Epiphany🤍🍒

BIG DADDY NAHIM Masterlist

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Hoodoo Aprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part Eight

The scream tore out of her throat and vanished into the trees.

Remmick moved. 

Not like a man. 

Like something slipping through the dark between moments, his body bending forward, jaw split wide, fangs bared as he lunged for her with a hunger that had waited centuries.

Amelia stumbled back, hands flying up on instinct. 

“Don’t—!”

Her light answered before her mind could. It burst from her palms in a wild, unshaped flare gold and white and flickering blue. Like fire that hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet. It struck him full in the chest. 

Remmick hissed—sharp—his body snapping back as the light burned across his raggedy coat, searing through fabric, biting into skin beneath. Smoke curled from him, thin and bitter.

But…it didn’t stop him. It only made him laugh. A broken, delighted sound clawed up from his chest as he straightened, eyes glowing red now, brighter…hungrier. 

“There it is,” he rasped, “there it is…show me again.” 

Amelia’s breath hitched. Her hands trembled as she tried to summon it again—tried to shape it, control it—but it flickered, unstable. Too bright one second. Gone the next. 

“I don’t—” she gasped, “I don’t know how—”

Remmick stalked closer. 

“You don’t need to know,” he spoke softly, hauntingly, “you just need to bleed.”

Remmick lunged again—

And the forest split. Not with sound. With light. 

A clean, violent beam cut through the dark wilderness, cold and focused, nothing like Amelia’s wild glow. It struck Remmick from the side with surgical precision, blasting him backward into a tree so hard the trunk cracked.

The woods went eerily still. Even Amelia’s breath caught in her chest. 

Remmick hit the ground hard, smoke rising from his skin, body twitching as something ancient and furious stirred beneath the burn. 

Then, a voice followed. Calm. Measured. Unmoved. As if the forest itself was speaking. 

“You hunt too loud, fanger.” 

Amelia turned. 

She hadn’t seen her arrive. One moment the trees were empty. Then the next, she was there. 

Virelle stood just beyond the reach of the scattered light, her figure still and composed like she had stepped out of the night itself. No rush. No panic. 

Her gaze flicked once to Amelia. Sharp. Assessing. Then, back to Remmick.

“Still clingin’ to scraps in foreign soil,” Virelle said, almost bored, “you grow desperate.” 

Remmick rose slowly, head tilting, lips curling back into something feral. 

“…Virelle,” he breathed, recognition slipping into his tone like a blade. “Didn’t think they still sent watchers this far south.” 

“They don’t,” she replied. “I came on my own.” 

Amelia’s pulse roared in her ears. She didn’t understand what was happening, who this woman was, but her fae knew. Something older than fear. Something that said she wasn’t an enemy, but not safe either. 

Remmick wiped at the burn on his chest, his fingers coming away dark. 

“And this one yours?” He asked, nodding toward Amelia. “Little halflin’ glowing in the woods like o’ dinner bell?” 

Virelle didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted to Amelia again, taking in the trembling hands, the unstable light flickering beneath her skin, the grief still clinging to her like damp cloth. 

“You flare too loud, little girl. You sure you Lysara’s offspring?” Virelle said simply. 

The words landed like a bolder to her chest. Harder than any comfort could have. 

Then—

Remmick moved again. Faster. Angrier. 

Virelle remained still. 

Her hand lifted, just slightly, and the light answered her like it had been waiting. 

Controlled. 

It shot forward in a narrow, blinding arc and struck Remmick mid-lunge, snapping his body sideways and driving him across the forest floor in a violent drag of dirt and bark. He roared this time, no laughter in it now. Virelle stepped forward once, that was all. But the ground shifted beneath her feet. The light collapsed in on itself and everything went dark. For a single breath, Ameila couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel the ground. Couldn’t hear the forest. Only the echo of her own pulse. 

Then, they were somewhere else. Cooler. Thicker. Deeper into the woods where the trees grew taller and the moonlight barely touched the ground. No sign of Remmick. No broken bark. No scorched earth. 

Amelia staggered, catching herself against a tree, long hair frizzy and wild, dress dirty, face covered in dry tear streaks and sweat. Eyes blurry. Fingers tingling after the light that burst out in flickers. 

“Wha—” she choked. “What was that—where—”

Virelle stood a few paces away, untouched, unbothered, uninterested. She watched Amelia like a problem she hadn’t decided how to solve yet. 

