trying hard not to smirk at how cute you looked. “Get ya ass upstairs. Now.”

“But-”

“Now, baby.”

You nodded, and headed up the stairs with him trailing behind you. He didn’t like being mean to you, you were too sweet for that, but he was never afraid to put you in your place.

You sat at the edge of the bed and waited for him to walk in, your nerves were through the roof but you also lived for the thrill and he knew that. Stack’s steps were heavy, you expected him to walk right to you, to grab you up and choke you like how he always does but instead he walks to the vanity that sat across from the bed. You watched the muscles on his back move, his big frame blocking what he was doing.

After a few seconds of messing around, he turned and walked to you. His hand gently gripped your jaw, thumb smoothing circles onto your skin. “You wanted my attention, mama? Huh? That’s why you did that?”

You nod, face formed into a pout. This wasn’t usual for him, the gentleness after you piss him off.

“Nah speak up. Tell me what the problem is.” Your breath stutters and eyebrows furrow in confusion. His voice was soft, the complete opposite of what you were expecting. “Speak, mama. I’m here now. Tell me what’s up.”

Your mouth opens, getting ready to spill your truth, to admit that your hormones and emotions were completely out of wack and all you wanted was your man.

Stack lowers down to his knees, his hands pull your dress up in one quick motion. A small gasp escapes your mouth when he presses a kiss to your knee, trailing his lips further up your thigh. “I don’t hear you.” He looks up at you, waiting for you to say something, anything.

“I—It’s just that I-” Stack spreads your legs further, prompting you to lean back on to your elbows. He digs his nose onto the damp spot of your panties, groaning at your scent. Your breathing picks up, hands already gripping onto the sheets and body slightly trembling.

“Mm, so fucking sensitive.” He places a kiss to your covered mound before gripping the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your legs. “I don’t hear you talking.”

You whimpered at the heat of his face so close to where you needed him the most. “Elias” You softly begged.

“Nah, none of that. I ain’t moving till you speak.”

You groan, laying your body down fully as your eyes stare up at the ceiling. “I just… I really wanted cupcakes and you promised me you’d make them with me—” Stack dug his face in your drenched pussy, tongue flattening on your clit before pulling back. A moan stops you mid sentence, eyes drifting down to him as you watch him spit. His fingers mix it with your essence before slowly pushing into your tight hole.

“Eliiiasssss” Your back arches, small belly bump covering the way he leans in and wraps his lips around your aching clit.

“I ain’t tell you to stop, did I?” His fingers curl inside of you, moving faster as his tongue continuously laps up your juices. “Talk to me. I’m listening.”

“F-Fuck!” Your moans mixed into whimpers, already feeling the coil forming in your stomach. “Don’t stop.” You gasped, eyes rolled to back of your head while Stack feasted on you.

He smacked the inside of your thigh with his free hand. “Keep talking or ima stop.” You felt him slow down, face slowly pulling back just as you were about to cum.

“Fuuuuckk, okay okayyy. I just, I needed you here—” Stack hummed in satisfaction, fingers continuing to slowly pump in and out of you while he watched you try not to fall apart. “A—And you were gone for a long time—” You couldn’t stop whimpering, pregnancy making you extra sensitive to his touch.

“Mhm and what else, mama?”

You squirmed, full body trembling from the feel of his fingers reaching deep inside of you as he slightly picked up his pace. “Eliasss fuucckkkk.”

“Keep going, you doing good, baby.” He placed kisses to your clit, holding you right at the edge of that breaking point.

“Fuccckkkk, I just needed you here. I needed your attention— I just wanted you, daddy.” You sounded so sultry, voice high and full of moans.

“Yeah? That’s all it was?” Stack puckered his lips around your clit again and let his tongue play with it. You cried out, hands reaching out to grab his head while your hips frantically moved up and down his face.

“Yes! Yes! That was all, daddy. I swear!” It didn’t take much for the restraint to snap, your juices decorated Stacks face and your body twisted and turned as if trying to find a place to store the pleasure you were feeling.

“You so fucking wet, my god.” Stack moaned as he sucked and licked every drop from you. He stood to his full height, hands immediately reaching for his shirt and removing it. Next was his pants, thrown to the side along with his boxers. You moaned at the sight of him, tattoos tracing his front and back, including your name right along the side of his neck.

Stack grabbed your body and turned you to the side, then laid right behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest while the other one gripped your leg, lifting it high enough for your knee to reach his shoulder. “This what you wanted, right?” You felt the head of his dick nudge your folds, drenching it in your essence. The sound was obscene. There was no denying how badly you needed him.

“Yessssss.” You arched back onto him.

“Ga head, take it. Take what you want.”

Your trembling hand reached down and grabbed his dick, slowly pushing it inside of you. Stack groaned, burying his face in your neck as he slowly moved his hips.

Moans escaped your open mouth as you felt the stretch from the pure girth he carried. “Oh my god.” You cried out as he bottomed out, his full length deep inside of you while you clawed at his arm and the sheets. “Fuck!”

“Mhmm, take it, take that shit baby.” He sped up his pace. Thrusting in and out of you while you cried out every time he kissed your cervix.

“S—so big, papa!” You whined, already feeling the way your stomach was tightening again.

“I know baby, I know. But you can take it right? Look how good you’re doing. Taking all this big dick.” He grabbed your face and turned it to his. Your lips met in a slow dance that contrasted with the way he was fucking you. You couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth, your face forming a small pout.

“Don’t look at me like that. You wanted this right? Take it. Just like that.” His voice was like silk against your ears. Your hand weakly grabbed onto his arm as you squirted with every thrust.

“Eliaaaassssss!”

“Mhmmm, give it to me. Give me all that shit. Nut all on your dick, baby.”

Your body shook and bent against him but he wouldn’t dare stop. You were nothing but gasps and whimpers, trying your best to come down from the intense high you just experienced.

Stack pressed your lips together again, tongue sneaking its way into your mouth. “Open.” He spit into your mouth the second you followed his order. Hips still digging into you.

He slowed down and shifted so that he’d be able to deepen his strokes. You sobbed into his neck, your French tips pressing crescent moons on his thigh. His other hand rubbed your small but plump belly. “Cum for me again. Do it. Let me see you break.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your juices sprayed out of you, another orgasm ripping through your body without permission.

“Drown me just like that. Keep going, don’t fucking stop.” His lips were right by your ear, you heard every small groan, every breath and whisper that he tried to hide.

“Okaaayyyy.” You whined, feeling completely out of control of your own body.

You couldn’t stop squirting, all you could was sob and try your hardest to gain some type of control of the situation but your body was overstimulated and done for. Stack didn’t care though, he kept going. Dick sliding in and out of you with a wet splat each time he went all the way in.

“Good girl, mama. You gon let me ruin you like this, huh?” His strokes slowed down, you felt each inch of his thick cock trying to tear you apart.

“I— I can’t.” Your tears fell in waterfalls, short breaths turned into gasps as he continued to abuse your already swollen folds.

“Yes you can. Come on, give me one more. You can do that for me, right?”

“I caaaannnt. Elias, I can’t, fuck. I can’t.” Your toes curled and your body hadn’t stopped trembling since he started. You cried out over and over again as you reached a state of what felt like hysteria. He felt so good but you could barely breathe and were practically drooling. Your eyes kept rolling to the back of your head and your juices drenched the mattress beneath you.

Stack reached his hand down and pressed a two fingers to your clit. Your jaw dropped, hand reaching back to lightly slap his chest over and over again, as he rubbed your nub in circles. Screams echoed throughout the room as your body practically convulsed.

“There she go. That’s exactly where I want you. Just like that, baby. Stay just like that while I ruin you.” Your walls fluttered around his length, another orgasm threatening to destroy you. “Breathe. Let me hear you.”

You took a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut while you sobbed. “I love your dick, daddy. I love it so much!” You cried out loud.

“Yea? This why yo ass pregnant now. Nasty ass girl.”

“Keep fucking me, please! You feel so good inside my pussy. Don’t stop. Don’t stop!”

He moaned against your ear, hips stuttering from trying to hold himself back. “Look at you. Dumb off of dick. They don’t even know how you get. Tryna act all innocent for them people—If only they fucking knew.” He sped up, hand lifting your leg higher to reach parts of you, you didn’t even know could be touched. “You love me, hm? Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m the only nigga that could ruin you like this.”

“I love you! I love you! I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum, Elias. Oh my god!” The hand on your clit sped up to match his thrusts.

“Say it. Tell me this mine. Tell me I own you.” His strokes were brutal, all that was heard was the slapping of his skin against yours and the mess you were currently making. “This my pussy, my body, my nut. All of it. Mine. You hear me? I own you, baby. All of you.”

“Yes! It’s yours. All yours! Fuck!” Your body snapped, shaking profusely as your cum flowed out of you. Stack whimpered, his thighs trembling as he filled you with his seed.

“Oh fucckkkk” he moaned against your shoulder, pressing kisses to your damp skin, trying his best to calm down. He slowed his movements, letting the both of you ride out the orgasm.

You twitched against him, slumped over in a state of absolute bliss. Stack kissed you all over, hands rubbing your sides to calm you down.

Your eyes opened slowly, looking around as if you couldn’t believe that just happened. It felt like you had an out of body experience.

The vanity that sat right in front you, had your phone propped up and facing the both of you. Your eyes widen as you gasp.

Stack followed your eyesight, he chuckled slightly before getting up. Grabbing your phone, he pointed it right at your exhausted figure.

“Thought I’d keep this for memory as a reminder of what happens when you try to play with me.” You bit your lip, stomach turning in a way that it shouldn’t have been after all that. But the thought of having a video of the two of you having sex, saved into your phone where you could watch whenever, caused a fire to burn deep within you.

“Come on, baby. Show the camera the mess we made.” A smirk played on your lips as you turn over. Back arched and chest pressed onto the bed, you reach back and open your folds with two fingers. Stack groans, moving the camera closer to catch the way his nut slides out of you.

“Perfect.” He moaned before turning it off and lightly spanked your ass.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before you get me started again.” You giggle as he picks you up bridal style and heads to the bathroom.

-

[l-u-xwrites]

Hii would you consider bring back what love takes 🥹 I know the fandom is fuckkkked rn but is the like tinyyy possibility that you could revive it for us girlys that really enjoyed it

Hiii honey! Yk what’s crazy. After I deleted it I regretted it immediately lmfao. I do still have the story and I’m honestly thinking about putting it back up. I gave up on it too quickly. I think it will be posted again with a few changes. More to come!!!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾

[kumkaniudaku]

This nigga is insane fr.

