if i look back, i am lost
Claire Keane
Show & Tell
JVL
⁂
trying on a metaphor
noise dept.
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
AnasAbdin
JBB: An Artblog!
#extradirty
Game of Thrones Daily
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sheepfilms
ojovivo
Sade Olutola
One Nice Bug Per Day
seen from United States
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Colombia
seen from Colombia
seen from Malaysia
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@lizbehave
You got a masterlist ? 👀
I used to have one but I deleted it 😂 but here’s one just for you 🥰
SINNERS
One-Shots, Smoke x Annie
SMUT | MODERN AU
Netflix & Chill
Series, Smoke x Annie
† The Priestess
1919 - SLOW-BURN ROMANCE/ORIGIN STORY - AO3 LINK
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
The Mile High Club
MODERN AU
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Coming Soon….⚠️
🇧🇷 You Stayin’ 🇧🇷
Description: In dire need of a break and for a friend’s birthday, twenty seven year old first grade teacher Annie Celestine and her girls head to Rio De Janeiro for Carnival. On the connecting flight from Atlanta to Rio, she locks eyes with the man in Business class. After a brief 48 hours together, she promised to keep in touch with him. But she didn’t.
And Elijah hated when people broke their promises.
Sneak peek… 👀
Only three days. Three more days until they’d be out for Spring Break and she’d be back to lounging around her home in a moomoo with no panties. She was looking forward-
His scent. Mahogany and amber.
It invaded her space, her home unapologetically. But still… she leaned into it as if it were second nature. Her thighs clenching together under the flowy maxi dress. The woman stood frozen in her own doorway, her mind refusing to believe what her body already confirmed.
“Smoke?” It was said in an almost whisper. Deep down the woman had hoped that she was simply tired from the day and overthinking.
There was no way possible Elijah Moore was in her home. But…she was wrong.
Elijah pushed the chair back into it’s place and responded from the kitchen. “Yeah?”
He materialized in front of her and Annie just about threw everything to the floor.
The man grabbed all of her things and walked over to the couch to sit the items down. Annie remained in place as if she was imagining all of this but deep down? She wasn’t that shocked and after today? She didn’t have any more fight left in her.
But she still couldn’t give up that easy.
“What you doin’ here at my house, Smoke?” she hissed, trying to retain some level of control.
“You here, thats’s why I’m here.”
🇧🇷
Well….. 👀😭 Elijah is not a serious man. Skksskks. Or maybe he is.
He was in that lady house like:
A/N: I was threatened in my dm to post this, plz. 😭 I’m almost done. Just a few kinks to clean up.
And also, some real life shit been happening lately.
Anywayssss….let’s chat later. 💛💛
Mood: 😭
Hate when non-Black people say “the saxophones are getting louder” or use the sound.
Sweet Tooth
The Extended Version
SmokeStack X Annie
Original drabble is ↪︎ here
A/n - Um sooo this little ‘side project’ was supposed to be out weeks ago buttt moving was chaotic, my mood been up and down, and I almost deleted this whole page all together actually 😬 lmaooo. Anyways, we’re here now 🥳. Um I tried my best with this, PLEASE REFER TO THE NOT A WRITER DISCLAIMER IN MY BIO 😒, Im about to post and throw my phone 🌚 Enjoy 🫶🏾 or don’t 😬 (yikes).
C/w : Language, mean!Smoke, mean!Stack, brat!Annie, they are rough with her and she likes it 👐🏾, smut (degradation / praise, rough handling, use of ‘daddy’, spanking, a lil objectification, oral (m receiving), Annie is literally in heat or something idk, lazy smut
Keep playing with fire…eventually you get burned.
The flame lit up on a random Saturday. Burning slow one second and engulfing her whole the next.
It was still early — after breakfast, before lunch, that sweet spot where heat hadn’t settled too thick and the wind still cared enough to throw a nice breeze. The sun was currently playing peek-a-boo, ducking behind clouds and then rising high, not taking its job serious at all. Giving a little grace, before it actually clocked in for the day.
The typical noises that usually drifted around the neighborhood — screen doors banging shut, loud phone conversations held on porches, cars beeping as they were locked and unlocked — all ceased to exist at the moment. Slean street was quiet right now. Calm. A result of half its residents being at work, while the other half remained in bed sleep.
Annie took full advantage of it; the weather and the stillness. She was curled up in her egg chair on the porch, smoothie on her left, pen dragging across the page in front of her, and mind far from the present — mind focused instead on yesterday morning, when Smoke had been cutting her grass.
He walk like it’s heavy.
I mean…they both do.
Smoke though…shit.
Annie glanced towards her yard, like he was still out there, strong arms flexing as he pushed the mower across her lawn. Smoke walked with a wide stance, gait steady and just a little uneven, like there was something thick hanging between his legs that got in the way. Annie’s teeth sunk into her glossed lip as she thought about it. Gaze flicked back to her page.
He walk like…whatever he got swinging, he know how to use. Walk like he rearrange souls. He could rearrange mine, just for one night.
Cutting her grass was a chore Annie’d never asked him to take on — she shared a long porch with the brothers, but technically she had her own yard, and she’d been tending to it, or paying someone else to do so, long before she’d known the Moore’s existed. Smoke had put an end to that almost immediately after the twins moved in though. They took over the left unit of the duplex, while Annie remained on the right, and Smoke cut her grass whenever he cut his and Stack’s now. She’d fought him on it, a couple times, and then let him have his way because well…why would she stop him when he looked so fucking good doing it?
She’d been throughly entertained yesterday — seated on the porch like she was now, except she’d had shades perched on top of her head then and a book in her lap she hadn’t bothered to read a word of. Her attention had been on him instead. He’d been dressed for the weather; grey cotton shorts, black t-shirt, durag covering the waves Annie knew were brushed deep into his hair. It made her shift right then and there — just thinking of the way his wide chest had stretched that cotton, the grey shorts that’d left nothing to imagination.
Yeah, it’s heavy. Probably got a curve too, one that can hit every spot I have without trying. He could’ve proved my theory yesterday if he wanted to. Could’ve fucked me right here on this porch.
Annie sounded like music as she moved. Literally. Had Citrine and Black Tourmaline wrapped around her wrists, along with stacked copper bell bracelets that jingled in the quiet every time her pen glided across the page. Finally working out some of energy she had pent up.
That’s probably what he need. Some pussy to help ease that tension he always carrying around.
She’d spent yesterday drinking him in like water from her spot on the porch. Studying him. Smoke’s eyes would cut in her direction occasionally, like he felt her shifting, and clenching, and watching — and Annie never bothered to look away. Had held his stare instead. Smiling too sweet, like she was daring him to do something.
He hadn’t though.
He’d just pinned her in place with his eyes instead, let his hands flex around the handle of the lawn mower like he’d rather be grabbing something else, and then got back to work. It’d happened more than once; the staring, the silent tension, the building of anticipation. Had left Annie just that much wetter every time.
Whatever he got pent up? He can take that all out on me. Swear I’d be so good for Smoke. As soon as I got done being bad.
I wonder who fuck better, him or Stack? Wonder who thicker? Who longer? Who meaner? Stack probably nastier. Gotta be. I know that mouth is.
Annie shifted again. Continued writing.
That fuckin’ mouth. I wonder what else it’s good for besides talking shit.
Stack had been gone for most of the time her and Smoke were outside yesterday. Had arrived back home loud; music blasting, engine roaring, turning the corner fast for no reason. It’d made Smoke shake his head. Had made Annie smack her lips together. And her stomach tighten slow.
Despite the driveway they shared, the younger Moore always parked by the curb — like he wanted to be able to leave without delay, whenever he felt like it. Today was no different. He parked on the street smooth, killed his engine, and hopped out like he hadn’t just interrupted all the peace in the neighborhood.
“Damn nigga,” Stack’s lips were curved up, voice carrying across the yard, chain around his neck glinting dangerously as it caught the sun. He had his head turned towards Smoke, even as his legs brought him to Annie. “You still out here cutting grass? Yo’ ass tryna put on a show, you ain’t slick.”
“Fuck up,” Smoke turned the lawn mower off, head following his brother. “You get the papers?”
“Told you I wouldn’t forget. When I ever say I’m gone do somethin’ and not do it?”
Smoke squinted, top lip jumping up like ‘nigga please’.
Stack’s smirk didn’t drop. Matter fact, it only grew as he finally turned his head towards her, climbing the three steps to the porch.
Annie had her lips around the rim of her glass. Was shaking her head because he was so ridiculous — and so damn fine.
Bronze skin, dark eyes, dimples that caved so deep he didn’t even have to smile for them to pop. Stack moved like water — easy, unbothered, unassuming. It worked for him. Was how he pulled people in, before they realized what really lay under all that…easy.
“You wearin’ this for me?” His eyes were already sweeping over her; the fresh island twists she had pulled in a bun on top of her head; the pink tank she wore — with straps thick enough to support, and push up, her full chest; the denim shorts that hugged her tight — distressed at the bottom and cutting off mid-thigh. His stare stopped at her feet, at her pretty toes that were painted a soft green, pushed comfortably into her favorite pair of slides.
Annie let her home made lemonade slide down her throat before she answered, “That’s all it take to get you started? Some shorts?”
“Ain’t about the shorts. It’s ‘bout how you wearin’ ‘em.”
“And how am I wearing them, Stack?” Her anklet shimmered as her foot swung lazily — back and forth and back and forth.
“Like you tryna start some shit you ain’t prepared to finish.”
The hum that left her throat was low. Too sensual to be mistaken for amusement. Annie shifted, let her foot keep swinging, let the heat that was Elias settle over her.
“You ain’t even said good morning to me. You need to learn how to greet people.”
“You like how I greet you jus’ fine.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Stack stepped in then, pushing into her space like he owned it. “What you drinking on?” His eyes jumped from her lips, to the glass in her hand, to the identical one she had sitting on the small table next to her. “This one mines?”
He was already reaching before she answered and Annie didn’t hesitate to smack his greedy ass hand away.
“That’s not for you, that’s Smoke’s.”
There was a shift in the air between them then. Stack pausing, Annie’s head cocking boldly. Both breathing a little deeper for different reasons.
“We hittin’ now?” His lips were still curved. Just with an edge.
Annie’s foot swung faster.
“Stop tryna touch stuff that don’t belong to you,” She kept her gaze locked with his. Kept a smirk on her face. “You not the one out here cutting my grass, he is.”
“Niggas get rewards for walking back and forth across yo’ grass?” Stack’s dimples caved, gold flashed. “What I get for playing errand boy ‘den?”
He held up the two bags he carried in his hand. Full of items she’d texted him to get when she found out he was stopping by the store.
“Thank you for playing errand boy Stack.” She brought her glass back to her mouth. “My thanks is the reward.”
“Man–” He reached again, for her glass this time. Wrapping his hand around it and pulling it directly from her lips.
Annie’s mouth dropped, fingers sliding from the glass, body coming forward like she was being dragged out the seat.
Stack’s eyes stayed locked with hers. Playful. Dark. Two things that shouldn’t even mix.
He rotated the glass deliberately, placed his thick lips directly over where hers were just resting, and then sipped slow.
Until he had his fill. ‘Till Annie’s own mouth felt dry – in a way that had nothing to do with needing something to drink.
He never broke their stare. Not while he swallowed and not when he finally pulled the glass down.
His lips were wet, tongue came out to clean them and Annie’s eyes followed the movement until Stack spoke, accent as thick as whatever was brewing between them, “Dat’s jus’ as sweet as you, baby. What I gotta do to get some more?”
Annie tightened the grip on her pen, blue ink blossoming across the page as she continued writing.
I feel like I’m going crazy. I almost backtracked last night and texted Ra, just to give me some relief. I don’t want Rashad though. I don’t want lazy strokes and decent head. I want my soul touched. Wonna be done so nasty, I can’t even look at myself in the mirror the next day. Wonna be dropped on some dick long enough to touch the bottom. Don’t wonna be able to even move when it’s all done.
Annie’s hand glided effortlessly, tongue sliding across the sweet gloss coating her lips.
I want Smoke. I want Stack. And I don’t know why they actin’ scared. Smoke always glaring, like he ready to punish something, but then don’t ever do shit. Stack always barking, running his mouth like he get paid for it, but then don’t ever bite. Let me find out the SmokeStack twins can’t handle nothing, outside of cutting some grass and talking some shit. That’d be…sad.
Annie snickered to herself, bell bracelets singing as her wrist dragged.
Almost like they were warning her to proceed with caution.
Let me find out Smoke can’t stroke. Let me find out a joke is the only thing Stack know how to crack.
More snickering. More singing from her bracelets.
The same warning.
I played in my pussy again this morning. Feel like that’s all I do, since I met them. I wander if they ever hear me…moaning out they names while I fuck myself. Imagining Stack’s mouth. Smoke’s eyes. I swear he can see right through me.
“I’m ‘bout done wit’ the front. Gone get the edges and then move to the back.”
Stack had stepped inside the house, leaving Annie to her view. One that was now coming up the stairs slow, rag thrown over his shoulder, face serious as ever.
“You know I can get Gerald to do the back right?”
She didn’t mention the 20something year old who cut grass for the neighborhood because she actually wanted him in her backyard. She mentioned Gerald, because it would get on Smoke’s nerves. Because it would make them eyes narrow. Make that nose flare a little in the way it did whenever he got aggravated. Whenever she was playing and he didn’t allow himself to do something about it. “He just told me last week he keeps my spot open for the day I decide to start back being his client.” Annie’s voice was sugar. Warm, pointed, and petty.
Smoke didn’t speak immediately. Took a second. Let the bees buzz and the wind whistle and the heat from the sun press down heavier.
“You was showing off for dat nigga the way you do for me — I bet he did say that.” His eyes pierced hers. Voice rough in way that made her center heat.
“Showing off?” She tilted her head, as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. As if her lips weren’t already quirking up.
“Dats’ why you out here, ain’t it?” His gaze didn’t waver. “To be watched. To give me somethin’ to look at while I’m out here cuttin’ yo grass.”
His words weren’t teasing. Weren’t playful.
They were blunt. Matter of fact. It was almost mean the way he said it. Carried an edge. One that stemmed from desire and restraint.
One that didn’t bother Annie at all.
She didn’t need playful from Smoke. Didn’t need teasing.
She wanted Smoke exactly the way he was.
“I’m sittin’ on my porch, reading my book.” Her lips were still curled up. Voice a little….breathy in a way she couldn’t, or didn’t, try to hide. “That’s not my problem if you’re distracted, Elijah.”
Elijah.
She said it like she was tasting it.
And Stack always let that shit slide. But Smoke? His eyes narrowed. Sharpened.
‘Cause Annie wasn’t ready for what came with Elijah. For what came with sitting pretty on the porch, showing off skin, and being a fuckin’ tease while she dropped his government like she had the right.
“Why you lookin’ like that?” Annie blinked up at him from where she sat. “I can’t say your name? Don’t be mean, Lijah.”
The sound that left Smoke’s mouth wasn’t really a laugh. Couldn’t be, because his lips didn’t even twitch.
That jaw did though.
Them hands did too.
And when he spoke, it was in that same blunt tone. Words weighted with that same rough edge.
“It’s Smoke. You ain’t earned Elijah. And you ain’t seen mean.”
Annie didn’t even realize how deep she was breathing. How hard her hand gripped her pen. How her thighs pressed together even harder.
I want them to ruin me.
One night. All night. Wherever they want me. However they want me. For as long as they can go. I wonna be able to play in my pussy and remember what they did to me. Remember how they broke me in properly.
And I want it sooner rather than later.
-AP ❤︎
The sound of her journal closing was nearly non-existent. Her sigh though? That was louder. Impatient. Wanting. Coated with attitude.
Playing with the twins — finding reasons to knock on their door, going back and forth with Stack, pissing Smoke off just cause she could — it was all…fun.
Having fun wasn’t getting fucked though.
And that’s what she needed. What her body needed.
Annie reached for her smoothie, settling back into her egg chair, eyes roaming around the quiet street.
“Sooner rather than later….” She echoed the words she’d just written on paper. “Before I actually lose my damn mind.”
The only response she got was the wind. Blowing in the same easy way it had been all morning.
The calm, before the storm.
—
Sooner came later on that day.
After her key broke off in the lock of her front door to be specific.
One second she was turning it and the next —
“— it just broke in half. I called Leon, but you know his ‘I’ll be out that way in a hour’ really means he gon’ take four.”
Annie stood in front of Stack, island twist hanging free and long, canvas bag she’d been using at the farmers market on one shoulder, while her purse sat on the other. It was yellow, matched the sandals on her feet, and made the little white sundress she was wrapped in pop. The same dress that looked perfect on her dark skin and brushed her thighs every time she spoke, in a way that’d make anyone look twice.
In a way that Stack was taking his time looking at right now.
“You must want me come over and play handy man, huh?” He was leaned against the door jam — arms crossed, voice teasing, eyes dragging up her slow.
Annie let him take his time — shifted casually, so her dress brush her thighs again and make him look longer.
“I want you to be a good neighbor and let me wait over here.”
Stack’s basket ball shorts sat low and extra on his hips. White wife beater covered nothing. Cuban link glinted like it was calling for her to pull on it.
Or maybe that was just the heart beat between her legs talking.
“That’s you askin’ nicely?” He had that smirk on his face — the one she always pictured when she was three fingers deep in her pussy. “Where them manners you always sayin’ I don’t got?” Stack settled deeper into the door jam like he could do this all day. “Ain’t you ‘sposed to say please or somethin’?”
“Now you worried about manners? Stack you gon’ let me in whether I say please or not.” Annie sounded completely unbothered.
Was so bothered though, that her gaze wouldn’t stop drifting. From his eyes, to his thick lips, to them arms that looked big enough to raise her in the air and keep her there.
She liked that about the twins. How solid they were. How both of their bodies came with broad shoulders, and strong arms, and hard abs. Stack was a little slimmer than Smoke — but the point stood — they looked like they could do damage. Like they could handle her. And that’s what Annie needed.
What’d she’d convinced herself she could handle with no problem.
“Is ‘dat right?” The low sound that left Stack’s throat was amused. A lil dangerous too. “You prolly ain’t wrong. Can get whatever you want when you wearin’ this lil ass dress for me,” His eyes hit her body pointedly again; legs, hips, titties sitting so high they were damn near in his face. “Betta’ be careful wit’ that shit. Walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like trouble.”
Annie’s head cocked, “Is that not your favorite thing to get into?”
Attitude and honey. That’s what her words were coated in.
And they gave Stack pause. Left them both standing in silence for a second — silence that went just as fast as it came. Like it always did with them.
“You swear you funny,” His smirk sharpened. Whole body leaned in closer to her. “What chu’ gone do when its my turn to laugh?”
Her shoulders rose then dropped, “Laugh wit’ you I guess.” And then she crossed her arms, pushing her chest up further. “Now are you gon’ let me in?”
He let her in. Feet moving one step to the side, creating space but not so much that she could get past without brushing against him.
“Thank you, Elias,” She threw the words over her shoulder, arm grazing his chest, legs carrying her into the lions den with ease. Like she belonged there.
She didn’t wait to be led. Didn’t glance back when he mumbled something slick under his breath. Didn’t pause to see if he was following either. Cause she already knew he would be.
There was noise coming from the living room and Annie let that be the guide to her strolling. Let it take her deeper into the unit, sandals clacking on hardwood, the same bell bracelets from this morning announcing her presence like she was a special guest.
She saw Smoke as soon as soon as she reached the entry way. Sitting on the couch — black t-shirt, grey sweats, attention directed towards the game playing on tv. Not that it stayed there for long.
She had all of 3 seconds to take him in before he sensed her presence. Before he turned his head in her direction and then kept it turned. He didn’t look surprised to see her. Didn’t look confused either. He looked like he always did — like he was examining her. Like she belonged to him and he was making sure everything on his property was still intact. Like he was making sure his property hadn’t gotten in no trouble while she was out of his sight.
It was sick. The way that ache between her legs was already starting and she hadn’t even been in their presence for five minutes.
Smoke sat up slow, placing elbows on knees, as he started taking stock of Annie; her dangerous brown eyes and glossed lips, the purse that sat on one shoulder and the canvas bag on the other, the small “A” pendant of her necklace currently burying itself between her cleavage, the short ass dress that flared out around her waist but hugged her chest too fuckin’ tight up top.
He was done with his examination in seconds.
“Where you get ‘dat dress? And where you comin’ from?”
It was expected. Smoke never warmed up to anything. Didn’t mince words. Didn’t bother with niceties. Didn’t see anything wrong with questioning her like that. And even though it probably shouldn’t — wouldn’t if it were anyone else — his questioning always made something twist in her belly. Something more hot than warm. A feeling completely contradicted by the way Annie playfully shook her head. “Yes, I’m doing good. Thanks for asking. How are you?”
Nothing.
No response, no laughter, not even a twitch of his cheek. He let silence sit instead. Let it stretch. Used it like his own personal weapon. His own personal warning.
One that Annie savored.
That look he was giving her — it made her throat dry and her mouth water all at once. Made a smile break out and a light airy laugh leave her mouth as she looked him dead in his face.
“I’ve had this dress since before I even met you. It’s pretty, ain’t it?” She tugged on her hemline. Made her deep cleavage that was on display, bounce. “And I was at the farmers market.” She adjusted how the canvas bag sat on her shoulder. “My key just broke and I’m locked out, so y’all are keeping me company until Leon gets here.”
“It’s short,” That’s what he gave her back. But he thought the dress was pretty too. She could tell, because his eyes wouldn’t stop dragging over her. Jaw jumping a little harder than before with every pass. That was the only thing that gave him away as his stare met hers again. “And Leon gone take all day. Me or Stack’ll have yo’ door open in five minutes.”
“Told her I’d get it open,” Stack came into the room behind her, feet keeping him there for longer than necessary. “Think she jus’ missed us forreal.”
“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Annie pulled her eyes away from Smoke, to glance over her shoulder. “Y’all are not damaging my door tryna break into my house. Playin’ host for a couple hours won’t kill y’all.”
“Ain’t nobody say we had a problem wit’ it, baby.” That lazy drawl hugged her ears as Stack finally passed her, heading towards the left end of the couch and sinking down into the cushions. His legs spread wide first, arm got thrown over the back, attention stayed on Annie as one of her hands landed on her hip. She did it real extra and she looked real fine.
“Why do I gotta keep reminding you that’s not my name?”
Stack’s head dropped to the side lazily. “That is yo’ name. You daddy’s baby. You ‘ont want me sayin’ it, put somethin’ in my mouth that’s gone shut me up.”
The image flashed in her mind out of nowhere — her standing over him, thighs encasing his head, hips grinding her pussy against his tongue, cumming all over that gold he kept in his mouth. He would talk while he let her drown him. Say some shit like, Daddy eating that pussy good, baby? Giving you what the fuck you been wantin’? Yo’ ass need to say thank you. And she’d respond. Sliding her pussy over his face. Panting loud. Thank you daddy. Thank you so much daddy — shit Stack.
Annie blinked. A couple times. Until her vision came back into focus and she was no longer standing over Stack but looking at him. And the slow grin stretching across his face that said he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Daddy’s baby.
“You ight over there? You breathin’ a lil’ fast.”
“And you listening a little hard.” Annie smacked her lips, sound as loud as the pulse that was thumping in her ears. “You need a filter.”
Her words weren’t as playful as usual. Weren’t as light. Not because she was mad or offended, more so because she was caught off guard.
Annie was a grown woman. Experienced. Knew exactly what she liked and what she didn’t. Knew how much control she was willing to give and how much she wasn’t.
Daddy’s baby.
And for a second them two little words had her feeling like she wanted to give it all over. Had her feeling raw in a way she loved and hated?
This was her game. Her rules. She was in control. She wanted to be ruined, yes. Wanted them to do whatever they wanted, however they wanted — on her terms.
The way that ache between her thighs grew though? Like being daddy’s baby was everything she needed no matter how much control she’d have to give up?
It gave Annie pause. And she needed to recalibrate.
She forced her eyes away from Stack — and immediately got trapped in Smoke’s gaze. He was still leaned up, face blank as ever, dark orbs studying her. Closely. Clocking reactions and filing them away.
He could probably sense it — the way her clit was thumping.
“Yes, Smoke?” Her twists swung as she inclined her head. As she made her voice light.
The older Moore tracked the movement of her hair, fingers twitching where they hung between his legs, before his eyes found hers again. He didn’t rush to respond. Took his time. Almost like he was making her wait on purpose. Like he was letting her know this wasn’t her game actually. Not really.
Annie shifted, impatient, wet, still slightly on edge. And then Smoke opened his mouth. As if that was his que.
“You gon’ wait for Leon all day, standin’,” His head just barely tilted. “Or you gon’ sit and catch yo’ breath?”
“Nobody is out of breath.”
Her neck moved as she spoke, pretty eyes so busy rolling she missed how the brothers glanced at each other; Stack smirking, Smoke very pointedly not, and silent understanding passing between them regardless.
“I will sit down though.” Annie continued speaking as she finally moved from the entryway — dress swaying, hair swinging, hips switching in a way that didn’t do too much, but still caught eyes regardless. Four eyes to be specific.
She floated around the living room, re-gaining her footing with every step she took. It was the familiar prickle settling over her skin that helped, the one that came from both twins cataloguing her every move. Annie had always liked when they stared, when they couldn’t help but stare, and today was no different.
She bypassed the wood coffee table and the couch with ease. Didn’t even glance at the entertainment system or the mounted flat screen on the wall. She headed directly for the arm chair in the corner instead and when she reached it, she did what she intended, sliding her canvas bag down off her arm and placing it in the seat. And then she was turning right back around and heading for her real destination.
Annie’s lips turned up in the corner, eyes jumping from Smoke to Stack and back again as she came closer.
“‘Scuse me,” She came from the left, stepping over Stack’s legs and right into the space between the couch and the coffee table. Her voice was breezy, movements unhurried as she gave them her back — setting her purse down on the wood in front of them, brushing her long twists over one shoulder, sliding her sandals off before taking a small step backwards.
And then sinking, right into the middle cushion of the couch.
Stack had to move his leg suddenly, Smoke had to shift his whole body over, and Annie? Didn’t care. Planted herself in that small spot between them anyways, wiggling like she was getting comfortable, thick thighs expanding like dough as her dress rose up a little.
It encompassed her immediately; the dark scent of cedar and danger, the heat both of their bodies gave out, the tension that settled over the three of them — real thick and real delicious.
“You a trip.” That was Stack — side eyeing her, mirth in his voice.
“Don’t be stingy with the couch,” Annie’s head turned in his direction. “Sharing is caring.”
She blinked innocently when she said it, but she wasn’t fooling nobody. Not when that smile still sat on her face. Or when that teasing tone mixed in perfectly with her Nola accent.
Sharing is caring.
For a second, nobody even reacted to the words. Felt like time itself stilled as both brothers zeroed in on her — in a way that was real twin-like.
It probably should have unnerved her. The attention. The quiet. The way the temperature in the room felt like it went from zero to a hundred.
All it really did though was make her fight a bigger smile. Make her feel more in control than she had a few moments ago.
And then Stack broke the silence — laughing low. Amused — but not really.
“You heard ‘dat Smoke?” He didn’t pull his eyes away from hers when he started speaking to his brother. “Sharin’ carin’ now.”
There was another beat of silence before eleven words disrupted all of that.
“It’s carin’ tell it got her ass stretched wide and cryin’.”
Annie blinked and if you listened close enough you could almost hear the audible scratch of a record.
“Excuse me?” Her head whipped from left to right. From an edged smirk to a narrowed gaze — one that said she better tread lightly. She couldn’t even clarify what’d she just heard before Stack was speaking again, grabbing her attention and making her turn back towards the left.
“You droppin’ one liners like it’s a comedy show and you ain’t even prepared for what’s gon’ happen when the curtains close.”
“Think she ready, but she ain’t.” Smoke again. His words were short. Clipped. Nothing loud. Nothing extra. Just stating facts.
“It’s that sweet shit between her legs that got her talkin’ bold like that.” Stack’s eyes dropped down to her thighs. “Pussy been crying out for months. Hurtin’. Hungry.”
“Too bad we can’t feed ha.” Smoke stayed focused on Annie’s face. “Not ‘till her mama learn how to fuckin’ act.”
The reasonable response would have been to back track. Leave. De-escalate the situation.
Annie though… Annie just let out an airy sigh that was supposed to be a laugh and then shook her head. “This how y’all talk to guests?” She tsked like she was disappointed. Like she didn’t know what she was doing, or who she was playing with, or the fire she was feeding. Like they didn’t all know exactly where she would eventually end up — between Smoke and Stack, holes fucked, pussy punished, body used until both Moores’ were sated.
“The next time I see mama Moore, ima let her know how y’all be actin’.”
She did her best to watch her breathing. To look unaffected, but they caught it anyways. Stack saw them thighs pressing, heard that catch in her voice. Smoke saw the uneven rising of her chest — that break in rhythm that occurred whenever she had tension building. He saw them big eyes darken too. Saw ‘em start to glaze over, even as her mouth ran like she wasn’t feeling nothing.
“Girl –”
Annie didn’t let Stack get his words out, cutting him off and leaning forward to reach for her purse before she lost the upper hand she’d just barely gotten back. “If y’all are done discussing me — and what y’all never gone get anyways — I’m tryna mind my business.”
Her words settled over them as she did just that — digging around in her purse, applying a fresh coat of gloss, pulling out her journal and then feeling around for a pen next. She moved as if there wasn’t an insistent throbbing between her thighs. And she only bothered to spare them a glance after she’d settled back into the couch.
“Weren’t y’all watching a game or somethin’?” She raised a brow, looking from left to right.
Smoke didn’t respond. Not verbally. But that jaw clenched just right. Made her want to act up and behave at the same time.
Stack shook his head, chuckled under his breath, “Think a nigga worried about a game, when you talkin’ slick and flashing them thighs every otha’ minute.”
Annie almost laughed, ‘cause it sounded like the little brother was being pushed to his limit. And that was just a little too bad.
She repositioned herself, just to flash her thighs again. Didn’t look back at Smoke. Didn’t bother supplying Stack with a response. And for the next 10 minutes, everybody acted like they had some sense.
Smoke remained on her right, eyes on the tv, jaw still held a little too tight for anyone to believe he was thinking about basketball.
Stack remained on her left. Leaned back, arm laid out behind her, gaze jumping from Annie to the game and back again — in a way he didn’t even try to hide.
And Annie, herself? Remained in the middle, leg sliding against one brothers, arm sliding against the others, fake paying attention to the tv right along with them.
It was….calm.
If calm meant heavy and still — like the air itself had stopped flowing to see what would happen next.
The game continued and when number 13 missed another free throw, Annie sighed, messed with the hem of her dress, and decided to occupy her time another way. With her journal.
The pen she’d grabbed from her purse clicked, attention drifting down to the worn yellow book that held her thoughts, and dreams, and desires.
She opened the journal to where she’d left off this morning, didn’t bother with a new page, because it wasn’t a new day. She opted to position her pen a couple lines down instead and then let the ink talk.
I’m so wet I can feel it.
“She ain’t prepared for what’s gone happen when the curtain close.”
“She think she ready but she ain’t.”
Yeah, okay.
They swear somebody scared of them. All that barking. All that glaring.
I wander if Smoke know my clit jump every time he start talking reckless? Every time he call himself asking questions like he somebody daddy.
I wonna play in my pussy right here. Spread my legs and make them see what they do to me. Make them clean all this mess I’m making up.
I want Stack’s tongue. Want his mouth sealed to me while Smoke buries his face between my titties.
They feel so heavy right now. I need him to hold them up and feed. Need him to make me feel it. To leave a mark. And then I want them to switch.
As Annie wrote, her lashes fluttered. Bell bracelets sang out. Breath increased just barely.
Smoke probably take his time eating pussy. Probably take that just as serious as he does everything else.
I want him to put his whole face in it. To make me cum ‘till I forget how to breathe. And then I want him to fuck me so good that I’m not even worried about breathing.
It wasn’t her lashes or her bracelets or the way her chest rose and fell a little faster that got her in trouble though. It was her hips that did that. She kept moving. Small shifts, to the left or the right. Thighs squeezing together. Then separating. Then squeezing together again. And every time she combined both actions at once, a small shift of her hips and a flex of her thighs? It made her grip on the pen tighten. Put pressure on that spot between her legs. Felt so good, she just….didn’t stop. Brushing against Stack when she shifted left. Then Smoke when she went right. Then Stack again. Stimulating her clit the best way she could, damn near playing with her pussy, right in front of them.
And they noticed. Because of course they did.
“What chu’ over there doing?”
Smoke’s voice was harsh, cutting through the haze she’d fallen into and causing her pen to stop moving immediately.
“Fuck is you doing actually?” Stack’s head was already turned in her direction, gaze jumping over her — from the side of her face to the bottom of her dress — like he could already see the dripping pussy that sat underneath it.
Annie wasn’t as quick with her response as she usually was and that didn’t go unnoticed. Or unchecked.
“You ‘ont hear me talkin’ to you?” Smoke’s words were typically wrapped in an even unyielding tone. One that drove Annie crazy when she first met the older Moore, because he never sounded affected by anything. Regardless of what was going on or what she was doing to get under his skin. There’d been some cracks lately though; the other day when she borrowed sugar or when he came over last week to mount her new tv. Or right now, this very second.
Nothing about his tone was even at the moment. He sounded impatient actually. Voice was rough. Heated. Disbelieving in way that was more pissed off than shocked. Like even though he’d asked what she was doing, he already knew. Like he’d felt her brush him the first time. And the second. And the third. Like he’d listened as her breath increased and then watched out the corner of his eye as she dragged that pussy back and forth against his couch.
“You deaf now?” Stack sat up completely, closed in from the left, while Smoke came from the right. “My brotha’ talkin’ to you. What you over there looking at?”
Annie was still frozen — thighs no longer clenched, pen pressing down on paper in one spot, head angled towards her journal but when Stack’s head angled, trying to read what had her attention, she snapped out of all of that. Damn near slammed her journal before looking up and meeting two sets of molten eyes.
She blinked. Tried to sound as nonchalant as she always did when she finally managed to answer, “I’m minding my business. Didn’t we just disc—”
“You humping yo’ pussy against my 3,000 dollar couch,” Smoke cut her off. “You done lost yo’ mind?”
Annie inhaled sharply, already denying, trying to play coy in a way that wasn’t going to work right now. “I was not—”
“You humping yo’ pussy against my 3,000 dollar couch,” He stressed every word as he repeated himself, brows furrowing like he was still wrapping his head around it — how bold she was.“You sitting between me and brotha’, ‘bout to nut on yoself, like you ain’t got no fuckin’ home training.”
“Well, we know she ain’t got no training.” Stack’s voice sounded like danger wrapped in velvet when he cut in. Look on his face said he wasn’t mad. More like…darkly amused. “She come over here, flauntin’ that pretty ass body like she can’t help herself, damn near erryday. It ain’t really surprising she don’t know how to control that pussy.”
Annie couldn’t even move they had her boxed in so tight. Staring dead at her while her brain scrambled to put together words. She’d have something witty to say in a minute, but she really was caught off guard, because she hadn’t realized what’d she been doing. Her body just moved without thinking around them. It was really their fault.
The gold in Stack’s mouth flashed mean when she remained quiet.
“You got all that mouth any otha’ day and still actin’ like you can’t talk?” His eyes didn’t let up from her face. “This why you ‘ont wanna be my baby, huh? Cause you over here actin’ like a slut instead?”
Annie’s stomach twisted so wrong it felt right. And she physically couldn’t help it — how her entire center pulsed even as her mouth opened to bark back.
“Elias who are you—”
“You get wet on my leather, Annie?” Smoke cut through their back and forth before it could even start, drawl lined with something sharper than she’d ever heard it. “If that pussy done leaked on my leather, you gon’ clean that shit up wit’ yo’ tongue.”
Her mouth parted, like she was surprised. Stack laughed, like he wasn’t.
“Ohhh, you in trouble, baby.” His head cocked. “You know what me and my brotha’ do to sluts like you, right? To ones who can’t control they pussy?”
Shit was going from 0 to 100 again. And it was moving so fast, she didn’t have time to intercept. Didn’t have time to pull them back from the edge she’d just pushed them over.
“I must be talkin’ to myself.” Smoke was shifting in a way that wasn’t like him. In a way that said he was tired of talking and not being answered.
“Must be brudda.” Stack’s eyes dropped. “She too busy holding on to that fuckin’ book. I still wonna see what she was writin’. What got that pussy so wet we can smell it.”
And then he was reaching. Swift, quick, bold as always. And when he moved, Annie moved with him.
“This is my journal — Stack move,” Annie tightened her grip on the journal, holding it up and away from him. He leaned in, she leaned back, and Smoke? Let her.
Annie didn’t even realize her mistake, until it was too late.
Because when Stack followed her, lifting off the couch, hand clasping around the journal and yanking it out her hand, there were already fingers around her throat stopping her from lurching forward and getting it back.
Her hands went up on instinct, a little gasp born from surprise more than anything leaving her mouth, “Smo—”
“Don’t say my name. You ain’t have nun to say five seconds ago, so you gon’ sit yo’ ass still and let my brother read what got you actin’ like a bitch in heat.” The hand around her neck flexed, hold not tight enough to hurt, but not so loose that she mistook this for playing. Because Smoke wasn’t playing. Had never been playing actually. “That ain’t yo’ journal no more. That’s me and my brothas’. We own everything in this fuckin’ house.” His lips grazed her ear, chest rose and fell against her back, tight grip on control slipping. Just a little.
‘Cause she needed to be punished. Corrected. Needed to be bent over, tied down — and then she needed that ass spanked. Raw.
And Smoke was fuckin’ itching to do it.
Annie was pressed against solid muscle, dress fanned out and twisted up from the 2 second tussle with Stack. Her heavy breasts were damn near spilling out the stop, red lace of her panties peeking from under the awry hemline, pulse in her neck beating against the fingers wrapped around her throat.
She could’ve put her foot down. Fixed her dress, told them they were doing too much. Taking it too far.
But she didn’t.
“Let me see what’s making them big ass thighs press together. What got that pussy actin’ up.” The curve of Stack’s lips cut deep into his face as he took her in. As he felt the familiar weight of his dick gettin’ heavy.
When he opened the journal, it was right to her last page, like the Universe itself was guiding him.
He didn’t even look down at first. Just kept staring, that same fire that was always brewing between them? Catching alight.
“I like you like ‘dis,” That deep ass grin of his stretched. “Mouth shut, titties damn near out, pussy tryna’ say hi to a nigga. You like it too, don’t you baby?”
Annie’s skin was burning hot. Body sprawled across the couch at an angle, pussy so wet she could feel it on her thighs now. Her big eyes blinked like she was saying ‘yes daddy’. But her mouth remained shut ‘cause she was stubborn, even with one brothers hand at her neck and the other looking crazy enough to help him squeeze.
That stubbornness made Stack laugh low.
Smoke on the other hand, ain’t really get the joke.
“Read the shit, nigga,” The older Moore’s voice cut through the silence, made Stack chuckle again.
“My bad.” He blinked at her. “You ready, baby?”
And then he was reading — to himself at first.
Random words jumped out, from her morning session and the one that’d just been interrupted, like they were begging to be read.
Stack, Smoke, wet, nasty, same time, want them to switch, want them to ruin me, played in my pussy again, wander if they ever hear me, wonna play in it right now, don’t know why they actin’ scared, Smoke can’t stroke, a joke is the only thing Stack know how to crack, almost backtracked last night, break me in properly, make them clean all this mess up, for as long as they can go, wonder who fuck better, wonder who nastier, wonna fuck Stack’s mouth —
Annie probably felt it before both of them. The air going from thick to suffocating, as that smirk on Stack’s face dropped. Completely.
“You writin’ ‘bout me?” His head snapped back up towards her. “Bout my brother?”
“What?” Smoke’s voice was sharp.
“She writin’ ‘bout us,” He was talking to Smoke. And didn’t look away from her once . “Bout playin’ in her pussy. How she think about fuckin’ us while she do it.”
The fingers around Annie’s throat flexed as Stack continued. Summarizing her words at first —
“She say she want us break her in. Want us at the same time. She been wondering who fuck better. Who get nastier. Say she wonna play in her pussy right now cause she so wet thinkin’ ‘bout it.”
And then reading them verbatim.
“Listen to dis’ shit.” Stack’s eyes jumped from hers back to the journal. Southern accent getting thicker the more he spoke. The more worked up he got. ‘I want ‘dem ruin me. One night. All night. Whereva’ they want me. Howeva’ they want me. For as long as ‘dey can go.’”
White hot embarrassment rushed over Annie. It started in her cheeks and made her overheated skin grow hotter. Traveled down to her stomach and made it tighten with what felt like shame and arousal twisted together. And then ended at her pussy, made her hips flex, pushed her back further into Smoke.
Stack’s stare met hers again. “She want us take turns on her ass. Pass her back and forth ‘till we ain’t got no more nut to give. Till she can’t move. Say she want me slurping on that pussy, while you suck them big ass titties she got, and then she want us switch. ‘Dis what she was writing, while she slid that pussy all over the couch.”
Annie whimpered as the hand at her neck tightened. As Smoke’s voice hit her ears, deep and dead calm. So calm, that it wasn’t.
“Is ‘dat right?”
“Mhm,” A smirk was crawling back across Stack’s face. Sharp and messy. “She got jokes too —” He still sat on the edge of the couch, whole body facing her, tensed up, like he was ready to lunge. “Said we scared of the pussy. Said we can’t handle shit but cuttin’ grass and talkin’ shit. What you write in here, baby?” He asked a question he already knew the answer to. “Smoke can’t stroke? A joke the only thing Stack know how to crack?”
The words sounded childish when he said them. And they were, because her journaling session this morning was nothing but venting born from sexual frustration. Venting that took place in the privacy of her own journal. Whatever shit she’d talked, wasn’t even something to really be mad about.
The breath hitting her ear? Was deeper than before though. And the laugh Stack just let out? Well — the only word Annie had to describe it was unhinged.
“She think we some bitches. Said she almost hit some other nigga to come through and fuck ha’ since we too pussy to handle the job.” That is not what Annie had written. But that’s exactly what Stack had read. The younger Moore suddenly closed the journal, tossing it on the coffee table, letting that same low crazy ass laugh ring out. “Imagine ‘dat—” he leaned in towards her, eyes flashing, “—you givin’ anotha’ nigga some pussy that’s been dripping for me since I met you.”
And then he moved. Upper body suddenly coming forward, two hands claiming a spot on her thighs, fingers sinking in rough as he forced them open. As he forced them to spread as wide as they could in her current position. It made Annie completely sink into the hard body behind her, left one of her legs on the ground and the other folded at the knee in Stack’s lap. Put that slick mess that’d been building between her legs, all out on display.
Her panties stretched over her center obscenely — fat lips barely covered by the delicate material. She was drenched — wet coating her thighs, a big sticky spot right in the center of her lace, panties clinging to her pussy as it contracted around nothing.
Her voice was breathy. Thick. “Stack—”
“Look at ‘dis shit,” His eyes were focused between her legs, hands flexing around the fat of her thighs, head cocked like he was studying art. “It’s dripping for me right now. This fat, wet, bad pussy.”
He shook his head. And then out of nowhere —
Smack.
One of his hands came up and raised back down, right between her legs.
His palm was heavy. Hard. Unforgiving.
“Pussy needa learn how to act. Rememba’ who make it get like this.”
Annie’s mouth fell open in a quiet gasp, hips pulling back instinctively, legs trying to close as a sweet stinging sensation traveled through her and stopped directly at her clit. It wasn’t nothing but a lil love tap, and her body was already trying to cave in.
There was nowhere for her to go though. Stack was already back to keeping her legs held open, making her feel what’d he’d just done.
“Stack—”
“Shut that shit up,” Smoke cut her off. “I ont’ wonna hear no whining. And ain’t gone be no running. Look at me.” His fingers moved to her jaw, making her neck crane awkwardly to the side as he brought his face forward until their eyes met. “You walk in here, bouncing around in this dress, smellin’ sweet, smilin’ innocent, just to sit between me and my brother and write about bein’ used like a whore.” His voice was smoke, sinking into her skin, burying its way so deep, she’d never forget it.
“You worryin’ ‘bout what you think I can’t do. Sittin’ next to me tryna figure out who dick bigger, when you ain’t ready to take either.” His face was hard, nostrils flaring, something thick and long growing in his sweats and pressing right into Annie. “But you wonna be used right? Want yo’ holes fucked so bad you was ‘bout to nut on my couch just thinkin’ ‘bout it?” His fingers pressed deeper into her jaw. “If you want it, you gone take what come wit’ it, and I don’t wonna hear shit out yo’ mouth but ‘thank you daddy.’”
