Warnings: Smut 18+, masturbation (f), use of toys, voyeurism, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, teasing, choking, power dynamics
Summary: A stressful week, a late-night release, and thin walls lead to her wildest fantasy—or is it reality—when her neighbour Terry intervenes.
Word count: 1.5K
a/n: chapter 4 of the reunion is underway but i'm procrastinating because writing a series kills me - i warned y'all lol 😩😩 but enjoy this nonetheless
The week had been unforgiving. Every deadline, every expectation, every passive-aggressive email seemed designed to crush her resolve. By Friday evening, she was a coiled spring of stress and frustration. The bourbon in her glass offered some solace, the amber liquid warming her from the inside out as she leaned against the kitchen counter. But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—to ease the tension thrumming beneath her skin.
She’d seen him earlier that day, crossing the car park with his toolbox in hand. Terry Richmond, the maintenance man for the complex, had a way of moving that felt unhurried yet commanding, as if the world bent to accommodate him. His low-cut black hair gleamed under the evening sun, and his stormy grey-green eyes seemed to see more than they should. He was a walking distraction, with broad shoulders that tested the seams of his work shirts and a voice that lingered like a touch.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the image of him. But as she wandered back into her bedroom, the thought of Terry lingered, simmering just beneath the surface. Setting her glass on the nightstand, she opened the top drawer, fingers brushing over the sleek contours of her favourite toy. Tonight, she wasn’t going to wait for relief to find her.
The dim light of her bedroom cast long shadows on the walls as she settled back against the pillows. The first hum of the rose-shaped vibrator sent a shiver through her, the tension in her body slowly unwinding as she focused on the sensations. Her free hand roamed over her skin, seeking out every nerve that cried for attention. The stress of the week melted away with every gasp, every arch of her back.
She didn’t hear him at first. The walls were thin, yes, but she was lost in her own world, her soft moans carrying through the quiet apartment. Terry heard them, though. Sitting on his sofa, he’d been nursing a beer when the muffled sounds reached his ears. At first, he thought it was the television, but when he muted it, the unmistakable cadence of pleasure became clearer. His brows lifted in surprise, a slow smirk curving his lips.
Curiosity got the better of him. Setting his beer aside, he crossed the hall, standing outside her door. He stood, his beer abandoned on the counter, and moved to his door. It was late, but curiosity—and something darker—drove him. He’d always noticed her in passing: the way her hips swayed when she walked, the curve of her smile when she greeted him, and those moments when she’d look at him just a little too long. Now, she was practically begging him to come over, her cries cutting through the stillness of the night.
He could hear her more distinctly now, and the heat pooling in his stomach was undeniable. He knocked once, then twice, but there was no answer. The sounds continued, unabated, and something in him stirred—a mixture of mischief and possession. He reached for the master key on his keyring, rationalising it as a neighbourly duty. After all, what if she needed help?
The door opened silently, and Terry stepped inside. The living room was dark, the faint glow from her bedroom spilling into the hallway. He followed the sounds, his pulse quickening as he neared the source. When he reached the doorway, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You’re filthy, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath, a dark chuckle slipping free. “Giving me this kind of show.”
He let himself in, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with something heady and warm. The sight stopped him in his tracks: she was bare, utterly exposed, her dark skin glistening in the soft light. One hand gripped the sheets, the other guiding the toy between her thighs as it hummed against her slick heat. Her head was thrown back, lips parted as soft cries spilled from her. Terry’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the doorframe. He couldn’t stop himself; his free hand slid down to palm himself through his sweatpants, the sight before him stirring a hunger he hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath caught when she let out a desperate moan, her back arching.
She was close—he could tell by the way her body tensed, the way her cries grew higher, needier. He stepped further into the room, his presence finally cutting through her haze of pleasure.
“I knew you were keeping something sweet behind these walls,” he finally said, his voice teasing, cutting through the haze of her pleasure. “But this? You’ve been keeping this from me? Naughty girl.”
“Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, rough, and it hit her like a jolt of electricity.
Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled to cover herself, mortification colouring her cheeks. “T-Terry?” she stammered, reaching for the nearest blanket.
He stepped closer, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Don’t,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm. “You’re going to ruin the view.”
She froze, her heart pounding. He moved to the edge of the bed, towering over her, his presence overwhelming. “You know there’s more to my job than being the handyman, right?” he murmured, his tone laced with innuendo. “If you needed help, all you had to do was ask.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, words failing her as he stepped closer. His gaze raked over her, dark and intent, and she felt exposed in more than one way.
“Now,” he continued, his voice laced with amusement, “you’ve got two options. I can stand here, and you can finish putting on that little show for me. Or,” he leaned down, his face inches from hers, “I can really make you feel good. Your choice.”
Her breath hitched, her body betraying her as his words sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through her. Her thighs clenching instinctively. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded, her lips parted.
“Good girl,” he purred, his hand sliding up to her throat, applying the faintest pressure. “You like that? Being handled like this?”
A whimper escaped her lips, and he smirked, leaning down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. He tasted of beer and sin, his tongue dominating hers as he pressed her into the mattress. His hand trailed down her body, teasing, until he found the vibrator still buzzing against her clit.
“You can’t handle it, can you?” he taunted, his voice a growl against her ear. “You’re shaking, but you’re not begging me to stop, are you?”
He alternated between the toy and his fingers, driving her to the brink again and again. With the sheets soaked, her thighs trembling and tears pricking her eyes, he finally relented, pulling her hips to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself between her legs, his dick thick and hard as he slid into her, inch by agonising inch.
Her nails dug into his arms as he began to move, each thrust deliberate and punishing. He pinned her wrists above her head, his grip firm but not painful, and growled, “You’ve been doing this with me right next door? Thinking about me while you fuck yourself? Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you don’t need to be by yourself again.”
His eyes never leaving hers. “Now, let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me.”
The night unfolded in a haze of pleasure and command, Terry’s touch igniting every nerve in her body. He teased her relentlessly, alternating between strokes, his mouth and the toy, pushing her to the brink again and again. His voice was a constant, low rumble in her ear, praising her, taunting her, claiming her.
He took her body as if he owned it, she was a trembling mess, every nerve alight with overstimulation. The world narrowed to the feel of him, the weight of his body, the rough timbre of his voice as he murmured filthy promises against her skin. His rhythm grew relentless, his hand sliding to her throat again as his other thumb circled her clit. When she shattered around him, crying out his name, he followed, spilling into her with a low, guttural groan.
The room was shrouded by silence except for their ragged breathing. But just as the pleasure began to fade, she woke with a gasp, her hand buried between her legs and the vibrator buzzing against her clit. Her chest heaved as she came back to herself, the haze lifting—and with it, reality came crashing in.
She wasn’t in Terry’s arms. She was alone, sprawled on her bed, the toy still humming weakly in her hand. Her climax had been real, but the rest? A vivid, all-consuming dream. She blinked, disoriented, her heart still racing as the echoes of her fantasy lingered.
A knock at the door shattered the quiet, and her breath caught. Pulling on her robe, she padded to the door, her pulse pounding in her ears. When she opened it, Terry stood there, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.
“Evening,” he drawled, his eyes sweeping over her. “Everything alright in there?”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Her heart thundered in her chest as she met his gaze, her fantasy and reality colliding in a way that left her breathless. Maybe reality was about to be even better than the dream…
taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo (i am behind on editing the taglist because there's a few more people who want to be added to it but let me know if you wanna join it as well)
comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾
MDNI // Explicit!!! // WC: 1.5K// Warnings: slight dom sub dynamics, but not really, somone making you do things you don’t want to do, you know how consent works. I’m not your Momma. // mastierlist
AN:// this was way shorter than I thought it would be.
Real AN://, this fic is heavily inspired by @megamindsecretlair go check out her Terry Fics if you haven’t already. This one is def exist because of the recent one she put out based of a request.
Terry was tired.
He had a long day at his new job; he wasn't sure if he cared about it.
How long this would last, he wasn’t sure, but he had a reason to have one now. You were good for it.
He sighed when he saw you in bed, still sleeping. The sheets were rumpled, no corner left unturned from his side to your side. You were currently on your stomach, leg turned up towards your face and your other leg hanging off the side of the bed. Your eyebrows fitfully scrunched together, your lips pulled tight in a frown.
Bad sleep was still sleep, and you needed every bit you could get.
He took a shower, taking his time to wash the frustration of the day off of him.
When he was done, he walked into you now on your side with one hand by your face. Your other guarding your side.
As if hearing the towel pat against the skin, or maybe the soft rustle of his t-shirt and loose pajama pants sliding along his skin, but your eyes flutter open.
“T,” you softly call out, your voice thick with sleep, “is that you?”
“Yeah, I just got home.” He sat on your side of the bed, reaching out to touch you wherever was closest. He caresses the skin of your leg. Your skin was always so soft, if not a little warm,
Despite having on a tank and the slimmest shorts you could find to keep cool, it was still a struggle. Somehow, no matter how little clothing you wore, it didn’t work.
You sat up, and moved towards him. Straddling his lap.
“You don’t have to get up. You should sleep.”
“Don’t want to.” Your tone was playfully apathetic. “We can sleep later.”
He clenched his jaw, fighting to not show his frustration. No matter how wide your eyes got, how you batted your eyelashes at him, you were putting on. Always putting on.
You knew when you were irritating him and showing it only made you put on worse.
“What are you doing?” He said as even and calmly as he could, hiding the bite in his voice.
You slid down onto your knees in front of him, your expression soft and innocent.
“You promised.” You batted your eyes at him.
He kept his cool and unwavering.
“Terry.” You plead.
“Okay, just. . .” He sighed. . .“okay.”
You flash your teeth in a smile that was oh so pretty. Your shoulders relaxing into a normal position and your eyes fighting their sunken state, showing in the sweetest way just how alive and in it you were.
How could he say no to that?
Not breaking his firm steady gaze, he pulled himself out of his pants, already half hard.
Despite your sweet face, it was cruel how slowly you dragged your tongue from the base to tip. Tenderly, you massaged the tip with your tongue, lathing the bit of precum before placing small wet kisses on it.
His hips dipped on the bed and his back arched slightly, his dick bobbed against your lips, eager for more.
“Cut-cut that out.” He stammered, fighting to keep his voice stern. “Just put it in your mouth.” He managed to scold you.
You ignored him, placing wet kisses down his length, your breath fanning across his sensitive skin with each one. Slow, so terribly slow, you lathe at his balls with your tongue.
“Fuuhck.” He balled his fist at his sides, squeezing the sheets so tight his knuckles were two shades lighter.
He didn’t want to get so loud because that shit only made you worse, but when they were finally wet to your liking, gingerly wrapping your mouth around one, you slid your tongue around it in small circles, not too harsh or too soft, he couldn’t help the low drown out groans that spilled out of his mouth.
You let it go with a pop before moving on to the next one.
He was leaking so much. It was spilling down the sides of his dick, and dripping from his tip.
His balls tightened in your mouth and with a hot gasp you pulled off.
“Shit,” your tone too normal and light, like you haven’t been teasing the fuck out of him, “I didin’t mean to do that for so long.” You looked up at him like you were sorry. Your long lashes batting up at him apologetically.
His dick stuttered, threatening to bust.
“Fuck you.” He strained out in a whine. His eyes dark and stormy through their lust blown gaze.
“Oh. . .” Your eyes went wide before fluttering elsewhere, darting around the room.
You took it too far and now he was upset. You frowned with a pout, but he promised. How can he get so mad if he promised.
Not wasting time, you took him in your mouth, his hips pushing his dick past your lips just as much as you were taking in, desperately thrusting up.
Now that you could set your own pace tonight you didn’t have to take him all the way so soon at the start, you could take your time, jerk the rest of him with your hand, and finally savor the taste of him in your mouth, the smooth velvety skin and the natural musk he exuded from every pore.
You sucked a little harder hollowing your cheeks as you did, eager for more.
“Ah,” he hissed, “wait, fuck. . .baby wait.”
It was too late, he was already filling your mouth.
You spit whatever was left in your mouth and latched back on him.
He roughly pushed at your forehead, making you wince, but the more he did that the harder you sucked his softening dick to keep it in your mouth. His stomach and chest heavily heaved up and down as he breathed in and out.
“Quit. . . Playing.” He strained against gritted teeth, fighting the whimper bubbling up his throat.
You swatted his hands away.
Eventually as you slowly mouthed at his dick, he got hard again and his groans and whimpers subsided.
Satisfied, you moved your head back to let go and sit on top of him. Your pussy wet and desperate to finally have him inside, but a large hand firmly grasped the nape of your neck as he pushed himself to the back of your throat.
“Where the fuck you think you going?”
He set a hard and brutal pace.
The wet sound of his dick sliding up and down your throat as you whined around him made your pussy ache around nothing. The hair of his base roughly tickling at your nose as his balls slapped occasionally on your chin.
“If you love my dick so much,” he emphasized his point by holding your face against his hips, savoring how your throat clenched and unclenched around him as you choked on him, “why do you keep spitting it out?”
He looked down at you with a smirk, wiping a stray drop of his cum that leaked from your mouth before shoving it back inside with his dick, pushing just a bit more for you to make a sloppy choked sob on his dick and finger he pushed inside with it .
“You know how much that hurts my feelings.”
It was Terry’s favorite sick game he liked to play.
The first time you ever sucked his dick, without thinking you just spit it out when you were done, he was taken aback, almost offended. The way his face fell and his eyes dropped was almost cute, big, wide, and cloudy with somber soft gray blue clouds, but it didn’t stay that way. He liked to force you to swallow sometimes, and you never knew when that day would be.
Tonight was one of those times.
His grip on the back of your neck tightened. His hips started to thrust down your throat with as much fervor as his grip on you was, shoving you towards him. With a low, drawn huff of a groan, he spilled down your throat. The thick hot spurts of his cum sliding uncomfortably through your body, filled your belly with a particular warmth you weren’t too fond of.
You meweled against his softening dick as the tightening of your muscles released. Your thighs starting to seize and tremble as you came undone, unexpectedly coming in a way you did not want to as well.
“Shh.” He rubbed your face with a thumb as he came down your throat and you spilled around nothing. “You know you like it.” He murmured.
Pairing: Toxic Babydaddy!Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC
Wordcount: +3.8K
Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, baby girl, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), oral (male receiving), P in V, Toxic Dom!Terry *if you squint and turn your head*, cum play *sort of*, brattiness galore, facials *no spa*🤭
A/N¹: This is a single one-shot with no planned sequels.
A/N²: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.
Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥
ding
Terry: I hope all is well. My mom told me she has TJ. Hope you enjoy yourself tonight.
Me: I hope I do, too.
Terry: I was thinking about something earlier.
Me: ???
Terry: New Year, new us?
I paused for a second in disbelief. I knew this man was not trying this bullshit tonight. I guess this year's motto was “new year, same bullshit”. I sat there for a second and stared at myself in my vanity's mirror.
I could feel the petty in me rising. I texted Terry back with nothing but ill intentions. “New year, new us”, huh?
Me: Nah. New year, and new dick. Cheers to 2025!🥂✨
I waited until I knew Terry saw the message and blocked his number. I knew I was pushing Terry's buttons but oh well.
2 hours later
“Lele, ain't that Terry?” asked one of the women who came out with me and my best friend.
“Aww, hell. Lele, it is him. He's coming this way, and he looks pissed!” my best friend, Tyler, said.
“I don't care. What he gonna do? Whoop me!” I laughed out loud, spinning to see Terry barreling through the crowd.
I stopped dancing when I saw his face. Maybe, I shouldn't have said that.
“Terry, wait? I didn't mean—,” I said as soon as he stood before me.
“Nah… You meant that shit. New dick, huh?” Terry said, eyeing me down.
As much as I was scared for my life, I was hoping that this night would end the way I wanted it to. Fuck! I needed this.
“You think that shit was funny? Ty, y'all here alone, or did she come with someone?” he asked, looking towards Tyler.
“Terry, I didn't come h—,” I started to speak.
Terry's eyes darted back to meet mine.
“Love, I wasn't talking to you. I asked Tyler. When I want you to speak, I'll let you know.”
“Oh, shit. He not playing with her ass,” said one of the women in the group.
“Yes, we came alone. No, she didn't come here with anyone. I promise,” Tyler said, looking at me.
“I can't believe you're doing this shit right now,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What did you say? I couldn't hear you,” Terry spat, glaring down at me.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
“Yeah, that's what the fuck I thought. Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I'll be waiting for you when you get home,” he said, holding the back of my head and kissing my forehead.
“Huh? You don't live with me,” I uttered in confusion.
“I still have my key, and I pay the bills there. Don't I? Oh, okay then. Like I said, I'll see you when you get home,” he said, letting me go.
“Oh, and do me a favor, love. Don't drink too much. I need you alert and responsive tonight,” Terry said, walking away.
As I watched Terry leave, I felt my heart racing. There was no calming down from this.
“Fuck me!” I yelled quietly as soon as Terry was out of sight.
“Girl, what the fuck did you do this time?” Tyler asked me, handing me a drink.
I looked at the fruity concoction like it was poison. I knew this sugary ass shit wasn't going to do anything to call my nerves. I shrugged my shoulders and swallowed the drink in two full gulps.
“Damn! That man finna tear yo' ass up. Ain't he?” one of the women asked while laughing.
“You don't even know the half. Tyler, can you keep yo’ godson tomorrow? I got a funny feeling I'm not gonna be straight after tonight,” I asked Tyler, searching her eyes for sympathy.
“Yeah, I got my baby. Now, you just tell me what the fuck you did,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, Ty. I think I fucked up this time,” I said, shaking my head. I pulled her over to one of the couches in the section, hoping that I could talk to her privately.
As I proceeded to tell Tyler what happened, I could see her face shift from concern to amusement.
“Why do you look like you wanna laugh?” I asked when I finished.
“Uh, sis… How did he know where you were?” Tyler asked, looking at me with concern.
“I don't… I don't know. How the fuck did he know I was here?” I asked, questioning myself more than Tyler.
4 nerve-racking hours later
I had literally spent all night trying to come up with a reason not to come home. I knew that whatever was on the other side of that door was going to be— something memorable.
I made sure to stop drinking hours ago. His “alert and responsive” remark was a warning that only WE understood. My insides were screaming because I knew Terry had a way of breaking me down and putting me back together again in the most— sensual and pleasurable way. Yes, there may be pain involved, but I couldn't care less.
I was well aware of what came with provoking Terry. At this point, it was a game for me, and my prize was always the best dick a girl could ever ask for. That was definitely the one thing I missed about having Terry living at home— the in-house, on-demand dick. Always hard, and always ready.
It was a little after 4 in the morning. I was pushing my luck coming in this late, but I might as well fully enjoy what may be my last night out for a while. I was either about to get fucked up, be fucked, or both.
After realizing that Terry's truck was nowhere to be found, I scanned the streets to see if he parked there instead. Nothing.
I reluctantly began walking to the door. How was this possible? Even the walk up to my front door was causing me anxiety. Every goddamn step felt like I was approaching the gates of hell. Was I really letting this man make me feel like a child coming home when they know they're getting an ass whooping? Yes.
I slowed my steps and began putting my hair in a ponytail. If it's one thing I knew, this ponytail may save my life. Then again, it may do the opposite. Aww, fuck!
I tossed my heels and purse into one hand while adjusting my keys with the other. Placing the key into the keyhole, I quietly unlocked the door. I paused before opening the door, praying that Terry wasn't standing on the other side.
Sliding inside as quickly as I could, I tiptoed inside the house and locked the door. From what I could see, he wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders. I stood quietly in an attempt to possibly hear if he was somewhere in the house. I flattened my back against the door since I was still unsure of my surroundings.
From somewhere to the right of me, I heard something dart towards me. I turned around in a panic. Right as I was about to make a run for it, I saw that the culprit had a tail. I WAS ABOUT TO RUN FROM MY DAMN CAT!!!
I took a deep breath and leaned down to pick up the cat. But… As soon as my knees hit the floor, I felt a hand on the back of my head. I screamed out in shock, startling the cat.
“Oh, nah. Shit that shit up! I told you I would be waiting for you. Didn't I?” Terry growled, pulling me by my ponytail.
Like I said. The ponytail was a gift and a curse.
“Just…” I yelled, grabbing his hands in my hair.
“Touch me again. I dare you. Imma do more than tie yo’ ass up!” Terry said, holding my face to look up at him.
“Terry, I'm sorry. I was just jo—!” I started, letting my hands fall beside me.
“That was supposed to be a joke. Ha! We gone see what's funny in a minute.” Terry said, letting go of my hair.
As much as my brain was telling me to run, my pussy was begging me to stay even more.
Terry's hand wrapped around my forearm. “Stand up!” he barked.
“Please, I said I’m—,” I said, standing to my feet.
“If I have to tell you to shut up again…” Terry said, pulling me to face him.
I used the back of my hand to wipe the tears that were now falling.
“I hope you don't think those tears are stopping shit. Ain't no sense in crying. You did this to yourself, Alicia. I was trying to be nice to you, but you just don't know when to leave me the fuck alone,” Terry said, stepping closer to me.
I gulped as he glared at me, blinking slowly. Every breath he released was hot and heavy— weighed down in anger. It's as if he was battling to control himself.
“You thought that shit was so cute. Didn't you? I bet you and your little friends had a good laugh at that, huh?” Terry said, leaning down and resting his forehead on mine.
“You can speak, now. Choose your words wisely,” he said. He straightened his posture and stood to his full height, holding his hands in front of him.
“I'm sorry. I didn't tell anyone but Tyler. I swear,” I spat out as quickly as I could.
Terry paused to look at me. His eyes darkened in lust and anger. I let my gaze drop to the floor.
“Nah, you know better. Eyes on me at all times, right?” Terry demanded.
“Yes,” I said, trailing my eyes up Terry's body. I let my gaze linger on the bulge that had grown in his jeans.
“Unh unh. You gone see that in a minute. Look at me, Alicia!” Terry said, forcing me to look at him.
I rubbed my forearm nervously. I waited for Terry to say something else. Instead, he turned on his heels and sat on the couch.
Leaning back on the couch, he placed his arm over the back. “Better yet. Come here and bring your phone with you,” he said, motioning for me to approach him.
I slowly picked up my phone from the floor and walked up to him. I stood between his legs. He dropped his gaze to the floor, letting me know to kneel. I kneeled in front of him while never breaking eye contact.
“Good girl. Thank you for finally listening. Give me your phone.”
Handing him my phone, my mind immediately started to race. I knew if this man went through that phone. My ass was grass!
“Terry, wait!” I yelled, stopping him.
“Oh, you must be hiding something. You are crazy as hell if you think I can't go through a phone that I pay for every month. However, that's the least of my concerns right now,” he scoffed, tossing the phone beside him on the couch.
“I just… I… I know that… if…,” I stuttered.
“Don't even worry about it, love. Because after tonight, it won't matter what nigga is in that phone. You'll know who you belong to. I can promise you that.”
Terry leaned forward, grabbing the side of my face firmly. I gasped in anticipation.
“I don't understand why you choose to play with me, baby girl. Here I am asking for my family back, and your ass wants to play these childish ass games.”
“Terry, baby. I—,” I said before he placed his hand around the front of my throat. I instantly shut my mouth.
“Look at that! How sweet. I didn't even have to do it, and you knew.” Terry said, biting his bottom lip. He moaned as he watched me. He was more than thrilled with my natural obedience.
Moving his hand to cup my chin, he let his thumb trace the silhouette of my bottom lip.
“Mmm… Daddy misses these lips. The way they look, the way they feel— everything!”
Terry's hand let go of my chin as he sank back into the couch. I watched fervently as he undid his belt. Making quick work of his pants, he freed himself from the confinement of his boxers.
I eyed his dick, waiting for his permission to even touch it.
“I told you you'd get to see it. Unfortunately, touching it ain't an option. At least not right now, especially with that foul mouth of yours.”
My face dropped in disbelief as I began to pout.
“What you will get to do is watch me. Watch me while I… uh… make you wish it was you handling this for me.” Terry laughed while lifting my head back up to watch him.
So, it begins. This is the part where he breaks me.
Terry wrapped his hand firmly around the base of his dick. “All you had to do was behave, but you just can't. I bet you'll be on your best fuckin’ behavior after tonight.”
Terry's hand stroked the length of his shaft. His contentment was already evident as small droplets of precum began to leak from his tip.
I rested my hands on my thighs, pressing my fingertips into the cushion of my thighs. I was fighting the urge to lick what I felt was mine; however, I knew that wouldn't end the way I wanted. Licking my tongue out, I let it slide across the flesh of my bottom lip.
Terry grunted in response. My eyes darted from his dick to his face. His eyes were low and wanton. He was just as needy as I was. Our gazes locked in fervor, passing a mutual message that intensified the salacious hunger between us.
Terry's hand sped up and tightened around his head. His grunts grew deeper and more primal. He was feigning to cum.
I tilted my head and lowered my gaze, pleading with my eyes. Sitting here with my hands in my lap wasn't enough for me. I whined while wiggling my hips, trying to feel something to help the ache between my legs.
“Fuck! You got 3 minutes to make me cum or else!” Terry said, leaning up and grabbing the back of my head.
He didn't even have to finish his movement. My mouth was on his dick before he could even grab me. I was horny, I was needy, and most importantly, I was hungry.
I took all of Terry in on a single inhale not giving a fuck about my throat. I needed this. I let saliva fall from my mouth and down the sides of his shaft. Pulling back, I hollowed out my cheeks and created a vacuum around the head of Terry's dick.
“Ahhh, fuck. You… you always know… ugh.. exactly what to do, baby girl. That's right. This dick is yours, mama. Ahhh, shit. Keep going, baby,” Terry said, stroking the side of my face.
I moaned around his dick. Swallowing his full length again with pride, I smiled around him. Opening my mouth slowly, I sunk down further until my nose hit the patch of hair he grew there. Relaxing every muscle in my throat I let him sit in the back of my throat while I hummed and moaned in pleasure. This… this was the ache I was seeking. This was what I wanted to feel— the burn and stretch of this very moment.
I pulled off of Terry with a pop, watching as a thin string of saliva and cum fell from my lips. Grabbing him mid-shaft, I began to jerk his dick. Fully consumed by my own pleasure, I failed to immediately take notice of Terry's silence.
I looked up to see Terry's eyes closed as he released a slew of low, rough moans. I instantly put my mouth back on him, focusing solely on his head. Using my tongue to massage his tip, I was hoping to push Terry over the edge.
Watching him closely, I marveled at the sight before me. His head had rolled back on his shoulders, and his bottom lip was tucked in between his teeth. As I felt Terry's dick begin to pulse, I took him into the back of my throat again. I wanted every drop of him, and I was going to make sure I got it.
Letting him paint the back of my throat was the only thing on my mind. I started sucking Terry like my life depended on it. His hand gripped the back of my head, but even that didn't stop me. I rested my hands on Terry's legs for support as I put my all into it.
As soon as I felt like the first drops of cum were about to make an appearance, Terry grunted and pulled me back. His dick fell from my mouth and into his own hands. Leaning my head back, Terry stroked himself twice before erupting— all over my face.
I closed my eyes, feeling the warm sticky substance coat my eyelashes along with my forehead, nose, and lips. I exhaled as I thanked God that I closed my eyes in time.
“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue!” Terry barked as I felt him moving around.
I opened my mouth and felt him push his dick inside again. Resting the full weight of his dick on my tongue, he told me to keep my mouth open.
“Smile!” he said as I heard a camera shutter.
Without a second thought, my eyes shot open.
“For memories. Adding it to the stash.”
Of course! That's what the fuck he wanted the phone for. I pulled back, letting his dick fall out. “I told you that you're mine. Didn't I?” he said, leaning up.
“Oh, don't think we're done either. Stand up!” he nodded.
I rose to my feet, wobbling. As I stood before Terry, I went to wipe my face. His hand reached out to grab my hand.
“Nah, baby girl. You gone wear that shit with pride. I plan on marking my territory in more ways than one. There will be no creampies tonight,” he warns, standing from the couch.
“But Terry I—,” I said.
His arms wrapped around my waist as he lifted me. Wrapping my legs around him, he turned to walk towards the hallway. My body practically melted into him as I clung to his back. I began to whine and moan while kissing his neck.
“Daddy missed this pussy— MY pussy,” Terry moaned as his hands pushed the strapless dress I wore up past my stomach. The thin fabric began bunching up.
“Ahhh, mmmm. Fuck!” I moaned, placing my hands around his neck.
As we approached the bedroom door, Terry didn't even reach to open it. Instead, he opted for kicking it open.
“Don't worry. I'll fix it!” he grinned.
Walking to the foot of the bed, he laid me directly in the middle. He stepped back and completely undressed himself. God Lord, I missed this body.
I leaned up and began kissing and touching his abdomen. Moving my hands out of the way, Terry's hands went to the neckline of the dress as he leaned over me. In one swift move, he tore the top of the dress in half, continuing to tear the fabric from my body until nothing was left.
While I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, he pushed me down onto the bed. Climbing onto the bed and settling between my thighs, he wrapped my legs around his waist.
Looking at me with the most sinful smirk, he entered me in one thrust. I gasped out in both pain and pleasure. We hadn't had sex in over four months. The feeling of him stretching my pussy out sent my eyes rolling into the back of my head.
“You gone feel me tonight, baby. All of me,” he said, leaning down to kiss my neck.
Pulling every inch of his dick out to the tip, he inserted himself again. He was clearly on a mission.
Thrust after thrust…
“So, you gone give my pussy away? Huh? Answer me when I'm talkin' to you!” he said, thrusting into me harder.
“No!” I yelled as my back arched off the bed.
Using nothing but his body weight, Terry flattened me out again. “No, ma'am.” He said, pulling out to thrust back in again. “The fuck you moving for? You gone take this dick. It's yours, ain't?” he asked, kissing my chin.
“Yes, this… this is… ahhh, fuckkk… This is my dick!” I screamed out as he pounded into me. Every thrust knocked the syllables from my lips.
“That's right. This your dick, baby. All of it! Every fuckin' inch, mama! Now, what you gone do with it, huh?” he growled in my ear, taunting me.
“I'm… gonna… fuckin'… take… it!” I whimpered. His thrusts began to pick up speed.
“Good girl, and you gone let me cum wherever I want to, right?” Terry coaxed, hitting my g-spot over and over again.
“Yes!” I yelled, clawing at Terry's back.
I was so close to cumming, and this shit felt so damn good. Hell, I'd even let him cum on my face again.
“I knew my baby would. Who pussy this is, mama?” he asked, smirking.
“Yours! For… ever! Terry, please! Can… ohhhh… can I cum?” I begged as I felt my climax quickly approaching.