[keeper-of-the-tomes]

Hey, so this is wild

[kumkaniudaku]

😂😂😂😂

[nubiawrites]

.... did I write this into existence

[kumkaniudaku]

YES 😂😂😂

[l-u-xwrites]

@nubiawrites You the one to blameeeee ???? 😂😂😂

[theogbadbitch]

[l-u-xwrites]

No seriously.. JAW ON THA FLO lmfaooooo😂😦

[marvelfan14sworld]

me after reading ever single fanfic under smoke x reader 😔

[l-u-xwrites]

Without You, Without Me

A/N : I hope you guys enjoy this. More to come on this!😌

W A R N I N G S : Angst, Slow Burn, Mentions of Depression, Curse Words, Emotional Tension

W O R D C O U N T: 5,320

The clock on the wall ticked too loudly for a room that was supposed to feel safe. Ezra sat with her fingers twisted in her lap, staring at the rug. The therapist didn’t speak right away. She just waited, pen balanced between her fingers like she was measuring the weight of Ezra’s silence.

Finally, she leaned forward. "If Terry never came back," she said, voice steady but not unkind, "Would you still fight to become the person you’re trying to be?"

Ezra balanced her phone against a stack of books on the dresser. She angled the camera so her therapist wouldn’t see the laundry in the chair behind her. The apartment felt too quiet without cartoons humming in the background. Rowan was still sleep. She’d used the pocket of silence to tidy and then ruined the illusion with a spill of half-folded clothes across the bed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dr. Salgado said, gentle as ever.

“I keep packing and then unpacking,” Ezra admitted. “Like if I put the little socks in the wrong pocket, we won’t make the flight.”

“What would it mean, to not make the flight?”

“It would mean I don’t have to see him and find out whether I’m ready.” Ezra’s laugh was small and crooked.

“Ready for what?”

“For being in the same room for more than an hour without… without the history dragging its chair up to the table.” She sat on the edge of the bed and dug her thumb into the seam of the comforter. “We’re going for Rowan’s birthday. That should be simple. Balloons and cake and grandparents who spoil him. But I keep thinking Terry will look at me the way he used to. Like I’m home…and I’ll have to decide if I’m brave enough to walk through that door.”

Dr. Salgado nodded. “You’ve been married how long now?”

“Six years,” Ezra murmured, voice dipping low, “but… separated for almost a year. Not divorced. Just… living apart. Co-parenting. He comes to Texas every few weeks to pick up Rowan, spends time with him, brings him back. But we haven’t really been in the same house together for longer than a drop-off in months. And when we talk… it’s usually about Rowan, school, doctor appointments.. Nothing about us.”

“You still love him.”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate. “I could never see myself with anyone but Terry. He’s….he’s such an amazing father. Patient with Rowan in a way I never have to ask for. The love is still there, on both ends. I feel it every time I see him hold our son. I still… miss him. I miss the way he made me coffee every morning without asking how I wanted it, because he just knew. I miss his stupid habit of singing the wrong lyrics in the shower. I miss the way he used to wrap his whole body around me at night, like he could shield me from everything.” Her eyes burned. “But it’s like… we broke something. And I don’t know if just loving each other was enough to fix it.”

They unpacked bravery, anxiety, and hope in careful layers, like the layers Ezra laid in Rowan’s suitcase after the call. Tiny jeans. Soft joggers. The galaxy pajamas with smiling planets that he wishes he could wear everyday. In another bag she added his favorite coloring books, snacks for the plane, and his small blanket that still smelled faintly of baby lotion. Every folded piece felt like a promise to show up, even messy. Ezra paused, palm on the suitcase, and breathed through the knot in her chest. In twenty-four hours, she’d be in North Carolina. She didn’t know if she was ready, but she knew she was going.

That evening, Rowan was full of chatter. Ezra made him grilled cheese cut into stars and french fries, and they sat together at the table. That was his thing at the moment. Anytime she asked him what he wanted to eat, that was always the answer. She didn’t want to fuss with him tonight. While he ate dinner, she set up the tablet for FaceTime.

“Daddy!” Rowan squealed when Terry’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey, buddy!” Terry’s whole face lit up. “Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! I’m eating stars for dinner!” Rowan proudly held up the remnants of his grilled cheese.

Terry laughed. “Stars? That’s awesome, buddy. Can daddy have some?

Rowan laughed as he held his food up for Terry to take a pretend bite.

“Hmmm! Thats so good! Guess what Ro? I’m gonna see you tomorrow.”

Rowan bounced on the chair. “Me and mommy are gonna go on the airplane!”

“That’s right. We’re gonna have cake, and Gammy and PopPop are gonna spoil you rotten.”

Ezra watched from the side, the way Terry’s smile softened when Rowan talked, the warmth in his voice. Her chest ached. Part longing, part fear, because she still wanted that smile turned toward her, too.

 Rowan laughed, “Daddy’s happy,” in the simple certainty only a child could have.

Ezra kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s happy.”

After Rowan’s bath, the apartment smelled faintly of lavender shampoo and the clean laundry. He was tucked into bed, sprawled on his side like he’d been poured there, his blanket clutched in one small hand. Ezra lingered in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall before retreating to the half-zipped suitcase on the bed. Her phone lit up again with Terry’s name. She hesitated, thumb hovering for half a second longer than it should, then swiped to answer.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, warm. “You’re packed?”

“Almost.” She wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear while rolling another pair of Rowan’s socks into a tiny ball. “Flight lands tomorrow at three.

“I’ll be there,” Terry replied, no hesitation, like it was a given fact and not a choice. “Do you want coffee when you land? Or something for Rowan?”

“Coffee’s fine,” she said, smiling despite herself. “But you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut in, gentle but certain.

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he said finally. “I know it’s for Rowan, but… I’m still glad.”

Ezra closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

They went through Ezra’s packing checklist, Rowan’s bedtime routine, and the plan for their first night. But under every logistical note was the unspoken truth of what this week could mean. Neither of them named it. Neither of them had to.

The airport was all bright glass and noise, the hum of rolling suitcases and distant boarding calls. Rowan clung to her hand with one small fist, the other gripping his stuffed dinosaur like a lifeline. His eyes darted from the moving walkway to the towering windows where planes taxied slowly into place.

“Mommy, is that ours?” he asked for the fourth time, pointing at a plane that had just parked.

“Not yet, baby” Ezra said, crouching to zip his little hoodie against the chill from the air vents. “Ours is still getting ready.”

They settled into a corner of the gate area, Ezra digging in her tote for snacks while Rowan sat quietly watching videos on his iPad.

“Mommy?” he asked, tone small but curious.

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think we can all live in the same house?”

The question hit her like turbulence, sudden, stomach in her throat. She blinked, hoping he didn’t notice the split-second delay before she answered.

“What makes you ask that?” she said, keeping her voice light, steady.

He shrugged, staring at the carpet. “I don’t like it when Daddy’s far away.”

Ezra felt it in her ribs, that sharp ache of knowing he understood more than they’d ever explained. Kids weren’t blind to distance; they felt it too.

She ran her hands over the top of his head and kissed the spot gently. “I know, baby. I wish we could be in the same place all the time, too.”

“Then why don’t we?” he asked, the kind of honest, impossible question that didn’t know it was breaking her heart.

Her throat burned. “Sometimes grown-ups have to figure some things out first. But Daddy and I both love you more than anything. That’s never going to change.”

He seemed to accept that, leaning into her side with the easy trust only children had. She wrapped her arm around him, holding him closer than maybe necessary, breathing him in.

When their boarding group was called, Rowan gripped her hand tighter. His small body tensed as they stepped into the narrow tunnel leading to the plane.

“Is it gonna be loud?” he asked.

“A little,” she said, bending down so she could talk to him at his level. “But I’m right here the whole time. We can watch the clouds together, okay?”

Once seated, he pressed himself against her side, blanket draped over his lap. She let him keep his dinosaur on her tray table during takeoff, his fingers gripping its tiny arm while her own hand rubbed slow circles on his back.

As the plane rose, the city shrinking beneath them, she caught their reflection faintly in the window: her face pressed to his curls, his eyes wide but trusting. And beneath the hum of the engines, she felt the weight of his earlier question settling deep into her chest.

Ezra kept Rowan close as they made their way through the arrival gate. The noise of the airport swelled around her, but her heartbeat was louder, thudding against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

When the panic rises, don’t fight it. Name five things you see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste. Dr. Salgado’s voice came back to her, as if she were right there beside guiding her along the way.

Five things she saw: a man in a wrinkled business suit checking his watch, a little girl dragging a pink unicorn suitcase, the worn carpet patterned in blue swirls, the flicker of a departure board, the faded “Welcome to Charlotte” sign.

Four things she could touch: Rowan’s hand in hers, the strap of her bag digging into her shoulder, the smooth plastic handle of Rowan's cup, the crumpled boarding pass in her palm.

Three things she could hear: the sharp squeak of rubber wheels on tile, a baby fussing somewhere behind her, the echo of her own shallow breath.

Two things she could smell: coffee, floor polish.

One thing she could taste: the metallic tang of nerves on her tongue.

She spotted him before he saw her. Broad shoulders in a gray hoodie, head scanning the crowd. Even from here, she could see the slight twitch in his jaw, the restless shift of weight from one foot to the other. Was he nervous? She’d memorized those small tells years ago.

For a second, she let herself stand still, hidden in the river of people flowing past. It was the luxury of a heartbeat to study him without being seen. He looked both exactly the same and like someone she’d have to learn all over again. And then his eyes found hers...

Rowan spotted him too. “Dada!” The little boy wiggled until Ezra let go of his hand, and he tore across the polished floor. Terry bent and caught him mid-run, lifting him high, laughing in a way Ezra hadn’t heard in months. When he looked up, over Rowan’s shoulder, his eyes found hers and stayed there. Not a smile, not yet. Just that steady, claiming gaze that said, I'm happy you’re here. Truthfully, she felt the same way.

Ezra adjusted the strap of her bag and walked the last few feet to reach them. The hug they shared was careful, polite for Rowan’s sake, but her skin still knew the map of him. Wishing it lasted just a little bit longer.

“Flight okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. He did great.” She glanced at Rowan, who was babbling about airplanes and pretzels. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” His hand brushed hers as he took their suitcases, the touch electric and fleeting. They walked out into the Carolina air together, their son between them.

The drive from the airport was about thirty minutes, but it felt longer in the way moments do when you’re trying to memorize them.

Ezra sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the edge of her seatbelt. She kept stealing glances at Terry. The sharp line of his jaw, the way the gray hoodie stretched over his shoulders, how his hair had grown just a little bit. He smelled faintly of a cologne she remembered buying him one year, a scent she’d once buried her face in every night. The rhythm of his hands on the steering wheel was steady. She’d missed this. Missed him, more than she could put in words. And maybe that was the dangerous part. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward her. Once, he caught her looking. She didn’t look away quickly enough, and the corner of his mouth tilted, not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment, like yeah, I see you too. He didn’t comment, but the air between them shifted just enough to make her throat tight.

In the back seat, Rowan chattered like he’d been saving up every word he learned since the last time he saw his dad.

“Dada, guess what? My birthday’s almost here. I’m gonna be four! And Gammy said she’s making me a chocolate cake and PopPop said he’s gonna build me a pirate ship. A real one!”

Terry laughed, deep and warm, glancing at Rowan in the rearview mirror. “A real pirate ship, huh? Think we can fit it in the backyard?”