His words dropped like a weight. And they brooked no room for argument. Or negotiation. She’d take it all — whatever him and Stack had to give — and this was the last out he was granting her. The last time he was letting her slide.
Annie’s breath mixed with Smoke’s as she panted soft. As she remained pressed against him, thighs still spread, pussy drenched, heart beating faster than what was probably healthy.
She didn’t really stop to think about the repercussions — what this would start, what it could change, what they were about to do to her.
All she could focus on was the pulse between her legs. How close she was to finally getting what she wanted. And she let that ache, that yearning, talk for her. Let it put the final nail in her coffin.
“I hear what you sayin’,” Annie licked her lips, spoke like she wasn’t already spread wide and hemmed up by the throat. “But why would I tell my daddies thank you, when they still aren’t doing shit???”
Nothing happened at first.
Nobody moved.
Nobody blinked.
Felt like breathing flat out stopped for all three of them. And it stayed like that.
Up until everything unpaused at once.
Stack let her thighs go, stood up from the couch. Smoke slid his hand back to her throat, practically barked out his next words, “Stand yo’ ass up!”
Annie didn’t really get the chance to move herself, before she was being moved. Smoke was rising and she had no choice but to rise with him, legs scrambling, both feet just planting themselves on carpet before he let her neck go and spun her around.
“Think you like pushin’ cause ain’t no nigga eva’ pushed back,” His hand was already reaching for her again, fingers re-wrapping around her neck, pulling her in until her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. He was breathing deep, eyes so dark they didn’t look brown anymore. “By the time me and my brotha’ done wit’ you? All ‘dat brat shit? Gone be out the window. You gone be takin’ dick, swallowin’ nut, and talkin’ polite, like a real good girl.”
She couldn’t think of a response before his mouth swallowed hers.
The kiss didn’t start off gentle. Or slow. But it wasn’t sloppy either. It was demanding. Thorough. Entitled. His tongue stroked into her mouth like it belonged there, like he was claiming her. Like she was already claimed.
He didn’t wait for them to create a rhythm, he set it instead. Head tilting, lips forming a seal with hers until she had no choice but to breathe in him and nothing else. They weren’t really kissing so much as she was being kissed — with such nasty precision she felt it in her pussy. It made Annie moan — a sound that was swallowed before it could even be heard. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, wet sounds ringing out louder than the bracelets on her wrists every time the two parted and came back together. Every time his tongue fucked into her mouth with purpose. Annie moaned louder. All she smelled, all she felt, all she could think of was Smoke. Heat bloomed in her stomach, nipples growing hard and achy, tongue seeking out more of him, now that his mean ass had finally cracked. Her pulse thudded hard against the hand still locked around her throat —
And then a hand wrapped around her twists, the same ones swinging long and free, and pulled.
The hand at her neck dropped as Annie’s head was yanked back, the sharp sting making her eyes fly open, vision immediately filled with the sight of Stack smirking down at her.
“You forget about yo’ favorite twin?”
He closed in immediately — grip around her hair firm, angling her head until it turned to the side and then kissing her from where he stood behind her. Extra, wet, and nasty. She couldn’t even catch her breath, before it was taken again.
Because that’s what the brothers did — took, possessed, and consumed.
That’s what they were going to do to her.
Stack kissed rough. Slick. And he tasted like sin. Sweet, dark, and addicting. The music their lips made was loud — greedy smacking sounds born from the way his mouth moved against hers. From how he used her hair to pull her mouth deeper into his one second and then to yank her away the next.
“That mouth so sweet —” His stare was like lava when he pulled back, the same gold in his mouth flashing like a warning she’d already decided not to heed. “‘Dis how the fuck I want you greet me from now on. Straight tongue, none of ‘dat smart mouth shit.”
He pulled her back in quick, like he was feigning for more already. Whimpers climbed out of Annie’s throat as their mouths moved together. As their saliva mixed, Stack kissing her deeply and then sucking on her tongue, as if he wanted to bottle her taste. It felt like he was trying to fuck her mind rather than her mouth. And it was working. Annie was dizzy. Was craning her neck for more when he finally pulled away, a long strand of spit keeping them connected before it broke off.
Her mouth was kiss swollen, lips and chin wet, body leaned back into Stack’s like she was unsteady on her feet.
“Yeah, my mouth good for something else besides talking shit, huh?” Stack echoed the words he’d read in her journal, kissing her rough one last time before he let her hair go.
And as if they’d practiced the transition, Smoke stepped right back in.
“Get ‘dat dress off.” No please. No hesitation. Just direction. Direction she should have been quick to follow, considering this was all she’d been wanting.
Annie never did what was expected though. Wasn’t known for making things easy.
Instead of complying, she let her heated eyes wander, from Smoke’s piercing stare, down to them lips she’d just felt for the first time. And then further, past his stiff shoulders and wide chest and big arms. She let her gaze drag all the way, right to them grey sweats. To the cotton that was stretched, soft fabric molded around something that looked lethal. That looked so lengthy and fat she felt her throat constrict.
Smoke hadn’t touched himself. Hadn’t readjusted nothing. Hadn’t grabbed. Hadn’t stroked. And his dick was demanding attention. Sat heavy in a way he couldn’t hide. In a way that caught Annie’s attention. And then kept it.
Stack was still behind her, all up on her, body hot and tone instigating. “Look at ha’. Ain’t even got her breath back and she still focused on the wrong shit. She so fuckin dick hungry.”
“I ‘ont care what she is. She betta’ get that dress off, for it get ripped in half.”
That got her attention. Made her eyes jump right up to Smoke’s face. Made her lip sink into her teeth. Because she could feel that he was on the edge of showing her exactly what she thought she wanted.
“He mean that too, baby.” Stack’s breath hit her ear. “And if he ont’ do the honors, I will.” It was crazy encouraging crazy.
And as she stood between all that crazy, breathless and wet, she only grew wetter. Only had a stronger urge to keep pushing. To keep taunting.
So, what exactly did that make her?
“I can’t get the dress off if y’all don’t give me space to move,” She attempted her usual tone — defiant, sarcastic, unbothered — but her voice came out too wrecked for that.
And she didn’t get the chance for a redo.
One second her dress was sitting pretty on her frame and the next — Smoke moved like a solider executing an order. No hesitation and no remorse as his arm shot out, hand clasping the front of her dress and then yanking — pulling the thin material down in one strong controlled movement.
Annie gasped as the straps of her dress were forced off her shoulders, burning her arms as her breasts bounced free — full, heavy, sitting up on her chest with just the perfect amount of hang. And then came her soft stomach, her prominent hips, that fat lace covered mound that sat perfect between her thighs. Every inch of her dark ebony skin was exposed in seconds as white fabric pooled around her feet.
She blinked, like she was surprised or something.
“Done repeatin’ myself to yo’ hard headed ass.” Smoke met her wide stare unflinchingly. “You gon’ learn how to listen.”
“And we gon’ have fun teachin’ you. You see ha’, Smoke?”
Stack couldn’t have gotten a full look at anything yet.
And he still sounded like he was starving.
Acted like he was too.
The palm against her ass came out of nowhere — landing on the side of one of her full cheeks with so much force Annie damn near lost balance.
“Stack —” She said his name loud. High. Hand flying back on instinct as heat spread across her skin.
“You know what me and my brotha’ ‘bout to do to this ass?” Stack’s fingers locked with hers, his hands grabbing the one that’d flown back, not to comfort, but to move her out his way.
SMACK.
His palm rained down again. In the same spot. Harder than before, like he couldn’t help himself.
“What chu’ even got panties on for? They not covering shit. Lace ain’t doin’ nothin’ but gettin’ swallowed by this big ass.”
He moved a step back, got a better angle.
SMACK.
Everything on Annie jiggled when his hand made contact with her again — thighs, ass, stomach, them full breasts Smoke was currently fixated on.
“Stack —” The sound that left her throat wasn’t really a cry this time. It was a moan, followed by Annie taking a half step forward — like she didn’t know what to do with the pleasure and pain twisting together inside her body — before she was promptly pulled back.
SMACK.
Stack’s hand came from the left, bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he watched that ass jump. Deep voice washing over Annie in a way that drove her crazy.
“Don’t run baby. You know a nigga like me, like to chase.” His palm rained down again, the loud thwack of skin against skin echoing throughout the living room.
“‘Dis the same ass you was bending over the otha’ day right?”
SMACK.
“Now you ‘ont wonna show it off? My lil slut actin’ shy now??”
SMACK.
Annie’s throat was dry. Mouth wide open. Things happening inside of her body that didn’t even make sense. She was overheated everywhere. Overstimulated and not stimulated enough. Pussy clenching around nothing. Mind blanking as she was forced to feel that sting wash over her repeatedly. As a bow formed in her back, only serving to push her ass out further.
Meanwhile, something was shifting inside Stack’s chest every time his hand connected with her. Something dark and primal.
“You was ‘bout to give anotha’ nigga this pussy?” His dimples caved in as he spoke. “Let him see this perfect ass bent over, when you know daddy right next door ready to give you what you want?”
His palm cracked down sharp.
“Stack -”
“You gon’ make that shit up to me, Annie. Gon’ stand on all that shit you be talkin’.”
The bow in her back deepened, titties sitting high in the air as loud pretty moans fell from her mouth.
SMACK.
SMACK.
SMACK.
Left cheek. Right cheek. Left cheek again.
He wasn’t giving her time to warm up. Didn’t take baby steps. Didn’t pause in between hits and let her get adjusted. He just kept going, hand cracking down, eyes glittering like he was hungry. To feed. To fuck. To punish.
And Smoke?
Just watched.
Roamed his eyes over every dip and curve she had, studied the way her face twisted up when his brothers hand landed, the way she panted, the way them big ass titties bounced — hard chocolate nipples pointing straight at him like they was begging to be sucked.
He eyed her soft tummy, how it moved in time with everything else on her. Took in her prominent hips next, them big thighs and long legs, that fat dripping pussy.
Annie was moaning like it hurt. Puttin’ on a real good show. But that shine coating her thighs? The way they keep squeezing and rubbing together?
Told a different story.
SMACK.
“Look at ‘dat shit move. Fuck Annie.”
Stack’s palm rained down again. And again. And again. Like she was his toy and he was entertaining himself.
“Stack — shit! Okay, daddy! Mmmm — baby, okay!” Her voice was thick, pleading. For him to keep going. For him to stop. For him to leave her ass alone and give some attention to the ache between her thighs. She went from a bow in her back to leaning forward — and that only gave him better access. Only allowed him to grip her forearm now and really lock in.
“Awe now you daddy’s baby?” He laughed at her. Dick jumped, angry and thick. Hand came crashing down again.
“Oh my God. It feel so — !” Annie didn’t think it was possible to cum from this, but every time his hand connected with her full cheeks, the pain spread, everywhere at first and then directly to her clit.
Stack would’ve kept going. Would’ve let her see just how possible it was.
But Smoke put a stop to all that. On purpose.
“Give ha’ to me.” He didn’t wait for her to be handed over. Was already reaching when Stack laid a parting smack to her ass, that loud clap mixing with Annie’s moans.
“You gon’ drive me fuckin’ crazy girl,” Stack’s voice was guttural. He hadn’t slid inside her yet, hadn’t even tasted her, and still — he felt it. That greedy possessive feeling creeping down his spine.
He pulled her up so she was standing straight, stepped back just as Smoke’s hands wrapped around her waist, moving in sync with his brother like they’d done this 100 times before.
Annie was breathing like she’d ran a marathon. Skin achy, head spinning, legs unsteady.
Smoke pulled her into him like he was ‘bout comfort her — had her titties pressed to his chest, his dick firm against her stomach, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He let her be for all of three seconds. And then he did what’d he been itching to do since she stepped into his living room.
Her eyes flew open, a sharp hiss leaving her mouth when Smoke wrapped them twists around his hand and pulled till her head was upright where he wanted. He gripped her hair tighter than his brother had. Didn’t want her to be able to move unless he was directing it.
He looked her dead in the face, voice hotter than a summer day in Mississippi, “You think you ready for us and you can’t even stand straight right now?”
Annie was so busy trying to breathe, that she couldn’t answer. Smoke continued.
“Stack playin’ wit’ you — nigga ain’t even got serious yet. I ain’t even started. And you already shakin’. Pussy damn near leaking on my floor. You ain’t ready for me lil girl.”
It was borderline condescending.
Annie’s hips jerked anyways. Tongue came out to wet her lips. Big brown eyes glazed over, with so much want, so much need, that it made Smoke’s fingers flex. Made his grip on her hair tighten.
“And you ‘ont give a fuck. Don’t ‘een care what we do to you — long as we tend to that pussy, huh?”
He said it like it pissed him off. Like it — she — was testing his control. And winning.
“If you know that, stop making me wait.” Her words were drenched in lust and impatience.
Because she’d never felt like this before. So small. So desired. So desperate.
Annie was blessed with height that’d been intimidating people all her life. Had thick everything that only served to amplify her tall frame — soft arms, stomach, thighs, breasts. Had a mouth she let run. A stubborn streak that got on her own damn nerves. And while some men could handle it, most couldn’t. Not really.
Stack though? Smoke? Did it with ease. Handled her mouth. Her attitude. Her body. All without breaking a sweat. And it made her mouth water. Made her continue talking, as she held Smoke’s glare.
“Y’all supposed to be fucking me right now.”
Stack started, low and amused — “Pussy still got you talkin’ reckless.”
And Smoke finished, eyes so dark she was damn near sinking into them. “Dat’s an order?“
The words came out so sharp they almost felt like a threat.
And the obvious answer was to give no answer at all.
“It can be,” Annie went a different route. Like she didn’t have a sore ass and Smoke’s hand tangled in her hair. Like her chest wasn’t still rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. “If that ‘s what’ll finally get you to listen Elijah.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed immediately and Stack let out something that sounded like a laugh behind her, “I know you tryna’ let her make it brudda’ but you gon’ have to show her somethin’. She beggin’ for it.”
She was. And she was about to get everything she was asking for.
Smoke’s arm flexed as he used her hair to tug her face closer. As he spoke over the low moan Annie let out.
“You think ‘dis a game. Think this ‘bout to turn into whateva’ nasty shit you been writin’ in that book.”
Her lashes fluttered, brain going fuzzy from the sharp sting traveling through her scalp. From the feeling of Smoke washing over her.
“‘Dis ain’t no fantasy, Annie.” He remained unblinking as he catalogued every one of her responses. “ And you don’t run shit wit’ me.”
She was moving. Or rather, she was being moved. Went from leaning into Smoke, body frozen in one spot to being walked, forward first and then around the coffee table.
“Smoke —”
“You that desperate for ‘dis dick?” He ignored her saying his name. Kept her body pressed to his. Kept stepping. Kept her braids wrapped his fist. “You gon’ learn how to ask for it. Can be Stack’s slut all you want, but you gon’ be a good girl for me. A good nasty lil bitch.”
The younger Moore liked the slick shit — the attitude, the mouth, the playing hard to get. It got his blood up. Had him damn near obsessed with Annie.
Smoke though…Smoke liked obedience. Liked manners. Respect. And Annie was gon’ give him all that. Wasn’t gon’ have no armor with him. Wasn’t gon’ show no resistance.
The two moved, Annie’s legs working to keep up with Smoke’s, a sharp groan leaving her mouth at his unrelenting grip.
He didn’t let go until they reached the center of the room. Only let go because unbeknownst to her, Annie was about to be on her —
“Knees.”
He didn’t have to yell for the one word to sound like exactly what it was — a command.
Annie’s big eyes opened slowly. Skin buzzing. Scalp tingling. Pussy so wet she felt like she was one shift away from cumming.
Stack had just bent her over and spanked her. And Smoke had just dragged her around this room. Like it wasn’t nothing.
“Fix yo’ face.” She had the audacity to look shocked. To look even more turned on than she had a second ago. “I let you walk wit’ me jus’ now. You gon’ be crawling by the end of the day. Now get on yo knees Annie, for I put you on them.”
She listened. For what was probably the first time today. It could’ve been the shock that made her act right. Could’ve been the look Smoke was giving her. Could’ve just been her pussy controlling her actions. But either way, she listened. And she didn’t look away from him once. Not as her legs started to fold. Not as her breasts bounced softly in time with her movement. Not as her knees finally hit carpet. She kept her pretty eyes locked with his. Moving graceful but with an edge. Blinking slow up at him like she was asking ‘this what you want daddy?’.
6ft, clean fade, mean eyes, permanent frown — that’s what she was looking up at. That was the view Smoke provided as he looked down on her, hands at his sides, jaw jumping.
Jaw always jumping in her presence.
“Ain’t got no business lookin’ like ‘dat. Sweet ass face wit’ all ‘dis fuckin’ body. You see what you do to me?”
What she did to him couldn’t be missed.
“It look so big.”
Big. Lethal. Dangerous.
His sweats hid nothing. She could see how wide he was. How long. How hard. And just like earlier, she was damn near entranced.
Smoke licked his lips slow. An action he wasn’t even aware of. “You ‘bout to take all ‘dat. Gon’ keep every inch in yo’ mouth ‘till I decide you can breathe. Gon’ swallow my nut like the pretty lil bitch you is. And then you gon’ thank me.” It all flashed in his head, every time she’d bounced over here smirking like she couldn’t be touched, every time she’d pushed, every smart ass remark that’d left her mouth. “Dis’ what chu’ been wantin’ from me ain’t it? What chu’ been waitin’ on?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t hesitate to respond. Because it had been what she waiting on. Because she felt like she deserved the dick. Because regardless of how she’d gotten to this point, she was here now and this is all she’d been wanting. As far as Annie was concerned — some hair pulling, some spanking, was worth it, as long as she was getting her twins.
And that was her second mistake of the day. Thinking it’d gotten as…rough as it could get.
Smoke scoffed, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. How fuckin’ needy she was. “Don’t nothin’ else tame ‘dat mouth, but you get some dick in front of you and know how to act? Shit not gon’ save you Annie. Don’t make up for nothin’.”
Annie…was getting her bearings back. Wasn’t being touched or dragged. Was able to think now. To play.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” She looked back up at him. Almost sounded like she meant what she was saying too. Woulda’ been convincing, if not for the smirk on her lips. “You gon’ let me keep tryin’?”
Her hands moved on their own, smirk still on her face, fingers gripping the waist band of grey sweats and black briefs and then pulling slow.
The dick popped out fast though. Had of mind of its own. Every single inch of it.
Annie’s head moved back on instinct. Smirk dropped so fast it wasn’t even funny. Throat worked to swallow spit. Spit that she’d need in a second.
The dick didn’t curve to the left or the right. Didn’t change shades half way down the shaft. Didn’t look like any part of it would be easer to take than the other. It was consistent — like its owner. Stood straight out. Had a wide mushroom head and an even wider base. Was thick. Heavy. Just like she’d predicted. And the tip was leaking already.
Annie just…stared.
“Ain’t never seen her dis’ quiet, Smoke.” Stack’s voice rung out. Lazy and dark.
“Don’t need words for what she ‘bout to be doing.” Smoke. Studying her as she studied him. “Dis’ what chu’ been beggin’ for Annie. What you so sure you can take.” The older Moore laughed then. Short. Quiet. Layered with something thick and mean. “Shoulda’ jus’ stuck to playin’ in yo’ pussy lil girl.”
-
Annie had dick in her throat. Spit running down her chin. Tears in her eyes. And Smoke didn’t even seem close to finishing.
“Swallow dat’ shit Annie — swallow that fuckin’ dick — there you go. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”
Annie whimpered, peering up at him, lips wrapped tight around his shaft. It was obscene. How wide her mouth stretched. How her titties bounced freely. How every wet slurp was accompanied by a drawn out moan and some variant of, “It taste so good, daddy”, “Thank you, daddy” “This what I needed, Elijah” “I love this dick so much, Elijah.”
He’d cracked something in her. And it was written all over her face.
When she’d started, she’d been in control — because Smoke allowed it. Had let her kiss the head, stroke him slow, work every inch inside her mouth little by little. And she’d worked it. Had been alternating between swallowing his length whole, sucking him in deep one second and then playing with just the tip the next. Running her tongue over that big mushroom head, testing his sensitivity, and catching every drop of precum while her hands twisted around his base.
She’d been making love to the dick — wet sloppy kisses, tight sucks, controlled swallows of her throat.
Smoke had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be teaching her something. Had gotten caught up in them big eyes and that mouth that felt like velvet. Had been swallowing down sounds, gritting his teeth, getting more and more worked up every time he thought about where she’d learned this shit. Every time she’d moaned around him, sending vibrations traveling up and down his dick.
And Annie had been watching. Saw the way his lids started to close. They way his throat worked to swallow down a groan. It’d made her blood rush. Made her cocky. And she gotten just a little ahead of herself. Had slid her mouth off him with a loud pop, lids low, face wet, full lips splitting into a smile. And then she’d started talking.
“Why you keep this dick from me again? Cause I can’t handle you? Or cause you can’t handle me?”
That was all it’d taken.
Smoke had gotten back in his body. Went from letting her suck him, to fucking her throat like it belonged to him. And he hadn’t slowed down since.
“This throat feel like home. Think I’m gon’ keep you like dis’. On yo’ knees, hands behind yo’ back, mouth open, waitin’ for me to use everyday.”
Smoke held her head still. Grunting as her throat squeezed around him. As she took it like her breathing didn’t even matter to her no more.
Because it really didn’t. Not when it felt so good to have Smoke carving out space in her throat. Not when she got to see his lashes flutter every time her tongue brushed one of them thick prominent veins he had running down his shaft.
Annie’s body felt like it was on fire. And she kept her mouth wide and let Smoke continue to stroke the flame.
He didn’t play with her. Wasn’t pulling his dick out and smacking the head against her tongue. Wasn’t making her chase it around. He was focused. Sliding every inch into her mouth, over and over and over again. With long, deep, thrusts.
Annie gagged, a filthy helpless sound, and the hands around her wrists tightened.
“Lil slut would prolly like ‘dat. Wouldn’t you baby?” Stack’s voice fell over her and amplified everything she was feeling. Made her whine around the dick in her mouth.
The younger Moore was behind her. Bent a little at the waist, one big hand locked around both of her wrists. Pulling her arms back and away from her body.
It left her feeling helpless. Completely out of control. And it was her fault.
She’d tried to touch her pussy once. Had slid a hand between her parted thighs while Smoke used her mouth like a fuckin’ flashlight. Had just barely grazed her center when Stack came out of nowhere, snatching her wrists up and talking low.
“Nah, baby. Only thing you focus on right now is my brotha’. Get yo’ hands off that greedy ass pussy. That’s mine.”
He hadn’t let her wrists go since. And she’d been left with her mouth and only her mouth doing the work.
“Answer my brotha’.” Smoke glared down at her. Almost mad at how good she was taking this shit. How good she felt. “You’d like that shit wouldn’t you?”
He pulled out of her mouth, a loud wet sound filling the living room, long strands of spit stretching from the head of his dick to her now glossless lips.
Annie was panting. Chest just as wet as her chin. Thighs squeezing together. Every ounce of attitude in her body seemingly non-existent now.
“Yes, daddy.”
“Who you talkin’ to?” Stack sounded like he was smirking. “Me or him?”
“Both of y’all.”
She was staring straight at Smoke as she spoke. Watching the way his head dropped to the side. Listening to how he grunted low.
“Be careful what you wish for. I’ll make that shit happen for my good girl.”
Her entire center throbbed. A high needy sound climbing out of her throat. Neck stretching as she leaned forward to suck him right back up.
She didn’t know what they’d done to her — what Smoke had done to her — but all she could think about was earning that nut. Tasting it. Tasting half of the SmokeStack twins. She wasn’t even fixated on the ache between her legs anymore. Not entirely. Because all she could focus on was pleasing them.
It was something she’d have to unpack later. When she could think clearly.
Right now, she let her brain turn off. Let her body lead and really — it was doing that already anyways.
Annie dragged her mouth up and down his length. Tonguing his shaft. Swallowing every time Smoke’s head hit the back of her throat. She made it sloppy — made it nasty, hands free and all. And Smoke…Smoke was damn near ready to say fuck being neighbors and move her in forreal. Was ready to bust and give her what she was working so hard for.
The twins started talking to her then, right over all that noise she was making. All that mess.
“Yo’ mouth made for dis’.” Smoke.
“Mouth made for suckin’ and body made for fuckin’. She need ‘dis shit.” Stack.
“You gon’ be my stress relief from now on,” Every time Smoke opened his mouth, he fucked into her mouth rougher. Controlled, mean movements. Her lips were kissing his pelvis every other second, as his nuts drew up tight. “You gon’ calm me down every time you piss me off. Gon’ do it just like this.”
“Takin’ me and my brudda’s nut. That’s yo’ job now, baby.” Stack’s thumb rubbed one of her wrist softly. Like his grip wasn’t the complete opposite of soft. Like her throat wasn’t being worked like a toy. The contrast made her see stars. “I think we gon’ keep you, Annie.”
“She already kept.”
The words were final. So final, they should have worried her. But her brain was clouded with Smoke. With Stack. And her mouth was busy, jaw aching, pussy so wet it felt like she could cum from this alone.
Annie had spent the last few months wanting to be fucked. This wasn’t that.
This was ownership. Possession. A reworking of her soul. And she wasn’t even really aware of it yet.
“You think you deserve this nut?” Smoke watched her blink hazily, keeping all nine inches down her throat for one long beat and then forcing himself to pull out completely. The sound that left Annie’s mouth as he took his dick away, as he gripped the base of his shaft to hold that nut back, was one of pure displeasure.
It made Stack smirk. Had Smoke that much closer to painting her throat. Had his hand sliding up and down his length in quick short movements before he could stop himself.
If Annie was able to move forward and swallow him again she would have. Instead, she moaned out a long, pretty sounding, “Yess, Elijah.”
“You don’t.” His rebuttal was quick. Sharp. Harsh. But his eyes were heated. And his voice was tight. And his hand was still moving, stroking his member, something like a tingle starting at the base of his spine. “But you look so fuckin’ hungry for it ima give it to you. And if you spill a fuckin drop —” He shook his head, hand stopping right at the tip and twisting. “Fuck.”
He was close. Shoulders tense. Brows furrowed. Breath heavy. And something about seeing him like that — so close to losing control — woke up that impatience in Annie. The same impatience that’d gotten her in this shit in the first place.
“I’m not gon’ spill it, Elijah. Give it to me.”
It wasn’t a request. Wasn’t a plea. It was more of a demand than anything.
She was talking to him like she was in charge.
Talking to him like she still hadn’t learned.
Smoke’s hand froze abruptly. With his chest heaving, and nuts drawn up tight, and dick throbbing angrily. He still stopped. Because even when he was on the verge of losing control, he still had it.
Annie frowned and behind her, Stack shook his head. Dropped her wrists. Mumbled something that sounded like, “Damn, baby. This ‘bout to be a long day for you.”
In front of her? Smoke had completely let his dick go, left it standing straight out, head leaking, shaft damn near pulsing. And then he stared at her for a second. Flexed his jaw and …smiled?
“Stack,” He took his eyes off of Annie, to look at his brother. “Get the fuckin’ rope.”
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A/n - If you made it to the end I hope you enjoyed 😬😬😬. I couldn’t call this a drabble cause the shit 14.3k words butttt sorry if it feels a little jumpy and inconsistent? I do notttt have the capacity to write really fleshed out stuff right now. I feel like grief permanently altered my brain and I hate it so badddd y’all because I don’t be having the stamina no more (hence me getting sooo lazy in the second half 😭😭😭) Anyways, I may spin the block on this little world in the future when I can write normally again cause this was a little fun or w/e lmao, for nowww feedback is appreciated, Thank’s for rocking w/ me even when I when I fall off the face of the earth and Happy (late) Wednesday - Lil Bitt out 🫡🫶🏾
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Visionaries (not tagging my Smoke and Annie girlies b/c Stack all in the mix) - @lizbehave @thebumblebeesworld @shereeluvssinners @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @bananajoeclone @aellesa @atpeaceinthestars @underated345-blog @hotebonynearby @hdfen2474 @chromexbarbie @honeytoffee @mmbee675
Series specific - @theogbadbitch
Been waiting on this like the first and the 15th!
stack definitely the type to bully you while you got his dick in your mouth
just talking shit while grinning and looking down at you
i feel like that nigga really would hurt his girl feelings lol 😭
he get carried away with the shit too telling you how you suck dick too pretty and then force it down your throat
he not a overly serious daddy dom like smoke is or mysterious daddy dom that keeps you coming back like Erik
i feel like he genuinely just be playing with you because he don't take shit seriously 😭 lol
like overly playful and doing to much and just overall disrespectful as fuck but the dick be hitting so you keep coming back
Confessions Restaurant & Lounge pulses with booming 808 basslines of UGK, Z-Ro & Trae Tha Truth. Thick Southern drawl in every Dirty South lyric that matched the crowd moving below. Brown skin, dark skin, copper skin, deep mahogany skin caught the strobe lights and threw it back in flashes. Gold hoops swung. Rings glimmered. Fresh lineups, silk presses, locs, curls, braids, and fades moved through the sea of black people like art in motion. Everywhere you looked, somebody was laughing. Heads tipped back. Hands slapped shoulders. You could see girls huddled and gossiping while sipping vibrant drinks that snuck up on them like a chill. Bodies packed the main floor, women in lace jumpsuits, tight dresses, skirts that barely covered ass, stilettos and platforms. Men wearing sneakers straight out the box, all the jewelry in their collection, grills gleaming like rainbows. Women twerked low to the southern beats while men watched from the edges with drinks in hand.
Up in the private VIP section, separated by velvet ropes and a low glass partition that let the noise in but kept the space exclusive. Plush black leather couches lined the walls, low tables scattered with bottles of top-shelf liquor and ashtrays holding half-smoked blunts.
Stack sat back in the center couch, one arm draped along the backrest, black shirt open at the collar to show the gold chains layered against his brown skin. His tailored pants fit sharp over his athletic frame, expensive loafers planted wide, rings catching the colored lights every time he lifted his glass.
She sat right beside him, thigh pressed against his. Her dress clung like it was painted on, short enough to show the length of her legs and cut low to frame the curve of her chest, the fabric shimmering. She held her posture straight, shoulders back, chin lifted just enough to project that ice-queen distance she wore like armor. Her eyes stayed sharp, scanning the room with cool assessment, and every time Stack leaned in, she answered with clipped words or a raised brow that dared him to push further.
Stack watched her for a long moment, the mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes narrowing as he read the attitude rolling off her. His honeyed, Mississippi drawl came low, meant only for her ear over the thump of the music.
“You been runnin’ that mouth all night like you forgot where you at. Like you forgot who put you in this section, who decides how long you stay.” His free hand rested on her knee, fingers pressing just firm enough to remind her of the grip he could tighten. “You know who you belong to. You know what happens if you keep givin’ me that look, like you too good for a reminder.”
She shifted in her seat slightly but didn’t pull away, her expression staying composed even as the tension between them rose. Stack’s thumb traced a slow line along her skin, his gaze dropping briefly to the way her dress rode up before lifting back to her face.
“Keep it up and I’ma put you right where you need to be. On your knees in this booth…throat open while the music covers every sound you make…you think that attitude protects you out there but in here…it just tells me how bad you want the correction.”
His voice always stayed smooth, flirtatious on the surface but edged with the control he wielded so easily. It made her pulse quicken despite the cool mask she kept in place.
Stack fixed her with that sharp, amused stare.
“Why the fuck you show up if you can’t stand me?”
She crossed her arms, her posture stiff and eyes darting to the crowd beyond them. “I came for the music. That’s all.”
He chuckled low at first, then let it roll out fuller, shaking his head like she’d told the best joke he’d heard all night.
“Nah. Don’t play that. You knew I’d be here. So what’s the real reason?”
“Drop it,” she whispered, turning her shoulder slightly away.
Stack leaned in closer, his gold chains catching the colored lights. His lips brushed her cheek, nose pressed against her hair, taking a sniff.
“I don’t like being ignored. You hear me? Answer the question.”
She stayed quiet, jaw tight, refusing to meet his gaze even as the tension pulled tighter between them. Her eyes flicked down for a split second, catching the thick outline pressing against his pants, heavy and obvious. She snapped her focus back up fast, but not fast enough.
Stack caught the glance, his lips curving into a slow grin. He chuckled, the sound warm and knowing.
“What you lookin’ at?”
She shifted her weight, voice flat. “You know what I’m looking at.”
Stack reached out without hesitation, catching her wrist and guiding her hand straight to the fat bulge in his pants. Her palm landed against the heat and solid weight of it, fingers brushing the shape through the fabric. She rolled her eyes hard, pulling her usual ice back into place like armor, expression bored and distant even as her hand stayed where he put it.
Stack watched her face the whole time, reading every flicker she tried to hide.
“Yeah, I see you. Actin’ like you don’t care, but your hand ain’t moving.” His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges with that familiar taunt. “You gon’ keep playing games or you gon’ get on your knees and suck this dick?”
The question hung between them just like that fat dick twitching hard beneath her hand, a sudden pulse that made the thick shaft jump against her fingers. Heat radiated through the fabric, intense and alive, the warmth seeping into her skin like it was trying to brand her. She could feel every detail—the fat girth stretching the material taut, the way it throbbed with a steady pulse that matched the bass from the club floor, the subtle ridge along the underside that hinted at its veined length. It was solid, unyielding, and growing firmer by the second under her touch, the warmth building until it felt almost feverish.
She bit down on her lower lip, teeth sinking in to trap the moan that threatened to slip out. Her body betrayed her even as she kept her expression locked in that icy mask, eyes narrowed and jaw set like she was above all this. But her mouth watered anyway, saliva pooling at the thought of wrapping around that big dick, and her clit thumped insistently between her thighs, a dull ache that pulsed in time with the twitch she felt in her palm. Defiance kept her spine straight and her shoulders squared, but the way her fingers curled just slightly against the bulge gave her away, pressing in to feel more of that thick, warm weight.
Stack’s eyes never left her face, noticing the way her breath hitched despite her best efforts.
“That’s what I thought.” Stack whispered, shifting his hips just enough to grind the print harder into her hand.
Stack didn’t wait for an answer. His free hand went to his pants, unzipping with a quick pull that freed the heavy length of his dick. It sprang out thick and dark, the fat head glistening with a bead of precum, veins pulsing along the shaft. She couldn’t tear her eyes from it, the sight locking her in place even as her fingers stayed pressed against the warm skin now exposed.
Stack laughed low, the sound rumbling from his chest as he caught the way her gaze locked on, wide and hungry despite the stubborn set of her jaw.
“Look at that face,” he taunted, voice thick with amusement and that Mississippi drawl. “Eyes all big like you ain’t never seen a dick this size before. You actin’ like you too good but your mouth’s damn near droolin’. Go on, admit it…that look says you want every inch down your throat.”
Stack’s hips thrusted upward, positioning that fat dick straight up so it stood rigid against his stomach, the full weight of his balls hanging heavy and tight below. It twitched visibly, the shaft bobbing with each rush of blood, the warmth radiating off it in waves that she felt even from inches away. The head flared dark and slick, a thick vein running the underside that throbbed in time with the southern bass.
Her defiance cracked right there. She gave in with a sharp breath, sliding down to her knees without another word, dress bunched at her waist, bare ass resting on her heels. Her hands reached to grip his thighs as her lips parted. The heat hit her first when she leaned in, that feverish warmth from his skin making her clit throb harder between her legs.
Stack’s dick stood heavy and rigid in front of her face, a network of raised veins pulsing along its length. The fat head flared wide, shiny with a bead of precum that stretched into a thin string when she leaned in. Her mouth watered openly now, tongue flicking out to taste the tip before her lips parted and stretched around the broad crown, struggling to take the girth as she sank down. Saliva welled up fast, coating the upper half of his shaft in a glossy sheen that caught the strobe lights every time she bobbed.
Stack’s hand rested on the back of her head, rings heavy against her hair. He let her work for a few strokes, watching her cheeks hollow and her throat flex. Then, he gave a short push that forced another inch inside.
“That mouth tryin’, ain’t it?” He said, voice low and taunting. “You call that sucking, baby? Feel like you just holding it.”
She tried to take more, jaw aching, but he tightened his grip and eased her back until the head remained between her lips like she was sucking on a lollipop. A wet pop sounded when he pulled free completely. His dick swayed, slick and heavy, the veins standing out darker now from the suction. Stack tapped his fat head against her cheek twice, leaving wet marks and sticky trails of pre cum.
“Nah. Lick it proper first. Base to tip. Slow. Show me you want it.”
Her tongue dragged along the underside, tracing every ridge and vein, saliva dripping from her chin onto her cleavage. Stack watched with half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth lifted, dimple peeking. When she reached the head and swirled her tongue around it, he let her suck the tip again for a moment before yanking her off once more.
“Greedy. You ain’t earned the whole thing yet.”
Stack gripped the base with one hand, angling the thick length so the head brushed her parted lips but stayed just out of reach. She leaned forward; he leaned back an inch, keeping the distance.
“Uh-uh. Ask nice. Tell me what that mouth is good for.”
Her answer came out hoarse, “for sucking this big dick.”
Stack rewarded her with a single swallow thrust that barely stretched her lips before withdrawing again. Spit trailed from her lower lip to the head of his dick.
“That’s better,” he said, feeding her another inch, then two, until her nose nearly brushed his trimmed hair.
He held her there, feeling her throat flutter around the fat intrusion, then pulled her off completely. His dick glistened from root to tip, strands of spit connecting her mouth to the head. Stack slapped it lightly against her tongue, the weight of it making a soft pat-pat sound.
“Breathe. Then try again. And don’t stop until I say.”
She dove back in, lips sliding down the veined girth with more determination, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth. Stack’s fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her but never letting her set the pace herself. Every few strokes he would ease her back, denying her the deeper reach she chased, his voice smooth and cutting above her.
“Still half-assing it. Open that throat or I’ll do it for you.”
That fat head popped free again, shiny and swollen, and he dragged it across her lips in a slow tease before letting her have it once more. She slid back down on him, lips straining wide around the broad crown, but Stack’s fingers tightened in her hair and he gave a low chuckle that held no warmth.
“Nah. I don’t want that pretty dick sucking either. You hear me?” He yanked her off with a wet pop, dick swinging heavy and slick, thickness coated in ropes of spit that dripped from the tip down to the base where veins stood out dark and pulsing. His fat length twitched, shiny and obscene, Stack slapping it on her tongue again.
“Open wider. Get nasty wit’ it. I want spit running down my balls, not this tidy little bob you think pass for sucking.”
Stack fed that wide tip back between her lips but only halfway, holding her there while she sucked softly, then pulled free once more so his entire veined girth glistened and swayed in her face in a hypnotic dance. Her chin was shiny, drool sliding down her neck. Stack angled his dick so the head brushed her cheek, leaving a wet smear.
“Look at that. You tryna keep it cute? Fuck that. Slobber on it like the greedy slut you is.”
Stack pushed her face lower, making her tongue drag along the underside where a thick vein pulsed against her taste buds, then let her suck the tip again only to deny her the rest. Every time she tried to sink deeper he eased back, the fat crown popping free shiny and swollen, strings of spit connecting her mouth to his dick.
“That’s right. Make a mess. I want it dripping off my shit ‘fore I even think ‘bout letting you choke on the whole thing.” His free hand stroked the base once, slow, showing her the full heavy length before tapping it against her parted lips. “Breathe through your nose and get sloppy. Or I’ll just fuck that throat myself.”
She stopped fighting the urge and let it happen, drool spilling freely from the corners of her mouth as she worked her tongue along every inch he allowed. Spit coated the full length of his dick, thick strands stretching and snapping each time she pulled back for air. Wet trails ran down her throat and soaked the neckline of her dress. Stack watched with a satisfied smirk, his grip in her hair firm.
“There it is,” he said, voice low and approving in that mocking way he had. “Look how quick you got it. All I had to do was tell you once and now you making a proper mess. Easy, ain’t it?” He let her sink a little deeper on her own, the head of his dick nudging the back of her throat before he eased her off again. “Follow directions and this shit get simple. No need for all that fuckin’ attitude you walked in wit’. Just open up and slobber like I said.”
Her tongue dragged heavy and wet under his shaft, spit bubbling at the corners as she tried to take more without being told. Stack chuckled, tapping his slick head against her lips before sliding it back in halfway.
“Yeah, just like that. See how much better it feels when you stop pretending? You can act like you run shit out there, but right here you follow every word, makes my job easy too.”
His fat crown pressed deeper while spit poured down over his balls. The wet sounds filled the VIP space, louder than the muffled bass from the club floor. Stack’s free hand rested on her jaw, thumb stroking the slick skin as he held her in place for a moment.
“Keep going exactly like that. No fancy tricks just the nasty shit I asked for. You do that and we both get what we want.”
She kept at it without hesitation, her mouth working steadily over every inch he gave her. Spit ran in heavy streams down his thick dick and over his heavy balls, soaking the front of his pants where they hung open. Her tongue pressed flat and eager, dragging wet and thorough each time she pulled back before sinking forward again. No resistance left in the way she moved, just the steady rhythm he had set for her.
“You really can’t stand me, huh? Always got that look like you wanna slap the smirk off my face. But here you are again, lips stretched around my dick like it’s the only thing that shuts you up. Every single time you swear this the last…you end up on your knees. Can’t leave it alone, can you?”
He rocked his hips forward once, testing how deep she would take it on her own. She did, throat working around the head without pulling away. More spit bubbled out and dropped onto the floor between his feet. Stack laughed, thumb brushing the corner of her stretched mouth.
“Look at this mess you making. All ‘cause you can’t stay away from what you claim to hate. I tell you to get sloppy and you do it like it’s second nature. Follow every word I give you, even when you glaring at me with those sharp eyes. You hate how easy it is. Hate that you keep coming back for more of this.”
The club music thumped somewhere beyond the VIP curtain, but in here it was only the sound of her wet lips and his voice laying out every contradiction.
“You walk ‘round like nobody can touch you, but the second I tell you to open up you turn into this. Can’t stand me, yet you can’t stop sucking me off every chance you get. Makes me wonder what you’d do if I told you to stop right now. Bet you’d keep goin’ anyway, just to prove you can walk away whenever you want. We both know better.”
Stack rose to his full height, glass in hand, the ice clinking as he took a slow sip. He looked down at her on her knees, eyes locked on the way her lips stayed wrapped around him.
“No hands,” Stack commanded. “Just that mouth. Work it like you mean it. All jaws, no shortcuts.”
She adjusted without a word, hands dropping to her sides. Her jaw flexed as she pushed forward, taking more of him in one steady glide. She moved like she knew exactly how to angle it, cheeks hollowing on each pull, tongue pressing hard along the underside with every stroke.
Stack watched her, drink still in one hand while the other rested at his side.
“That’s it. Suck that dick like the pro you are when nobody’s watching. Look at you, throat working overtime. You act like you hate my guts when we in public but in here you swallow every gahdamn inch of this dick like it’s your favorite meal.”
Stack rocked his hips once, testing her rhythm, and she took it deeper without pulling back. More spit spilled over her bottom lip and ran down his balls. Stack chuckled, low and rough.
“Admit it. You love this big dick. Say it while you got it stuffed in your mouth. Tell me how much you love choking on it every time you swear you done wit’ me.”
She refused to give him that satisfaction with words but her jaw worked harder, the wet sounds filling the space between them. Stack took another sip, eyes never leaving her face.
“Come on. I wanna hear it. You can’t leave this alone ‘cause you love how it fills your throat. You love gettin’ bullied while you drool all over it. Say the words.” Her pace stayed relentless, lips stretched tight. Stack tilted his head, voice turning sharper. “That’s my mean girl, keep going. Admit everything. How you can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout this dick even when you give me attitude. Say it loud enough so I know you mean it.”
Stack held still, letting her drive the motion, watching every bob of her head and every flex of her throat as she worked him deeper. The club noise stayed muffled beyond the curtain while he sipped again, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.
“Good girl. Now keep that mouth moving and tell me the rest. How bad you need it. How you hate yourself for loving every second of this.”
Stack yanked his dick free from her throat, gripping the base and started smacking the heavy length across her face. Each slap landed with a wet thud, the head dragging over her cheek, across her lips, up to her forehead, leaving shiny streaks behind. He did it slow at first, then faster. Her eyes watered but she kept them open, staring up at him.