“You better wet this dick up, too. Come on, baby.” Terry uttered softly, talking me through it. “Oouu… look at my baby,” he said, fucking me through my orgasm.
“Terry!” I moaned out, digging into his forearms.
“Look at that shit! Wet as fuck!” he said, watching himself slip in and out.
“Yes! Shit! Ohhh, fuck!” I gasped as he slowed his strokes.
“Yeah! Just like that. You ready? Tell Daddy that you're ready,” he groaned clearly at his peak.
“Please, Daddy! Cum for me!” I yelled.
Terry pulled out, aiming straight for my pussy and stomach. I watched intently as ropes of cum landed on my lower abdomen and the mound of my pussy. Using his dick, Terry began to mix the remainder of his cum into my own. He beamed as he created a disgusting and sloppy mess between my legs.
“I wish you could see it, baby. It's so pretty,” he said, looking up. His eyes roamed over the entirety of my body, lingering on the areas covered in his cum. “You look so pretty, mama,” Terry praised.
“I know I do, and it's all because of you,” I said, pulling Terry in for a kiss.
*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!*
WARNINGS / TRIGGERS: Reader has feelings of insecurities; Terry is a big, sexy, toxic, idiot here.
PAIRING: Terry x Ava (reader)
SUMMARY: Tension develops between you and your baby’s father when he discovers you might be moving on. Terry’s unhinged ass is going to do whatever he can to get her back.
TROPES: Second chance romance; MDOM or dominant themes
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I’m so excited to share this one with you guys! I’ve wanted to write toxic Terry for forever, but I was just nervous. I really liked writing this one. Maybe it’s the toxicity in me lol. Please tell me what you guys think, but be nice please. Babygirl is sensitive
“TJ get your cleats! Your father’s almost here!,” I shouted up the stairs. I hear the tell-tale thumps of his little feet as he rushes to put everything in his duffle bag. Wandering into the living room, I tighten up the area a bit. Straightening out couch cushions, the coffee table, you get the gist. Looking at the clock, I notice it’s almost two o’clock.
“TJ! Two minute warning!” I exclaim. Within seconds I hear the thunderous steps only a child can make. Then my little boy rounds the corner, a giant beam on his face.
“Did it Mommy!”, he said proudly handing his soccer bag to me so I could double check everything. Rifling through the items I notice his epipen isn’t in there. Before I can ask my little man where it is, I hear the familiar chime from the ‘ring’ app on my phone. Grabbing it from the charger, I see my son’s father through the pixelated lens. I take a calming breath before walking to the door.
“Hey baby girl, TJ ready?” Terry asked, smiling down at me. It’s truly unfair how fine this man is. Standing at his full height on our porch in a navy blue tee and olive cargo pants with asics. He could make a trash bag look good. I ignore the flutter in my belly at his smile and step aside to let him in.
“He’s just about ready, but I can’t find his epipen. Can you come in while I run upstairs really quick?” I ask moving back so Terry can cross the threshold. He steps in like he owns the place (well technically he does).
“We gotta get going soon, I’m taking TJ to ‘Winter Wonderland’ after practice,” Terry said, sweeping his eyes over the living room.
I nodded, “Well I’ll find it and meet you guys there or at practice. Thanks for taking him,” I say, trying to be civil.
“Just to let you know, Brandy’s going to be there,” Terry said, crossing his arms over his chest.
I feel my back molars grind, “That’s fine.” I can’t fucking stand Brandy. She’s Terry’s new situationship and we didn’t get off on the best foot. That sour taste has never really left my mouth when it comes to her. Why Terry’s bringing her around our son, I’ll never understand.
“I trust you’ll keep it civil,” Terry says, looking down his nose at me. I roll my eyes and head toward the stairs completely ignoring him. Who the fuck does he think he is telling me to behave? She better fucking behave, I’m liable to beat a bitch. When I reach the bottom of the stairs Terry grabs my hand, spinning me to face him.
“Ava, I’m serious, keep it cool,” Terry’s voice had a slight edge to it which I didn’t appreciate.
“Listen, as long as she plays nice I’ll play nice. Matter of fact I’ll pretend she’s not even there. That work for you Terry?” I asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. I never wanted us to end up in this tumultuous cycle, but it wasn’t my decision. Terry broke up with me, said he didn’t want to be tied down. Vowing to be a good father he gets Terrence Junior (TJ) every other week. He’s the best dad and I won’t take that away from him, I just thought we’d be a family. I was holding out hope for a year hoping he'd change his mind and we’d get back together.
Ultimately, I shattered my own heart, scrolling on facebook. I saw that he’d been tagged in a photo hugged up on another woman. I stopped hoping after that. I stopped trying to get a man to see that I was enough, stopped trying to get him to stay when he so clearly was happy elsewhere.
“Terry, the last thing I want to do is fight with you right now, yes I’ll be nice. Please just take TJ and leave, he'll be late for practice,” I say on the verge of tears.
Terry’s eyes soften as he takes a step toward me, “Bunny…”, he starts. I hold my hand up stopping him and shake my head. I can hear our son make his way towards us obviously hearing his father’s voice as he barrels toward him.
“Daddy! Daddy!,” TJ yells, launching himself into his arms.
“There my little striker! C’mere man,” Terry’s face blooms into a megawatt smile as he reaches for our son. He picks him up and blows a raspberry on TJ’s cheeks, causing him to burst into giggles. A small smile forms on my lips as a warm feeling spreads in my chest. Moments like these made me wish that we could be a little family again. But I can’t think like that anymore, Terry made his choice. He wants to be in the streets, that’s where he can stay.
“You ready to go little man? I’ve got a surprise for you after practice,” Terry said, putting TJ down. Spotting the epipen on the kitchen island, I grab it, and pass it to Terry
“Well I’m going upstairs to shower and change, and I’ll meet you guys there,” I say, turning toward the stairs.
“TJ, go hug your mama before we leave,” Terry says looking at me. TJ comes barreling towards me, goofy smile and arms outstretched. A warm smile blooms on my face as I hug my gentle little man.
“Hey, mama loves you, be good and listen to your dad ok?” I ask straightening his backpack.
“I always listen mama,” TJ giggles, with a playful roll of his eyes. Terry grabs his son’s hand and with a half- assed ‘see ya later’ from Terry, they’re both out the door. I grab my airpods and head upstairs. Needing the comfort of a dominant mafia boss, my current audible obsession to ease some of the tension I feel creeping up my neck. Pressing play on my audiobook I begin getting ready. After the grueling arm workout of trying to tame my curls, I place it in a slick back bun with a few face framing curls to enhance my beauty (ref). Then I put on some light makeup and a simple outfit for this bipolar Georgia winter weather (ref). Grabbing my purse and keys, I head outside to my bronco, mentally preparing myself for the next few hours.
When I pull up to the soccer field, I see that practice is in full swing. I immediately spot Terry standing off to the side with all the other parents. Why does he have to look so fucking good just standing on the sidelines. Brandy’s standing next to him ear pressed against her phone, what a shocker. Getting out, I pop my trunk to grab my lawn chair.
“Ava! Let me!,” I turn to see Lance, another one of the dad’s lightly jogging toward me. A small smile forms on my lips. Lance is fine don’t get me wrong, he just gets around the bookclub if you know what I’m saying. Hmm, maybe my bookshelf could use a good dusting off. I think it’s about time I had a little fun. I haven’t been with anyone since Terry, that needs to change.
“Aww, that’s nice of you. Thank you Lance,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Lance grabs my lawn chair out of the trunk and we head toward the soccer field.
“I assumed you weren’t coming, since Terry brought TJ,” Lance said.
“Oh, so you checking for me now?”, I say, smirking at him.
A small blush forms on the apples of his cheeks, “I look forward to seeing you at practices, sue me.”
A small giggle burst from my lips, “I’m just picking Lance.” He grins at me as we finally make it to the sidelines where the other parents are. My eyes find Terry to see him mugging Lance down. Lance isn’t paying him any attention as he sets up my lawn chair for me.
“A throne fit for a queen,” Lance says, gesturing toward the chair.
“Thank you Lance,” I say with a small smile before taking a seat. Okay so far so good, I just hope I can get through the rest of this evening unscathed.
TERRY
Since when did Ava and Lance become cool? That motherfucker has been sniffing behind her for over a year now. I subtly inch closer to the two, trying to listen in on their conversation without being detected. I hear him ask her what she had planned later. A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach dropping anchor and forming an uncomfortable weight there. I recognize the feeling in an instant, jealousy. Fuck.
“Oh, Terry and his girlfriend are taking TJ to ‘Winter Wonderland’ downtown. I’m probably just going to tagalong with them so I can get pictures of TJ,” Ava says. Girlfriend? She thought Brandy was my girlfriend? Fuck no, I’m just having fun with her. I just didn’t want TJ to see the two of them arguing since they obviously didn’t like each other.
“Do you mind if Max (Lance’s son) and I join you? And maybe after I treat you and TJ to dinner?,”Lance said, smirking at Ava. My fucking Ava, and she’s smiling back?! Fuck nah, I ain’t about to have that. I take a step to interrupt their conversation when a hand on my shoulder grabs my attention.
“Sorry boo, but I have to go. Family emergency,” Brandy said, before laying a kiss on my cheek and then she left so fast I would’ve thought her ass evaporated. I locked back in on Ava and Lance seeming to be in just a friendly conversation but I couldn’t shake the fact that Ava was entertaining him. As long as I’ve known her she’s only ever wanted me. So, to see her chatting it up with another man is really rubbing me the wrong way.
She jumps up out of her chair, jumping up and down cheering for TJ. I damn near go cross-eyed trying to keep an eye on TJ and the jiggle of her ass when she jumps. Don’t get me wrong, I love Ava, she gave me my son, and she’s a fantastic mother, friend, and support system. I don’t know why seeing her potentially move on is fucking with me so bad. I pull out my phone and text my younger sister Trinity, I need advice ASAP.
ME: Trin I need your help. Fast
TRIN: Damn, no hi lol. What’s up Terry?
ME: It’s Ava, she’s going on a date tonight I think.
TRIN: Ok…what’s the problem?
ME: I don’t want her to.
TRIN: Aren’t you actively fucking that brittney chick??????
ME: ..yeah
TRIN: Ok so let me get this straight. Ava has to sit back while you fuck through all of Savannah, but the minute she gets a little bit of attention, you can’t deal?
ME: Well, when you put it like that..
TRIN: I love you bro, but you’re a fucking idiot.
AVA
“We’d love to have dinner with you and Max tonight” you say, smiling at Lance. He smirks down at me, “I can’t believe that worked.”
Your brows furrowed, “What do you mean?” you asked.
“I’ve been trying to get you to look my way for months, what changed?” Lance asked, leaning in. ‘I’m trying to get over my baby’s father’ , you thought. But you can’t just say that out loud so instead you just smile and say, “I thought it was time I put you out of your misery.”
Lance laughs and says, “Well thank you for that pretty lady.”
A throat clears behind you and you glance over your shoulder to see Terry standing there.
“Can I talk to you real quick?”, he looks with anxious eyes darting back and forth between you and Lance.
You glance back toward Lance, “I’ll be right back” you say, getting up from my chair. You follow Terry a few feet away to the edge of the field, but still able to keep an eye on TJ.
“What’s up?” you say, raising a brow.
“We need to talk, Bunny,” Terry said, wringing his hands. What’s going on? This nigga is never nervous. You raise both eyebrows this time, indicating that he can continue.
“What’s going on with you and Lance?” he asked, crossing his arms. Your eyes widen in disbelief, there’s no way his ass is questioning you about who you’re seeing.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you reply, crossing my arms.
Terry scoffs and rolls his eyes, “It’s my business if his ass is going to be around my son.”
You could feel the attitude crawling up your spine gripping your throat in a vice grip. “So you can prance all the bitches you want around our son? But when his friend’s dad; someone he’s familiar with, is around more often all of sudden it’s an issue?” you roll your eyes, Terry is really starting to piss you off. Just when you decide it’s time to try and move on he comes back with this.
“Terry what is this really about? You know Lance, you should be happy for me” you say pleading with him. His eyes soften, and he shuts them giving his head a rough shake.
“Happy? You can do way better than Lance!” he whispers.
A sarcastic laugh leaves your lips, “Mind your business Terry. I stay out of your love life, you stay out of mine.” you turn to leave but Terry reaches out and grabs your wrist.
“C’mon Bunny, you know I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m trying to say is he better kiss the ground you walk on, anything less is an insult.”
You roll my eyes yet again, a small smile on my lips, “You’ll get him right if he doesn’t?” you ask with a subtle pop of my hip.
A smirk grows on his lips, “Bunny, you know how I’m coming behind you,” Terry said, crossing his arms.
You shake your head to slow the smile from forming, “It’s nothing serious between Lance and I. I just need a little fun right now.”
“You know, we used to have fun,” Terry said, taking a step toward you. You could see it in his eyes. The way he was looking at you, he’s going to bend you over the first surface he can get his hands on.
You reach your hand out, slowing his advancement toward you. “No, Terry. Don’t do this here.”
His smirk widens, taking in your panicked yet aroused features. You still wanted him , that he could see. “Don’t you miss me Bunny? We were good together. I could always tell what you needed before you knew yourself and vice versa.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Where is all this coming from? Less than two hours ago, you were telling me I needed to be nice to Brandy and now you wanna reminisce? We’ll talk about this later, I’m not doing this right now.”
You couldn’t believe Terry! ‘We used to have fun’, he thinks he can just walk in here all gorgeous and muscled and you’ll just roll over? Well you will but you want to make him work for it at least. You spin, prepared to return to your seat when Terry grabs your wrist.
“Don’t go out with him tonight, Bunny. Let me treat you and our son to dinner instead, and I can explain everything.”
“What if I don’t want to hear your explanations Terry? I’ve waited and waited for you to finally come to the realization that we should be together. Now that I have the potential to find something with someone new, you can’t handle it. How do you think I felt watching you parade girl after girl in front of my face? If you’re serious about me, you and TJ becoming a family again, you’re going to have to prove it to us. The back and forth shit isn’t going to work, and TJ deserves stability,” crossing my arms, I finish my rant and turn to head back to my chair.
TERRY
Fuck, I need to get my family back
Okay, so I wanted to make this a little short and to the point So I can set you guys up for the next part. Let me know if Terry is toxic enough for y’all or should I crank it up a little. I wasn’t expecting to turn this into a series but I think I just might *winks* As always let me know what you guys think, if we’re feeling this or not. Happy new year beautiful people! Sending you all love I hope this year is better than your last and you get everything you want!
pairing: professor!terry x black reader
warnings: nsfw, explicit smut (18+), d/s dynamics, cockwarming, teasing, choking, use of names (sir), impact play (implied), slight degradation kink and aftercare (light)
synopsis: she thought she could break his focus with "subtle" actions. she was wrong. terry richmond doesn't break; he simply re-structures the environment to suit his needs. what follows is a slow-burn descent from playful flirting to a rhythmic, punishing lesson in what it means to be truly silent and still.
word count: 1.3k
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The stack of papers sat between them like a quiet accusation.
He had arranged them neatly, squared to the edge of the desk, a pen aligned with military precision beside them. Glasses low on his nose. Sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms — veins visible when his hand moved, deliberate, unhurried.
She leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.
“Do you ever get bored of this?” she asked lightly, nodding toward the mountain of assignments. “Or do you secretly enjoy being this… diligent?”
His pen paused mid-sentence.
He didn’t look up.
“You’re distracting me,” he said flatly, as if stating a fact rather than a complaint.
She smiled.
“That’s not an answer.”
A faint exhale left him — restrained, almost indulgent. He finally glanced at her over the rim of his glasses, expression unreadable.
“These need marking,” he said. “They won’t do themselves.”
“And you won’t even look at me while you say that?” she teased, stepping closer. “Harsh.”
He returned to his work.
That was when she knew he was doing it on purpose.
The minutes stretched. The room filled with the soft sounds of paper turning, pen scratching, the quiet tick of the clock. She circled him slowly, perching on the edge of the desk, crossing and uncrossing her legs just enough to test him.
Nothing.
She sighed theatrically. “You know, most people would be flattered by the attention.”
“I am,” he replied calmly. “I’m simply not rewarding it.”
That earned a pause.
She tilted her head. “Oh?”
His pen clicked once, decisive.
“Strip,” he said.
The word landed heavy in the air — not raised, not rushed. A command, clean and final.
She stilled.
His eyes lifted fully this time, dark, focused, unblinking.
“Sit,” he continued, nodding to the space directly in front of him. “Still. Silent.”
Her breath caught — not from fear, but from the sudden understanding that this wasn’t flirtation anymore.
It was structure.
She obeyed.
And as he returned his attention to the papers, pen moving once more, she realised with a shiver that this wasn’t about what he wanted from her.
It was about what he was willing to deny.
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She moved, her body trembling with a mixture of anticipation and indignation. She lowered herself onto his lap, straddling his thighs, settling the slick heat of her core onto the solid, unyielding length of him. His trousers were a rough barrier against her skin, only his member granted access, a partial satiation designed to torment.
Pleasure without purpose is punishment.
She complied briefly, her mind racing with a hubris that was quickly fading. She was certain her presence, the heat, the friction, would be enough to break his resolve. He would forego his duties, toss the papers aside, and focus on the act.
But he remained indifferent, unassuaged. His hand moved across the page, marking a student’s work with the same detached focus he had before. He wasn't even looking at her.
She was the first to break.
It started with a miniscule rock of her hips, almost imperceptible, a nervous twitch more than a deliberate movement. Terry knew her all too well. A slight lift, then a shortened breath earned her a scornful look, a slow, deliberate glance over the rim of his glasses that felt like a physical slap.
“Still.”
The single word was a lash. She defeatedly withdrew and ceased, freezing in place. The humiliation was exquisite. She was so still, she almost felt bored enough to start reading the papers with him, wanting to know which student’s work could possibly have him so captivated. Little did she know that he wasn't even concentrating; this was all an act, a game, and a lesson in one.
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Absentmindedly, the heat and the pressure becoming too much to bear, she recommenced her ministrations, a slow, grinding circle that was purely instinctual. She only realised what she’d done until a firm hand with a burning grip joined her waist, halting her movement instantly.
He pushed her down, a grinding stop that forced the friction to an almost unbearable peak. It was the first true sensation she’d felt all night, and a desperate, ragged moan bubbled in her throat.
Terry finally lowered his glasses, his dark eyes fixed on hers. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through her core.
“Silent.”
The final command was a promise of pain. She swallowed the sound, but the whimper escaped anyway.
“There’s nothing silent about whining. Do I have to remind you, what that means?”
She almost jumped off him with excitement at the prospect of finally getting what she wanted, but Terry, ever the tease and control master, didn't even budge. He simply held her in that agonising, friction-filled position, his eyes demanding compliance.
Her patience, already worn thin, snapped. She twisted her hips, a sharp, outward act of disobedience, trying to force a reaction, a movement, anything to break the stalemate. She wanted him to reprimand her, to punish her, to give her exactly the thing she had been wanting all along.
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As the last vestiges of control burned away, his eyes darkened — revealing the man beneath. He didn't move the papers, but with a powerful shift of his weight, he used his legs to push the armchair back several feet, creating a necessary, deliberate space. He was still seated, still the master of the scene, but now he was ready to work.
His hand remained at her waist, but another met her throat. Not threatening, but a clear, possessive claim.
“Four simple instructions,” he growled, his voice low and thick.
He thrust upward, a sudden, deep stroke that stole the air from her lungs. Her back arched, a desperate gasp escaping her lips.
“Were they too hard?” Thrust.
The friction was immediate, the depth agonisingly perfect. She was fully impaled, stretched, and filled, yet she was the one on top, the one seemingly in control. It was a beautiful, terrible irony.
“Answer me.” Thrust.
He was doing all the work, his hips driving up with a rhythmic, punishing force that made her teeth clench. The rough material of his trousers rubbed against her inner thighs, a constant, abrasive reminder of his partial clothing and her complete bareness.
“I asked you a question...” Thrust.
Her vision swam, the pleasure too sharp, too sudden to form a coherent thought. She could only shake her head, the movement slight against the pressure of his hand.
“No,” she managed to choke out, the words barely a whisper.
“No, what?” Thrust.
“No, Sir.” Perfectly shaped tears graced the corners of her eyes by now.
“No, Sir, what?” Thrust.
The question was punctuated by a stroke so deep it hit the back of her womb, sending a jolt of pure white heat through her core. She was a puppet on his strings, her body responding to his every command, his every movement.
“No, Sir, I didn’t think you would notice,” she gasped, the confession ripped from her.
He released her throat, only to grip her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he set a relentless, driving pace. The chair creaked under the strain, the sound a counterpoint to the sinful rhythm of their bodies. He was punishing her, yes, but the punishment was exactly the pleasure she craved.
She came apart on him, a shattering, violent release that left her weak and trembling. Her head fell back, her body convulsing around him, pulling a low, guttural groan from his chest — the first sound of genuine loss of control he had made all night.
When it was over, he didn't move. He simply held her, letting the aftershocks subside. He listened as her breathing settled and her body stilled and soothed. Then, with a quiet efficiency that was almost clinical, he adjusted his trousers, re-buckled his belt, and gently lifted her off his lap.
She collapsed onto the couch beside the desk, sprawled and spent, her skin slick with sweat, her mind blissfully empty.
Terry, however, returned to his chair. He picked up his pen, adjusted his glasses, and pulled the stack of papers back into alignment. The only evidence of the storm that had just passed was the slight tremor in his hand and her laying naked and broken beside him.
He cleared his throat, the sound a quiet, final punctuation mark.
“Now,” he murmured, his voice back to its familiar, professorial cadence. “Where were we?”
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a/n: something short and sweet to end the year with, and what better way than with terry! thank you to everyone who’s shown me love with the fics this year. i appreciate every single one of you. as always, comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback 🫶🏾🫶🏾
Hi guysssssssss! I will gratefully welcome any criticism and comments. I love when you all interact. Help a girl out :) Don't forget to send asks if you have a request or fic idea.
Pairing: Terry Richmond (Rebel Ridge) x Black Female Reader
Summary: Listen… you was minding your business. This man was just fixin’ stuff around the house, shirt off, muscles poppin... you tried to act normal. He wasn’t buyin’ it. Now you on the kitchen table rethinking every decision you made before 10 a.m...
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content / Smut (18+MINORS DNI), Praise Kink, Mild Degradation (light teasing only), Oral (male and female receiving), Teasing / Begging. please let me know if i missed any.
Word Count: 2,900+
The day started innocent enough.
You’d both slept in, tangled under the fan, legs warm, his durag slightly off-center from all the tossing and cuddling. The sun had barely peeked through the blinds when Terry had kissed your shoulder, groggy and sweet, mumbling something about fixing a few things in the kitchen that he had been meaning to get to all week.
You groaned, snuggled deeper into him. Eyes still closed. “You said that last weekend.”
“And I meant it last weekend too,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep. “Today I’m actually gon’ do it.”
And he did. After a shower and breakfast, he went shirtless, durag tied back, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and pulled out the toolbox from under the hallway closet. That should’ve been your first warning because watching Terry work with his hands did things to you. Hormonal, unholy things.
He didn’t even do much. Just started moving through the house like the walking thirst trap he was. Tightening the hinges on the cabinets. Adjusting a crooked shelf near the pantry. At one point he bent over to check the outlet near the floor and grunted and you had to leave the room.
You tried to hide in the laundry, thinking if you busied your hands, your hormones would back down. No luck. Your whole body was running hot. Like clockwork, ovulation was doing its thing, and you were spiraling. Every breath he took felt louder. Every brush of his hand felt like a tease. When he reached around you to grab something from the top shelf, you damn near stopped breathing. Chest to your back. Big, warm hand braced lightly on your waist for balance.
“‘Scuse me, baby,” he mumbled, not even trying to be seductive. But your body reacted like he’d moaned your name.
You pressed your lips together and went back to folding towels and adding more things to the washing machine.
But then Terry had to go and be… that man.. A little sweat at the dip of his back. He was crouched under the kitchen sink. Every time he leaned forward, muscles flexed across his back. His chain swung when he moved, catching the light. His hands busy, tightening the pipe with a wrench.
And you? You were staring. Hard.
You shifted your thighs, heat pooling lower than you wanted to admit. Your tank top was suddenly too thin. Your shorts too tight. This was the third time today you’d caught yourself eyeing him like he was dinner, and ovulation had you on the ropes.
You cleared your throat. Terry didn’t look up. You tried again. “That pipe still givin’ you trouble?”
He finally slid out from under the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he looked up at you. The way he was laid back about it should’ve been illegal. That smirk. Slow and knowing, stretched across his face like he’d caught you stealing.
“You askin’ about the pipe or you tryna distract yourself?”
You blinked. “From what?”
Terry chuckled, standing up. “I dunno. You tell me.”
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. You watched him toss the towel over his shoulder casually, like he didn’t just walk in here looking like every fantasy you ever had.
You tried to keep it together. “Can’t I just check on my man?”
He leaned against the counter, eyes dragging down your body like he owned it. “You could.”
You raised a brow, pretending like you didn’t feel the heat of his stare crawling over your skin. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you know something I don’t.
Say what you want,” he murmured “But if you keep watching me like imma start thinkin’ you want something.”
You swallowed hard. Your hormones screamed "WE DO! WE DO!"
Instead you huffed, “I just like seeing my man handle tools. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”
He nodded. “Ok. I’m just gon’ finish fixing the cabinet. Let me know if you need me." he said patiently.
For the next hour, he did exactly what he said, worked around the house. Quiet and calm. He brushed past you again when he went to grab something from the junk drawer. This time he didn’t even say anything, just let his hand rest at the small of your back for half a second longer than necessary. You clenched your jaw. Your thighs. Everything.
You folded your arms, trying not to pout. “You bein’ real extra today.”
Terry leaned in. His lips brushed your cheek. “Nah, I’m bein’ patient.”
His breath lingered there. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. He was so close, you could see the curve of his smile even though your eyes refused to meet his. One of his hands drifted past your hip, like he might walk away and he didn’t. Instead, he let his fingers graze the hem of your shirt, just barely, knuckles running along the skin beneath.
Your pulse jumped.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
“You always do this,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. You two have been together forever yet, he still makes you so nervous in all the best ways.
“Do what?” He asked innocently.
“Walk around here bein’ all…” you waved your hand toward him, ...like that. Messin’ with me.”
Terry raised a brow. “Like what?”
You looked away. “All fine…..and sweaty... And helpful.” You bit your lip. “It’s rude, honestly.”
Silence.
You didn’t dare look up. But you felt it. The weight of his stare. The way his body didn’t move, didn’t even breathe too loud, like he was giving you all the time in the world to realize what you just confessed. Finally, you peeked up at him. Terry was just watching you. Head tilted slightly. That little smirk playing on his lips like he was already ten steps ahead. He chuckled low under his breath, stepping back in just a little closer, voice dropping.
“Mmhmm.” His other hand curled under your chin, lifting it gently. “Like you want somethin’ but don’t wanna say it.”
“I don’t want anything,” you whispered.
He chuckled. “You lie so pretty.”
Your thighs clenched on instinct, and he felt it.
“See?” he said, voice low, teasing. “Body don’t lie. You gon’ tell me or you want me to keep guessin’?”
You pouted, leaning back against the table, biting your lip like it would help. It didn’t.
Terry boxed you in without touching. His hands braced on either side of you. Trapping you against the counter. You could feel the tension buzzing between you like static.
“You not gon’ talk to me?” he asked softly.
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just watching you fix stuff. That’s all.”
He laughed, deep in his chest. “Nah. You watchin’ me like you the one that need fixin’.”
Oh. God.
“You gon’ keep playin’ with me?” he asked.
You blinked up at him, trying to hold onto your last shred of control. “I’m not playi—”
He cut you off with his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “You sure?”
You nodded, lips parting on instinct.
Then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a low growl. “Use your words for me, baby.”
Your knees buckled.
His mouth found yours before you could breathe. It started slow, just lips and tongue and his hands gently cradling you. One went to your jaw, tilting your head just right; the other gripped your waist, dragging you closer. You moaned into his mouth, gasping as his tongue claimed yours. When he pulled back, your head was spinning.
“Up,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
He patted the table. “Get up here.”
You scrambled onto the edge of the kitchen table, breath coming in short bursts. Terry stepped between your thighs, dragging them open with his hands, slow, like he was taking his time unwrapping a gift.
“You this worked up from watchin’ me fix cabinets?” he asked, low and rough.
You nodded. You reached for him, but he stepped back just a bit, dragging a single finger along the inside of your thigh.
“Let me take my time with you, baby. You owe me for all that lyin’ earlier.”
You whimpered, hips bucking into his hand.
“Oh, now you wanna move,” he teased. “Now you wanna beg.”
“Terry,” you gasped, “please….please touch me, I can’t..”
“Yes you can,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your thigh. “You gon’ take what I give you, and you gon’ thank me for it, yeah?”
You moaned. “Y-yes, I’ll be good, I swear.”
He smirked, slid your shorts off with one hand, and kissed right at the crease of your thigh.
“That’s my girl.” Then his mouth was on you.
Hot, slow strokes of his tongue that sent you spiraling. You fell back on your elbows, legs trembling, thighs already threatening to close around his head. But his grip was firm, holding you open like he owned every inch of you.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he growled between licks.
You sobbed out a moan. “Terry….oh my gosh”
“Mmm. Say it again.” Coming up to leave a sloppy kiss on your lips before getting back to work.
“I....I need you.”
He slid a thick finger inside you while his mouth kept working. Your whole body jerked. “Shit, baby. All that pretending, look at you now.”
“Terry, please,” you gasped, voice cracking.
“Please what?”
“I need you inside me...please, I need you so bad.”
“I know , baby.” He stood up, eyes filled with want, and tugged his sweats down, freeing himself. Your eyes locked on him, thick, heavy, already leaking. You damn near lost it.
“Lay back all the way,” he ordered.
You obeyed instantly, heart hammering. He lined himself up, dragged his tip through your slick folds, and paused. “You ready, baby?”
You nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. Please.”
Then he pushed in. Slow, deep, and devastating. You cried out, back arching and closing your eyes. "oh my gosh..."
“Fuuuck,” he hissed. “You feel so good, baby.”
Your hands scrambled for his shoulders, nails digging in.
“Look at me,” he said, cupping your cheek.
You did.