“Yep,” Rowan said with absolute certainty. “And you can be the captain, Daddy. And Mommy can be the pirate queen.”

Ezra felt something twist in her chest at that. “Pirate queen? That’s a big job for mommy. You think I can do that?” She teased.

Rowan grinned. “Yup! We can all live in the ship together. Then daddy won’t be so far away.”

The words hit her like an unexpected wave. Kids didn’t always understand the why of things. She didn’t realize that Rowan thought about them not being together as much as he did. She swallowed against the sudden sting in her eyes. “That… would be nice, buddy.” Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the hum of the tires on the road.

Terry’s eyes flicked to her again, longer this time. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying filling the small space of the car.

Flashback

It had been raining hard. Heavy drops rattled the windows while she sat hunched at the table, a mug of untouched coffee getting cold in front of her. She just wanted energy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. The last time she’d laughed without faking it. Terry came in from work, smelling faintly of the night air. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door.

“You didn’t make dinner,” he said. Not accusing, but weary.

Ezra didn’t look up. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s… every night this week. Ez, you gotta eat.. Did Rowan eat?” His voice was tight, frustration threading through it. “I work twelve hours and come home to a dark house. You’re just… here. Not here.”

He moved closer, bracing his hands on the table. “You don’t even try anymore. Not with me. Not with Rowan. Not with yourself.”

Her jaw clenched. “Do you think I want to feel like this? You think I enjoy waking up every fucking day and feeling like I’m drowning?”

His voice cracked, just barely. “I think I miss my wife. I miss the person who looked at me like I was worth something. Now you barely look at me at all.”

Her eyes burned. “Because when I look at you, all I see is what I’m failing to be. And I can’t fix that overnight. I can’t fix me overnight.”

“You don’t even try to let me in anymore!” His voice rose, ragged. “I’m standing here knocking and you’re on the other side, building walls!”

Tears slid down her face before she could stop them. “Maybe I’m protecting you from me.”

“Ezra, I want all of you! What don’t you fucking understand! Even the ugly, messy parts. But you keep pushing me out. And I—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me here.”

Her breath hitched. “I don’t know what I want.”

He stepped back like she’d slapped him. “Then maybe I should go before you make it clearer.”

“You’re such a fucking coward,” she spat, anger flaring to cover the hollow ache inside her. “You’re just looking for an excuse to leave.”

“And you’re looking for an excuse to make me the bad guy,” he shot back. “You think I want to walk out? I’ve been trying to love you through this shit, but it’s like hugging a damn shadow.”

Something in him broke then, and she saw it. His eyes glassy, his chest heaving. He grabbed his jacket from the hook and walked out slamming the door.

That was the worst part.

End of Flashback

Stepping across the threshold, Ezra felt a strange tug in her chest. This was their house. The one they had shared before the distance grew between them. She could still see it as it had been. The sofa where they used to curl up after work, the little bookshelf by the stairs that had held Rowan’s baby books, the kitchen where they’d cook together and laugh in equal measure. Everything was mostly the same. The cushions had been fluffed, the hardwood gleamed under the late afternoon sun, and the smell, fresh linen, mixed with the lingering warmth of the house. It all hit her like a memory she’d been trying not to force away. A memory she both wanted and feared.

Rowan ran ahead straight to his room, clutching his dinosaur. Ezra followed slowly, her steps tentative as if the floorboards might remember her absence. Each room told a story. The framed pictures of birthdays, vacations, and small victories lined the walls; the rug in the living room that had seen spilled juice and baby Rowan’s “first’s.” It all belonged to them. And yet, for months, it had been just Terry’s. Her fingers ghosted along the banister of the staircase. She remembered arguing here once, voices rising. It wasn’t their worst one, but close to it. Rowan napping upstairs, unaware of the tension that would later tear them apart. Those memories still stung, a sharp pull in her chest, but she pushed it back gently. This week wasn’t about blame. It was about showing up, about fighting for what they both still wanted. Terry moved around the kitchen, checking on a small pile of mail, tossing his keys onto the counter, his movements casual. Every step, every glance he gave her, spoke volumes without words. The house had held them together once. Maybe it could hold them again. Ezra found herself pausing in the living room, letting the air settle around her. She sank onto the couch, Rowan climbing into her lap. She let herself inhale the familiarity, the faint trace of the life she’d left behind. She was happy to be back. Even if it was just for a week.

“I missed this house,” she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

“You mean… the place,” Terry said, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely, “or the people in it?”

She looked up and saw him watching her with that same steady, claiming gaze, the one that could make her knees weak even after all this time. She swallowed. “Both.”

Terry moved closer, crouching beside her. “I missed you,” he said softly, and she felt the words settle around her like a warm blanket. He didn’t reach for her, but the sincerity in his tone filled the room.

Rowan squealed, breaking the tension. “Mommy, Dada, look! My dinosaur can fly!” He flapped the plushy in his small hands, eyes wide.

Ezra laughed, the sound catching in her throat. Watching Terry scoop Rowan into his arms, seeing the gentle patience in his every movement, the way Rowan’s face lit up. Her heart ached and swelled all at once.

This is him. My husband. This is the man I still love.

 This house had been a home once, broken by circumstances neither could fully control. But being here now, watching them together, she realized something: it could be again. It had to be.

Terry moved into the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, pulling ingredients from the fridge like muscle memory. Ezra lingered at the counter stool, elbows on the cool granite, watching him without meaning to.

“You want water, tea, wine?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Water’s fine, thank you.” Her voice came out softer than intended.

He handed her a glass without looking, but she caught the small quirk of his mouth when their fingers brushed.

They talked while he worked, tomatoes chopped, chicken sizzling in the skillet, about the plan for tomorrow. “My mom and Dad are so excited,” he said. “They’ve been counting down to this birthday like it’s Christmas.”

Dinner came together quickly, the three of them gathering at the table like they used to. Conversation bounced from Rowan’s favorite toys to which balloons he wanted, to who might come to the party.

Halfway through his chicken, Rowan looked up, completely unprompted. “After my birthday… will I go to school with Mommy or Daddy?”

Ezra froze for half a second, fork in hand. She could feel Terry’s eyes on her, steady, waiting. Also wanting to know the answer to that question.

“Buddy,” she said carefully, “we’ll figure all that out. You don’t have to worry right now.”

“But why can’t we all just be in this house?” His voice wasn’t sad exactly, just curious, like he was asking why the sky was blue.

Ezra’s throat tightened. She reached across the table, covering his small hand with hers. “We’re still a family. Even if Mommy and Daddy live in different places.”

Terry’s hand slid over Rowan’s other one, closing the circle. “And we love you. That’s not ever gonna change.”

Rowan seemed satisfied, returning to his meal with the single-mindedness only a four-year-old could manage. But Ezra’s heart kept thudding in her chest. She caught Terry looking at her. Not just the polite, co-parent kind of glance, but the one that saw straight through her. She didn’t look away this time. This was going to be a long week.

By the time they unpacked the suitcases, mostly Rowan’s clothes and a few toys he managed to sneak into his suitcase, night had begun to settle over the house. The soft glow of the kitchen lights reflected off the floors, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator seemed unusually loud.

Rowan was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Mommy! Dada! Can we call Gammy and PopPop now? I wanna tell them I’m here!”

Terry crouched to meet him, voice warm. “You wanna call them now? Alright, let’s do it.”

Ezra followed, standing a little back, letting them have this moment. Her chest squeezed at the sight of them together. Terry’s fingers brushing Rowan’s hair back as he helped him navigate the video call. Rowan’s little voice bubbled over the screen, excited and high-pitched.

“Gammy! PopPop! Guess what! I’m here! And my birthday’s almost here! We’re gonna have cake and pirates and—”

“Ro!” Terry laughed, shaking his head. “Save some surprises for when we get there, buddy.”

Ezra couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her. It felt so normal, so ordinary, and yet it carried the weight of months apart. Watching Terry interact with their son in his element as a father, made her heart ache with longing and pride all at once.

Rowan jabbered on, and Ezra caught snippets of the conversation:

“…Mommy helped me pack… Dada, you’ll see!… Can we play pirates tonight?”

Rowan scampered over to Ezra. “Can we have cake tonight?” he asked, big brown eyes wide.

All Ezra could do was laugh. Rowan was so excited.

Mama Richmond’s voice floated through the speaker, warm and indulgent. “We’ll see yall tomorrow, babyboy. Get some rest so you can be ready for all the fun.”

Poppa Richmond added, “And give your mama and daddy a big hug and kiss from us.”

“I will!” Rowan promised.

“Love you guys,” Ezra said, leaning into frame.

“Love you,” Terry echoed.

“Love yall too!” came the reply, and then the call ended with a soft chime.

She laughed softly, ruffling his curls. “No cake tonight, baby boy. Soon, though. Very soon.”

For a moment, the quiet filled the living room, broken only by the patter of Rowan’s feet as he dashed toward the stairs. “Bath time!” he announced, as if it were a game.

“Bath time it is,” Terry said, giving Ezra a faint, amused smile before following their son upstairs.

Ezra trailed after them. In the bathroom, steam began to rise as Terry ran the water, Rowan already half undressed and chatting about some new show he found on his iPad.

They worked together without speaking much. Ezra kneeling to help Rowan out his shirt while Terry poured in a swirl of bubble bath. She caught herself watching the way his hands were so sure, so gentle with their son, like nothing in the world could shake his patience.

After the bath, Rowan padded into his room in fresh pajamas, smelling faintly of soap. They tucked him in together, Ezra smoothing the blanket over his legs while Terry adjusted the nightlight.

“Night, buddy,” Terry said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Night, Dada.” Rowan turned his face toward Ezra expectantly.

“Goodnight, lovebug.” She kissed the warm curve of his cheek.

Then, without thinking, she and Terry met over their son to kiss his forehead at the same time. Their eyes caught, just for a second, lingering, before they both straightened.

“Love you, Mommy. Love you, Dada,” Rowan mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Love you too,” they said together, the words overlapping in the soft glow of the room.

She followed Terry out, pulling the door closed behind them, and for a few steps down the hall, they walked in silence. But her skin still tingled from that accidental closeness, and she had a strange, almost reckless thought.

Ezra disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the quiet house. Terry stayed in the living room, pretending to scroll his phone but really just listening to the faint hum of her voice as she sang in the shower. He hadn’t realized how much he missed those tiny sounds, the everyday ones that used to fill their shared space without him thinking twice.

When the water shut off, his stomach did a little twist. A few minutes later, the door cracked open and she stepped out, wrapped in a towel. Damp curls clung to her shoulders, steam still curling from her skin.

They met halfway in the hallway, both pausing like they hadn’t done this dance a thousand times before.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, glancing to the side as if the beige carpet suddenly became fascinating.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Terry said, trying for casual, even though his brain was screaming, She’s my wife...why do we feel like strangers?