“That,” Virelle said. “Was what’s been sniffin’ at your heels since you crossed into this place.” 

Ameila shook her head, trembling. “He—he said he was gon—”

“Yes,” Virelle cut in. “He was.” 

Amelia’s light flickered again but weak. Exhausted. Virelle’s gaze dropped to her hands, then back up to her face. 

“You don’t know how to use it.” She said. 

Amelia swallowed hard. “I…I tried—”

“You panicked.” 

“I was about to be killed!” 

“And you nearly handed yourself over.” 

Virelle’s words were cold. Clean. Unforgiving. No room for understanding. Ameila flinched like she’d been struck. Virelle stepped closer, enough now that Amelia could see her clearly. The stillness in her. The absence of fear. And her fae stirred. 

“You don’t understand what you are.” Virelle said. “And because of that…everything around you suffers for it.” 

Amelia’s chest tightened. “Who are you?” 

A pause. Then…

“Someone who’s been watching you burn everything you touch.” 

Amelia’s breath hitched. 

Somewhere far off, deep in the trees they’d left behind, a low, furious howl echoed. 

Remmick. 

He was still alive. Ready to hunt again. Virelle didn’t bother acknowledging the sound of Remmick’s ferocity, but her eyes sharpened. 

“He’ll come again,” she said. 

Amelia’s lungs burned as she tried to steady her breathing. 

It wasn’t working. 

Her chest rose too fast. Her hands trembled. That light inside her that was usually a low hum felt raw now. Scraped open like it had been dragged out of her without warning and didn’t know how to settle back into place. 

“You gon’ stand there staring at me like I ain’t almost just died?” Her voice cracked, sharp with fear and anger. “Or you gon’ tell me what the yell is goin’ on?” 

Virelle stood with her weight balanced evenly, hands relaxed at her sides, eyes fixed on Amelia like she was studying something fragile and inconvenient at the same time. 

It made Amelia’s skin crawl.

“Who are you?” Amelia pressed, stepping forward. “And how you just do that? Where we at? What was that thing—”

“A vampire.” Virelle said. 

Amelia blinked. “A what?” 

“A predator,” Virelle continued, as if Amelia hadn’t spoken. “Older than most things that walk this land. Drawn to power. To blood. To anything that burns bright enough to be worth the trouble.”

Amelia shook her head, frustration rising fast. “That don’t explain you.” 

“No,” Virelle said. “It doesn’t.”

Amelia’s jaw tightened. “Then explain it.” 

Virelle’s gaze shifted slightly, dragging over Amelia’s face, her trembling hands, the faint flicker still dancing beneath her skin.

“You’re unstable.” 

Amelia flinched. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

A sharp breath left her.

“I got chased through the woods by some—some thing tryin’ to eat me and that’s what you got to say?” 

“What I have to say,” Virelle replied, voice even, “is that you are loud, untrained, and careless with a power you don’t understand. That makes you dangerous. Not just to yourself.” 

Amelia stared at her, stunned. 

“You don’t know me,” Amelia said.

“I know enough.” 

“Then say it!” Amelia snapped, emotion breaking through. “Say what you think you know ‘bout me!” 

Virelle took on step closer. 

“You don’t know what you are, she said. “But you feel it. Every time your emotions spike. Every time someone gets too close. Every time you want something badly enough to bend the world around you.” 

Amelia’s throat tightened. “That ain’t—”

“You killed a man.” 

Ameila staggered back like she’d been struck.

“I didn’t mean to kill Nathaniel. It was an accident—”

“You still did it.” 

Virelle’s voice didn’t rise or accuse. It just…stated. 

Amelia’s eyes burned. “I lost control. I told you that. I didn’t know what was happenin’ to me.” 

Virelle’s expression didn’t change. 

“You led him into the water. You let your emotions climb. And your light answered. You wanted to kill him and your fae gave you the push you needed to do it.”

Amelia shook her head, tears spilling now. 

“I…It just…it happened.” 

“Keep selling that lie to yourself Amelia to make you feel better.” The quiet in Virelle’s tone was suffocating. “You don’t direct it. You don’t contain it. You react. And everything around you pays the price for that.” 

Amelia’s chest heaved. “You talkin’ like I chose this.”

“No,” Virelle said. “I’m talking like you refused to learn it.” 