“Good girl,” he whispered. He started moving, long, slow strokes that filled you to the brim, grinding just right at the end of every thrust. Your moans turned shameless.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “So fuckin’ good for me. Look at you. Tell me who’s it is”
You sobbed. “It’s yours...oh God, Terry, I’m yours.” All the praises he uttered really did it for you. He wrapped your legs around his waist, leaning forward to send kisses down your neck and chest. He shifted just enough to hit your spot dead on, and you wanted to scream but nothing came out. You laid there trying to focus on everything that was building up in the bottom of your stomach. “Terry—Baby, I’m gonna—”
“Go ahead,” he growled, hips slamming into yours. “Cum on this dick. Let me feel you.”
You shattered. Body clenching around him so hard he cursed through gritted teeth. He chased his own high fast after that, fucking you through the aftershocks until he growled your name and came deep inside, panting against your skin.
You lay flat on the kitchen table, chest rising and falling, sweat cooling on your skin. The ceiling light above you buzzed faintly, but everything else felt muffled. Quiet. Like the world had tilted slightly on its axis.
Terry laid on top of you, still inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His breathing was heavy, arms braced on either side of you as if he was afraid you might float away. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then he kissed your collarbone. Soft. Lingering.
You shivered, blinking up at the ceiling, smiling tiredly. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
He pulled back slightly, eyes meeting yours. “I did,” he said seriously. “You don’t even know how good you look when you beg.”
You flushed, swatting at his shoulder, but he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“I’m serious,” he murmured, lips dragging along your fingers. “You was up here talkin’ ‘bout please, Terry, I need you. Damn near cryin’ for it.” Laughing and mocking you.
“Stopppp,” you whined, covering your face.
“Nah, you gon’ hear this,” he grinned, nipping at your wrist. “Had me ready to lose my whole mind.”
You peeked through your fingers and saw it, that look in his eyes again. Hungry. Focused. Still not done with you. Your breath caught.
“Terry…”
He leaned in, voice low and rough. “Get up, baby.”
You blinked. “What?”
He slowly slid out of you, biting back a groan at the sight of your body twitching from the loss.
“C’mon,” he said, pulling you upright gently, guiding your shaky legs to the floor.
“I don’t think I can walk,” you murmured.
“That’s alright.” He kissed your temple. “I got you.”
He scooped you into his arms effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs and around your back like you weighed nothing. You squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Where are you taking me?” you asked, voice still breathy.
“Living room,” he said simply. “That one was for you."
He looked down at you with that same fire from earlier low and possessive. "This one for me." He sat you down on the couch gently.
You sat up, eyes locked on him, and licked your lips slowly.
“Sit down,” you said.
Terry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
You patted the couch. “Let me return the favor.” You moved between his legs, settling on your knees with a grin.
He groaned. Deep and low and leaned back against the cushions, spreading his legs wider as you dragged your fingers over his thighs.“ Look at you,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base, watching his abs tense. You smiled, kissing the inside of his thigh then looking up at him. Your hand started stroking him slow, long and lazy, letting your thumb circle the tip as his hips twitched. “You deserve this,” you whispered. “My man. All patient. All perfect.”
Terry hissed. “Fuck…”
You leaned in and licked up the length of him, then pressed your lips to the tip. Slow and soft, letting him feel every second.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, hand resting gently on your head.
You took him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, moaning around him as your lips stretched to take him deeper. You didn’t rush. You didn’t look away. You wanted him to feel it, every stroke of your tongue, every swirl, every soft suck as your hand worked the base.
“Baby,” he grunted. “Shit… you feel so fuckin’ good.”
You pulled back just enough to speak. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you.” Then you went back down on him, deeper this time, hand working in sync with your mouth. He let out a raw sound, hips jerking slightly.
“Ohh.....fuck, that mouth,” he groaned. “What you trynna do to me, huh?”
You smiled with your eyes, still full and focused, then hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder.
Terry’s head fell back. “Shit. Shit. Don’t stop. Just like that, baby.” He growled, hand gripping your hair tighter now.
“Look at you,” you whispered between strokes, eyes locked on his. “You so fuckin fine, baby.”
He growled, hand gripping your hair tighter now.
“You keep goin’, I’m not gon’ last…”
“That’s the point,” you murmured, stroking him faster, licking him slower. “Let me taste it.”
He cursed loud and that was it. His whole body jerked, hips stuttering as he came with a low, broken moan, spilling into your mouth. You swallowed it all, licking him clean, still stroking slow as he twitched beneath you. When you looked up again, he was wrecked. Legs wide, head tilted back, chest heaving like he just ran a mile. The sight made your thighs clench all over again.
You climbed up into his lap, kissing his shoulder then leaving three soft kisses on his lips. “You alright, baby?”
He laughed softly, voice raspy, eyes still closed. “You just tried to kill me?”
Laughing, you kissed his jaw.
He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck, still catching his breath.
“I love you,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ much.”
You smiled against his skin. “I know, baby. I love you too.”
The room was still now. The TV played something neither of you were watching, just soft background noise filling the silence. Terry laid back on the couch, legs stretched arms wrapped around you. You were still laying on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest, fingers lazily tracing little circles into his skin. The throw blanket barely covered you both, but neither of you cared. His warmth, his scent, the beat of his heart, this was the real comfort.
“…You know,” you said, voice slow and dreamy, “I really was tryna be good today.”
“You failed,” he teased.
You nudged him playfully. “It’s your fault.. walkin’ around here all quiet. Shirt off. Muscles out. Just fixin’ shit. Like some fine ass handyman husband. What did you expect me to do? Ignore that?”
“Nah,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “I liked you squirming. Bein’ stubborn. Tryna play it off.”
You smiled against his skin. “You ain’t right.” You curled in closer, pulling the blanket up around both of you. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing his jaw. “You still got stuff to fix tomorrow?”
He smirked. “Maybe.”
L-U-X <3
For some reason I get motivated at 2am lmao. Ngl I think I want to post Ch.3 of What Love Takes and a MBJ or Trevante Rhodes fic. Y’all let me know what yall want in the comments. I’ve also been trying to see if I want to get in on the Sinners action but idk if I’m confident enough yet lmfao. I love all the feedback I have been receiving. Y’all my besties 🫶🏾
And as always my requests are open if you all have any ideas! :) THANK YAAAAA. 💋
Terry knew you were high maintenance before he met you. The way your bedroom lit a soft shade of baby pink with gold and cheetah print accessories surrounding you, your nails and toes always freshly done, either in a sparkly baby pink or a basic french tip: you made sure you were put together. After all, all you did was dress up like a doll and men paid to witness it.
It was one of the few things Terry noticed about you. He never intended to come across you as he believed that watching porn or anything remotely related, wasn’t of any benefit to him, knowing that if he had any sexual needs, there were always a list of women who would be at his beck and call.
But before he knew it, Terry became one of your top contributors, starting off by sending you five thousand dollars in the first stream he joined and progressively adding another ten thousand for every stream after, just to hear you thank him as you pressed your toys into your glistening pink hole.
Terry loved the idea of spoiling a pretty girl like you, hearing your giggles as you repeatedly thanked him for sending you so many gifts or when you joked that you needed to see him in person to thank him properly: he knew that he needed you. When you had announced you were going to do private calls for your top contributors, Terry made sure he was number one on that list.
You were nervous. It was obvious that the person named ‘@/treatsfromterry’ was clearly obessessed with you and although you liked the idea of someone being so desperate for your attention that they would spend what felt like their lifesavings on you, you were also terrified that he would be some old creep.
You were so wrong. When a muscular caramel toned man, wearing thin rimmed glasses and a short sleeve black wife-beater popped onto your zoom call screen, you couldn’t believe your eyes. He was beautiful. You felt your mouth drop open slightly at the sight as his deep chuckle filled your ears. “You okay there, beautiful?” He questioned, fixing his camera position to ensure you can see him clearly. “Mhm” you trailed off, eyes lowering to his biceps. They were so big and soft: you wanted a bite.
“I need to hear you use your words, princess.” He sighed out, feeling himself harden at the sight of you wearing the lingerie he asked you to wear for this special occasion. “I’m fine, daddy. I just didn’t expect you to look so good.” You giggle, remembering that he asked you to only call him daddy. The name definitely fit the view you were seeing. “Thank you, baby. I appreciate you wearing that for me.” He smiled, motioning towards your lingerie.
You smiled. “I mean you spoil me so much, it’s the least I could do. Do I look pretty?” You moved closer to your laptop camera, purposely angling it to face your breasts as you slowly message them, circling your brown areole’s. “So fucking pretty, princess.” He groaned, the ache in his pants getting worse. You smiled, leaning back before thanking him again. “Is there anything specific you want me to do for you, daddy?” You asked.
Initially, Terry thought about asking you to masterbate on the call to watch you moan his name, but he realised that it would be better to see that in person. “No, I just want to ask you one question.” He leaned forward to look directly in your eyes. “Oh? Go ahead, but I’m just letting you know that if I feel uncomfortable, I won’t hesitate to block you.” You said softly, attempting to set your boundaries as clearly as possible.
“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, princess. Tell me if I’m going too far, okay?” He assured you while you simply nodded.
“Outside of this-” he started, gesturing towards the camera, insinuating that he was referring to you being a cam girl. “What is your goal? What job do you aspire to have?” He questioned and it caught you off guard. It’s not usual that one of your viewers even care to ask about how your day was, never mind what your aspirations are. “I want to be rich.” You answered, earning a deep chuckle from him. “What?! I’m serious. I don’t aspire to work. I just want to make money and be happy.” You said truthfully. He found your answer fascinating because it wasn’t one he was used to hearing.
“What if I can be the one to make you rich and happy?” He asked, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, patiently waiting for your response. “Wh-what do you mean?” You questioned, feeling your body warming up from the tension. Although, he was miles away from you, he made his presence very known. “I’m an investor. I like to invest into businesses I know will be profitable and successful for me-” He started, before you cut him off, “you invest into people too?” You asked. “Not people. . . Just you.” He adjusted his glasses.
“I want you to be my sugar baby.” The comment had you puzzled. It wasn’t like people had never asked you to be their sugar baby, but it wasn’t normal for someone of his calibre to openly ask. “That means I get to spoil you and all I ask for in return is your time and attention.” He continued. You were still silent, debating on whether it would be a good idea as you only started your cam girl services to fund for your college tuition fees, not because you wanted to have close ties to the lifestyle long term. “You can continue your streaming services if you think that’s something I wouldn’t want you doing anymore. I just want you. I want to feel you and be close to you. That’s all I ask for, sweetheart.” He said as you thought deeply about the advantages of being a sugar baby.
“How do I know you’re really rich? You could just be lying to me to get me to meet you.” You pestered. He laughed before pulling out his phone, tapping a few buttons and showing you the amount of money he had in his bank account. You audibly gasped which caused him to laugh harder at the thought of you questioning his wealth. “Does that answer your question?” He asked. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your sugar baby.” You replied almost immediately. “Good girl.” He smiled once more. And with that, your relationship with Terry began.
Who would’ve thought that a year later, you would be walking around Chanel with a 6 ft 3 man, spending his money on whatever you touched. I mean, you had been in the store for less than hour and he already spent over twenty thousand dollars. Terry sat in the corner of the store, tapping away at his phone to handle some business dealings while keeping a close eye on you, knowing you get lost when you’re not in the right mind. “Daddy, come look at this.” You asked softly as he held one finger at you to tell you to wait a moment. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart.” He replied.
You hated when he wasn’t paying attention to you, especially because you knew that whatever he was looking at wasn’t more important than you. “Why do I even bother.” You pouted, grabbing your bags and attempting to leave the store without a second thought. Terry immediately followed after you and paused your movements, noticing your demeanour shift. “I’m here, princess. I’m sorry, you know how work is right now.” He grabbed your chin for you to look up at him. “You said you wanted my time and attention, whole time, you’re too busy on your stupid fucking phone!” You barked back, attempting to walk away before feeling your arm get yanked back.
“Who the fuck you talking to like that? I’ll fuck you up in front of everybody.” He started. “Tread lightly. This bratty attitude ain’t cutting it for me.” He warned. Yes, Terry was a sweet man who was never aggressive with you unless you asked him to be, he still would never tolerate disrespect and recently you’ve been having more bratty outbursts than usual. At first, he thought you were simply hormonal, but as it became consistently worse, he became more agitated that you thought your behaviour was acceptable. “Whatever.” You storm back into the store, ignoring glares from the workers and continue your shopping.
It wasn’t long before you were laying across Terry’s lap on your stomach with your camera angled just so your viewers can see his chest, but not his face as he spanked you in the room he dedicated in his house as your filming room, covered in Sanrio themed accessories after you told him you loved them. “You can take it, princess.” He spanked your plush ass again, watching it slowly bruise up as the live gained more traction with people sending more gifts and reactions. “M’ sor-so sorry, daddy! Please!” You pleaded, feeling yourself start to lose your vision as you stained your cheeks with wet hot tears.
“But you look so pretty like this, mama. Don’t y’all agree?” He questioned, almost taunting the viewers as he landed another harsh slap. Your live stream was gaining more views by the minute, but all you could think about was how much you needed his touch. “Pl-pleasee, daddy. Touch me- I want it so bad.” You cried out. “I nee-ed you.” You breathed out. “That’s all you had to say, princess.” He lifted you to straddle him, facing you towards the camera as he spread your legs open for them to see. “Look at how wet you are.” He slapped your clit harshly, causing you to yelp and jump forward from the impact.
You covered your mouth with your hand as he continued to slap your clit four more times, chuckling after each slap. “Dadd-ah pleasee!” You squealed, knowing your body was giving up on you. Terry used his left hand to grab you by your throat, applying a little bit of pressure to assert dominance. “You know I don’t like brats. Why do you keep playing with me?” He whispered in your ear, rubbing your clit in a circular motion, slowly. “M’ sor-” you were cut off by him applying more pressure to your throat. “You’re sorry? Were you sorry when you embarrassed me today?” He questioned, his grip on your throat getting tighter as he fastened the pace of rubbing your clit.
You couldn’t even respond due to the pressure he had on your throat. Terry moved his left hand up into your mouth as you attempted to catch a breath. He stuck his two fingers in your mouth, watching you suck them softly. He almost forgot you were on your live stream until he heard a ping from your computer which indicated you had reached over fifty thousand viewers: a new milestone. “People like seeing me use you, princess. Should we do this more often?” He asked, pushing his fingers further down your throat while you simply nodded.
He pulled his fingers out your mouth, watching closely as a string of your saliva creeped out. You coughed at the feeling of your airways being free. “You’re my filthy little slut. Aren’t you, angel?” He teased, using both of his hands to rub your clit aggressively. You gripped onto his biceps, your face contorting from the mixed pleasure that you were receiving. Your pussy ached from the heat and you felt yourself losing consciousness. “Aww, you gonna pass out on daddy? But I’m only just getting started, baby.” He cooed. “You can take it.” He bit your shoulder.
The lewd sounds of your pussy squelching, your inconsistent moans and your sweat dripping from all parts of your body made viewers wish they were Terry right now. It was fucking disgusting. You practically losing yourself and he hadn’t even fucked you yet? You were pathetic. He slowed down his pace when he saw you squirting and your juices nearly hitting your laptop camera: truly cinematic.
He groaned at the feeling of his cock aching just from the sight. Terry knew when you started squirting like this, you weren’t far from cumming. “You close, bunny?” He teased as your legs trembled in response. “M’ c-close, pa!” You squirmed, closing your eyes shut while he rubbed you gently, still ensuring his touch was firm. You felt yourself slipping away into your own headspace as you knew you would cum any moment now. That was until, he moved his hands away from you, earning a loud whine.
“You think I’d let you cum after how you acted today? Nah, get on all fours.” He pushed you off him, causing you to fall to the ground. Your legs were still wobbly, but you knew better than to argue with him. After all, it was your mouth that got you in this position in the first place. You sat up on the bed, getting into his preferred position. “Stretch that ass out.” He ordered, watching you spread your ass hole open, ready for him to stuff your ass, whole.
Summary: You and Stack get into an argument that shows a side of him that you've never seen. He's no poet, not a man that's good with words, but he can speak through actions better than anyone.
Tags: Angst, Major Angst, Slight Toxicity from Reader & Stack, Arguing, Potential Cheating, Stack is Bad with Words, Softcore Non-Con, Violence Between Lovers
Word Count: 4.9k
You stand with your arms folded and hip jutted to the side as you ponder which table cloth to pluck from the large shelf of miscellaneous supplies in front of you. Annie had directed you to this large supply closet that’s basically just a room where all of the supplies for the juke joint is kept.
Dark liquor and shimmering jugs of moonshine make up the largest demographic in the room. The space smells of dust and old, dry wood. There’s a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling that casts an amber light throughout the space that’s too weak to reach the outer corners of the wood box of a room.
Your eyes scanned up and down the shelves, playing back the color scheme of the scenery outside the supply closet door so as to choose the best match. Linens and table cloths of various patterns and colors sit one atop the other carrying a thin layer of dust. As you stand pondering, you hear the creak of the door swing open behind you, three heavy, masculine footsteps follow, stopping behind you.
You know it’s him, you feel his energy buzz atop the surface of your skin the moment he enters the room. His presence bares an intensity that tends to have that effect. The man carries such a signature aura that it's impossible to miss or fail to notice. So distinct, that what emanates from him is starkly different and distinguishable from his twin. The air seems to shift around him when he enters a room and then he proceeds to take up all of said air.
“I said I don’t wanna talk to ya, Elias.” You huff, but not nearly as venomously as would accurately reflect your lack of desire to be in the same room as him. You wish your words had come out harsher. But you’re mature enough to know that showing the true extent of your anger would do you no good.
Besides, you know that he’s like a bundle of dry hay that any spark from you will ignite into flames. Your back stays facing him, which sends a message in and of itself. He didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you recognized his footsteps.
Elias studies you from behind, taking what he can get since you won’t even grant him a face-to-face conversation. Your pale yellow dress hugs the feminine roundness of your shoulders nicely. In an instant and with the quick flick of his sharp eyes he studies what’s radiating off of you as well. A tension that speaks in frequencies that only he can hear and that shows itself in the stiffness of your posture.
The wall of a man slowly steps closer into you, not in a way that denotes carefulness, but in a way that radiates entitlement. He stops just before the fabric of his clothes press into your back. His presence sits on the nape of your neck. Still you don’t turn around, staying focused on your task, or at least trying your best to.
His cologne all but burns your nose, it’s smells like sandalwood and musk and a strong alcohol aroma that binds the two scents together. The fragrance blends with the warm, smoky scent of whiskey on his breath in a way that’s very him.
Stack plucks the toothpick from between his full lips, flicking it to the floor before shoving his hands in his pockets. A simple gesture done with such nonchalance that would’ve pissed you off if you’d been facing him to see it. Him following you into this secluded space where it's just the two of you feels predatory and unfair.
Like he only followed you in here because it would create a private moment between the two of you that he knows you’re in no mood to create knowingly or willingly.
He’s not touching you, though might as well be. But he likes how your frame fits into his, how he can swallow you up or absorb you into himself like this. This is a tactic he employs often whether you’re in the mood to be this close to him or not. He takes in your spirit the way a plant will grow towards a window just to have the sunlight touch it’s leaves. Just proximity to you feeds him down to his bones. Though he's not the type of man that's able to put that into words.
The top of your head stops at the middle of his broad chest, freshly hot-combed hair swirls towards your face like wisps of unraveled clouds. The front of him, chest-to-crotch, is nearly pressed flush against your back. The roundness of your butt is the nearest to pressing against him but not quite.
“Now how I’m gon invite you to my get-together and you can’t even spare a brotha a hello, a kiss-my-ass, nothing?” You hear the smile in his voice, the boldness of his entitlement sets a trap that you fall into.
At last you stop pretending to still be picking out a table cloth and spin around to face him. “Kiss my ass. Happy?” Your words are sharp and sarcastic and patronizing enough to satisfy you. Before he can fix his lips to shoot something back, you’ve spun back around towards the shelf to grab the cloth you decided will do. You just want to get out of here as soon as possible.
Elias doesn’t move, because he doesn’t have to. He’s a brick wall that would have to move out of the way to let you pass, anyway. When you turn back around to face him, fully intending on leaving hurriedly and in a huff, he’s still standing in the same spot.
Now the buttons holding his black, sleeveless vest together are nearly pressing into the butter yellow silk that’s stretches across your bust. His shoulders are massive beneath his white dress shirt, his chest is broad and tone in a way that makes his clothes fit nicer than the average man. Your nose is level with his crimson tie when you begrudgingly make eye contact with him.
He examines you like something he’ll always possess, like something inevitable. Like you’re the once making a needless fuss about something that will always be; that, being this push and pull routine the two of you have done for years. Unspoken words and spoken ones and the times you’ve made each other feel so good that you couldn't formulate any at all.
“Look, baby, didn’t I tell you that wasn’t what it looked like?” There’s a desperation in his tone that’s accompanied by his usual smug playfulness. You only catch the latter.
A delivery carrying such little seriousness makes a poor companion to the sincerity hidden beneath the many layers of his voice. His default chuckle and the twinkle of gold in his teeth when he smiles distracts from any candidness hidden on his tongue somewhere.
If looks could kill, he would be dead, cold and buried by now. Your gaze is hot with an anger that’s barely bridled. You swear you feel your eye twitch under the strain of keeping your mask of togetherness up. You want to explode and tell him to fuck off. But you also want to dish him out the coldness apathy possible, because that’s what truly gets a man like Elias bothered.
But how dare he condescend to you like this? Insulting your intelligence, that's your trigger. Like you’re just supposed to take his word for it that the girl you saw kiss him ‘wasn’t what it looked like’.
The second the last syllable leaves his tongue, your own is already on him like white on rice. “And I told you that I didn’t believe yo slick ass!” Your words cut through the small space room like the crack of a whip. His expression falls subtly from an ego-driven grin to one more serious, concerned even.
You maneuver to push by him, fed up with this horribly timed interaction and wanting to get back something that will distract you from his nonsense. “Look, I don’t want to play these games, Elias, I’m here to help my sister set up and have a good time.” You huff, your voice is strong and decided as you step to the side to push past the road block that is his large frame.
Your fingers spread atop his crisp cotton shirt when you place your hand on his large bicep; pushing him out of the way enough for you to slide by. You weren’t halfway past him when he grabbed your wrist, not harshly, but certainly firm enough to stop you in your tracks. Your breath catches when he pulls you against him.
“C’mon baby, don’t be like that.” His southern drawl is thick and dripping sweet, he says the words like he’s scolding a fussy kitten. His large hand is warm, strong as a hundred-year-old oak and could wrap around your wrist twice if that were possible.
He holds your wrist firmly against his chest, hindering your forward motion entirely. Your forearm is pinned between his grasp and the fabric of the clothes across his broad chest. Each of his fingertips feel so warm and pronounced against your skin.
Your eyes flick back and forth between his wild and livid, but you find no similar expression reflecting back at you from his eyes. Only an uncharacteristic softness shown through a gentler gaze that doesn't match the other parts of his hardened-by-life countenance.
Somehow that makes you more angry than a harsh expression from him would make you. Because it feels like a very unfair weapon formed against you. It's easy to be mad at someone who's mad at you. But the softness that you see in him every now and again keeps you hooked and you hate that more often than not.
You snatch your wrist away so quickly that he couldn't tighten his grip fast enough to keep you caged in the moment. A hot breath seethes from your flared nostrils, your gaze looks past him towards the door as you try to swallow the feeling of offense. Your eyes stay ahead, refusing to feed his antics by so much as a glance in his direction.
You straighten your posture, committed to not having this become something uglier and night-ruining. “Thank ya kindly for the invitation Mr. Moore if that’s what you’re looking for, now if you don’t mind–” The sting of your sarcastic tone is cut off.
That's when he suddenly snakes a single muscular arm around your waist and pulls you against him. The impact of your body slamming into his ejects a breath from your lungs. Your entire body and bust make contact with the expanse of his chest as his lips crash into yours. He claims the air in your lungs as his own through bruising open mouthed kisses. His mouth is hot and his tongue invasive.
His bicep curls around your waist and his hand is planted against your back, holding the warmth of your body against him. The plushness of your curves pressing into him numbs any worries in his mind. He takes your mouth in hot, whiskey-sweetened kisses that don't ask for consent or care about being crass. Lapping up every corner of the heat of your mouth like a poor man digging for gold.
It's carnal and rough and deep and just as soon as it happened, it was over. Your muscle memory is overpowered by what's left of your sense. You push off of his chest to untie his tongue from yours. Your lips break away from the snare of his with a crudely wet click. The sudden lack of touch feels premature to him, and like putting your foot down to you. In reaction he simply looks at you, with a flatter expression than your own but heaving for air as well, nonetheless.
In seconds he managed to make your lips feel swollen and your head felt lighter than it did twenty seconds ago. You glare at him, your eyes have darkened with so many different things. Your bust heaves as you make an effort to catch your breath. You feel a wrathful heat rise up your neck to spread across your face, leaving cool beads of sweat on your nose. Emotion boils over into the physical feeling of fire all over your body.
Before you knew what had happened, you felt your palm slap him across the face; his head turned with the force of it. The crackling sound of the strike bounced off the ceiling and the impact stung your palm a pinker shade than usual.
You feel sick at yourself. For a split second you feel like a monster for displaying such violence, then the next second justification swoops in to wash those feelings away.
Tear prick the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. “How dare you kiss me with your filthy mouth that’s been god-knows-where on god-knows-who?!” There's a strain in your voice that's evidence of whatever knot of emotions you'd been holding in your belly bursting undone.
Elias looks at you with his lips slightly parted in disbelief and his right cheek still stinging with pain. The taste of you suddenly feels like stolen goods on his tongue. Realization hits him, and it scares him like nothing has since he was a boy. The realization that he still has the energy to play a game that you grew tired of ages ago.
A somber curtain shades his eyes with something unmasked and miserable that you've never seen before. He says nothing, he can't think of anything to say.
The well of wit and charm that's always so plentiful on his tongue has gone entirely dry. His silence leaves an uncanny feeling in the air and your stomach because he always has something to say. He just looks at you with a surprising lack of anger on his face.
You won't let the tears fall, you won't let this ruin your plans to have a great time tonight. You simply will not grant anyone that sort of power over you. Your throat is tight with emotions that you can barely hold back. Your attempt to regain the breaths he'd stolen from you feels like breathing through a straw.
You blink your eyes in an attempt to mop up the tears welling in your ducts. “Whatever this unwelcome interaction is, is over!--” Before your feet can move towards the door, again he cuts you off by stopping your lips with his own. Is he an idiot or just the most selfish man on earth? You don't know.
In one step he closes the space between you again, softer this time, gentler and less selfish. He catches your lips less like a beast and more like a gentleman that doesn't quite know how to be one. He kisses you again like it's an impulse he can't help and it's softer but somehow still so smothering. His arms stay by his side rather than repeating his previous seizing of your body like a man claiming war spoils.
The plush of his full lips brush yours again, but he keeps his tongue to himself this time. The feeling of his still throbbing face and his lips pulsing against yours is a sadistic high he's never ridden before.
He holds you hostage for only a few seconds as you writhe against him in shock and anger at his audacity. You hiss into his mouth before tearing your lips from his grasp again before he can finish tasting you.
This time the strike comes immediately after the offense like a reflex. The moment the kiss breaks, you cock back your hand and deliver another stinging slap across his face. Again, his head turns with the force of the hit. Your hand burns from the strength of the contact and the sound of it is a merciless one.
Elias takes the full brunt of the hit in silence. Your sweetness on his lips in combination with the hate you poured into that slap is a feeling that's already burned into his memory. He pauses, wincing the pain away under his breath before looking back at you from the direction the slap had turned him in.
It happened so fast that it scared you. It scared you how quickly and easily you'd struck him.
You look at him bewildered and panting, your hand stings from the harshness and speed of the impact. So many different things have you feeling sick at him and yourself. Your chest heaves, you're breathless with anger and shock and a growing heartbreak that feels like an infection you're trying not to contract.
Tear sting in your ducts, and a few finally break the barrier holding them back and pour hot onto your cheeks. Your throat is tight and painful as you inhale a shuttering breath. You feel so belittled and even worse, violated, and that feeling leaves a nasty, nasty scar.
His face is pulsing with stinging pain, but Elias doesn't move or lash out. He doesn't say anything, his massive frame doesn't even wordlessly display any hostility towards you. His back is straight, and his expression is unreadable apart from the softness in his brown eyes.
That softness confuses you and that confusion morphs in anger because it feels like all of this is nothing to him. For you to be so angry and him to be so calm.
The fury you'd poured into him not once, but twice and all he can give you is that stupid, pitying look. As distressing as all of this is for you and it didn't even spark a fire in his eyes. Just a remorseful softness that won't let your gaze drift away from it.
The man stands like a brick wall in front of you, unwavering and confident in what, you're not sure. But his shoulders are relaxed, his jaw isn't even tight and he just looks at you, watches you.
In some ways it feels like he's seeing you for the first time; seeing you as a separate entity and not a character in a story where he's the main. It crashes down on him that you're something real and losable, and that clearly he has realized that too late.
The first hit shocked him, the second him confirmed what he already knew after the first strike, but foolishly thought he could fix. He's faced with the reality that he messed up. That he'd damaged the only flower in his life. Self-loathing made plenty of space for letting you loath him to.
The silence in the small room is uncomfortable and cut through only by your ragged breaths. Hot tears pour down your cheeks in streams, but still you hold back the urge to let it all out. You growl through gritted teeth at how he dares to give you this meek look after behaving like such a selfish beast. He doesn't get to corner you, shove his tongue down your throat and then look at you like a shamed puppy.
The air between you is hot and thick with humidity; your scents are combined in the air. Elias wants to say something, but he feels tied up by his own superficial nature. For the first time, it feels like a binding shackle keeping him from what he wants. He doesn't have the words, his brother is the deep one, he's always preferred to stay on the surface of life. Even if he did he wouldn't know what to say to fix this anyway.
The memory of what he'd just done flashes in your mind as if it were still happening; stoking the fire in your chest all over again. The lingering feeling of violation kicks up a level of rage that you thought you'd swallowed down and breathed out. That you thought you had exerted by hitting him.
A fed-up breath huffs from your lips that still buzz with the remnant of his touch and the taste of dark liquor. You sharply raise your hand to strike him a third time, for reasons that are too complex and frustrating to put into words. But your lack of surety this time is evident, like you’re hoping this will solve a problem that you know it won’t.
Your wherewithal to slap his face again is smaller than a mustard seed but you want to because how fucking dare him?
Elias doesn't even flinch when you cock your hand back with snatching force. He leaves his entire body at your mercy to do with as you will. His submission isn’t begrudgingly. It’s a heartbreaking admission of guilt that’s so loud but entirely wordless. He’s kneeling before you in every way but physically and for a man with such a boisterous personality, the sight stuns you.