Ezra’s eyes flicked up to his for a second, then away again, like she wasn’t sure how much space she was allowed to take up here. She tightened the towel around herself, fingers worrying the edge. Terry wanted to reach out and just hook a finger under her chin, make her look at him, and remind her that they’d weathered worse than awkward hallways and too much unsaid. But his feet stayed planted. He didn’t know if the wrong move would send her retreating again.

You know her better than anyone, he told himself. And somehow she still feels far away.

Ezra’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Everything about this house was muscle memory, and yet she couldn’t shake the tension in her chest. She hated that part of her wanted to disappear back into the bathroom just so she could breathe.

“You good?” he asked, voice softer now, the edge of concern cutting through the casual.

“I’m fine,” she said, though it wasn’t the truth. “Just… tired.”

He nodded, like he didn’t quite believe her but wouldn’t press. They stood there for a beat too long, suspended between habit and hesitation. Then he stepped aside, giving her the hallway like a peace offering. They moved in opposite directions without a word. Terry toward the master bedroom, Ezra toward the guest room down the hall. The soft creak of the floorboards followed them like a reminder that the house remembered when they used to walk side by side instead of apart. Terry’s hand brushed the doorknob, and for a split second, he thought about calling her name, asking her to stay. Just for tonight. Just to see if it still felt like home when she was lying next to him. But the words caught in his throat, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Ezra’s fingers hovered over the guest room light switch. She could see him in her peripheral, the broad line of his shoulders as he disappeared into their…his….bedroom. The door stayed open for a moment, like it was waiting for her. She flicked on the guest room light instead.

“Night,” she said, her voice quiet enough that it almost got lost in the stretch of hallway between them.

“Night,” he answered, equally soft, and the sound of it lingered in the air long after both doors closed.

Terry laid in bed staring at the ceiling, one arm behind his head.  They’d slept in the same bed for years, through the best nights and the worst ones. He wanted to roll over, walk across the hall, and just pull her into him. But that wasn’t where they were right now. So he closed his eyes, listening for any sound from her room. A shift in the sheets. A sigh. Something. Anything. But the house stayed quiet, holding the space between them like it knew they weren’t ready to close it yet.

Ezra laid on her side in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the faint shadows on the wall. The sheets smelled faintly of detergent. She should’ve been able to sleep, but her body wouldn’t settle. It had been so long since she’d been here, and longer still since she’d fallen asleep with his arm draped over her, his breathing evening out against the back of her neck. She missed that warmth more than she would ever admit out loud. The steady, quiet proof that she wasn’t alone. Her chest ached with the want of it. Just… to be. To not tiptoe around the space between them or wonder if she was saying the wrong thing. To not have this ache where their life used to be. But fear still lingered like a shadow in the corners of her mind. The kind that whispered memories of nights when her own head felt like an enemy. When her depression convinced her she was too much, too broken, and not enough all at once. She hated the thought of pulling him back into that darkness, hated the thought of him looking at her the way he had back then, scared he couldn’t reach her. She rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and wondered if maybe someday soon they could share a bed again. If maybe his hand could find hers in the dark like it used to. It wasn’t impossible. Not yet..

L U X <3

Tags: @onherereading @naughtynolly @plan3tch1ld @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @fakxmbj @injerafiend @putitonhimmakehimwannamarryme

More to come on this! Let me know what you guys think! I love the feedback. Im not done with Terry and Ezra.

Also, I am thinking about scraping What Love Takes... :( I'm just not feeling that one anymore... I have also had a hard time even wanting to work on it. BUT THISSSS idea has taken over my mind. IDKKKK let me know..😭

[novahreign]

First Terry Richmond story that I’ve read in a while. This was nice.🩷

[l-u-xwrites]

My heart!!! 🥹 I’m so happy to hear that. Thank you for reading, my love. More to come! 🥰🫶🏾

[pocketsizedpanther]

dem thighs👅😩

Oh he was showing his WHOLE ass in curacao

[nubiawrites]

NEW INSPO JUST DROPPED

MUST WRITE A THIGH RIDING SCENE

[l-u-xwrites]

[sweeetestcurse]

Michael B. Jordan as The Smokestack Twins in Sinners 02/??

[l-u-xwrites]

Without You, Without Me

A/N : I hope you guys enjoy this. More to come on this!😌

W A R N I N G S : Angst, Slow Burn, Mentions of Depression, Curse Words, Emotional Tension

W O R D C O U N T: 5,320

The clock on the wall ticked too loudly for a room that was supposed to feel safe. Ezra sat with her fingers twisted in her lap, staring at the rug. The therapist didn’t speak right away. She just waited, pen balanced between her fingers like she was measuring the weight of Ezra’s silence.

Finally, she leaned forward. "If Terry never came back," she said, voice steady but not unkind, "Would you still fight to become the person you’re trying to be?"

The Weight of Coming Home

Ezra balanced her phone against a stack of books on the dresser. She angled the camera so her therapist wouldn’t see the laundry in the chair behind her. The apartment felt too quiet without cartoons humming in the background. Rowan was still sleep. She’d used the pocket of silence to tidy and then ruined the illusion with a spill of half-folded clothes across the bed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dr. Salgado said, gentle as ever.

“I keep packing and then unpacking,” Ezra admitted. “Like if I put the little socks in the wrong pocket, we won’t make the flight.”

“What would it mean, to not make the flight?”

“It would mean I don’t have to see him and find out whether I’m ready.” Ezra’s laugh was small and crooked.

“Ready for what?”

“For being in the same room for more than an hour without… without the history dragging its chair up to the table.” She sat on the edge of the bed and dug her thumb into the seam of the comforter. “We’re going for Rowan’s birthday. That should be simple. Balloons and cake and grandparents who spoil him. But I keep thinking Terry will look at me the way he used to. Like I’m home…and I’ll have to decide if I’m brave enough to walk through that door.”

Dr. Salgado nodded. “You’ve been married how long now?”

“Six years,” Ezra murmured, voice dipping low, “but… separated for almost a year. Not divorced. Just… living apart. Co-parenting. He comes to Texas every few weeks to pick up Rowan, spends time with him, brings him back. But we haven’t really been in the same house together for longer than a drop-off in months. And when we talk… it’s usually about Rowan, school, doctor appointments.. Nothing about us.”

“You still love him.”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate. “I could never see myself with anyone but Terry. He’s….he’s such an amazing father. Patient with Rowan in a way I never have to ask for. The love is still there, on both ends. I feel it every time I see him hold our son. I still… miss him. I miss the way he made me coffee every morning without asking how I wanted it, because he just knew. I miss his stupid habit of singing the wrong lyrics in the shower. I miss the way he used to wrap his whole body around me at night, like he could shield me from everything.” Her eyes burned. “But it’s like… we broke something. And I don’t know if just loving each other was enough to fix it.”

They unpacked bravery, anxiety, and hope in careful layers, like the layers Ezra laid in Rowan’s suitcase after the call. Tiny jeans. Soft joggers. The galaxy pajamas with smiling planets that he wishes he could wear everyday. In another bag she added his favorite coloring books, snacks for the plane, and his small blanket that still smelled faintly of baby lotion. Every folded piece felt like a promise to show up, even messy. Ezra paused, palm on the suitcase, and breathed through the knot in her chest. In twenty-four hours, she’d be in North Carolina. She didn’t know if she was ready, but she knew she was going.

That evening, Rowan was full of chatter. Ezra made him grilled cheese cut into stars and french fries, and they sat together at the table. That was his thing at the moment. Anytime she asked him what he wanted to eat, that was always the answer. She didn’t want to fuss with him tonight. While he ate dinner, she set up the tablet for FaceTime.

“Daddy!” Rowan squealed when Terry’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey, buddy!” Terry’s whole face lit up. “Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! I’m eating stars for dinner!” Rowan proudly held up the remnants of his grilled cheese.

Terry laughed. “Stars? That’s awesome, buddy. Can daddy have some?

Rowan laughed as he held his food up for Terry to take a pretend bite.

“Hmmm! Thats so good! Guess what Ro? I’m gonna see you tomorrow.”

Rowan bounced on the chair. “Me and mommy are gonna go on the airplane!”

“That’s right. We’re gonna have cake, and Gammy and PopPop are gonna spoil you rotten.”

Ezra watched from the side, the way Terry’s smile softened when Rowan talked, the warmth in his voice. Her chest ached. Part longing, part fear, because she still wanted that smile turned toward her, too.

 Rowan laughed, “Daddy’s happy,” in the simple certainty only a child could have.

Ezra kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s happy.”

After Rowan’s bath, the apartment smelled faintly of lavender shampoo and the clean laundry. He was tucked into bed, sprawled on his side like he’d been poured there, his blanket clutched in one small hand. Ezra lingered in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall before retreating to the half-zipped suitcase on the bed. Her phone lit up again with Terry’s name. She hesitated, thumb hovering for half a second longer than it should, then swiped to answer.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, warm. “You’re packed?”

“Almost.” She wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear while rolling another pair of Rowan’s socks into a tiny ball. “Flight lands tomorrow at three.

“I’ll be there,” Terry replied, no hesitation, like it was a given fact and not a choice. “Do you want coffee when you land? Or something for Rowan?”

“Coffee’s fine,” she said, smiling despite herself. “But you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut in, gentle but certain.

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he said finally. “I know it’s for Rowan, but… I’m still glad.”

Ezra closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

They went through Ezra’s packing checklist, Rowan’s bedtime routine, and the plan for their first night. But under every logistical note was the unspoken truth of what this week could mean. Neither of them named it. Neither of them had to.

The airport was all bright glass and noise, the hum of rolling suitcases and distant boarding calls. Rowan clung to her hand with one small fist, the other gripping his stuffed dinosaur like a lifeline. His eyes darted from the moving walkway to the towering windows where planes taxied slowly into place.

“Mommy, is that ours?” he asked for the fourth time, pointing at a plane that had just parked.

“Not yet, baby” Ezra said, crouching to zip his little hoodie against the chill from the air vents. “Ours is still getting ready.”

They settled into a corner of the gate area, Ezra digging in her tote for snacks while Rowan sat quietly watching videos on his iPad.

“Mommy?” he asked, tone small but curious.

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think we can all live in the same house?”

The question hit her like turbulence, sudden, stomach in her throat. She blinked, hoping he didn’t notice the split-second delay before she answered.

“What makes you ask that?” she said, keeping her voice light, steady.

He shrugged, staring at the carpet. “I don’t like it when Daddy’s far away.”

Ezra felt it in her ribs, that sharp ache of knowing he understood more than they’d ever explained. Kids weren’t blind to distance; they felt it too.

She ran her hands over the top of his head and kissed the spot gently. “I know, baby. I wish we could be in the same place all the time, too.”

“Then why don’t we?” he asked, the kind of honest, impossible question that didn’t know it was breaking her heart.

Her throat burned. “Sometimes grown-ups have to figure some things out first. But Daddy and I both love you more than anything. That’s never going to change.”

He seemed to accept that, leaning into her side with the easy trust only children had. She wrapped her arm around him, holding him closer than maybe necessary, breathing him in.

When their boarding group was called, Rowan gripped her hand tighter. His small body tensed as they stepped into the narrow tunnel leading to the plane.