“I can’t fucking stand you,” she rasped, voice thick and broken from how deep she’d been taking him. “But I love it. I love all of it. This big dick, the way it stretches my throat, how you make me kneel and take it. I love choking on every inch even when I swear I hate you.”
Stack let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and amused. He slapped his dick harder against her cheek, then dragged it down to smack her chin.
“Look at this pathetic face. Sayin’ you can’t stand me while my dick all over it. You love it so much you drooling just from the words. Go on, keep talkin’. Tell me how bad you need this dick you claim to hate.”
He kept the pace going, smacking the thick shaft over her nose and lips, the wet slaps echoing in the VIP section. Spit flew with each strike. Her expression stayed wrecked, mouth open, tongue half out like she couldn’t help chasing it.
“That’s right,” he mocked, voice smooth even as he bullied her with his dick. “Admit it all. You sneak around just to get treated like this. Can’t get enough of how I make you feel like nothin’ but a hole for me to use. Say it louder.”
She swallowed, throat working, and kept going between the hits.
“I love this big dick more than anything. I love how you make me do this, how you don’t let me use my hands, how you laugh at me while I beg for it. I hate you but I can’t stop wanting every second of it.”
Stack grinned, dimples flashing, and gave one final slap across both cheeks with his tip girth before pressing the head against her lips again.
“Good. Now open up and prove it.”
She proved it right away. Her lips parted wide and she took him back in, sucking hard and sloppy like she was desperate for some prize at the end. Her tongue worked the underside in fast strokes while she bobbed her head, cheeks sunken with every pull. Spit ran down her chin and dripped onto her dress as she pushed deeper, taking more of him without any hesitation.
Stack felt his dick swell thicker in her mouth, the head pulsing against her tongue as he got closer. He groaned low and gripped her hair tighter.
“You want my nut that bad, huh? Look at you workin’ for it. Tell me where you want it. How bad you need it.”
She pulled off just enough to speak, voice hoarse and frantic between licks.
“And want it so bad, Stack. Give me that nut. I want it all over my face, down my throat, anywhere you say. I need it more than anything right now. Please, just cum for me.”
Stack chuckled again, mocking and low. “Hold still then. Grab my glass and don’t spill a drop.”
She reached up with one shaking hand and took the glass from him, holding it steady while he planted both palms on her head. Stack drove forward, fucking her throat in hard, steady thrusts. His hips snapped towards her face as he chased his release, using her mouth like it was made for exactly this.
Stack’s body tensed hard, his hips jerking forward one last time before he yanked his dick free from her throat with a wet pop. Thick ropes of cum erupted from the swollen head, the first heavy spurt landing across her cheek and splattering up toward her eye in a hot, sticky line. More followed in powerful pulses, each one shooting out in long, creamy strands that painted her face white. His load was massive, costing her skin in heavy globs that dripped down her jaw and onto the neckline of her dress.
His face twisted in raw pleasure, brows furrowed deep, full lips parted around a guttural groan that built into a low, drawn-out moan. His deep brown eyes narrowed to slits, lashes fluttering as his chest heaved, the veins in his neck standing out while he emptied himself with a stutter of his hips. Stack aimed the next burst lower, letting the cum land directly on her wiggling tongue as she held it out for him, the warm fluid pooling there in a thick puddle before overflowing down her chin.
“Fuck, that’s it.” He rasped, voice thick and taunting even as his dick twitched through the last shots. “Look at all that nut on your pretty face. You earned every drop, didn’t you?”
She didn’t pull away, instead leaning in to suck the remaining cum from his still-hard length. Her lips sealing around the head and milking him clean with slow, tight pulls until nothing more came out. Stack watched her with a smirk, his hand still tangled in her hair as he praised her through the taunts.
“Good girl, swallowing what you can and wearing the rest like a badge. Such a nasty little slut for me, huh? Bet you love feeling it cool on your skin.”
She rolled her eyes at him from her knees, the gesture full of attitude even with his cum streaking her face. Stack burst out laughing, the sound rich and amused as he tilted her chin higher with one finger.
“There she is. Always got that fire, even when she’s covered in me.”
† The Priestess
Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southern— a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.
Chapter 7
Contains: Explicit language, slow-burn/build romance, mentions of Hoodoo
Word Count: 9.9k
📝 This chapter really turned me every way but loose because it went a completely different direction than I originally planned, but it's necessary in kickstarting things between the two of them. Please let me know what you think in the comments! & Sidenote: The Harvest Party is coming up soon!
Masterlist
The hands of the grandfather clock ticked quietly in the front room of the boarding house, but to Annie it sounded like gunshots.
It was late.
The house had fallen into its nighttime rhythm— mostly quiet except for the random sounds of boarders stirring in their rooms. A cough from behind a closed door. The creak of a bed frame. The slow pouring of water into a basin. The smells of supper still lingered like they always did this time of night, settling into the walls like a layer of time. The fragrant aroma of clove hung over top of everything, bursting through the air every time Aunt Della parted her lips. She chewed on it slowly. Methodically. Watching Annie as her fingertips smoothed gently over the leather of the sketchbook cover.
Annie sat on the couch across from her. Her eyes looked full of possibility as she flipped through the paper, the corners of the pages sitting crisp beneath her thumb.
Something was on Aunt Della’s mind.
Annie could feel the warm flush of her skin cooling under the quiet intensity of her gaze.
Her voice broke through the silence. “He been comin’ ‘round a lot lately.”
There it was.
Annie looked up.
Aunt Della stirred her drink in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the sides of the mug. “How you feel ‘bout that?” she asked. Then she took a sip.
Annie’s head lowered. Her first instinct was to not respond. Her second was to deflect. Her third was to ask why.
“Baby,” Aunt Della probed. “I been alive too long. I know what it means for a man to stand around tryin’ to make himself useful.” She crossed one leg over the other, her ankle bouncing with anticipation like she knew this was going to take a while.
Annie’s mouth curved despite herself. She turned a page in her sketchbook, smoothing the spine down harder than necessary with her palm.
“You like him?”
Annie still couldn’t look up. It was like her words got stuck in her throat. The more Aunt Della talked, the more Annie felt caught off guard.
“Annie Royal, I ain’t talkin’ to myself,” she said sternly.
Annie’s head snapped up. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “I don’t know,” she said finally, in a hushed tone.
Aunt Della rolled her eyes. She let the words sit between them long enough for Annie to hear how untrue they sounded.
“Yes you do,” she answered back.
Annie looked down again, her throat tightening with something she didn’t have the name for. Aunt Della watched her for a moment, admiring how softly the lamp light curved around the edge of her face. It was smooth. Innocent. There was a vulnerability in her that she wanted to protect. But as much as she wanted to shield her, she knew she needed to be ready for the day the world came knocking.
But she was so young. Barely 18.
She remembered herself at that age. She remembered how quickly she got swept up in her husband’s kind words and gentle eyes like it was yesterday.
It happened so quickly. Marriage. Mississippi. A son.
She thought about the day her husband came back from town hall with the deed to their house. He painted the outside a rich buttery yellow and whitewashed the shutters with a puffed up chest. Dug out the underground storage with his bare hands, a shovel, and a strength that could only be explained by a feeling he’d never experienced before in his lifetime. Pride. Ownership.
The boarding house became a sanctuary without a steeple. They took in anybody who needed a hot meal and a place to lay their heads. Musicians, preachers, teachers, people trying to get up North. And two little boys trying to escape their father’s fists.
Elijah and Elias.
She met them young. Back when their father, Adam Moore, went door-to-door in town, strumming his guitar and sipping hooch straight from the bottle while his young sons walked around hungry.
She knew them before they went by Smoke and Stack. Then she watched them earn those nicknames in blood, gunpowder, and grit. And now Smoke was coming around her sister’s granddaughter. Her only great-niece.
She watched Annie nervously brush her thumb against the edge of the sketchbook and sighed. “I ain’t tryna fuss at you,” she clarified. “I just wanna know where your head’s at, and how you feel when he’s around.”
A moment passed. Then two.
Aware.
That’s how Annie felt when he was around.
Aware of herself. Aware of him. Aware of the space between one breath and the next. Like something inside her had started listening before she knew that there was sound.
Loose.
Not in the way men and women meant when they whispered about such things.
But in a way that words just came out of her mouth before she could stop them. She couldn’t carry on with him like she could with Aunt Della right now—taking the hard parts and making them sound just right so she didn’t reveal too much too soon. He got the truth before she could dress it up. And she hadn’t taken the time to figure out why quite yet. And that scared her. But it made her feel something else, too.
Seen.
She was holding back. Aunt Della could see that with her eyes closed. She could see the wheels turning in Annie’s head like she never got a chance to sit with her feelings long enough to name them. But she already had her answer. It was in the way she held the sketchbook to her chest before remembering she wasn’t alone.
She tried a different angle. “He good to you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Annie could reply quickly when she could answer without thinking too hard.
“Respectful?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He pressure you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I feel like—” Annie paused, embarrassed by the honesty that sat right on the tip of her tongue. She was fighting to keep it to herself. Not because she didn’t want to be honest, but she felt like words couldn’t do her thoughts justice. And she felt foolish that she felt any kind of way to begin with. “He makes me feel….”
Aunt Della let out a sigh. “You ain’t gotta explain it yet. Sometimes when the feeling’s good, you can’t explain it right away. You gon’ find the right words when you ready.”
Annie nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You intact?”
“Yes ma’am.” Heat climbed up her neck as she held the sketchbook to her chest.
“Don’t let him take it, if that’s not what you want.”
“Yes ma’am.”
A quiet beat passed. “If it is—” Her breath hitched when she cut herself off.
It felt like the room held its breath. Annie, too.
“Nevermind.” Aunt Della shook her head like she regretted saying anything.
Annie frowned, her lips poking out. “What is it?” She asked. Her voice was cautious, but not in the way it had been earlier. It was more braced than anxious.
Aunt Della looked at Annie with a fierce protectiveness. “What you think about him?” she asked quietly.
Annie twisted her lips, searching for something that wouldn’t feel foolish the second it came out of her mouth. “At first I just thought he was quiet,” she said finally. “Not empty quiet, but the type of quiet that’s always holdin’ somethin’ back.”
Aunt Della’s eyes stayed on her.
“But when he’s with me, when he look at me…” Annie’s voice softened despite herself. “It feels like…the rest of the world disappears. And it’s just us. Just me and him. And he can let go.”
Aunt Della didn’t answer immediately, and her face didn’t change. The silence felt worse than being questioned. “And how you think he feels about you?”
“Ummm….” Her eyes flitted around the room nervously.
“The truth do just fine.”
Aunt Della set her mug down on the coffee table with a soft thump. Then she sat back and crossed her legs again, twirling that ankle in the air in slow, deliberate circles.
“Truth is…” Annie started. “I think he’s taken a shine to me. He got me this.” She rubbed the cover of the sketchbook, her cheeks warm flushed with warmth and a hint of embarrassment trying to explain herself. “He comes around, he sits with me, he listens–really listens–to what I say. And he don’t forget,” she said, remembering the note he left her, and the conversation that sparked the words he left.
“What’s all this?” Smoke asked, gesturing to the drawings sprawled across her quilt under the magnolia tree.
“Drawings,” she replied sarcastically.
Smoke sucked his teeth. “I know that,” he tutted. “What they for?”
“Helps my memory. Drawin’ things. Writin’ them down.”
“So you remember what they look like?”
“Kinda. So I remember what they for.”
Annie glanced over, bracing for laughter, amusement, or even teasing. She got none of it. When she found Aunt Della’s eyes she wasn’t smiling. She didn’t laugh. She almost looked sad, but not in a way Annie fully understood.
She simply crossed her arms across her chest and arched a brow in challenge. “So you think that means…what?”
The bluntness felt like a physical thing. It cut sharply through the room like a knife slicing through a thick fog.
Annie blinked. “Ma’am?”
“You think every man who buys you a little somethin’ or listens to you talk, means to do right by you?”
Annie blinked twice this time.
All of a sudden, she felt every bit of eighteen.
Not a child anymore, but not grown in the ways the world seemed to demand all at once.
Smoke wasn’t the first to come around. She had a few who called on her back in New Orleans. Always respectfully, always in the proper way.
She had a freedom up here that she didn’t have living under the roof of her very protective family, and that freedom allowed her to get to know Smoke in a way that would have been damn near impossible back home.
But he was always respectful. Never pushed. Always made sure she felt comfortable. That meant something to her. Time. Energy. Intention.
She kept getting four when she added two and two together.
But maybe Aunt Della was trying to tell her she wasn’t too good at math.
“I’ve known the twins since they were real young. Seen ‘em grow into bright young men. Good-lookin’ young men that every woman in this town want a piece of.” She paused. “And men like Smoke…they can make a girl feel like the whole world done gone quiet around her. But that don’t mean the world ain’t there no more.”
Annie’s ears had already perked up at the mention of his name. But now she listened even more intently.
Aunt Della’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t assume nothin’ based on a man’s silence. You’ll get yourself in trouble fillin’ in blanks that ain’t yours.”
The flame of the oil lamp shifted behind its glass, throwing a soft tremble across the wall. “You got dreams. Hopes. You want your own shop right?”
Annie’s chin lifted with a defiant certainty. “Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Don’t you put that on hold for him, or any man. If he really likes you, he won’t keep you from it.” Her voice got lower, like she wanted to say something hard but make it sound sweet. “Smoke ain’t a man who say much unless he mean it. But if a man really wants you, he’s gonna spell it out plainly.”
The words moved through Annie slowly, crawling up her spine and down her chest where her heart thumped a little faster. She traced her thumb along the back cover, feeling the grain of the leather beneath her fingertip.
The ceiling creaked softly above them. Another lodger, maybe. Or just the house settling into itself. Crickets chirped low in the grass while the night wrapped around them, fully aware of what truth hid behind her silence. It chose not to soften it.
“I understand,” she finally said, quietly.
“Now gone’ to bed. I know you tired.”
Aunt Della stood. Annie did, too. Aunt Della turned towards the kitchen, then thought better of it and turned to grab Annie’s forearm before she got too far. She grabbed her face gently, staring at Annie with warm brown eyes. “I ain’t sayin’ all this to scare you. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I love you.”
The tightness in her chest eased a bit. “What were you gonna say, when you stopped yourself?”
Aunt Della’s eyes softened. “It’s not for me to say,” she said softly. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”
She pulled her into a hug then released her. Annie moved slowly towards the staircase, purse slung tightly over her shoulder, sketchbook secured underneath the crook of her arm.
“Goodnight Aunt Della,” she called out.
“Goodnight, Annie.”
Annie started up the stairs. Halfway up she paused, her fingers tightening their grip on the banister. She looked back toward Aunt Della who was halfway to the kitchen.
“Thank you,” she said, just loud enough so she could hear it.
The night was dark and tonight that darkness felt loaded. The sky was bare. No stars, just an endless stretch of shadow that pressed against the windows, barely softened by the faint glow of the waning moon.
Annie laid in her bed just staring. First she counted the cracks in the ceiling. Then she traced the lines on the walls with her eyes.
The words of Aunt Della replayed in her head. That and the feeling that something laid quietly underneath their conversation. Something Aunt Della knew and refused to say.
Two questions came to mind.
What was Aunt Della holding back from telling her?
What made her change her mind?
It took a while for Annie’s eyes to get heavy while her thoughts refused to shut off. Something settled in her bones at that moment.
Somewhere beyond the boarding house, Smoke—Elijah—had come and gone and left something behind. Something more than just a pretty sketchbook and a thoughtful note.
Morning light came soft through the windows, a pale gold that stretched across the floorboards, taking on the pattern of the lace curtains. Annie stood at her dresser with her nightgown hanging off one shoulder, a satin scarf sliding slowly down her braids.
She counted under her breath, the silver coins plunking against the thin metal of the container where she kept her money. It was a tea tin, a small one that smelled like mint no matter how many times she tried to air it out. The last coin clinked against the others in the tin. She closed the top of it, taking a moment to write the total on the back cover of her sketchbook. She kept a running tally there, one that she copied over from a piece of scrap paper she used to keep track of her earnings before last night.
Annie set Smoke’s note on her dresser. She traced her fingers over the words, brushing her hand over his name on the paper. The ink pooled thickest where he dotted his “i,” and when she touched it, it stained the part where flesh met fingernail. Aunt Della’s words from last night crossed her mind as she watched the ink bloom and spread across her fingertip before slowly sinking into the skin.
Crossing the room, she knelt near the loose floorboard in the corner that lifted without a creak. She tucked the tin into the hollow space and started to fit the wood back into place. Then she hesitated. Not because she doubted herself, but because she wanted to imagine what it would be like for a spell. Her own shop. A modest house with blue paint. She’d sell and barter healing herbs and medicines that ward off sickness and bad spirits, the shelves lined top to bottom with jars, vials and bottles of them. A long table, polished smooth by her own hands, would stretch proudly across the front room where she’d serve meals to sharecroppers and passing workers. Dried roots tied in bundles would hang from the rafters in a shed off to the side. People would come to fill their bellies and stay for something more.
That was hers.
Annie left New Orleans before dawn, dust kicking up from the soles of her shoes and darkening the hem of her dress. She kept her money folded small, eyes cast down the way she was told to when she was traveling alone. A few things she held close to her chest— her great-grandmother’s bible, some knick-knacks, and a few letters. A burlap sack hung from her shoulder, holding some other possessions she held dear. An old trunk held the rest.
The Mississippi River laid before her, wide and brown. She boarded a boat with other people heading upriver, women with their satchels, men with their hats pulled low to keep the mosquitos away. Annie hung onto the railings, watching the trees dip their roots in the water, their branches swinging heavily in the wind like they’d seen too much. The depot was next. When she boarded the train, she closed her eyes and said a prayer underneath her breath— one for the journey, one for the destination.
She spent the night in a Colored waiting room with families piled on top of each other and solo travelers with tired eyes wearing all their possessions.
The next day was another train. Cotton fields stretched wide beyond the thick glass of the windows, the grim landscape broken only by oak trees and tiny shacks lined up in a row. They passed by another stretch of land mostly hidden behind the treeline, but she could feel it— water, soil, roots, foundation.
An elderly man, skin the color of pralines, sat on his porch watching the train go by. Striped overalls with the clasps unbuckled, white shirt with the sleeves rolled, straw hat, heavy work boots— but what caught her attention was his eyes. One was completely covered in cataracts. The other one looked sharp enough to hold the sight of four people. The man sucked on a stick of sugarcane while a hound dog sat by his side, tongue out, panting hard under the burn of the Mississippi sun.
Then he was gone.
All that remained were the muted shades of nature as the train trekked through the countryside. No house. No dog. No sugarcane. But Annie could remember every detail, even the dusty blue denim of the man’s overalls. And the expectant look in his eye.
She woke up with a jolt, spine snapping straight where she was slumped over in her seat.
The train cabin was quiet. Most people were asleep, some lingering in the corners, some just starting to wake up. Nighttime was on the horizon. Shades of orange and pink swallowing what was leftover from the day.
“How long I been out?” she asked the woman next to her.
The woman thought for a moment. “Since we got on, I reckon.”
“I been sleep this whole time?”
“Mhmm,” she confirmed. “Must’ve had you a long day…”
“Must’ve…” Annie frowned, rubbing the sleep from her drowsy eyes. She looked out at the land through the thick, cloudy windows of the train cabin, and the land looked back.
Time passed and she still remembered it all. The land. The house. The way the sun slanted just right through the trees. The man. How he looked like he was waiting for something. How real he felt, even after she realized she was dreaming. When she finally pressed the floorboard back into place the room became itself again. A bed. A dresser. An altar. And a young woman kneeling on the floor daydreaming about possibilities.
One state over, the road began to flatten towards Memphis. It was bad in places, rutted deep from wagons, farming equipment, and animal hooves. Dust rose up behind the truck in low brown puffs, sparkling in the light before disappearing up into the trees.
Smoke drove with both hands steady on the wheel. Stack rode beside him, one arm hanging lazily out the window, hat tipped low against the glare.
“So you gon’ tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
Stack sucked his teeth. “Don’t do that.”
Smoke kept driving. Stack waited him out. That was the thing with twins, when one soul splits into two. Silence didn’t work on somebody who already felt it on the inside.
“Annie,” Stack blurted after a while.
Her name shifted something in the cab. Stack could tell by the way Smoke’s eyes narrowed slightly, his hands tightening around the wheel all of a sudden, the leather groaning under the force of his grip.
“What about her?”
Stack barked out a laugh. “So, it’s like that?”
The road curved just ahead of them, pecan trees crowding close to the edge on either side of the road like they were trying to listen in on their conversation.
“I talked to Della,” Smoke admitted. He looked over to Stack, whose smile eased a bit where he sat.
“About?”
Smoke didn’t reply.
Stack sat up fully. Back straight, slouch gone. “For real?”
Smoke shot him a look.
Stack leaned back slightly, studying the side of Smoke’s face. “Damn,” he trailed off. “What she say?”
It was the day before they were set to head to Memphis, and the early evening sun poured molten gold through the back windows, warming the floorboards of Della’s kitchen. Smoke stood in front of the counter watching her slice a batch of onions. Della stood on the other side, her arm moving like the wheels of a locomotive, the movement slow, methodical, and sharp because she’d done this a thousand times.
“I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’,” he said, voice steady.
Della kept her pace, she didn’t slow or stop. “That right?”
“That’s right.”
“This ‘bout my girl?”
“It is.”
Della stopped what she was doing. She wiped the knife off on a kitchen towel, then set it down on the counter.
“I was hopin’ I could court Annie,” Smoke said firmly. “Proper like.”
“What you know about courtin’ a woman proper?” Della asked. She crossed her arms.
Smoke took his lick. He didn’t flinch.
“She ain’t just anybody,” Della said before he could respond.
“I know,” Smoke replied. Something in him leaned forward before his body did. “I wanna do it right. If she’ll have me.”
Della looked over Smoke carefully. For the lie in his eyes. For the joke tugging at the corner of his mouth. For the doubt in his posture. “You talk to her ‘bout this already?”
“Not yet.”
“You need to.”
“I will. Wanted to ask you first.”
She eased her weight off one hip, and put it on the other. “She ain't built for no half steppin’.”
“I don’t do half.”
Della’s eyes narrowed for a second, then relaxed. “That girl want somethin’ of her own,” she said. “Don’t know if she told you that yet.”
“She did.”
“Well.” Her voice came out soft but sharp. “She got powerful hands. Hands that ain’t meant to be locked up under some man’s roof waitin’ for permission. If you wanna court her, you better not try to shrink her.”
“I won’t,” Smoke replied.
Della picked up her knife again. She sliced into an onion slowly, the thin, methodical rhythm of metal hitting wood echoed in the otherwise quiet room.
Lodgers started to walk in from their work shifts, heading to their rooms or back out to the porch where a few of them were squatting over a dice game. A few of them poked their heads into the kitchen to ask about supper.
Smoke hadn’t moved an inch. He waited quietly, letting the silence sit between them, more for him than her.
“You like her,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t even need to ask. She could see it. Feel it, even.
“Yes ma’am.”
“How much?”
“I care about her. Wanna see her more. Respectfully.”
Della’s nose wrinkled. “You serious?”
“I am,” he said with finality.
Something passed through Della’s eyes as she looked him over carefully, from head to toe. It didn’t feel like judgment. It was something Smoke didn’t have a name for. He raised a brow, a silent question.
“Still seein’ other women?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ain’t what I heard.”
Confusion. It spread slowly across his face like the petals of a night-blooming flower before turning into something darker. Smoke flexed his hands at his sides before clasping them firmly in front of himself. “What you heard?” he asked, inclining his head.
“Little here, little there,” she admitted. She tilted her head. “May not be loud, but I can hear whispers just fine.”
Smoke’s jaw worked. He shook his head once, firmly. “It ain’t true.”
“It ain’t?”
“I ain’t lyin’,” he stated simply. “Since I started spendin’ more time with Annie, I’ve only been seein’ her.”
“Then why they still talkin’?”
Smoke sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.
Della sucked her teeth. She looked away, then looked back. “That don’t answer my question.”
Her eyes got a little sharper, then. Defensive. She folded her arms across her chest, pushing back.
Smoke looked like he was racking his brain for the answer. When it clicked, let out a ragged, frustrated breath through his nose. “I guess, I ain’t really end it the way I should,” he confessed.
Della’s voice went up a whole octave. “You guess?” she asked incredulously.
“That’s on me,” Smoke said, jaw tight. “But I’ma handle it.”
“How you tryna court Annie, when you can’t even end somethin’ proper? What happened?”
“I stopped reachin’ out,” he explained. “Ain’t seen ‘em, none of that.” He sighed into his words. His voice tight, but firm. “Thought that was it. I moved on, figured they did, too.”
“You figured wrong,” she corrected. “You leave one woman guessin’, don’t come over here askin’ me for permission to leave another one guessin’.”
Smoke nodded, the muscle in his jaw fluttering. “I won't. I’ma clear it up. Before I bring anything to Annie.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Della started.
“Miss Della—” he started.
She searched his eyes. “Elijah,” she said, in a tone that sounded like a warning.
Smoke’s gaze didn’t waver. He looked at her firm, steady, unblinking. “I mean to do right by her. I wouldn’t be askin’ you if I didn’t.”
Della sighed. “Alright.”
Smoke’s face relaxed.
“There’s rules.”
“Okay.”
“Handle that business, first.”
“Trust me, I will,” Smoke said, nodding once.
Della picked her knife back up, turning it sideways so she could start dicing the onions. “Y’all been kissin’?”
He wasn’t about to lie. He didn’t lie anyways, not when it mattered, but especially not to a woman who could put a root on him with one hand, and chop an onion clean down the middle with the other—at the same time. “Yes ma’am,” he admitted.
She didn’t flinch. “That it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Mhmm,” she muttered. “No funny business in my house,” she warned, pointing the tip of the knife towards him.
“You ain’t gotta worry about that.”
“I know,” she said warmly. “Not with you.”
“Can I leave this for her?”
Smoke held up a thin, black leather covered book.
“What is it?”
His jaw worked. “It's for her drawings,” he said simply. “So she can keep 'em all in one place.”
“I will,” she said. She could feel the tenderness in his words, even though he tried to hide it.
Smoke let out the breath he’d been holding since he walked up the steps of her porch with a gift and a question. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, sweeping the diced onions into a bowl with the edge of her blade. “That girl’s heart is her own. She gotta say yes, first.”
“Smoke.” Stack’s voice came out quiet.
Smoke slowed without thinking. He cursed under his breath, sitting fully forward in his seat.
Up ahead, the road dipped towards a narrow wooden bridge that laid over a stretch of shallow, muddy water. Off to the side, something rose from behind the cotton fields.
Dust. It came from the far side of the bridge, lifting faintly through the trees along with the sound of a mule dragging something through dirt.
Smoke eased the car to a stop beneath the shade just before the bridge. Stack moved from the passenger seat and stalked towards the edge of the field, his body loose in the way men looked when they were prepared not to be. He looked for what didn’t belong while Smoke stayed behind the wheel listening for it.
Wind rustled through the leaves, a dry, papery sound that blew through the acres of cotton plants. Sharecroppers that sang hymns and blues songs as they moved down the line. They picked cotton with tired, calloused hands, the cost of their labor paid in bright red splotches of blood that dripped from their fingers, staining the stark whiteness of the cotton bolls. A vulture circled overhead, then found its prey. It swooped down, its wings spreading menacingly slow as its talons gripped the rung of abandoned machinery.
Stack walked back to the truck with the cautious confidence he carried no matter how many times they’d taken this route. His face didn’t show it, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Just some nigga on a wagon,” he said, waving it off.
Smoke looked back, looked towards his brother, looked towards the bridge, flexed his hands on the wheel, then steadied.
Memphis appeared thirty minutes later.
The city smelled like hot grease and opportunity. The sound of brass instruments hung heavy in the air, cutting through all the cigar smoke and pipe exhaust. A band played on the street once they turned the corner, a crowd of people gathered around them tossing money, dancing, and singing. Vendors lined the streets selling all kinds of treats, both savory and sweet, shouting their prices above all the noise.
There was a lightness here.
But Stack hadn’t spoken since they crossed that bridge.
“Just say it,” Smoke muttered.
“Say what?” He spoke with his usual slick tone, toothpick hanging out the corner of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t.
“Whatever it is.”
Stack grinned. He rolled the toothpick around his mouth. Cleared his throat. “I’m just thinkin’.”
Smoke waited.
He rubbed a hand over his freshly lined up goatee. Smiled again, wider this time, his gold fronts shining in the late afternoon. “You ain’t seen…you know?”
Smoke didn’t even let the question linger in the air. “No.”
Stack didn’t back down. “Last I heard…”
Smoke’s brows pulled together. “It ain’t true,” he said flatly.
“I knew she was full of shit.” He shook his head in disgust. “She gon’ be pissed, though.”
“Who, Annie?”
Stack looked over. “Nah.” He shrugged. “I mean, maybe…” He shook his head again. “I mean...”
“Nigga.”
Beale Street pulsed around them. A saxophone blared loudly on the sidewalk. The sultry voice of a woman floated out from the open door of a juke they passed by.
“Look at my nigga tryna be serious,” Stack teased, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I mean you was born serious but…”
“Aight….” Smoke mumbled.
“For real," he continued. Voice lighter now, but not unserious. “I’m happy for you brotha.”
Smoke didn’t answer.
Stack leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head as the truck slowed in front of The Monarch. The juke joint was already breathing through the walls. Music, laughter, and the smell of fried food spilled out into the street.
“You know she good for you, right?”
Smoke’s eyes cut over.
Stack lifted a hand. “I’m bein’ serious,” he said with a grin.
“I ain’t ask you for all that,” Smoke grumbled. He pulled the brake and cut the engine. “I just need you to be serious ‘bout this business we ‘bout to handle.”
Stack smoothed out his suit jacket before climbing out first. “Nigga, I’m always serious ‘bout—” He cut himself off. His grin widened. “Oh, you really like her huh.”
Smoke stepped out after him, shutting the truck door harder than necessary. “Shut up, Stack.”
Stack only laughed as he headed towards the door of the joint. Smoke followed behind him, both brothers disappearing into the smoky mouth of the juke.
They waited until the boarding house was empty. Breakfast was long over, the kitchen back to the way it looked before the lodgers ran through it in the morning. The floors were swept, shelves dusted, dishes washed, dried, and stacked neatly in the cupboard. Flour dust hid between the cracks of the table no matter how many times it was wiped down, a chipped blue bowl full of onions and garlic hiding most of that. A heavy cast iron pan hung over the stove with something in it that would cook low and slow until supper.
Annie stood in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled past her elbows, wiping down the edge of the table. Aunt Della watched her from across the kitchen, tending an arrangement of calla lilies in a slender glass jar. “Ready?”
Annie looked up from wiping a stubborn corner of the table. “Yes.”
“Nervous?”
Annie rung the rag out, twisting it once and dropping it in the wash basin. “A little.”
The kettle hissed softly behind them, steam reaching up towards the ceiling in white, pillowy puffs. A burst of bright, mid-morning light flooded the room through the curtains, catching the edge of a jar of dried bay leaves that sat near the windowsill and the fur of Felix who was curled up with his paws tucked under him like he was waiting on this exact moment. He purred gently, the sound a sharp contrast to the kettle whose whistle was now piercing the air.
“Come on,” Aunt Della said, leading her towards the lean-to in the backyard.
The space was narrow and dark even though the sun was high, only slivers of light peeking through the cracks in the siding. The shelves held various grooming items needed for a house full of men. Lye soap, oils and tonics, shampoos and aftershave. A galvanized tub sat in the middle of it all. Aunt Della moved two small crates aside in the corner of the room. Annie looked down, her mouth dropping open when she caught the glint of the iron ring hidden between the floorboards.
“Don’t just stand around catching flies,” Aunt Della threw over her shoulder. She was already bending over as quickly as she could for her age, hooking two fingers into the ring and pulling up.
“What’s down there?” She bent down to help her.
“You ‘bout to find out.”
The wood lifted from the floor with a low groan and a whistle of trapped air that escaped like the room was letting out a breath. The smell of something earthy and dark—roots, clay, old wood, and something more sharp—hit them with the first whiff that rose from beneath the ground. Aunt Della lowered herself carefully onto the first step then looked back, a lit oil lamp secure in her hands. “Mind your skirt,” she told Annie. “And close the door behind you.”
Annie gathered the length of her skirt, wrapping it twice around her hand. The stairs creaked beneath her feet, each one more narrow and steep the deeper she moved below the boarding house. The hum of the street disappeared first. Then the sounds of the backyard—chickens, birds, bees and the breeze.
Then the daylight.
Annie paused at the bottom to take in all that she could see from the stretch of Aunt Della’s oil lamp. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with everything from bottles to tins to roots dark and twisted that reached into the soil like fingers.
Aunt Della led her to a door. They had to be underneath the front porch of the house, Annie thought to herself. She unlocked the room, a heavy oak door fitted with two heavy padlocks, and guided them inside.
More shelves.
Glass jars caught the flickering flame of the lamp in dull flashes. They were lined up along the walls, filled with graveyard dust, mandrake, cinquefoil, High John, and camphor. A stack of bones too small for Annie to name. A brown bag of black mustard seeds, blue glass beads, river stones smooth as polished teeth, and an assortment of other things.
Aunt Della set the lamp on a low table in the middle marked with knife nicks and stains like old wounds. On it sat a mortar and pestle, a ledger book with a cracked spine, a fountain pen, three small bowls, and a white candle burned low in its dish.
“This where we gon’ start.”
Annie looked around, wrapping her arms around herself. “This all yours?”
“It’s all mine,” Aunt Della confirmed. “Take a seat.” She gestured for Annie to sit on one of two cushions around the table and moved to one of the shelves. She glanced at a bundle of dried leaves, touching them lightly with two fingers before bringing it back to the table. “Some of this belonged to my mama. Some of it from women I met along the way. Women whose names don’t get spoken much anymore.”
She opened the ledger to a blank page, then pushed it to the corner of the table. “First thing you learn ain’t gon’ be what does what, it’s gon’ be what not to touch.”
Annie’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s stuff that heals and stuff that calls. Calling is where it gets tricky. You can call luck, love, happiness. You can call something darker. Something that settles. Something that unsettles. The thing that gives you mercy can be the same one you beg for mercy. It all depends on which hand holds it.”
Annie absorbed as much as she could while her gaze drifted around the room. This room felt smaller, not because of its size, but because of what it held. Most things felt familiar, a few things did not. It was the few things that didn’t, that unsettled her.
She thought of her grandmother. Of the stool in her apothecary. Sometimes she’d sit there all day, just watching. Reaching for things out of curiosity and being told ‘not yet’ so often that it became part of her rearing.
Aunt Della must have seen something cross her face, because her voice softened. “You know more than you think,” she said.
“Then why do I feel like I don’t know anything…all of a sudden?”
She paused. And then— “Lemme show you.” Aunt Della reached for a jar of something dried and fragrant hidden under a strip of blue fabric. She set it on the table. “Name it.”
Annie tried to peer through the glass. The leaves were green, obviously. Smooth, and curled at the edges, from what she could see. She opened the jar carefully and sniffed the fragrance that wafted through her nose. The smell was earthy. Sharp. “Sage?” she asked.
Aunt Della gave her a look.
“Not sage,” Annie winced.
Aunt Della paused a moment. “You know that ain’t no damn sage.”
Annie brought the jar to her nose again. She took a deeper whiff. It smelled different this time, something warmer and sweeter. Familiar, but not from the kitchen. “Boneset?” she guessed.
“You askin’ or tellin’?”
“Tellin’,” she said, twisting the lid closed and setting the jar down.
Aunt Della waited a moment for Annie to second guess herself. She didn’t. “There she is.”
Annie smiled despite herself.
“What’s it for?”
“Fevers and aches,” Annie began. “Unless you take too much.”
Aunt Della hummed as she shuffled through the jars, vials, and pouches littered on the shelves. “Every living thing got a spirit,” she started. “It had a spirit ‘fore it had a name.” She continued on. “Its smell will tell you its name. But its spirit, that’ll tell you what it wants.” She looked at Annie closely, eyes narrowing. “This,” she tapped her temple, “is how you learn the spirit of a thing.”
She reached behind her without looking, pulled another jar down, and set it on the table in front of Annie. “Name it.”
They went on like that for a while, one jar after another. Some Annie knew right away, some she hesitated on, and some that made her feel straight foolish when Aunt Della corrected her.
“Don’t just guess ‘cause you wanna be right.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You was.”
Annie huffed softly, frustrated.
“You gotta learn how to trust yourself, baby. Like when you close your eyes to draw.”
Aunt Della turned her back to the shelf, her eyes sweeping over her collection until she landed on a small bundle wrapped in red thread. She placed it on the table without a word.
“Gon’ head. Pick it up,” she insisted.
Annie hesitated at first. Her fingers wrapped around it gently, something tightening low in her belly once it touched her palm. Whatever was inside the cloth was hidden, but she could feel the weight of what she held in her hands.
“What?” Aunt Della challenged her. “Tell me how it feels.”
Annie rubbed her thumb along the fabric. “This one feels…like it wanna be left alone,” she said breathily.
The flame of the oil lamp that sat on the low table shifted, flickering once then standing still—but it wasn’t from any wind.
There was no wind down here.
Just darkness, soil, and walls that held their breath like lungs.
Aunt Della watched her for a moment, then reached out and took it from her. Annie’s hands felt lighter instantly.
“What was that?” Annie’s eyes lifted, following the bundle.
“Not today.”
“Really?”
“I said,” Della repeated. “Not today.” She sat back down. “Lesson number two. Curiosity don’t mean permission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Power ain’t always in what you can hold. Sometimes it lies in what you know to leave alone when you ain’t ready. When it ain’t ready.”
She looked up to the ceiling. “They know?”
Aunt Della snorted. “Men don’t notice half of what’s goin’ on.”
Annie laughed and Aunt Della smiled back, pulling the ledger towards the edge of the table. The pages were filled with names, dates, ingredients, measurements, and notes. Some in Aunt Della’s hand, others in foreign script. Most of the entries were normal: fever, toothache, bad blood, sleeplessness. Others were less common: keep someone away, restore peace to a home, stop a tongue from speaking ill, return what was sent. Annie traced a line without touching it. Her pulse felt different as her finger hovered over the script. Slower, heavier, like something had reached up and guided her hand.
Aunt Della flipped to the next page of the ledger, tapping a blank line on the page once with her finger. “When you open a door with your name on it, you better know what you sellin’. You ain’t just sellin’ an herb. Ain’t just sellin’ a bottle. You sellin’ a promise.”
“A promise?”
“When a woman’s hurt and she comes to you for help…she ain’t just lookin’ to buy a root. She’s lookin’ to buy trust. Silence. The hope that somebody knows what to do with what she can’t carry alone anymore.”
Annie thought about the women slipping through her grandmother’s door. Their faces covered with veils, hands holding tight onto coins, voices just above a whisper. She drew them sometimes while she sat in the corner on that stool—not just their faces, but the changes. How they came and how they left.
Aunt Della pushed the pen, ink, and the ledger on the table right in front of Annie. “Write today’s date.”
le 31 octobre 1919
Annie wrote it in her best script. When she put the pen down she felt different somehow, like she had crossed a threshold she didn’t even know was there.
Aunt Della moved the ledger away to let the ink dry and the moment settle. Then she stood, took down another jar from the shelves, popped off the lid, and set it in front of her.
“Name it.”
Annie lifted the jar to her nose, but this time she didn’t rush.
She smelled first.
Looked second.
And listened to whatever quiet thing inside her answered third.
It took Smoke three attempts to light his cigarette.
It was later that same evening. He stood on the second-floor balcony of the Greenwood House. It sat on the corner of Hernando and Beale; the place he and Stack stayed every time they came down to Memphis. The clink of utensils and the hearty smell of andouille sausage and gumbo drifted out the open windows of the porch and floated upward to where he stood outside, making his stomach twist with hunger.
An older woman named Mrs. Johnson owned the place and knew them well, often turning a blind eye to whatever they (Stack) got up to when they came down for business.
“This ain’t no whorehouse! You want a whorehouse, there's plenty of them down the street! Tryna soil my good furniture. The sheets is one thing, but I catch one of them hussies on one of my couches, I’ll put you out on ya ass in the middle of the night with just ya draws on!”
Smoke held a lighter in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other, rolled up tight with the special New Orleans blend of tobacco laced with a little grass that he got from Bo every other week.
His thumb slipped on the spark wheel on his first try.
His hand shook suddenly on the second.
He gripped the base harder, clenching his teeth on the third try. An eruption of flint and fuel sparked a flame that burned bright and angry against the setting Memphis sun and the backdrop of Beale Street.
Smoke brought the cigarette to his mouth, its red ember heating the inside of the palm.
He exhaled with relief.
It felt like a betrayal. That a white man’s war was the reason his hands had a mind of their own sometimes. The lack of control that had him shook. Angry.
He took another drag to calm his nerves, his thoughts searching for somewhere soft to land.
Annie.
He’d seen her walk into some shop on Issaquena a few weeks back. Long blue dress with buttons down the middle. Curved just right over her hips and thighs. Like it was painted on.
Smoke took another hit, blood sparking heavy with desire. He let the smoke filter through his nostrils when he exhaled. He inhaled it back through his nose, letting the fumes settle deep and spicy in his chest.
He had to think about something safer.
Like lips or eyes.
But Annie’s lips? And Annie’s eyes?
Her lips were dangerous. Soft, fluffy, inviting. Sweet.
He thought about how his name slipped out of them like it was the best thing she ever tasted.
“Smoke,” she’d drawl. It melted on the tip of her tongue like a scoop of her favorite ice cream from downtown, her Louisiana lilt drawing out the o, making her lips form a perfect circle like she was—
“You good?”
The sound of familiar steps made him turn his head to the side.
It was Stack.
“Yeah,” Smoke said, flexing his hands at his sides. “Food ready yet?”
”Just about. She puttin’ dishes out and shit.” Stack turned to walk away. Then he paused. Turned back. “She made sweet potato pie, too.”
Smoke snuffed out his cigarette and hurried his ass downstairs.
One Week Later…
It was lunch hour. The dining area at Blackbird was packed full of hungry customers, unbridled laughter, and the smell of frying oil. Annie weaved expertly through the tables and around the booths like she belonged there. Since she started working there, she’d already found her own rhythm even though she only worked a few times a week. She was keeping up with the seasoned waitresses, the ones who didn’t write orders down and could balance two serving trays and a pot of coffee with one hand. She was doing so well that even Mr. Hightower was impressed with how she held her own, even with the sudden increase of diners from out of town.
Especially people’s relatives from up north.
There wasn’t a family in Clarksdale who didn’t have somebody who went north for better opportunities, higher wages, and more or less, more freedom. Annie heard the stories. Walk off a train, walk into a stockroom or a shipyard and find work that pays four times what you’d earn in the fields or as a domestic down south.
And now she was looking at them sitting in the booths, laughing with their friends and family while showing off their fancy cars, shiny shoes, and new clothing.
That ‘Northern’ polish.
Stack had that type of polish. Always kept a waistcoat. Always wore real gold—chains, pocket watch, gold fronts. Shoes always shined like they were polished by the sun.
Smoke didn’t dress like his brother, but he had a way about him too. His clothes weren’t flashy, but they were clean. Neat. He kept a wristwatch instead of a pocket one. One with a black leather strap, smooth bezel, and a nice engraving carved on the back. But he still had a ruggedness about him that she liked...a lot.
She wondered if their “travels” ever took them up north. Pittsburgh, Detroit, Chicago. She knew they’d been to New York. Smoke told her that. Spent some time in Harlem staying with Aunt Della’s son before they shipped off to war.
Annie didn’t know exactly what they got up to when they went out of town, but she wasn’t wet behind the ears. She didn’t need all the details to know the shape of danger. The town knew what the SmokeStack twins were; they earned those names here. Even if the town knew to not go into detail about what they did to earn them. But there were rumors.
Especially about the women they dealt with.
Stack was the womanizer. Annie knew that the minute she first met him at the train station. He had a mouth so slick, he could make a woman apologize to him for breaking her own heart. Smoke was a little different. Quieter about his, at least. But quieter didn't mean it ain’t exist. Where Stack left noise, Smoke left silence. The type of silence that was hard to measure sometimes. And with silence came people trying to fill that empty space with their own version of the truth. So they whispered.
“So-and-so said…but you ain’t heard it from me.”
“He don’t talk as much as Stack, but he ain’t no saint.”
Aunt Della’s words came to mind. About things being spelled out plain and not assuming attention meant intention. But Annie wasn’t so sure if it was a warning, or just plain words of wisdom.
Was she just another woman in a line of quiet whispers?