You pause, hand still in the air and tears staining your cheeks. Your eyes scan over his demeanor, he’s so…docile, despite everything. Your teeth catch your bottom lip, displaying the hesitancy in your heart. For the first time since his mouth crashed into your, you had a moment of clarity. You’d struck him twice, and such a large man didn’t even flinch when you raised your hand to do it a third time.
Stack isn't a man that does a whole lot of deep conversing, but he is a man that knows that actions speak louder than words.
He stood straight and unshielded to take whatever you were going to throw at him. Your eyes soften into a puddle of remorse and damp lashes. The tension that had your face tied up in a wrathful expression came undone. Anger unravelled into regret and shame and tears that burn with something different now. The hit never makes contact, your breaths are ragged and dry in your throat.
Elias’ body language didn't grow volatile and the look in his eyes never hardened. Your open palm that remains in the air slowly closes and your hand lowers back down to your side. You inhale a softer, calmer, still shuttering breath.
The heat on your face transforms into the warmth that shame brings to one's cheeks. The blindness of your rage wears off a bit and the look on your face that was enraged perplexity is now a humbler awe. An admiration that you'd previously not know him to be capable of inspiring.
He feels like a brute in the presence of a lady, some would call that self-awareness. Elias watches intently as your posture softens as well as your expression. The sudden change in countenance is the drastic result of revelation. Your eyes shift from piercing sharpness to the roundness of a does eyes. Your lips press into a thin line like you're wincing at yourself.
He sees your change in demeanor as his chance to finally speak. The arrogance that he entered the room with has long since departed.
“Baby–” Stack begins, his voice is just above a whisper and careful, but he stops when you begin to raise your hand towards his face. The movement is with a tenderness that's been absent since this interaction began. His brows knit together a bit with confusion. Your silence doesn't grant him any explanation as to what you're doing, but he doesn't dodge.
You lift your hand, much slower and gentler like you're asking permission to touch him for the first time; because it feels like you've lost the privilege to. Your expression is tentative and unsure like you're intruding and waiting for him to bite your fingers off. But he doesn't, he stands there open to you. His eyes carry a docility that stands out among the rest of his other very masculine features.
You want to test if this is real, if what you think he's saying through his body is real. All your years of knowing him and you've never seen this side of him. Elias is a wildfire of a man. A slick-talker that goes wherever the wind blows him and uses less-than-ethical tactics to steer things in his favor wherever he lands.
He's boisterous and arrogant and won't give anyone power over him. So who is this man standing in front of you? It's like someone that you've never met with softer posture and warmer eyes is occupying his body. Is he even real, is this another mask or what's always been behind it?
You reach out to him like he's a mirage that you swear will fade away.
He never stops watching your movements. Your hand lands not on his cheek or chin, but the entrance of his lips. Your wonder overpowers your hesitation. You push past them into his mouth without need for force, he parts his lips for you without resistance. Four of your fingers and your palm to the first crease push into his warm mouth and he fully lets you.
He doesn't move or shift atop the wooden floor, the moment your nails touched his lips he let you put your hand into his mouth. He exhales a slow, deep sigh through his nose; holding your gaze with your fingers resting on the hot slick of his tongue and his lips closed around your knuckles. His tender-eyed gaze as he lets your hand rest in his mouth is so out-of-character it's almost startling.
This feels more intimate and bare than anytime he's ever been inside of you. Half of your hand sits on his tongue and is enclosed by the wet heat of his mouth. The ridges lining the roof of his mouth press against the soft skin on the back of your hand, and he just stands there. His shoulders are loose, so are the muscles in his face. It's like he's dissolved into someone you've never met.
The energy coming off of him is like a lion that’s become so tame that it’s true nature has vanished before your eyes. This man has shot people for looking at him the wrong way, but he opens this tenderness and compliance only to you.
It’s because you know him and his cocky, unyielding personality that this stark contrast baffles you to silence.
Elias hopes that letting you have your way with him is enough, that it says enough. He’s never let anyone close enough for them to have the option to be done with him because he’d never really let them in to begin with. Until moments ago he didn’t realize what being rejected feels like. It’s a foreign and awful feeling that penetrates the barrier of pride around his heart.
He knows what you’ve seen from him over the years, and it's been harsh and insensitive at times. But that means that you know that this meeker side of him is shown to nobody. Hell, you didn't even know that it existed.
Elias is avoidant at his core, he doesn’t wallow. He bounces back up before things can sink in and creates an outer shell that’s charming enough that people don’t notice that it only goes so deep. He’s no poet, but he knows how to speak through actions.
The way your previous anger has dissolved before his eyes gives him hope. That maybe the resilience it took to fight his nature for you has paid off.
It takes a horrible person to strike someone that won't fight back, and you truly feel horrible. The heat of anger washed back out like the tide leaving you feeling sick in its place. The tears in your eyes are hot with shame and pose as a wordless apology that you know isn't sufficient.
Elias Moore, a broad-shouldered wall of a man that's never without a gun and a crafty smile, is showing that he's meek as a mouse for you. And the feeling--the sight--is so foreign and so new that you don't know what to do with it. How do you wield this newfound power and privilege?
The soft texture of your fingertips is a welcome presence on Stack's tongue. He likes the way every part of you tastes, having you in his mouth feels right. Other women have been there, but you're the only one that owns the place. He likes the look of surprise in your eyes when he tastes you with such a lack of hesitation.
He hopes that you get the declaration he's trying to make and he can be spared from the sappy love talk that he's never been good at.
Your eyes perform a slow dance across his expression once more before you slowly pull back your hand from the warmth of his mouth. The second he feels you reclaiming your hand, he obeys your movement and lets you leave him without touch.
"Baby--" He tries to begin for a second time.
"I'm sorry, Elias. I shouldn't have--I'm sorry." Your eyes don't meet his again, the air is too hot and thick and hard to breath in. The heat of embarrassment ties itself around your neck. You sniffle, wiping a wet stream from your cheek as you push past him to finally leave him alone in the small, stuffy room.
Elias words are still somewhere lost in the air without direction, you'd left before he'd gotten to say them. He knew that you would, and he knows that it was the right thing to do. For such a haughty man, he sure doesn't have the confidence that what he wants to say to you will fix things.
Maybe the explosion between the two of you left too many millions of pieces scattered everywhere to be mended. But he wants to try, not to keep someone that he views as a possession; but because he wants to eternally be possessed by you. And it took two blows to the face for him to realized it. That part, would surprise no one.
preview: When it came to Annie, Smoke grew soft. It was something she had teased him about early on in their relationship because no matter how much she pissed him off, he was always going to give her whatever she wanted. She commanded his attention with ease, and how can you blame him when she pled with such a pretty, whiny voice; when she batted her eyelashes and apologized for doing what she shouldn't have?
They'd end up in this position again—with her not listening and doing something she had no business doing—but for now, he was giving in, letting her have it, and showing her just the type of rough nigga he could be—because she'd asked.
cw: smut, daddy!smoke, baby!girl!annie, bratty!annie, orgasm denial, possessive, spanking, aftercare, use of the nword
a/n: this was requested!!! i worked more on the build up of the scene but yessss. send me more requests fr because this was funnnn
masterlist
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She needed this.
This moment alone after her shitty day at work. This time to herself after putting up with Smoke acting like he could run shit. This was her damn house that she took care of. Fuck it if Elijah fronted a few bills. He only did it because he was a control freak. But this was Annie’s house, her business, and she needed this.
That morning, she realized she was out of coffee creamer after the pot had already been made, and Annie needed a perfect, homemade cup of coffee with her hazelnut creamer to start her day right. Then, her pantyhose ripped on the way out the door, and she hadn’t shaved in weeks, so it was between wearing shitty ass tights to the office or hairy ass legs. Then, she remembered that she was supposed to leave early that day because she needed gas, and since Smoke had been acting like he ran her life, she decided today would be the day she wanted to be an independent woman and pump her own gas. Then, when she showed up to work, inevitably late, her boss was standing near her desk with a stack of folders that took her all damn day to sort through. There’d been no lunch. No break. No chance to call her man.
So how could anyone blame her?
She needed this, damnit.
Over the years, Annie had found that when life was doing her in, the best way to fix it was to either manifest and set some intentions or to orgasm. She’d been doing the first thing often enough, and though the latter half of her day had settled some, there was a lingering frustration that needed to be overcome.
And her man wasn’t there to fix it because he had his own life, and his own house, and his own shit to do.
Reaching over into her side table drawer, she pulled out their vibrator. It was cute and petite and an electric blue because when Smoke had chosen it out of the sea of other toys, he’d commented that it looked “tough” (He meant to say that it would look good settled between her thighs and pussy lips as he used it to tease her later that day—but he was too shy in the environment to admit it). Annie twirled it in her hand, contemplating her next move. Smoke had put rules and regulations on their vibrator like he was the damn FDA, and the most important rule was that she couldn’t use it without him.
When she’d heard it, disbelief had entered her system. Who was he to be demanding shit? Who was he to be calling shots like that? He knew how sexual Annie was and how important an orgasm and pleasure could be. But Smoke saw that electric blue vibrator as theirs. It was theirs to explore with, theirs to use together. So if he wasn’t in her home and on her bed, Annie was not to be permitted access to it.
But this was her damn house. The house she made a home. The house she would have paid every bill for if her man wasn’t such a damn control freak.
When the vibrator hit her clit, a bolt of energy ran through her. All throughout her body, her muscles tightened, and a sharp gasp parted her lips. When Smoke would use it on her, he'd start all slow and shit, dragging it through her folds on the lowest setting just to piss her off. But Annie didn't want to be teased right now. She wanted release and pleasure as quickly and as easily as possible. Knees wide open, feet pressed into the bed, and head thrown back, she felt every ounce of the day begin to wash off of her. She started to forget all about the coffee and the pantyhose and the gas and being late and her boss and all those stupid folders. The only thing she cared about was how good her body felt right now and how quickly she was about to tumble over the edge.
~~~~~
When he stepped foot into her home, nothing seemed too out of place. He placed his keys in the dish and shrugged his jacket off. He removed his shoes and set them right beside the haphazardly-placed heels she had worn to work.
Smoke hadn’t heard from his girlfriend since that morning, but if he knew anything about her, the text saying she was out of her favorite hazelnut creamer was the perfect set up for an awful day. He’d already been at work himself, so he couldn’t save her, but he made sure to buy her a fresh bottle as soon as he could. Settling the creamer in the fridge, Smoke went in search of his girlfriend. He wasn’t the type to call out for her because she was the type to only be in one of two places: the living room or the back patio. And when both of those places came up missing, his attention was sparked.
It was like his body tuned in to find her. His ears perked up at every shuffle and buzz. His feet tingled with every vibration.
“I know she better not,” the man mumbled under his breath, gritting his teeth and already in motion toward her bedroom. He kept his steps light no matter how much he wanted to stomp. He needed to see this. He needed to look upon her wrongdoing.
The closer he got to her open bedroom door, the more her sweet moans filled his ears. He could tell she was exhausted by the whine that accompanied her cries of pleasure, and even though he wanted to halt her when he saw their—his—electric blue vibrator, he refrained. Shoulder pressed into the doorframe, he analyzed the roll of her hips and how her jaw dropped open when she shifted the toy upwards. He marveled at the sheen covering her body and how she went harder than he normally would.
He could tell she was chasing it, and as much as he hated it, he knew she probably needed this. Annie was a woman of order—after his own heart. She had systems. Procedures. Those misplaced heels at the door had been one sign that she was losing it, and her work attire which was tossed in piles on the floor and across a chair was another. He hated how much he knew she needed this, but he kept quiet and sat back watching the show nonetheless.
~~~~~
Her need had turned carnal.
She craved it. That release. That pleasure. That succumbing to her own body and crumbling as the result of her own efforts.
She’d been holding the toy in place, but now she was growing more courageous. She attempted to move and her body thanked her by releasing a tremble up her spine—encouragement that allowed her the peace of mind to circle her clit. She did it quickly, completely uncaring because if she was going to have this, she wanted it now.
Nails piercing the fabric of her sheets and feet grounding her in place, Annie felt herself tipping gloriously over the edge of her desire. Her body trembled. Her thighs ached, but that meant nothing because she was getting what she deserved after a long ass day where nothing went as planned. Bright color filled her eyes and her chest practically lifted into the air as she came with the vibrator between her legs, pressed right up against her clit.
And when she turned it off and the last buzz rang out softly in the dense air, her heart sank.
She was finally able to pay attention to her surroundings again, finally about to care, and the first thing she noticed was his cologne. Strong. Teak. Spice. It was his signature scent, and Annie could pick him out in a line up of men with her eyes closed—and she realized then that her eyes were closed. She was afraid to open them, afraid of the jumpscare that would be an angry Elijah upon seeing their—his—vibrator where it didn’t belong without his permission.
But, shit, this was her house and her bed and her pussy and her bad day. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted. Yeah—so believable.
There he stood: shoulders filling out the doorframe, eyebrows set in a scowl, jaw working in an effort to calm himself down.
As scared as she was, as regretful as she was, Annie could never deny the fact that her man was sexy as fuck. He was all shoulders and unsettling disposition, and that was the biggest turn on for a bitch with a bad day. Where her body had previously calmed down from the height of her orgasm, deciding that the awfulness of today had been rid from her, she was sparked again by greed to be taken care of by her Elijah. This was her bad day, and she should be receiving treatment from all sides.
“Hey, baby,” Annie breathed, shaky and sultry at the same time. She attempted a smile and her best and brightest soft eyes, but he wasn’t giving in.
“Put it down,” Smoke huffed, stepping one foot into the room. He had to gain control quick because Annie thrived off doing the exact opposite of what she was told. Her pout grew deeper and her finger moved back toward the button on the underside of the toy. She needed it. Turning it on and yelping from the vibrations that ran through her oversensitive body, she tried again to get her way.
“But, ‘Lijah—”
“I said put it down, Annie,” he interrupted, reaching for her wrist, but contrary to the response he hoped to gain, Annie moaned. Right in front of his face like she hadn't been properly touched or taken care of in ages. And that's truly how she felt inside her body. She watched her man scrunch his face in confusion and disbelief, rubbing the vibrator against her cunt as the feeling of Smoke's heavy breath brought her to the edge again.
“You in big trouble, baby girl,” he gritted, looking down at her, lust quickly clouding his eyes. His hand reached for her waist, but he didn't make her stop.
Got 'im, Annie thought, throwing her neck back in silent, wicked laughter when he began to kiss her pulse point. Her stomach curled deliciously, and even though she'd just cum, she felt like she could go for the rest of the night.
"Just give me what the fuck I want," she grumbled in his ear. Teeth marked her skin in response, keeping the memory of him on her body, and she laughed lowly from her throat. "Come on, baby," she coaxed, hips rutting against the vibrator and his left thigh. "Take care of what's yours, Daddy." The plea left her mouth raw. Her climax was near, desire at an all-time high. It was just in her reach, and just as her pussy clenched around nothing, Elijah sharply pulled the toy away from her.
Annie trembled against the sheets, orgasm ruined in a way that left her fluttering in disappoint. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and before she knew it, her head was turning away from her man's face.
"Turn over," Smoke bellowed, wrecked in his own unique way.
"Fuck you," she croaked, too concerned with the view of him putting the toy far out of her reach. She writhed in the sheets, throwing a fit at him ruining this for her. "The fuck you even doin' over here? Don't you got a house or business to tend to or something? Always in my fuckin' face." Every word was laced with annoyance. She was pissed, angry, livid, because her bad day was just getting worse and worse. Now she was in trouble and her orgasm had been stolen and she was having a horrible day.
"I know yo' morning started off bad or whatever," Smoke deadpanned, "but you ain't finna talk to me like you ain't got no fuckin' sense. Now turn that ass over."
Huffing and groaning—like she ain't want it when she really, really did—Annie assumed the position. Smoke enunciated each word to make sure she heard him good and clear, and the woman could tell that even though punishment was coming her way, he was also working to soothe her and alleviate all pain because he understood.
"You know better, baby girl," the man roared, hand coming down to rain hits upon her ass. Gasping, she grabbed ahold of a pillow, stuffing her face in it to hide her moans. "You don't touch my shit when I ain't here," he growled. "This my pussy, and that's my damn toy. But since you had such a bad day and you obviously ain't thinking straight, I'll go easy on you."
"Please, Daddy," she moaned, pressing her ass back into his hand. One spank landed on the back of her thighs far too close to her pussy for her to hold it in any longer. She rattled off every thing she needed done to her. She needed to be put in her place, needed to be reminded that she was his, needed to remember why it was important to listen to what she was told.
~~~~~
When it came to Annie, Smoke grew soft. It was something she had teased him about early on in their relationship because no matter how much she pissed him off, he was always going to give her whatever she wanted. She commanded his attention with ease, and how can you blame him when she pled with such a pretty, whiny voice; when she batted her eyelashes and apologized for doing what she shouldn't have?
They'd end up in this position again—with her not listening and doing something she had no business doing—but for now, he was giving in, letting her have it, and showing her just the type of rough nigga he could be—because she'd asked.
Each thrust of his hips felt like an ambush, stealing her breath, looting her ability to do anything other than cry out his name. He smacked her ass with each stroke, and when she recoiled against his pelvis, he couldn't help what happened next. Leaning into her, he pressed the arch of her back further into the bed, stuffing her face into her emotional support pillow.
His thrusts sped up, and his words came out wet and reckless.
"This my shit," he slurred, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. "This my damn pussy and you gon' listen to what the fuck I got to say."
"Y-yes, Daddy," Annie stammered, clawing herself up the bed.
"Fuck you think you goin'," Smoke questioned warningly, dragging her impossibly closer to him.
"Nowhere," she avowed. "I swear I-I ain't goin' nowhere!" The woman begged for forgiveness and appealed for mercy, but all she wanted was for him to go harder, stronger, rougher. She needed it to help her forget what had occurred up until this point. The only thing she needed to remember about today is that she had wound up with her face down and ass up with her nigga fucking her into the mattress. The more he tightened his hold on her hips, the closer she got to that glorious restructuring of her brain.
Fucked out of her mind is what Elijah called it, fucked silly and without a single care in the world.
So close.
Almost to the tipping point.
When Smoke reached over to retrieve the vibrator once more, he knew this would be the thing to successfully rid her mind of any thoughts. He pressed it into her folds, rubbed her clit, held it there until she was stuttering all the while making sure that his strokes stayed consistent and that she couldn't possibly want for more.
"Imma cum, Daddy," she thundered. Tears fell down her face, darkening the cloth of the pillow, and the man knew then that she was ready.
"Cum for me baby girl," he permitted, and as she broke apart, he held her through her fall, succumbing soon after.
~~~~~
Sheets changed, bodies clean, and clothed in soft fabric, Annie clung to Smoke's body, seeking refugee in his hardiness. He stroked up and down the length of her back, and she slipped further and further into him.
"I bought you creamer," Elijah admitted softly. His eyes that had been on the ceiling took in the woman's face. A glorious calm had settled into her features but her eyes looked appreciative because he understood. He cared.
"Thank you," she whispered, cuddling closer into his warmth.
summary: is it really cheating if he had you first?
pairing: ex boyfriend!stack x blackfem!reader
warnings: cheating kinda? (on reader's part), it's a little long, angst, ooc smoke, some mary hate, p in v, oral (fem receiving), heavy making out, descriptions of reader, use of n word, not proofread.
notes: this came to me in a dream i had during a nap LMAOOOO. also i hate using y/n i don't know why but i audibly groaned when i realised i had to 😖 what do we think of a part two?
It wasn't by choice that you ended up in the opening night of the juke joint. Your cousin Shirley, ever the music enjoyer, caught word of someone throwing a party to open up their juke joint, and as she usually did, she dragged you along with her.
Not that you would've said no if she asked, you knew when to appreciate good music too. If only you asked whose juke joint it was. Maybe then you would've prepared yourself a little more.
Shirley came by your mama's house to pick you up, the two of you walking the short distance to another friend's to hitch a ride with them.
You were ready by the time she arrived, your curls out of their usual bun, defined neatly thanks to your mama's hand. You chose something simple, not having enough time to be fussy about what to wear.
It wasn't a new dress, you'd had it for some time but rarely wore it. It was a deep green, almost emerald colour. Held together by spaghetti straps over your shoulders, the v-line at its front brought all attention to the dainty gold locket that hung from your neck. The dress, made finely from silk, reached your ankles, kitten heels also in emerald on show. It fit you perfectly, hugging your figure in every right place.
A thin shawl accompanied you with the dress, lazily hung over your shoulders to shield you from the breeze that would follow with the night, but also from any unwanted stares. You knew a certain someone would have something to say. That was, if he knew where you were off to.
When asked, you never said you were officially married, nor did you say you were spoken for. You usually left it at "I'm in a good place with someone right now." Because that's all he was at the moment. A good place. His name was Jeremiah, you met a few months back.
He hadn't made any attempt to show you he wanted to marry you, so you played as if that was the case. Though you wouldn't entertain anyone else, and neither would he. So in a way, he was kinda it for you.
Sure, you had your fair share of fun with him, but he couldn't ruin you if anything were to go south. Not when you already were, unbeknownst to everyone else except him.
"You gon' stare at yourself in the mirror all day, or...?" Shirley nudged you as you stepped out of the car, fiddling with the pocket mirror in your hand. You looked up at your surroundings, noticing the juke joint and the cars around it, then back at Shirley, a smile tugging at your lips.
"You know better than anyone what looks mean to a lady."
"Mhm. You sure it ain't 'cause you're seeing Stack again?" She smirked, taking your hand in hers as you walked towards the doors.
"You─── what?!" You stopped in your tracks, someone bumping into you as you did. Shirley widened her eyes a little, apologising for you. "Shir, what did you just say?"
"Girl, I been told you. This here's Smoke and Stack's juke joint. Looks like Chicago finally blew 'em back to what they know."
Your breath hitched as you fumbled at the thin shawl around you. "No, you did not tell me, otherwise I wouldn't have come." You didn't mean to snap at her, but of all people, Shirley knew what the twins, what Stack meant for you.
She sighed, turning to you. Smoothing your flyaway baby hairs with the tip of her fingers, she spoke gently. "I know you and Stack ain't leave it on good terms, but that was ages ago. You've moved on, right? Don't let him ruin your night, yeah?"
You sighed, nodding your head despite thinking something completely different. But there was no going back now. At least you were promised good food and music.
Stepping towards the door, you recognised Cornbread letting people in. He did a double take when he glanced at you, shouting your name out loud. "You ain't so lil' no more, though, my God! How you been?"
"Nice to see you too, Cornbread. God," Shirley rolled her eyes. The two of you grew up together, close since knee height, so everyone who knew you, knew Shirley too.
"Shut up, Shirley. I know it was you who took my dice at that last game," He bucked at her, referring to the last time the both of you saw him over at a gathering in town, years ago. "Anyways, y'all ladies have a good night, you hear?"
He let you both in, and immediately you were hit by the sound of the piano wavering through the joint, bodies dancing and mingling all over, the sweet smell of liquor that longed for you... You had to admit, it looked great.
"Here, let's get us something to drink," Shirley walked to both of you towards were the drinks were being served.
"What can I get you fine ladies... Y/N? Whatchu doin' here?" Annie's face lit up when she saw you, reaching over the counter to give you and Shirley brief hugs.
"I could ask you the same thing! This one here dragged me along with her," you budged Shirley, a bright smile on your face upon seeing Annie. It seemed not so long ago was the last time you saw her, but really it was years. Probably around the same time you last saw the twins.
"Girl, don't act like you weren't jumping at the chance to come with," Shirley laughed, handing Annie a dollar. "We'll take 2 corn liquors please, Miss Annie."
"We damn near the same age, calling me Miss Annie," she kissed her teeth, pocketing the money before pouring the drinks. "You seen 'em yet?" she asked, directed more at you. You took a sip from the small glass, shaking your head 'no' after.
Annie nodded slowly. She knew all that happened between you and Stack. Like you did with her and Smoke. The beginning to now.
Shirley finished her glass, handing it back to Annie before standing up from her seat. "Look, there's Pearline! You wanna go dance, or you're good here?"
"No, I'm alright here. I'll join you later though," you waved her off with a kiss to her cheek, choosing to sit with Annie for a bit longer.
The two of you spoke and spoke as she served customers, and yourself, about everything the last 7 years had done for you both.
You could see Annie's eyes wander off to something behind you as you spoke, and you, in your 'three corn liquors in' state, turned around to see what it was. More like who, it was.
Smoke took a drag from the lit cigarette in his mouth, his head slightly tilting to the side when his gaze settled on you. He was surprised, you could gather that much through his stoic expression. Never was one to give away much.
Tearing away from you, he nodded at Annie. "How's it going? Good?"
She blinked, before nodding. "Nothing wrong so far."
He nodded, turning back to you, taking another drag from the cigarette. "Good to see you, Y/N." He bent down to your seated height to give you a small kiss on the cheek, cigarette smoke still lingering around him. Smoke was respectful towards you most of the times, when he acknowledged you, mainly because Annie had a few words with him about his approach to some people.
"You too," you mumbled, fingers drumming the wooden table in front of you. You liked Smoke, even if most times you couldn't tell if he liked, hell even tolerated, you.
"You seen Stack yet?" He asked. When you shook your head, he only gave you a curt not, walking away as quickly as he did.
"Well he ain't changed one bit," you blew out a breath.
Annie laughed, wiping down a table.
─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───
The joint was packed to the brim, fellas laughing whilst they rolled dice and racked up dollars, ladies dancing with their girls or men as the blues rang throughout the crowd. It was amazing, you had to admit.
You were leaning against a pillar, observing from behind the scenes as you tended to always do at events like these. You watched on as Shirley danced with a random man, occasionally looking over at you with a wink.
You shook your head with a smile, fiddling with the material of your shawl. You desperately wanted to leave it somewhere, but you knew you probably wouldn't end up getting it back.
Sighing, you began to make your way towards the stage so you could hear the words to the songs better, before bumping into someone.
It was a small bump but my, did it almost send you going backwards. It could only be a man with a chest that hard, and you couldn't control your facial expressions, a mean ass mug made its way to your face before you knew it.
"Sorry 'bout that, you good?"
You knew that voice anywhere. That bass, that drawl... From anywhere. Your head snapped up to his, the scowl still present.
You saw the realisation and surprise fill in his features slowly. Stack was lost for words, for once. He brought a hand to his mouth, removing the toothpick. "Hey..." he said, barely above a whisper. "Whatchu doin' here?"
Seven years and that was all he had? The scoff that left your lips was deserved at that point. "Excuse me," you waved past him, shaking a little at the fact that you just saw the man that left you in absolute pieces, acting like none of that even happened albeit he saw you for all of ten seconds.
"Y/N, hollon," you heard him say but didn't stop moving through bodies, desperate to get as far away from him as you could.
Just as you were about to round the corner to the edge of the stage, his hand caught your arm, pulling you back into what looked like a corridor.
"Elias, get off of me," you gritted, fighting the physical hold he had on you. He couldn't lie, hearing his name roll off of your tongue after all this time had him feeling giddy, but he ignored you as he opened up the door to one of the rooms in the corridor, pushing you inside.
"You hard of hearing? Let me out, I'm not playing." You attempted to push past him, but he stood planted, blocking the door.
"I'm not playin' either. I just wanna talk."
"You had seven years, why now? Hm?"
He deserved that, and so much more. He nodded his head, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking his goatee. When he took a step closer, you took one back, determined to keep this distance between you and him.
"Look," he sighed, trying to catch your gaze but you looked anywhere but at him. "I know I should've said something, could've wrote to you or whatever. But I had to protect you."
"Protect me?" You scoffed. "I ain't need your protection, what I needed was your love. Hell, you couldn't even give me that most times."
Stack didn't allow himself to be upset over your use of love in the past tense. "I did love you, I still do."
"Yeah? You tellin' ole girl the same thing too? What's her name again... Mary wasn't it?"
Stack kissed his teeth at the mention of Mary, the other woman who just couldn't let him go. He'd told you time and time again that she meant nothing to him, that it was just you, yet she still managed to be in the frame.
"Mary ain't shit to me, I tell you that all the time. And I mean it."
"You lie so much, I don't even know what the truth sounds like coming from you," you mumbled, walking away from him to sit on the unoccupied table. If you were going to have a conversation with this man against your will, you at least wanted to be comfy.
"I ain't mean to lie baby, it's the only way I can leave you out of all this mess." He walked towards you, hands in his pockets. "I missed you."
"A little too late for that. You don't miss Mary?" you tilted your head to the size, revelling in the way he rolled his eyes.
"How many times i gotta tell you I'on care about her?"
"As many times as it takes to convince yourself."
"Fine, I'on care about her. There." He stared at you, watching your reaction. When he saw the faintest twitch in your lip, he smiled, knowing he was getting to you.
He took another step closer to you, now stood between your legs. You let him part your legs, like he had done so many times before, his hands gently moving your thighs. He didn't let go of them when he stood in between them, just ran his hands slowly up and down them.
"I'm sorry," he looked right into your eyes as he spoke. "I was gonna come looking for you today, but i figured you wouldn't wanna see me. But when I saw you today... I had to speak to you."
"Elias..." you sighed. "You can't just come back here after leaving me like that all those years ago, acting like everything's okay. You don't know how much you hurt me."
"I do know baby, 'course I do. It hurt me too."
"Not as much as it did me. You ain't the one who had to pick up the pieces of me after you left, Shirley did that. All cause you weren't there and still won't tell me why."
He sighed, stilling his hands on your thigh to lift your chin up.
"I'm here now, and I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm not leaving you again, i promise."
"Your promises don't mean shit to me anymore, Elias. You can't just sorry your way back into my life. I'm not as easy as you used to think I was."
"And why's that, hm? Some to do with that so called man you call yourself having? What's his face, Jeziah, was it?"
"Fuck you, Elias." you pushed him away from you, getting down from the table. Before you could leave again, he grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest. His arms caged you in, firm and secure in his hold.
"If that's the typa timing you on, we can do that. But I'm not letting you leave til you hear me out."
"I have heard you out. I don't wanna hear no more," you shook your head.
His fingers stroked the material of your dress around your waist, it was taking everything in him to not pull it off of your right there. "Nah, you didn't. Look at me."
He tilted your head up towards his. "I love you. Only you, you're it for me. What I did... I know it was wrong and trust me I wanted to come back to you so bad, baby. But I had to do it, for both of us. What kinda man I'd be if i didn't provide for my woman?"
The fluttering feeling at your stomach only intensified when he called you his woman, taking you back all those years ago.