“Is it gonna be loud?” he asked.

“A little,” she said, bending down so she could talk to him at his level. “But I’m right here the whole time. We can watch the clouds together, okay?”

Once seated, he pressed himself against her side, blanket draped over his lap. She let him keep his dinosaur on her tray table during takeoff, his fingers gripping its tiny arm while her own hand rubbed slow circles on his back.

As the plane rose, the city shrinking beneath them, she caught their reflection faintly in the window: her face pressed to his curls, his eyes wide but trusting. And beneath the hum of the engines, she felt the weight of his earlier question settling deep into her chest.

Ezra kept Rowan close as they made their way through the arrival gate. The noise of the airport swelled around her, but her heartbeat was louder, thudding against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

When the panic rises, don’t fight it. Name five things you see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste. Dr. Salgado’s voice came back to her, as if she were right there beside guiding her along the way.

Five things she saw: a man in a wrinkled business suit checking his watch, a little girl dragging a pink unicorn suitcase, the worn carpet patterned in blue swirls, the flicker of a departure board, the faded “Welcome to Charlotte” sign.

Four things she could touch: Rowan’s hand in hers, the strap of her bag digging into her shoulder, the smooth plastic handle of Rowan's cup, the crumpled boarding pass in her palm.

Three things she could hear: the sharp squeak of rubber wheels on tile, a baby fussing somewhere behind her, the echo of her own shallow breath.

Two things she could smell: coffee, floor polish.

One thing she could taste: the metallic tang of nerves on her tongue.

She spotted him before he saw her. Broad shoulders in a gray hoodie, head scanning the crowd. Even from here, she could see the slight twitch in his jaw, the restless shift of weight from one foot to the other. Was he nervous? She’d memorized those small tells years ago.

For a second, she let herself stand still, hidden in the river of people flowing past. It was the luxury of a heartbeat to study him without being seen. He looked both exactly the same and like someone she’d have to learn all over again. And then his eyes found hers...

Rowan spotted him too. “Dada!” The little boy wiggled until Ezra let go of his hand, and he tore across the polished floor. Terry bent and caught him mid-run, lifting him high, laughing in a way Ezra hadn’t heard in months. When he looked up, over Rowan’s shoulder, his eyes found hers and stayed there. Not a smile, not yet. Just that steady, claiming gaze that said, I'm happy you’re here. Truthfully, she felt the same way.

Ezra adjusted the strap of her bag and walked the last few feet to reach them. The hug they shared was careful, polite for Rowan’s sake, but her skin still knew the map of him. Wishing it lasted just a little bit longer.

“Flight okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. He did great.” She glanced at Rowan, who was babbling about airplanes and pretzels. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” His hand brushed hers as he took their suitcases, the touch electric and fleeting. They walked out into the Carolina air together, their son between them.

The drive from the airport was about thirty minutes, but it felt longer in the way moments do when you’re trying to memorize them.

Ezra sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the edge of her seatbelt. She kept stealing glances at Terry. The sharp line of his jaw, the way the gray hoodie stretched over his shoulders, how his hair had grown just a little bit. He smelled faintly of a cologne she remembered buying him one year, a scent she’d once buried her face in every night. The rhythm of his hands on the steering wheel was steady. She’d missed this. Missed him, more than she could put in words. And maybe that was the dangerous part. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward her. Once, he caught her looking. She didn’t look away quickly enough, and the corner of his mouth tilted, not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment, like yeah, I see you too. He didn’t comment, but the air between them shifted just enough to make her throat tight.

In the back seat, Rowan chattered like he’d been saving up every word he learned since the last time he saw his dad.

“Dada, guess what? My birthday’s almost here. I’m gonna be four! And Gammy said she’s making me a chocolate cake and PopPop said he’s gonna build me a pirate ship. A real one!”

Terry laughed, deep and warm, glancing at Rowan in the rearview mirror. “A real pirate ship, huh? Think we can fit it in the backyard?”

“Yep,” Rowan said with absolute certainty. “And you can be the captain, Daddy. And Mommy can be the pirate queen.”

Ezra felt something twist in her chest at that. “Pirate queen? That’s a big job for mommy. You think I can do that?” She teased.

Rowan grinned. “Yup! We can all live in the ship together. Then daddy won’t be so far away.”

The words hit her like an unexpected wave. Kids didn’t always understand the why of things. She didn’t realize that Rowan thought about them not being together as much as he did. She swallowed against the sudden sting in her eyes. “That… would be nice, buddy.” Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the hum of the tires on the road.

Terry’s eyes flicked to her again, longer this time. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying filling the small space of the car.

Flashback

It had been raining hard. Heavy drops rattled the windows while she sat hunched at the table, a mug of untouched coffee getting cold in front of her. She just wanted energy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. The last time she’d laughed without faking it. Terry came in from work, smelling faintly of the night air. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door.

“You didn’t make dinner,” he said. Not accusing, but weary.

Ezra didn’t look up. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s… every night this week. Ez, you gotta eat.. Did Rowan eat?” His voice was tight, frustration threading through it. “I work twelve hours and come home to a dark house. You’re just… here. Not here.”

He moved closer, bracing his hands on the table. “You don’t even try anymore. Not with me. Not with Rowan. Not with yourself.”

Her jaw clenched. “Do you think I want to feel like this? You think I enjoy waking up every fucking day and feeling like I’m drowning?”

His voice cracked, just barely. “I think I miss my wife. I miss the person who looked at me like I was worth something. Now you barely look at me at all.”

Her eyes burned. “Because when I look at you, all I see is what I’m failing to be. And I can’t fix that overnight. I can’t fix me overnight.”

“You don’t even try to let me in anymore!” His voice rose, ragged. “I’m standing here knocking and you’re on the other side, building walls!”

Tears slid down her face before she could stop them. “Maybe I’m protecting you from me.”

“Ezra, I want all of you! What don’t you fucking understand! Even the ugly, messy parts. But you keep pushing me out. And I—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me here.”

Her breath hitched. “I don’t know what I want.”

He stepped back like she’d slapped him. “Then maybe I should go before you make it clearer.”

“You’re such a fucking coward,” she spat, anger flaring to cover the hollow ache inside her. “You’re just looking for an excuse to leave.”

“And you’re looking for an excuse to make me the bad guy,” he shot back. “You think I want to walk out? I’ve been trying to love you through this shit, but it’s like hugging a damn shadow.”

Something in him broke then, and she saw it. His eyes glassy, his chest heaving. He grabbed his jacket from the hook and walked out slamming the door.

That was the worst part.

End of Flashback

Stepping across the threshold, Ezra felt a strange tug in her chest. This was their house. The one they had shared before the distance grew between them. She could still see it as it had been. The sofa where they used to curl up after work, the little bookshelf by the stairs that had held Rowan’s baby books, the kitchen where they’d cook together and laugh in equal measure. Everything was mostly the same. The cushions had been fluffed, the hardwood gleamed under the late afternoon sun, and the smell, fresh linen, mixed with the lingering warmth of the house. It all hit her like a memory she’d been trying not to force away. A memory she both wanted and feared.

Rowan ran ahead straight to his room, clutching his dinosaur. Ezra followed slowly, her steps tentative as if the floorboards might remember her absence. Each room told a story. The framed pictures of birthdays, vacations, and small victories lined the walls; the rug in the living room that had seen spilled juice and baby Rowan’s “first’s.” It all belonged to them. And yet, for months, it had been just Terry’s. Her fingers ghosted along the banister of the staircase. She remembered arguing here once, voices rising. It wasn’t their worst one, but close to it. Rowan napping upstairs, unaware of the tension that would later tear them apart. Those memories still stung, a sharp pull in her chest, but she pushed it back gently. This week wasn’t about blame. It was about showing up, about fighting for what they both still wanted. Terry moved around the kitchen, checking on a small pile of mail, tossing his keys onto the counter, his movements casual. Every step, every glance he gave her, spoke volumes without words. The house had held them together once. Maybe it could hold them again. Ezra found herself pausing in the living room, letting the air settle around her. She sank onto the couch, Rowan climbing into her lap. She let herself inhale the familiarity, the faint trace of the life she’d left behind. She was happy to be back. Even if it was just for a week.

“I missed this house,” she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

“You mean… the place,” Terry said, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely, “or the people in it?”

She looked up and saw him watching her with that same steady, claiming gaze, the one that could make her knees weak even after all this time. She swallowed. “Both.”

Terry moved closer, crouching beside her. “I missed you,” he said softly, and she felt the words settle around her like a warm blanket. He didn’t reach for her, but the sincerity in his tone filled the room.

Rowan squealed, breaking the tension. “Mommy, Dada, look! My dinosaur can fly!” He flapped the plushy in his small hands, eyes wide.

Ezra laughed, the sound catching in her throat. Watching Terry scoop Rowan into his arms, seeing the gentle patience in his every movement, the way Rowan’s face lit up. Her heart ached and swelled all at once.

This is him. My husband. This is the man I still love.

 This house had been a home once, broken by circumstances neither could fully control. But being here now, watching them together, she realized something: it could be again. It had to be.

Terry moved into the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, pulling ingredients from the fridge like muscle memory. Ezra lingered at the counter stool, elbows on the cool granite, watching him without meaning to.

“You want water, tea, wine?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Water’s fine, thank you.” Her voice came out softer than intended.

He handed her a glass without looking, but she caught the small quirk of his mouth when their fingers brushed.

They talked while he worked, tomatoes chopped, chicken sizzling in the skillet, about the plan for tomorrow. “My mom and Dad are so excited,” he said. “They’ve been counting down to this birthday like it’s Christmas.”

Dinner came together quickly, the three of them gathering at the table like they used to. Conversation bounced from Rowan’s favorite toys to which balloons he wanted, to who might come to the party.

Halfway through his chicken, Rowan looked up, completely unprompted. “After my birthday… will I go to school with Mommy or Daddy?”

Ezra froze for half a second, fork in hand. She could feel Terry’s eyes on her, steady, waiting. Also wanting to know the answer to that question.

“Buddy,” she said carefully, “we’ll figure all that out. You don’t have to worry right now.”

“But why can’t we all just be in this house?” His voice wasn’t sad exactly, just curious, like he was asking why the sky was blue.

Ezra’s throat tightened. She reached across the table, covering his small hand with hers. “We’re still a family. Even if Mommy and Daddy live in different places.”

Terry’s hand slid over Rowan’s other one, closing the circle. “And we love you. That’s not ever gonna change.”

Rowan seemed satisfied, returning to his meal with the single-mindedness only a four-year-old could manage. But Ezra’s heart kept thudding in her chest. She caught Terry looking at her. Not just the polite, co-parent kind of glance, but the one that saw straight through her. She didn’t look away this time. This was going to be a long week.

By the time they unpacked the suitcases, mostly Rowan’s clothes and a few toys he managed to sneak into his suitcase, night had begun to settle over the house. The soft glow of the kitchen lights reflected off the floors, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator seemed unusually loud.