Amelia’s hands curled into fists. “Learn from who?” She demanded. “My grandmother died before she could tell me everything. My mama ain’t never been there. I been tryin’ to figure this out on my own—”

“And in the process,” Virelle cut in, “you attached yourself to the first place that felt like safety.” 

Amelia went still. 

“You embedded yourself in a house already rooted in ancestral work,” Virelle continued. “A woman who practices. A man bound to her. Another drawn to power and pleasure. You placed yourself at the center of something already alive.” 

Amelia shook her head slowly. “Stop. Annie was the one person I could feel safe with. I didn’t do that on purpose. I didn’t charm them on purpose.” 

“No,” Virelle said. “But you did it anyway.” Her eyes flicked briefly, toward Amelia’s chest. “You made sweetening work.” 

Amelia’s breath caught. 

“I…” she hesitated. “It wasn’t for them. I made it for myself. To soften things. To keep peace—”

“And instead,” Virelle said, “you amplified what you already are.” 

The realization crept in slow and sick. 

“You think that jar worked on its own?” Virelle went on. “You think it didn’t respond to you? Your blood? Your nature?” 

Amelia’s voice dropped. “I didn’t mean to trap nobody.” 

“You didn’t have to mean it.” Virelle’s gaze sharpened like daggers. “You’re a conduit. Not just for desire. For attachment. Obsession. Longing. That jar didn’t create those feelings…it fed them. And you stood at the center of it while it did.” 

Images flickered behind Amelia’s eyes. 

Annie’s hands on her hips and her lips and tongue on her pussy. 

Smoke’s stare and obsession with her smell, his nose pressed into her bloomers. 

Stack’s voice telling her he loved her the look in his eyes when he mounted her and fucked her in the backseat of his car. 

Her stomach turned. 

“I didn’t force them,” she whispered. 

“No. But you made it easier for them not to resist.”

Amelia’s shoulders caved in, her hands covering her face as she cried openly now. The kind of crying that came from being stripped down to truth you didn’t want to face. 

“I—I just–just wanted somewhere to–to belong,” Amelia choked. “That’s all I wanted.” 

Virelle watched her. Unmoved. 

“That doesn’t make you harmless.” 

Amelia dropped her hands, eyes blazing through tears. “Then what do you want from me?!” 

Virelle paused, then…

“I’m here because you’ve become a problem.” 

“A problem,” Amelia repeated, hollow. 

“Yes.” 

“For who?” 

“For everything around you.” 

Amelia laughed once. Bitter. Broken. “So what, you here to kill me then?” 

Virelle’s gaze lingered. She didn’t answer right away. 

“If that were the case,” she said finally, “you wouldn’t still be standing.” 

Amelia wiped at her face, breathing uneven. “Then why reveal yourself now?” 

Virelle looked past her for a moment. Into the trees. Listening to something Amelia couldn’t hear. 

“Because something else has.” Virelle said. 

Amelia followed her gaze instinctively. 

“Remmick,” Virelle added. “He felt you.” 

A chill crept through Amelia’s spine. 

“And he won’t stop. Virelle said. “Not now that he knows what you are.” 

Amelia swallowed hard. “Then teach me.” 

It came out raw. Desperate. 

“Teach me how to control it. How to stop this from happenin’ again. I can’t keep—” her voice broke, “—I can’t keep hurtin’ people.” 

For the first time, Virelle’s expression changed. She didn’t appear as hard, although that was still simmering. She was more focused. 

“You don’t get control because you ask for it,” Virelle said. “You get it when you stop pretending you’re not capable of destruction.” 

Amelia’s chest tightened. “I know what I did.” She said quietly. 

“Knowing isn’t enough.” 

The silence between them was thick and waiting. Amelia lifted her chin, even with tears still on her face. 

“Then don’t stand there talkin’ down to me like I’m some mistake,” she said. “Either help me…or leave me alone.” 

Virelle studied her. Long enough that the forest seemed to hold still around them. 

Then, a distant sound cut through. Another growl.

Remmick. 

Closer than before. 

Virelle’s eyes sharpened. “He found the trail.” 

There was no more time to argue. 

He had her scent now. 

Amelia felt it before she heard it again. Her chest tightened, her breath turning shallow as that same wrongness crept back over her skin. Her light flickered in response, weak but restless, like it was trying to rise and didn’t have the strength. 