"You left me without saying a word, Elias," you whispered, voice breaking as a tear ran down your face. Elias hushed you, wiping the tear away, both his hands cupping your face.
"And I will spend the next forty or however many years saying sorry. I mean that." He kissed your forehead, both of you closing your eyes in that moment.
You shivered when his lips left your skin, your palms resting flat against his chest. He pulled back from the embrace just a little, looking at you as he spoke.
"You gon' let me come back?"
He was serious, about it all you could see now. You didn't reply, just brought your hand to the back of his head, pulling him towards you. When your lips met, you swore your legs would've buckled if he wasn't holding you so tight.
Your shawl dropped to the floor as you kissed him, his lips meshing with your so perfectly it was like the last seven years didn't even happen.
Jeremiah was the last thing on your mind in that moment, you could only focus on Stack's tongue wrestling with yours. You let out a moan when his hands trailed to your ass, squeezing as you made out.
He was first to pull away, wasting no time in kissing down your neck to your collarbone, leaving little bites that were sure to bruise sooner or later. And you let him, throwing your head back against his other shoulder, letting him do his work.
It wasn't until he started to walk you backwards, when your legs hit the edge of the table, that you realised what you both were about to do.
"Wait, E, hold on..." your put your arm between him and you, his eyes snapping to your face.
"What's wrong?"
A lot was wrong in that moment, you knew it.
"If I let you do this, you bet not mess up again," you spoke seriously. He nodded, starving for a taste as he bunched your dress up at your hips.
"I told you baby, I'm not goin' nowhere, not away from you again that's for sure."
He kissed your lips, undoing the buttons to both his waistcoat and dress shirt, leaving him shirtless in all his glory. Your hands raked down his toned front, pulling him back onto you.
As he kissed you tenderly, Stack's fingers slipped into your panties, being met by your wetness, allowing him to easily slip into you. He groaned at the same time you did, your head thrown back as he nudged you to lie down on the table.
"He get you this wet, hm?" He didn't need you to answer, he already knew what it would be. It would be nice to hear it though.
You shook your head. "Fuck, Elias, just do it already," you whined, having had enough of his fingers teasing your clit.
"Aight be patient, I gotta make sure she remembers me," he smiled.
You were about to say something slick, before you remembered just how slick Stack could get. Besides, he already began to take your panties off, pocketing them in his trousers.
He lowered his head to your clit, kissing it gently. Your hand immediately went to the back of his head, lips falling apart as he licked a bold stripe up your pussy.
"Fuck, I missed it here," he mumbled into you, the vibrations driving you crazy. It's not like it had been ages since you were last pleasured, but it had been ages since you were last pleasured by Stack. He had such a way with you, a way that no one else did.
He continued to lick slowly, so agonisingly slow at you, and it wasn't until you squeezed his head with your thighs that he finally gave in. After all, he did have loads of making up to do.
His hands came to your hips, holding you just like he wanted. Taking your clit in his mouth, he looked at you as he sucked, his tongue swirling around it. You couldn't hold eye contact, not when he was looking at you like that, your juices coated around his mouth.
"Oh, my God," you whispered, writhing underneath him as he picked up the pace.
"Why you so quiet? He done turned you shy, huh?" he smirked when he noticed your state.
"Stop talking about him," you groaned, feeling your body jerk as he worked you out, tongue lapping you for all your worth. "Fuck, I'm gonna─── Oh, shit!" You came before you knew it, only Stack could work you like that.
He kept on eating you out through your orgasm, letting you ride out your high on his face. "Just like that baby, give it to me," he encouraged you.
You had no more to give, at least not in that moment. He let go of your hips, only briefly as he sat up. You caught the sight of his glistening face, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips.
"Come here," you mumbled opening your arms for him as you sat up. He pulled you towards the end of the table, meeting your lips halfway. The taste of yourself on him drove you insane, the kiss just downright nasty.
Stack fumbled at his belt, undoing it before he dropped his trousers down as you kissed the side of his neck, your hand wrapped around his throat as he took his dick out of his pants.
He saw the way your eyes glistened at the sight of him, smirking as he unzipped your dress. Stepping out of it, the pair of you were fully naked, nothing new between you both.
"I missed you," you mumbled, a tired smile on your face and he hadn't even fucked you yet.
"Yeah? You missed me or you missed my dick?"
"Ain't it a part of you? It's the same damn thing," you rolled your eyes as your hands caressed his broad shoulders, kissing them.
Stack slid into you with a groan, hooking your legs around his hips as he slowly pushed in, getting accustomed to be inside you again. he wanted to savour this moment forever, your face scrunched up, mouth falling open as you let out such sultry sounds.
He waited for a moment before he started to thrust in and out of you, biting his lips to hold in his own groans. He let go of one side of your hip, bringing that hand to cup at your breasts, squeezing as his thrusts hit you in the right spots.
"Don't you go quiet on me now," your hand wrapped around his throat, pulling his face closer to yours. Stack's brows furrowed at your sudden boldness, but you could tell you already affected him given the way his thrusts stilled for a minute.
"Shit, baby, whatchu doin'?" he groaned, his forehead resting against your as he dug you out. "Fuck, you feel so good, mama. S'like I was never gone."
He regained his composure, swatting your hand away from his throat and instead grabbing yours, not too harsh, just the way you liked it. The sound of skin clapping was the only thing heard in the room, save for your moans that not even your hand could suppress. Thank God this was a juke joint.
"Elias, shittttt..." you shut your eyes tight, the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching threatening to overwhelm you.
"Hold it," he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. He couldn't be serious, surely.
"Fuck, baby, I can't" you whined, nails scratching along his back as you tried to hold in your release.
"You can, just a lil' bit longer, mama." He sweet talked you, kissing your cheek as he neared his own orgasm. His hand left your neck back to your breasts, rubbing over your hardened nipples. It was too much, the way he was doing you.
"I can't─── shit baby I can't hold it," you whimpered, begging him to let you cum.
"Aight baby, give it to me," was all he said and you let go, a wave of pleasure blanketing you as you came, gushing all over his lower body. Stack fucked you through your orgasm as he came too with a low moan, pushing his seed in and out of you as he slowed down.
"Shit," he sighed out, looking down at the mess you both made. He slowly pulled out of you, kissing your lips as he used his dick to push his cum back in you. He was still the same nasty man you knew.
"I think fat ma missed me," he joked, laughing when you hit his chest. "C'mon, 'fore Smoke think I'm dead."
He helped you get dressed, conveniently finding and unused towel to wipe you both down. You dress now back on, you fixed your hair as best as you could.
Stack put everything of his back on too, tilting his head to the side when he caught you looking at him expectantly, "Yeah?"
"My panties, Elias."
"Nah, I'ma hold onto 'em fore you. C'mon," you rolled your eyes as he opened the door for you, being met with the sound of music yet again. You walked out before him, taking a deep breath and trying to act like that didn't just happen. You saw Shirley, walking towards her.
Before Stack could catch up wit you, Bo caught his arm, looking between the two of you with a smirk on his face.
"Ain't no goddamn way," he laughed. "You know she's in it with that lawyer guy up in Delta, right?"
elias "stack" moore & elijah "smoke" moore x black! reader.
synopsis
one knew better than to look twice at the smoke-stack twins. but ain’t nobody ever said that once they set their eyes on you, it would already be too late. between their rough hands and honeyed lies, you learned real quick— it ain’t no sin if you ain’t plannin’ to repent. you belonged to them now. and they weren’t the kind to truly ever let go.
warnings
sexual content, in other words smut, childhood lovers, mentions of possessiveness, some pining, romance, infatuation. african american reader; black representation. rooted in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written in a southern tone.
• part one of milk & honey.
Their lips felt like honey—so rich with delicate temptation, soft, but burnin’ with passion.
In the thick of the moment, their hands started roamin', greedy and sure—like they was tryna memorize every inch of you. They always had them big ol' hands, the kind that gripped your thighs like nothin', pushin' your body around like it weighed air. Feelin' their lips on your skin, slidin' over the silk, then findin' yours—it had you moanin' soft, breath catchin' in your throat. The feel of it all was too damn familiar.
"Hol' on," Smoke muttered, glancin' 'round like he was scannin' the treeline. "Not out here."
"Why? You scared, nigga?" Stack let out a low, rough chuckle, that devilish grin stretchin’ across his face as his mouth kept workin’ that sweet, sensitive spot on your neck—slow an’ sinful, like he knew just what he was doin’. He tugged you in closer, strong hands findin’ your waist as he leaned back against the hood of the car, real casual-like. The metal was warm from the engine, but it was nothin’ compared to the heat rollin’ off him—an’ Lord, you could feel that pressure buildin’ in his slacks, plain as day. Firm, thick, and waitin’.
“Don’t need nobody layin’ eyes on her. I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—an’ you damn well know that.”
"Nigga, we ain't playin' when it come to her—,” Stack shot back, smooth as whiskey, eyes never leavin' you. “I’d beat a muhfucka down, no talkin’. Easy.”
Lettin' out a low laugh, you start draggin' a finger slow down your thigh, eyes bouncin' between the two of 'em.
“Y’all talkin’ like I ain’t standin’ right here,” you purred, voice syrupy sweet as molasses. You slipped from their grip, slow and deliberate, pullin’ the shawl from your shoulders and lettin’ it fall to the dirt like it ain’t cost a damn thing. “If they dumb ‘nough to be out here watchin’, then we oughta’ give ’em a lil’ show.”
With a soft grin, you slid the straps of your silk dress down, lettin’ it fall around your ankles, leavin’ you standin’ there in nothin’ but your underthings. Both of ‘em froze. That look in their eyes? Pure trouble. Jaws tight, muscles flexin’, like they were fightin’ every urge not to tear into you right then and there.
“Damn,” Stack pushed off the car, his voice thick when he muttered, “Pretty lil’ thing.”
He swept you up without missin’ a beat, landin’ a sharp smack on your behind that made you let out a startled laugh. He set you down on the hood of the car, the metal still warm beneath your thighs. Then his lips found your skin—trailin’ slow and sure down your front. His mouth was hot, even through the thin fabric, makin’ you shiver where you sat, half-laid out on that shiny, elegant hood like a gift waitin’ to be unwrapped. He nuzzled lower, breath warm, lips pressin’ through the cloth restin’ over your chest. His tongue flicked just enough to pull a gasp from your lips, your hips jerkin’ up toward his mouth like you didn’t have no shame.
Smoke let out a low breath, tension easin’ from his broad shoulders. He stood close, watchin’—dark eyes locked on yours—as his hand reached for yours, thumb drawin’ slow, lazy circles over your skin while he licked his lips like he was starvin’.
Breathless, your head fell back, eyes on the rustin’ roof beams of that old sawmill, breath comin’ shallow and quick. The cicadas screeched louder now, like the world was tryin’ its damnedest to drown y’all out. But it couldn’t. Not over the sounds you were makin’. Not over the feel of their hands on you.
Stack glanced up, eyes dark and heavy, full of heat. “You want this, baby?”
‘Course you nodded—barely though. Couldn’t even find your voice. Your fingers cradled the back of his neck, tuggin’ gentle, but firm enough to tell him yes. That’s when Stack leaned down again, kissin’ a slow trail up your belly, toward your thighs.
“Ain’t no goin’ back now—,” he drawled against your skin, shootin’ one last grin up at you. He hooked the tips of his fingers ’round the edge of your panties, draggin’ ‘em down nice and slow, ‘fore settlin’ in like a man on a mission. “We gon’ ruin ya’ good.”
And Lord, you wanted 'em to.
His dark eyes glazed over at the sight of your glistenin’, pulsin’ little button, soaked and achin’ for attention. He slung one of your legs over his shoulder, then sank right in—tongue teasin’ them folds before slidin’ up to your clit, lickin’ like he’d been starvin’ for you. Every stroke was intense, unhurried, and filled with a kind of reverence that made your breath hitch and a moan slip loose from your lips.
Stack had them strong, calloused hands grippin’ your thighs firm, keepin’ you open for him. That brown skin of yours was soft as sin against his palms, and he groaned low in his throat, mouth still workin’ you like his favorite meal. Ever since the first time, he knew he was addicted—couldn’t get enough of your thighs, couldn’t stay away from bein’ buried between ’em.
A hum rumbled deep in his chest when he felt you rub on his head, your hips twitchin’ as he devoured you, slow and greedy. He loved watchin’ you fall apart—loved the way your pretty little moans echoed off the walls like a hymn. You tasted so damn sweet on his tongue, he was damn near dizzy with it.
“Fuck. Elias.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, refusin’ to come up for air. Didn’t mean he wasn’t watchin’ you though— both of ‘em watchin’ the way your face twisted up in pure pleasure. See, Stack was a student of your body, and he’d learned every little thing that made you melt. Smoke, grew impatient, he leaned against the hood and took a perked nipple in his mouth. Suckin’ and addin’ to your buildin’ pleasure.
Takin’ it like a prayer, chest risin’ with every shaky breath as he slid his middle and index fingers along your slick entrance. And when he worked ’em inside, it was like the world faded out—all that existed was sensation. You arched back, gaspin’ like you were drownin’ in him, beggin’ without words for more.
And Lord, he gave it.
He gave until your thighs were tremblin’, until his chin was glistenin’ with that holy nectar only you could give. He didn’t speak—just looked up at you with them deep eyes full of care and heat. Even with all that hunger, all that want, he still held you like you were precious.
But still, that sober mind of yours couldn’t help but feel a little shy, a little overwhelmed at how easy it was to come undone beneath him. Like he’d seen parts of you too tender, too raw. Like he was worshipin’ you—chastin’ you with every stroke of that tongue.
Smoke had moved in—quiet, steady, his eyes never leavin’ you.
“That’s ‘nough,” he said low, voice smooth like aged bourbon, but firm as steel. “Ya’ got her all warmed up. Now move on ‘long.”
Stack backed off with a smug little smirk, tongue runnin’ over his bottom lip. “Don’t take too long. She already tremblin’.”
And you were. Smug muthafucka. Your thighs, your hands, your breath—all of it flutterin’ like a moth to flame. He was a certified eater, somethin’ different.
Smoke stepped between your legs, thumb draggin’ across your cheek before his fingers slid into your hair, tiltin’ your head just how he wanted it. His gaze searched your face, slow and intense.
“I missed you, Silk.”
That sweetness caught you off guard.
He usually kept his feelin’s locked up tight, like he was scared to let too much show. Sure, he had his vulnerable moments—but this? The way he said it? It weren’t just words. It was low and honest, full of weight. Like it crawled straight outta his soul. You felt it in your chest, breath hitchin’, heart knockin’ hard against your ribs like it recognized somethin’ in him. Like it’d been waitin’ on that exact moment.
He was lookin’ at you different now. Eyes a bit softer. Jaw relaxed. Like he’d finally dropped whatever wall he’d been hidin’ behind. You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinkin’ back a tear you didn’t even know was there.
“I missed ya’ too,” you whispered, pullin’ closer till your chest brushed his. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs grazin’ along his jaw, tender. “So fuckin’ much.”
His arms came around you then—strong, warm, familiar. And for a second, the whole world got quiet. None but him breathin’ into your neck, and you holdin’ him like he might slip away again if you didn’t.
“You trust me?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe.”
“Nah, baby—,” he murmured, leanin’ in so close you could feel the heat of his mouth brushin’ yours. “You gone have to say it.”
“I trust ya’,” you whispered, and that was all he needed.
He kissed you then—deep, claimin’, the kind that made your toes curl. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, the other slidin’ down your back to press you closer, chest to chest. His mouth moved like he knew every part of you already, like he’d dreamed it a hundred times over and now he was finally starvin’ no more.
When he pulled back, your lips felt swollen, dazed, and he just looked at you for a second, real quiet, like he was tryin’ to memorize this moment before he ruined it.“Lay back f’r me—,” he drawled, voice thick as sin and twice as temptin’.
With even hesitatin’, you leaned back, stretchin’ out across that car hood like you belonged there. Moonlight slid over your skin, kissin’ it like silver fire—makin’ you shine just for him.
And Smoke? He got to work quick, fingers unbucklin’ his belt with practiced ease.
“Told ya’, Silk,” he muttered, hand slidin’ down to free himself, his voice low and hungry. “I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—now lay real still and let me show ya’ just what that means.”
Lawd, it was a sight. Both them men. Built like sin dipped in honey. Shoulders broad, arms carved from hard work, and bodies that knew nothin’ but sweat and fight. Ain’t no fluff on ’em—just muscle, power, and pure heat. But it was what sat between his hips that had you strugglin’ to breathe. Long, thick, and pretty—veins standin’ proud like they was waitin’ for your touch. It pulsed like it remembered you, just as much as your body remembered him.
It’d been a minute since you laid eyes on it, let alone felt it. But your body didn’t care nothin’ ’bout time. Nah, it answered him loud and clear—heat rushin’ through you, thighs shiftin’, breath catchin’. You was embarrassed by how fast your want rose up, but damn if you could help it. You wanted him.
Eager. Desperate. Drenched in need.
And the worst part? He knew. They knew.
Stack was watchin’, strokin’ himself to the sight of you.
He was leaned back against the car, one hand workin’ slow, eyes locked on where Smoke had you laid out like a feast. Lips parted, breath shallow, dick heavy in his grip—he looked damn near feral, but patient. Like he was savorin’ every second before it was his turn.
His eyes traced every curve of you, glintin’ like heat lightning in the dark. “Look at our girl—,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse with want. “Laid out like a blessin’.”
Smoke, then stepped in between your legs, slow and sure, like a man approachin’ his altar. He gripped your thighs, thumbs pressin’ soft circles into your skin, and leaned down—mouth ghostin’ over your lips before he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d missed it. Like he’d been thinkin’ ’bout nothin’ but you since the last time you let him in.
“Ain’t nothin’ else in this world I need more than this right here,” he murmured against your mouth, voice all thick molasses and heat.
Then he slid in—slow, deep, heavy. A groan rumbled out his chest, rollin’ over your skin like thunder as your body stretched around him, pullin’ him in tight. He moved with that Southern patience, like he had all night. Every stroke hit deep, tender and steady, makin’ you whimper, makin’ your eyes roll back.
“Elijah,” you whine softly.
“Mmm-hmm,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, filled with that soft fire. “There she go,” one hand came up to cradle your jaw as he rocked into you. “Look at me, [Name]. Let me see ya’ fall ‘part.”
And you did.
Bitin’ your lip, body tremblin’, you let go beneath him. Let him love you how only Smoke could—full of control, full of reverence. When you clenched ‘round him, cryin’ his name like a prayer, he dipped his forehead to yours, ridin’ it out with you, stayin’ buried deep until every bit of his need poured into you slow and warm.
He pulled back, breathin’ hard, eyes heavy-lidded with affection and heat. But before the sweat even cooled on your skin—
“Move over, nigga,” came Stack’s voice, low and wild with a grin on his lips and sin in his eyes.
Barely catchin’ your breath, this crazy-ass boy went and hooked your leg up high, steppin’ between them thighs like he owned the whole damn place. Stack didn’t ask—he never did. He just took, like the firecracker he was. Picked you up like you weighed nothin’, holdin’ you flush against him, muscles flexin’ under your hands.
He’d always been the wild one—reckless, hungry for life, always lookin’ for the next thrill. And this? This position he had you in? Had you clingin’ to him like a lifeline. Arms wrapped tight ‘round his shoulders, legs locked at his waist, breath hitchin’ as his mouth got busy on your neck—kissin’, suckin’, bitin’ like he was claimin’ you all over again.
His hand slid down, rough and eager, guidin’ that thick wood into your heat—feelin’ every bit of what Smoke had left behind. And Lord, he growled, deep in his throat.
“Damn, ya’ messy,” he laughed, but there was nothin’ but hunger in his voice. “Been thinkin’ ’bout this all damn day.”
He didn’t ease in like Smoke. Nah—Stack hit like fire.
He filled you up with one smooth, greedy thrust, and you damn near lost your mind right then and there.
“Shit,” Stack hissed, head droppin’ to your shoulder as he held you up like nothin’. “You so tight ‘round me—clenchin’ like you missed it.”
And truth be told, you did.
His hands gripped under your thighs, holdin’ you steady while he started movin’—hips rollin’ like waves, not just slammin’ into you, but grindin’, hittin’ deep, hittin’ home. He wasn’t just tryin’ to fuck—he was tryin’ to make you feel it in your bones.
“Shit. Yes,” you moan ‘loud.
“Look at ya’,” he drawled, kissin’ your jaw, your ear, voice thick with pride. “Already shakin’ f’r me, baby. Damn. I ain’t even got started yet.”
He walked you to the side of the car, settin’ your back flat on the hood while his body hovered over yours—all heat and hunger. The stars above flickered like they was watchin’ in awe. Stack ran his tongue down your chest, takin’ his time, suckin’ at every dip of skin like he was memorizing it all over again.
“You know I love ya’, right?” he murmured against your breast, voice crackin’ soft like a secret. “Love how ya’ moan, how ya’ take me, how ya’ let me go wild wit’ it.”
Then he buried himself again, this time rougher—hips smackin’ against you as he let go of all that restraint. His hand reached down to circle your clit, thumb movin’ in perfect rhythm with each thrust, and your back arched clean off the car.
Cryin’ out his name, and he laughed—boyish and breathless.
“That’s right, baby. Say my name, say it loud. Let Smoke hear it too.”
Then you came hard, legs lockin’ around him, body shudderin’ while he kept drivin’ into you like a storm rollin’ through the bayou. Voice gone, body wrecked from one man and bein’ broken in by the next—but you loved it. Loved them. The way they touched you different, but held you the same. Like you were somethin’ precious. Somethin’ theirs.
And Stack? He didn’t stop ‘til he gave you every last drop he had—spillin’ into you like it was his God-given right. Chest to chest, skin sticky with sweat, he collapsed on top of you with a low groan.
“Damn near saw the Lord just now,” he muttered against your collarbone, laughin’ breathlessly.
Smoke came up behind y’all, kissin’ your temple, that slow smile on his lips.
“You good, baby?” he asked, hand slidin’ over your stomach, down to where the mess of love and sweat clung between your thighs.
All you could do was nod, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, heart poundin’.
Because between the two of them—you ain’t never known a love so wild, so deep, so Southern. Your body was still tremblin’, nerves hummin’ from bein’ stretched and filled by the both of ‘em. Sweat clung to your skin, coolin’ in the soft night breeze, and your breath came out in shaky little puffs like you’d just outrun a storm.
Stack was the first to move—he always was. Still catchin’ his breath, he lifted off you careful-like, like he didn’t wanna let go but knew you needed space to come back to yourself. His palm slid over your side, reverent, his touch whisper-light.
“Aight now, c’mon baby,” he said softly, voice deep and syrupy. “Let’s get ya’ cleaned up, yeah?”
He reached into the backseat, grabbin’ one of them soft flannel shirts he always kept around, and gently wiped between your thighs—tender, like you were made of glass. You winced a little, and he stilled.
“I got ya’,” he whispered, kissin’ your knee, your hip, your stomach like he was sayin’ sorry without the words. “I ain’t mean to go so rough—just… damn, I missed ya’.”
Reachin’ down, your hand tanglin’ in his beard, thumb brushin’ his skin.
“I know, baby. Me too,” you murmured.
Smoke came round next, eyes darker now, but soft. He crouched beside the car hood, layin’ a gentle hand on your cheek. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, then your jaw, eyes studyin’ you like you were his favorite book.
“You good, Silk?” he asked, voice quiet, almost boyish. “Need some water? Somethin’ sweet?”
Shakin’ your head slow, still dazed, eyes glossy with love, you answer him softly. “I don’t need nothin’ else. Just y’all. I love y’all.”
Stack came back, slidin’ his strong arms under you like he’d done it a thousand times. Lifted you like you didn’t weigh more’n a breeze, settin’ you gentle in his lap on the old blanket stretched out in the back of the car seats. Your back rested warm against his chest, his heartbeat steady behind you.
Smoke slid in close beside you, stretchin’ out with a little grunt as he curled up at your side. His palm found your thigh, drawin’ slow, soothing circles like he was tryin’ to anchor you right there with him.
Above y’all, the stars were shinin’ like spilled sugar across black velvet—bright, scattered, holy. The cicadas had gone quiet, leavin’ behind nothin’ but the hush of wind and the thump of three hearts beatin’ close.
“We love you too,” Smoke said low, his voice thick like molasses on a warm biscuit. “An’ we gon’ keep on lovin’ you like this… ‘til lonely ain’t nothin’ but a memory.”
Stack leaned down, pressin’ a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, arms still wrapped tight ‘round your waist.
“Our girl,” he murmured against your skin. “Always have been. Always will be.”
And you—tired, full, wrapped in their warmth like a lullaby—just smiled. Sunk deeper into the cradle of their bodies, heart settled, soul quiet. Let yourself drift, safe and loved, right there in the arms of two men who’d burn the whole damn South down for you.
She never thought she’d see him again… He never forgot she was his. From heartbreak to heartbreak, Annie Moore has survived it all. Until the man she once loved returns—older, darker, untouchable. And now, he rules the country. He wants her safe. He wants her to be obedient. And she? She wants him to fight for her—without losing herself in his fire. Desire, danger, and power collide in a game neither of them can walk away from.
Content Warning: Dark romance, powerplay, brat Annie, dom/sub dynamics, violence, obsession.
Annie woke to an empty bed and knew something was wrong before she ever opened her eyes. Smoke’s side was cold, the sheets untouched, his was gone as if it had never been there at all. His clothes were missing from the chair. The bathroom was too clean. No note. No message. Nothing to explain why the man who had held her the night before.
It took her two days to accept what her body already knew—that he wasn’t coming back.
Still, she cooked enough food for two. Set out his plate without thinking. Paused every time the door creaked or footsteps passed outside, hoping—stupidly—that he’d walk back in and say there had been a mistake.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Hope curdled into grief, and grief hardened into anger.
Annie stopped waiting.
She buried herself in books, in long nights and longer mornings, in the kind of discipline that didn’t allow space for missing someone who chose to leave.
8 years later, she stood in the doorway of her own medical practice, keys in hand, breath steady, feeling something dangerously close to freedom. New. Hers.
She should have known it wouldn’t last.
Smoke had never been good at letting go.
Annie stood frozen in the doorway, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they traced the rough edges of the envelope. The weight of it felt wrong in her hands—too light for what it carried, too heavy for her heart. The postmark was smudged, but she didn’t need to see it clearly. The way the ink slanted in her name, the faint scent of gunpowder and cedar clinging to the paper—she knew.
Elijah.
No, not Elijah. Not anymore. That man had burned away years ago, leaving only Smoke in his wake.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she turned the envelope over, her nail catching on the wax seal—black, stamped with the rough outline of a wolf. His mark. His promise. 8 years of silence, and now this? Her first instinct was to toss it into the fireplace, watch the edges curl into ash. Her second was sharper—to shove it back into the mailbox unopened, let the postman return it to whatever hole Smoke had crawled out of.
But her hands betrayed her. The letter split open with a whisper, the sound too loud in the quiet of her empty house.
The words hit like a blade between the ribs.
Annie,
I won’t insult you by pretending this fixes anything.
That alone made her throat tighten. Because he wasn’t pretending. There was no groveling, no poetic regret—just the brutal honesty that had always been his sharpest weapon.
I know what it looks like, 8 years, and now I write. I left. That part is mine to carry.
Her fingers clenched. Damn him. Damn him for not dressing it up, for not giving her the satisfaction of hating some flowery apology.
But don’t mistake my absence for forgetting you.
A sound escaped her—half laugh, half sob. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. Men like Smoke didn’t forget; they bided their time.
I know you rebuilt your life. I’ve known for a while.
Her stomach twisted. How? How much had he seen? The late nights at the clinic, the way she’d stopped jumping at shadows?
I’m not writing to pull you backward. I’m writing because I intend to move forward, and you were always part of that future.
The audacity choked her. Future? After he’d vanished into the night without a word?
I’m going to make this right. Not with words. With action.
The paper trembled in her grip. That was the worst part—she believed him. Smoke didn’t make promises; he gave warnings.
You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to forgive me. But understand this. I never stopped being your husband.
A shiver ripped down her spine. There it was. Not a plea. A claim.
You deserved better than how I left. I intend to prove I’ve become better than the man who did.
—Smoke
The signature was the final blow—not Elijah, not even an initial. Just the name he’d earned in blood and fire.
Annie didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until her lungs burned.
This wasn’t a letter.
It was a threat.
A beautifully crafted, perfectly poised threat wrapped in honesty instead of anger. Because Smoke had never needed to yell. He’d always been scariest when he spoke softly, when he let the w8 of his silence do the talking.
And now?
Now he sounded sharper. Like a blade honed over years of waiting. Like a man who’d learned patience the hard way.
Annie pressed a hand to her mouth.
That—that—terrified her more than any explosion of rage ever could.
The messages started small at first—just a few missed calls logged in her phone’s notifications like breadcrumbs she refused to follow. Then they grew bolder, slipping into her inbox with subject lines that tasted like old apologies wrapped in new paper. By the third week, the emails stopped being polite and started being gifts—things shipped to her clinic in sleek black boxes that smelled like money and guilt. A sapphire bracelet that probably cost more than her monthly rent. A leather-bound journal with her initials embossed in gold. Bottles of that stupidly expensive French perfume she'd once joked about liking, back when they shared the same air.
She ignored every single offering, tossing them into the donation bin outside the women’s shelter without opening them past the first glimpse. Let some struggling mother pawn that jewelry. Let a college student enjoy the perfume. None of it belonged to her. Not anymore.
Life moved forward in predictable rhythms. Mornings began with scalding coffee and patient charts. Afternoons blurred into consultations, her stethoscope pressed against fragile skin while she asked about symptoms and pretended not to notice the way older men always tried to turn physicals into conversations about their glory days. Nights ended with takeout containers and medical journals, her couch permanently dented from the w8 of her exhaustion.
Today had followed the same script until the very end. Mrs. Henderson—her 82-year-old regular with the chronic back pain and the sharp tongue—had lingered after her appointment like she always did. “You hear about that Moore boy?” the old woman had said, peeling the wrapper off her lollipop with deliberate slowness. “Never thought I’d see the day. A Black man thinking he can sit in the White House.” Annie’s fingers had stiffened around the prescription pad, but her voice stayed professional as she explained the dosage instructions for the new muscle relaxants. She’d learned to let certain words slide off her shoulders years ago.
The clinic emptied. The last receptionist left with a half-hearted wave. Alone in the sudden silence, Annie finally let herself exhale. That’s when the itch started—that relentless pull beneath her ribs that always led her somewhere stupid. She fought it for exactly seven minutes before caving, her phone unlocked and her thumbs typing his name before she could think better of it.