Rowan was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Mommy! Dada! Can we call Gammy and PopPop now? I wanna tell them I’m here!”

Terry crouched to meet him, voice warm. “You wanna call them now? Alright, let’s do it.”

Ezra followed, standing a little back, letting them have this moment. Her chest squeezed at the sight of them together. Terry’s fingers brushing Rowan’s hair back as he helped him navigate the video call. Rowan’s little voice bubbled over the screen, excited and high-pitched.

“Gammy! PopPop! Guess what! I’m here! And my birthday’s almost here! We’re gonna have cake and pirates and—”

“Ro!” Terry laughed, shaking his head. “Save some surprises for when we get there, buddy.”

Ezra couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her. It felt so normal, so ordinary, and yet it carried the weight of months apart. Watching Terry interact with their son in his element as a father, made her heart ache with longing and pride all at once.

Rowan jabbered on, and Ezra caught snippets of the conversation:

“…Mommy helped me pack… Dada, you’ll see!… Can we play pirates tonight?”

Rowan scampered over to Ezra. “Can we have cake tonight?” he asked, big brown eyes wide.

All Ezra could do was laugh. Rowan was so excited.

Mama Richmond’s voice floated through the speaker, warm and indulgent. “We’ll see yall tomorrow, babyboy. Get some rest so you can be ready for all the fun.”

Poppa Richmond added, “And give your mama and daddy a big hug and kiss from us.”

“I will!” Rowan promised.

“Love you guys,” Ezra said, leaning into frame.

“Love you,” Terry echoed.

“Love yall too!” came the reply, and then the call ended with a soft chime.

She laughed softly, ruffling his curls. “No cake tonight, baby boy. Soon, though. Very soon.”

For a moment, the quiet filled the living room, broken only by the patter of Rowan’s feet as he dashed toward the stairs. “Bath time!” he announced, as if it were a game.

“Bath time it is,” Terry said, giving Ezra a faint, amused smile before following their son upstairs.

Ezra trailed after them. In the bathroom, steam began to rise as Terry ran the water, Rowan already half undressed and chatting about some new show he found on his iPad.

They worked together without speaking much. Ezra kneeling to help Rowan out his shirt while Terry poured in a swirl of bubble bath. She caught herself watching the way his hands were so sure, so gentle with their son, like nothing in the world could shake his patience.

After the bath, Rowan padded into his room in fresh pajamas, smelling faintly of soap. They tucked him in together, Ezra smoothing the blanket over his legs while Terry adjusted the nightlight.

“Night, buddy,” Terry said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Night, Dada.” Rowan turned his face toward Ezra expectantly.

“Goodnight, lovebug.” She kissed the warm curve of his cheek.

Then, without thinking, she and Terry met over their son to kiss his forehead at the same time. Their eyes caught, just for a second, lingering, before they both straightened.

“Love you, Mommy. Love you, Dada,” Rowan mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Love you too,” they said together, the words overlapping in the soft glow of the room.

She followed Terry out, pulling the door closed behind them, and for a few steps down the hall, they walked in silence. But her skin still tingled from that accidental closeness, and she had a strange, almost reckless thought.

Ezra disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the quiet house. Terry stayed in the living room, pretending to scroll his phone but really just listening to the faint hum of her voice as she sang in the shower. He hadn’t realized how much he missed those tiny sounds, the everyday ones that used to fill their shared space without him thinking twice.

When the water shut off, his stomach did a little twist. A few minutes later, the door cracked open and she stepped out, wrapped in a towel. Damp curls clung to her shoulders, steam still curling from her skin.

They met halfway in the hallway, both pausing like they hadn’t done this dance a thousand times before.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, glancing to the side as if the beige carpet suddenly became fascinating.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Terry said, trying for casual, even though his brain was screaming, She’s my wife...why do we feel like strangers?

Ezra’s eyes flicked up to his for a second, then away again, like she wasn’t sure how much space she was allowed to take up here. She tightened the towel around herself, fingers worrying the edge. Terry wanted to reach out and just hook a finger under her chin, make her look at him, and remind her that they’d weathered worse than awkward hallways and too much unsaid. But his feet stayed planted. He didn’t know if the wrong move would send her retreating again.

You know her better than anyone, he told himself. And somehow she still feels far away.

Ezra’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Everything about this house was muscle memory, and yet she couldn’t shake the tension in her chest. She hated that part of her wanted to disappear back into the bathroom just so she could breathe.

“You good?” he asked, voice softer now, the edge of concern cutting through the casual.

“I’m fine,” she said, though it wasn’t the truth. “Just… tired.”

He nodded, like he didn’t quite believe her but wouldn’t press. They stood there for a beat too long, suspended between habit and hesitation. Then he stepped aside, giving her the hallway like a peace offering. They moved in opposite directions without a word. Terry toward the master bedroom, Ezra toward the guest room down the hall. The soft creak of the floorboards followed them like a reminder that the house remembered when they used to walk side by side instead of apart. Terry’s hand brushed the doorknob, and for a split second, he thought about calling her name, asking her to stay. Just for tonight. Just to see if it still felt like home when she was lying next to him. But the words caught in his throat, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Ezra’s fingers hovered over the guest room light switch. She could see him in her peripheral, the broad line of his shoulders as he disappeared into their…his….bedroom. The door stayed open for a moment, like it was waiting for her. She flicked on the guest room light instead.

“Night,” she said, her voice quiet enough that it almost got lost in the stretch of hallway between them.

“Night,” he answered, equally soft, and the sound of it lingered in the air long after both doors closed.

Terry laid in bed staring at the ceiling, one arm behind his head.  They’d slept in the same bed for years, through the best nights and the worst ones. He wanted to roll over, walk across the hall, and just pull her into him. But that wasn’t where they were right now. So he closed his eyes, listening for any sound from her room. A shift in the sheets. A sigh. Something. Anything. But the house stayed quiet, holding the space between them like it knew they weren’t ready to close it yet.

Ezra laid on her side in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the faint shadows on the wall. The sheets smelled faintly of detergent. She should’ve been able to sleep, but her body wouldn’t settle. It had been so long since she’d been here, and longer still since she’d fallen asleep with his arm draped over her, his breathing evening out against the back of her neck. She missed that warmth more than she would ever admit out loud. The steady, quiet proof that she wasn’t alone. Her chest ached with the want of it. Just… to be. To not tiptoe around the space between them or wonder if she was saying the wrong thing. To not have this ache where their life used to be. But fear still lingered like a shadow in the corners of her mind. The kind that whispered memories of nights when her own head felt like an enemy. When her depression convinced her she was too much, too broken, and not enough all at once. She hated the thought of pulling him back into that darkness, hated the thought of him looking at her the way he had back then, scared he couldn’t reach her. She rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and wondered if maybe someday soon they could share a bed again. If maybe his hand could find hers in the dark like it used to. It wasn’t impossible. Not yet..

L U X <3

Tags: @onherereading @naughtynolly @plan3tch1ld @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @fakxmbj @injerafiend @putitonhimmakehimwannamarryme

More to come on this! Let me know what you guys think! I love the feedback. Im not done with Terry and Ezra.

Also, I am thinking about scraping What Love Takes... :( I'm just not feeling that one anymore... I have also had a hard time even wanting to work on it. BUT THISSSS idea has taken over my mind. IDKKKK let me know..😭

[l-u-xwrites]

this app was being a hater because i was specifically trying to tag your writing page 🙄 but i am glad you got the love 🫶🏽

It’s no worries boo! I’m just happy you thought about me! 🫶🏾🥹

[fcntasmas]

y’all ever read a fanfic that you cannot believe an author just wrote for free?? what an honor it is to read a piece of someone’s soul they shared out of nothing but love for a piece of media. what a privilege it is to be allowed their talent because you share an interest!!

[gtf-o-m-d]

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @brownsugarcoffy @theegoldenchild @theethighpriestess @blackpantherismyish

Yes 🙂‍↕️🙂

[theegoldenchild]

You’re so sweet 💜💜💜💜😘😘😘

[livingfiction]

Honestly sometimes I be feeling guilty!!! 🫣 I’m like this woman created this work of ART when I know there’s a million and one other things she could be doing besides typing and editing stories for strangers on the internet for free. I know time and energy goes into what y’all do and you don’t have to do it. So I’m always grateful because reading ya’lls stories really do make me happy. ❤️❤️❤️

@theegoldenchild @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @keyaho

[megamindsecretlair]

Stawwwwp this made me tear up 🥹🥹🥹😭😭😩 thank you for tagging me in this 😩😩

I wouldnt be here without you, so never feel guilty 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽😘

Tagging: @onherereading @westside-rot @notapradagurl7 @simplyzeeka @writingsbytee @soft-persephone @nerdieforpedro @nathanbatemanfucker

[westside-rot]

thank you for always supporting me. you inspire me every day to not be lazy lmao

tagging @onherereading since I'm currently reading through her series. it's really good. read it so we can yap about whose team we're on lmao

[onherereadingarchived]

🤭 now wait a minute @westside-rot i thought you were team julian ride or die 🤨 *evil laughter* i am swaying you to the dark side. 🤣🤣anyway! thank you so much for the lovely tag — that story is so close to my heart.

i am so inspired by you and so many of the other great writers on here so let me tag a few folks who i don’t think have been tagged: @darqchilddaydreamz @lu-xu-ry @zillasvilla @artsninspo ugh! i am sure i am missing so many more (apologies! if i forgot you)

[l-u-xwrites]

Thank youuuu for tagging me boo! 🥹 @onherereading love love love your writing and you are so supportive! 🫶🏾

Let me add a few people! I can read their fics over and over and pretend like i never read it! Too good! @kumkaniudaku @artisticestheticreads @feral4youu @ruewritesoccasionally @writingsbytee and so many more! I will always tune in and support everything they write. PUHLEASEEE go check them out! 💗🤗👏🏾

[artisticestheticreads]

Under Their Roof | Three

POV: You are a young lady in the 1930's who was hired by the Moore family to help around the house and be a nanny...but to your surprise, you may have to do more.

A/N: Okaaaaay, so this was gonna to be a small series that was inspired by a dream I had BUT this maybe a tad bit longer than planned.

Warning: Sexual Situations; Slow Burn; Angst

Word Count: 4245

Pairing: Elijah 'Smoke" Moore X Annie (feat. Elias "Stack" Moore and Black Female Reader)

Y/N sat in her room alone. She couldn’t believe she caught Annie and Smoke in the kitchen. Annie bent over the table, her breasts rubbing the counter. Smoke stood behind her, thrusting her with his shirt wide open. Sweat was running down their bodies. Y/N tried to get the images out of her head, but then she could hear the echoes of their voices. “Y/N, why did you stay for so long? Stupid, stupid”, she told herself as she sat on the bed. Her train of thought was cut short when she heard Angelina crying- she looked at the table in the room and grabbed the now-warm baby bottle. 