“Annie!” It was Mr. Hightower.
She looked up.
“You been wipin’ the same spot for a minute, now.”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head a little, plopping the rag in the bucket.
“I need you to dump the coffee in the back please,” he requested, walking off.
Annie sighed. “Yes, sir.”
She made her way to the back, coffee pots in one hand and a bucket of hot, soapy water in the other. She set the bucket by the back door and walked outside.
The back alley smelled like cigarettes and old food.
Annie’s nose wrinkled as she walked over to the trash receptacles before getting startled by a raccoon that darted out from under one of the trash bags. She managed to dump the coffee out without splashing it all over her shoes. The cool, brown liquid pooled on the ground for a minute before seeping into the dirt, the coffee grounds scattering across the wet surface like ash.
Fourth Street was alive. Wagons, voices, music, smoke drifting up from cigarettes and woodstoves. Smoke had finished one last piece of business near Fourth Street. He stepped out of the back room of a building and onto the street, money folded tight in his pocket, hat sitting low on his head. He stepped off the curb and crossed the street, slowing right in front of Blackbird Cafe. He stopped. Looked through the windows casually, trying to be subtle. He wasn’t. The writing and the glare from the sun made it hard to see, but he found her instantly.
Annie was behind the counter, but her head turned towards the kitchen. Probably listening to one of the cooks talking shit from the back like they always did. He saw her shoulders shake and her head dip forward like she was laughing at something one of them said. But when she turned back around, the smile on her face broke the room open.
Something struck him low in the chest. A possessive tightening pull on his ribs. Annie’s eyes shifted. She looked around the restaurant. Through the other waitresses that darted around her, through the people in the dining area. They kept on moving until they finally found him.
Her face went blank for a second and he thought his chest would cave in. Then it softened, then the corner of her mouth lifted slowly. Just for him. That was enough for him to walk inside before he even realized what he was doing.
The cafe got quieter when he walked in. Conversations lulled, laughter turned into low chuckles that turned into throats clearing. Men nodded to him. Either out of respect, fear, or something else. Smoke took a seat at the counter and watched as Annie made her way over with a coffee pot in her hand.
“Afternoon,” she said softly.
“Afternoon.”
“You hungry?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
She took a mug from the shelf behind the counter, placed it in front of him, and started pouring. The coffee spilled into the cup dark and hot, steam rising off the top before dissolving into the air like the things left unspoken between them.
Smoke wrapped his hands around the mug and took a sip. Warmth settled into his palms and spread throughout his chest. And it wasn’t from the coffee. “Thank you,” he said, voice low.
“My pleasure,” Annie giggled. “How was your trip?”
“Long.”
“That it?”
“Mostly.”
Annie didn’t push. She studied him for a second, topping off his coffee and wiping down the countertop while the diners went back to their own conversations and meals. She thought about saying more. She decided not to. It was too quiet now. Too many ears perked up. She reached behind the counter again, this time to pull out a clean napkin.
“Thank you,” she said as she set the napkin down next to his mug.
“For what?” His eyebrows pulled together.
“The sketchbook,” Annie said incredulously, head cocked to the side.
Smoke’s mouth twitched. “You welcome.”
“Mhmm.” She rolled her eyes playfully.
“You been good?” His voice was rough when he asked that question.
She tapped her fingers slowly on the counter as he set his mug down. Annie leaned forward on her hands. Smoke leaned forward on his arms. Annie looked at Smoke. Smoke looked at Annie.
“Been great,” she said finally. Her lips were pursed in that playful way he liked. “You?”
Smoke’s eyes moved over what he could see of her from his seat at the counter. Slowly.
“Better now.”
She raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said casually. He kept his eyes on hers.
Her mouth dropped open, whatever she was fixing to say right on the tip of her tongue when Sheila’s voice from the kitchen made it snap shut.
“Table six, order up!” Followed by two dings.
Annie turned around, quickly sliding the plates of hot food from the pass-through window onto her serving tray. She moved from behind the counter to a table with hot food and a smile brighter than the sun reflecting off the windows. Smoke watched her working, stealing glances over the rim of his mug. Every so often while she was taking an order, or refilling a coffee, she’d look over at him like she could feel his eyes on her, then quickly look away. When it started to get busier and she couldn’t steal a look at him, he felt something. Like a dull ache.
He stood as Annie finally circled back to where he was sitting, stretching his arms above his head.
“You leavin’?”
Smoke nodded. “Got some business to handle.”
He put his money on the counter, their hands meeting when she reached for it before he had pulled his hand back. The contact made them both still. Their index fingers brushed against each other where they touched for a second before pulling away completely. Their eyes met again.
“I’ll see you,” Smoke said.
“Okay,” she replied. It was just above a whisper.
He wasn’t finished. “Soon.”
Their eyes held, the contact lingering for a moment like they both had something they wanted to say but knew it wasn’t the moment.
Smoke slipped away, steps light even though he carried weight. Annie watched the door swing shut behind him, letting in a flash of air and street noise before locking it out again. She stood behind the counter still, fingers resting on the money he’d left on the table, feeling the ghost of where his finger rubbed the side of hers. She stood there for a second, letting it sink in. Two seconds went by, then three. Then she snapped out of it, pulling herself back into what she was there for— the money.
“Felicia!” Annie called for her as she carried a tray over her shoulder. “Table four said they want two more sodas!”
“Got it,” Felicia huffed.
The bell above the door rang again. Annie moved quickly, sat the diners at a table, pulled out her pen and pad. She gave recommendations, talked up the specials. She even took on an extra table—a party of six that started off with a round of drinks.
She kept herself busy. There was no such thing as a quiet moment during a lunch rush. But every time she looked out into the street, she thought of him. Coming through like he owned the place. Leaving something behind every time he walked out.
—
Smoke was far enough away that he couldn’t see her clearly through the window anymore. Just movement and light and the shape of her passing between the tables. Blackbird stayed loud and alive behind him. Annie’s world now. Part of it, anyway. The more Smoke saw her, the more he wanted to be that other part. Not keep her waiting. Not tuck her away.
Della was right. Just wanting her wasn’t enough. Other men wanted her, too. He saw the way their gaze would follow her around as she moved around the cafe…until they saw him. He heard about the one at the theater. And the preacher. But he knew she needed to hear it from him soon.
When they stared at each other before he left Blackbird, the look in her eyes held a question. One he didn’t have to ask to know. He knew one thing, he was gonna set shit straight before she was left guessing what kind of man had walked into her life.
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Big Dell holding it down like she always do, we love to see it!!!🙂↕️
I love her so bad 😂😂😂 We all need a little guidance here and there
UP THE PRICE (MY LADY) michael b. jordan x wunmi m.
PART ONE next masterlist cw: sexual content, spanking, jealous!michael summary: a year after the unfortunate leak, rumors are still flooding around about who michael has locked down. to the public it’s still a mystery that they want to solve, and behind closed doors things are moving exactly how he wanted them to.
notes: i haven't updated in a while. so sorry y'all. i got a new job at the beginning of may and i've been trying to get used to this schedule. i've just been busy a lot more, but enjoy.
October 2026
Wunmi's house looked like a storm had completely wrecked it. Drawers were pulled open, clothes spread all over the place, shoes were kicked off in random directions, and couch cushions had been tossed aside. Even the kitchen had things out of place, which never happened.
Wunmi stood in the middle of the living room with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder while she dug through yet another bag for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered tightly. “I don’t lose things like this.”
On the other end, Michael was quiet for a second, listening to the sound of things shifting and falling in the background.
“Hey, slow down,” he said, calmer than she felt. "You’re tearing the whole place up.”
She let out a sharp exhale, dropping the bag onto the floor before moving to the next thing.
“I already did tear the whole place up,” she shot back, her accent heavily slipping through. “It’s gone, Michael. I’ve looked everywhere.”
He leaned back in his chair on set, phone pressed to his ear, eyes tracking the movement around him. He ignored the faint sound of someone calling for him to be ready in a few minutes.
“It’s not gone, you just misplaced it, baby,” he said steadily.
Wunmi laughed, but there was no humor in it. She yanked open a drawer, rifling through it quickly.
“The one time I take it off and it goes missing,” she said, her voice starting to crack.
Michael’s jaw tightened slightly at that.
“When did you take it off?”
She paused, thinking, her movements slowing for a second.
“The night I washed my hair. I didn’t want it slipping off or getting caught, so I put it—” She stopped, her brows pulling together. “I put it on the counter I think.”
Her hands moved faster again, more frantic now that she was second-guessing herself.
“Wunmi, stop moving for second,” he said firmly.
She didn’t.
“I can’t stop,” she snapped, moving into the living room and dropping to her knees to check under the couch again. “It’s not here.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to stay patient.
“Aye, listen to me,” he called. "It's fine we'll find it and if we don't—"
Her movements slowed just a little.
“I don’t want another one,” she cut in quickly, sitting back on her heels, her chest rising and falling. “You paid too much money for this one, Michael.”
He shook his head, a small frown forming.
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, I do,” she said immediately, pushing herself up and started to pace. “And it’s not even just that. You—you really thought about it and took the time to pick it out.”
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, leaning forward slightly.
“And I’ll easily do it again,” he said.
She huffed under her breath, shaking her head like he just wasn’t getting it.
“That’s not the point,” she murmured.
On his end, someone tapped his shoulder lightly. He nodded without looking at them, waving them off for a second.
“Give me a minute.”
He turned his attention fully back to her.
“Alright, listen. You probably left it at my place,” he said.
Wunmi stopped pacing immediately.
“…No, I didn’t.”
“You might’ve,” he pressed. “Think about it. Last time you were here—”
“That was a week ago,” she cut in, frustration creeping back in. “And I didn’t take it off there.”
He paused, tilting his head slightly.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “Why would I take it off there and not put it back on?”
He shrugged even though she couldn’t see it.
“I don’t know. You do a lot when you’re over here.”
That earned him a small, irritated huff.
“Michael,” she warned.
He let out a quiet breath, easing back a little.
“Alright, alright. All I’m saying is it’s somewhere. It didn’t just disappear.”
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she turned slowly, looking over the mess of her home again. The reality of it hit her and her eyes started to burn.
“I don't like not having it on,” she admitted softly.
“Hey, don't do that,” Michael said gently.
She pressed her lips together, blinking a few times as she crouched down again, picking up a pillow just to check under it as if she hadn’t already done that ten times before.
“I just—” she started, her voice wobbling slightly. “You were so thoughtful with it. And now I’ve just lost it and you're being far too calm.”
“Because you're doing enough panicking for the both of us, baby. I'm not going to say it again but you didn't lose it, you just misplaced it." he said.
She didn’t argue, but she didn’t agree either.
“Michael—”
“I’m serious,” he cut in. “You don’t need to stress yourself out like this. It’s not worth it.”
She let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, but not all of it.
On his end, someone called out for him again. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.
“I gotta go,” he told her.
Wunmi nodded even though he couldn’t see it, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of a blanket.
“…Okay.”
He didn’t hang up right away.
“You good?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“…I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t fully believe that.
“Stop tearing your house up and take a break. I'll look for it when I get back. And if we can't find it then I'll get you another one,” he spoke lightly.
“Okay,” she said finally, even though it wasn’t fully okay.
“Alright,” he replied.
“…Be careful. I love you,” she added quietly.
“I love you too.”
The call ended and wunmi stood there in the middle of the mess. Her eyes drifted back down to her bare finger. It just felt so wrong.
She swallowed, pressing her lips together before letting out a slow breath. Her gaze moved around the room one more time, then she shook her head slightly, stepping over a pile of clothes as she moved toward the couch. She sank down into it, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
Wunmi sat there for a while, staring at nothing. Her mind tried to retrace every step she’d taken over the last few days. She pressed her lips together, then pushed herself up from the couch with a quiet exhale.
If she wasn’t going to find it right now, then she at least wasn’t going to keep living in the middle of a disaster. So she started with the living room. She picked things up and put them back into place. Every now and then her eyes would flick down to her hand out of habit, but each time it annoyed her.
She cleaned the kitchen next. Then moved to her bedroom. She was haflway through folding her thrown around clothes when her phone rang from somewhere behind her. She paused, listening for a second before turning and spotting it on the bed. She was able to that it was her good friend Danielle Brooks calling her.
Wunmi blinked, then walked over, picking it up and answering as she sat down on the edge of the mattress.
“Hello?”
“Wunmi!” Danielle’s voice came through bright and warm, full of energy. “Girl, where have you been?”
A small smile pulled at Wunmi’s mouth instantly.
“I’ve been around. You're the one that's been busy,” she said lightly, tucking one leg under herself.
“Okay, that’s fair,” Danielle laughed. “But still. I feel like I haven’t seen you seen you in forever.”
“Same,” Wunmi admitted, her voice softening just a little.
“So what you doing today?” Danielle asked.
Wunmi glanced around her half-clean room
“Nothing, really. Just at home,” she said.
“Perfect. That means you can come out to lunch with me,” Danielle replied immediately.
Wunmi huffed out a quiet laugh.
“You didn't even ask me!”
“Why would I? And I'm not taking no for an answer, so don't say it,” Danielle said.
Wunmi shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I wasn’t going to say no.”
“Good, because I already have the reservations made,” Danielle said. “So you're definitely coming?”
Wunmi hesitated for half a second, her thumb brushed lightly over her ring finger without thinking.
“I’ll come,” she said.
“I'll send you the address because I’m already on the way there, so don’t take forever.”
Wunmi laughed softly. “I won’t.”
“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay.”
The call ended and Wunmi immediately got to work.
She stood in front of her closet for a minute, scanning her options before deciding on something simple. Once she was dressed, she moved to the mirror, smoothing her hands over her outfit, adjusting small things here and there.
Her gaze lifted to her reflection then dropped. Her bare hand came up slightly.
“…It’s fine,” she murmured to herself.
She reached for her shades, sliding them on before grabbing her purse. The sun hit her with a warmth as soon as she stepped outside. She locked her door, adjusted her bag on her shoulder, then headed to her car.
During the entire drive, Wunmi had the music on low playing softly in the background with er fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
Eventually she pulled up to the restauraunt. She parked, grabbed her purse, and stepped out, adjusting her shades slightly as she made her way inside. The place was lively but not overwhelming. Soft chatter filled the air, the clink of glasses and silverware blending into the background. She approached the host stand, offering a small smile.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” the hostess greeted warmly. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. I believe it's under Danielle Brooks?”
The hostess nodded immediately, grabbing a menu. “Right this way.”
Wunmi followed her through the restaurant, weaving past tables and people until they reached the patio doors. Danielle sat at one of the tables, sunglasses perched on the top of her face, her posture relaxed as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up just in time, her expression breaking into a wide smile as she stood up.
“Wunmi!”
They closed the distance quickly, wrapping each other in a warm hug.
“Hey,” Wunmi laughed softly against her shoulder.
“Hey, stranger,” Danielle teased, squeezing her a little tighter before pulling back to look at her.
They both took a second, really taking each other in.
“It’s been too long,” Danielle said.
“It has,” Wunmi agreed.
Danielle shook her head, smiling. “You look good.”
“So do you,” Wunmi replied easily.
They both laughed, that easy, familiar energy settling right back into place like no time had passed at all.
“Come on,” Danielle said, gesturing toward the table as they sat back down.
Wunmi slid into her seat, setting her purse down beside her, her shades still on as she leaned back slightly.
Their server approached not too long after they sat down, a polite smile on her face as she glanced between them.
“Hi, ladies. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Danielle didn’t even look at the menu.
“Yeah, I’ll do a margarita,” she said easily, handing it back.
The server nodded, then turned to Wunmi.
“And for you?”
Wunmi glanced down briefly, then back up. “I’ll have a French 75.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right back with those.”
They both murmured a quick thank you before the server stepped away. The second she was out of earshot, Danielle leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.
“Okay, now talk to me. What's been going on with you?,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully.
Wunmi smiled, shaking her head a little as she settled back in her chair.
“Just work and life like always,” she said.
Danielle hummed like she halfway believed her, her gaze drifting casually as she listened. Her eyes dropped right to Wunmi’s hands that were resting on the table.
Wunmi didn’t even realize what Danielle was looking at until she felt her reach across the table.
Danielle grabbed her hand, lifting it, her face twisting in confusion.
“Wait, where's your ring?”
Wunmi’s stomach dropped. She let out a slow sigh, her shoulders sinking just a little.
“I lost it.”
Danielle’s head snapped up.
“Already?!” she gasped.
Wunmi let out another breath, this one heavier, her lips pressing together as she looked down at their hands.
“I’ve been looking for it for days, and I don't know where it is,” she admitted, sounding almost hurt.
“Oh, baby…” she murmured, still holding her hand.
“I turned my whole house upside down to look for it. I don't understand how I lost it…” she trailed off.
Danielle squeezed her hand gently.
“What did Michael say?”
Wunmi let out a small, humorless huff.
“He told me to calm down and we'd find it,” she said. “Or he’d just get me another one if we couldn’t.”
Danielle’s brows lifted slightly. “And you didn’t like that.”
“No,” Wunmi said immediately, shaking her head. “I don’t want another one.”
Danielle nodded slowly, understanding settling in her expression.
“Mm, I get it,” she said gently. “I lost mine before.”
Wunmi blinked, looking up at her.
“You did?”
“Mhm,” Danielle nodded. “Thought I was about to pass out when I realized it too. Tore my whole house up just like you.”
Wunmi let out a small breath, something easing in her chest just a little. “Did you find it?”
Danielle smiled. “I did. It was in the most random place too. You're gonna find it, so don't stress yourself out too much.”
Right then, their server returned with their drinks, carefully placing them down in front of them.
“Margarita for you, and a French 75 for you ,” she said, setting Wunmi’s glass down gently. “Are you ladies ready to order?”
Danielle picked up her drink, taking a quick sip before nodding.
“Yes please."
They both grabbed their menus again, scanning over them briefly as they placed their orders. Danielle confidently went first, while Wunmi took a second longer. The server nodded, jotting everything down. Once she walked away again, Danielle leaned back in her chair, lifting her glass slightly.
They clinked their glasses together and fell right back into conversation. They talked about everything. From work to people to random stories. Danielle filled her in on things she had missed, little industry gossip here and there that made Wunmi laugh and shake her head. Wunmi shared her own updates of things she hadn’t realized she needed to talk about until she was saying them out loud.
Time moved quickly and they hardly even noticed. Their food came and went, plates slowly clearing as they kept talking.
Danielle tilted her head slightly, a knowing look on her face.
“So,” she started, dragging the word out just a little. “How’s wedding planning going?”
Wunmi let out a soft laugh immediately, shaking her head as she set her fork down.
"It’s…a lot.”
“I know it is,” Danielle grinned.
“It’s not even the planning itself, it's the timing,” Wunmi continued.
She reached for her glass, taking a small sip before continuing.
“Michael’s been filming, so everything has to work around his schedule. And when he does have time, it’s like we have to squeeze in ten different things at once. It’s just a lot of back and forth. All of the calls and meetings. where we have to make decisions so quick because we don't know when the next free window is,” Wunmi said.
“So do y’all have a date yet?”
Wunmi picked up her glass and took a small sip.
“Not officially, but we've been looking at spring time or maybe early summer,” she said. “But we’ve been looking at spring. Maybe early summer. I really want May, but that's only if everything lines up properly.”
Danielle raised a brow. “Oh, that's soon soon.”
Wunmi gave a small nod, setting her glass back down. her fingers brushed along the stem of her glass. All of it felt too real.
Wunmi smiled faintly, her fingers brushing along the stem of her glass. The idea of it felt real when she said it out loud like that.
Danielle studied her for a second, then asked, “Are y’all planning to go public before then?”
Wunmi shrugged, her expression easy.
“I don’t really care about that right now. It's not at the top of my list,” she said. “Michael said he’d rather wait until after we get married.”
Danielle hummed, like she was considering that, then a small smirk crept onto her face.
“Mm. Maybe he’s just trying to get his last little bit of fun in ebfore everybody really backs off,” she said casually.
Wunmi didn’t even hesitate to say, “I’m not worried about that.”
“Not even a little bit?”
Wunmi shook her head, leaning back into her seat.
“He's already learned his lesson,” she said simply.
That made Danielle laugh.
“Okay, I hear you,” she said, holding her hands up.
Wunmi just gave a small unbothered smile.
They stayed for a little longer just talking. Eventually their plates were cleared and their dreams were long finisehed.
Danielle glanced around, then back at Wunmi.
“You ready?”
Wunmi nodded. “Yeah.”
Danielle lifted her hand slightly, catching their server’s attention as she passed by.
“Whenever you get a chance, can we get the check?”
The server nodded with a polite smile.
“Of course.”
She disappeared for a moment, and Wunmi reached for her purse. It didn't take long for the server to come back. She didn't set anything on the table. Instead she gave the two women a careful look.
“Actually, your check has already been taken care of,” she said.
Wunmi frowned slightly. “By who?”
The server gave a small, knowing smile, then subtly angled her head toward the inside of the restaurant.
“The gentleman over there.”
Both Wunmi and Danielle turned, their gazes following the direction she’d indicated.
Inside, a small group of men sat at a table not too far from the patio doors. It took a second to even figure out which one she meant until they watched as one of the men leaned back slightly, his attention already on them.
His face wasn’t fully clear from where they were. The lighting inside hit at an angle, shadowing part of it, and he had on a hat that didn’t help. Wunmi narrowed her eyes just a little, trying to place him.
They both turned back toward the server.
“Well…tell him thank you,” Danielle said, still sounding unsure.
“Of course,” the server replied before she walked away.
Wunmi and Danielle exchanged a look. Then they both glanced back toward the table, but the moment had already shifted. The man wasn’t as clearly visible anymore, someone else moving in front of him briefly, the angle changing just enough to make it harder to get a good look.
Danielle leaned closer.
“Do you know him?”
“I don’t—” Wunmi started, then stopped, her eyes narrowing again slightly. “I mean, I can’t see him properly.”
They sat there for another moment, trying to piece it together, but neither of them could land on anything. And then the patio door opened. The man from inside stepped out into the sunlight, moving with an easy confidence. As he got closer, the shadows fell away from his face and Wunmi's breath caught.
Her eyes widened almost immediately in recognition. She quickly turned her head toward Danielle, surprise flickering across her face.
“What? Who is that?” Danielle asked under her breath.
Wunmi didn’t answer. She just looked back at the man as he closed the distance to their table.
“Ladies,” he greeted smoothly as he reached the table.
Danielle straightened slightly, already smiling out of politeness.
“Hi,” she said. “Thank you for paying for us. You didn’t have to do that.”
He waved it off with a small shrug.
“It’s nothing. I figured I'd use it as an excuse to come say hello. Hope you don't mind,” he said.
Danielle glanced at Wunmi briefly before looking back at him.
“No, not at all. That was relaly nice of you,” she said.
Wunmi hadn’t said a word. She kept her posture composed, but her gaze had shifted off to the side for a moment, like she needed a second to collect herself before fully engaging. Because standing in front of her was someone she hadn't seen in literal years. And wasn't expecting to see again.
Tyree Lawson had been someone she had been seeing before Michael even came into the picture. They hadn’t ended badly. They just ended. The distance, timing, and their careers pulled them in opposite directions. He got traded, she picked up a new acting job, and their lives moved on.
But she remembered him. And judging by the way he was looking at her now, he remembered her just as well.
His attention shifted fully to her, a slow smile pulling at his mouth.
“Hi.”
Wunmi cleared her throat softly, finally looking at him.
“Hello.”
The formality of it made his brows lift immediately. A small, amused crease formed between them as he tilted his head.
“Why you acting like you don’t know me?”
Danielle’s eyes flicked between them instantly.
Wunmi exhaled quietly, then extended her hand out.
“Hi,” she said a little less stiff.
He reached out and took it, his grip warm. His thumb brushed lightly across the back of her hand.
“How you been?” he asked.
Wunmi gave him a sharp look and he caught the meaning of it immediately. He smirked.
“I’ve been fine,” she said while pulling her hand back. “Very busy, but fine.”
“I see that. You been everywhere lately,” he nodded, leaning back slightly so he could take her in properly. “I didn’t get to tell you before, but I saw Sinners.”
Wunmi’s expression shifted just a little.
“And?” she asked.
“I liked it a lot. You did your thing in that,” he said. "I'm proud of you."
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate that.”
There was a brief pause before she shifted the focus.
“What are you doing out here? Didn't the season start?” she asked.
He nodded once. “Yeah, it did. I’ve just got some business to handle out here before I head back.”
Wunmi’s brows lifted slightly. “What business?”
“I started a winery.” A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Congratulations. That's big,” her tone was more warm and animated now.
“Thank you. The grand opening's coming up soon,” he paused. "You should come."
Wunmi looked at him, and for a split second she let whatever was in the air sink into her. She became a little too soft and a little too open.
“I would have to see, but I think it should be fine,” she said.
Danielle sat back in her chair, watching the exchange unfold with quiet interest. Her gaze moved between them. It wasn’t hard to read the situation. There was clearly history there and it hadn't fully gone away.
He was satisfied with that answer.
“I’ll send you the details.”
“Okay,” Wunmi said.
There was another small pause before he glanced between them, stepping back just slightly.
“I won’t hold you any longer,” he added. “Just wanted to say hello.”
Wunmi nodded, pushing her chair back as she stood.
“Yeah, of course.”
She stepped around the table, closing the small distance between them. And they hugged.
This time their contact wasn't awkward. In fact it was easy and familiar. His arms wrapped around her firmly, pulling her in. They slid a little lower than they probably should have.
Wunmi inhaled softly at the contact, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. He’d always been built strong and solid. Her hands rested against him briefly, her fingers pressing lightly against his back. She let out a quiet hum without meaning to.
He dipped his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before pulling back, his hands lingering at her waist for just a second longer.
“Good seeing you,” he murmured.
“You too,” she replied.
He gave Danielle a quick nod before turning and heading back inside.
Nobody noticed the the camera lens across the street taking pictures of them.
Wunmi sat back down, adjusting her bag at her side, and Danielle was staring at her hard. Wunmi didn’t meet her eyes right away. She just reached for her shades instead and slid them back up.
“What?” she casually asked.
Danielle leaned back, crossing her arms loosely.
“You might not be worried about Michael with other women, but he should probably be a little worried about you,” she said pointedly.
Wunmi let out a quiet hum, not denying it, but not feeding into it either. She grabbed her purse, standing up.
“You ready?” she asked simply.
Danielle stared at her for a second longer, then shook her head with a small laugh as she stood too.
“Yeah, I'm ready,” she said.
A few days had passed, and the ring still hadn’t turned up.
Wunmi had stopped tearing her house apart, but the absence hadn’t gotten any easier. If anything, it got worse. Every time she reached for things or rested her hand on her lap she was reminded of it not being there.
She was leisurely stretched out across her couch when Michael called, one leg tucked under her, and her sketchbook open beside her with loose pages scattered around it.
“Hey,” she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she absentmindedly flipped through one of the pages.
“Hey baby,” Michael’s voice came through low and tired. “You find it yet?”
She let out a small sigh. “…No.”
There was a brief pause on his end.
“It's fine.”
Wunmi frowned slightly, her fingers coming up to rub over her bare ring finger.
“It doesn’t feel fine,” she muttered. “My finger feels weird without it.”
That earned a quiet exhale from him, something close to a soft chuckle.
“You'll be okay. It's not permanent,” he said.
She hummed under breath, shifting a little on the couch.
“So how are you feeling about everything?” sheasked while glancing down at her sketchbook.
“About what?” he asked.
“The wedding,” she said.
There was a small pause.
“I’m good,” he answered. “Why? You not?”
“I am,” she said quickly. “It's just that there’s a lot to keep up with.”
Her hand moved across the page, tracing over one of the rough designs she’d started.
“And don’t forget we have that meeting next week with the planner coming up,” she added.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said.
She sat up a bit to reach for a pencil.
“I’ve been trying to get a head start on my dress too,” she continued. “I started sketching some ideas, but I don't know how I feel about any of them.”
On the other end, Michael was half-listening when his phone buzzed. He pulled it away from his ear just enough to glance down at the notification to see that it was a text from his publicist.
How do you want to handle this?
A twitter link followed.
His brows pulled together as he tapped it. The page loaded and his eyes instantly went to the caption.
Academy nominee Wunmi Mosaku and Dallas Cowboys defensive lineman Tyree Lawson seen pretty close at lunch.
Michael blinked once. Then he looked down at the photos. There were multiple pictures of Wunmi and Tyree hugging. His arms wrapped low around her waist and his cheek pressed against hers. There was even a picture where his lips were pressed against her cheek.
Michael was utterly confused and tense all at once.
“Aye, what is this?”
His voice cut her off mid-sentence.
“What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, he sent the link to her. And at the exact same time, her phone buzzed against her ear. She pulled it away to see that it was a text from her own publicist.
We need to get in front of this.
Her stomach dropped. And as soon as the tweet loaded she felt her whole breath evaporate.
“Oh my God.”
Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the photos, her chest tightening.
On the other end, Michael said nothing he just waited. His silence made her pulse stutter.
“Okay, wait. When I went out with Danielle the other day someone paid for our meal. It was him,” she said quickly. "Then he came over to our table."
“Y’all look pretty close.”
The way he said it was too controlled.
Wunmi exhaled, already feeling that dangerous shift in him.
“Do you remember the guy I told you about that came before you?” she asked.
There was a beat. Then Michael hummed.
She swallowed. “That’s him.”
He remembered the conversation and the way she described how serious it could've been and how much she liked him before things fell apart. And now he was looking at pictures of that same man with his hands on her like that.
“So then what,” Michael said slowly.
Wunmi shifted on the couch, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone.
“It wasn’t like that, baby,” she said. “He just paid for our food and came to say hi. That’s it.”
Michael let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“That don’t look like just saying hi.”
Wunmi frowned, her chest tightening.
“I didn’t know what to do. It caught me off guard,” she said.
He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see it.
“You didn’t know what to do?” he echoed.
She heard the edge in his voice.
“I mean—no,” she said, her tone softening. “I wasn’t expecting to see him. And he just came up—”
“And you hugging him like that?” Michael cut in.
Her lips parted, then pressed together again.
“He did all of that,” she said, quieter now.
“That don’t change what it look like.”
Wunmi exhaled, her shoulders sinking slightly.
“It wasn’t anything. You're making it more than it was,” she insisted.
Michael didn’t respond right away because then he realized something that made this all that much worse.
“And you ain’t have your ring on. Did you at least tell him you were engaged?”
Wunmi froze. She didn't answer right away which made Michael grunt in frustration.
"Oluwunmi…"
“…No,” she admitted softly. Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Michael let out another low, frustrated grunt, dragging a hand down his face.
“Aight,” he said. "It's cool."
Wunmi sat up straight.
“It’s not—Michael, listen—”
“I said it’s cool,” he repeated.
But it didn’t sound like it was at all.
“I’ll see you later.”
Her brows pulled together immediately. And she went to ask him what he meant by that, but the line had already gone dead. She pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen for a second, confusion settling in just as fast as the panic. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another two days. So really what did he mean?
The rest of the day blurred together.
Her phone stayed in her hand. If she wasn’t on a call, she was answering a text. If she wasn’t answering a text, she was reading something she wished she hadn’t.
Her publicist called her once. Then again. Then a third time, looping her into another call but this time with Michael’s publicist.
Wunmi pressed her lips together, pacing slowly through her living room as she listened, her free hand resting against her forehead.
“It wasn’t like that,” she said for what felt like the tenth time. “He came up to us and I didn’t even know he was there until—”
“We understand that, but perception matters far more than intent right now,” her publicist cut in gently.
Wunmi closed her eyes as she took that statement in because of course it did.
They talked through options of what to do. If she wanted to make a statement and the timing of it, or if she would want to stay silent. By the time that call ended, her head was pounding. And of course, it didn’t stop there.
Danielle called her as well.
“Girl, are you okay?” she asked immediately.
“I’m fine,” Wunmi said, even though she wasn’t.
Danielle sighed. “I didn’t even notice anybody out there taking pictures like that.”
“Me either,” Wunmi muttered, dropping down onto her couch again.
“You talked to Michael?”
“I did and let's just say it didn't go too well. He hung up on me.”
“Okay, well, that's not ideal,” she said slowly.
Wunmi huffed a small, humorless breath. “No, it’s not.”
After that the calls just kept coming. From close friends to family. And they were all asking questions that she didn't really feel like answering. The only person who hadn't was Michael. And not for lack of trying on her part either.
Every time she tried to call him, it went unanswered. Every text was stuck on delivered. She even checked his location at one point, but it was off.
When evening came, her energy was completely drained.
She sat curled up on her couch, her phone resting in her lap as she stared at the screen. The tweet was still circulating, but with more comments and opinions. More people were inserting themselves into something they didn’t understand.
Her thumb hovered over Michael’s name for the fiftieth time that day. She still had nothing from him. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard, blinking a few times as that familiar pressure started building behind her eyes. All of this was getting to her.
She slowly moved through her nighttime routine. The house fell still the moment she turned the lights off ready to curl up and hide from the world.
She grabbed her phone one last time, glancing at it, and still nothing. Wunmi let out a quiet breath and set it down on the table. She had started to head to her bedroom when there was a knock on her door.
It was far too late for anyone to just be showing up. So she stood still for second to listen. But then another louder and more insistent knock came.
Her heart picked up slightly as she walked toward the door with cautious steps.
“Who is it?” she called out.
No verbal answer, only another knock.
She hesitated for half a second before unlocking the door and pulling it open. And her breath caught when she saw Michael standing there with a hood pulled over his head and hands tucked into his pockets.
“Michael—” she gasped in relief. “Baby, I am so—”
“Come on,” he cut in firmly. He left no room for disagreeament.
When she didn't move, Michael stared at her harder.
“Let's go,” he repeated, stepping slightly to the side and holding the door open wider.
Her breath hitched. It was something about the look in her eye that made her really not want to argue with him. She simply turned and went to grab her phone and purse off of the table. She walked past him, his presence heavy as she went by.
He stepped out right after her, pulling the door shut and locking it without a word. Wunmi looked back slightly to watch him. He slipped by her to lead the way.
Once he got to the car, Michael pulled the passenger door open for her to get into. She climbed in with her heart beating faster than normal. The door shut and a second later, he was in the driver’s seat, starting the engine.
The silence inside the car was thick during the drive.
Wunmi glanced at him. His hands were tight on the wheel and eyes forward. She opened her mouth then closed it. Whatever she was about to say didn’t feel like it would go right, so she stayed quiet.
The drive only lasted about fifteen minutes, but it felt much longer.
As soon as they pulled into his driveway, he was out of the car almost immediately, coming around to her side and opening her door before she could even reach for it.
She stepped out, watching him carefully. He led the way inside, unlocking the front door and holding it open for her. She stepped into the house, instantly being met with a comfortable familiarity. He closed the door behind them, locking it again before moving past her.
“Where were you when you took it off?” he asked roughly.
Wunmi blinked, trying to keep up.
“I was washing my hair, but that was back at my—”
She could hardly answer before he turned and headed straight for the stairs. Wunmi followed quickly behind him.
“Michael—” She called for him as they swiftly moved up the stairs.
She knew she hadn’t taken her ring off here, so she didn’t argue. At this point, she didn’t have the energy to push back on anything. Not after the day she’d had. So she just followed him into the bathroom and watched him as he immediately got to work.
He moved around the space like a man on a mission, opening drawers, shifting bottles, checking along the edges of the counter and behind things that hadn’t been touched in days. His movements were completely focused yet annoyed.
Wunmi stood in the doorway for a second before stepping in, her arms folding loosely over her chest as she watched him.
“Michael…” she started softly.
He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he crouched down instead, checking along the base of the cabinets, his fingers running along the small spaces.
Wunmi swallowed. Then slowly, she moved further in, kneeling down on the opposite side, her movements much more hesitant. She checked places she knew didn’t make sense. Behind containers and inside small trays and corners that didn’t hold anything. She wasn’t really expecting to find it, but she helped anyway.
The only sounds in the room were the soft shifting of items and Michael’s quiet, frustrated exhales every few minutes. He was getting irritated and she could not only hear it but see it as well. His shoulders were tight and his jaw flexed every time he searched and came up empty-handed.
Enough time passed for the silence between them to stretch and fill the room.
Michael was crouched low near the side of the counter, his fingers reaching into a narrow gap between the cabinet and the wall. His face was scrunched together when he pulled his hand back. And there it was in his fingers. The ring.
Wunmi let out a relieved exhale, “Oh thank God.”
Michael stood up, holding it between his fingers as he wiped it off against the side of his shirt, inspecting it briefly. Then he looked at her.
“Come here.” His voice was steady.
Wunmi carefully pushed herself up and walked over to him. He held his hand out. She reached for it, her fingers slipping into his automatically. He lifted the ring slightly between them, his gaze flicking from it to her.
“You better not lose it again.”
Wunmi’s lips parted slightly, and she nodded, her voice soft, “I won’t.”
He slid it back onto her finger, the cool metal settling into place.
Wunmi exhaled shakily, her shoulders dropping just a little as she looked down at it. Relief flooded her instantly.
Michael’s expression softened as he took her hand again, bringing it up and pressing a kiss to it. Then he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. He pushed his lips onto hers and she melted into the kiss almost immediately. Her hands came up to rest agaisnt his chest before sliding up around his neck.
The tension from earlier simmered.
She pulled back just a little, her forehead brushing against his as she looked at him.
“I’m sorry for not really telling you,” she said softly.
“It’s alright. I get it,” he said after a second. “I guess this is my payback.”
Wunmi frowned faintly.
“Payback? For what?”
He looked at her, something protective settling back into his expression.
“I don’t like nobody thinking they can come up and be that comfortable with you,” he said. “Especially not somebody you had something with.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“I didn’t—”
“I know. But I'm saying,” he said firmly. "I'm protective over what's mine."
His hand pressed lightly against her waist.
“And I don’t want you going out without your ring so we don't have this problem again,” he added.
Wunmi nodded slowly, her fingers tightening slightly against him.
“Okay.”
He leaned in again, kissing her slower this time.
Her arms wrapped around him fully now, holding him close as she lifted her hand slightly behind his head. The ring caught the light. She smiled softly against his lips.
“I really did miss it,” she murmured.
Michael let out a quiet breath against her skin, his lips trailing from her jaw down to her neck, pressing a few soft kisses there.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her grip tightening just a little. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, catching her breath.
“What are you doing back already? I thought you weren't coming back for two more days,” she asked.
Michael looked at her for a second, then shrugged lightly.
“I had to come handle my business.”
Wunmi bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a second.
“I really am sorry, Michael,” she said again.
He shook his head, stepping back just enough to look at her fully.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m tired.”
He moved past her, already pulling his hoodie off as he headed toward the bedroom.
Wunmi followed, watching him as he stripped down to his boxers.
They both slipped into bed without much more conversation. Wunmi settled in beside him, her hand resting against his chest, her thumb brushing lightly over the ring.
December 2026
Michael had finally wrapped filming for Miami Vice, which meant he was home more, but somehow, that hadn’t made life any less hectic. Now they had wedding stress and awards and press season.
Wunmi had already picked up several nominations. Her name was floating in conversations again. All of the hype was starting to stack on top of everything else.
The wedding planning had been intense. They officially had their date, the venue was picked, and invitations had been sent. That should've made things easier, but it didn't.
Now it was all about the details. They still had to lock a lot of things in while coordinating their schedules around two careers that clearly weren't slowing down. It was a lot.
And Michael had been on her more than usual. He was always touching her or near her. Especially after the whole Tyree thing. Even though they had moved past it, something about it had stuck with him.
They were on the couch with the TV playing something neither of them was fully paying attention to.
Wunmi sat sideways, her legs draped across Michael’s lap and her back resting against the arm of the couch. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs moving as she typed.
Michael’s hand rested on her calf, absentmindedly sliding down to her ankle before coming back up again. His other hand lifted her foot slightly, thumb pressing into the arch, working it gently.
Wunmi exhaled softly at the pressure, not even looking up from her phone.
“Mm,” she hummed.
Michael glanced at her.
“Who you texting?”
“I'm just updating the bridesmaids,” she said while typing.
“About what?”
“The dates that we agreed on for our trips. And the fittings."
Michael shook his head slightly, a quiet breath leaving him.
“This is still so crazy to me,” he muttered.
Wunmi glanced at him briefly, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“What is?”
“The fact that we're getting married.”
“I’m excited,” Wunmi's smile softened.
Michael smiled back at her, then went back to rubbing her foot.
She returned her attention to her phone. And just then a new text came in from an unknown number. Her brows pulled together in confusion as she opened it.
The first message was a picture of an invitation. Then there was a text right under it.
Can’t wait to see you.
Wunmi was utterly confused, until she scrolled up slightly, looked at the number again, then back at the image. That was when it all clicked.
“Oh.”
Michael’s hand paused slightly against her foot.
“What?”
Wunmi’s lips pressed together as she read it again.
“I just got an invitation,” she said.
“To what?”
She hesitated for a second.
“Tyree’s winery opening.”
Michael’s hand stilled completely.
“No.”
It was an immediate rejection that took Wunmi aback.
“You didn’t even let me explain.”
“Didn't have to,” he said as he leaned back against the couch.
Wunmi let out a small breath, sitting up a little.
“He just sent it to me and I don't even have his number,” she added.
“I don’t care. You're not going,” Michael said. His hand dropped from her foot, resting on her leg instead, his fingers tapping once against her skin.
Wunmi frowned, “Baby—”
“You're not going,” he repeated.
She shifted, pulling one of her legs in so she could turn toward him more.
“But I kind of want to go.”
Michael’s eyes snapped to her. “Why?”
Wunmi blinked at his tone, then exhaled.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It just doesn't feel like a big deal. It's a grand opening, so we'll be in public. And it's not like I'm sneaking off somewhere with him.”
Michael stared at her completely unmoved.
“That’s not the point, baby.”
"Then what is the point?" Wunmi tilted her head slightly.
“I don’t trust him.”
Wunmi’s brows lifted slightly.
“It sounds like you don’t trust me?”
“That's not what I said. I trust you,” he said immediately.
“Then—”
“I don’t trust him,” he repeated, slower this time. “And I don’t like the idea of you going somewhere he invited you to like that.”
Wunmi sighed softly, her shoulders dropping a little.
“It’s not like I have feelings for him. Whatever was there is gone,” she said.
Michael’s gaze stayed on her.
“That doesn’t mean it’s gone for him. Especially after how them pictures looked. Now he's inviting you out. I don't like that,” he said.
“I’d be wearing my ring,” she said quietly.
Michael let out a short breath, shaking his head, “That don’t stop nothing if somebody don’t care.”
Wunmi studied him for a second.
“So what? I just don't go?” she asked softly.
“Not unless I’m there,” he said.
Wunmi leaned back against the couch again, thinking.
“I don’t even know if you can go. You might have press,” she said.
“Then you not going,” he replied without hesitation.
She let out a quiet huff, somewhere between frustration and understanding.
“Michael…”
He reached for her leg again, pulling it back across his lap, his hand sliding up her thigh before settling there.
“I’m serious. I'm not about to have a repeat of that,” he said.
Wunmi looked at him, really looked at him this time, and she saw the tension still in his body. So she decided to concede.
“Okay,” she said after a second.
Michael’s shoulders relaxed a bit, his thumb moving against her leg.
The following weekend came quicker than Wunmi was honestly ready for. Between wedding meetings, awards conversations, and Michael attached to her to her body every second, the days just blurred together. Yet she still found time to get ready for unplanned events.
Music was playing lowly from downstairs while Michael moved around the room getting dressed.
Wunmi sat at her vanity in their bedroom, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned closer to the mirror. She had gotten her hair done a few days ago. It was in soft, full curls that fell around her shoulders. Her makeup was simple, especially since she didn't feel like going through her glam team.
She dabbed lightly beneath one eye when she heard Michael’s footsteps getting closer. A second later, he appeared in the mirror behind her with a hoodie on and cologne loud. He glanced at her reflection immediately.
“I’m about to head out,” he said.
Wunmi hummed softly. “Okay.”
But then his eyes narrowed, because she was clearly getting ready too.
“Where you going?”
Wunmi kept her expression neutral as she reached for her gloss.
“Out.”
Michael leaned one shoulder against the doorway, "Out where?"
"Just out," she shrugged.
His eyes stayed on her through the mirror for another second longer than necessary. He was clearly suspicious and she could feel it. But after a moment, he pushed off the doorway and walked over behind her instead. His hands settled warmly onto her shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly into the muscles there.
Wunmi relaxed under the touch.
“You look pretty,” he murmured.