The news articles loaded instantly. There he was—Elijah Moore in a custom navy suit, standing on some stage with his twin flanking him like a living fortress. Stack hadn’t changed at all; same cold eyes, same smirk that promised violence wrapped in charm. But Smoke… God, Smoke looked different. The boy she remembered had been lean, all hungry angles and restless energy. The man staring back from her screen had filled out in ways that shouldn’t have mattered. His shoulders strained against the fabric of his jacket. His jawline had hardened into something unbreakable. Even through pixels, she could feel the way he commanded the room without raising his voice.
And he looked good. Really good. The kind of good that made her teeth hurt from clenching them.
Annie hated her body’s betrayal—how her pulse jumped before her brain could remind her why that was a terrible idea. She knew better than anyone what lay beneath that polished exterior. The late-night meetings in back rooms where decisions were made with silences instead of votes. The way Elijah could dismantle a man’s life with nothing but a phone call and a smile. He’d always played the long game, weaving himself into systems until the systems depended on him.
So why the absolute fuck was he running for president?
The realization hit her like a sucker punch because Elijah didn’t believe in half measures. If he was stepping into the light after all these years, it meant he’d already ensured the shadows would follow.
Annie tried to get through the rest of the week like normal. Tried to forget about Elijah.
It didn’t work.
His face was everywhere—billboards, posters, screens she hadn’t even realized she looked at. Black Twitter was loud, relentless, buzzing with opinions, arguments, pride, fear. Locals couldn’t stop talking about him. Patients mentioned his name in passing like it was just another headline, another possibility.
All Annie wanted was a quiet life.
And Smoke was fucking that up.
Still, she took some comfort in one thing—her name wasn’t attached to any of it. Not yet. She watched the news carefully, bracing for it, half-expecting a reporter to pop up at her door asking about her husband.
She’d be damned if that happened.
She’d spent too long rebuilding herself to be dragged back into his shadow without a fight.
But Annie supposed God had other plans.
She pulled into her driveway and immediately clocked the familiar figure on her front porch. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“I know that ain’t who I think it is,” she muttered.
She got out of the car and walked up the steps slowly, eyes never leaving him. Sammie stood there like he belonged—hands in his pockets, easy grin already forming. Practically, her son once upon a time. She hadn’t seen him in years. Not since everything fell apart.
“Hey, Ma,” Sammie said, opening his arms.
Her resolve cracked before she could stop it. Annie stepped into the hug, holding him tight, breathing him in like a piece of a life she used to have.
Still—something felt off.
She pulled back, studying him. “You just poppin’ up now? No call. No text. Nothin’.”
Sammie shrugged like it was nothing, smile never wavering. “I been travelin’. Had some time. Figured I’d stop by, see how you doin’.”
Annie hummed softly, not convinced. She invited him in anyway. Old habits died hard.
She moved around the kitchen like muscle memory took over, pulling out food, setting a plate, doing the same things she used to do when the house was fuller. Sammie sat at the counter, watching her like he always had—quiet, respectful, familiar.
“So,” she said finally, not looking at him. “How you been doin’?”
“Good,” Sammie answered too quick. Then corrected himself. “I mean—good enough.”
Annie glanced over her shoulder. Caught the way his jaw tightened. Sammie had never been a good liar. Tried to be. Never succeeded.
“You still runnin’ with your cousins?” she asked casually, testing.
He shook his head. “Nah. We all doin’ our own thing now.”
That was lie number two.
She set his plate in front of him and sat across the table. Watched him eat. Watched the way his eyes kept drifting—not to the food, but to the windows. The door. The corners of the room.
“You stayin’ long?” she asked.
Sammie shrugged. “Couple days. Maybe more. Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how things go.”
That made her pause.
Annie leaned back in her chair, arms crossing slowly. “You always been this vague?”
Sammie smiled, soft and practiced. “You always been this suspicious?”
She huffed. “Boy, I helped raise you. Don’t play with me.”
For a second, something real flickered across his face—guilt, maybe. Or worry. It was gone just as fast.
“I just wanted to check on you, Ma,” he said. “Make sure you straight.”
Annie held his gaze.
She believed he cared. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that Sammie had never just checked in a day in his life.
And whatever reason brought him to her porch—it had Smoke written all over it.
Annie started noticing the small things first.
The way the same car seemed to show up twice on her drive home. How footsteps lingered a little too long behind her at the grocery store. How someone always seemed to be just close enough to notice—but never close enough to confront.
Then there was Sammie.
He was always around. If he wasn’t “visiting an old friend,” he was hanging around her clinic, sitting in the waiting area like he belonged there. Patients liked him. Staff didn’t question it. He fit too easily into her life.
Too easily.
At home, things started changing. The broken door hinge she’d been meaning to fix for months was suddenly solid. The porch light worked again. Her trash bins were rolled in before she remembered they’d been taken out.
And her fridge.
Groceries appeared without explanation. Not cheap ones, either. The kind she bought when she wasn’t counting.
That was when the feeling in her chest turned sharp.
The election was right around the corner. Smoke’s face was everywhere. His name carried w8 now—hope to some, threat to others.
And Annie didn’t know what to expect.
All she knew was this:
her quiet life was shrinking.
Annie stopped him in the kitchen before he could disappear again, the way he’d been doing ever since he showed up on her porch with that easy smile and too many answers that didn’t quite line up.
“Why you really here, Sammie?”
He paused. Just a fraction of a second, but Annie caught it. Long enough to tell her this wasn’t a visit. His shoulders relaxed after, his voice smoothing out like he could talk his way past it. “I told you, Ma. I’m just visitin’.”
She folded her arms slowly, studying him. “Try again.”
The room filled with silence. Not awkward—heavy. Sammie’s jaw tightened as he looked away, like he was weighing what he could give her without crossing a line he’d already decided not to step over.
“Then explain why I feel like I’m bein’ followed,” Annie said. “Everywhere I go.”
That changed everything.
Sammie’s head snapped up, all warmth gone from his face. His eyes sharpened, scanning her like she was already in danger. “Who followin’ you, Ma?” The question came out low and hard, stripped of humor, stripped of comfort.
Annie blinked. She had never seen him like this. “I don’t know,” she said carefully. “Cars. People standin’ too close. I can’t pin it down.”
He stared at her, unmoving, like he was already mapping the threat. “Who,” he asked again, slower this time, demanding an answer she didn’t have.
“I don’t know,” she repeated.
He swore under his breath and stepped closer, hands firm but gentle on her shoulders. “You stay inside tonight. And tomorrow—you don’t go to work.”
Annie stiffened. “Sammie, I’m a grown woman.”
“I know,” he said, his voice steady and final. “And right now, that don’t matter. Promise me.”
She searched his face. The worry there wasn’t fake. It wasn’t forced. It was raw, and it scared her more than his orders did. Annie nodded. “Okay.”
That was enough.
Sammie stepped back, already pulling his phone from his pocket, fingers moving fast as he turned away. Annie watched him pace, heard the line connect.
“Who you callin’?” she asked.
Sammie stopped. Turned. Met her eyes without blinking.
“Yo husband.”
The vote counting started that night, and Annie went to bed with her chest heavy, like something unfinished was pressing down on her lungs. She tried not to think about Elijah, about what his face would look like if the numbers leaned his way, about what that would mean for her. Sleep came late and restless.
She woke to silence.
Sammie was gone. In his place was a note on the counter, written quick and blunt, telling her he’d be back and ordering her to stay inside until then. Annie stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight.
Did she listen?
No. She did not.
She got ready like it was any other morning. Showered. Dressed. Packed her bag with practiced ease. If anything, moving helped keep the noise in her head at bay. She knew she probably wouldn’t see many patients that day—everyone would be glued to the vote count—but she didn’t care. She just couldn’t sit in that house waiting.
The clinic was quiet when she arrived. Too quiet. Annie threw herself into organizing her medicine cabinet, lining bottles up, double-checking labels, giving her hands something to do while her thoughts refused to settle. She checked her emails, avoided the news sites she knew would pull her under, avoided the notifications lighting up her phone.
Still, her heart wouldn’t let her forget.
Something was shifting. She could feel it.
And no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else, the world was moving closer to Elijah Moore.
The television in the waiting room had been left on low, just noise filling the space. Annie barely noticed it until the room’s rhythm shifted—the anchors straightening, the crowd noise rising, the camera cutting away from speculation to certainty.
She looked up.
The screen showed the stage, packed tight with bodies and light, the energy sharp and electric. Annie stood without realizing she was moving, her chest tightening as recognition settled in.
Elijah Moore stepped forward.
Smoke.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t lift his hands. Didn’t acknowledge the noise like it meant anything to him. He stood still, solid, letting the room bend around him instead of the other way around. The suit sat heavy on his shoulders, tailored to a body built for more than politics. Everything about him read controlled. Final.
Annie’s pulse thudded in her ears.
He began his speech the way any winner would—measured thanks, careful acknowledgments, practiced restraint. His voice carried evenly through the speakers, calm enough to settle a room full of strangers.
Then he slowed.
Just a fraction. Enough that Annie felt it before she understood it.
“Tonight ain’t just about winnin’,” he said.
Her breath caught.
“It’s about what you do after you lose,” Smoke continued. “About how you carry what broke you—and still decide to build somethin’ better than what you were.”
The words settled heavy in Annie’s chest.
To everyone else, it sounded like resolve. Growth. Redemption.
But she heard the truth underneath it.
He wasn’t talking to the country.
He was talking to her.
Smoke didn’t linger there. He moved on like the moment hadn’t happened, like he hadn’t just reached through a screen and put his hand on an old wound he knew by heart.
Annie turned the television off.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.
Elijah was President of the United States.
And he had just reminded her—without saying her name—that he still knew exactly how to speak to her.
Then a knock came hard enough to rattle the glass at the front of the clinic, snapping Annie out of her thoughts. She looked up from the waiting room television and frowned, an uneasy feeling settling in her chest as she moved closer to the door.
When she saw the man standing outside—dressed entirely in black, face calm in a way that didn’t belong—her stomach dropped. She didn’t recognize him, and something about that alone felt dangerous. She stayed where she was, hands clenched, grateful she’d locked the door.
The knock came again, heavier this time, his fist striking the glass with intent. “Clinic’s closed,” Annie called out, her voice steadier than she felt.
The man didn’t answer. He knocked again, harder, and the glass shuddered. Panic crept up her spine as she backed away, Sammie’s warning echoing loud in her head. She turned and moved toward the back hallway, eyes scanning counters and shelves for anything she could grab—metal trays, tools, anything solid. The pounding grew violent, glass cracking under the force, until it stopped so suddenly the silence rang.
Her breath caught. She slowed, heart hammering, and peeked around the corner.
The front door was wide open.
“Oh God,” she whispered, regret crashing into her all at once. She should have stayed home.
She sensed him before she saw him. Annie spun just as the man lunged. She blocked his first strike with her forearm and shoved him back hard, pain shooting through her arm as he slammed into the medical shelves behind him. Bottles and herbs crashed to the floor in a chaotic mess. She didn’t think—she ran. Fear pushed her forward, but hands clamped around her ankle and yanked her down. She hit the floor hard, air knocked from her lungs as she tried to crawl away, nails scraping tile. His grip tightened.
In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back and stood over her, shadow swallowing her whole. He pulled a gun from his jacket, and Annie froze. Her mind went eerily quiet as she stared up at it. “Please,” she breathed, not even sure who she was pleading with. She thought of her daughter, of holding her again, of the ache that never truly left her chest.
The gunshot came from somewhere else.
The man jerked, eyes wide in shock, and collapsed beside her with a heavy thud.
Annie screamed.
“Annie!” Sammie’s voice cut through the chaos as he burst through the door. He dropped to his knees beside her, hands already moving, checking her arms, her legs, her face. “Ma, look at me. You hurt? You bleedin’ anywhere?” His voice shook despite how fast and focused his hands were.
“I—I think I’m okay,” she managed, her body trembling uncontrollably. “Sammie… what—”
“I told you to stay inside,” he snapped, fear bleeding through the anger as he pulled her upright. “I told you not to come here.” His hands hovered like he didn’t trust the ground beneath her.
Before Annie could respond, black cars screeched to a stop outside. Doors opened in sharp succession, and men in tailored suits poured into the clinic with practiced efficiency. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t hesitate. Annie recognized them immediately—Secret Service. Radios crackled as they scanned the room, stepping around broken shelves and the body on the floor like it was routine.
“What the hell is this?” Annie whispered, her voice barely there. She looked up at Sammie, her chest tightening. “Why are they here?”
Sammie stood slowly, eyes flicking to the men before settling back on her. Something in his expression shifted—resignation, maybe, like a truth he’d been holding finally outweighed the cost of keeping it. “Annie,” he said quietly, “I shoulda told you sooner. I was hopin’ I wouldn’t have to like this.”
“Told me what?” she demanded, her voice sharp despite the fear curling in her stomach. “Why I’m bein’ followed? Why you been watchin’ me like this?”
His jaw tightened. “Because someone came for you,” he said plainly. “And that means it’s real now.”
Her heart skipped. “Who?” she asked, though some part of her already knew.
Sammie met her eyes, steady and serious. “This ain’t just about the election,” he said. “And it damn sure ain’t random. Smoke sent me here, Annie. He’s been protectin’ you this whole time.”
The truth hit her like a blow to the chest. The letters. The gifts. The watching eyes. None of it had been a coincidence. She shook her head slowly, disbelief and anger tangling together. “He doesn’t get to do this,” she whispered. “Not after leavin’ me like that.”
Sammie didn’t argue. He just said softly, “I know, Ma. But he wasn’t gon’ let nobody else touch you.”
Standing there in the wreckage of her quiet life, surrounded by men who answered to the highest office in the country, Annie realized one terrifying truth. He had already moved his pieces. And whether she liked it or not, she was standing right at the center of the board.
Annie sat rigid in the back of the black car, her hands folded tight in her lap as the road stretched out ahead of them. A Secret Service agent drove in silence, eyes forward, while Sammie sat across from her, his posture stiff. She could tell he was still mad she hadn’t listened, but underneath that was something heavier. Her body hadn’t stopped shaking since the clinic, the fear settling deep now that the danger had passed.
It didn’t take long for her to realize they weren’t heading home. The streets thinned out, the turns unfamiliar, the city slowly disappearing behind them. Annie leaned forward, her voice tight. “Where we goin’?”
Sammie didn’t look at her right away. “Outta town,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. “Outta town?” She stared at him. “Sammie, why the hell are we leavin’ town?”
He finally met her eyes. “We headin’ to D.C.”
Annie let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Washington?” She shook her head. “Why?”
Sammie held her gaze, his voice steady but low. “Because, Annie… you the First Lady.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. She went quiet, staring at him as if he’d spoken another language. The hum of the car filled the space between them, her chest tight as her mind struggled to catch up. She looked away, swallowing hard, trying to ground herself in something real.
After a moment, Sammie continued, his tone turning all business. “We ain’t goin’ straight there. There’s a private warehouse first. From there, you’ll board a jet. Secure. No stops.”
Annie shook her head immediately. “No. You can’t do this.” Her voice rose, panic slipping through. “This my life. I got a clinic, patients, responsibilities—”
Sammie leaned forward, cutting her off gently but firmly. “Ma, I know this too much. I know it is. But you don’t got a choice right now.” His jaw tightened. “This not how shit was supposed to turn out.”
She stared at him, searching his face. Something else was there, something he wasn’t saying. “What happened?” she asked quietly. “You ain’t tellin’ me somethin’.”
He hesitated, then exhaled. “When Smoke finds out what happened,” Sammie said, his voice dropping, “he gon’ have somebody’s head.”
Annie turned to him sharply, disbelief flashing across her face. “No,” she said. “Smoke protective, yeah—but he ain’t never been like that. Not like you makin’ it sound.”
Sammie didn’t look away. He held her eyes, expression hard, certain. “The Smoke that left 8 years ago,” he said slowly, “ain’t the same Smoke now. He is way different.”
The words settled heavily in her chest. Annie leaned back against the seat, her heart pounding, trying to reconcile the man she loved with the one Sammie was describing.
They arrived at the warehouse just as the sky began to darken, the building rising out of the empty stretch of land like something deliberately hidden. The first thing Annie noticed was the security. Guards lined the perimeter in quiet formation, earpieces in, eyes alert, every movement controlled. Black SUVs sat idling nearby, engines humming low. Nothing about this place felt temporary. It felt planned.
Her door opened, and Sammie stepped out first. He held the door for her, watching her closely as if he expected her legs to give out at any moment. Annie hesitated, one hand gripping the edge of the seat before she finally stepped onto the pavement. The air felt heavier out here, colder somehow, and the reality of what was happening pressed down on her chest.
She followed Sammie across the concrete toward the jet, her gaze lifting only when she noticed a woman waiting near the stairs. The woman stood tall in a sharp black suit paired with heels that clicked softly against the ground, her posture effortless, her presence commanding without being loud. She looked like someone who belonged in rooms Annie had never imagined entering.
“Hello, Mrs. Moore,” the woman said smoothly, offering a professional smile. “I’m Tina. Your Chief of Staff.”
Annie blinked. Mrs. Moore. The title felt foreign on her skin.
Tina turned without waiting for a response, already walking toward the jet, Sammie and Annie falling into step behind her. As they moved, Tina spoke with practiced ease, as if reading from a plan long set in motion. She explained how Annie would be brought to the White House discreetly, how she’d meet the rest of her staff, how she’d be dressed appropriately for the public appearance that would follow.
“You’ll walk alongside Mr. Moore,” Tina continued, her tone calm and efficient. “You’ll be introduced, and you’ll be announced as First Lady.”
Annie’s steps slowed slightly.
Tina glanced back at her then, eyes sharp, taking in Annie’s tight expression and the worry she wasn’t hiding very well. “And don’t worry,” she added, voice smoothing out. “You won’t be required to say anything tonight. All you need to do is stand there and look pretty.”
The words landed wrong.
Annie didn’t respond. She just nodded once, her throat tight, the jet looming closer with every step. By the time they boarded, her head was spinning, the noise of it all pressing in until she could barely think.
She sat down slowly, hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing.
A few minutes later, Sammie appeared with a tray of food, setting it gently in front of her. “You need to eat,” he said quietly, his tone softer now.
Annie looked up at him, eyes tired, still trying to understand how her quiet life had vanished in the span of a single night. She didn’t touch the food right away.
Everything was moving too fast.
Sammie lingered near her seat, watching her a little too closely. Annie could feel it even without looking up, the way he hovered like he was waiting for her to break. She still hadn’t touched the food, her hands resting uselessly in her lap as the engines hummed quietly around them.
“Ma,” Sammie said softly, lowering his voice, “maybe you’ll feel better if you talk to Smoke.”
The words made her stiffen instantly. Annie shook her head before he could say anything else. “No,” she said, firm and final. “That ain’t happenin’.”
Sammie frowned. “Annie—”
“I said no,” she cut in, finally looking at him. Her eyes were sharp now, the fear edged with anger. “I ain’t ready to hear his voice. Not after all this. Not after he left and thought letters and gifts could fix it.”
Sammie studied her for a moment, like he wanted to argue, then thought better of it. “He's been askin’,” he admitted quietly. “Wants to know you're okay.”
She scoffed under her breath. “He shoulda thought about that 8 years ago.”
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Sammie stepped back, giving her space, though worry still lined his face. Annie leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes for just a moment, trying to steady her breathing.
She wasn’t ready.
And whatever man had become, she refused to meet him like this—trapped, shaken, and dragged into a life she hadn’t chosen.
Four hours later, the jet finally touched down. Annie stirred in her seat and glanced out the small window, her chest tightening when she saw the scene waiting below. Guards were already positioned on the tarmac, spread out in quiet formation, their presence heavy and unmistakable. It didn’t feel like an arrival—it felt like a lockdown.
Sammie leaned closer, following her gaze. “Smoke orders,” he said simply, motioning toward the guards as if that explained everything.
Annie swallowed hard.
She stood when they told her to, her legs stiff as she followed Sammie down the steps. The moment her feet hit the ground, the guards moved in, surrounding her with practiced precision. The space around her closed fast, their bodies creating a wall as Sammie and Tina fell in step just behind her. Annie felt suddenly small inside the circle, her heart beating too loud in her ears.
They guided her across the tarmac toward a waiting limo, its dark windows reflecting nothing back at her. Tina stayed close at her side, one hand hovering near Annie’s elbow like she might need steadying, while Sammie scanned everything around them, alert and tense. Annie climbed into the back seat between them, her hands twisting together in her lap as the door shut with a heavy thud.
As the limo pulled away, Annie leaned back against the seat, breath shallow, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. Whatever waited for her next, she could feel it closing in. And the closer they got, the more certain she became of one thing—Smoke was nearer than she wanted him to be.
They arrived without spectacle, but everything about the place spoke of money and command. The limo passed through iron gates that opened before it ever fully stopped, the drive long and immaculate, lined with soft lighting and perfectly trimmed hedges. Annie barely registered when the car finally came to a halt. By the time the door opened, she already felt like she’d crossed into a world that didn’t belong to her.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly perfumed, the floors polished to a mirror shine. Annie was guided through wide corridors until a set of doors opened and she stepped into a room so large it almost swallowed her whole. Plush carpets muted every sound. Crystal light fixtures hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over silk curtains and gold-trimmed furniture. It was excessive without being loud, luxury built to reassure and intimidate all at once.
She barely had time to take it in before she realized she wasn’t alone.
Women stood around the room in neat formation, all dressed in tailored maid uniforms, hands folded, posture perfect. They turned toward her as one. Tina stood at the center, composed as ever, her presence anchoring the room.
Annie’s breath caught.
Tina turned to her then, her expression professional but expectant. She lifted her hand slightly and made a small, deliberate gesture. At once, the women bowed just enough to show respect without submission, their voices soft but unified. “Honored to serve you, Mrs. Moore.”
The title sent a chill down Annie’s spine.
Tina clasped her hands together once, the sharp sound cutting through the room. “All right,” she said smoothly, already in control. “Let’s get to work.”
The maids moved immediately, their efficiency practiced, closing in with quiet precision as Annie stood there, heart racing, realizing this wasn’t just about comfort or care.
This was preparation
Before the women closed in around her, Annie turned instinctively toward the doorway. Sammie stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, watching everything with a careful eye. When their gazes met, he gave her a small nod—steady, reassuring, the same one he used to give her when things felt out of control. It didn’t fix anything, but it kept her from unraveling.
That was all the time she had.
Two of the maids stepped forward, their touch gentle but firm as they guided her away. Annie let herself be led through another set of doors and into a private changing room tucked behind the main suite. The space was just as lavish—soft lighting, velvet seating, mirrors framed in gold—but it felt more intimate, like the calm before something irreversible.
As the door closed behind her, Annie exhaled shakily, her reflection staring back at her from every angle. The life she knew felt farther away than ever, and whatever came next would shape how the world saw her.
When Annie stepped out, the room seemed to still.
Tina turned first, her usual composure slipping just enough for awe to flash across her face. For a moment, she said nothing, simply taking Annie in like she was looking at something carefully crafted and finally complete.
Sammie broke the silence. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere.
Annie smiled at him, small but real, the kind of smile that came from gratitude more than confidence. But it didn’t last. Tina’s expression shifted back to business as she glanced at her watch.
“It’s time,” Tina said.
The words hollowed her out.
This is fucked up, Annie thought, her pulse thudding hard in her ears.
Sammie held his arm out to her without a word. Annie hesitated only a second before taking it, her fingers curling into the familiar strength there. Together, they followed Tina down the corridor, the soft click of heels echoing as they moved closer to whatever waited on the other side.
Then she heard it.
Chanting.
Loud. Rhythmic. A mass of voices swelling together, calling out for the President—and for her. The sound rolled through the walls, alive and hungry, and Annie’s steps slowed as her chest tightened.
They stopped in front of the doors.
Tina turned to face her, calm and precise. “Mr. Moore is standing on the other side,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Hell naw, Annie thought.
But it wasn’t like she had a choice.
Annie looked at Sammie, searching his face one last time, then turned back to Tina. She lifted her chin, her voice steady even if she wasn’t.
Flirty Smoke X Cautious Annie? | A Modern AU Drabble
Second drabble is ↪︎ here
The one where Smoke is sprung and shameless, Annie’s heart is one thump away from beating out her chest, and tensions between the two continue to build — no matter how much Annie fights it.
A/n ~ This song randomly came on the other day and I couldn’t get this drabble out my head. I normally don’t write the ideas I have for Smoke and Annie but I figureddd I’d get some practice in for him. It ended up being just abouttt 3k words of me mostly just trying to get a feel for them and their dialogue. Enjoy 🫶🏾 or don’t 😬😬😬
C/w ~ Cursing, y’all already know how I feel about my writing for this man lmao, lightly edited for now
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The raps were steady, three evenly spaced out beats that pulled Annie’s attention away from the magazine she held, over to her door.
It could only be a few people — bothering her in the middle of a Sunday and since this one was knocking like he had some sense, she already knew who stood in the hall.
Annie’s stomach dipped, the way it would’ve if she was on a roller coaster, even as a sharp “mmm” left her mouth, completely of its own volition, low and laced with attitude.
She closed her magazine slow, rising from the soft chair she’d been curled up in, nude painted toes landing on the fluffy carpet in her living room.
Annie was dressed for the lazy day it was — grey sweats wrapping around her waist and stomach like a hug, zipped up cropped jacket giving a peek of her gold belly piercing if she shifted just right. Loose week and a half old curls piled up on the top of her head, staying in place only because of the scarf she used to keep ‘em there.
She crossed the room steadily, hips moving like she was already being watched. Shoulders pushed back like she was heading into battle.
A battle of wills maybe.
Annie swung the door open, full lips parting to speak before she’d even fully set eyes on him.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was dry, tone screaming she couldn’t be bothered. Smoke on the other hand, was taking her in like he wanted to be.
The two had been neighbors for about 6 months now, his unit right across from her’s, and Smoke had seen it all. Annie leaving for work dressed in pencil skirts that fit like she’d had to fight to get ‘em on. Her stepping out in summer dresses that made him sweat worse than any heat the Delta brought. Wearing denim that hugged her like sin one day and then laid out by the pool the next, draped in lil ass swimsuits and looking like his own personal slice of heaven. Still outta all that, he prolly’ preferred this best. When she was dressed soft like comfort. At ease and sweet. Even as them brown orbs eyed him sharp.
Even when she was fronting, like he ain’t make her melt.
“From looking at that head, I can already guess what you want. The answers no.”
Smoke took his time dragging his stare from the gold the glinted in her belly button, up to her face. Took his time answering too.
When he did, his voice was low, even, teasing in a way everybody didn’t get to hear. “That’s how you answer the door for yo’ neighbors?”
“Only the ones that get on my nerves.” Her voice was sweet like sugar. Hot like spice.
“Mmm,” the sound that left Smoke’s mouth had Annie shifting. Crossing one leg in front of the other, real casual. “You know this me you talking too right? Not the other ones?”
“Oh, I know. You worse than all them.”
And in a way, he was.
Stack was…. like an irritating brother at most. He stayed in the unit above hers. And he never failed to visit the third floor so he could knock on her door — always needing to ‘borrow’ a random ingredient like sugar or salt, inviting himself to dinner whenever she cooked something good, ‘keeping her company’ when he was bored and Smoke refused to be bothered, which generally consisted of him taking up space on her couch and talking over her shows. So, irritating. And nothing Annie wasn’t used to at this point.
Therese…. her best friend who she loved like blood, just had a slight issue with boundaries. She was on the right of Annie. Still, tell this day, used the key Annie had given for emergencies to barge in whenever she wanted. Resee wasn’t gone learn, till’ she saw something she ain’t wonna see.
Cornbread…was sweet actually. Stayed on the fourth floor in the unit next to Stack’s and he definitely had more sense than the younger Moore, but damn could he talk. Especially lately, dropping by more than usual, using Annie as an excuse to be near her best friend.
Smoke wasn’t like any of them. Didn’t annoy her, or barge in unannounced, or talk her to death. Only thing Smoke did was watch her close like he was reading her soul, get her flustered like she wasn’t a grown ass woman, and make her ache, heavy and unrelenting, right in that spot between her legs.
She was a little flustered even now, with him standing there in the hall. His own pair of grey sweats riding low on his hips, white wife beater hugging his thick chest and leaving them defined arms on display. Gold chain sitting perfect against his collar bone, in a way that made her wonna grab it and tug him closer.
Annie uncrossed and then recrossed her legs as Smoke responded, “Guess that mean you ain’t miss me while I was gone then?”
Cause he had been. Gone, that is, for a couple weeks. Was always coming and going actually. Doing what? Annie didn’t know.
“You was gone?” She let her head drop to the left a little. Poked her lips out like she was thinking. “I ain’t even notice.”
“Mmm,” there went that sound again. Deep, knowing, wrapping ‘round her like a song. “Well I was. Thought about you, while I was gone too.”
Thump.
Smoke was always saying stuff like that to her. Like he meant it. Like he knew it made her heart jump in her chest. Annie shook her head, changing the subject, deflecting.
“You was thinking bout these maybe,” she brought her hands up, wiggling her fingers, nails painted the same color as her toes. “And unfortunately for you, they out of commission today.”
Annie wasn’t low. Smoke had been studying her since he’d moved in. Learning her. What it meant when she crossed her legs like that, how her voice got fake casual when she was nervous, the way she pulled away whenever he said something that made her breath stutter. She was still fighting it. That connection they had between ‘em. And Smoke was real patient. So he let her.
“You gon’ do me like that?” Smoke blinked them dark eyes at her, allowing the change in subject, hand going up to his head. “I stay loyal. Don’t let nobody else in my head. You gone leave me looking down bad?”
Thump.
He was so dramatic. Them thick brows furrowing in a way that made Annie want to smooth them out herself. And he didn’t look down bad. He actually looked…cute with his lil fro. And that’s probably exactly why he wanted it dealt with. Annie fought the way her lips started to quirk up.
“You say you staying loyal, like you doing me a favor. You can start going to an actual stylist whenever you please Smoke.”
“You the only one that do it right.”
Annie shook her head, “So who was braiding yo hair before I met you boy?”
“A mufucka who wasn’t doing it right.” His jaw was set, gaze unflinching, stubborn.
Fine.
Annie crossed her arms under her chest. Flashing the little gold moon that dangled from her belly button. Pushing her cleavage up higher than it already sat.
“You know I only do hair Wednesday and Thursday.”
“Charge me double.”
“I was relaxing Smoke.”
“Triple ‘den.”
Girl you know you want him back between yo legs. Even if it is just cause you braiding his hair.