As soon as she stepped into the room, Y/N scooped Miss Angelina into her arms, the baby’s cries fading to soft hiccups almost instantly. “Aw… you know what time it is, huh?” she murmured with a tender smile, settling into the rhythm of feeding her. A low hum slipped from Y/N’s lips, a lullaby meant for both of them, the rocking chair creaking softly beneath her.

For a while, the warmth of the moment eased away the sharp edges of what she’d witnessed earlier. That is, until a knock broke through the quiet. She glanced toward the window — was it Ann? Elijah?

Turning toward the door answered her question. Sammie stood there, framed in the doorway, his hat in hand.

“May I come in?” he asked, his voice carrying a careful respect.

Y/N only nodded, her arms still wrapped securely around the baby as she rocked gently, the room filled with nothing but the soft sway of the chair and the steady sound of Angelina’s breathing.

“How’s everything?” Sammie asked, and Y/N glanced up at him. Did she really want to admit she’d just walked in on the Moores fornicating in the kitchen?

“Everything’s fine. I’m… adjustin’.”

Sammie nodded, relieved at first, but his brow furrowed when he noticed she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Y/N… what happened?”

“What you mean?”

“As long as I’ve known you, you always look a person dead in the eye. You sure you’re okay?” he pressed.

Y/N took a slow breath, voice dropping to a whisper. “Are they here?”

“No, it’s just us.”

She glanced down at the now-empty bottle in her hand, slung the cloth over her shoulder, and started to burp the baby girl. inally, she looked up at him and said quietly, “I caught Annie and Mr. Moore… in the kitchen.”

Sammie’s eyes widened. “Doin’ what?”

She gave him a flat look. “Sammie, you know exactly what they was doin’. We not kids no mo’.”

Y/N laid Angelina gently in her crib while Sammie just stood there, still stunned. “They say anything?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Neitha did I.”

Moments ago

Y/N felt like her feet were cemented to the floor, every muscle frozen in place as Annie rose gracefully, smoothing the fabric of her dress with slow, deliberate movements. Smoke’s hands moved with quiet precision, tucking his shirt back in and buttoning each button one by one, like a slow countdown. Their eyes were locked—not on each other, but on her—and the weight of their gaze pressed down heavy enough to make her chest tighten.

Her breath hitched, and instinctively she turned toward the fridge, fingers trembling as she reached out and yanked open the door. The clang of the bottle against the glass shelf sounded impossibly loud in the stillness, and she silently begged it would shatter the thick silence suffocating the room.

But the moment didn’t break. Instead, a chill ran down her spine as she realized—they weren’t at the table anymore. They’d closed the distance behind her, their presence looming just a breath away.

Her grip tightened on the bottle, pressing it against her chest as if it could shield her. She forced herself not to meet their eyes, feeling the heat of their stares burning holes into her back. The air was electric, each second stretching taut with tension, her heart pounding so loud she feared it might betray her.

Annie’s mouth parted as if to speak, but before words could spill, a sharp, urgent cry shattered the silence—the baby’s wail cutting through the charged air like a lifeline.

It was all the escape Y/N needed. Without looking back, she darted toward the stairs, her footsteps quick and uneven as adrenaline surged through her veins. Her chest heaved with each breath, the echo of that heavy, silent moment chasing her up the steps.

Once safely out of sight, she pressed her back against the wall, closing her eyes and swallowing hard, fighting the tremble that threatened to unravel her completely.

_______________________________________________________________

Sammie stood beside Y/N as she gently rocked in the chair, her hands cradling the baby. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, shaking her head. “I should’ve never gone downstairs, Sammie. They’re gonna fire me for sure.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are.”

“It ain’t happening.” Sammie pressed his hands gently on the armrests to slow her rocking. “Since you got here, this house been cleaner, folks fed, and everyone’s stress-free. That baby over there’s already got you wrapped around her finger. Shoot, even folks in town heard about ya.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words.

“What you mean?”

Sammie smiled, settling down on the floor beside her. “Stack’s been talkin’ ‘bout you all over town. Slim wants to meet you, Bo Chow’s hopin’ you come back soon, and I don’t know what kinda spell you put on Stack, but that man won’t stop singin’ ‘bout how pretty the new nanny is.”

A soft blush crept across Y/N’s cheeks, and Sammie caught it. He gave her thigh a reassuring tap as he stood. “Everything’s gonna be just fine. You ain’t got a thing to worry about.”

Y/N rose from the chair and wrapped Sammie in a grateful hug. He admitted to himself he loved making his best friend feel a little lighter.

The moment was cut short by a clear throat—Smoke, sharp and composed in his usual mobster attire, standing in the doorway.

“Miss Carter, come on down. We need to have a word. Sammie, watch over my angel while I’m gone.”

Without another word, Elijah turned and made his way back downstairs, leaving the two friends exchanging glances. Sammie watched Y/N leave the room and took her place in the chair, his mind already turning.

Y/N took each step down the staircase as if her legs were made of lead, the wooden boards groaning under her weight. Her pulse was a slow, hard thud against her ribs, every beat carrying a fresh wave of heat up her neck. Halfway down, she heard Annie’s voice float up from below—warm, honeyed, and almost teasing.

“Miss Carter, we ain’t gonna bite.”

That broke something loose in her chest, though her grip on the banister stayed tight. She stepped off the last stair and into the warm glow of the sitting room. Annie and Smoke stood near the fireplace—he was a looming figure of pressed fabric and shadow, she a soft curve of warmth beside him.

“Miss, please have a seat,” Annie said, her face open, voice low as if coaxing a skittish bird.

Y/N obeyed, sinking into the armchair, eyes falling to her hands resting in her lap, thumbs fussing with one another.

Annie lingered in her place, her lips curved in a smile that felt both kind and knowing, but she didn’t speak. She waited. Smoke didn’t move either, didn’t blink—just fixed those eyes on her, heavy and unreadable.

“Elijah would like to say somethin’,” Annie said finally, swatting his arm.

His head snapped toward her, irritation flickering across his face, but she just arched a brow, and after a moment he gave a quiet sigh.

He straightened his shirt, folding his big hands in front of his belt. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and steady, each word measured.

“I need your eyes on mine when we speak, Miss Carter.”

Y/N hesitated, closing her eyes briefly like she was bracing against a wind. She looked first at Annie—who gave a soft, encouraging nod—then up to Elijah. His gaze was unflinching, pulling her in like the gravity of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to orbit.

“Now don’t be afraid to meet my eyes, darlin’,” Annie chimed in gently. “You’ve got eyes worth showin’, and I’d hate for you to hide ‘em.”

Smoke groaned low in his throat at her words.

“He agrees,” Annie teased, smiling at Y/N.

Then Smoke spoke again, blunt as a hammer.

“We are… sorry you caught us in the kitchen… fuckin’.”

“Elijah Moore,” Annie gasped, swatting him again.

They bickered in low voices until he stilled her with a finger pressed to her lips. The contact was fleeting but intimate, and the air seemed to shift before he withdrew and continued.

“I’m sorry you caught us… bein’ intimate,” he said, voice lowering on the word. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing, and we truly didn’t think you’d come downstairs—we thought you were still in the shower. We apologize.”

Annie’s brow ticked, waiting for him to elaborate, but she let it go.

“Yes, I am especially sorry. We promise to be more careful,” Annie added, turning back to Y/N. “Darlin’, is there anything you want to say?”

She moved toward the chair, each step soft on the rug, and settled beside Y/N, close enough for their knees to touch.

Y/N inhaled deeply, flashes from the kitchen scene igniting behind her eyes—the closeness, the heat, the way their bodies moved together. Her voice came out quieter than she expected.

“I am also sorry. I understand this is your house and you should do what you want. And… I’m sorry for standin’ there so long. I should’ve left sooner.”

Smoke had moved to lean against the fireplace, a cigarette tucked between his lips, watching her through the curl of smoke like he could read her mind.

“Aw, darlin’. Don’t be sorry at all. We aren’t mad.”

“Really?”

Annie laughed, her voice warm but laced with something else Y/N couldn’t name.

“Not at all. That’s why we hired you.”

Confusion flashed across Y/N’s face. Annie went on, her voice smoothing into explanation.

“Now, Miss Carter, you understand… from time to time, Elijah and I do cherish a bit of personal time together. But with our sweet baby needing so much care, and the juke joint busier than ever, we’re runnin’ from dawn ‘til dusk. So we thought it best to have a nanny—someone kind, capable—to help tend the house and mind our little one.”

Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the strange tension thrumming under Annie’s words.

“I understand, Annie. And I accept your apology,” she said, glancing at Smoke. “Both of y’all.”

Annie’s smile brightened as she rose, but then she leaned forward, wrapping Y/N in a hug. It was warm… but her palm slid low, settling in the small of Y/N’s back. Y/N’s arms circled her in return, their bodies pressing flush, chest to chest.

By the fireplace, Smoke’s gaze sharpened. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate force.

“Annie, sweetheart,” he said, voice a low rumble.

Annie pulled back, smoothing her dress, eyes flicking between her husband and Y/N.

“Well, duty calls,” she said brightly. “Do you mind leavin’ the house for a bit in about ten…?”

*Clears Throat*

“Five minutes”. Y/N looked between them and said “sure. I can head to the store in town. Maybe pick up some items for the house.” Annie nodded in agreement as Smoke pulled out a few dollars, handed the money to Y/N and grabbed his lady’s hand before they went upstairs. Y/N took a deep breath and hurried to her room to change.

Y/N descended the stairs carrying her mother’s woven bag, dressed in a bright yellow dress that swayed just below her knees. Her curls were pinned up neatly, and white gloves finished the look. She couldn’t help but giggle softly as the bed upstairs creaked beneath the shifting weight, the sound echoing through the quiet house.

She set out toward the store about fifteen minutes away, her steps light and confident in her heels. Just then, a car rolled up alongside her.

“Now, Miss Doll... what’s got you swayin’ like that, turning every head you pass?” Stack called from the driver’s seat, a taller man seated beside him.

Y/N slowed, turning her head with a polite smile. “Hello, Stack. How you doing today?”

“Better now that I see you, doll. But why you walking on a day like this?”

“Your brother and Annie are busy, and Sammie’s watching Angelina.”

Stack nodded thoughtfully. “Where you headed?”

“To the shopping center in town.”

Stack’s eyes softened, admiring her bright dress in the sunlight. “Miss Doll, you’re lookin’ mighty fine in that yellow. Got the sun jealous today.”

Y/N blushed slightly, returning his smile. The tall man beside Stack, Cornbread, smiled quietly between them.

“Cornbread, what you waitin’ for? Get your big-collared, green-neck-bone, ham hock, chitlin’ eatin’ self in the back! Where’s your manners at, boy?” Stack teased.

Cornbread hesitated but nodded in respect. “You got that right, Stack.”

He stepped out, opened the door, and offered Y/N his hand with a gentleman’s grace. She took it and stepped inside, settling beside Stack as Cornbread climbed into the back seat.

The car rolled on, the tires humming against the pavement.

“So, Miss Lady, where you from?” Cornbread asked, leaning forward.

“Call me Y/N. I’m from here, but my family moved to New York when I was young.”