“He’s comin’,” Amelia whispered. 

“I know,” Virelle said. 

No panic. No urgency in her tone. 

Amelia turned in place, scanning the dark between the trees like she might see him any second. “We gotta go!!” 

“We are going,” Virelle replied, stepping forward. “But I’m not dragging you blind through these woods again. You’ll leave a trail he can follow in his sleep.” 

Another crack split the distance. 

Closer. 

Amelia panicked. “Then what do we do?!” 

Virelle turned and looked fully at her now. 

“Where can you go,” she asked, “where your scent is already known…where your presence won’t raise suspicion…where you can hide without feelin’ like you’re hidin’?” 

Amelia’s mind scrambled. Images flickered too fast to hold—Annie’s—no…no. She’s not welcome there—Club Juke—how would she get inside?

Then…

Pearline. 

A small house. Quiet. Tucked away. A place that didn’t ask too many questions. 

“She got a place,” Amelia said quickly, voice shaking. “Pearline. She lives on the edge of town, near the low fields. Keeps to herself. Ain’t nobody gon’ be lookin’ for me there.” 

Virelle held her gaze for a moment. Measuring. 

“Think carefully,” she said. “You lead me somewhere unsafe, I will not stay to clean it up.”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Amelia snapped, fear sharpening her tone. “She’s safe. She don’t know nothin’ about this. She just…she minds her business.”

Another sound tore through the trees, accompanied by a wet inhale. A hiss.

Remmick was enjoying this. 

Virelle reached for Amelia. Her hand closed around Amelia’s wrist firm and grounding. 

“Picture it.” She said. 

Amelia’s breath stuttered. “What?” 

“The house. The road. The land around it. Don’t think—see it.” 

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image to the front of her mind. The shape of Pearline’s porch. The lean of the roof. The narrow dirt path leading up to it. The way the land dipped slightly before the yard opened up. 

“I got it.” Amelia said. 

“Good.” 

The air seemed to tighten. It felt like her body was being pulled away. Amelia barley had time to grasp before everything changed. 

The ground vanished. The trees folded inward. Sound dropped out of the world. For a split second, there was nothing but a hollow silence and the echo of her own pulse. 

And then, they were standing somewhere else. Amelia staggered forward, catching herself on the rough edge of a wooden post. Her breath came back in a rush. The smell of dry grass and old wood burned her nose. 

Pearline’s place.

It sat peaceful beneath the night sky, tucked back from the road like it had learned not to draw attention to itself. The house was small, one story, its paint long since worn down to soft gray wood. The porch sagged slightly at one corner, but the steps were swept clean. A rocking chair rested near the door, its wood polished from years of use. A lantern hung from a hood casting a warm circle of light across the boards. Beyond the house, the land stretched out flat and open, low fields kissed by the last of the evening air. The grass whispered softly with each passing breeze. 

Amelia’s chest rose and fell as she took it in, still trying to catch up to where she was. 

“We here,” she said, almost In disbelief. 

Virelle released Amelia’s wrist. Her gaze swept the property once with sharp and efficient eyes. The house. The land. The edge of the dark. 

Evaluating. 

“This will do.” She said.

Virelle’s attention shifted back toward the trees, listening. Amelia followed her gaze, her stomach tightening again. 

“You think he—”

“He will come.” Virelle said. “Just not yet.” 

Amelia swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around herself. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her cold. Shaken. 

“What do we do?” Amelia asked. 

Virelle finally looked at her again. For the first time since she appeared, there was something else in her expression. 

Focus.

“We make sure,” she said, “that when he does…you’re not the same thing he chased into those woods.” 

Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of Pearline’s bedroom that was heavy with the scent of sweat and the river’s distant humidity. Sammie Moore had been there since dawn, slipped in after Stack dropped him off. Her husband was still gone, a letter came in saying his trip would be extended for at least another week. A full day tangled in sheets and each other, the world outside forgotten. Sammie couldn’t get enough of Pearline, especially not of her pussy—insatiable, drawn to it like a moth to flame. Loving the raw, musky taste that built through the hours, her scent deepening in the same drawers she’d worn since that morning. 