Annie’s doe eyes narrowed.
“You probably ain’t even washed it.”
Smoke looked unashamed, “I ‘ont get it clean like you.”
Somebody passing by would think Annie’s hands were made of gold, the way Smoke talked about ‘em.
Shit if you asked Smoke, they was.
Annie let out a sigh. Like she was exasperated. With him, herself, the stutter in her chest and the steady pulse between her legs.
“Ima do it today, cause I’m feeling nice. Next time you gone make an appointment like everybody else. You ain’t special boy.”
Smoke felt special. Bent over Annie’s sink, her hands buried in his hair, body leaned forward and surrounding him with her scent — cocoa butter, vanilla, something else that was just Annie. It wasn’t really a comfortable position, and still, his shoulders dropped all the same. Tension he carried daily leaking out his body, soon as she touched him.
Annie was on his second wash. Fingers working on his scalp gentle but thorough, Jhené Aiko playing low in the background, heart mostly beating at a steady pace now.
This she could deal with. This was muscle memory. Smoke had been in her rotation of ‘clients’ for a while now, ever since he found out she did a few people’s hair on the side, and Annie knew how to work his curls. Knew the shampoo that was best for his hair, knew which places on his scalp were tender, knew how he liked it when she scratched right in that spot at the back of his head.
“Damn girl,” Smoke grunted low, lashes fluttering as her nails raked over the back of his scalp. Applying just enough pressure to be felt, but not so much that it hurt. “Missed this.”
“You act like you ain’t never got yo hair washed before.”
“Told you, ain’t never got it done like this — swear yo hands magic.”
Annie was smiling — cheeks lifting, lips curving soft. Eyes rolling in the process of all that.
“Flattery will get you nowhere Smoke.”
“Ain’t tryna go nowhere. I’m already where I wonna be.”
Thump.
Annie let the words hang between them for a beat. Like she was waiting for a follow up comment that’d ease the tension. Waiting on a laugh that wouldn’t come. Cause Smoke wasn’t playing. Never was.
And she knew that, to a certain extent. Still —
“For somebody that’s so quiet, you talk real slick.” She maneuvered her way around what he’d just said, and then, “I’m bout to rinse. Better keep them sweet words to yo self so you don’t drown.”
“If it’s by yo hand, I’ll go happily.”
That got a laugh out of her, a loud bright sound that had Smoke craving to hear more.
“You…are just as crazy as yo damn brother.”
Annie didn’t know the half.
Smoke’s hair was washed, conditioned, and now blow dried. He sat on the floor, Annie’s thighs caging him in on either side, his shoulders still relaxed as she combed through his hair.
“You need water or anything before I start braiding?”
“Nah,” Smoke shook his head. “I’m good.”
Annie’s living room was bright. Homey. A mix of browns, yellows, and creams making up her color scheme. Big fluffy chairs were on either side of her couch, a large throw blanket tossed over one of them. She had a couple pieces of art on the wall — black women painted in each frame, and fresh sun flowers sitting in a vase on her coffee table.
There was a candle burning, like always, and she’d paused her music in favor of turning on the TV mounted to her wall. Courtesy of no one other than Smoke.
Annie’s home was her comfort. Her private space to just be, and Smoke ain’t take it for granted. Being allowed to exist in it.
“Thanks for lookin’ out. Lettin’ me encroach on yo Sunday relaxation.”
“Mhm,” Annie ran her hand through his hair again. Cause she could. “You wasn’t gon’ leave me alone tell I said yes.”
“Least you know.”
Annie laughed again, tugged playful on his hair just to hear him grunt. Just to make his jaw flex.
“So, how you want it this time?”
“Howeva’. I trust you.”
It’s what he said whenever she did his hair, but she always double checked anyways.
I trust you.
Annie never took advantage of that. Made sure she kept his styles simple, but fly, how he liked. She took pride in her work. She also wanted to make sure he kept coming back to her, even when she complained about it.
“Okay, I think I got something that’d look good on you.”
As if there was anything that wouldn’t.
She started parting, ‘Girlfriends’ playing low on the TV, her breaths sinking up with Smoke.
“What you been doing while I was gone?”
Annie snorted, “The same thing I’m always doing while you gone. Working, runnin’ errands, tryna get Cornbread and Therese together.” Annie sat back, eyed her part, nodded her head in satisfaction. “I did go out the other night though. That was a lil change in routine.”
“Out?” Smoke’s head tilted, just for Annie to bring it back where she wanted it. “Wit’ who.”
It didn’t even sound like a question.
“Friends,” Annie answered casually, focused more on his hair than his tone, and Smoke’s eyes un-narrowed at her response.
“So that’s why you ain’t miss me, huh? You was too busy going out? Being grown?”
Annie huffed out a breath, “Ain’t miss you, cause you not mines to miss.”
“Could be.”
Thump.
“I’m tryna hear my show Smoke. You’re interrupting.”
“I’m interrupting? Or you jus’ don’t know what to say?”
Annie went from braiding to pulling, yanking light at his hair until his head was pulled back against her stomach. She leaned up so they were eye to eye.
“Smoke,” both her brows were raised, “I will send yo ass back across the hall with one braid in yo head.”
“Hmm,” a smile teased at his lips. “Ight, Annie. I’ll be quiet.”
She could fight it all she wanted, they was gone happen. Eventually.
For as much as she claimed not to be a professional braider, Annie moved quick. Working through his thick hair, taming the strands and getting him right. They fell into a silence that didn’t need words, the fruity scent of her candle weaving around them, Smoke’s chest rising and falling easy, always untouched from the stress of the outside world whenever he was between her thighs.
Annie’s eyes were moving, darting from the TV, to his braids, to the side of his face.
His brows were relaxed, soft looking lips parted as he breathed steadily, them long lashes he was blessed with moving in time with his slow blinks.
Thump.
Smoke looked good like this, care free. And if she slowed down on her braiding a little, just to keep him that way a bit longer, well, that wasn’t nobody’s business but hers.
“So tell me the real, you like it? Be honest, Smoke.”
Annie had just finished with the moose, peeling the durag she’d used to tie his braids down off slow, and passing him her hand held mirror after.
Smoke didn’t need to check it. Annie’s work was never not perfect. But he looked anyway. His braids were neat, scalp clean and shining, eyes low like he was high. Off her prolly.
“You know I like it,” he passed the mirror back. “Thanks for takin’ care of me Annie. Forreal.”
Thump.
He hadn’t even said anything crazy that time and her heart was doing the most.
“Yeah yeah, money talks bullshit walks,” Her voice was teasing, giving no clue to what was going on in her chest. She slid her hand over his braids one last time. “You said I could charge triple right?”
Smoke smirked. Took the hint and stood up, sturdy frame unfolding slow until he was looking down at her, where she still sat on the couch.
“You can charge whateva you want.” Shit he’d give her the entire knot in his pocket. “What’s my damage?”
“Just give me yo’ usual 150 boy,” Annie waved him off, standing up. She didn’t really need to charge extra.
Didn’t mean Smoke wasn’t gone give her extra regardless.
He pulled a thick wad of bills out his pocket, green notes folded together, waiting to be spent. And he couldn’t think of a better way to spend ‘em.
Annie didn’t blink at the amount of cash he held. Had seen it before. And it was one of the reasons she hesitated to take Smoke serious. Cause who knew what he did to make money like that.
Smoke looked down, counted off 550 in his head, and held the bills out to her with two fingers when he was done.
Annie’s brow raised, “I don’t need all that.”
“What that gotta do with me wanting to give it?”
Thump.
“You do know…money doesn’t impress me right?”
Smoke laughed, low and deep. Stepped in a little closer. “This,” he held the bills up, “is me thankin’ you for gettin’ a nigga right whenever I come back into town. For makin’ sure I ain’t never out here lookin’ crazy. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with tryna impress you Annie.” He heard the way her breath stuttered when he stepped in. So, he stepped in some more. “You stop being stubborn and let me take you to dinner, you’ll see what me tryna impress you look like.”
It was probably the fifth time he’d asked her out since he’d moved in. And every time he asked, her stomach fluttered and her pulse spiked. Even as she turned him down.
Annie’s eyes remained locked with his, head tilted up and shaking even as she took the bills he still held out. Voice light, but curious, when she spoke next, “You already know my answer is no Smoke. Why you keep asking?”
“Cause one day yo answer gone be yes.”
Smoke knew what she was feeling in her chest every time he was near. Cause he felt it too. And a feeling like that? Couldn’t be ran from forever.
Thump.
There was no doubt in his voice. No question. He sounded so sure, that Annie briefly considered he was right. Considered that one day she would fold. Regardless of the large amounts of money that had no explanation, and the random disappearing acts, and the entire mystery that was Smoke Moore in general.
She wouldn’t be folding today though.
Annie slid the bills she’d just taken into her bra. Watched the way his eyes followed her movement, before they dragged back up to hers.
“Are you done intruding on my Sunday, sir?” Her head was cocked, eyes squinted playfully, voice sweet as honey. Always changing the subject. Always dodging.
Smoke shook his head. Lips turning up, like he knew something she didn’t. “Yeah, I’ll let you get back to relaxing.”
And tomorrow he’d be right back at her door.
‘Cause Annie was stubborn. But Smoke was relentless. At least when he wanted something. And 6 months ago, Annie had become that something he wanted. And he wasn’t letting up, ‘till he got her.
👀 If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed 😬 I had a little more fun than usual writing for him this go round lol. I love Smoke and Annie downnn.
Side Note - I was originally gone write this as a Stack X Annie drabble, soooo if y’all would be interested in seeing a similar scenario with the other brother lemme know.
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@saradika-graphics on dividers 🫶🏾
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Smoke Visionaries - (I’m tagging those who asked to be tagged on my last Smoke piece. If y’all only wanted to be tagged in the possible part 2 of ‘Say Please’ instead of what is now going to be my general tag list for Smoke only, pls let me know and I’ll take y’all off the list. If y’all want to be tagged in everything let me know and I can do that too lol I be nervous tagging people 👐🏾🥹) @lizbehave @honeytoffee @partylikemajima @thebumblebeesworld @underated345-blog @og-goddesstrill @hdfen2474 @shamansha @blue4everrsworld @ladychzzcake @mmbee675
Any Sinners fans, especially Smoke/Annie fans…if you haven’t read this very lengthy fic on Ao3, why not?
It’s so incredibly well-written and 151 chapters filled with everything…romance, grief, angst, fluff, smut, family, horror, dark fantasy, magic, Hoodoo and more.
It starts in 1916 and ends in 1999 I believe, so that should say something about how Smoke & Annie end up post-Juke…but I won’t spoil it.
I’m not the author. But I have spoken to her online and I thought I’d post it on here because it’s buried under the Smoke/Annie tag on Ao3. Her work is so amazing, please go support if you haven't already!
Sinners:Before the Flame - Chapter 1 - Kay_withthevoice - Sinners (2025) [Archive of Our Own]
Sinners:Before the Flame (430203 words) by Kay_withthevoice
Chapters: 151/?
Fandom: Sinners (2025)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Annie/Elijah "Smoke" Moore, Annie & Mary (Sinners 2025), Elias "Stack" Moore & Elijah "Smoke" Moore, Annie & Elijah "Smoke" Moore, Annie & Elias "Stack" Moore, Elias "Stack" Moore/Elijah "Smoke" Moore
Characters: Annie (Sinners 2025), Elijah "Smoke" Moore, Elias "Stack" Moore, Mary (Sinners 2025), Bo Chow, Grace Chow, Sammie Moore, Cornbread (Sinners 2025), Delta Slim, Jedidiah Moore, Remmick (Sinners 2025)
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Romance, Horror, Mystery, Dark Fantasy, Magical Realism, Folklore, Hoodoo, Family Drama, Established Relationship, Vampire Bites, African-American Folklore, Marriage, Reconciliation, First Kiss, First Time, First Meetings, First Love, Magic
Summary: Beginning in the Mississippi Delta, Sinners: Before the Flame traces the harrowing, intimate journey of Annie and Elijah “Smoke” Moore—a rootworker and a war-scarred veteran bound by love, loss, and a destiny rooted in the supernatural. Our story will carry us from their first meeting in 1916 until the present.
elias "stack" Moore x Virgin! black! reader? Pleasee pookieeeeeeeeeeeeee?
🥺🥺
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honeysuckle ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ elias “stack” moore
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────
warnings
implied sexual content, but no explicit smut, still mature. childhood lovers, mentions of virginity; being a virgin. moments of longing + pining, soft obsession, possessive tenderness, romance, african american reader; black representation— reader is actually kind of sweet with a little bit of bite. takes place in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written in a southern tone.
authors’ note
wasn’t sure if this was to be a smut or not, almost made it into one. it took everything in me to stop writing just in case this was supposed to be a more pg-13 request. but let me know if you’d like a part-two continuation, smut or regular. this was actually a very cute idea. otherwise here you are. and hope you like — starliis 🐣.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────
Silk draped across skin like a secret, catchin’ the honeyed light of dusk—as if it, too, was in love with the way it moved. There was music playin’, smooth like buttermilk biscuits but still so delicate, a sound so tender that it made the soul sway without askin’, like it’d been waitin’ a lifetime for that one tune. This feeling was something only the blues could give, as it gathered folks to the old saw mill soon as the sun kissed the lake— rakin’ the sky in colors not quite of this world.
It was an end to over a thousand beginnin’s.
One of which started tonight.
From the very moment you stepped into openings of that juke joint, oozin’ confidence, glowin’ with an innocence that reminded folks of honeysuckle berries—pretty as a picture, sweet to the scent, but not meant for just any mouth to taste. People whispered, wonderin’ how someone like you was still walkin’ this world unclaimed— unmarried, yet untouchable in a way that didn’t ask for walls, just carried its own hush of reverence. It wasn’t ‘cause you wanted to be alone, but ‘cause your heart hadn’t found the right hands to open for. It’d take a certain kind of man— the kind who could hold fire without flinchin’, who’d see the softness in your strength and know not to take it for granted.
And that man lingered just past the doorway, deep in the hum of the ‘mill, waitin’, watchin’— without even knowin’ what for.
Adjustin’ the shawl sittin’ just right ‘cross the slope of your shoulders, you stepped through the threshold with blessings straight from Cornbread himself. That man—Lord, he was a trip. Let out a holler of a laugh, deep and rich from his belly, soon as he laid eyes on you. Tipped his hat gentle-like, as if his sweet wife ain’t just hosted you for supper the night before. Still, he stepped aside all proud and beamin’, holdin’ that door open wide like he ain’t seen you step out in years.
The lights was low, castin’ a soft, golden hush ‘cross the room like honey poured slow. Folks was gathered tight—dancin’, playin’ cards, laughin’ loud, flirtin’ louder. The air smelt of battered fish and temptation, fried crisp in old grease and sweet talk. It was a sight, no doubt. A joint made just for y’all—your kinfolk, your people; brothers, sisters, cousins by blood or by bond.
Since this mornin’, there had been rumors running ‘round town— just some hush talk ‘bout how the Smokestack Twins rolled back into Southern Mississippi, pockets heavy, strings pulled tight like fiddle wire. They’d been spewing something ‘bout bringing a place like this to life. Them boys brought it to life, alright. Though, it hurt havin’ to find out from a friend instead of them, themselves. But that’s just the lay of the land, ain’t it? Smoke probably ran off to scoop up Annie first chance he got, and Stack—well, who even knew where that man drifted off to.
But it was never Smoke you itched to see.
It was always Elias Moore—though the whole neighborhood knew him in the streets as Stack—that your heart leaned toward.
That man was born for trouble, carved from it, even. And you’d known him near half your life. Him and his twin, both wild as a brushfire with a bottle of moonshine. And you? You were the still water they never could settle on. Didn’t make sense to folks, but y’all fit like dusk slippin’ over a quiet lake. Still, truth be told—your feelin’s for the feistier twin ran deeper than any friendship had a right to. He was all fire and fury, that one. All restless hands and reckless love. And Lord help you, you loved every damn flicker of it. The way he burned for life, for loyalty, for his people—it pulled at somethin’ deep in you. Made your chest ache in a way that felt more like a hymn than hurt. But he was untouchable. And if we bein’ honest? So were you.
Two souls built up like fortresses, darlin’. And nobody ever figured how to climb ‘em. Not that it mattered, in the end. On a summer so hot the air felt like molasses, they up and vanished. Gone. Just like that. It’s been six, maybe seven years now. Not a letter. Not a whisper. Just silence and longing because of course you missed him. But you understood. And now—he’s back.
Glancing ‘round the room slow, you take it all in, then make your way to the bar. A smile pulls at your lips soon as you see Annie behind it, servin’ up drinks with that sweet-as-peach-pie grin.
“Care to tell me why your fine ass is slavin’ behind that counter ‘stead of two-steppin’ with me out on the floor?” Your voice cut through the music, teasing warm and easy, as you leaned your elbow on the bar.
The lights caught the gloss of Annie’s smile before she let out a laugh—rich, familiar, and just what your heart needed. She wiped her hands on a towel, tossin’ it to the side before steppin’ ‘round the counter and pullin’ you into a long, bone-deep hug. Now this woman right here—was the perfect picture of beauty, grace, sugar and strength wrapped up in soft curves and a quiet fire. Y’all had history, marked by years of walks that lasted through different points in life. She was family, at this point, in every way that mattered.
She sighed against your shoulder, voice tinged with affection and just a lil’ irritation.
“Mm. You know how Smoke is—,” she drawled, rollin’ her eyes as she stepped back. “That man could talk me into doin’ just ‘bout anything.”
“Well, he’d better find someone to cover your shift in the next hour or so. I need my dance partner—,” you give her a subtle wink, that was playful and bright.
She gave you a look then—one of those deep, sister-to-sister kind of looks that went right past the surface.
“Now you know damn well you ain’t here for me.”
Lifting a brow, your lips part into a real lazy grin. It was a habit you’d had since forever—an innocent lil’ signal, sugar-slick and practiced, that let her know you were ‘bout to steer the ship elsewhere. You’d lean in just so, flash that warm smile, and ask somethin’ simple with just enough charm to muddy the waters.
It was your tell.
Annie knew it well.
And bless it, you’d perfected it over the years—not with malice, no—but in that sweet, syrupy way of yours. A master manipulator dressed in Sunday best, all honeyed tone and doe eyes. You never lied, not outright; just tucked the truth beneath pretty words and well-timed distractions.
“And who am I here for, then?”
That’s when she gave you the look. The kind that went diggin’ deep, tryin’ to pull the truth right up outta your chest ‘fore you even had the chance to swallow it back down. A look that didn’t ask—it told. Told you to quit runnin’, quit pretendin’, quit actin’ like your heart wasn’t sittin’ up in flames every time his name floated through the air. She knew your tricks ‘cause she had a few of her own. Annie wasn’t the type to stir a pot unless it needed stirrin’, but when she did, it was hot.
“Elijah’s crazy-ass brother—,” she said, voice soft but firm, steady like gospel. “You can’t run from him in his own damn joint. So you must be plannin’ to see ‘em.”
Turnin’ your gaze away, your jaw tightenin’ just a little like it always did when the truth tried to edge past your teeth. “I’m not actively checkin’ for him, if that’s what you’re sayin’.”
“[Name]—,” her voice dipped low, heavy with the weight of things that never quite made it out loud.
She knew.
Knew how your heart beat different for Elias “Stack” Moore. Knew how you’d kept yourself still while he moved like a storm—takin’ what he needed from the world and from women who weren’t you. She saw how you carried that ache quiet-like, like it was holy. Savin’ yourself for a man who ain’t never been good at sittin’ still long enough to love right. Maskin’ the whole damn thing behind a false comfort of companionship—safe, easy, pretendin’. And she hated it. Hated seein’ the tension live in your bones.
But maybe—just maybe—you weren’t ready yet.
So you cleared your throat, choked back the ache that clawed at your chest, and threw on that sweet-as-sugar smile like armor.
“Now—,” you said, leanin’ in with that familiar sparkle, the one that always meant a subject was slippin’ away, “Which one of these beers you recommend for a girl like me? Somethin’ cold, somethin’ sweet. Maybe even a little somethin’ bold.”
Before Annie could answer, a voice smooth as bourbon and twice as dangerous curled into your ear from just behind.
“Ain’t a beer in this world bold ‘nough for you, baby,” came that deep, smirkin’ drawl, warm with amusement. It was a voice you’d know from anywhere. “But an Irish whiskey—” he added, with a chuckle so hot it near scorched skin. “Oughta do.”
Emergin’ from behind the counter was a dangerously charmin’ man, drippin’ with the kind of presence that could melt the buttons off a blouse. He walked like he owned every inch of the path beneath him—bold, unbothered, and burnin’ with that slow, magnetic energy women whispered about behind hand fans.
His skin, rich as dark honey, caught the light just right—chocolate brown with a warm glow that made his sharp eyes look even sweeter. Those eyes, same shade, cut clean through the hush of the room. His lips were soft lookin’, full and kissable, sittin’ beneath a foxy grin that flashed gold with every sly smile. Dressed in a fitted black and maroon suit that barely held back the muscle stretchin’ underneath, he looked like he belonged in this juke joint or in someone’s wicked dreams. With a smooth flick of his wrist, he tugged his fedora off and dipped his head toward you in quiet respect, though the look on his face was somethin’ you couldn’t quite place—teasin’, maybe. Or yearnin’. And Lord, was he achin’ to be closer.
Quickly, you looked toward Annie, eyes wide and beggin’—screamin’ help me, please without sayin’ a word. But that woman? She just smiled, real slow and real pretty, like she’d been waitin’ on this moment all night. She didn’t say nothin’. Just slid that open Irish Whiskey across the counter with a grace that almost felt cruel, the glass catchin’ the light like it knew somethin’ you didn’t. Then she turned, hips swayin’, and went on to tend to the next group with that same sweet charm—leavin’ you sittin’ there, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and that fire-burnin’ voice still lingerin’ behind you.
“Stack.”
The name fell from your lips like a stone in still water—sharp, sudden, and heavy with meaning. It rolled up from the back of your throat, hangin’ somewhere between heartache, heat, and pure anger. Just layin’ eyes on the curve of his mouth made the air shift—like time hadn’t moved at all since he left. Like he hadn’t just set fire to your peace by walkin’ in and breathin’ easy. This man definitely holds weight with women.
“Darlin’,” he drawled low, eyes trailin’ the curve of your body, takin’ in how the silk of your dress clung to the swell of your hips, your breast. He looked at you like he was entitled to every inch—and maybe he was.
“Thought ya’ll be gone for good.”
Stack let out a low chuckle, one of them deep rumbles that started somewhere in his chest and rolled up like thunder on a warm night. The toothpick in his mouth tilted with the movement, slow ‘nd steady, like he had all the time in the damn world.
“Yeah. Well—,” he let his eyes narrow. “We back now.”
“Was you ever plannin’ on tellin’ me ’bout all this?”
“Didn’t figure you’d care t’know,” he drawled, eyes half-lidded, voice slick as river mud. Ain’t a man alive could talk slicker than him. That mouth of his? Sharp as a whip—smart-assed and silver-tongued, made damn near perfect for dealin’ with women who had fire in their chest and bite in their words.
With a scoff, you looked away, jaw twitchin’ hard enough to crack.
“Why is you playin’ with me right now, Stack? Actin’ like you ain’t just leave me hangin’, missin’ you like a damn fool.”
He stepped in closer—slow, sure. He is a man who ain’t never needed permission. Close enough for his scent to catch you off guard—cedarwood, salt, and straight-up sin. That same smell used to haunt your sheets, when he spent the night, long after he was gone. Those days were different—felt slower, softer somehow. Y’all spent so much time together, just time. Nothin’ more than that. No sex, no touchin’ in ways that meant somethin’. Just a couple kisses here and there, and one damn near breath-stealin’ make-out that almost had him takin’ your virginity… ‘til he pulled back, jaw tight like it hurt him to stop.
The both of you knew what it was—what it coulda’ been. But y’all were too damn stubborn to call it by its name.
“Lower your fuckin’ voice,” he said, slow and flat, a warning dressed in velvet.
“M’not lowerin’ shit,” you snapped, breath catchin’, your voice tremblin’ beneath all that salt you been carryin’. “I waited. I cried. You ain’t write. Ain’t call. One day you here, the next you gone. And now you show up like nothin’ happened.“
Stack tilted his head just a hair, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You done?” he asked, voice slick as oil and warm as hellfire.
The audacity of this nigga.
“Fuck you—,” your hand flew for the bottle sittin’ right on the edge of the counter, glass catchin’ that soft kitchen light. Then you turned, ready to walk.
But Stack wasn’t lettin’ you.
He pulled you back with one hand—quick but careful, like he’d done it before in a dream he hadn’t told nobody about. His gaze dropped to your lips, slow, draggin’ down the shape of them like he was memorizing every word you’d ever dared throw at him. Then his hand moved—fingers curlin’ ’round your neck, not harsh, but firm enough to shut the whole damn world up. His other hand slid down your back, palm pressin’ to your spine, bringin’ you up against him ’til nothin’ stood between you but heat, history, and a tension that could knock the wind outta’ the devil himself.
“You gon’ watch how the fuck you talk to me, swee’heart,” he said low, breath fannin’ your cheek. “I ain’t one of these soft-ass niggas lettin’ you bark and bite just ‘cause you miss me.”
“You talkin’—,” you swallowed hard, chest tight, tears burnin’ the back of your throat. “But at least them ‘soft-ass niggas’ give me what I want.”
His jaw locked.
“The fuck is you—,” he paused, grip tightenin’ just enough to make your breath catch again, not from pain but from pressure; power. Then it hit him, and his whole body stilled. “You went ’n gave this pussy to some other nigga?”
“What would it matter to you?”
“I step out the picture for one damn minute—,” he growled, voice low and rough as gravel, “and you go ’n let some other man take what was ‘posed to be mine… in the bed I built for you?”
Your thighs pressed together without meanin’ to.
He saw. Of course he fuckin’ saw.
“You know I didn’t—,” you whispered, finally. “But I’m tired, Elias. I’m tired of actin’ like I’m cool with you layin’ with whoever, while I’m sittin’ here waitin’. I ain’t touched nobody—not one man. But I feel it. This… want in me. And I don’t know what to do with it. I just wanna know what it feels like to be held. Touched. Loved like I mean somethin’.”
Stack just stared at you, jaw tight, breath shallow.
“M’tryin’ to be patient,” he finally said, voice low, edged in steel. “But don’t play yourself, baby. You mine. Always been. I just ain’t touched you yet.”
“I don’t want you to be patient,” you said, voice quiverin’. “I want you to stop runnin’ and be with me.”
His eyes flared. The air went still. It’s been seven years. Seven long, quiet years. And still, your heart’s been reachin’ for him—soft and stubborn, never quite have learned how to let go. You done loved that man from a distance, like he was somethin’ sacred you couldn’t touch no more… only feel when the nights got too still and your chest got too full.
“You don’t know what you askin’ for,” he rasped, jaw clenched like it was the only thing keepin’ him from doin’ somethin’ reckless.
“I do know,” you shot back, eyes gleamin’ wit’ fire; attitude coming back. “I wouldn’t’ve said it if I ain’t know.”
His fingers twitched. His thumb brushed under your jaw, tender, but heavy with the weight of every look he’d ever thrown your way. His other hand didn’t leave your back—it pressed in harder, pullin’ you tighter, like he could make you part of him if he just held you close enough.
“That mouth gon’ get you in trouble,” he whispered, voice honeyed with heat. “’Cause I swear ‘fore God, I’ll fuck the attitude straight outta’ you.”
“Take too long and M’gone find someone else.”
His eyes darkened, nostrils flarin’.
“Don’t go gettin’ a nigga killed bein’ petty,” he warned, voice low, almost lazy—but there was heat in it, simmerin’ just beneath. Then he leaned in—as if he had all the time in the world. His lips hovered over yours, not kissin’, just breathin’ you in—a promise and a threat wrapped up in one shaky breath.
“But that day’s comin’,” he murmured, deep and sure. His hand slid down to your waist, firm and possessive. “And when it do—,” he paused—eyes locked on yours, jaw tight. “You gon’ take every inch of me.”
I do have a request. The prompt is Stack messed up and now he’s essentially on his hands and knees begging for his girl to come back to him. And maybe things take a turn when she continues to ignore him and he sees her on a date with another man and the makeup sex is superrrrr possessive and adoring 🫠
You Ain’t Leaving Me Twice
Pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Female OC (Noelle)
Summary: Stack fucked up — bad enough to make Noelle walk. Two weeks later, he sees her out on a date with another man and loses what little self-control he has left. He shows up on her doorstep full of jealousy, desperation, and a mouthful of apologies. But Noelle isn’t making it easy for him. She lays out her rules, and he tries — really tries — to follow them. One week of sexual tension and self-restraint later… he snaps. The makeup sex is possessive, adoring, and almost redemptive — almost. But just when things seem calm again, Noelle wakes up and notices something. Something late. Something life-changing.
Warnings: heavy sexual content, rough language, praise kink, oral (f receiving), possessive/jealous behavior, intense emotional themes, post-infidelity angst, reference to unprotected sex, cliffhanger.
Two Weeks Ago
The apartment was dark but loud.
Clothes on the floor. A glass shattered near the couch. Stack’s voice filled the space like smoke, thick, foul, unable to escape.
“You really gon’ do this shit right now?”
“Don’t flip this on me, Elias—”
“Man, don’t call me that like you don’t fuckin’ know me—”
Noelle’s coat was half-on. She looked like a storm with legs, lashes wet, lip trembling, hands shaking, but not weak. Her keys jangled in her grip. She wasn’t bluffing. Not this time.
Stack stood in front of the door, shirtless, breathing hard. Eyes bloodshot. His hair wild, sweat on his chest. The kind of man who’d just come back from a fight, or maybe just started one.
“You lied to my face, Stack.”
Her voice didn’t crack. That made it worse. She didn’t scream. She didn’t sob. She didn’t need to, and that calm shattered him worse than any broken glass could.
“It wasn’t even like that—”
“It was exactly like that. You fucked her. And then came home to me like it was nothing.”
Silence.
He couldn’t lie his way out. Not when the lipstick was still on the back of his neck. Not when her perfume didn’t match Noelle’s. Not when the guilt had already soaked into his skin.
“You don’t get to love me like this,” she whispered. “Not if you’re gonna destroy me to do it.”
She moved past him.
He didn’t grab her. He didn’t beg.
But his mouth opened like it wanted to. Like the words were stuck between pride and regret.
Noelle paused at the door, back still to him.
“Stack, I would’ve given you everything.”
And then she left.
And that silence? That silence didn’t leave with her.