A small smile pulled at her lips, “Thank you.”
His hands slid down slowly before he leaned down toward her face.
“Wait—” she laughed softly, turning her head slightly. “You’re gonna mess up my lip gloss.”
“I don’t care.”
Before she could protest again, his hand tilted her chin toward him and he kissed her anyway. It was only a soft quick one, but it was annoyingly affectionate.
When they pulled apart, Michael looked entirely too satisfied with himself. His hands lingered on her shoulders a second longer before he straightened back up.
“You got my card?”
“Why would I need your card?”
“Just in case.”
“I’m not going to need it.”
Michael reached over and picked up her purse from the vanity chair anyway, unzipping it and slipping the black card inside.
Wunmi rolled her eyes softly but didn’t argue.
He leaned down one more time, brushing his lips briefly against the top of her head this time.
“Text me when you get where you going.”
“Okay.”
He squeezed her shoulder once before finally heading out of the room.
Wunmi waited until she heard the front door downstairs close, then she exhaled. She walked over to her closet to get her dress for the evening. The dress was all-black, but it hugged her body absolutely perfectly.
She stepped into it carefully, pulling it up slowly, and adjusting it into place. Then she turned toward the mirror to look at herself. And honestly she looked a little too good.
She knew that Michael would hate to see her looking this good and going there. Which was exactly why she hadn't told him where she was going. She knew how her man would react, but she also knew that if she didn't go Tyree would only push harder. He was the kind of man that liked the chase. He only got more interested when someone pulled away.
Wunmi slipped on her heels, then sprayed perfume lightly along her neck and wrists. She grabbed her purse and headed downstairs.
When she made it outside the air was cooler than it had been earlier in the week. Her heels clicked softly against the driveway as she walked toward her car. Once inside, she checked herself quickly in the mirror, then started the engine.
The drive was long enough to give her time to think. Streetlights blurred past as her fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel.
Her thoughts swirled with a mix of Michael and Tyree. All she could really think about is if they got caught again just like how they got caught at the restaraunt. Her hand tightened on the wheel and her ring caught the passing lights immediately. She was just glad that she had it on this time.
The venue was on the other side of town, so she ran into some thick traffic. By the time she finally pulled up it was packed. A line of cars stretched down the block. Dozens of blacked-out vehicles rolled forward one after another as valet attendants moved quickly to get them in and out.
Wunmi slowed as she pulled up, immediately spotting the entrance ahead glowing warm against the night. The building itself was gorgeous with modern architecture, dark wood accents, and huge windows revealing pieces of the event happening inside.
Before she could even fully put the car in park, a valet attendant was already stepping forward and opening her door.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
Wunmi gave him a polite smile as she grabbed her purse and phone.
“Thank you.”
The cool evening air brushing against her skin as she stepped out carefully in her heels. A few heads turned as she straightened up fully, smoothing a hand lightly over her dress before handing over her keys.
“Enjoy your evening,” the valet said.
Wunmi nodded softly before making her way toward the entrance.
As soon as she entered into the venue, the more impressed she became because it was beautiful. The lighting was dim with warm gold tones bouncing off dark interiors and polished surfaces. Music floated through the air low enough for conversation, and the entire place smelled faintly of wood and wine.
Before she could get too lost in the beauty of her surroundings, she remembered something important that she was supposed to do. Wunmi reached into her purse and pulled her phone out knowing she needed to say something before he found out another way.
Her fingers moved quickly over the screen.
I know you’re going to be mad but I’m at Tyree’s event. I’m going to let him know that I’m engaged.
She stared at the message for a quick second, then turned her phone completely off. Beccause she knew the second that he saw it, he was going to call her and she honestly didn't feel like dealing with that right now.
She slipped the phone back into her purse and exhaled slowly, squaring her shoulders before continuing further inside.
A server approached her with a tray of wine glasses.
“Would you like one?”
Wunmi glanced down briefly before taking one carefully by the stem.
“Thank you.”
She took a small sip, eyes moving around the room. A few familiar faces caught her attention here and there. Some even greeted her once they noticed her.
She smiled politely through all of the exchanges, stopping for quick conversations here and there and accepting compliments. She was also being very aware of her surroundings, because if she wasn't things could very well become a problem.
She lifted the wine glass to her lips again, taking another small sip as she continued walking through the venue. She took her time moving through the different rooms.
Every section flowed into the next seamlessly. There were private tasting areas, lounge spaces, and long wooden tables filled with bottles and small plates. The lighting stayed dim and warm throughout the entire building, giving everything this intimate feel.
She found herself near one of the display areas where rows of massive wine barrels lined the wall with engraved plaques beneath them. Wunmi lifted her glass for another sip, leaning slightly to read one of the plaques when a hand slid around her waist. Her body instantly tensed up.
She turned quickly, only to come face to face with Tyree. And he was smiling down at her.
“I’m glad you made it,” he said.
His voice was smooth and easy over the music.
Wunmi recovered quickly, giving him a small smile back.
“This place is gorgeous,” she admitted honestly, glancing around again briefly. “Like really gorgeous.”
Tyree chuckled softly, “Appreciate it.”
She lifted her glass slightly, “And the wine’s good too.”
That made him grin wider.
“Alright now, don’t gas me too much.”
Wunmi laughed softly. But then she remembered his hand that was still resting against her waist. Her eyes flicked downward briefly before she subtly stepped sideways out of his hold. The movement was smooth enough not to make a scene, but still he noticed.
Tyree’s brows pulled together as his eyes moved over her slowly.
“You look real good tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He stepped toward her even more. He lifted his arm like he was about to settle it around her waist once more, but Wunmi moved before he could.
“Watch yourself,” she said lightly.
Tyree paused. Confused amusement spread across his face.
“What? Why you acting like this?” he laughed.
Wunmi didn’t verbally answer. Instead, she lifted her left hand up between them. The ring caught the warm lighting, sparkling beautifully against her skin.
Tyree’s eyes dropped to it and he looked genuinely surprised. But his expression smoothed back over.
“When that happen?” he asked.
Wunmi took another sip of her wine before answering casually, “He proposed in August.”
His brows shot up again.
“August, huh?”
She nodded.
“You ain’t have that on at lunch.”
“I lost it and got in so much trouble because of what happened,” she admitted and pointed lightly at him with her glass. “I should’ve told you then that I was happily engaged. Maybe pictures of us wouldn't have ended up all over the internet,” she said.
He briefly glanced away like he was thinking. Then he looked back at her with a dangerously confident smirk on his face.
“I guess I gotta try harder to get you to come over to the best side," he said.
Irritation immediately flashed across Wunmi's face. It was so fast Tyree almost missed it.
“I’m already on the best side,” she said plainly. “And it can’t get any better than my man.”
Tyree sucked his teeth, unconvinced.
“Yeah okay,” he muttered.
Wunmi stared at him for another second before taking another sip from her glass.
Tyree looked at her ring one more time before nodding once.
“You enjoy yourself." he said. Then his mouth curved up. “I’ll be talking to you soon.”
Wunmi narrowed her eyes at that, but she didn’t respond. She just nodded once and watched him walk away through the crowd.
The second he disappeared, she exhaled quietly.
“…Jesus Christ.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of the glass. Now she understood exactly why Michael didn’t want her there. Tyree wasn’t outright disrespectful, but he also clearly wasn’t backing down just because she had a ring on.
After that exchange, she stayed there for about another hour or so. She mingled with people and sampled more wine. But the longer she stayed, the more aware she became of the pit forming in her stomach. Eventually she had to go home where she knew Michael was waiting for her.
She handed off her empty wine glass and headed toward the exit, she already knew she was in a whole lot of trouble.
After an entire drive of Wunmi's stomach twisting knots, she finally pulled into Michael's garage. When she parked the car she noticed that Michael's car wasn't there. She hadn't seen it out front either. Relief washed over her.
She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, her heels echoing softly through the garage before she headed inside.
The house was completely dark. A little too dark.
Wunmi paused just inside the doorway, listening carefully. A small breath escaped her. The tension in her shoulders loosened.
She locked the door behind her and kept the lights off, moving quietly through the house before heading upstairs. The bedroom was dark too. That eased her nerves even more because it meant he hadn't even stepped foot in the home.
She set her purse down carefully and headed toward the closet, ready to get out of the dress and wash the night off her.
The closet light was dim as she slipped her heels off first with a relieved sigh. Then her jewelry. Then her dress. She wrapped her robe tight around her body and tied it securely at the waist. Her hair fell softly around her shoulders as she pushed the closet door back open and stepped into the bedroom. She casually reached toward the wall and flipped the light on.
Her breath stopped.
Michael was sitting in the corner chair near the window. Legs spread, body leaned back, arms resting on the arm of the chair, and face blank. The light caught him good, and he was just watching her.
Wunmi physically jumped, her hand flying to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “You scared me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at him.
There had been absolutely no sign he was home. His car wasn't around, he made no sound, there was absolutely nothing.
Michael didn’t answer. He just looked at her, giving her a completely unreadable look. His silence somehow made her even more nervous.
Wunmi swallowed hard, trying to recover.
“Hi,” she said softly, attempting a small smile as she bit lightly at her lip.
Still nothing.
The room suddenly felt very warm, very quiet.
Wunmi shifted her weight under his stare.
Slowly, Michael lifted two fingers and crooked them toward himself. He had no words for her, only the simple gesture.
Wunmi’s breath hitched and her stomach tightened, but she obeyed. Her bare feet slowly moved across the carpet until she stood directly in front of him between his spread legs.
Michael leaned back in the chair, his hands settling on her thighs, fingers gripping the thick flesh through the soft fabric of her robe.
“Anything you wanna say?” he finally asked calmly.
Wunmi swallowed. Her fingers twisted lightly together at her sides.
“I’d be lying if I said I was sorry,” she admitted quietly.
Michael’s face tightened and he gave a stiff nod.
The room stayed silent for another long second.
“Get on the bed.”
Wunmi’s eyes widened and her stomach dropped. She knew exactly what kind of mood he was in. And there had only been maybe three times where she had gotten herself in enough trouble to see this side of him.
Wunmi's pulse blared in her ears as she turned toward the bed. She climbed onto the mattress slowly, knees first, then hands, positioning herself on all fours with her back arched just enough to present herself to him.
Michael rose from the chair without a sound. His footsteps were heavy as he approached the bed. He placed one hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down firmly, forcing her upper body to lay flat against the cool sheets. Her cheek pressed into the fabric, arms stretching out in front of her.
"Stay down," he commanded, voice low.
A soft whimper escaped her lips, her body trembling under the weight of his palm. She was completely at his mercy.
"You're gonna count each one," Michael said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I'm not telling you when it stops."
Wunmi braced herself, fingers curling into the sheets, muscles tensing as she waited for the first hit.
He gathered the hem of her robe and pushed it up over her lower back, exposing her completely. His fingers hooked into the thin straps of her panties next, tugging them up hard and wedging the fabric tight between her cheeks like a makeshift thong. The pull made her gasp, the material pinching her skin, leaving her bare and framed for him.
She had no idea what was going to happen. Her nerves were all over the place.
Then it came. A sharp smack landed on her left cheek. The hit stung like fire and jolted her entire body. It caught her so off guard that her mind blanked, and no words came out of her mouth.
Michael grunted disapprovingly. His hands clamped onto both large cheeks, gripping hard enough to make her wince.
"Count."
"One," she whispered shakily.
The next hit came down harder than the first, the force snapping her hips forward an inch across the bed.
"Two," she managed, sucking in a breath.
"Why'd you go when I told you not to?" he demanded, one hand kneading her flesh roughly.
Wunmi drew a shaky breath, her voice soft against the mattress. "I needed to. If I didn't he'd be all over me."
Michael's eyes narrowed as he processed her words. Without warning, he delivered two quick hits— one on each cheek—the slaps echoing through the room.
She whimpered, body jerking with the double sting, heat spreading fast.
"Three...four," she counted while clinging to the sheets.
"You're in so much trouble," Michael growled, his palm hovering for a beat before delivering the fifth smack, firmly across the center of her right cheek. The heat built, layering over the previous stings.
"Five," she counted, hips twitching involuntarily.
"And you're gonna make it up to Daddy," he added, his voice dropping as the sixth hit landed on the left cheek.
Another groan came from her and her thighs pressed together against the growing ache. "Six."
He didn't pause. The seventh hit was quick and the eighth followed just as quickly. Then the ninth and tenth were all rapid-fire, alternating cheeks. Each one made her skin tingle. The sensations twisted into a mix of pain and pleasure that had her toes curling and breath hitching.
She winced with the seventh, whimpered through the eighth, gasped on the ninth, and let out a shaky whine on the tenth. Her entire backside was throbbing and aching, but somehow that made it more intoxicating.
"You had enough?" Michael's hand rested on her warm skin, rubbing slow circles.
Wunmi nodded frantically, her cheek still pressed to the bed, tears at the corners of her eyes from the intensity.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking softly.
He hummed a low, skeptical sound rumbling from his chest as he shook his head.
"Nah. I don't think you are yet." His fingers tightened on her hip. "Don't move."
Wunmi stayed where she was with her forehead pressed to the sheets and ass raised high as the door to the closet clicked shut behind him. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what he was grabbing. Her breath came in shallow pants and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she heard the low hum starting up from somewhere behind her.
Her eyes flew open and a whimper slipped out, "Michael..."
She felt the cool, buzzing head of the vibrator wand press directly against her clit through the wedged fabric of her panties. Her whole body jumped forward on the bed, a startled yelp escaping her as pleasure shot through her like lightning.
"Hold it," he ordered.
Wunmi reached back with one trembling hand, fingers wrapping around the handle. She held it lightly, the vibrations teased her. Still it was too much.
Without giving her a warning, Michael covered her hand with his and pressed down hard. The wand felt intense against her clit. A deep moan tore from her throat, hips pushed back involuntarily.
His free hand landed a hard smack on her already tender cheeks. He kept going, each sharp spank jiggling her body and mixing with the pleasure of the wand.
She moaned loudly, head dropping to the mattress. She could feel herself dripping wet, slickness coating her inner thighs from earlier and now. The wand hummed against her clit, every pulse matching perfectly with the hits of his palm on her ass.
Wunmi felt herself starting to reach that edge quickly. Her body tensed up, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. Her free hand clutched the sheets in a death grip while her legs trembled. She clenched and pulsed around nothing.
Michael noticed it right away, his rhythm never faltering.
"You better not come," he warned her.
She shook her head, biting her lip hard to fight it. She knew he wanted her to give him the excuse for more punishment, but holding back felt impossible. The pressure was getting worse with every second.
Her body moved on it's own, and her hand pressed wand harder against her clit.Consistent needy moans fell from her lip as she started to grind against the vibrations. She could feel herself right there, she was so close.
Michale snatched the wand from her grip, the sudden absence making a frustrated sound fall from her lips.
"You don't get to come," he stated flatly, tossing it aside.
Wunmi whimpered as every nerve in her body was screaming for release.
Michael gave her two final smacks to each cheek. Then his palms rubbed slow, drawing a soft sigh from her. Then he grabbed her hips and yanked her back toward him, pulling until her lower body pressed against his.
Wunmi felt his straining through his pants, making her throb even more. She couldn't help but to rub against him in a silent plea to be filled.
"I'm not fucking you tonight," he said firmly as his hand cracked down once more on her ass. He stepped away, leaving her empty and wanting.
Wunmi whimpered, fully collapsing onto the bed. She shifted onto her side.
A while later, Michael slid into bed behind her. He held her close, draping one arm possessively over her waist.
For the next three days, Wunmi was denied orgasm after orgasm by Michael. Every time Tyree called or texted, it put her further into trouble.
The first morning, Michael had her on top of the kitchen counter, vibrator pressed against her clit. She was gasping, thighs shaking, and so close her vision blurred. That was until her phone lit up with a "good morning" text from Tyree. Michael instantly snatched the vibrator away, leaving her desperate whining.
One afternoon, after doing some errands for the wedding, Tyree called her as they were getting intside of the car. She ignored it, but Michael noticed.
He slid his hand between her legs, and pushed his fingers so deep into her. He curled them just right and stroked her so good. She rocked against his palm, moans filling the car as she worked her way up. Then he pulled away. He built her back up, only to deny her again. And again for a third time. Each denial left her more wrrecked than the last.
And after three days of torture, Michael finally decided she'd earned a reward.
They were in bed. Him sat up against the headboard, legs spread wide with kneeling between them. Her lips were wrapped around his thick length as she took him deep down her throat.
Michael groaned as his hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair to guide her further down, hold there, then back up.
She moaned around him, the vibrations pulling more groans from him.
They were so lost in the moment. Her tongue eagerly swirled around him as she sucked him up. And his eyes couldn't move away from the beautiful sight in front of him. That was until her phone broke the moment by ringing so loud on the nightstand.
Almost instinctively, Wunmi tried to lift her head to check, but Michael's grip tightened. He pushed her head firmly back down onto his dick, keeping her mouth full.
He snatched the phone with his free hand, glancing at the screen. Tyree's name flashed across the screen. Instantly, Michael was annoyed. The ringing stopped only to start up again seconds later.
Wunmi took Michael's brief distraction as opportunity, so she slid him out of her mouth with a soft pop and peered at the screen. She was just as frustrated as her fiancé was and couldn't help but to release the most aggravated sound along with a quick roll of her eyes.
"Just decline it," she urged.
He met her eyes. "Nah. Talk to your little boyfriend."
Before she could protest, he swiped to answer and held the phone out to her.
Wunmi's eyes went wide, panic flickering as she stared at him, trying to understand the challenge in his eyes.
"Michael—" she started, but Tyree's voice cut through.
"Wunmi?"
Michael raised an eyebrow expectantly.
She grabbed the phone with shaky fingers, putting it on speaker.
"Hello?" she said timidly, heart pounding as she knelt between his legs.
Tyree's voice came through the phone, "Hey, gorgeous. What you doing?"
Wunmi shot a quick glance at Michael, biting her lip hard.
"Um...just laying in bed," she murmured.
"Cool. I, uh, just wanted to give you a call so we could talk. It's been a while," Tyree easily replied.
"Mhm, it has," she managed, her free hand fidgeted against Michael's thigh.
Tyree started talking about how the football season was going for him, but Michael took that as his chance. He practically manhandled her. His hands gripped her hips and spun her around to face the end of the bed. He shoved her body down so that her face was buried in the sheets and her ass was in the air.
She gasped at the sudden shift in positions.
"You okay?" Tyree asked.
"I'm fine…" Wunmi swallowed. Her voice shaky as she steadied herself. "
Michael gave her ass a light smack. Wunmi bit her lip hard to stifle the gasp.
He gripped her big, round cheeks in both hands, kneading the soft flesh, spreading her wide. One finger slowly trailed through her dripping wetness, parting her folds, and she let out a breathy sigh.
Tyree kept talking through the speaker, "…I really been thinking about a lot lately and I just gotta say…"
But Wunmi barely registered it. She could only focus on the man behind her and his heated touch. Michael's fingers had found her clit, circling it with teasing pressure, then dipped low to her soaked entrance, sliding a little inside before pulling back out.
She fought to stay quiet, body tensing up, but Tyree pressed on, obliviously.
"You still there? Tell me what you up to this weekend?" It was clear he was expecting a response.
Wunmi opened her mouth to answer Tyree's question, but Michael chose that exact moment to slide deep inside her, filling her completely in one smooth thrust. She clamped down around him, stunned to silence.
He pressed one hand firm between her shoulder blades, pinning her chest flush to the bed, and leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear.
"Answer him," he whispered sending shivers down her spine.
"Uh... n-nothing really," she managed to get out.
Michael gave her a few quick love taps to her inner thigh before pulling back up onto his knees. His gaze dropped to where their bodies joined, watching intently as he slid out slowly, then thrust back in deep.
A quiet, breathy moan escaped her lips. Wunmi moved the phone away from her mouth for a second, sucking in air.
Michael started with a few slow strokes to ease them both into the rhythm, letting her feel every thick inch stretching her. He built it gradually until his pace turned consistent, her ass bouncing softly against his pelvis.
Wunmi put the phone on mute just in time to release her moans. With each bounce a needy cry spilled out.
"You should come out this way soon. When are you free?" Tyree's voice came through the speaker.
She barely processed it. Her mind was wiped blank by Michael fucking her so good, hitting that spot over and over. Nothing existed but her man. All she could think about was the grip of his hands on her hips.
Wunmi took the phone off mute just long enough to gasp out, "I don't know when," before putting it right back on as another loud moan tore free.
"...we could hit this spot I know downtown, grab drinks, see where the night goes..."
Michael smacked her ass hard then, the hit echoing.
She blurted out, "Oh baby," followed by a deep, throaty moan that she couldn't hold back.
He kept one hand planted firm on her jiggling cheek to control the pace.
When he drove especially deep, she moaned out a shaky "Okay". Her free hand shot back, grabbing his forearm tight as he kept fucking her.
Michael ramped up the speed and depth, pounding into her harder, chasing that release for both of them.
Wunmi tried to take it all—she really did—arching back to meet him, but it really overwhelmed her.
"Okay, Michael, okay," she gasped as he went a little deeper than necessary, nailing that spot right next to her cervix.
"What you keep saying okay for?" He smacked her ass , growling, "Like, come on."
He pushed his hips forward, bouncing her roughly on him, urging her to move on her own. She did, but only just enough, rolling her hips back hesitantly.
"You want me to stop?" he demanded.
"No," she moaned out desperately. At this point she'd completely forgotten about the phone in her hand.
Just then Tyree's voice came through loud and clear. "...whoever that fiance of yours is ain't watching you right. Imma come get you for real."
Michael's face twisted up into a scowl, annoyance built up in him. He leaned down over her back, roughly thrusting in in deeper.
"Michael—Michael—fuck," Wunmi moaned his name over and over.
"Looks like Daddy's gonna have to put a baby in you so they know this pussy's mine," he growled against her ear.
"It's yours. I promise."
"Take it off mute so he can hear how good i'm fucking you," he ordered.
Her hand shook as she obeyed, pressing the button on the screen.
The second the phone came off mute, Michael picked up his thrusts. Driving into her so quick and rough it made her ass bounce loud off of his pelvis. The sound of her soaked pussy filled the room.
Wunmi moaned into the sheets, her cries muffled against the fabric, but Michael wasn't having it. He gripped her hair tight, yanking her head up until her back arched deeper.
"Who this pussy get wet for?" he demanded.
"You, Daddy," she gasped.
Tyree's voice came out sounding confused. "Wunmi? What the—?"
Both of them ignored him completely.
Michael smacked her ass again. Then snatched the phone from her weakened grip and held it so Tyree could hear every moan and every slick sound of her taking him.
"Tell him not to call you anymore," Michael said, pressing the phone right to her mouth.
She moaned through the words. "Don't call me anymore."
Michael hung up then tossed the phone across the bed to thud against the pillows.
"Good girl," Michael murmured, palm rubbing soothing circles over her tender ass. "You wanna come?"
"Yes, Daddy," she whimpered. Her body was already right there. She needed this.
"You did so good with your punishment," he praised, grinding against her walls.
Wunmi felt herself clenching hard as her stomach tightened. "Can I come? Please?"
"Yeah, come for me," one of his hands slid around to rub her clit.
She crumbled almost immediately. Her orgasm crashed through her. She cried out his name as her walls pulsed around him and she soaked the sheets.
Michael kept going, chasing his own release now, groans turning guttural as pleasure tightened in his gut.
"You gonna let me put a baby in you?" his voice was rough as he thrusted harder.
Wunmi moaned, nodding into the bed.
They'd had plenty of conversations about babies. They agreed to wait until at least after the wedding, but it was clear that tonight his possessiveness had him acting different. And she melted under it.
Michael thrusted a few more times before he finally released inside her. He held there, pushing deep, feeling her pulse around him. He pulled out slowly.
Wunmi collapsed forward, breathing heavy, chest heaving as aftershocks rippled through her.
"Don't go near that man again," he said firmly, hand stroking her back. "Block him."
Wunmi nodded weakly, turning her head to meet his eyes. "Okay, baby. I'm sorry."
Late January 2027
Now, into the new year, their lives were completely overtaken. Every day belonged to somebody else. There was barely any room left for themselves in between it all.
Michael had officially started press for The Thomas Crown Affair, and his schedule had exploded. Interviews, photoshoots, appearances, magazine covers. It felt endless. Most of it was alongside Adria Arjona, which only fueled certain online conversations even more.
Meanwhile, Wunmi was deep in awards season.
The Social Reckoning had become a big conversation piece of the year, and her performance had the people talking. Every week brought another event, another panel, and another rumor about if she would end up nominated again or not.
And through all of that, they were less than four months away from getting married. May was practically right around the corner.
Earlier in the month they had finally sat down with both of their publicists to figure out how exactly they were going to reveal the relationship publicly without it becoming a circus before the wedding. The final decision had been simple. Michael would handle most of it.
Strategically, it made the most sense.
Wunmi’s team wanted all attention during awards season to stay centered on her work, not her relationship. So Michael had agreed to slowly start opening the door publicly while still keeping things vague enough to maintain some control.
He actually preferred it that way. Mostly because he was tired of hiding her.
After over a year of rumors, especially after the leaked audio, Michael was exhausted from pretending. And since she was his fiancée now, he wanted to share that with the world.
Still timing mattered…a lot. Everything had to be controlled carefully. And unfortunately, control was the one thing their schedules weren’t allowing them to have right now.
Most days they weren’t even in the same city.
There had been recent stretches where they only saw each other through FaceTime screens and blurry airport selfies. Sometimes one of them was waking up while the other was heading to sleep.
It irritated both of them more than they admitted. Especially Michael. He had been so clingy with her, and now he barely even got the chance to breathe in her direction.
Their conversations had slowly become reduced to logistics. Things like wedding updates and travel plans. They hardly talked about things of substance. It wasn't intentional though. It was just all they had time for.
One night, Wunmi was sitting in her London hotel suite while Michael was back in New York finishing another round of press. She had kicked her heels off and was curled sideways across the bed, exhaustion written all over her face as she held her phone up during their FaceTime call.
Michael was sitting in the backseat of an SUV, chain sitting against a black thermal shirt, one hand rubbing tiredly over his jaw while traffic lights flashed outside the window behind him.
“You look tired,” Wunmi murmured softly.
Michael looked at her through the screen.
“I am tired.”
She smiled faintly, “Poor baby.”
“I’m serious,” he muttered. “I done answered the same damn questions all day. I’m over it. ‘How was it working together?’ ‘Did y’all have chemistry?’”
"Well, did you?" Wunmi grinned.
"Don't start," Michael gave her a flat look through the screen.
She giggled softly, resting her cheek against the pillow, “I was just asking.”
Michael shook his head, but his expression softened while looking at her. God, he missed her. He always had this thought during the day, along with the constant irritation that she wasn't there..
“When do I see you again?” he asked suddenly.
Wunmi sighed dramatically.
“Um…” She reached for her planner nearby. “I think…after the BAFTAS?” she started slowly, flipping through pages.
Michael stared at her.
“That’s not for another week, babe.”
“I know.”
“A whole week?”
Wunmi laughed softly at his expression.
“You’ll survive.”
Michael looked unconvinced.
“You say that now,” he said. “Then you gon’ start crying the longer we're apart.”
“I do not cry.”
“You absolutely do.”
Wunmi sucked her teeth softly, “Whatever.”
Michael smiled for the first time during the call, the tiredness easing slightly from his face.
The conversation naturally shifted to the wedding. And despite how exhausted they both were, those conversations kept them intertwined.
Everywhere Michael went there were cameras waiting for him. Going form film festival to awards gala to museum benefit to private dinners. Tonight wasn't any different.
The carpet outside the event was packed shoulder to shoulder with photographers and journalists.
Michael stepped out of the SUV with his black suit perfectly tailored to his body. Confidence radiated off of him without him even trying.
He adjusted the cuff of his jacket before looking up with a calm and controlled expression.
His publicist walked beside him briefly while fixing the front of his jacket.
“She approved it,” she murmured quietly.
Michael glanced at her.
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
His mouth twitched slightly.
“Aight,” he nodded.
He moved down the carpet, stopping for photos, greeting people, and shaking hands. As he approached the press line, he relaxed himself.
Interview after interview rolled by. They asked him the typical questions about directing, balancing acting and filmmaking. Michael answered each question like he had prepped for it.
Then he reached one platform in particular.
A Black woman stood there holding the microphone, smiling brightly as he approached.
“Michael B. Jordan!” she grinned. “You look good tonight.”
Michael laughed, “Thank you.”
“Everybody's talking about your film already. But what was it like stepping into directing mode again?” she started.
“It was challenging,” he admitted. “But I think I’m at a point now where I trust myself more creatively. I know how I wanna tell stories now. And honestly, I learned a lot from the last few years. Working with different directors, producing more, it changed how I look at filmmaking.”
The interviewer nodded along.
“And you can tell,” she said. “Especially after the year you had last year. Mr. Oscar winner. How has life changed since then? Because it feels like the world has not stopped talking about you.”
Michael laughed softly.
“It's definitely gotten more chaotic,” he admitted. “But I try to stay grounded and keep moving forward.”
The interviewer tilted her head slightly.
“So what does moving forward look like for you now? More directing? Less acting?”
Michael paused for a second.
“Well…” he started slowly, “where I’m at now in my life and career I'm focused on celebrating my wins. And I got some pretty big ones that I need to make room for.”
A tiny smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"As you should," The interviewer smiled.
“I wanna spend more time focused on my family. So there’s definitely a chance I slow down a little," he said honestly. "My fiancée and I have both been incredibly busy with all that's going on in our careers and now wedding planning. But I've been trying to figure out how to even get to the point of slowing down."
The interviewer looked stunned.
“Wow, um…when—”
Michael stepped back with the biggest smirk trying to break across his face.
“You have good one,” he laughed.
“Michael!”
He pointed at her playfully, “Appreciate you though.”
Then before she could ask another question, he walked off down the carpet looking satisfied with himself. He made his way inside, barely even slowing down as he reached for his phone that was in his pocket. There was only one person he wanted to talk to right now.
He tapped Wunmi’s contact immediately. The phone rang a few times before she answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was thick with sleep.
Michael’s face melted.
“Hey baby.”
There was rustling on the other end followed by a small sleepy hum.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
Michael smiled to himself as he ducked into a quieter hallway away from the crowd.
“Not that late. Why you sleep already?”
Wunmi sighed into the phone.
“I’m so tired.”
"You okay, Mama?" Michael’s brows pulled together.
“Mhm,” she hummed quietly.
He leaned back against the wall, listening to her breathing through the phone.
“I can’t wait for all this to be over,” she admitted sleepily.
Michael chuckled under his breath, “Me too.”
There was a quiet pause before Wunmi spoke again.
“Did you do it?”
Michael’s grin spread, “Yeah.”
He could practically hear her smiling through the phone even though she barely made a sound. Just a quiet little hum.
Michael shook his head fondly.
“That’s it?” he laughed quietly. “That’s all I get?”
“You woke me up,” she mumbled.
“You're supposed to be excited.”
“I am excited. I'm just sleepy, Mike,” she said.
Michael could picture her perfectly. She was probably curled up in a hotel robe, hair wrapped up, and half asleep with the phone pressed against her face. He missed her so much.
“You gon’ be at the honoring next week?” he asked after a moment.
There was a pause. Then Wunmi sighed.
“…Baby. It's next week with the BAFTAs and my team scheduled a bunch of press here,” she reminded him.
“Damn," He briefly closed his eyes. "So when will I see you again?”
“A week and a half maybe,” she said quietly.
Michael dragged a hand over his face dramatically.
“That's so long”
Wunmi laughed tiredly.
“You’ll survive.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“Because you will.”
Michael shook his head with a smile.
“Barely.”
There was another comfortable silence between them.
“Imma let you sleep.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And I miss you so much.”
Wunmi exhaled softly through the phone.
“I miss you too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come.”
Michael’s expression softened even more.
“Don’t apologize. I’m just being needy.”
That earned another sleepy laugh from her.
“Very needy.”
“Mhm.”
“I still love you though.”
“You better.”
Wunmi smiled against her pillow.
“Goodnight, Michael.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
end notes: so this was actually a looottt longer, but because tumblr has a limit on how many blocks you can do, i have to break it up into more parts than i was planning. so the next update will be sooner than expected, it'll just be after my american dream update. - - - taglist: @lilbitt @lizbehave @andtheniws @tonichildsdaughterduh @cinnamonsonnyangel @shamansha @caramelplug @bananajoeclone @rolemodelshit @brownskincheyenne @mmbee675 @xeebop@adultinginheels @tlt731
Summary : When Elijah blew Annie’s light out, Isaac was the one who lit it again. Her man was good in bed, extremely fine, smart, a provider. Their love, or so they call it never been under hardship, until now. The twins were back in Delta, Annie gave herself a mission : avoid Smoke and make sure Stack keep his big running mouth shut about their little adventures.
Pairing : Annie x OC ; Smoke x Annie ; Annie x Stack
C.W : public sex, steamy kisses, dirty talk, cheating, drama, blowjob, cum-expansion, brat!dom dynamic
Part 6
“Elijah what in God’s name—” Her hand stayed on the handle, eyes cutting past him down the empty road both ways, heedful.
Then, she hissed through her teeth seconds before snatching a fistful of his jacket and yanked him inside, the door swinging shut on the evening air, the latch catching behind her before she even turned to face him.
Those twins really decided to get on her fucking nerves this whole day or what?
Careless and impetuous, Smoke sat on an armchair near her herbs and candles supplies’ shelves. He picked a pipe hidden behind a dark amber jar and lit it. “Still letting the old ones take up rent in this house I see.”
“Conjured spirits got more senses than the ones who live.” Annie shot back, staring dead at him, her palms holding the curves of her sides. “Have you gone and lost the last two cents rattling round in that head of yours? How dare you coming there?”
Smoke breathed in, inhaling and blowing out tobacco off his pipe. What cost him to come back in this shack? Nothing changed much in seven years, except for these tatters and worn-out male pants hanging on walls.
Nigga sure made his presence known. Hilarious.
“I went and cleaned up the trouble your temper made.” He tapped on his lap. “Bring yourself over here.”
Annie stared at him a long second, her hip cocking out. “You walk in here tracking mud on my clean floor and got the audacity to tell me where to sit in my own house?” She sucked her front teeth, shaking her head. “Ain’t paid a light bill, ain’t fixed a single board on this porch, and got the audacity to be pointing at furniture. Bring yourself over here.” She imitated him, exaggerating an accent. “You see that stove over there? That pot on it? Neither one of them got your name on them and neither do that chair…”
Smoke had stopped listening after the second sentence. She will do as he wished. That wasn’t even a question. Still, women will be women after all.
Even if she had no right to utter a word to him after spreading her good thang to Stack, he was still her husband. And no women kept quiet after being left for seven years old.
Since he came back, Annie didn’t get the chance to poke at him and play house. This place surely was bringing back memories.
I was not the one ruining our lives. Smoke thought. Yet, he didn’t interrupt her nagging.
“Even that radio—“
“I didn’t pay it Ma’. Now come here.” He repeated roughly with a gravelly voice.
Annie opened her mouth to fire back, her finger already lifting to point at something else in the room that wasn’t his — the curtains, the basin, anything — , her feet carried her forward anyway, closing the distance between them with her chin tipped high and her eyes accusing, like she was walking over there to argue and not because every stubborn inch of her wanted to.
She loomed over him, one hand planting on the armrest, the other on her hip. “You got one more time to—” Smoke’s hands closed firmly around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap — her thick thighs spreading across his, the chair creaking once under their combined weight. His palms flattened against the swell of her hips, fingers sprawling around her ass — straddling her on his lap before she could decide whether to fight it.
“Nothing here that I owned. But you know what belongs to me?” He rubbed the voluptuous flesh of her cheeks, smacking them once. “Mhm?” He spanked her again, flaming her ass.
Her softness felt doughy in his palms as he groped them. Seconds after seconds he kept clapping her curves, making them bounce languidly.
“Elijah…” Annie’s breath hitched, her lips parting as she breathed raggedly.
“I got that one pretty doll belonging to me. Too bad she never known how to behave correctly…” he continued, planting his nose in the hollow of her neck.
“You shouldn’t—” Her large and scrumptious breasts rose and fell uneven, trailing the wrecked rhythm of her breathing. The thin material of her dress had gone taut across her stiffened nipples, outlining them fat and swollen.
Annie squirmed atop of him, her chest grazing his. She felt damp below, her drawers humid, the cotton clinging to her folds, chafing her sensitive clit with every roll of her body.
Her honeypot was clenching, aspiring the panties fabric — walls squeezing and releasing, arousal threading down her inner thigh.
“There not such a thing I shouldn’t do woman.” Elijah whispered near her ear, his tongue swirling the lobe. With grace, he sneaked an hand leisurely across her bare thighs — threading fingers under the fabric of her dress and hiking it higher. “What you gon do? You don’t want me there?”
His thumb found the elastic of her garment while his moist tongue tasted her, from the cage of her neck to the corner of her luscious lips.
Whatever she meant to say dissolved when his thumb peeled the cotton aside, her arousal already slicking his finger tips.
He traveled sluggishly across her mouth to her bottom lip. Annie exhaled hot and gave away when Smoke’s lips covered hers — his tongue sliding slow past her teeth to meet and dance with hers.
She choked on a moan as the tobacco scent flooded her mouth. Her full rounded tits skimmed through his shirt when she gripped his collar — hips straddling his already soaked hand inside her vagina.
Behind them, the oil lamp sputtered and outside frogs and cicadas were competing for the best orchestra.
With their lips pressed together nothing seemed to matter. Annie heart hammered in her chest, she flattened her fists on his shoulder while breathing his oxygen.
Smoke’s lungs burned, craving for air. Yet his lips kept moving against hers, his tongue making love to hers while their eyes held each other in hostage.
She hurt him. His pride, his trust, his ego. Things he could never get back. He knew he could never forgive her. But why?
Why was she melting under him like this?
Why her body offered itself to his touches?
Smoke drew rashly from her — a pale string of saliva bridging the gape between their lips, trembling before streaming down between them.
Annie hiccuped, whimpering. “E—Elijah…?”
He squelched his fingers out of her creamy bathed pussy and thrust them deep in her throat, watching Annie suffocating on her own arousal.
While she whined, her face whimsy and turned on. Smoke wound her coils around his free fist and wrenched her head back.
Annie’s spine bowed off his chest, her throat baring long under shadowing the lamplight.
“Do you have an idea of how deep this heart run hatred for you Annabelle?”
Annie’s breath tore ragged, her thighs locking tighter across his lap.
Smoke drew his teeth unhurried along the soft and sensitive flesh of her bared throat — traveling down from her jaw to her collarbone and back up again, tasting the salt and sweetgrass oil sitting on her skin, his nose filling with her root-work smell, the meal she’d cooked and the warm funk of what he’d been doing to her — before he pulled his mouth clean off her.
He weeded out his fingers from her mouth and licked their tips raunchily — his predatory gaze holding her whitened one. “Every night I’m thinking about ruining you.” He wrenched her head further down, searing her scalp. “But can you tell me why?” He eased his hold, threading way between the rows of her knots, caressing the lines with tenderness. “Why can’t I stand seeing you hurt? Or even humiliated? You deserve all the pain this plantation nigga giving you.”
Smoke released her hair and settled himself easy back into the armchair, one arm dropping loose across its rest, the other one picking back his pipe where it sat, glued against the wood shelf.
Annie sat straddled across him, her dress twisted at the hips, panting.
He drew slow on the pipe and blew the smoke between them, watching her chest rise and fall against it, her thighs pressing together around her own climax and her body trying to gather itself back in his lap.
“Cause you a mad man, Smoke.” With a surge of confidence, Annie planted her nails in the back of his head — raking the pipe out of his lips. “you want me like you used to have me. like we had nothing else to live for.” With a slow hip motion, she slid her panties off by her ankles — through her slicked thighs — “you came all over here cause those little two-cent heffas can’t wet your dick like I do.”
Annie spilled her lush tits free, the soft flesh rubbing and wiggling against Smoke’s torso — her erected nipples chafing pleasurably against the fabric of his shirt.
Blood and heat punched low and treacherous beneath his waistband, thickening his groin. Annie felt the huge shape of his bulge grazing the swell of her ass. His cock twitched under the rough fabric of his pants poking at her inner thighs.
“Mhm? Am I turn you on papa?” She arched her back, rolling her hips on his swollen hard cock. “You want something…come and get it.” Her hands limbed on both her sides, hiking her dress level to her waist — her voluptuous ass cheeks jutting out. “Ain’t nothing I can’t give you Pa’…not a single thing you been chasing in them other women’s beds that I ain’t got right here.”
Smoke shut his jaw tight, his brows furrowed and eyes dilated — menacing. “Shut your mouth.”
His eyes lurked over her ruined lips, fighting demons to not claim them again.
“Make me.”
“Annie…” he grunted, losing the last steady nerve of his brain. “That mouth of yours gon be the death of you one day.”
He freed himself — one hand working his waistband open, his cock dropping gorged and urgent between their hot bodies, the broad dark head nudging warm against the bare inside of her thigh while his free palm pressed flat against her hip bone, holding her steady.
The fried fish and bay leaf from supper hung thick in the kitchen air around them — guilty with Isaac ghostly presence.
Annie squirmed in his lap until he pulled her down onto his dick — her walls parting slow and resistant around his girth as the chair groaned beneath them, the floorboards settling under it with a long low creak.
“I knew you— Lord— I knew you couldn’t—” she whimpered, bravado leaving her face, fingers losing their purchase, untangling his slicked coiled hair.
Seven goddamn years and she still fit around him like an argument he’d never finished making.
He set his pace and held it — ramming deep, punishing strokes in her pussy, each one grinding to the root before dragging back out through her clenching walls, his pelvis cracking against her bodacious jigging ass on every push.
“Yeah— spread that ass for me— Fuck—”
Annie’s tits bounced and jiggled with every snap of his hips, her full, doughy flesh slapping warm against his chest. Her nipples toyed against his shirt as her walls sucked around his fat cock each time he withdrew — her cream already thick and sloppy between them, frothing white where they joined.
“Yes— it’s so good— don’t stop Elijah— right there— oh—” She broke apart, moaning lewdly.
“You ain’t good for me.” Smoke drove roughly inside, baking her cunt as sweat gathered at his temple. “So how can you make me feel something no one else can, huh?” He slapped her shaking cheeks. “You put me in jar? The fuck wrong with me?”
Annie’s body worked completely against her pride, hips rolling down onto him, chasing his rough delicious thrusts.
She tried to quicken it. His hands dug into her hips, bruising deep, wrenching her back to his rhythm.
“Elijah—” she gritted through her teeth. “You’re— you so good for me papa—”
He jammed in harder on the next stroke, mashing slow against her swollen clit. “All that big talk.” He rasped, snapping his hips forward roughly. “Say it again.”
“I— you— don’t you—” Her nails carved down his back, her whole body jolting forward.
Smoke yanked the two Bantu knots at the back of her head, wrenching her backward while his cock plunged unforgiving into her soaked, spasming cunt. “Go on, Mama. I’m listening. What was that again?”
Her answer dissolved into a fractured cry, thighs clamping violently each side of him, her sensitive walls convulsing around his length.
Annie shut her eyes, feeling pleasure engulfing each fiber of her body — how her tight honeypot pumped his meat, the way her erected nipples nibbled on his torso, goosebumps crawling from her neck to her toes.
Outside on the road, voices drifted lazy through the dark — two men passing certainly, their laughter carrying easy through the thin walls of the house, cutting right through the soggy slap of their flesh.
Annie’s eyes flew open and she stiffened immediately, her walks trucking the threatened beats of her heart to her pussy clenched around him.
Her hips stuttering to a halt, gaze cutting sideways toward the window, straining to read the voices.
“Sh—” she breathed, panting hard as her fingers firmly gripped Smoke’s shoulders. “Somebody comin’ down the road— I swear that sound like his boots—”
SLAP.
“Ain’t like he been keeping that bed warm for you alone…” Smoke smacked her voluptuous peach — his palm belted hard and flat across her left cheek, the impact blooming hot and bruising through the soft flesh, jiggling it fat and wild, the sting spreading deep before settling. “Gnn— keep them pretty eyes right here—”
Annie gasped when he snapped her hips back, rolling them back down onto his cock without breaking the rhythm, his jaw set, eyes fixed cold on her face.
“Your carpenter real worried bout you tonight, you think?” he leaned over, whispering close to her ear. “Ion’ think so if you want my opinion.”
The armchair creaked under them as her body started giving her away. Her walls fluttered around him in long greedy pulses, her cream flooding thick and hot along his shaft as she shook her ass back and forth, edging on the line of orgasm.