Cornbread nodded knowingly. “Better money up there, ain’t it?”

“For the most part. I worked in a clothing store until the owner’s wife passed, and they had to close up shop.”

“That’s a tough break. You miss it?”

Y/N leaned back, eyes distant. “Sometimes. But mostly I miss my kin—they’re all up north.”

Stack glanced over. “And why ain’t they with you?”

“We only had enough money for one ticket. Plus, they needed the cash, and there was nothing left for me there.”

Cornbread’s tone softened. “I feel that. Just had my first kids—twins, like Stack and Smoke. Lord knows they don’t come cheap.”

The car fell quiet for a moment. Then Stack grinned, making Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“At that clothing store, did you happen to model for ’em?”

Y/N flushed, shaking her head. “No, why?”

“Well now, if you did, I’d’ve spent every hard-earned dime just to catch a glimpse of you.”

Cornbread caught the exchanged smiles but kept his eyes on the road, letting the warm tension settle between them like the gentle hum of the engine.

The trio pulled up to Bo’s Grocery, and just as Y/N reached for the door handle, Stack’s voice stopped her.

“While I’m around, you ain’t gotta lift a pretty finger,” he said, already sliding out of his seat. A moment later, he was at her door, holding it open like a gentleman from some old picture show. He extended his hand, eyes locking on hers. When she took it, she noticed the flash of two silver-capped teeth, a detail that made her grin—and her cheeks warm.

Cornbread climbed out behind them, but Stack was already striding ahead to open the store’s front door for her, watching her step inside before following. Cornbread, left to his own devices, pushed the door open himself.

Y/N reached for a hand cart, but Stack’s long arm beat her to it.

“You got a list, Doll?” he asked, biting his bottom lip. She swore, the longer they were around each other, the more his charm worked like slow honey.

Digging into her bag, she handed him the folded paper, but he shook his head with a little smirk.

“Nah… I want to hear you read it. Can you do that for me, Doll?”

His gaze stayed steady on her face, and hers flickered down to his full lips before she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Very good. And don’t miss a word, alright?”

“Okay.”

She began reading. Eggs. Sugar. Honey. Bread. Cheese. Potatoes. Steak. Lemons. Bananas. With each word, Stack plucked the item from the shelves without complaint, his attention fixed more on her voice than the groceries.

She was halfway down the list when Bo emerged from the back, his smile wide. “Miss Carter! Sure is nice seein’ you again. Hey, Cornbread. Hey, Stack.”

The men nodded, and Bo’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s dress. “My, that’s a beautiful dress. Makes you look like royalty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chow.”

“No, no—call me Bo.” He grinned. “Now, that dress… I gotta see the whole thing. Mind givin’ us a spin? Model it for us.”

Y/N glanced toward Stack, who only grinned wider. So, she gave a slow turn, the fabric of her dress whispering around her legs.

Bo took his time looking—at every curve, every line. Back home, women hadn’t been built like her. That skin, that shape, that face—he couldn’t stop staring.

Stack watched too, though his gaze carried something softer, hungrier. She was already a vision to him, but the way she moved—elegant, unhurried, sweet—was the final touch.

When she finished, Bo clapped slowly. “Beautiful dress. You have more like it?”

“I believe I do.”

“Tell you what,” Bo said, “whenever you shop here, I’ll give you twenty-five percent off.”

Y/N blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. And I’ll throw in something free. Follow me.”

At the counter, he motioned toward a display. “Fresh strawberries. Just washed. Wanna try one? Careful—they’re real juicy.”

Bo reached for one, but Stack’s hand moved quicker. He held the berry by its leafy stem, his other hand cupped under it to catch any drip.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low. “I got you, Doll.”

She hesitated for a moment, the weight of every pair of eyes in the room settling heavily on her. But then she leaned in, and Stack’s heart stuttered—strawberries were her weakness, and watching her take that first delicate bite was almost too much to bear.

Her lips parted softly as she wrapped them around the plump berry, the sweet juice escaping and tracing a thin line down Stack’s hand. His breath hitched, the toothpick slipping from between his teeth without him even noticing, forgotten in the intensity of the moment.

Stack’s eyes followed every subtle movement—the way her cheeks rounded slightly as she bit down, how her lashes fluttered against her skin—and a slow fire kindled in his chest. This wasn’t just about the fruit; it was about her, every little gesture pulling him in deeper.

She stepped back then, hands instinctively pressed to her chest as she chewed, and Stack’s hand still held the berry’s stem, frozen for a beat. Finally, he reached for his handkerchief, voice barely a whisper as he stepped closer.

“Let me,” he said, gently dabbing the corner of her mouth, his fingers brushing her skin. The contact sent a thrill through him—quiet, electric, and entirely too much.

In that moment, all the noise around them faded away. It was just the two of them—him, caught between admiration and desire, and her, unaware of the storm she’d already stirred in his soul.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Stack swallowed the dry lump in his throat, then shot a look toward Bo —who looked about ready to drool.

“We’ll take three pounds,” Stack said.

Soon, the trio made their way toward the exit. Stack stepped ahead, catching the door and holding it open for Y/N and Cornbread, the faint chime of the shop bell trailing after them. Just as they stepped onto the sidewalk, a slow, bluesy drawl of a harmonica cut through the air.

Stack’s head turned toward the sound, his expression shifting into something like recognition. Across the way, a small crowd had gathered in a loose circle, clapping and swaying to the tune. He already knew exactly who Y/N was about to meet.

“Cornbread,” Stack said, his tone low but decisive, “watch the car for me. We’ll be right back.”

He gently guided Y/N forward, his palm warm and steady against her upper arm, steering her through the cluster of bodies. The smell of tobacco smoke, faint beer, and summer sweat mingled in the air as they inched closer.

When they finally broke through, the song was ending. The crowd erupted in applause as the player—a towering 6’4" man with skin dark as polished ebony, dressed head to toe in black with a bowler hat tipped low—took a dramatic bow. Then, with a grin, he dropped into his seat and began packing away his harmonica.

“Delta,” Stack called out, his voice carrying with easy familiarity. “How ya doin’?”

“I’m good,” the man replied, his deep voice rumbling like gravel smoothed over time. “Just holdin’ down the day till tonight.” Delta Slim glanced up briefly, but Stack’s next words drew his full attention.

“Slim,” Stack said, a faint pride curling his mouth, “I want you to meet someone. This is the young lady I told you about—Sammie’s friend.”

Slim’s head lifted fully now. He removed his hat in one smooth motion, his gaze settling on Y/N with a look that was almost reverent.

“My, my,” he drawled with a slow shake of his head. “I must’ve died and the good Lord’s callin’ my black ass home. She’s beautiful, Stack boy.”

“I told you,” Stack replied, glancing sideways at Y/N with a smirk. “Y/N, this here’s my good friend, Delta Slim. He plays a lot with Sammie and the band at the juke joint.”

“In the flesh,” Slim said, flashing her a smile before leaning back against his seat. “So, gal… I hear you’re the new nanny and housekeeper for the Moores. They treatin’ you right?”

“Yes, sir, they are,” Y/N replied politely, her hands folded in front of her. “They’re very nice. I love cooking and cleaning… plus I love children, so I love it.”

“Good… mighty good,” Slim said with a nod. Then his grin returned, sly this time. “Maybe I’ll catch a sight of you at the juke joint sometime, angel?”

“I don’t think I have any off days,” Y/N admitted. “The Moores need me to handle everything so they can take care of business.”

That made both men pause. Slim’s brows rose before he let out a low chuckle. “Now, let me get this straight—you doin’ all the house work, raisin’ a baby that ain’t yours, and they don’t give you a single day for yourself?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing toward Stack. “They never mentioned it, but… I don’t think they’d make me work back to back. Right?”

Stack’s gaze held hers, firm and certain. “Right. I’ll make sure you get at least one day off a week.”

Then he tipped his chin toward Slim. “See you tonight.”

With that, he steered Y/N away, her wave to Delta lingering in the warm afternoon air as they headed back toward the car.

Cornbread was the first to be dropped off before the couple rolled up to the Moore house. Stack climbed out and rounded the hood, offering his hand to help Y/N down from the automobile.

Sammie came out to greet them, Smoke trailing behind.

“Brotha, where’s Ann?” Stack asked.

“Sleepin’,” Smoke replied.

“We need a talk.”

The brothers stepped away from the porch as Y/N and Sammie disappeared inside with the groceries.

“Smoke, does Y/N get any days off?” Stack asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

Smoke’s eyes flicked past him—watching Y/N take the stairs, her dress hugging every curve—until Stack shifted to block his view. Smoke kissed his teeth and shrugged. “We never discussed that.”

“The fuck you mean y’all never talked about it?”

“Look, she just got here a few days ago. We need her right now.”

“Y’all… or you, Smoke?”

Smoke glanced away, jaw tight. “We all need her.”

Stack studied him, knowing that was bullshit, before letting a slow grin creep in. “Maybe we can work something out, brotha.”

“I’m listenin’.”

“She could work Saturdays at the Juke Joint with us, then take Sundays off if she wants. That way she helps all of us, gets to have some fun, and don’t get burned out.”

Smoke side-eyed him, looking for the catch. “If she’s at the Juke Joint, who’s watchin’ the house?”

“Cornbread’s wife. She and Ann had kids the same time—Angelina can keep ‘em busy. She only wants five dollars to watch ‘em.”

“Who’s payin’ her—”

“Me. Already talked to Corn before we came here, made her an offer. Boys got manners, she’s a good momma—it’s a piece of sweet strawberry cake.”

Smoke’s brow ticked up. He didn’t like the idea of overworking Y/N, but having her in their sight every Saturday… that had its advantages.

“Fine. We got a deal,” he said, pointing at his brother. “But don’t be pushin’ up on her all damn night. She starts next Saturday.”

“Deal.” Stack’s grin widened. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

As Smoke headed for the porch, Stack leaned back against the railing, smile deepening. He’d just found himself the perfect excuse to be around Miss Doll a whole lot more.

-SWEET BABIES-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface

[girlsneedlovingfanfics]

Smoke's attitude is kinda giving me whiplash.. not to say he's ever been nice to reader but like whats with these little remarks as if he owns reader? Like yeah she works for you but you don't own her nigga! Stack can talk nice to her! tuh!

[l-u-xwrites]

Me when stack fed her that strawberry 😩 that was my favorite part 😂

[artisticestheticreads]

Me, at work, working on the new part for "Under Their Roof":

Ooooooo, prepare to be sick of me!

Catch Up Here: Under Their Roof Masterlist

-SWEET BABIES-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface @cchampangemammii @brownskincheyenne @zunibugsiren @mimi2618 @amor33 @swatson06 @lovesbysblog

[l-u-xwrites]

Immediately. I gotta take breaks while I’m reading to gather myself! Smooth talking MFs. I’m so glad I came across this!😮‍💨 TOO GOOD.

[sonderpoison]

CHADWICK BOSEMAN & NICOLE BEHARIE 42 (2013), dir. Brian Helgeland