Two Weeks Later
Stack didn’t plan to see her that night.
He wasn’t the type to haunt restaurants or peek through windows like a cliché, but he was the type to spiral, to roam the city like it owed him something. Cigarette behind his ear, jaw locked, hoodie half-zipped over a white tank. His kicks hit the pavement like punctuation marks. Aimless. Restless. Still smelling like the cologne she used to steal off his dresser.
The street was lit up, Friday night energy. Laughter spilling out of patios, the clink of glasses, heels tapping like applause. He hated it. Too bright. Too happy. Too fucking loud for a man unraveling.
And then—
He saw her.
Through the window of some sleek little restaurant downtown. One of those places she used to scroll past, saying, “We should try that next time.”
There she was.
Noelle.
Hair pulled back in soft waves. Gold hoops brushing her jaw. A tight sage green dress hugging her curves like a secret whispered against skin. That laugh, his laugh, the one she used to bury in his neck, danced across the glass and slapped him dead in the chest.
She looked… free.
And she wasn’t alone.
The man across from her was clean-cut. Dark skinned, fresh fade, one of those polite smiles that said all the right things. No chains. No tattoos. Nothing dangerous about him, just safe. Boring.
But Stack’s blood boiled anyway.
Who the fuck is this soft-palmed, Trader Joe’s-ass motherfucker touching what’s mine?
He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move.
His fists curled. That possessive twitch hit his jaw. His heart was galloping behind his ribs, but his feet were nailed to the ground.
She leaned in.
The man said something. She laughed again.
Then her hand brushed the man’s arm.
Stack’s vision went red.
Two fucking weeks. That’s all it took? Two weeks and she out here flirting like she ain’t just ripped his soul out?
He took a step forward before he could stop himself. His reflection in the glass looked deranged, lips parted, eyes burning, fists clenched at his sides. Like a shadow ghosted in from the street.
Inside, she looked up. Froze.
She saw him.
And for a heartbeat, her smile faltered. Her lips parted like she might say something. Like maybe she still felt him. Like maybe—
She blinked. Turned back to her date.
Didn’t even acknowledge him.
And that?
That broke Stack open.
The dinner didn’t last long.
Maybe two hours. Stack didn’t count minutes; he counted touches. How many times has Noelle leaned in? How many times did that weak-ass date laugh at his own jokes like he deserved her? How many fucking times has she let herself smile like Stack hadn’t been bleeding out for fourteen days straight?
He stayed in the shadows. Hood pulled low. Smoke curled from his lips, but he didn’t even remember lighting the blunt. Didn’t taste it. Didn’t blink.
She walked out first, coat slung over her arm, clutch in hand. The man followed behind, all confidence and cologne, the kind of guy who opened car doors and probably asked if she journaled. Stack didn’t give a damn.
She ain’t laughing no more.
Her face was still, unreadable as they stood outside. Her date leaned in. Said something close to her ear.
She didn’t pull back.
But she didn’t lean in either.
Then she stepped away. Said something soft. Shook her head. A smile, but distant. Thank you, but no. Not tonight.
Damn right, Stack thought, fists clenched in his hoodie pockets. Ain’t nobody gettin’ that but me.
She walked off. Alone.
And like smoke, he moved with her.
From a distance. Half a block behind. Footsteps silent, careful. His eyes never left her the way her hips moved, the way her curls bounced with each step, the way she paused at the crosswalk like she knew she was being watched… but didn’t flinch.
She lived just off the main strip. Brick walk-up, second floor. The same place she kicked him out of two weeks ago, his toothbrush still in the damn bathroom.
She climbed the stairs.
Stack stood at the edge of the alley, watching.
She unlocked the door. Stepped inside. Closed it behind her.
And he stood there in the dark.
Frozen.
Rage, lust, regret, they all crawled up his spine like a fever. His heart pounded. His throat burned. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t tasted her, hadn’t been inside her since she walked out, and now she was twenty goddamn feet away.
He didn’t knock. Not yet.
He needed a second.
To think.
To breathe.
To figure out how the fuck he was gonna walk in there and—
No.
He wasn’t walking. He was begging.
Because Noelle wasn’t just some girl he could throw dick and apologies at. She made him work for her. Made him question himself. Made him want to be worth the love she gave.
So he stepped out of the shadows.
Crossed the street.
Climbed those stairs.
And knocked.
The knock was hard enough to rattle the frame.
Not polite. Not patient. Just two solid bangs, his signature.
Noelle opened the door without looking through the peephole. Her instincts were still soft in places she hadn’t hardened against him yet.
And there he was.
Stack.
Hood up. Eyes wild. Mouth twisted like he’d bitten down on a bullet. His chest rose fast under that zip-up, shoulders twitching like he was holding something back barely.
“The fuck was that, Noelle?”
His voice came out low and broken, rougher than gravel, but loud. Not yelling. Just too big for her hallway.
She blinked. Didn’t open the door wider. Didn’t step back either.
“Stack, you need to go.”
“Nah. Fuck that.”
“You need to go.”
“I need answers, ma. The fuck you doin’ lettin’ some corny-ass, off-brand State Farm nigga touch on you like I ain’t still breathin’?”
Her brows lifted, unimpressed.
“You followed me?”
“Damn right I did. You think you can sit across from some man like that and laugh like it don’t gut me? Like I ain’t—”
He stopped himself. Jaw clenched.
She folded her arms. “You cheated on me, Stack. That wasn’t a mistake, that was a choice. You chose to risk me.”
“And I’m here tryin’ to unchoose it!”
His voice cracked, just slightly. Enough for her to blink. Enough for her to hesitate. And he saw it. Pounced on it.
“I ain’t slept. I ain’t eaten. You hear me? Two fuckin’ weeks, Noelle. My chest been hollow since you left. Shit don’t taste right. Music don’t hit. I see you everywhere. In every room. On my fuckin’ skin.”
She exhaled slow. Soft.
But Stack wasn’t soft tonight.
“And you out here dressin’ like sin, givin’ my smile to some random ass Tinder nigga like I ain’t still dyin’ behind your name.”
He stepped in closer. She didn’t move.
“You tryna punish me? That it? You want me on my knees? Beggin’? ‘Cause I’ll do that shit. But don’t pretend like you don’t miss me, too.”
He dropped his hood. Eyes locked on hers.
“I saw the way you looked at me. At the window.”
Noelle’s throat worked, but she didn’t speak.
“You still mine.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a plea.
It was a truth, broken and ugly, but sacred all the same.
She didn’t answer.
But she opened the door wider.
And Stack walked in like a man crossing into church with blood on his hands.
As soon as the door shut behind him, the air changed.
The apartment was the same, same couch, same soft lamp glow, same faint vanilla scent clinging to the air, but Stack wasn’t. He stood there like he didn’t deserve to breathe inside her space. Like every step felt borrowed.
Noelle crossed her arms again, leaning back against the wall.
“Say what you need to say, Stack. Because you’re not staying.”
That hit him square in the chest.
His jaw flexed once. Twice. A storm trying not to break.
“Aight,” he said quietly. “Bet. Then listen.”
He moved closer, not touching, not crowding. Just close enough for her to see how wrecked he really was.
“You think I don’t know I fucked up? You think I don’t wake up every day wishin’ I could rip that night out the timeline?”
Noelle’s face gave nothing.
“You hurt me,” she whispered.
Stack’s breath hitched.
Not dramatically, just enough for his shoulders to sag like someone cut a cord inside him.
“I know,” he said, voice raw. “I know, a’ight? And I ain’t askin’ you to pretend it didn’t happen. I’m askin’ you to look at me and see I’m tryin’. I’m hurtin’ behind it.”
She looked away.
He stepped in again, still not touching. Just anchoring himself in her presence.
“Noelle… I can’t lose you.”
Her eyes lifted to his, steady. “You already did.”
That almost dropped him.
Stack swallowed hard, staring at her like she was the last bit of oxygen in the room.
“Nah. Nah, don’t say it like that. Not like I’m just supposed to accept it.”
“That’s the problem, Stack. You think you’re entitled to me.”
“I ain’t entitled,” he snapped, voice cracking mid-syllable. “I’m in love with you.”
The silence after that was heavy.
He dragged both hands over his face and then down to his chest like he needed to hold himself together.
“I been walkin’ around for two weeks feelin’ like I’m missin’ a lung. Like, like you took my damn heartbeat with you. And then I see you tonight…”
He laughed bitterly, breathless.
“Smilin’ at some man who ain’t never gon’ know how you like your neck kissed or the way you hum when you’re fallin’ asleep or how you get quiet when somethin’ actually hurt you.”
Noelle’s lips parted.
A tiny breath. That was it.
But he saw it.
“I know you still feel me,” he whispered.
She looked away again.
Stack moved to kneel, then stopped halfway down, hands shaking.
Not touching her.
Just… sinking.
“I’m not askin’ for forgiveness yet,” he said softly. “I’m askin’ for a chance to earn it.”
His head hung.
Breathing uneven.
Shoulders trembling with everything he’d been holding in.
“Tell me how,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need from me… and I’ll do every fuckin’ piece of it.”
Noelle stared at him, this man who never bowed for anyone, who would rather burn a room down than bend, and now he was kneeling on her hardwood floor, looking up at her like she was salvation and punishment wrapped in one.
She stared at him for a long moment.
Stack on the floor. Hands flexing useless in his lap. Sweat beading at his hairline. Chest rising like he’d just run miles with regret strapped to his back.
And when she finally spoke, her voice was low. Unforgiving. Steady like truth.
“You wanna earn me back?”
He nodded once, fast.
“Then listen closely.”
Stack’s head lifted, eyes locked on hers.
“No more ‘I love you’ until I say it first.”
His mouth opened, then shut again. Jaw clenched so tight it ticked in the corners.
“You don’t get to toss that word around like a damn lifeline anymore. You broke what it meant. So you wait.”
He nodded. Silent. Swallowing it.
“You don’t touch me without permission.”
That one hit him hard. He flinched like the words were fists.
“If you wanna hold me, kiss me, lay up under me… you ask. You wait. You earn that space again. You do not take.”
Stack’s gaze dropped, shame bleeding into his features, but she wasn’t done.
“And no sex.”
His breath caught.
“What?”
“No sex, Elias. Not until I want it. Not until I trust that you want me, not just my body, not just the power, not the rush. Me. Whole.”
He shook his head slowly, lips parted. Like the idea physically hurt him.
“You serious right now?”
“Dead,” she said. “You said you’d do anything, right?”
He looked up. Eyes glassy. Chin trembling like he was biting back a scream.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “I meant it.”
“Then start here.”
Silence.
He didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Just sat on her floor, fire dying behind his eyes, replaced with something quieter. Something that might’ve looked like devotion if it wasn’t buried under so much guilt.
“Okay,” he said finally. Voice barely there. “Okay, Noelle. Whatever you need.”
She stood tall, staring down at the man who used to be a storm in her life, now reduced to a shadow with his heart in his hands.
“We’ll see.”
Then she walked past him.
Left him on the floor.
Didn’t even invite him to stay the night.
One Week Later
Stack had never hated a pair of satin shorts more in his life.
Noelle walked around the apartment like temptation incarnate, robe loose, hair wrapped, lip gloss shining even when she said she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d lean over the counter just a little too far. Brush past him with a smirk. Stretch in front of the mirror, knowing damn well he was watching like a starving dog behind a locked gate.
And Stack?
He was suffering beautifully.
“You want juice?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? You look thirsty.”
She’d said that one with a wink.
Left him in the kitchen staring into the fridge like it held answers to prayers he’d long since stopped whispering.
Every night, same game.
She’d sleep in the bed. He’d take the couch.
Even when she offered him the floor of the bedroom — “if you’re gonna suffer, at least do it on carpet.”
Even then… he didn’t move.
But tonight?
Tonight broke him.
Noelle had come home late. Smelled like perfume and outside air. Tight little black dress under her coat. Stack didn’t ask where she’d been. Didn’t even let his jealousy rise; he didn’t have the right.
But when she walked past him, her perfume flooding his lungs, her hip brushing his thigh where he sat on the couch?
He snapped.
Quietly. Completely.
She was in her room, pulling off earrings in the mirror, when she heard the door creak open.
Noelle caught his reflection first, hooded eyes, clenched jaw, chest rising like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“Stack—”
“Tell me to stop.”
His voice was deep. Hollow. Broken open.
“Tell me to turn the fuck around and go lay back on that damn couch. I will.”
He took one step closer.
Then another.
“But if you don’t… I swear to God, Noelle—”
“You think you’ve earned this?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
“Not yet. But I need you.”
Another step. They were inches apart now.
“I need to show you who the fuck I am without the lies. Without the ego. Without the bullshit.”
His hand hovered near her waist, not touching. Just trembling there.
“Let me worship you.”
Her lips parted.
Eyes soft. Still unreadable. Still quiet.
But she didn’t say no.
Didn’t move.
And Stack?
Stack took that as holy permission.
He didn’t kiss her.
He devoured her.
Mouth to hers like he was tasting salvation. Like her lips were the last thing between him and the void. His hands were everywhere, cupping her face, sliding around her neck, gripping her waist like he was scared she’d disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough.
“You’re mine,” he whispered against her mouth. “Still. Always. Mine.”
He lifted her like she weighed nothing. Laid her out on the bed so gently it made her breath hitch. And then?
He got on his knees.
Right there, between her thighs.
“Say you missed me.”
“Stack—”
“Say it, Noelle.”
Her breath shook.
“I missed you.”
That was all he needed.
The second she whispered “I missed you,” Stack broke.
Not slow. Not sweet.
He shoved her thighs open like reverence had turned to hunger, palms sliding under her dress with rough, shaking fingers. His mouth was already at her neck, breathing heat into her skin as his voice dropped, low and reverent, obsessed.
“I knew it. I fuckin’ knew you still needed me.”
His hands were on her everywhere, dragging her dress up to her waist, lips brushing her jaw, tongue sliding down to suck bruises into her collarbone. Noelle gasped, her back arching, and he groaned at the sound like it hurt him.
“You know how many nights I laid up jerkin’ off to the memory of this pussy?”
“Couldn’t even nut right. Shit didn’t hit without you under me, makin’ those sounds.”
He kissed down her chest, dragging her bra down without finesse — just desperate need. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, hand gripping the other like he was grounding himself. She moaned, threading her fingers into his hair, and that only made him rougher — flicking his tongue over her until she whimpered.
“That’s it, baby,” he breathed. “Lemme hear it. I’ll give you everything tonight.”
He kissed down her stomach, down to her thighs, eyes dark, mouth wet, voice wrecked.
“Gon’ eat this pussy like it’s the only meal I got left.”
And he did.
Dropped to his stomach between her legs and devoured her like she was salvation, soaked in sweetness. Loud, wet tongue strokes, groaning into her, holding her thighs wide open while he sucked her clit slowly at first, then faster when her hips bucked.
“Taste so fuckin’ good… shit, I missed you. Missed this mouthful.”
Noelle’s head rolled back. One hand in his curls, the other clutching the sheets. Her thighs started to tremble, and that was his cue. He slid two fingers into her, crooked just right, sucking her clit like he was tryna pull her soul out through it.
“Cum for me, baby. Give it to me. C’mon, don’t make me beg again.”
She shattered.
Shook through it, cried out, legs locking around his shoulders, but Stack didn’t stop.
He ate through her orgasm, moaning into her like a man possessed.
And when he pulled back, his mouth and chin were dripping, his eyes gone dark with need.
“You think I’m done? Nah… nah, you not done.”
He stripped down in seconds, shirt, pants, briefs flung like trash.
His dick slapped against his stomach, thick, veiny, angry hard. He climbed over her, chest heaving.
“You still wet?” he asked, rubbing the head against her slit. “Still open for me?”
She gasped.
He slid in, deep, slow, deliberate until he bottomed out, both of them moaning.
“Fuck. Fuck. This pussy still mine.”
He rocked into her with slow, deep, dragging thrusts that made her claw at his back. Then faster. Harder. The bed squeaked. Headboard tapped the wall.
“Say it,” he growled.
“S-Stack—”
“Say. It.”
“It’s yours—!”
“Damn right.”
He leaned down, forehead to hers, fucking her deep enough to rearrange the silence they’d been living in.
“I ain’t never lettin’ you go again. You hear me? Nobody touches you. Nobody sees you like this but me.”
She came again. Harder. Gasping his name like prayer.
He didn’t stop.
Kept going.
Whispered filth and praise between every thrust:
“So beautiful…”
“You’re perfect, baby, you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry…”
“Gon’ put a ring on you. Put a baby in you. Put my whole life on your skin if you let me.”
And when he finally came, it was with a growl, deep and cracked like her name had torn straight out of his chest.
He collapsed over her. Still inside. Still holding her like she’d vanish.
And then, in the silence, he kissed her cheek. Her jaw. Her shoulder.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ this right,” he whispered. “Swear to God.”
They didn’t speak for a long time.
The room was warm with sweat and candlelight, the air thick with sex and silence. Stack lay on top of her, heavy and trembling, his chest pressed to hers, arms locked around her like she might float away if he let go.
Noelle’s fingers dragged lazy circles across his back. Soft. Thoughtful. Her other hand rested against his buzzed fade, fingertips scratching gently at his scalp. He melted under it.
“Still breathin’,” she murmured.
Stack huffed a laugh against her collarbone.
“Barely.”
She didn’t laugh. Just breathed slow and steady under him.
His lips brushed her shoulder again. Then lower. Kiss after kiss. Not hungry this time, just soft. Almost reverent. Like he was reminding himself she was real.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
He nodded against her skin. Then lifted his head just enough to look at her.
Eyes red. Jaw slack. Vulnerable in a way no one else ever saw.
“I meant everything I said,” he murmured.
“I know.”
“I ain’t perfect. I’m probably gon’ fuck up again, but not like that. Never again like that.”
“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why you’re still here.”
He laid his head back down. Arms tightening around her hips.
“I wanna be here forever.”
“We’ll see.”
She kissed his temple. That was the only answer he got.
But it was more than enough.
He stayed inside her.
Still hard, still softening, still overwhelmed.
Didn’t move, didn’t want to. His hips occasionally rocked, slow little pulses just to keep her close. Just to stay in her.
“You tryna start again?” she asked with a half-smile.
“Mm-mm,” he mumbled. “I just… like bein’ home.”
Noelle didn’t reply. She just stroked his back again. And again. Until he was half-asleep, holding her like a lifeline.
“Stack?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever make me walk away from you again.”
He lifted his head one more time, eyes soft, voice hoarse.
“You got my word.”
The sun crept in soft and golden.
Noelle woke before him, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and Elias. Her body ached in the best way, thighs still trembling faintly when she stretched. She looked over at him.
He was still asleep.
Mouth parted. Arm thrown across her side, like even in sleep, he couldn’t let go. His face was softer, like this, younger, quieter. The kind of softness he never showed when he was awake. She slid out from under his arm, careful not to wake him.
In the kitchen, the silence felt different.
Still heavy. But not with tension, with something else. Something she couldn’t name.
She opened the fridge, grabbed a cold water bottle, twisted the cap, and took a long sip.
And then, as she closed the door —
She saw the calendar.
Right there.
Magneted to the fridge.
The little red dot she’d marked for her period?
Five days ago.
She stared at it.
Her mind didn’t race.
It stopped.
Noelle stood frozen, bottle sweating in her hand, lips parted. Then, calmly, with that same quiet control she’d been holding for weeks — she turned, walked to the bathroom, and opened the drawer under the sink.
The box was still there.
One test left.
She unwrapped it. Sat down. Did what she had to do.
Then set it on the counter.
And waited.
Time slowed.
She didn’t pace. Didn’t breathe too fast. Just stood there in her robe, bare feet against tile, eyes fixed on that little plastic window like it had the power to rewrite her future.
Behind her…
The bed creaked.
She didn’t turn.
Footsteps. Slow.
Then a voice — low, raspy, confused.
“Noelle…?”
She closed her eyes.
He was in the doorway now. Shirtless. Eyes still swollen from sleep. Hand dragging over his face. And then… he saw what she was staring at.
“What’s that?”
Silence.
He looked from the test… to her.
“Noelle—”
She turned her head slowly. Just enough to look him in the eye.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which two twin gangsters return home after years in Chicago, to 2003 Jackson, Mississippi. Only to find that the chubby, brace-faced tomboy from across the street has grown into a woman they can’t ignore.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - drug use, swearing
𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - something short because I literally have five other Smoke and Stack fics cooking in my drafts
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,178+
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˖°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢
It always started with noise. Summer in Mississippi wasn’t just heat and humidity—it was loud. Between the swatting screen doors, the bugs flying, kids playing double dutch with mismatched ropes, and the rickety hum of box fans, it was hard to hear yourself think. But for young Juicy, the noise was a comfort… until it wasn’t.
Back in ‘95, Juicy was about eleven, braces still fresh, glasses sliding down her nose every five minutes, and dressed in a floral pattered dress that matches her sisters, though hers fit her more boxier than it did on the older girl. But she didn’t care much about appearances, and it didn’t help that her mama always compared her to her older sister, Sinclair, thin and pretty like the girls in those Jet beauty ads or the ones on the perm boxes. “If only you laid off them pork chops,” was her mama’s idea of encouragement. Her daddy didn’t say much at all.
Juicy found her peace elsewhere—mainly across the street.
The Moore twins, Elias and Elijah—known as Smoke and Stack to others—were about six years older, fast-mouthed, sharp-eyed boys sly grins and problems they never spoke too loudly about. Their father was known around the neighborhood for being the kind of man who left bruises instead of blessings, and their mother was long gone. But the Hall’s took to them like family. Martin, Juicy’s older brother, clicked with them right away over cassette tapes and corner store hustles. Sinclair even crushed on Stack for a while, though he never acted on it.
But it was Juicy—a little awkward, big-bodied, and always scribbling in her notebook—who lingered in the background. She wasn’t really friends with the boys, not like her siblings were. But some days, when things were too loud at her house and Mary, her only friend, couldn’t come out, Smoke would let her sit on the porch with them, passing her a freeze cup and tossing her lazy jokes that made her laugh until her gums showed. Or when Stack would let her old onto him as she rode on back of his bike as he made stops around the neighborhood.
Those little moments were enough. They made her feel seen.
And then, they were gone. Moved up to Chicago when she was fifteen, chasing something bigger—money, maybe, or just a way out. Life moved on. And the city was still as loud as ever.
But in 2003, the block got loud again in their return.
They came back in a long black Lincoln, rolling slow like they owned the pavement. Elias drove, toothpick between his teeth, silver chains glinting in the sun as she rubbed down his waves. Elijah was in the passenger seat, shades low on his nose, hair in tight cornrows. They’d filled out—solid, broad-shouldered men now, still dressed in dark clothes with just enough shine to show they had money. Word spread fast.
Smoke and Stack were home.
First stop was the gas station—for fuel and the liquor store next to it, then the old park where half the benches were gone and the other half were tagged up in Sharpie and knife scratches, looking for their homeboy in his usual spot. A few heads turned, so they dapped up old friends, nodded at familiar faces.
But the real reunion happened on Vernon Street.
Martin Hall was leaned up against his Impala, blunt behind his ear, gold ring glinting. He caught sight of the car before it even parked at the house across the street, and when he caught sight of the men in the car, he instantly grinned.
“Nahhh, I know this ain’t who I think it is.” He shouted, arms already wide open.
Stack stepped out first, grinning, and then Smoke followed. The three embraced like no time had passed at all, Martin falling the men up. Loud laughs, back slaps, the kind of reunion that made neighbors peek through blinds.
“Man, what the hell are yall doing back? And ain’t told a nigga?” Marin asked as he leaned backed against his hood, taking the blunt his girlfriend passed him from her place in his serving seat.
“It was quick to us too, man.” Smoke said, shaking his head a bit. “Them Chiraq niggas different, too much shit going on up there.” He said, placing his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, his baggy white tee hanging from underneath a bit.
“Money was good, though.” Stack smirked, moving his gaze away from the woman in the car that was eyeing him with a lustful glint in her, to look at the against the hood.
“I bet.” Martin smirked. “I could only imagine what you niggas got up to up there. Especially to come back as fly as that.” He said, nodding over to the cars in front of the boys old home as he blew away the smoke from the blunt.
“Shit, us?” Stack questioned. “Look at you. The jewelry, new whip. Seems money down here moving smooth.”
“Mmm…it’s aight.” Martin shrugged, causing the twins to chuckle with a shake of their heads.
“You know we gotta celebrate.”Martin said, standing from the car a bit as he handed the blunt to his shorty in the car. “Whole block been a bit dry without y’all. Let me throw something together for tonight.” He suggested. “Plus, I gotta clean some paper anyway.” He shrugged, trying to ease the blow of an unexpected gathering upon the men.
Smoke and Stack exchanged a glance before both men looked back at their old friend and shrugged Martin clapped his hands with a smirk. “Aight.” He nodded. “Tracy, go call yo homegirls and shit, tell ‘em to come through while I get shit situated.” He said to the girl in his drivers seat. Tracy didn’t even say anything, she simply got out the car and made her at into the house, bit before making a bit of a show of pulling down her booty shorts. Stack and Smoke exchanged another look at that, but nothing was said further.
Plans were made fast. A block party. Speakers, coolers, grills were pulled out faster than the men could think. Now they just had to get everything jumpin’.
The men sat around Martin’s car catching up, reminiscing on old scams, and laughing at things they never got caught for. Smoke lit a cigarette while Stack leaned back, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.
That’s when they saw her.
Juicy.
She came walking up the sidewalk with Mary next to her, both of them laughing at something too far to hear. Juicy was still thick, but this time, she wore it like armor. Curves hugged up in a baby pink Juicy Couture set, midriff peeking under the hoodie. Her wedged flip flops clicked against the concrete with purpose. Her acrylics—French tips—glinted when she lifted her lollipop to her lips. Lips lined and glossy, brown skin smooth and glowing, gold hoops in her ears catching sun. Her sunglasses were perched on her head, the blonde highlighted tresses in a bun, looking like it just came out of a fresh roller set. It was only when she got closer that they could see that she still had the tiniest gap when she smiled, but now it looked like part of the charm.
Mary had her own vibe—low-rise jeans, rhinestone tank and a high pony—but no one was looking at her. Not the twins at least.
It was Juicy who had the street paused.
Smoke sat up a little straighter. Stack cocked his head. “Lil’ Juicy?” He mumbled.
And just like that, the heat of Mississippi summer wasn’t the loudest thing on the block anymore.
The heat clung to the air, and the bass from someone’s backyard radio pulsed low in the distance. Juicy walked like she owned the sidewalk, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with the click of her heels. She was curvy in all the right places—thicker than the girls on TV, but built with softness and strength that couldn’t be ignored.
Smoke and Stack hadn’t said a word yet. They’d gone still the second they saw her. Not obviously—nothing as sloppy as ogling—but they noticed everything. The gloss, the tips, the squinting, whenever from the sun or her needing her prescription. They both could remember how they used to slide down her nose every few seconds.
She no longer looked like the quiet girl who used to sit on the porch with a notebook. She looked like a woman now. A whole one.
Martin lifted a hand. “Juice! Come say what’s up.” He called out, waving the girl over.
Juicy raised a brow as she stopped at the curb, Mary lingering just behind her. “You actin’ like I don’t live here.”he caused, causing Martin to smack his lips. “You know what I mean.”
Juicy clocked the twins as soon as she approached. But her eyes didn’t widen, she didn’t blink. She just popped that lollipop out her mouth slow, head tilted, and said—
“Well, well. Look who finally came home.” All soft like.
Smoke stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly. “Ain’t seen you in years, Juicy.” He said, voice a little lower than usual.
Stack nodded. “You done grown all up now.” He said, his eyes subconsciously giving the girl before him a quick once over, one that had him wanting to trace his eyes over her body again.
Juicy didn’t blush—she never did. She just looked between them, slow and deliberate, then popped the lollipop from her mouth and smiled, tiny gap and all. “Y’all look the same.” She said, though they really didn’t. “Maybe taller. Maybe.” She shrugged, not hiding the way she analyzed the men from head to toe, taking in their otherwise plain street wear, which she knew had to still be a decent penny for.
Martin chuckled. “They back for good. Figured I’d throw a little somethin’ tonight. Let the block know.”
Juicy nodded, barely glancing back at the twins. “That’s cute. I’ll see what’s up.” Then to Mary, “Come on.”
She turned without another word, strutting toward the house, and the two men made it their mission to not look at the rhinestones bedazzled on her booty, reading ‘Juicy’ across the span of the area. Mary, however, lingered just a second longer. Her eyes locked on Stack like she was sizing him up for dessert. No shame at all. She flashed a grin that was all teeth and trouble before jogging up the steps behind Juicy.
When they were gone, Martin lit his blunt, shaking his head. “Y’all look like you saw a ghost.” He said as he blew the smoke out. “Was it Mary? Yeah, I know, still freaks me out a bit to see her down here.” He added, not even waiting for an explanation from them.
Smoke leaned against the hood, eyes still on the porch. “Nah.” He muttered, voice tight. “Yeah, you right. Just didn’t expect that.” He said, though he was simply agreeing to save face.
A few minutes later, it seemed as though this party was about to take off as people began to show up, their drinks of chose and blunts in their clutches. This made Martin head inside to grab more beers while the twins stayed posted at the car, quiet now that the noise of the street settled down.
It was silent between them for a bit before Stack spoke up, not even looking at his brother. “Juicy is far from the girl we left them heard back.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck, internally questioning himself over the quick flashes of ‘not so pure’ thoughts he had about the girl he grew up with.
“Yeah.” Smoke replied. “She is.”
They didn’t say anything else for a moment, both thinking the same thing—how time had a funny way of flipping the script. How the girl who used to scribble doodles on everything and watch them from the corner of the porch now walked like she didn’t owe anybody her attention.
Smoke remembered the way she used to listen when he talked—really listen—without judgment or noise. How he used to feel stupid for sharing some of his serpent moments with someone so young. How at first he just needed her for an ear, and she levered that, and when he needed some answers, she was quick to help as well. And she had those same eyes. Soft but knowing. That hadn’t changed.
Stack was still thinking about her walk. The way she didn’t give them a second glance, like she’d seen men like them a thousand times. It didn’t bruise his ego—it just made him curious.
“And I peep she’s got a smart mouth on her now.” He finally said, half a smile on his lips.
Smoke nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave the front door. “Yeah.” He muttered, and that’s all he seemed to be able to say, as if she had rendered him speechless.
Stack’s smirked widen, longing his lips as a thought crossed his mind.
“Wonder who she’s lettin’ have it.”
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 & 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 🗑️ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬★ ★ ★ ★ ★
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