Smoke done setting her body on fire, blanking her mind with his relentless and unforgiving pounding.
“Aah— yes, it’s so— argh…don’t stop—” She moaned, her tits wiggling under his still-not satiated eyes.
“You feel good with my dick inside you huh baby?” He talked her through it, groaning and pushing her harder to the edges of glory.
“Papa I’ll be good— I’ll be good— please—” She clawed at the back of his neck, her belly tightening, hips pitching forward trying to chase what he kept out of her reach.
He pulled her pace back to his own — long rolling circles, grinding her down slowly, holding her right at that awfully delicious bound, watching the smugness drain clean out of her face.
“So needy and commanding…” He rasped, tilting his head, studying her lustfully grimacing face. “All that good pussy too bad you ain’t got no proper home training…” He sneaked his tongue out and trailed it along the slope of her neck once again. “If I keep feeding you this dick… you’ll love it ain’t you? See how you gripping me like I owe you rent…”
Smoke bucked his hips languidly, grazing the taut and gooey flesh of inside her vagina — his breath fire on her skin. “Mmh…do I really want to please you though? Do you deserve it…?”
“Please— please ‘Jah — please don’t stop— I’m right there— please—” she broke apart, in trance — squirming in his lap, her tits bouncing and mouth begging with the small portion of pride she had left.
“Yeah…” His gaze traveled over her her wrecked face, her shaking thighs bracketing him. “No. You been a pretty little bad bunny.”
Then, he lifted her off his throbbing cock — her entrance gaping wide and saucy around the sudden loss, arousal stringing slimy and sultry between them as he shifted her sideways in the chair — and wrapped his fist around himself, still swollen and weeping at the slit.
Annie’s hand shot toward him straight away and he batted it aside without looking at it.
“You the devil— I swear to God— please— please—” She writhed beside him in the armchair, her thighs scissoring around nothing, her pussy swallowing and queefing the empty air and stomach cramping with desire.
“You gon watch and be grateful, baby.” He grunted, fisting himself — pumping his thick dick up and down in passionate strokes — his eyes holding hers a moment before draping her lush body hungrily.
Annie gathered her own tits with both hands, the soft doughy flesh overflowing her palms, her nipples hard and jutting. She rubbed and squeezed her breasts together, pushing them up toward him.
Smoke jerked off, his fist running smack down his heavily pendulous balls to the tip, the thick vein along the underside of his cock dark and swollen against his knuckles. The obscene squelch of his grip echoed through the room, mixing with Annie's desperate whimpers beside him.
"Look at you," he growled, his voice ragged. "Dripping all over that chair while you watch me handle what you can't have."
Annie's wet pussy lips squished as her sweet hole pumped nothing. Her creamy sauce dripped down the floor with each queef of her cunt.
"Please, Papa," she cried, her tits still heaped in her hands, nipples pointing skyward like dark brown berries. "Please let me taste you. Let me swallow your cum—”
Smoke chuckled smugly — one palm cramping his engorged balls, rubbing them shamelessly. "Mhm. All that fussing and now you want to swallow my nut?"
Saliva stringed down from Annie’s lolled tongue, her mouth watering. “I’ll be good— I’m good girl papa—”
Smoke beat off his meat, his cockhead flaring fat and angry. Palm swinging the full-cum sac of his balls, feeling the weight of his massive load churning inside.
"Fuck," he hissed, his head falling back against the chair, his soggy testicles squelching, slapping against his thighs with each downstroke. "Play with them titties,"
he commanded, dick twitching in his grip.
Annie obeyed, her thumbs raking across her peaked nipples. Her dark brown nubs stiffened further, swelling under her touch. She pinched them hard and gasped, the sting shooting straight to her aching cunt.
“Fuck— yeah… be good for papa.” He growled, his sacs drawing tight, pressure mounting at the base of his spine, then brutally he hit the sky — cum gushing wild, spilling through the air and splattering directly across her tongue.
Annie gagged as the thick, massive load flooded her mouth — hot and salty — but swallowed raunchily. His cum overflowed her lips, dripping down her chin in thick white strands.
Smoke didn't stop. His hand kept pumping through his sagging, flappy balls.
“Good girl…” he rasped, “you best empty papa balls tonight…” he tapped the broad of his cock against the corner of her well-fed, viscous lips then hit her cheek with his hard length, slapping her face with his huge meat.
His second spurt aimed lower, coating her left breast, cum steaming against her large deep brown areola and up the soft flesh. The third rope striped across her right tit, gluing her nipples in a gooey bridge of white.
"Oh fuck—" Annie moaned around her mouthful, cum bubbling at the corners of her lips. "Mhm you tasting so fucking good— so much—there's so fucking much—"
Smoke's gooky cock stayed rock hard. He milked the last drops of his first load onto her cum-splattered chest. "My lady gluttonous, I must feed her good.”
Annie leaned forward, her tits swaying beneath her, tongue stretched toward his dick, desperate for more.
Smoke grabbed her hair, yanking her head back. Her eyes met his, glassy and lamenting.
"You want this fat dick in your mouth?" For a second time, he tapped his cum-slick cockhead against her lips, smearing his seed across her mouth.
"Yes—please—"
He slapped her cheek with his cock, leaving a wet mark, cum stringing between her face and his shaft.
"Greed is one of a big sin sugar," he whimpered gravelly, his voice thick with arousal. "Open big for me."
Annie's jaw dropped, her tongue out like a red carpet over his cock.
Smoke fed her his length, the massive head stretching her lips. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, tongue swirling around his flared crown, tasting the cum and her own pussy scent and juice, still coating his shaft.
"That's it," he groaned, his hand still working the base of his cock while her mouth worked the top. "Gnn— Fuck—"
Annie moaned around his girth, the vibrations traveling down his shaft to his churning balls. Her head bobbed, taking as much of his massive cock as she could, her throat relaxing around his thickness.
“I'm sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over all that noise you're making, writhing on my dick…” He taunted her.
Drool and cum leaked from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin to join the mess on her tits.
Smoke's balls swung heavily, slapping against her chin with each thrust of his hips. He was at the edges of his second orgasm when he ordered:
“Play with my balls.”
Annie's hands released her scrumptious tits — one reaching up to cup his heavy sac, her fingers rolling his cum-filled orbs. They were dense, hot, vibrating with the pressure of his impending load.
"That’s my girl…" Smoke hissed, his hips jerking forward. "Touch 'em. Feel how much cum I got for you mama. You gon milk me dry, right?”
Annie squeezed gently, then harder, massaging his balls while her mouth worked his shaft, tongue tracing the large vein underneath.
“Aargh— fuck—“ Smoke gripped her coiled hair while his dick jumped wild inside her mouth, coming — overwhelming ropes of cum filling her throat.
She milked him dry then released his length.
Flustered, his cheeks flushed amorously, he gazed at her, panting.
“You really need to find God, Annabelle.”
It was past midnight when Marylise lay on her back, one arm folded loose behind her head, watching Isaac dress — his trouser picked up from the floor, shirt next, buttoned from the bottom up, tucked in with two flat palms smoothing the front down.
“Raymond and the fellas must’ve had themselves a fine time tonight.” She grinned cockily and mocking.
“He prolly don’t know he hosted.” Isaac shot back, reaching for his boot, working the heel down without looking up, the leather creaking in the quiet of the room.
Her shoulders shook with a short laugh. She pulled a loose corner of the sheet across her waist, settling deeper into the mat.
“That woman got a candle burning for every problem and a jar for every enemy.” She hissed, shaking her head, genuinely tickled by the fact. “Lord knows how she find time to sleep.”
Isaac rolled his eyes, chortling without saying anything.
“All them spirits she feedin’—” Marylise continued, tonguing her cheek slow, “—and not one of ’em thought to check on her.”
That’s when he gave in totally. Laughing frantically and foolishly. He lifted his hat off the floor, knocked the brim once against his knee and set it on his head.
“You done eating her meal too. Don’t spit much in the pot that fed you when you were hungry.” He squinted his eyes at her, “lock up behind me Marylee, sleep well sugar.”
The wind hit cold and damp on his face as Isaac stepped off her porch and onto the road, his hat pulled low, the swamp dark and still on either side of the dirt path.
He walked cheerfully, boots packing mud on the empty road. He wasn’t thinking about much. Isaac never been the type to push his brain to extremes — a simple man with a simple life.
After walking past his neighbor’s fence line, headlights swung wide around the bend ahead — a good blue ol’ truck pulling out, strangely, from the direction of his yard. Well, hers.
He stepped to the shoulder without breaking his stride, his eyes lifting as the vehicle rolled past.
Inside the engine, Smoke’s gaze cut sideways through the glass — lying on Isaac’s broad frame.
Both men exchanged a stare : ignorant from one side and full of unexplained contempt on the other one.
The tail lights faded around the next bend and the road swallowed them entirely, leaving nothing behind but dusty clouds.
The tune Isaac was humming died in his throat and he sucked through his teeth : “must be one of those crackers rolling round’ folks homes again.”
Indeed, he had merely seen Smoke’s shadow through the car glasses. And satisfied as he was, nothing and no one could ever ruin his night.
Arrived at home, he lingered on the threshold, peeping inside to see if Annie was sleeping.
The lamp was off and a shape was shuffling in the mattress — Good grief then, she was out.
He removed his boot outside and walked in, his attention immediately turned to the kitchen counter, hopeful to find something to eat.
Nothing. All plates were clean. The one he had saw her put aside was empty.
“Ain’t even save me a bone…” he whispered for himself before dipping out of his clothes and lay by her side.
The sun find them untangled in sheets the next morning — beating down Isaac face before stirring him up.
The carpenter prepped his day — washing, fixing some stuff in their old kitchen, feeding the hens, checking on the vegetables backyard.
“Ha. Isaac, big man !” Somebody greeted.
Annie who was leaving the bathroom stilled dumbfounded, jaw dropped off behind the window.
What on good earth Elias Moore was doing there? What matter was he discussing with Isaac?
She couldn’t ear anything but sure registered his insolent grin when he clocked her.
“Mr. Moore.” Isaac took off his gardening gloves, shrinking small.
“What’s up? Got your fellas ready for the juke matter already?”
“Yes. We just waiting on your word sir. Handiworks are something easy for us.”
“Ain’t nothing small bout what we need. That place gon shine or it ain’t worth the lumber.” Stack toyed his toothpick between his lips.
“You put money in our hands sir, won’t recognize the place, trust me.” Isaac reassured.
“Good. Good.” Stack eased up. He traveled his gaze back and forth between Isaac and Annie — who was still glued at the window, glaring him with a deadly stare. He gulped, eating a chuckle. “Who dat peeking behind the curtain there?”
Isaac turned around and flustered — embarrassment or love, even himself couldn’t tell. Still, he gave this man an answer who wouldn’t make the town chat more about them. “That’s my madam sir. Don’t mind her.”
This time Stack disguise his mocking laugh as casual sneer, chortling easy. “Oh. Your madam, right?” He repeated, biting inside of his cheek to not explode in laughter. He pinched his nose and flexed his jaw to gather a semblance of seriousness. “She know her way round a pot?”
Isaac face brightened and built up full of pride. “The best in Delta sir. Woman can cook the devil civil.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
Stack thought, brushing his tongue across his lower lip.
“Alright. Alright. My brother running something at the juke in two days. We need good women to cook for us.” He drawled, scratching his beard. Something mischievous crept up his mind. “Bring her tonight. Elijah and I would be at the club, we can meet madam and see if she work for us.”
Isaac laughed — half bitterly. “She been there with her girls twice already. Won’t take much convincing.”
Twice huh. Guess that’s where they reunited. Stack chewed on his jaw, puzzling the full picture.
“Ha, women. Our sweetest headaches.” Both men cheered. “Mine is somehow worse. But what could I say? Good. See you tonight then.”
“Yes sir.”
His deed done, Stack disappeared past the fence line, whistling.
Isaac pulled his gardening gloves back on, finished checking the last buds of vegetables, picking the fruits and then pushed through the back door into the main room where Annie was now sitting at the edge of the bed, lotioning her feet.
“Ah. Remember them Moore brothers I talked to you about weeks ago?” He washed his hands at the basin, shaking them dry. “We got ourselves a contract with them this time. That juke need serious fixin’ up.”
Annie kept her eyes on her toes, rubbing the magnolia scented butter cream from her calves to her heels. “I’m happy for you big papa.”She slurred. “By the way Raymond must’ve kept y’all real late last night. I ain’t heard you coming last night.”
“You know how men get when liquor flowing.” He reached for a cup of water. “Just talk and noise.”
“Mhm.” She lifted up her eyes, burning hole on his back. “What y’all talk about then?”
Isaac set his cup down, turned around and looked at her. “Jesus Annie. You worse than a courthouse some mornings. I don’t remember every word said over drinks baby.”
“Mhm.” Annie unfolded the hem of her floral yellow dress over her legs and stood up, walking toward the entry door. “Alright. I got things to pick up for the shop. I’ll be back.”
“Hold on.” He stepped into the doorway. “They want us both tonight at their club. Told that one bout how good your beef stew is and he want you to cook for them.”
Annie’s hands stilled on her bag. “What? Come on papa…you know lately I ain’t in the mood for no juke.”
“It’s business darling.” Isaac crossed his arms. “You been there before and loved it. Why the sudden change?”
She held his gaze a beat too long, then looked away sighing. “Fine. But I ain’t staying long.”
“Bet.”
Annie left her house anxious and irritated. That sly fox better hide from her eyes in this Delta.
She crossed the swamps, walking long minutes to center town.
She passed by the juke without looking at it — bottle and jar clicking at her waist.
“Annie—” A playful tone called her from the side.
She pressed quicker forward.
A red car coughed right in front of her before she had time to reach her destination.
“Oh. You avoiding me?”
“Elias Moore. If you don’t want to get turn into a tasteless goat right this instant you better leave me alone.”
“Madam is mad.” He laughed frantically, catching up with the chuckle he strained minutes ago.
“You so bitchy.”
“Don’t compliment me. That turn me on.” He stepped out his car and leaned against it.
“So, did madam accept to bring her mighty presence to the juke tonight?”
“Oh but as far as I know, your sissy ass is not allowed to put a foot there. Well if you want bullet between your eyes, I ain’t gon be the one stoppin you.” She cocked her hips.
“That’s my brother. He not gon kill me.”
“He not that type, no. But you and I know how dangerous and possessive he can be…” she frowned, jaw clenched. “And that’s why you fool Isaac with that bullshit. You want Elijah to target him.”
“Who? Me?” Stack hit his chest theatrically. “Oh. I’m clutching my pearls right now. How can you believe that?”
“Idiot.” She sucked her teeth and circled the engine.
“Hm. So let me guess. You going to see Smoke, begging him to not put a price on your boy toy?”
Boy toy. Heaven above, what’s wrong with that one?
“Yes. This one still functioning so I’m ain’t gettin’ rid of it yet.”
“You crawling through muddy water Annabelle.”
“Aww. Don’t act tough Stackie.” She stopped in her stride, planted her hands at her hips and turn her face back to him. “It’s not sexy.”
Isaac received the news with joyful heart. The joy was so intense he couldn’t help but share it with Marylise. As soon as Annie left, he walked down to her house and surprisingly found her locking the building, her belongings packed on the porch.
“Night wasn’t kind to you?”
“Ha. Isaac.” She straightened, wiping sweat between her breasts. “Told you what happened. And just an hour ago, somebody tell me they taking the house from me. I even got the money already.”
The carpenter approached, reducing the distance between them. “I see. And you got somewhere to be?”
“Not yet.”
“I can speak to Annie. You her girl, she might—”
“No. No. The boarding house few block away from the barbershop looking for janitor. I’ll go there.”
“Bosses I’m working for now, they looking for women to cook at the new juke.”
Marylise eyes lit.
“The old sawmill?”
“Yes. The one you and Annie went to. They fixing something big for two days from now. You could go there and ask for work.”
“Mhm. Mhm.”
“Ha. I must go now. Tell me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
She watched the man stride away. Then, stepped forward to match his steps.
Marylise dropped her bags to a good friend of her, promising to get them back hours later.
“We bout to be colleague Beatrice. Please.”
“Don’t be late. You not even part of the house yet and you ask for such things.”
“Thank you.”
Marylise set off down the busy street, her feet padding in no particular direction through the late morning heat — the center town was alive and buzzing around her with women haggling over vegetables and meat prices at the Chow stall, a group of men sat idle outside a food spot, and some fool had parked his stupid car in middle of the road.
“Tch.” She suck her teeth.
She had no plan yet — Isaac words were sitting in her chest and she was merely evaluating the pro and cons of working at that club.
Marylise strode past the sheriff office, following the shade of the magnolia trees lining the fence, her bag swinging loose at her hip — when suddenly, a voice came through an open white window on her left.
Her feet slowed in the dirt and she tilted her ears : Annie.
The house sat grand and solid, painted white with patches of blue, its porch shaded, front windows open to catch breeze Delta offered at this hour.
Marylise cut sideways and pressed her body along the fence line until she reached a narrow back alley running dark between the building and the neighboring property — barely wide enough for her shoulders — and pushed through it, her dress snagging once on a nail before she worked it free.
She came around the back and tiptoed a nearest window, the voices coming clearer now.
Marylise straightened just enough to clear the sill and looked inside.
Annie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, mouth moving.
A man was facing her — tall, pecan brown skin with a sharp haircut —, his hand was around her waist, fingers spreading and vagabonding across her curves, while she kept talking, unbothered.
“Look what we go there…”
Marylise pressed her back flat against the wall, smacking her palm on her mouth.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying but clearly those two weren’t mere acquaintances.
She had watched the rootworker slip through the juke crowd weeks ago and climb stairs behind the same man.
One time is coincidence.
Two time, maybe fortune
But third one ? Hmm that’s sure habits.
Marylise inhaled quietly and backed away.
“Poor Isaac. I’m wondering what he’ll say about all of this, not like he a saint either.” She murmured for herself, walking away.
When the last copper light embraced Annie’s house, it was tidied, floorboards cleaned and the air filled with frankincense incense.
Isaac had done preparing for the evening and was waiting for her. She was still busy, sitting before the small vanity — she’d styled her afro with pearls and shells, hugged her curves with a fine blue-green velvet dress.
From the back of her drawer, she picked and uncorked a small, dark-amber bottle and dabbed the oil to her collarbone, her wrists, the valley between her breasts and the hollow behind each ear.
The scent was bewitching and so intense it couldn’t escape Isaac senses. His nostrils flared analyzing the smell : it was different from her magnolia and sweetgrass. This one he never caught it — nutmeg, mango with coconut and vanilla or sugarcane underneath.
“You smell different tonight.” He dropped hands in his pocket, squinting suspiciously. “That from the market?”
Annie pressed the cork back in without looking up, humming a gospel song. “Bought it a long while back. You don’t like it?”
“Never smell it before.” He traveled her across her face through the mirror. “First time you wearing it round me.”
Of course. The first time she made and wore this concoction was the day Elijah asked her out.
Ha. That was long years ago.
“It’s old. I forgot I had it.” She responded. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” She stood up and smiled through her eyes.
They left the house side by side
Even at this hour, the neighborhood was animated — families on their stoops fanning themselves, children running away from bedtime, two old men arguing about nothing important outside the general store.
Annie nodded to faces she knew — her loyal clients, children she took care of, some women she shared glass of corn liquor with. Isaac tipped his hat to some workers, greeting. Neither spoke much.
Minutes later, Blues warmed their skin, announcing the juke. Delta slim was doing magic again with his piano and the young Sammy’s voice carried across the spacious room, reaching them on the threshold.
“Jed’s son ain’t it?”
“Yes. The young Samuel.” Annie replied without giving much.
“Preacher’s son singing at such place…”
“Is that a business that pay you Isaac?”
“No dear. You right.”
A instant later, a bear-shaped man filled the doorway : Cornbread.
The man used to work in plantation too and his wife Therise was one of Annie faithful client — more important, he was Smoke and Stack friends. In a word, he wasn’t stranger to Annie.
“Sir. Ma’am— Annie!” He shouted as soon as he saw her. “Oh Therise should’ve been here.”
“I know this gentleman wife. We are friends.” Annie explained right before Isaac preying eyes swallowed her whole.
“Sorry. Sorry. I embarrassed you.”
“Not at all.”
“Aight…you both here to see S—”
One manicured hand grabbed Cornbread shoulder before his cheerfulness spoiled everything.
“Little Mary?”
“I will bring them to the brothers.”
For the first time in the evening, Isaac and Annie exchanged a knowing look.
A white woman had no business wandering in a black owned juke. The carpenter’s eyes insisted on his company’s face.
Annie shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head.
Stack woman.
They grew up together with the twins, well based on what Elijah told her at the time. The man disliked her but he wasn’t the one to monitor what happened under his twin’s waistband.
The fair woman turned her gaze to the couple. “Please follow me.”
Isaac ducked through ahead of Annie, the blue cloth grazing the back of his neck as he straightened into the booth — wood walls drunk up the light, a corn liquor bottle was sweating at the center of the table flanked by two glasses.
Grey clouds of cigarette hung in the narrowed space, thick and suffocating. It welcomed Annie as she took in her company’s steps, closing the curtains behind them.
“Isaac! Big man. Don’t plant there, come on, we got business to talk tonight.” Stack called out, patting the seat beside him. Isaac removed his hat and made his way toward the dandy. He sat down on his right, his gaze small and uncertain.
Annie drew a slow breath inward. While Stack played his grim little performance to perfection, the poor woman shifted in place. She could feel Smoke’s gaze fixed on her, insistent. He hadn’t opened his mouth yet — he was content to drag his eyes over her body, consuming her from head to toe.
There was nothing holy about the way he looked at her. Guilt and anxiety crawled up inside her. Sure, Annie had talked to him before this little four-way sit-down, but still — this was Smoke, and given the kind of poison he carried for her, he could blow the whole thing straight to hell.
God have mercy, keep that man’s mouth shut. Annie prayed.
“Ma’am? Don’t be standing up like that. Sit yourself down.” Stack cut in, nodding toward the seat next to his twin.
Annie obliged sat down to Smoke’s left. The man’s roving eyes vagabonded immediately to the swell of her voluptuous chest — something Stack clocked right away but that sailed clean over Isaac’s head, the man too busy thinking about money.
“Smoke, this is Isaac. His fella took the gig, must assure they’ll do good with the repairs.”
“Isaac. Nice to meet you man.” Smoke drew on his cigarette once and set it to the table edge.
“All my pleasure sir.” The carpenter squashed tight his hat, nervously.
Annie exhaled of relief. The following minutes flooded with money and handiworks’ talks.
Smoke listened to his brother walk the man through terms — charming and sly, the way Stack had always been with strangers who hadn’t yet learned to be cautious of him.
“Three weeks from tonight.” Stack spread both hands over the table. “All over here need to be clean. We ain’t running random juke boy. You know wood, Isaac?”
“Since I was nine Sir.” The carpenter fixed his eyes, confident. “My daddy built houses clear out to Lafayette before his back gave out. I learnt from his hands.”
Stack nodded, not so impressed, but he had to keep the play on point. “I need men who know what they’re doing. You do us good, we do you good.”
“Money comes in hands that know how to catch it.” Smoke added.
Annie kept her gaze forward, trying to stay unfazed by what he was doing under the table.
Indeed, Smoke’s hand had settled across her thigh — the heat of his palm dampening through the velvet. His fingers spread wide and languidly on the fabric, pressing it flush and warm into her skin, his thumb riding slowly the inner seam toward her hem, the cloth bunching against the bare skin above her stocking.
Annie didn’t flinch and didn’t look at him. She quietly pressed her knees together.
He spread them back apart.
“Alright sir, but what about the materials?” Isaac asked.
“Don’t worry about it. We provide. Bring hands and your tools.”
Stack kept filling Isaac’s ears with timelines and boring instructions — the man nodded across the table, genuinely invested.
There was one who seemed particularly not interested by whatever was happening around this table or clearly he had another sweeter business to attend.
Hand down, Smoke’s thumb pushed Annie’s panties aside — pressing flat into her fluttering swollen folds, before grazing up to her clit and bearing down, coaxing her sensitive button in slow circles.
Annie clacked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and bit her cheeks.
Smoke glided two fingers through her wet honeypot, knuckles flush against her entrance — his monitoring eyes never once moving from Stack and Isaac.
He stuffed her cunt, thrusting back and forth just as Stack slapped the table over something Isaac had said and laughed loud enough to cover whatever whimper almost left Annie’s throat.
“Mrs—?” Stack’s voice swung her way.
She squirmed on her seat, feigning to clean something on her head then smoothed the front of her dress before looking up. “Annabelle. Folk round here call me Annie.”
Stack stared at her then back to his twin — reading where Smoke’s shoulder had shifted.
For a brief — almost undetectable moment, he flexed his jaw, tongued his cheek once before settling back.
“Madam Annabelle.” Stack wore his smug back. “Isaac been running your name round here, and mostly your infamous stew. He overselling you?”
Her blurry gaze held his across the table and she forced a caring smile on her face — while spreading her thick thighs wider under the table, her pussy queef’s noise muffled by the music. “Depends on the appetite.”
“Ha.” Stack smiled big, gold tooth taking the amber light. He cut his eyes to his brother and back to Isaac. “We’ll put that to good use.”
Smoke jammed his fingers further into her cunt — pounding them hard against her front pulsing wall, toying with her foaming cream, his thumb grinding and rubbing her gooey clit more erratically — and Annie clamped her jaw shut. Her whole body seized around him as her walls grabbed and sucked at his fingers, her saucy arousal gushing hot and sticky on his hand.
CLANG TINK TINK TINK
The corn liquor bottle shattered on the wooden floor — alcohol flooding on the floorboards, dulling Annie’s squirting, her juice drenching her cotton panties, rinsing Smoke’s knuckles before dripping on the ground and mixing with the liquor.
“I’m sorry. I merely want to grab the bottle. I’ll have my people serve us another one.” Smoke lies through his nose.
Annie thighs shook as she clenched tight around him pumping out his fingers.
Her nipples jutted fat and erect through the velvet, the fabric stretching taut across each peak.
Unsettled by the minor incident, Isaac drove his gaze across the table and snagged on her chest — his brow creasing slow — before dragging back to Stack, who was fake mocking his brother clumsiness.
Annie throat went dry.
Elijah. You demon.
“Somebody get in here for that floor.” Smoke shouted.
The curtain parted and a man ducked in, crouching over the shattered glass and spreading cloth across the flooding puddle. “Ah. Clarence, that’s you. Bring us the Irish liquor I brought, fetch it from the storehouse.”
Under that cover Smoke drew his fingers out of Annie soaked pussy, dragging them back through her fluttering slick folds. He wiped them off on his pants and lay his hand back atop of the table.
Annie shut her thighs, her fingers pushing down the hem of her dress.
Isaac scratched the back of his head. “Sir…hmhm I got men counting on me through this job. They don’t go hungry working for me.” He hesitantly looked across at Smoke. “I just need to know I can keep that promise.”
Clarence cleared out and reappeared minutes later with a fresh dark bottle. He set it on the table before slipping back out.
“In my house, nobody discuss dollars on an empty glass.” Smoke broke the seal, pouring two fingers into Isaac glass with the same hand that had just been inside Annie. “Be calm dear Isaac, alright? Drinks before numbers.”
The carpenter received his drink with both hands, nodding grateful.
Stack tapped down his empty one on the table until his brother filled it.
“Miss Annie?” Smoke held the Irish bottle up in front of her, “are you drinking?”
“Just a little please.”
Both twins almost broke their roles, eating down frantic laughers.
Annie? Drinking a little? Ha. This masquerade needed to end quick.
Smoke served her lower than half her glass, reading her grimacing face.
“Thank you sir.” She grumbled, struggling to hide her disappointment.
He set his glass down and pulled a brown envelope from his jacket. “Half in there covers your crew through the job. Other half when I walk through that finished door and it satisfy me.” He tapped it once. “Not a day before.”
Isaac lifted the flap, look inside and tucked it away. “More than I expected sir. You have my word.”
Across the table Stack was rolling tobacco, he sealed the paper and brought it to his brother’s mouth — who had leaned over — before lighting it.
Smoke settled his back comfortably on the sofa and glanced briefly at Annie then back to hold Isaac nervous stance. “Your lady.” He tilted his chin her way casually. “She keep hunger out the house?”
Isaac blinked once then smiled foolishly big. “Ain’t a need she don’t answer sir. Woman know what I want before I open my mouth.”
“Mhm.” Smoke exhaled a thin stream toward the ceiling. “A woman who know how to keep a man full and satisfied in every way…” He let the words sit between them. “You eating well, boy.”
Stack laughed short through his nose then caught himself, reaching for his drink.
Isaac accompanied the dandy, laughing open and easy, proud down to his bones — oblivious to the mockery at his expense. “Every single night, sir.”
I guess it makes two of us. Smoke thought behind his grin.
“Ha. Men.” She sighed half-performative and half truly annoyed. “You should know gentlemen that I keep my house in order, my pot never empty.” She took a sip of her glass. “What come in through my door eat well. What sneak in through the window…well.”
Stack purely enjoyed the mess, without once wondering at whoever it was aimed at — Jesus, it was not him, so that’s all matter.
Smoke sneered, laughing without restraint. The jab was clear as river at dawn, — that woman, Marylise must have stayed bitter in her throat. He must applaud the audacity though, of all people, Annabelle talking about going through windows?
Isaac didn’t giggle. Rather than joining the twin, he cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed.
“Lord know I do my best to keep that table full.” Annie added another spoonful of her mind. “Some folk just got a habit of eating where they don’t pay rent.”
That one strung amusement out of Smoke. It was also deliberate and all he could do was feeling the shade.
The meeting turned easy. The four of them exchanged pleasantries — Isaac and Smoke suddenly calmer than the two others.
“We should probably go now sir, thank you for—”
“Excuse me, ma’am behind counter told him to come here for work.”
A woman stood in the gap of the curtain — a silk slip pulling taut across her large tits, her stiff tips pressed clear against the gauzy fabric. The thin cloth draped loose over her generous hips before catching tight again across the swell of her behind, every lush curve of her body outlined beneath it and her tawny complexion catching the warm glow of the booth.
“Marylee?” Isaac dumbly called out of surprise.
Taglist
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Ok after watching the series finale of euphoria last night, I realized something. Smoke and Stack are not good people, and the feeling of fear that I felt the first time watching sinners came back. I think seeing rue lack so many morals made me realize that smoke and stack are the same way. They lie, they steal, they hurt ppl, they’re just not good. And it makes me sick that I like/liked them. Ofc I’m still a fan of sinners but it was just something to think about.
I love this convo because I say this all the time Smoke & Stack are bad men. Stack and Mary’s relationship was 😬 for many reasons & Smoke doing Annie like that on top of everything else. These men were ruthless!
I haven’t been watching Euphoria but Rue gives me a heavy migraine 😭😭😭
Folks really don't like to go here for some reason, but it's important to realize that good AND bad people can be as scary, messy, infuriating, and nuanced as the twins were. That's what makes them great characters cause they're just so damn human.
Totally agree with this. Especially given the time period.
"The Weight Of Your Gaze" pt 7
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Summary:
Annie is a Queen.
A good one at that. But theres one issue...
She remains unmarried. With a list of betrothals broken off due to her being a "difficult" woman to deal with by past suitors, her council, desperate to find her a husband hatch a plan to host a tournament for men across the land to fight for her hand in marriage. Two Mercenary twin brother's, down on their luck, see it as their moment to strike big. The biggest they've ever went to bat for.
Content: enemies to lovers, marriage of convenience, violence, peer pressure, manipulation, misogyny, sexual tension, slow burn, political intrigue
Cw: explicit language, heavy sexual tension, sexual situations.
A/n: Its been a minute, so If it feels a little jumpy, sorry in advance. This chapter was giving me a hard time🥲
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For once, it wasnt blisteringly hot.
It was a nice tepid weather, a cool breeze acting as a balm against the risidual heat of the sun.
Annie, Pearline, and Mary were outside seated next to the estate fountains. It had been a while since all three if them had the chance to spend some recreational time together. Servants flitted about handing out refreshments to the ladies.
The women shared a companionable silence, listening to the calm rush of the water fountain, watching the butterflies and bees fluttering about, too busy collecting nectar from the lush flower beds surrounding the garden.
Pearline was first to break the calm, asking Mary and Annie how things have been as she had been gone for a little while to visit family with her husband.
"Well 'lil Ms. Mary here has been quiet busy since you been gone." Annie quipped cheekily. A sly smile spread across her face.
Mary almost choked on her drink, leading her into a coughing fit. Pearline leaned over to her, patting the woman's back to help clear her airways. A slight giggle shaking her shoulders as she did.
Mary whirled on the queen, cheeks a light pink from both her exertion and to what Annie was implying at the same time. "Anisa! You cant just be goin' on saying those things in front of mixed company." She breathed, looking around at the few servants that were around, flustered.
"Oh girl hush, aint no one mentioned anything inappropriate." Annie rolled her eyes dramatically, though her light smirk still lingered from her subtle teasing.
You done told on yourself with that reaction... She thought to herself.
Pearline watched the interaction, eyes heavy with intrigue. "Oh? Now girl you gotta tell me whats been goin' on, on your side of the pond." She leaned back, eyeing Mary with an expectant look.
"Pearl, it wasnt much that was goin' on, Annie just bein' dramatic." She waved her off, "but if you must know, me an' Stack have a 'lil thing goin' right now."
Pearlines eyes bugged in suprise. "The twin to Annie's husband?"
"Yep that's the one" she nodded in assent.
"Wow... I dont know Mary, seems like a lot happened while I was gone. Couldnt have been only a few weeks so far. Now how'd that go about?"
Mary breathed a reflective sigh... "Didnt take much, we just seem to really connect is all. Then all of a sudden, were a thing."
"You gon' marry 'im?"
"I dont know... In my mind, and in a perfect world I'd like to. I dont know how possible it would be you know? With my status an' all... Anisa's circumstances is a 'lil different than mine" Her mood shifting into a quiet melancholy.
"I wouldnt worry 'bout all that. You aint married and you know you have freedom behind these walls. If marriage aint in the cards for ya'll then I say enjoy the relationship you got while you have it." Annie soothed.
Pealine leaned over and wrapped her hand in Mary's with a reassuring squeeze," Trust me. Its better to have experienced a relationship and a love like that, than to not experience it at all.... besides, you dont know what the future holds."
"I know... -but enough about me, why dont you ask Annie how things have been going with her husband." Mary added mischievously, while also no longer interested in talking about whag was going on between her and Stack.
Pearline brightened, "Ooo- yes girl, I was gonna get to that. How've things been Annie? I know last time when I left things were a 'lil tense between you two."
Annie rolled her eyes, " Well it aint much, mostly been busy. Tryna adjust to the new dynamic an' all now that he's assuming a new position."
"Are yall cool then?" Both Pearline and Mary looked at her, anticipating their friends response.
"We cool..."
After a few moments of silence they realized that she wasnt going to add anymore information than that.
Mary huffed out a snort, "Really? Thats it? "We cool" is all you gotta say?"
"Yes, thats all I gotta say an' thats all you gon' get from me too." Annie replied in a playful manner, but an undeniable air of defensiveness that said dont push too much now.
Pearline grasped Annie's hand, "Thats good to hear. Way better than the way yall were squabbling last time I saw you two." A small smile formed across her face.
"-Dont get me wrong now, he still a fussy man to deal with but we gettin' used to eachother. He aint useless or nothin' like that." Annie added.
Pearline let out a light chuckle before it ended in a knowing hum. "Alright..."
Mary piped in again, "So you tellin' me you sleeping next to a man like that an' yall aint tried nothin'?" An air of suprise in her tone as she tried to wrap her head around the nature of the queen and her husband.
"Mary- Girl, you an' I had this conversation before, and my answer is still the same. Aint nothin happenin' 'tween me an' him. We husband an' wife on paper only." She let out a derisive snort at that.
Pearline piped in, " I aint gon' lie Annie, you my girl an' all but he aint a bad lookin' man... from what it sounds like from you is that he seems decent enough. You know lives like ours were lucky to end up with a partner that aint half bad to look at. Im over here stuck with some ancient dinosaur of a husband who cant do shit for me." Pearline sighed dramatically at the mention of her husband.
"Damn he still aint made you a widow yet? That bastard must be immortal or somethin'. Would've thought he'd croak during your family visit." Mary groused.
"Lord, I wish he would've", Pearline let out another long suffering sigh. "The way his wrinkled ass kept tryin' to get a 'lil piece of me like his dick work still or somethin'." She shuddered at the memory.
"Ugh- sorry Pearl." Annie tried to comfort her after involuntarily letting out a noise of disgust.
"Tell me about it, the minute I felt his shriveled up hand tryna touch my thigh, I was drier than desert sand. Mind you I wasn't wet to begin with, I damn near gave myself carpet burn." Pearline nose wrinkled in disgust at the memory.
Mary gave the woman a pat on her back, "Nuh-uh Pearl we cant have you goin' out like this. You aint get your itch scratched at them clubs you go to in town?"
The woman shook her head, "I really only go there to sing an' dance. Let loose for a while, remind myself that there's more to life than all this stuffy courtly business." She waved her hand around the area for emphasis.
"No girl. I cant let you go on in this life without finding you someone to properly scratch that itch for you. I wont allow it. Imma find you someone." Mary said resolute in her decision to find somebody for Pearline.
"Mary you cant be serious-"
"Serious as a heart attack Pearl. We gone find you a man... or woman, you know I dont judge."
Annie shook her head at her friends shenanigans.
Not too far off the women heard distant chatter. It was the very twins they were talking about, seemingly deep in conversation.
"Well speak of the devil..." Mary muttered, her cheeks turning a light pink.
"Looks like my headache is makin' his way towards me." Annie breathed.
Despite her words Pearline noticed an inexplicable fluttering of Annie's eyes as he saw her husband make his way near her.
Is Annie...? Hm...
"Whats goin' on ladies? See ya'll enjoyin' this nice weather we havin' out here." Stack greeted, arms wide and open. The older twin remained silent, nodding in acknowledgment to the other ladies, turning to Annie.
"Anisa" is all he said in greeting.
"Smoke" is all she responded with, nodding in a small curtsy towards her husband. For some reason she noticed his eye twitch st the name she used.
What the- now he gotta problem with Smoke? Like he wasnt arguin' me down the first week of our marriage about that? This man cant be serious...
Her lips pursed, eyebrows slightly furrowed as she burned a hole into his face. Her look saying what the hell is your problem?.
He slightly kissed his teeth at their silent exchange.
The rest of the group continued on, unaware of the silent argument the couple were having with their eyes.
"Hi Stack, we out here enjoyin' the weather an all. Its been a minute since we last had it calm enough to be outside without roasting."
"Aint that the truth- oh Im sorry Lady Mary, I dont think Ive probably been introduced to your other friend here?" Stack's eyes landed on Pearline.
Elijah cut his eyes to the side of the younger twins head. Stack could feel heat of his intense gaze, but didnt look at the other brother.
"Oh this here is my one of my closest friends Pearline." She chirped enthusiastically.
"Oh is that right? Well its lovely to meet you Ms. Pearline. Pleasure to meet your aquaintence." He lightly grasped her hand, planting a whisper of a kiss onto her lifted hand.
Annie watched the exchange with an increasing interest. She noted Mary's face slightly twitch. A twinge of barely contained irritation seeming to leak out of her, at the friendly exchange between Stack and Pearline.
Annie's mind thought of the loaded look Elijah had gave his brother. Her eyes squinted.
Oh... Theres something here, and he aint said nothing to me about it.
In all honesty Annie knew part of it was because they spent a good portion of their relationship arguing, but now that they were at a tentative truce at the moment she was curious to know what that was about. She'll bring it up to him later. For now she was in no mood to open up what would no doubt be a can of worms while the day has been so nice and relaxing so far.
"Welp-" Annie interrupted the current introductions, "dont let us keep yall, seems like yall were deep in conversation."
"Oh it aint know issue my Queen, me an' Smoke weren't talkin' bout anything all that important."
Annie stiffled a frustrated huff, that was ready to escape her nose, I know they weren't talkin' 'bout nothin that important. What I want is for him to move on from here since he clearly stirring up foreseeable trouble. Mary breathin' through her nose so hard, puffing like she an angry bull.
She eyed Stacks very comfortable actions he was displaying against the very married Pearline. She fixed her lips towards him, " careful now, Lady Pearline a married woman. Don't want to let people get the wrong idea's 'round here in court..." her eyes unwavering as she stared at the mischievous twin.
Stack let her hand go, "Oh sorry, that wasnt my intentions at all- dont want to cause problems 'round here." He lifted his hands in a surrender.
"Me an' Stack were just passin' by. Aint mean to cause nothin'." Elijah gritted out. He grabbed Stacks shoulder firmly physically moving the younger twin away from the women.
The ladies resumed their conversation, a little less animated than before, a quiet, unspoken tension had settled over them.
Annie didnt like it.
There were too many questions swirling her thoughts, fighting for dominance over which took residence over the others.
What kind of debt drove a man like Elijah to agree to this in the first place?
What exactly was the nature of Mary and the younger twins relationship? From all that Mary went on about, you'd think they would be infatuated with eachother. After seeing that interaction, its looking a little one sided if Annie was being honest.
-And what exactly was the younger twins deal? She didnt like how easy his presence titled the peaceful balance they had just minutes prior.
She wouldnt lie and say it didnt make her side eye her husband a little. Sure, they were... she actually wasnt sure where exactly they were at- but again he's done things for her she's never asked.
Even getting rid of her childhood friend because he made her upset. However if the company he brought with him were causing any issue's, then that would reflect on him as well. They're kin, known eachother their whole lives, and even with the things he had said to her despite the somewhat short time of knowing eachother, blood was still thicker than water.
She didnt acknowledged the small twinge in her heart at that thought.
Then there was matters of the council... Too many things have been happening, she hasnt had the chance to work on revamping her team with new advisors. Not even had the time to look around and evaluate other elders around here or neighboring kingdom's to build a new council instead.
Annie brought her manicured fingers towards her forhead, attempting to rub away the oncoming headache forming. Her brows creased.
"You good Anne?"
The Queen turned her head towards Pearline. Her friends eyes full on quiet concern.
"Y-yeah Pearl. Im fine. Just a 'lil tired is all, I didnt get much sleep."
"Oh is that right?" Pearlines brows lifted suggestively, a humorous smirk on her face.
"Girl- stop it-" she giggled, "you know I got alot on my plate" she playfully patted her arm, both their shoulders shaking from restrained laughter.
Annie noticed that Mary became a little disconnected from their little hangout, no longer joining the conversation that much.
Annie took a sip of her drink...
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________________
"Now, just what was that?"
"What was what?"
"Dont act like you dont know what Im talkin' 'bout fool. Whatchu doin' stirrin' some shit up between Anisa's girls now?"
"Whatchu mean "stirrin' up trouble"? Im just greetin' a pretty lady."
"Stack... I know you may be deaf, but you sure as hell aint blind. You seen how Mary was lookin' when you did that."
"Sounds like that's her problem, I aint said shit to her about bein' official 'bout nothin'. 'Sides she sure as hell aint one to talk bein' jealous over shit like that. Dont matter what what I do Smoke, that girl addicted to me." Stack shook his head with a smile, borderline one of disbelief. "Give a girl a lil lip service 'tween the legs and they wont come up off ya' I swear."
Stack looked to his brother, "So how 'bout you huh? Give the queen any relief?... -heh, prolly not, she move stiff- she's wound up tighter than bow string."
Smoke completely skipped over what Stack was implying, refusing to grace that comment with an answer, "I dont give a fuck what you an' that 'lil hussy of yours got goin' on together, I just dont want none of that shit yall be doin' affecting Anisa, which affects me too. She already got a lot of shit goin' on with her Stack."
"Man, didnt I already tell you not worry 'bout nothin' you know little brother got this."
"Do you? Really? Cause I see another fuck up in the makin' looking nice an ready to blow up in our faces again."
The younger twins face tightened, his jovial attitued seemed to vanish in an instant.
Before he could say anything back, a woman, no doubt one of Stacks many flings in the manor had called him over.
Like a switch, his devil-may-care attitude came right on back, "Well, looks like I got some other things need attendin', see ya' later Smoke" he gave the older twin a hearty clap on his shoulder, before heading towards the unidentified woman.
"Ms. Lady, you lookin' mighty fine today- I see you wearing all that red. Now you know that's my favorite color right?"
Smoke continued on, walking the grounds. Things around here were so quiet, he had no other space than to just think.
Aside from Stack sowing seeds of chaos like he seemed incapable of *not doing, his mind drifted back to his wife again. Something he found himself doing more and more often these days.
He couldnt help the distaste and irritation that seemed to bubble up when Anisa referred to him as Smoke infront of company.
Shit dont even sound right comin' out her mouth anymore.
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Smoke found himself walking across the fields outside the estate again. Something he found himself beginning to do habitually as he would patrol the outskirts of the estate. Old habits die hard.
He came out here whenever things got too loud within the walls, and he needed to decompress a little.
There were no council meetings today so he had the chance to enjoy the the weather, the lukewarm sun and the wind of a distant ocean breeze made the long grass undulate against the shine of the sun like waves of green.
After a certain amount of distance, Elijah sat on a flattened patch of earth. He paused, listening to the distant chirps of songbirds in the distance, the buzzing chatter of distant cicadas, and the rustling of trees, their leaves gently rubbing against eachother.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the earth and air around him for a few moments, before he dug in his pocket, fishing out his pack of cigs.
He pulled one out and placed it against his lips before igniting a match-
"Smoke"
His hand froze in midair, the small flame shimmering in the wind.
"You know that aint my name woman" he gruffed, finally lighting his cigarette before taking a deep inhale.
"Oh really? Last I remember you was adamant that, that's what your name was to me. Or am I forgettin' somethin'?" Her rich tone dripping with sarcasm.
The fuck?
"Whats your problem? You was just pushin' all up on me last night, now you all irate an' shit the very next day."
"You must got some amnesia like you aint just kiss yo' teeth at me not too long ago. What was that between you and your brother?"
Elijah turned around to look at her, her deep purple gown billowing in the wind, its rich iridescent fabrics glinted a rich shimmery almost gold-like shimmer in the sun.
He was irritated plenty. How Stack was moving, stirring up trouble, Obidiahs annoying bald headed self, his wife following him out to his place of peace to disturb it, and above all, how fine she was looking to him right now. Made all that other shit that was annoying him dissappear.
"You want a answer?"
"Yes."
"C'mere", he motioned her over to where he was seated.
"This is close enough"
"No it aint"
She puffed out an exasperated breath, already over him and his demands. "Your impossible", but she still made her way next to him regardless.
"Just as much as you are baby", he reached for her hand as she got near and pulled her down next to him gently.
She seated herself next to him, a few inches of space between them. "Well?" She prompted, a curious brow raised.
"My brother..." he trailed off, trying to compose his thoughts on exactly what it is he wanted to say. "Stack seem to have a knack for stirrin' up trouble without meanin' to sometimes." Elijah kept his eyes forward, looking out towards the field, taking another deep inhale.
".... Is this gon' be a problem?" Annie's eyes were lazer focused on the side of his face. Hunting for any micro expression to say what his mouth might not.
He was quiet for a few seconds, but it felt like hours, waiting for the verdict.
"Elijah" she pushed a bit more.
"No. Imma handle it 'fore it even becomes one." He turned his face towards hers, his heavy eyes wanting to implore her that this wasnt something he wanted her to worry about.
"Okay..."
Elijah didnt like the way she dragged the last syllable, but he didnt blame her. She was perceptive. Already trying to calculate all the outcomes a budding dynamic between Mary and Stack could become a problem.
With that little stint he did with that other woman, Pearline, and the blurred lines of what exactly the relationship status between those two, he'd hope it wouldnt become and issue. Smoke wasnt worried about Stack, for all the nonsense he gets up to he somehow always manage to weasle his way out with limited to no repercussions.
Hell I dont even know how he does it.
It was Mary that he was worried about.
He hasnt interacted with her much, if at all, but as troublesome as Stack is, he was always strategic with it. But this girl was a wild card...
He wasnt sure how aware Anisa was of her friend and her little "rendezvous" that shes had with her past suitors, but he didnt want to broach the subject... at least not yet.
They had a tentative understanding of sorts, but they still havent known eachother that long, and Marys been her friend since she was a child. He knew Anisa probably still trusted him as far as she could throw him and adding on to the new found suspicion that she is developing for his twin, bringing something like that up anytime soon would just end in disaster.
He decided to change the subject, "That council of yours... you ever thought 'bout changing them out?"
Anisa was quiet for awhile, in the corner of her eyeline she caught the glimpse of blue butterfly wings. She zeroed in on it as it perched on one of the purple wild flowers in the long grass, watching as it was extracting nectar, its wings batting furiously to keep its balance on its petals long enough to get its fill.
After a while she let out a long exhale before she finally spoke...
"Why you ask?"
"I know you aint too fond of 'em, cant say I blame you either. If Im bein' honest, I dont think they got your best interest at heart."
"And you do?"
"Yes..."
"How so?"
"Oh- uh, well..." He went quiet, at a loss for words, "You my wife aintchya?" His hands waved around to the open field, gesturing at nothing.
"An' whats that s'possed to mean?" She was looking at him now, her head titled to the side while her hand cradeled her face, a speculative brow raised.
"Well its what Im s'possed to do as your husband. I thought we went over this already." He was beginning to get a little flustered. He never questioned why he did what he did. He just did what felt right, and what felt right to him was to make sure she was good.
"Looks like you startin' to take this husband business seriously..." she trailed off, a teasing smirk graced her lips while she looked at him with mischievous eyes. " Who woulda thought, you aint even like me callin' you by a name you were so adamant at having me call you huh? I seen that attitude you gave me when I called you Smoke in front of my ladies."
"Well- I told you, that my name is only for you-" He cut himself off taking another deep inhale of his cigarrette. It must of been too deep 'cause it landed him right into a coughing fit.
Annie's shoulders started to shake, a quiet but warm giggle bubbled out from her at Elijah's floundering. She lifted her hand to pat it repeatedly against his wide back, to help him clear out his airways.
A deep frown formed on his lips, "whats so funny?"
"You, you a mess."
"No I aint."
"Yes you are."
"I aint" he groused, but there was no real heat behind his words.
At some point her pats became a soothing circles against the middle of his back. He was always keenly aware of her touch, it felt like a searing brand against his skin despite the layers of clothing between them. Its been a little over a month and they rarely ever did.
Almost like she could read where his thoughts were going she removed her hand. The loss of her heat emphasized by the cool breeze.
It brought a shiver to his spine.
"To answer your question, yes I have thought about it. Plenty of times- getting rid of 'em. Replacin' them with some actual competence. -Its just-" she paused, "Ive been so busy, I havent had the time to go an' make preparations for it. I mean it would be complete turn around. A change as big as that cant be made so rash."
"Mmm..." he hummed, "I can help if you want."
"No. I wouldnt ask you to do that."
"Good thing you didnt, I offered-"
"Smoke-"
"What I tell you 'bout callin' me that."
"I aint gotta listen to a thing you tell me to say, just like you aint listenin' to me when I tell you to leave somethin' well enough alone."
"I dont have to leave shit alone, you say you been too busy to deal with it, then the fuck am I doin' sittin' around here for? I might as well make myself useful."
"But I just said-"
"I already heard what the fuck you just said an' it sound like nonsense."
The intensity of the glare Annie was throwing his way, would've incinerated any man on the spot, but Elijah was anything but an ordinary man.
"I dont know what kind of men you used to dealin' with, prolly the type that let 'chu run all over them, tuck tail when things get a lil hard, but I aint one of them ones."
"...."
Elijah half expected her to leave, something she seem to develope a fondness for when it came to him. But instead, she stayed.
She stubbornly faced away from him, he could tell she was very unhappy, but the fact that she stayed felt like progress in a way.
"Anisa..."
No response.
"Annie"
She turned slightly, she was looking at him from the corner of her eyebrows. She was listening.
"I dont mean to be rough with you. I wanna help... Like I said before, we in this together... This is just as much for me as it is for you. 'Cause you already know I dont like none of them muthafuckas- If it were up to me..."
Annie let out a wry chuckle, "what? You'd get rid of 'em?"
"Shit, If I have to. Either way they'd be no more, dead or alive- only if you were okay with it though"
"Ha- well atleast you considerin' how I'd feel about it."
" 'Course, I remember what you told me last night."
Annie felt heat bloom across her cheeks as memories of their conversation last night. How she blatantly teased and rubbed up against him, something would've never thought in a thousand years she would do to a man that constantly makes her want to choke him... And do other things too
She would never say it out loud, but he sets a fire in her, a heat she never felt before with another man. It drove her insane, she didnt know whether she wanted to kill him or kiss at times.
Sometimes both.
"Good to know you can listen when your ready" she rolled her eyes.
"So whats it gon' be?"
".... okay. You can help me."
"Dont worry, Its all on your time I aint gon' overstep. This here still your domain, I just wanna be useful." He reassured.
"Useful?" She fully turned towards him, here expressive doe eyes wide and open.
"Mhm"
"Huh..." Is all she said before she got up ready to leave. A reflective look across her face.
"You leavin' me already?"
"Oh boy hush, Im right next door I couldnt escape you if I tried."
"You got that right."
This man-
And with that she left him to his own devices.
She didnt know what it was, why she never hung around him for too long. The air always felt suffocating, thick with things said and unsaid. Taut like a bow string ready to snap at any point.
Aint one of them ones he say?
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__________________
Elijah didnt know what happened, but another shift between him and his wife happened.
He didnt know what to do with himself with this new change. Somehow it was worse... for his psyche at least.
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It started small.
They had wrapped up on another council meeting where they essentially talked in circles for an hour. Everyone was getting up to leave before the Queen had stopped Elijah from leaving, grasping one of the sleeves of his robes.
Everyone exiting the room momentarily paused, they had been curious about the status of the newlyweds. They weren't sure if much progress had been made between those two so to see the queen initiate contact with the king was something of note.
Anisa got up from her chair, Elijah assisting her ascent, then she leaned on to him, placing her face right into the crook of his neck. Her other hand planted over his chest, directly over his heart.
He stiffened, not expecting her to do something like that. Be so forward im initiating any type physical contact between the two infront of an audience. Something she rarely did even when it was just the two of them.
She whispered in a low hush, quiet enough for only him to be able to hear her, the ghost of her breath caressed his ear. He supressed an oncoming shiver crawling up his spine. "Im almost ready, I'll let you know when the times right."
He could've sworn she lightly blew in his ear as she said it.
What did she even mea- oh? She must mean replacing the council...
There was almost a double meaning to what she said but he kept it to himself for once.
Just as he was about to make a move to touch her, she stepped away and walked out the door with the rest of the council. She moved so quickly it was like she flowed between his fingertips like he was trying to grasp at smoke. The irony wasnt lost on him.
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He'd be lazing about on the balcony just before it was time for bed, occasionally joined by her.
It was becoming a sort of ritual by this point, he would take his little smoke break to decompress from the days activities, and it seemed Anisa used that period to decompress as well.
Though Elijah knew of better ways to decompress than staring at trees and bickering all the damn time.
As predicted, Anisa came out to sit in the chair not too far from his own, this time with a few knitting supplies. There was no greeting, because there was no need to, a small exchange of glances was all the acknowledgment needed in their shared space. All that could be heard was the quiet rustle of shifting threads as Annie went about knitting them together. Into what exactly? Smoke didnt know, but he'd eventually find out as she progressed.
He watched her hands dexterously move in quick, fine tuned movements, quietly, intrigued.
"What you knittin'?"
"Huh? Oh- this? Im making a light sweater for Ruth."
"Ah... She a 'lil ball of nerves aint she."
Annie let out an amused breath, "Yeah she is. Always shiverin' an' shakin' good lord- poor thing. She been here for over half a year now. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, but no."
"She still young, maybe this typa life just aint for her. Shit- I get it. Dont know if Ill ever get used to all this. Dont know how you do it"
"You only been here a few weeks Elijah..."
"I know... Im just sayin' I get it."
Annie hummed, "I figured I'd go ahead and make a 'lil sweater for her. She such a small thing, all that shiverin' she be doing. I know its part nerves but I wouldnt be suprised if she cold. She needs some iron in her diet."
Smoke saw a small crease of worry at her brow for the young girl. "What about you? I know you been here all your life, an' you know what your doin' thats for damn sure but- If you had a choice... would you still be here?"
"I...-In some ways I think I'd be doin' the same thing Im doin' now, just on a smaller scale. I sure as hell wouldnt be runnin' no kingdom thats for certain... Maybe a shop? Some place where I could help people. The community one on one."
Elijah nodded quietly, a thoughful hum leaving his lips.
"- I will say... even with all the extra hoops an' regulations that come with bein' queen... Its fulfillin' in a similar way. Only difference is scale is all." The clicks of her knitting needles slowed to a stop. She looked off into the distance. Like she was quietly deliberating over the next words that were she would say.
"I know we talked on it briefly but... I seen how capable you are, no doubt your twin as well, so I wanna know... just what kinda debt was it that had ya'll going through with all this?"
Annie had never seen Elijah shift so uncomfortably. His hands started that same tremoring it was doing on their wedding day. "I- Im not gonna lie to you Anne. I dont know if Im ready to speak on the why. Just know aint nothin' gon' come of it."
She left it alone. Inexplicably she felt he would eventually tell her when he was ready. But that did leave a question:
"You dont have to tell me how much you owe. I just wanna know if its steep enough that the crowns funds would would be deeply affected."
"No. Not at all- I aint touchin' none of that money to pay somethin' like that off ya hear me?"
"Then how you gon' pay it off? With your own money? If thats the case you wouldnt be here right now." She reasoned.
"I been toyin' with some Idea's..."
That made her perk up, "Like what?"
"Me an' Stack always thought about startin' up a 'lil Juke Joint. A place for people to come an' forget their worries. Music. Dance. Drinks an' all the like. As long as the crowns name is attached to it, revenue'll come pourin' in. It would be a good way to check the temperature of the kingdoms subjects, interact with them, keep up morale and build deeper relationships if used wisely. I'll use those funds to pay off our debt in no time."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Its not a bad idea, I just wouldnt have thought you'd wanna do somethin' like that."
"You wouldnt be wrong. Its more of somethin' Stack would want to do. I do like a slower pace."
That had Annie's mind moving. Since knowing her husband, she hasnt seen him explicitly express anything that would be of interest for him and himself only. Not counting his overt interest in her, just the thought had her flustered all over again. It pissed her off -nows not the time to be thinking of those things Annie- think...
Then a moment came to her. A very small one but one that felt significant to her. The first council meeting, the mention of a recreational center of sorts for troubled youth had caught 'Lijah's attention like a fly stuck in a spiders web. I thought took root. A thought that she would never in a millions years she would think to share or do in any capacity, but with how adamant he has been in wanting to share some responsibilities-
I think the man just loves work,
She was hesitant but willing to take a risk.
Only one way to prove if he was a man that could handle this kind of pressure, of course she knew he could handle pressure, but this required a different kind of pressure, diplomacy and patience, however it goes will determine if she'll really welcome his help in searching for new members.
"Elijah?"
"Mhm."
"How you feel about overseein' the creation of that recreational center for troubled youth we've been talkin' about in these meetings on an' off for over the month. I doubt those incompetent people that I call a council will truly go through with it... Is this somethin' you can handle?" She watched his face carefully.
He was quiet for a beat. Fully taking in not only what she asked, but the inquiry buried underneath it. You wanna share some of the burden? Let me see if this is something you can handle. Not only was he up to the task, it was something he'd been quietly wanting to get involved with in the background. He was planning to ask her about it the day that sorry ass "man" called Brandon got him sidetracked.
"Yes... I would like to be involved in that. Dont worry 'bout adding on to my plate. Im built sturdy, I can handle the pressure an' then some."
Annie couldnt help but let her eyes wander over his relaxed posture when he said that. He aint lyin' 'bout that. She felt just how sturdy that man was when she pushed up on him. She currently took a particular interest in the way his lips wrapped around that cigarrette he seem to always have in his mouth. A thought. A particularly dangerous thought, that through sheer determination she refused to let cross her mind, widdled its way to the surface.
What would it be like to really feel those lips against her own? Not like the chaste kiss they shared a month ago on their wedding day, but one that lingers long enough to for her to taste him upon her lips.
Elijah was not a subtle man at all when he was ready. Very much the opposite. He had no issues in voicing his attraction to her, as audacious and rocky his approach was it lit her up. Simultaneously turning her off by his uncouth behavior, having never dealt with a man so forward, and undeniably turned on. He caused a whirlwind in both her mind and body.
The way his featherlight touch caressed and toyed with her earring led her treacherous mind into wondering what it would be like if he touched other parts of herself with the same level of attention.
She felt a light, fluttering of a pulse between her legs at the thought. She covertly crossed her legs to one side, distractedly clearing her throat.
"-ehm, that's good to know. In the next meeting we'll make sure Cyrus gives you the blue prints, you can make it your own. Lord knows he aint doin' shit with 'em 'cept talkin' out his ass." She let out a nervous chuckle
He eyed her with a curious glance, "Thanks Annie. 'Preciate it." He responded gruffly, but with an underlying tenderness and appreciation for her letting him get involved.
He knew how difficult it probly was for her to relinquish some control. Especially on the backs of people constantly letting her down as it seems lately. Given how big of a move this is for her...
He refuses to disappoint her.
Due to the cooler weather from this afternoon, the night air was brisk, making Annie and Elijah wear thicker night clothing. In Annie's case she wore a thicker loose robe over her usual night gowns, so it wasnt the usual feast for the eyes that he'd get almost every night, and his eyes were always greedy when it came to her. It didnt matter though, that woman could wear a trash bag and still look as radiant as the sun. It looked like she just absorbed the moonlight with how luminous her skin looked. No doubt doused in expensive body oils and butters.
She shifted, resuming back to her knitting, leaned to one side of the chairs. Almost unconsciously leaning into the space closest to where he was currently seated. The movement made the neckline of the robe open slightly, a sliver of cleavage almost peaking out. The fine tuned movements from her knitting making her chest slightly jigg-
Lord- this woman got me thinking like some green teenager. If Id known better I wouldve thought she was doin' this on purpose-
Smoke thought about how she teased him a few days ago on this very balcony. How close she got to the point where her lips almost brushed his as she whispered her displeasure at him "taking care" of Brandon with out her knowledge.
Nah- she know the affect she have on me. Im startin' to think her ass is doin' this on purpose...
She can play the hot an cold game all she wants. One of these days he gon' call her bluff. Again, and again, and again, 'til she gives in eventually to him.
Smoke is a patient man. Observant too. He knows when to release, be hands off, give space whenever needed and when to apply pressure. With the kind of woman Anisa was, he'd probably have his work cut out for him. Shoot- the kind of man he was? She aint even know whats coming her way.
'Cause once theres something Smoke wants? He stops at nothing to get it, and fortunately or unfortunately he was dead set on Annie.
Their conversation fizzled into a comfortable silence. Despite the whirlwind that was going through both of their minds. His cig long forgotten, as the cherry end of it fizzled out with a thin trail of smoke in its wake.
Elijah let out a long, low yawn. The day decided to catch up to him. He stretched out his arms in emphasis, "Im goin' to sleep."
"Alright. Go on an' get yourself a good night's sleep." She didnt look up from her knitting.
"You aint goin' to bed?"
"No... got some things on my mind."
"Hm.." Im sure you do.
As he got up to take his leave he could feel her eyes on him like the fleeting brush of fingers up the back of his neck. He shook his head once he closed his balcony door behind him.
This woman's somethin' else
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When time came for another meeting Cyrus only was happy to give away the blue prints for a center. Annie had an inkling he had no intentions of actually doing anything with it. Elijah had no outward reaction, but she could see a restless energy in his posture. He almost looks excited...
Once the meeting adjourned and everyone was leaving, Annie paused at the doorway as she was almost the last one to leave the room. Elijah hadnt moved from his seat. He was looking over the build plans with intense focus.
"'Lijah?"
"Mm?"
"You comin'?"
"Uh- yeah, give me a minute. I'll make sure to lock up 'fore I leave. Just wanna take a 'lil look at some of these plans..."
"Okay. Dont take too long."
"Why? You'll miss me?"
Annie rolled her eyes so hard, she could sworn she saw the back of her brain, "No fool just dont leave the room unlocked too long, we got invaluable info and plans in this here room you know?" Even still there was a telltale warmth she felt across her cheeks at the implication.
"How that gon' happen when Im in here?"
"I- well. It dont matter- just make sure to lock up or somethin'." She said in a rush.
"Alright Mrs. Annie. I'll do what you say."
The husky way he said those words, in that low rasp of his-
Annie- get yourself together girl. Gettin' worked up over some damn words, like Im not a grown ass woman.
She left the room, leaving him to his own devices, as he definitely seems very serious about the new venture... She was curious. What exactly was it about this particular project had him so drawn to it? From what she saw of him, she knew for a fact that he had a soft spot for children like her.
But there has to be something more to it...he'll tell me when hes ready, or not at all.
Either way she had to admit she could already feel a bit of alleviation from him taking charge of those plans already. Like she had just a bit more extra room to breathe.
Guess I'll use my free time to check in on 'lil Mary. Last time I seen her, she looked 'bout ready to explode with that trouble maker of hers.
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It took a minute for the Queen to find her. She had to ask one of the staff where to find her.
Mary was standing by on of the open. Corridors in one of the furthest corners of the compound. A location that didnt have as much traffic of people walking through there. Whatever the reason (Annie had an obvious idea of why) she chose this area to be left alone. Too bad for her, Annie was gonna disrupt all that moping.
She was looking out towards the tree line.
"How you doin' lil Mary?"
Mary didnt turn around to aknowledge her presence.
"Still upset with Stack?"
Mary let out a derisive snort, "Hmf! You could say somethin' like that."
"This 'bout that stint he pulled on Pearl?"
"You could say something like that." She groused.
"Well what is it then?" Annie found herself getting irritated with that crytpic shit she was doing.
Mary let out an annoyed huff, turning around to face her friend. "I think... Im sure Stacks been cheatin' on me."
"C'mon Mary, just from that lil interaction between Pearline an 'Stack you think hes cheating all a sudden?"
"Iono, didnt see Pearline pull back fast enough when he was slobbin' all over her hand. You seen it."
"Girl- are you even hearin' yourself right now? She was just tryin' to be polite. If you feel that way you need to take that up with twin, not with Pearl."
Mary deflated a little bit. I know your right. He's been damn near MIA since that day. I only see snippets of him throughout the day. He aint never in one place long enough for us to address anything."
Annie placed a hand on her shoulder, "Iono what to tell you girl, but you gon' have to figure it out."
Mary brought her hands to her eyes, but no tears came. When she pulled them back her eyes remained dry, but an undeniable tiredness was visible. Annie could now see the vague bags under them. She no doubt was losing sleep over this.
No longer interested in where the conversation was headed, Mary quickly changed the subject. "Enough about me an' my situation, how you an' Smoke been?"
For once, Annie didnt feel so defensive about the status of where their relationship is at. As clunky as its been at times, it seems that they're starting to find even footing with eachother, however clumsy this little dance if theirs has been.
And it looked like Mary could use a little distraction, so she divulged a little.
"If im bein' honest girl. Its been fine. He still aint gotta a lick of manners in his bones, but hes proven himself to be a man of his words so far. Already better than most of those bums that were courtin' me in the past."
"Mm I can imagine."
"Yeah, I have half the mind to believe his ass just love work. He's helped around in my garden when I let 'im, so he can stop pesterin' me. But I wont lie an' say its not appreciated."
"Wow. Shoot, I almost wish we switched twins. You want to? 'Cause mines stressin' me the hell out." She chuckled.
It gave Annie's pause.
She knew it was a light joke but... She didn't find it all that funny. She still remembered how Mary was at the tournament, gushing over Elijah. Annie had half the mind to think that Mary went after Stack, cause they almost look the same. Not to Annie though. She could tell wether which twin was 'Lijah with her back turned. As soon as the thought came she waved it away, doubtful.
She hummed in response. "Nah, Im good. Ill stick to his annoyin' ass. Its what Im familiar with", she shrugged with a small huff of laughter. "I hope you an' Stack figure it out. If you need anything, just know you have a listening ear in me." She rubbed her friends back one final time, before leaving her to her own world.
"Bye... Annie"
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Annie made it to her room before she realized. She didnt hear any noise coming from the room next door. Elijahs room.
Curious, she went and knocked on his door.
No answer.
Aint no way- Is he still in the meeting room?
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There he was. In the same spot she left him, looking no less ready to leave than when she previously saw him. It had been well over an hour. Hell, probly even two and he hadnt moved. This time he had a pencil hanging halfway off his ear, looking just about ready to drop onto his work.
Clearly he had been reworking the plans, his scribbled handwriting all over the papers. She slowly walked over to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at some of his plans.
"This look nothin' like you gettin' ready to leave now does it?"
He paused. Always distracted by her presence. Even worse with her proximity with her looming over his shoulder. Her breasts were damn near pressed across the wide expanse of his back. Her floral perfume invaded his senses, while she stood bent over his shoulder.
"I was just gettin' ready to head on out."
"Aint look like it."
"Dont gotta look like it to be any less true."
"Hm..." She hummed while absent mindedly grabbing at the pencil that looked 'bout ready to drop out the crook of his ear. Her nails lightly grazing the shell of his ear while she lifted the pencil back in place a little further back to prevent it from falling off.
His whole body tensed at the contact. He let out a long, quiet exhale attempting to relax his shoulders that were looking very close to giving his ears a high five with how much he was attempting to not shrug them up. His ears were always a particularly sensitive area for him.
She 'bout to be the death of me. I swear...
He got up suddenly, effectively making her back up off him, to give more room. When he looked at her, her doe eyes looked at him seemingly clueless as to what she was doing to him.
"You think you so slick huh?"
"The hell I need to be slick about? Only thing you need to be slick with is slidin' your ass up outta this here room so we can lock it up. C'mon."
He watched the sway of her hips as she walked in front of him, leading him out the door.
"Mhm..." is all he hummed in response.
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A tension that lingered in the background between them, remained on the brink of... something. Like blowing into a balloon thats one more breath away from popping.
This hot and cold shit the Queen was doing was starting to drive Elijah up the wall.
Next time she try some shit, like I dont know what she doin', Imma call her out on her bluff. Cant have her out here thinkin' she could do anything with me like I aint gon' do shit about it.
"She stay testin' me..." His lone raspy voice echoed across the empty room he was currently occupying.
He rubbed his eyes. Quietly groaning to himself at the thought. The diffused low light of the library he found himself in made his eyes lower with a heaviness thay was bordering on the side of sleepiness. It was late night and he had been using it as a place to flesh out his plans for the recreational center. He even looked into some architectural books for some inspiration. Maybe it could become something made sustainably.
His earlier musings came back with a vengeance. He got irritated all over again. Just walking around pent up.
"An here her ass come along to come an tease me" he kissed his teeth. "I aint never dealt with no shit like this." He groused to himself.
A knock on the door interrupted his disgruntled thoughts. He got up and lumbered his way over, fatigue starting to drag his body.
And there at the door was the object of his distress.
"Whatchu doin' in here so late?" She accused, her eyes squinting in suspicion.
"Woman- dont tell me you walked all the way cross the estate to come find me to nag at me." He bit.
She instantly picked up on his sharper tone that he took with her. Something he hadnt done in a minute as they've almost fully settled into their roles.
"The hell is your problem? An' if I did? That aint no ones problem but mine- let me through." She pushed right on past him, further into the library and directly to the table with all his books and blue prints scattered all over. The dim lights of the room illuminated the baby blue silk night robe she had wrapped around her body, making it almost appear gold in this light.
Each thought entering his mind at that very moment was more sinful then the next of things he wanted to do to her, do with her. Instead of going to her, he went to the aisle's on the other side of the room stacked with books from the floor to the ceiling. He needed some distance.
"Im doin' some research." He finally answered.
"Is that right?"
"Thats right... Now whatchu doin' in here aside from lookin' for me."
"I wasnt lookin' for you... I came to look for a book."
"A book." He deadpanned
"Yes. Is that a problem for you?"
"No... go on' head." He said distractedly leafing through the different hard backs, looking for a book that didnt exist. Anything to distract himself from her proximity to him in the room.
He heard her rustling about through the room, ever drawing nearer. He decided to pick a random book, lean on the opposite shelves that his back was facing. Flipping through pages blindly. Not reading a thing.
She drew nearer, looking through the different titles on the spines of the books, apparently struggling to find what she was looking for. "Whatchu lookin' for?"
"Wouldnt you like to know." She quipped sharply, not looking away from the shelves he himself was just looking through.
He tensed, but didnt move. His body pulled tight, like a fully drawn bow string. She paused right in front of him, her body still facing the opposite, her back to his front. The aisles between the book shelves were narrow. With her just in front of him, her backside almost grazed his front.
Time stood still for him, his eyes narrowed. Every move she made slowed. His book already forgotten. After seemingly not finding what she wanted in the upper shelves, she slightly bent over to look at the lower ones. Her ass lightly pressed up against him, before she quickly shifted away.
He grabbed a hold of her hips, before she got too far. She stilled.
Elijah didnt know if he was going a little crazy 'cause for a split second he felt like he could feel her lean into it, pressing her hips to his-
She whipped around, moving so quick that he felt the residual wind she caused from it.
"What the fuck you think you doin'?" She hissed, positively affronted.
Elijahs face remained unchanged, face as calm as ever, "Nah baby, what the fuck you think your doin'?", he set the book he wasnt reading down on one of the shelves, his eyes never leaving her's.
"Last I checked passing by didnt require all that you just did." She quipped bluntly.
"It does when you steady throwin' ass at me. You think I aint gon' do nothin' about it? C'mon Annie, you know the kinda man I am"
"Throwin' ass? Boy I aint throwin' you a damn thing."
"Woman, you throwin' a whole lot at me, now you mad when Im tryna catch somethin'?"
"The hell you talkin' bout me like Im a ball or somethin? What's wrong with you?"
"You is whats wrong with me."
"Me?"
"Dont act like you confused, you been known what Ive been on witchu, I aint never hid."
"Huh...and what have you been on with you?"
"You wanna know what I been on?"
"Mhm".
She let out a small gasp as he spun her back around, facing the opposite shelves away from him. He leaned over her shoulder, his arms wrapped around the soft skin of her waist, his mouth by her neck, without touching it. He was so close, he could see the goosebumps raise to the surface of her skin in real time. He let out a slow exhale, calming himself, before he spoke again.
"You think I wouldnt notice whatchu doin?" He quietly rasped. He could feel the slightest of a tremble emanate from her body against his.
"I-I aint done shit. Watchu on about? You actin' crazy." But there was no real bite behind her words. She was winded, her voice breathless.
"No crazier than how you been actin'."
"..."
"Walkin' around in that 'lil scrap you call a night gown havin' all them curves out for me on display."
"Maybe they just comfortable to wear." She said back, so quiet, it was almost a whisper.
"Woman, you an' I both know it gets chilly at night. Aint no way to all that comfortable with them titties all out an' about. Not like Im complaining." He felt her shift in his hold. Her body restless.
"Out here blowin' in my ears whisperin' an' shit, like you aint know whatchu do to me." He felt more than heard her take a quiet inhale of breath, her rib cage gently expanding, before contracting.
"Then you stay toyin with me like I aint gone do shit huh?..."
She didnt respond.
"I keep tellin' you the kinda man I am Annie, why you stay testin' me?" She turned her head to the side, her wide, brown- doe eyes looking directly into his. Her face unreadable, except the barest hint of a twinkle in her eye. He gently grabbed her chin, lifting her face just a little closer to his. So close that when he spoke, his lips almost brushed her own, slightly parted ones.
"And now, you find yourself on the opposite side of the building from where your bedroom at. Where you s'possed to be at sleepin'- but instead you out here tryna fuss at me about some other shit we know damn well you dont care about. You know Im out here workin' on that project you gave me."
"Out here fake lookin' for books." He gruffed.
"I wasnt- there's somethin' I am lookin' for..." her voice was starting to sound dangerously close to a whine.
"Hmm..." he was unconvinced, he pulled back and spun her forward, having her facing him. He eyed her down, kissing his teeth as he did, when he grabbed her up a few moments ago, it skewed her robe, she almost had her whole chest out.
She made a move to adjust herself, but Elijah grabbed her hand before she could. He brought his hand up to her skewed neckline, lightly grazing the fabric, just barely touching the half exposed skin of her breast.
He let out a sound that was teetering on a groan, "woman... the things I'd do to you if you let me...", he went to shift the neckline of her robe closer together to help her completely cover up her chest.
She stopped him. Her hand wrapped around his wrist. When he looked in her eyes, all that brown from earlier was swallowed by the dark of her pupils. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes never left his.
Then she opened her mouth again. This time words escaped as a hushed whisper,
"What would you do to me?... If I'd let you... What would you have done to me?" Her eyes grew heavy.
He cocked his head to the side. "If youd let me?..." I'd gone down on you, where I know you want me, where your bodies begging for me, weeping for me. I would've ate you 'till you cried, all while you still fussin' at me." He saw her fidget, her legs shifting and crossing where they stood.
"I wanna do things to you that aint at all befittin' of a queen. I wanna hear you screamin' my name across these halls to the point where everybody know just how good Im takin' care of you. I wanna stress you out and be the reason you get stress relief ya hear me?"
Her eyes started to flutter a bit, she was completely silent, her eyes zeroed in on his lips.
"I want you to let me take care of you..." he firmed the hold on ber chin, gently pulling her a little closer, close enough to kiss. "...but only if you let me..." He rasped against her lips.
He pulled away suddenly. In that same instance Annie felt like she could breathe again, think more clearly.
"You have yourself a good night Annie. Imma head to bed."
Wha-?
"What."
"Whatchu mean "what?" I said Im goin' to bed."
Annie started to sputter, "I- wait a minute. You-" The sudden shift felt like whiplash to her, knocked her off balance. Then she felt herself get more irritated than she was when she first entered the room.
She let out a sharp exhale, straightening herself before she shifted her posture. Her back ramrod straight gathering herself together. Looking as if the past few minutes never happened, aside from that mean glare she was casting Smoke's way.
"Whats that look on your face for?"
"-You think you can just do somethin' like that an-"
"-an' what? Hm?" He challenged. "Walk away?"
She stubbornly remained quiet for a beat, before she opened her mouth again "Go 'head then, 'cause if you think Im 'bout to let you do somethin' like that to me again you got another thing coming." She spat before she promptly left the bookshelf aisle, and back to the study area where Elijah's blue prints and plans for the recreational center remained scattered all over.
He took his time, slowly following her out the same way. "Its gon' happen again an' again Anisa, 'cause you gon' let it happen again an' again, and Im gon' keep doin' it again an' again. 'Til I hear it straight from your mouth how much you want me too."
Annie let out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief, "You really are crazy"
"Only as crazy as you let me."
"Good night Smoke." She said sternly, leaving the room in a rush, leaving him the only one in the room again.
.
.
.
Elijah paused for a little while, letting out a long exhale before he went about gathering his things. He almost regretted not not pressing further, taking them both out of this misery. No matter how she refused to fully give voice to her attraction to him, he knew she felt what was between them just as much as he did, but he wouldnt press any further until he heard her desires straight from her lips.
Stack wouldve clowned his ass for it and he'd probably be right to. He knew if he pressed any further she wouldve let him.
Now he's here, pent up as hell in a space between agitated and satisfied in seeing a glimpse how much she actually wanted him. She could probly feel him through all them clothes, just how much she was affecting him. He didnt give a damn either.
Actin' like she aint know what the fuck she was doin'
He's lucky she didnt directly ask him to do those things he said he wanted to to her, cause in his heart of hearts he knew he wouldnt tell her no. With those sultry eyes of her's and her luscious, plump lips. He wouldn't deny her a thing.
.
.
.
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Cant believe some of things I wrote, Im a lil nervous.🥲😭
A/n: theyre kind of at a transitional period in the progression of their relationship so if things seem a little chaotic going back an forth from being cool then quarreling, thats why😭 (doesnt help that theyre pent up asf)
K bye 👋🏾
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Taglist:
@lizbehave @myheartsaysyes @blue4everrsworld @brownskincheyenne @kkbeauty86 @imperoyalblue @hdfen2474 @shamansha @margepimpson @bigjh @blackgirlsrock444 @bananajoeclone @rolemodelshit @underated345-blog @imqueenmelanin @adrieljoy @horrid-corvid @shereeluvssinners @moth2flamewriting @xeebop @blackchickinthedesert @ehniki
I don’t think I been this mad since Smoke pulled off before Annie got in the house @lizbehave @brownlyfe @brownskincheyenne
Ok so now that I've read it, I wasn't even close to that mad reading this. 😂😂😂😂😂😂 I wasn't mad at all. I like me a little tease. But I literally had steam coming out of my ears the second half of that chapter of American Dream 😂😂
† The Priestess
Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southern— a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.
Chapter 7
Contains: Explicit language, slow-burn/build romance, mentions of Hoodoo
Word Count: 9.9k
📝 This chapter really turned me every way but loose because it went a completely different direction than I originally planned, but it's necessary in kickstarting things between the two of them. Please let me know what you think in the comments! & Sidenote: The Harvest Party is coming up soon!
Masterlist
The hands of the grandfather clock ticked quietly in the front room of the boarding house, but to Annie it sounded like gunshots.
It was late.
The house had fallen into its nighttime rhythm— mostly quiet except for the random sounds of boarders stirring in their rooms. A cough from behind a closed door. The creak of a bed frame. The slow pouring of water into a basin. The smells of supper still lingered like they always did this time of night, settling into the walls like a layer of time. The fragrant aroma of clove hung over top of everything, bursting through the air every time Aunt Della parted her lips. She chewed on it slowly. Methodically. Watching Annie as her fingertips smoothed gently over the leather of the sketchbook cover.
Annie sat on the couch across from her. Her eyes looked full of possibility as she flipped through the paper, the corners of the pages sitting crisp beneath her thumb.
Something was on Aunt Della’s mind.
Annie could feel the warm flush of her skin cooling under the quiet intensity of her gaze.
Her voice broke through the silence. “He been comin’ ‘round a lot lately.”
There it was.
Annie looked up.
Aunt Della stirred her drink in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the sides of the mug. “How you feel ‘bout that?” she asked. Then she took a sip.
Annie’s head lowered. Her first instinct was to not respond. Her second was to deflect. Her third was to ask why.
“Baby,” Aunt Della probed. “I been alive too long. I know what it means for a man to stand around tryin’ to make himself useful.” She crossed one leg over the other, her ankle bouncing with anticipation like she knew this was going to take a while.
Annie’s mouth curved despite herself. She turned a page in her sketchbook, smoothing the spine down harder than necessary with her palm.
“You like him?”
Annie still couldn’t look up. It was like her words got stuck in her throat. The more Aunt Della talked, the more Annie felt caught off guard.
“Annie Royal, I ain’t talkin’ to myself,” she said sternly.
Annie’s head snapped up. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “I don’t know,” she said finally, in a hushed tone.
Aunt Della rolled her eyes. She let the words sit between them long enough for Annie to hear how untrue they sounded.
“Yes you do,” she answered back.
Annie looked down again, her throat tightening with something she didn’t have the name for. Aunt Della watched her for a moment, admiring how softly the lamp light curved around the edge of her face. It was smooth. Innocent. There was a vulnerability in her that she wanted to protect. But as much as she wanted to shield her, she knew she needed to be ready for the day the world came knocking.
But she was so young. Barely 18.
She remembered herself at that age. She remembered how quickly she got swept up in her husband’s kind words and gentle eyes like it was yesterday.
It happened so quickly. Marriage. Mississippi. A son.
She thought about the day her husband came back from town hall with the deed to their house. He painted the outside a rich buttery yellow and whitewashed the shutters with a puffed up chest. Dug out the underground storage with his bare hands, a shovel, and a strength that could only be explained by a feeling he’d never experienced before in his lifetime. Pride. Ownership.
The boarding house became a sanctuary without a steeple. They took in anybody who needed a hot meal and a place to lay their heads. Musicians, preachers, teachers, people trying to get up North. And two little boys trying to escape their father’s fists.
Elijah and Elias.
She met them young. Back when their father, Adam Moore, went door-to-door in town, strumming his guitar and sipping hooch straight from the bottle while his young sons walked around hungry.
She knew them before they went by Smoke and Stack. Then she watched them earn those nicknames in blood, gunpowder, and grit. And now Smoke was coming around her sister’s granddaughter. Her only great-niece.
She watched Annie nervously brush her thumb against the edge of the sketchbook and sighed. “I ain’t tryna fuss at you,” she clarified. “I just wanna know where your head’s at, and how you feel when he’s around.”
A moment passed. Then two.
Aware.
That’s how Annie felt when he was around.
Aware of herself. Aware of him. Aware of the space between one breath and the next. Like something inside her had started listening before she knew that there was sound.
Loose.
Not in the way men and women meant when they whispered about such things.
But in a way that words just came out of her mouth before she could stop them. She couldn’t carry on with him like she could with Aunt Della right now—taking the hard parts and making them sound just right so she didn’t reveal too much too soon. He got the truth before she could dress it up. And she hadn’t taken the time to figure out why quite yet. And that scared her. But it made her feel something else, too.
Seen.
She was holding back. Aunt Della could see that with her eyes closed. She could see the wheels turning in Annie’s head like she never got a chance to sit with her feelings long enough to name them. But she already had her answer. It was in the way she held the sketchbook to her chest before remembering she wasn’t alone.
She tried a different angle. “He good to you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Annie could reply quickly when she could answer without thinking too hard.
“Respectful?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He pressure you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I feel like—” Annie paused, embarrassed by the honesty that sat right on the tip of her tongue. She was fighting to keep it to herself. Not because she didn’t want to be honest, but she felt like words couldn’t do her thoughts justice. And she felt foolish that she felt any kind of way to begin with. “He makes me feel….”
Aunt Della let out a sigh. “You ain’t gotta explain it yet. Sometimes when the feeling’s good, you can’t explain it right away. You gon’ find the right words when you ready.”
Annie nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You intact?”
“Yes ma’am.” Heat climbed up her neck as she held the sketchbook to her chest.
“Don’t let him take it, if that’s not what you want.”
“Yes ma’am.”
A quiet beat passed. “If it is—” Her breath hitched when she cut herself off.
It felt like the room held its breath. Annie, too.
“Nevermind.” Aunt Della shook her head like she regretted saying anything.
Annie frowned, her lips poking out. “What is it?” She asked. Her voice was cautious, but not in the way it had been earlier. It was more braced than anxious.
Aunt Della looked at Annie with a fierce protectiveness. “What you think about him?” she asked quietly.
Annie twisted her lips, searching for something that wouldn’t feel foolish the second it came out of her mouth. “At first I just thought he was quiet,” she said finally. “Not empty quiet, but the type of quiet that’s always holdin’ somethin’ back.”
Aunt Della’s eyes stayed on her.
“But when he’s with me, when he look at me…” Annie’s voice softened despite herself. “It feels like…the rest of the world disappears. And it’s just us. Just me and him. And he can let go.”
Aunt Della didn’t answer immediately, and her face didn’t change. The silence felt worse than being questioned. “And how you think he feels about you?”
“Ummm….” Her eyes flitted around the room nervously.
“The truth do just fine.”
Aunt Della set her mug down on the coffee table with a soft thump. Then she sat back and crossed her legs again, twirling that ankle in the air in slow, deliberate circles.
“Truth is…” Annie started. “I think he’s taken a shine to me. He got me this.” She rubbed the cover of the sketchbook, her cheeks warm flushed with warmth and a hint of embarrassment trying to explain herself. “He comes around, he sits with me, he listens–really listens–to what I say. And he don’t forget,” she said, remembering the note he left her, and the conversation that sparked the words he left.
“What’s all this?” Smoke asked, gesturing to the drawings sprawled across her quilt under the magnolia tree.
“Drawings,” she replied sarcastically.
Smoke sucked his teeth. “I know that,” he tutted. “What they for?”
“Helps my memory. Drawin’ things. Writin’ them down.”
“So you remember what they look like?”
“Kinda. So I remember what they for.”
Annie glanced over, bracing for laughter, amusement, or even teasing. She got none of it. When she found Aunt Della’s eyes she wasn’t smiling. She didn’t laugh. She almost looked sad, but not in a way Annie fully understood.
She simply crossed her arms across her chest and arched a brow in challenge. “So you think that means…what?”
The bluntness felt like a physical thing. It cut sharply through the room like a knife slicing through a thick fog.
Annie blinked. “Ma’am?”
“You think every man who buys you a little somethin’ or listens to you talk, means to do right by you?”
Annie blinked twice this time.
All of a sudden, she felt every bit of eighteen.
Not a child anymore, but not grown in the ways the world seemed to demand all at once.
Smoke wasn’t the first to come around. She had a few who called on her back in New Orleans. Always respectfully, always in the proper way.
She had a freedom up here that she didn’t have living under the roof of her very protective family, and that freedom allowed her to get to know Smoke in a way that would have been damn near impossible back home.
But he was always respectful. Never pushed. Always made sure she felt comfortable. That meant something to her. Time. Energy. Intention.
She kept getting four when she added two and two together.
But maybe Aunt Della was trying to tell her she wasn’t too good at math.
“I’ve known the twins since they were real young. Seen ‘em grow into bright young men. Good-lookin’ young men that every woman in this town want a piece of.” She paused. “And men like Smoke…they can make a girl feel like the whole world done gone quiet around her. But that don’t mean the world ain’t there no more.”
Annie’s ears had already perked up at the mention of his name. But now she listened even more intently.
Aunt Della’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t assume nothin’ based on a man’s silence. You’ll get yourself in trouble fillin’ in blanks that ain’t yours.”
The flame of the oil lamp shifted behind its glass, throwing a soft tremble across the wall. “You got dreams. Hopes. You want your own shop right?”
Annie’s chin lifted with a defiant certainty. “Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Don’t you put that on hold for him, or any man. If he really likes you, he won’t keep you from it.” Her voice got lower, like she wanted to say something hard but make it sound sweet. “Smoke ain’t a man who say much unless he mean it. But if a man really wants you, he’s gonna spell it out plainly.”
The words moved through Annie slowly, crawling up her spine and down her chest where her heart thumped a little faster. She traced her thumb along the back cover, feeling the grain of the leather beneath her fingertip.
The ceiling creaked softly above them. Another lodger, maybe. Or just the house settling into itself. Crickets chirped low in the grass while the night wrapped around them, fully aware of what truth hid behind her silence. It chose not to soften it.
“I understand,” she finally said, quietly.
“Now gone’ to bed. I know you tired.”
Aunt Della stood. Annie did, too. Aunt Della turned towards the kitchen, then thought better of it and turned to grab Annie’s forearm before she got too far. She grabbed her face gently, staring at Annie with warm brown eyes. “I ain’t sayin’ all this to scare you. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I love you.”
The tightness in her chest eased a bit. “What were you gonna say, when you stopped yourself?”
Aunt Della’s eyes softened. “It’s not for me to say,” she said softly. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”
She pulled her into a hug then released her. Annie moved slowly towards the staircase, purse slung tightly over her shoulder, sketchbook secured underneath the crook of her arm.
“Goodnight Aunt Della,” she called out.
“Goodnight, Annie.”
Annie started up the stairs. Halfway up she paused, her fingers tightening their grip on the banister. She looked back toward Aunt Della who was halfway to the kitchen.
“Thank you,” she said, just loud enough so she could hear it.
The night was dark and tonight that darkness felt loaded. The sky was bare. No stars, just an endless stretch of shadow that pressed against the windows, barely softened by the faint glow of the waning moon.
Annie laid in her bed just staring. First she counted the cracks in the ceiling. Then she traced the lines on the walls with her eyes.
The words of Aunt Della replayed in her head. That and the feeling that something laid quietly underneath their conversation. Something Aunt Della knew and refused to say.
Two questions came to mind.
What was Aunt Della holding back from telling her?
What made her change her mind?
It took a while for Annie’s eyes to get heavy while her thoughts refused to shut off. Something settled in her bones at that moment.
Somewhere beyond the boarding house, Smoke—Elijah—had come and gone and left something behind. Something more than just a pretty sketchbook and a thoughtful note.
Morning light came soft through the windows, a pale gold that stretched across the floorboards, taking on the pattern of the lace curtains. Annie stood at her dresser with her nightgown hanging off one shoulder, a satin scarf sliding slowly down her braids.
She counted under her breath, the silver coins plunking against the thin metal of the container where she kept her money. It was a tea tin, a small one that smelled like mint no matter how many times she tried to air it out. The last coin clinked against the others in the tin. She closed the top of it, taking a moment to write the total on the back cover of her sketchbook. She kept a running tally there, one that she copied over from a piece of scrap paper she used to keep track of her earnings before last night.
Annie set Smoke’s note on her dresser. She traced her fingers over the words, brushing her hand over his name on the paper. The ink pooled thickest where he dotted his “i,” and when she touched it, it stained the part where flesh met fingernail. Aunt Della’s words from last night crossed her mind as she watched the ink bloom and spread across her fingertip before slowly sinking into the skin.
Crossing the room, she knelt near the loose floorboard in the corner that lifted without a creak. She tucked the tin into the hollow space and started to fit the wood back into place. Then she hesitated. Not because she doubted herself, but because she wanted to imagine what it would be like for a spell. Her own shop. A modest house with blue paint. She’d sell and barter healing herbs and medicines that ward off sickness and bad spirits, the shelves lined top to bottom with jars, vials and bottles of them. A long table, polished smooth by her own hands, would stretch proudly across the front room where she’d serve meals to sharecroppers and passing workers. Dried roots tied in bundles would hang from the rafters in a shed off to the side. People would come to fill their bellies and stay for something more.
That was hers.
Annie left New Orleans before dawn, dust kicking up from the soles of her shoes and darkening the hem of her dress. She kept her money folded small, eyes cast down the way she was told to when she was traveling alone. A few things she held close to her chest— her great-grandmother’s bible, some knick-knacks, and a few letters. A burlap sack hung from her shoulder, holding some other possessions she held dear. An old trunk held the rest.
The Mississippi River laid before her, wide and brown. She boarded a boat with other people heading upriver, women with their satchels, men with their hats pulled low to keep the mosquitos away. Annie hung onto the railings, watching the trees dip their roots in the water, their branches swinging heavily in the wind like they’d seen too much. The depot was next. When she boarded the train, she closed her eyes and said a prayer underneath her breath— one for the journey, one for the destination.
She spent the night in a Colored waiting room with families piled on top of each other and solo travelers with tired eyes wearing all their possessions.
The next day was another train. Cotton fields stretched wide beyond the thick glass of the windows, the grim landscape broken only by oak trees and tiny shacks lined up in a row. They passed by another stretch of land mostly hidden behind the treeline, but she could feel it— water, soil, roots, foundation.
An elderly man, skin the color of pralines, sat on his porch watching the train go by. Striped overalls with the clasps unbuckled, white shirt with the sleeves rolled, straw hat, heavy work boots— but what caught her attention was his eyes. One was completely covered in cataracts. The other one looked sharp enough to hold the sight of four people. The man sucked on a stick of sugarcane while a hound dog sat by his side, tongue out, panting hard under the burn of the Mississippi sun.
Then he was gone.
All that remained were the muted shades of nature as the train trekked through the countryside. No house. No dog. No sugarcane. But Annie could remember every detail, even the dusty blue denim of the man’s overalls. And the expectant look in his eye.
She woke up with a jolt, spine snapping straight where she was slumped over in her seat.
The train cabin was quiet. Most people were asleep, some lingering in the corners, some just starting to wake up. Nighttime was on the horizon. Shades of orange and pink swallowing what was leftover from the day.
“How long I been out?” she asked the woman next to her.
The woman thought for a moment. “Since we got on, I reckon.”
“I been sleep this whole time?”
“Mhmm,” she confirmed. “Must’ve had you a long day…”
“Must’ve…” Annie frowned, rubbing the sleep from her drowsy eyes. She looked out at the land through the thick, cloudy windows of the train cabin, and the land looked back.
Time passed and she still remembered it all. The land. The house. The way the sun slanted just right through the trees. The man. How he looked like he was waiting for something. How real he felt, even after she realized she was dreaming. When she finally pressed the floorboard back into place the room became itself again. A bed. A dresser. An altar. And a young woman kneeling on the floor daydreaming about possibilities.
One state over, the road began to flatten towards Memphis. It was bad in places, rutted deep from wagons, farming equipment, and animal hooves. Dust rose up behind the truck in low brown puffs, sparkling in the light before disappearing up into the trees.
Smoke drove with both hands steady on the wheel. Stack rode beside him, one arm hanging lazily out the window, hat tipped low against the glare.
“So you gon’ tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
Stack sucked his teeth. “Don’t do that.”
Smoke kept driving. Stack waited him out. That was the thing with twins, when one soul splits into two. Silence didn’t work on somebody who already felt it on the inside.
“Annie,” Stack blurted after a while.
Her name shifted something in the cab. Stack could tell by the way Smoke’s eyes narrowed slightly, his hands tightening around the wheel all of a sudden, the leather groaning under the force of his grip.
“What about her?”
Stack barked out a laugh. “So, it’s like that?”
The road curved just ahead of them, pecan trees crowding close to the edge on either side of the road like they were trying to listen in on their conversation.
“I talked to Della,” Smoke admitted. He looked over to Stack, whose smile eased a bit where he sat.
“About?”
Smoke didn’t reply.
Stack sat up fully. Back straight, slouch gone. “For real?”
Smoke shot him a look.
Stack leaned back slightly, studying the side of Smoke’s face. “Damn,” he trailed off. “What she say?”
It was the day before they were set to head to Memphis, and the early evening sun poured molten gold through the back windows, warming the floorboards of Della’s kitchen. Smoke stood in front of the counter watching her slice a batch of onions. Della stood on the other side, her arm moving like the wheels of a locomotive, the movement slow, methodical, and sharp because she’d done this a thousand times.
“I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’,” he said, voice steady.
Della kept her pace, she didn’t slow or stop. “That right?”
“That’s right.”
“This ‘bout my girl?”
“It is.”
Della stopped what she was doing. She wiped the knife off on a kitchen towel, then set it down on the counter.
“I was hopin’ I could court Annie,” Smoke said firmly. “Proper like.”
“What you know about courtin’ a woman proper?” Della asked. She crossed her arms.
Smoke took his lick. He didn’t flinch.
“She ain’t just anybody,” Della said before he could respond.
“I know,” Smoke replied. Something in him leaned forward before his body did. “I wanna do it right. If she’ll have me.”
Della looked over Smoke carefully. For the lie in his eyes. For the joke tugging at the corner of his mouth. For the doubt in his posture. “You talk to her ‘bout this already?”
“Not yet.”
“You need to.”
“I will. Wanted to ask you first.”
She eased her weight off one hip, and put it on the other. “She ain't built for no half steppin’.”
“I don’t do half.”
Della’s eyes narrowed for a second, then relaxed. “That girl want somethin’ of her own,” she said. “Don’t know if she told you that yet.”
“She did.”
“Well.” Her voice came out soft but sharp. “She got powerful hands. Hands that ain’t meant to be locked up under some man’s roof waitin’ for permission. If you wanna court her, you better not try to shrink her.”
“I won’t,” Smoke replied.
Della picked up her knife again. She sliced into an onion slowly, the thin, methodical rhythm of metal hitting wood echoed in the otherwise quiet room.
Lodgers started to walk in from their work shifts, heading to their rooms or back out to the porch where a few of them were squatting over a dice game. A few of them poked their heads into the kitchen to ask about supper.
Smoke hadn’t moved an inch. He waited quietly, letting the silence sit between them, more for him than her.
“You like her,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t even need to ask. She could see it. Feel it, even.
“Yes ma’am.”
“How much?”
“I care about her. Wanna see her more. Respectfully.”
Della’s nose wrinkled. “You serious?”
“I am,” he said with finality.
Something passed through Della’s eyes as she looked him over carefully, from head to toe. It didn’t feel like judgment. It was something Smoke didn’t have a name for. He raised a brow, a silent question.
“Still seein’ other women?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ain’t what I heard.”
Confusion. It spread slowly across his face like the petals of a night-blooming flower before turning into something darker. Smoke flexed his hands at his sides before clasping them firmly in front of himself. “What you heard?” he asked, inclining his head.
“Little here, little there,” she admitted. She tilted her head. “May not be loud, but I can hear whispers just fine.”
Smoke’s jaw worked. He shook his head once, firmly. “It ain’t true.”
“It ain’t?”
“I ain’t lyin’,” he stated simply. “Since I started spendin’ more time with Annie, I’ve only been seein’ her.”
“Then why they still talkin’?”
Smoke sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.
Della sucked her teeth. She looked away, then looked back. “That don’t answer my question.”
Her eyes got a little sharper, then. Defensive. She folded her arms across her chest, pushing back.
Smoke looked like he was racking his brain for the answer. When it clicked, let out a ragged, frustrated breath through his nose. “I guess, I ain’t really end it the way I should,” he confessed.
Della’s voice went up a whole octave. “You guess?” she asked incredulously.
“That’s on me,” Smoke said, jaw tight. “But I’ma handle it.”
“How you tryna court Annie, when you can’t even end somethin’ proper? What happened?”
“I stopped reachin’ out,” he explained. “Ain’t seen ‘em, none of that.” He sighed into his words. His voice tight, but firm. “Thought that was it. I moved on, figured they did, too.”
“You figured wrong,” she corrected. “You leave one woman guessin’, don’t come over here askin’ me for permission to leave another one guessin’.”
Smoke nodded, the muscle in his jaw fluttering. “I won't. I’ma clear it up. Before I bring anything to Annie.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Della started.
“Miss Della—” he started.
She searched his eyes. “Elijah,” she said, in a tone that sounded like a warning.
Smoke’s gaze didn’t waver. He looked at her firm, steady, unblinking. “I mean to do right by her. I wouldn’t be askin’ you if I didn’t.”
Della sighed. “Alright.”
Smoke’s face relaxed.
“There’s rules.”
“Okay.”
“Handle that business, first.”
“Trust me, I will,” Smoke said, nodding once.
Della picked her knife back up, turning it sideways so she could start dicing the onions. “Y’all been kissin’?”
He wasn’t about to lie. He didn’t lie anyways, not when it mattered, but especially not to a woman who could put a root on him with one hand, and chop an onion clean down the middle with the other—at the same time. “Yes ma’am,” he admitted.
She didn’t flinch. “That it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Mhmm,” she muttered. “No funny business in my house,” she warned, pointing the tip of the knife towards him.
“You ain’t gotta worry about that.”
“I know,” she said warmly. “Not with you.”
“Can I leave this for her?”
Smoke held up a thin, black leather covered book.
“What is it?”
His jaw worked. “It's for her drawings,” he said simply. “So she can keep 'em all in one place.”
“I will,” she said. She could feel the tenderness in his words, even though he tried to hide it.
Smoke let out the breath he’d been holding since he walked up the steps of her porch with a gift and a question. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, sweeping the diced onions into a bowl with the edge of her blade. “That girl’s heart is her own. She gotta say yes, first.”
“Smoke.” Stack’s voice came out quiet.
Smoke slowed without thinking. He cursed under his breath, sitting fully forward in his seat.
Up ahead, the road dipped towards a narrow wooden bridge that laid over a stretch of shallow, muddy water. Off to the side, something rose from behind the cotton fields.
Dust. It came from the far side of the bridge, lifting faintly through the trees along with the sound of a mule dragging something through dirt.
Smoke eased the car to a stop beneath the shade just before the bridge. Stack moved from the passenger seat and stalked towards the edge of the field, his body loose in the way men looked when they were prepared not to be. He looked for what didn’t belong while Smoke stayed behind the wheel listening for it.
Wind rustled through the leaves, a dry, papery sound that blew through the acres of cotton plants. Sharecroppers that sang hymns and blues songs as they moved down the line. They picked cotton with tired, calloused hands, the cost of their labor paid in bright red splotches of blood that dripped from their fingers, staining the stark whiteness of the cotton bolls. A vulture circled overhead, then found its prey. It swooped down, its wings spreading menacingly slow as its talons gripped the rung of abandoned machinery.
Stack walked back to the truck with the cautious confidence he carried no matter how many times they’d taken this route. His face didn’t show it, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Just some nigga on a wagon,” he said, waving it off.
Smoke looked back, looked towards his brother, looked towards the bridge, flexed his hands on the wheel, then steadied.
Memphis appeared thirty minutes later.
The city smelled like hot grease and opportunity. The sound of brass instruments hung heavy in the air, cutting through all the cigar smoke and pipe exhaust. A band played on the street once they turned the corner, a crowd of people gathered around them tossing money, dancing, and singing. Vendors lined the streets selling all kinds of treats, both savory and sweet, shouting their prices above all the noise.
There was a lightness here.
But Stack hadn’t spoken since they crossed that bridge.
“Just say it,” Smoke muttered.
“Say what?” He spoke with his usual slick tone, toothpick hanging out the corner of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t.
“Whatever it is.”
Stack grinned. He rolled the toothpick around his mouth. Cleared his throat. “I’m just thinkin’.”
Smoke waited.
He rubbed a hand over his freshly lined up goatee. Smiled again, wider this time, his gold fronts shining in the late afternoon. “You ain’t seen…you know?”
Smoke didn’t even let the question linger in the air. “No.”
Stack didn’t back down. “Last I heard…”
Smoke’s brows pulled together. “It ain’t true,” he said flatly.
“I knew she was full of shit.” He shook his head in disgust. “She gon’ be pissed, though.”
“Who, Annie?”
Stack looked over. “Nah.” He shrugged. “I mean, maybe…” He shook his head again. “I mean...”
“Nigga.”
Beale Street pulsed around them. A saxophone blared loudly on the sidewalk. The sultry voice of a woman floated out from the open door of a juke they passed by.
“Look at my nigga tryna be serious,” Stack teased, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I mean you was born serious but…”
“Aight….” Smoke mumbled.
“For real," he continued. Voice lighter now, but not unserious. “I’m happy for you brotha.”
Smoke didn’t answer.
Stack leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head as the truck slowed in front of The Monarch. The juke joint was already breathing through the walls. Music, laughter, and the smell of fried food spilled out into the street.
“You know she good for you, right?”
Smoke’s eyes cut over.
Stack lifted a hand. “I’m bein’ serious,” he said with a grin.
“I ain’t ask you for all that,” Smoke grumbled. He pulled the brake and cut the engine. “I just need you to be serious ‘bout this business we ‘bout to handle.”
Stack smoothed out his suit jacket before climbing out first. “Nigga, I’m always serious ‘bout—” He cut himself off. His grin widened. “Oh, you really like her huh.”
Smoke stepped out after him, shutting the truck door harder than necessary. “Shut up, Stack.”
Stack only laughed as he headed towards the door of the joint. Smoke followed behind him, both brothers disappearing into the smoky mouth of the juke.
They waited until the boarding house was empty. Breakfast was long over, the kitchen back to the way it looked before the lodgers ran through it in the morning. The floors were swept, shelves dusted, dishes washed, dried, and stacked neatly in the cupboard. Flour dust hid between the cracks of the table no matter how many times it was wiped down, a chipped blue bowl full of onions and garlic hiding most of that. A heavy cast iron pan hung over the stove with something in it that would cook low and slow until supper.
Annie stood in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled past her elbows, wiping down the edge of the table. Aunt Della watched her from across the kitchen, tending an arrangement of calla lilies in a slender glass jar. “Ready?”
Annie looked up from wiping a stubborn corner of the table. “Yes.”
“Nervous?”
Annie rung the rag out, twisting it once and dropping it in the wash basin. “A little.”
The kettle hissed softly behind them, steam reaching up towards the ceiling in white, pillowy puffs. A burst of bright, mid-morning light flooded the room through the curtains, catching the edge of a jar of dried bay leaves that sat near the windowsill and the fur of Felix who was curled up with his paws tucked under him like he was waiting on this exact moment. He purred gently, the sound a sharp contrast to the kettle whose whistle was now piercing the air.
“Come on,” Aunt Della said, leading her towards the lean-to in the backyard.
The space was narrow and dark even though the sun was high, only slivers of light peeking through the cracks in the siding. The shelves held various grooming items needed for a house full of men. Lye soap, oils and tonics, shampoos and aftershave. A galvanized tub sat in the middle of it all. Aunt Della moved two small crates aside in the corner of the room. Annie looked down, her mouth dropping open when she caught the glint of the iron ring hidden between the floorboards.
“Don’t just stand around catching flies,” Aunt Della threw over her shoulder. She was already bending over as quickly as she could for her age, hooking two fingers into the ring and pulling up.
“What’s down there?” She bent down to help her.
“You ‘bout to find out.”
The wood lifted from the floor with a low groan and a whistle of trapped air that escaped like the room was letting out a breath. The smell of something earthy and dark—roots, clay, old wood, and something more sharp—hit them with the first whiff that rose from beneath the ground. Aunt Della lowered herself carefully onto the first step then looked back, a lit oil lamp secure in her hands. “Mind your skirt,” she told Annie. “And close the door behind you.”
Annie gathered the length of her skirt, wrapping it twice around her hand. The stairs creaked beneath her feet, each one more narrow and steep the deeper she moved below the boarding house. The hum of the street disappeared first. Then the sounds of the backyard—chickens, birds, bees and the breeze.
Then the daylight.
Annie paused at the bottom to take in all that she could see from the stretch of Aunt Della’s oil lamp. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with everything from bottles to tins to roots dark and twisted that reached into the soil like fingers.
Aunt Della led her to a door. They had to be underneath the front porch of the house, Annie thought to herself. She unlocked the room, a heavy oak door fitted with two heavy padlocks, and guided them inside.
More shelves.
Glass jars caught the flickering flame of the lamp in dull flashes. They were lined up along the walls, filled with graveyard dust, mandrake, cinquefoil, High John, and camphor. A stack of bones too small for Annie to name. A brown bag of black mustard seeds, blue glass beads, river stones smooth as polished teeth, and an assortment of other things.
Aunt Della set the lamp on a low table in the middle marked with knife nicks and stains like old wounds. On it sat a mortar and pestle, a ledger book with a cracked spine, a fountain pen, three small bowls, and a white candle burned low in its dish.
“This where we gon’ start.”
Annie looked around, wrapping her arms around herself. “This all yours?”
“It’s all mine,” Aunt Della confirmed. “Take a seat.” She gestured for Annie to sit on one of two cushions around the table and moved to one of the shelves. She glanced at a bundle of dried leaves, touching them lightly with two fingers before bringing it back to the table. “Some of this belonged to my mama. Some of it from women I met along the way. Women whose names don’t get spoken much anymore.”
She opened the ledger to a blank page, then pushed it to the corner of the table. “First thing you learn ain’t gon’ be what does what, it’s gon’ be what not to touch.”
Annie’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s stuff that heals and stuff that calls. Calling is where it gets tricky. You can call luck, love, happiness. You can call something darker. Something that settles. Something that unsettles. The thing that gives you mercy can be the same one you beg for mercy. It all depends on which hand holds it.”
Annie absorbed as much as she could while her gaze drifted around the room. This room felt smaller, not because of its size, but because of what it held. Most things felt familiar, a few things did not. It was the few things that didn’t, that unsettled her.
She thought of her grandmother. Of the stool in her apothecary. Sometimes she’d sit there all day, just watching. Reaching for things out of curiosity and being told ‘not yet’ so often that it became part of her rearing.
Aunt Della must have seen something cross her face, because her voice softened. “You know more than you think,” she said.
“Then why do I feel like I don’t know anything…all of a sudden?”
She paused. And then— “Lemme show you.” Aunt Della reached for a jar of something dried and fragrant hidden under a strip of blue fabric. She set it on the table. “Name it.”
Annie tried to peer through the glass. The leaves were green, obviously. Smooth, and curled at the edges, from what she could see. She opened the jar carefully and sniffed the fragrance that wafted through her nose. The smell was earthy. Sharp. “Sage?” she asked.
Aunt Della gave her a look.
“Not sage,” Annie winced.
Aunt Della paused a moment. “You know that ain’t no damn sage.”
Annie brought the jar to her nose again. She took a deeper whiff. It smelled different this time, something warmer and sweeter. Familiar, but not from the kitchen. “Boneset?” she guessed.
“You askin’ or tellin’?”
“Tellin’,” she said, twisting the lid closed and setting the jar down.
Aunt Della waited a moment for Annie to second guess herself. She didn’t. “There she is.”
Annie smiled despite herself.
“What’s it for?”
“Fevers and aches,” Annie began. “Unless you take too much.”
Aunt Della hummed as she shuffled through the jars, vials, and pouches littered on the shelves. “Every living thing got a spirit,” she started. “It had a spirit ‘fore it had a name.” She continued on. “Its smell will tell you its name. But its spirit, that’ll tell you what it wants.” She looked at Annie closely, eyes narrowing. “This,” she tapped her temple, “is how you learn the spirit of a thing.”
She reached behind her without looking, pulled another jar down, and set it on the table in front of Annie. “Name it.”
They went on like that for a while, one jar after another. Some Annie knew right away, some she hesitated on, and some that made her feel straight foolish when Aunt Della corrected her.
“Don’t just guess ‘cause you wanna be right.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You was.”
Annie huffed softly, frustrated.
“You gotta learn how to trust yourself, baby. Like when you close your eyes to draw.”
Aunt Della turned her back to the shelf, her eyes sweeping over her collection until she landed on a small bundle wrapped in red thread. She placed it on the table without a word.
“Gon’ head. Pick it up,” she insisted.
Annie hesitated at first. Her fingers wrapped around it gently, something tightening low in her belly once it touched her palm. Whatever was inside the cloth was hidden, but she could feel the weight of what she held in her hands.
“What?” Aunt Della challenged her. “Tell me how it feels.”
Annie rubbed her thumb along the fabric. “This one feels…like it wanna be left alone,” she said breathily.
The flame of the oil lamp that sat on the low table shifted, flickering once then standing still—but it wasn’t from any wind.
There was no wind down here.
Just darkness, soil, and walls that held their breath like lungs.
Aunt Della watched her for a moment, then reached out and took it from her. Annie’s hands felt lighter instantly.
“What was that?” Annie’s eyes lifted, following the bundle.
“Not today.”
“Really?”
“I said,” Della repeated. “Not today.” She sat back down. “Lesson number two. Curiosity don’t mean permission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Power ain’t always in what you can hold. Sometimes it lies in what you know to leave alone when you ain’t ready. When it ain’t ready.”
She looked up to the ceiling. “They know?”
Aunt Della snorted. “Men don’t notice half of what’s goin’ on.”
Annie laughed and Aunt Della smiled back, pulling the ledger towards the edge of the table. The pages were filled with names, dates, ingredients, measurements, and notes. Some in Aunt Della’s hand, others in foreign script. Most of the entries were normal: fever, toothache, bad blood, sleeplessness. Others were less common: keep someone away, restore peace to a home, stop a tongue from speaking ill, return what was sent. Annie traced a line without touching it. Her pulse felt different as her finger hovered over the script. Slower, heavier, like something had reached up and guided her hand.
Aunt Della flipped to the next page of the ledger, tapping a blank line on the page once with her finger. “When you open a door with your name on it, you better know what you sellin’. You ain’t just sellin’ an herb. Ain’t just sellin’ a bottle. You sellin’ a promise.”
“A promise?”
“When a woman’s hurt and she comes to you for help…she ain’t just lookin’ to buy a root. She’s lookin’ to buy trust. Silence. The hope that somebody knows what to do with what she can’t carry alone anymore.”
Annie thought about the women slipping through her grandmother’s door. Their faces covered with veils, hands holding tight onto coins, voices just above a whisper. She drew them sometimes while she sat in the corner on that stool—not just their faces, but the changes. How they came and how they left.
Aunt Della pushed the pen, ink, and the ledger on the table right in front of Annie. “Write today’s date.”
le 31 octobre 1919
Annie wrote it in her best script. When she put the pen down she felt different somehow, like she had crossed a threshold she didn’t even know was there.
Aunt Della moved the ledger away to let the ink dry and the moment settle. Then she stood, took down another jar from the shelves, popped off the lid, and set it in front of her.
“Name it.”
Annie lifted the jar to her nose, but this time she didn’t rush.
She smelled first.
Looked second.
And listened to whatever quiet thing inside her answered third.
It took Smoke three attempts to light his cigarette.
It was later that same evening. He stood on the second-floor balcony of the Greenwood House. It sat on the corner of Hernando and Beale; the place he and Stack stayed every time they came down to Memphis. The clink of utensils and the hearty smell of andouille sausage and gumbo drifted out the open windows of the porch and floated upward to where he stood outside, making his stomach twist with hunger.
An older woman named Mrs. Johnson owned the place and knew them well, often turning a blind eye to whatever they (Stack) got up to when they came down for business.
“This ain’t no whorehouse! You want a whorehouse, there's plenty of them down the street! Tryna soil my good furniture. The sheets is one thing, but I catch one of them hussies on one of my couches, I’ll put you out on ya ass in the middle of the night with just ya draws on!”
Smoke held a lighter in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other, rolled up tight with the special New Orleans blend of tobacco laced with a little grass that he got from Bo every other week.
His thumb slipped on the spark wheel on his first try.
His hand shook suddenly on the second.
He gripped the base harder, clenching his teeth on the third try. An eruption of flint and fuel sparked a flame that burned bright and angry against the setting Memphis sun and the backdrop of Beale Street.
Smoke brought the cigarette to his mouth, its red ember heating the inside of the palm.
He exhaled with relief.
It felt like a betrayal. That a white man’s war was the reason his hands had a mind of their own sometimes. The lack of control that had him shook. Angry.
He took another drag to calm his nerves, his thoughts searching for somewhere soft to land.
Annie.
He’d seen her walk into some shop on Issaquena a few weeks back. Long blue dress with buttons down the middle. Curved just right over her hips and thighs. Like it was painted on.
Smoke took another hit, blood sparking heavy with desire. He let the smoke filter through his nostrils when he exhaled. He inhaled it back through his nose, letting the fumes settle deep and spicy in his chest.
He had to think about something safer.
Like lips or eyes.
But Annie’s lips? And Annie’s eyes?
Her lips were dangerous. Soft, fluffy, inviting. Sweet.
He thought about how his name slipped out of them like it was the best thing she ever tasted.
“Smoke,” she’d drawl. It melted on the tip of her tongue like a scoop of her favorite ice cream from downtown, her Louisiana lilt drawing out the o, making her lips form a perfect circle like she was—
“You good?”
The sound of familiar steps made him turn his head to the side.
It was Stack.
“Yeah,” Smoke said, flexing his hands at his sides. “Food ready yet?”
”Just about. She puttin’ dishes out and shit.” Stack turned to walk away. Then he paused. Turned back. “She made sweet potato pie, too.”
Smoke snuffed out his cigarette and hurried his ass downstairs.
One Week Later…
It was lunch hour. The dining area at Blackbird was packed full of hungry customers, unbridled laughter, and the smell of frying oil. Annie weaved expertly through the tables and around the booths like she belonged there. Since she started working there, she’d already found her own rhythm even though she only worked a few times a week. She was keeping up with the seasoned waitresses, the ones who didn’t write orders down and could balance two serving trays and a pot of coffee with one hand. She was doing so well that even Mr. Hightower was impressed with how she held her own, even with the sudden increase of diners from out of town.
Especially people’s relatives from up north.
There wasn’t a family in Clarksdale who didn’t have somebody who went north for better opportunities, higher wages, and more or less, more freedom. Annie heard the stories. Walk off a train, walk into a stockroom or a shipyard and find work that pays four times what you’d earn in the fields or as a domestic down south.
And now she was looking at them sitting in the booths, laughing with their friends and family while showing off their fancy cars, shiny shoes, and new clothing.
That ‘Northern’ polish.
Stack had that type of polish. Always kept a waistcoat. Always wore real gold—chains, pocket watch, gold fronts. Shoes always shined like they were polished by the sun.
Smoke didn’t dress like his brother, but he had a way about him too. His clothes weren’t flashy, but they were clean. Neat. He kept a wristwatch instead of a pocket one. One with a black leather strap, smooth bezel, and a nice engraving carved on the back. But he still had a ruggedness about him that she liked...a lot.
She wondered if their “travels” ever took them up north. Pittsburgh, Detroit, Chicago. She knew they’d been to New York. Smoke told her that. Spent some time in Harlem staying with Aunt Della’s son before they shipped off to war.
Annie didn’t know exactly what they got up to when they went out of town, but she wasn’t wet behind the ears. She didn’t need all the details to know the shape of danger. The town knew what the SmokeStack twins were; they earned those names here. Even if the town knew to not go into detail about what they did to earn them. But there were rumors.
Especially about the women they dealt with.
Stack was the womanizer. Annie knew that the minute she first met him at the train station. He had a mouth so slick, he could make a woman apologize to him for breaking her own heart. Smoke was a little different. Quieter about his, at least. But quieter didn't mean it ain’t exist. Where Stack left noise, Smoke left silence. The type of silence that was hard to measure sometimes. And with silence came people trying to fill that empty space with their own version of the truth. So they whispered.
“So-and-so said…but you ain’t heard it from me.”
“He don’t talk as much as Stack, but he ain’t no saint.”
Aunt Della’s words came to mind. About things being spelled out plain and not assuming attention meant intention. But Annie wasn’t so sure if it was a warning, or just plain words of wisdom.
Was she just another woman in a line of quiet whispers?
“Annie!” It was Mr. Hightower.
She looked up.
“You been wipin’ the same spot for a minute, now.”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head a little, plopping the rag in the bucket.
“I need you to dump the coffee in the back please,” he requested, walking off.
Annie sighed. “Yes, sir.”
She made her way to the back, coffee pots in one hand and a bucket of hot, soapy water in the other. She set the bucket by the back door and walked outside.
The back alley smelled like cigarettes and old food.
Annie’s nose wrinkled as she walked over to the trash receptacles before getting startled by a raccoon that darted out from under one of the trash bags. She managed to dump the coffee out without splashing it all over her shoes. The cool, brown liquid pooled on the ground for a minute before seeping into the dirt, the coffee grounds scattering across the wet surface like ash.
Fourth Street was alive. Wagons, voices, music, smoke drifting up from cigarettes and woodstoves. Smoke had finished one last piece of business near Fourth Street. He stepped out of the back room of a building and onto the street, money folded tight in his pocket, hat sitting low on his head. He stepped off the curb and crossed the street, slowing right in front of Blackbird Cafe. He stopped. Looked through the windows casually, trying to be subtle. He wasn’t. The writing and the glare from the sun made it hard to see, but he found her instantly.
Annie was behind the counter, but her head turned towards the kitchen. Probably listening to one of the cooks talking shit from the back like they always did. He saw her shoulders shake and her head dip forward like she was laughing at something one of them said. But when she turned back around, the smile on her face broke the room open.
Something struck him low in the chest. A possessive tightening pull on his ribs. Annie’s eyes shifted. She looked around the restaurant. Through the other waitresses that darted around her, through the people in the dining area. They kept on moving until they finally found him.
Her face went blank for a second and he thought his chest would cave in. Then it softened, then the corner of her mouth lifted slowly. Just for him. That was enough for him to walk inside before he even realized what he was doing.
The cafe got quieter when he walked in. Conversations lulled, laughter turned into low chuckles that turned into throats clearing. Men nodded to him. Either out of respect, fear, or something else. Smoke took a seat at the counter and watched as Annie made her way over with a coffee pot in her hand.
“Afternoon,” she said softly.
“Afternoon.”
“You hungry?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
She took a mug from the shelf behind the counter, placed it in front of him, and started pouring. The coffee spilled into the cup dark and hot, steam rising off the top before dissolving into the air like the things left unspoken between them.
Smoke wrapped his hands around the mug and took a sip. Warmth settled into his palms and spread throughout his chest. And it wasn’t from the coffee. “Thank you,” he said, voice low.
“My pleasure,” Annie giggled. “How was your trip?”
“Long.”
“That it?”
“Mostly.”
Annie didn’t push. She studied him for a second, topping off his coffee and wiping down the countertop while the diners went back to their own conversations and meals. She thought about saying more. She decided not to. It was too quiet now. Too many ears perked up. She reached behind the counter again, this time to pull out a clean napkin.
“Thank you,” she said as she set the napkin down next to his mug.
“For what?” His eyebrows pulled together.
“The sketchbook,” Annie said incredulously, head cocked to the side.
Smoke’s mouth twitched. “You welcome.”
“Mhmm.” She rolled her eyes playfully.
“You been good?” His voice was rough when he asked that question.
She tapped her fingers slowly on the counter as he set his mug down. Annie leaned forward on her hands. Smoke leaned forward on his arms. Annie looked at Smoke. Smoke looked at Annie.
“Been great,” she said finally. Her lips were pursed in that playful way he liked. “You?”
Smoke’s eyes moved over what he could see of her from his seat at the counter. Slowly.
“Better now.”
She raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said casually. He kept his eyes on hers.
Her mouth dropped open, whatever she was fixing to say right on the tip of her tongue when Sheila’s voice from the kitchen made it snap shut.
“Table six, order up!” Followed by two dings.
Annie turned around, quickly sliding the plates of hot food from the pass-through window onto her serving tray. She moved from behind the counter to a table with hot food and a smile brighter than the sun reflecting off the windows. Smoke watched her working, stealing glances over the rim of his mug. Every so often while she was taking an order, or refilling a coffee, she’d look over at him like she could feel his eyes on her, then quickly look away. When it started to get busier and she couldn’t steal a look at him, he felt something. Like a dull ache.
He stood as Annie finally circled back to where he was sitting, stretching his arms above his head.
“You leavin’?”
Smoke nodded. “Got some business to handle.”
He put his money on the counter, their hands meeting when she reached for it before he had pulled his hand back. The contact made them both still. Their index fingers brushed against each other where they touched for a second before pulling away completely. Their eyes met again.
“I’ll see you,” Smoke said.
“Okay,” she replied. It was just above a whisper.
He wasn’t finished. “Soon.”
Their eyes held, the contact lingering for a moment like they both had something they wanted to say but knew it wasn’t the moment.
Smoke slipped away, steps light even though he carried weight. Annie watched the door swing shut behind him, letting in a flash of air and street noise before locking it out again. She stood behind the counter still, fingers resting on the money he’d left on the table, feeling the ghost of where his finger rubbed the side of hers. She stood there for a second, letting it sink in. Two seconds went by, then three. Then she snapped out of it, pulling herself back into what she was there for— the money.
“Felicia!” Annie called for her as she carried a tray over her shoulder. “Table four said they want two more sodas!”
“Got it,” Felicia huffed.
The bell above the door rang again. Annie moved quickly, sat the diners at a table, pulled out her pen and pad. She gave recommendations, talked up the specials. She even took on an extra table—a party of six that started off with a round of drinks.
She kept herself busy. There was no such thing as a quiet moment during a lunch rush. But every time she looked out into the street, she thought of him. Coming through like he owned the place. Leaving something behind every time he walked out.
—
Smoke was far enough away that he couldn’t see her clearly through the window anymore. Just movement and light and the shape of her passing between the tables. Blackbird stayed loud and alive behind him. Annie’s world now. Part of it, anyway. The more Smoke saw her, the more he wanted to be that other part. Not keep her waiting. Not tuck her away.
Della was right. Just wanting her wasn’t enough. Other men wanted her, too. He saw the way their gaze would follow her around as she moved around the cafe…until they saw him. He heard about the one at the theater. And the preacher. But he knew she needed to hear it from him soon.
When they stared at each other before he left Blackbird, the look in her eyes held a question. One he didn’t have to ask to know. He knew one thing, he was gonna set shit straight before she was left guessing what kind of man had walked into her life.
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Haint Blue and Indigo: The Colors of Annie and Smoke
This is by no means an extensive history of haint blue and indigo*, but I just wanted to dip a bit into how much is said just by looking at one layer of costuming for Sinners. In this case color—how it's able to convey just how deeply rooted Annie is to her heritage/history, and to me, how this case of colors shows so beautifully Smoke's connection to Annie and his love for her.
"There's that haint blue that Annie lives around as part of a spiritual color. So I took the haint blue and used it in her clothes. I wanted her to have these layers. You first meet her [...] She's a community person. She's a healer, a spiritual leader." - Ruth E. Carter, Costume Design for Sinners (emphasis mine)
Haint blue is a color seen painted on porches, doorways and windows in the American South. As the name suggests, it was believed (though the oral histories are difficult to come by beyond the 30s), to ward off evil spirits. Using haint blue, according to the Gullah-Geechee, tricked evil spirts into thinking they had come across water or sky, bodies they were unable to cross, therefore deterring them from crossing over the blue.
Annie's costume was infused with this color; the blue on her cotton blouse and her skirt belted with feathers and beads. When we're introduced to Annie, her home has a collection of blues: from the wooden panelling, scraps of fabric hanging in the background, and blue bottles strewn about. This infusion of haint blue in her home is also a deliberate choice as talked about by production designer Hannah Beachler.
*Corrections, whether through comments or reblogs, for this post are definitely welcome! I cite my sources at the end of this long post.
This type of blue is not a specific color but rather, it becomes Haint Blue when it is used for the purpose of warding off haints, a belief rooted in Gullah-Geechee beliefs. (Though for technicalites' sake, it is a range of blues -> blue greens). After the 1800s, this way of using blue trickled down from the Gullah-Geechees in South Carolina to places such Louisina where Annie is suggested to be from.
The Old Plantation (Slaves Dancing on a South Carolina Plantation), ca. 1785-1795. watercolor on paper, attributed to John Rose, Beaufort County, South Carolina
Blue has always had a fraught history with enslaved Native Americans and Africans. The production of indigo was a profitable commodity demanded by the British empire as early as the 18th century. This production of indigo however, while it oppressed, was also a way for Black and Native Americans to express their individuality, and for people such as the Gullah-Geechee, their spirituality. Annie continues to draw strength from her roots and it's incredible to see it so profusely in so many aspects of her character, including her clothes.
So here is where I deviate a bit from "canon" per se, or give some interpretation of Ruth E.'s and Coogler's "Smoke is blue." We talk a lot about how the movie does a great job of showing how, though Smoke wasn't completely "sold" on hoodoo, but that he did very much believe in Annie. And that trust between them goes beyond what Smoke's willing to communicate through words (he wears the mojo bag through the war, through Chicago, and removes it only when he's ready to die. How he let's her take the reigns when talking to Cornbread. How he follows through with his promise as painful as it was).
"Smoke is blue. Stack is red." - Ruth E. Carter explaining how Ryan Coogler first posed the characters to her as a jumping off point for costuming.
Whether or not it's a conscious knowledge, I like to think that he dresses in blue as an extension of that trust. That bond between Annie and Smoke and the protection that comes with it bleeds into something as "ordinary" as Smoke's choice of color. One can say that maybe the color reminds him of Annie, and I also think there's some argument to be made about the universe answering Annie's prayers of protection, wrapping Smoke in an extra layer, another ward against evil.
----
Sources:
Blue Roots by Robert Pickney
Red, White and Black Make Blue: Indigo in the Fabric of Colonial South Carolina Life by Andrea Freeser
Haint Blue, the Ghost-Tricking Color of Southern Homes and Gullah Folktales
What the Color ‘Haint Blue’ Means to the Descendants of Enslaved Africans
Interviews of Ruth E. Carter and Hannah Beachler linked in the pull quotes above.
SILLY • OF • ME
modern!au annie x smoke
summary: there’s only so much you can do with hate, and after ages spent despising one another, smoke and annie finally give in. but what does that mean for those around them? and how can they keep their hearts from getting involved?
cw: smut, enemies to lovers, lil degradation, harsh language, use of the nword
a/n: i’ve been wrestling with writer’s block for over a month now, but this idea grabbed ahold of me and wouldn’t let go! i’m hoping to be back fully operational soon!
masterlist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her.
Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now.
Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.
They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her.
When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too.
They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other.
And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages.
“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped.
A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.
“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.
“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.
They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.
The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.
“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”
She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.
“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”
“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.
Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.
Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.
“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.
Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.
“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.
“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”
Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.
The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.
Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.
“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.
“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”
And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.
For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.
That’s why they were back at it again.
Smoke’s bed.
Stack long gone.
Annie with her face down—ass up.
“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.
Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.
“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.
As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.
“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.
“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.
“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”
“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”
“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.
“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.
But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.
He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.
He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.
“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.
When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.
“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”
“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.
“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”
She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.
He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.
When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.
“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.
“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”
Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.
As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.
In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.
He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.
And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?
Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.
Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.
Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.
But there was no going back now.
Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.
The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.
“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”
He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.
“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”
The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.
“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.
Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.
“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.
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word count: ~3,200
a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg
taglist: comment HERE to be added!
@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @nifniffy @nuttyinternetprincess @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld
Annie & smoke enemies to lovers !!!!! Yesssssss I need more this was sooo good !!
i love them in every situation and circumstanceee
HOV. FREEWAY. BEANIE
No shit 👀😂😂
SMOKE & ANNIE HAD A BABY BOY!!! 👀😮💖
Welcome Noah!! 🥹🥹💖💖 i thought for real it would be a girl but Noah is so cute 😭😭💖💖
OMG!