Pearline lay back on the bed, her deep brown skin sheened with sweat, legs parted wide as she watched Sammie with those expressive eyes, a mix of command and surrender in her gaze. She was still in her lilac-colored robe, hiked up around her waist, the cotton drawers tugged aside just enough. She was in no rush to change; she let the day’s wear cling to her, knowing it drove him wild. 

“Come here, boy,” Pearline said with a sultry tone, voice floating like she was singing to him. 

She patted the mattress between her thighs. Her fingers trailed down her belly, parting the damp fabric, revealing dark curls matted with her arousal, her pussy lips swollen and slick from his earlier attentions. 

Sammie crawled forward on his knees, his lean body buzzing with lust, eyes locked on her like she was salvation and sin wrapped in one. At twenty, he was all eagerness and learning, the Preacher’s son unraveling thread by thread. Guilt flickered in his chest—what would Pop say?—but it drowned under the pull of her, the way she opened for him, trusted him with this scared mess from her honey pot. Sammie settled between her knees, hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in, the bridge of his nose brushing the damp crotch of her drawers first, inhaling deep. That taste…that smell—earthy, tangy, built up from her sitting through the Delta heat—it hit him hard, his dick twitching in his trousers, hard like locomotive steel. 

Sammie hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling the drawers down her legs slow, letting them bunch at her ankles before tossing them aside. Pearline’s pussy was right there, exposed, glistening folds parted slightly, clit peeking out swollen and begging. Sammie dove in without a word, mouth latching into her, tongue flat and broad as he licked from her creamy entrance up to her clit in one long, hungry stroke. She tasted like everything he craved—salty-sweet, her juices coating his tongue, the day’s essence making it richer, more forbidden. He imagined what she must taste like after working the fields. Or after a performance at Messenger’s. 

Pearline’s hand found his hair, nails tugging on coarse hair, guiding him, “Right there,” she instructed, voice husky, hips lifting to press her pussy against his face. “Stay on that spot…my clit, baby. Don’t wander.” 

Sammie obeyed, lips sealing around the nub, sucking gently like she was a pair of lips he was kissing tender. His tongue circled, then he flicked the tip against her clit before flattening to lap in lazy swipes. Pearline moaned softly, thighs trembling around his ears, the sound validating him, making his chest swell with pride even as attachment knotted deeper. 

“Go slow with the tongue,” Pearline breathed, her free hand cupping her breast, pinching the nipple through the fabric of her ribe as she watched him work. “Like you savorin’ it. Yeah…just like that.” 

Sammie was a good learner, always had been—earnest, attentive, hanging on her every word like his father’s sermons. He eased his pace, tongue dragging languid across her clit, then dipping lower to thrust inside her pussy, fucking her with it shallow before returning to suckle the sensitive peak. Her arousal flooded his mouth, dripping down his chin, and he groaned against her, the vibration making her buck. 

Pearline was wetter now, pussy clenching around nothing as he ate her out, his hands kneading her ass, pulling her closer.

“Suck on it soft,” she directed, voice edging toward a gasp, “like kissing lips…gentle, but firm. Don’t stop.” 

Sammie followed, mouth working with precision, alternating sucks and slow licks, his nose buried in her coils, breathing her in. The secrecy of it all added urgency, her husband’s shadow making every lap feel stolen; temporary. For her, this was breathing, being touched with intention, wanted as a woman alive. For him, it was manhood, unfolding, losing pieces of innocence to her taste, her instructions, willingly stepping into the danger. 

Pearline’s breaths came quicker, her hips rolling against his face. 

“Deeper now…put that tongue back inside, then back up.” 

Sammie complied, plunging his tongue into her hole, tasting the depths, lapping at her walls before sliding up to circle her clit again. Pearline was close, body tensing, and he doubled down, sucking harder on the command in her eyes, fingers slipping to part her folds wider for better access. Her climax hit sudden—pussy pulsing, juices gushing as she cried out. Her thighs clamped his head, riding his mouth through the waves. 

Sammie didn’t pull away, he licked her clean and savored the aftershocks. When she finally relaxed, hand stroking his cheek, she looked down at him with those beautiful eyes full of release and something deeper. 

“Good boy,” she whispered, pulling him up for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. 

Sammie eased up from between Pearline’s thighs, his lips shiny with her  juices, chin slick. He knelt there, lean frame taunt with arousal so intense he felt like he would explode just from the taste of her on his tongue. He stared down at her, his eyes wide and earnest, Preacher Boy turned devourer. Pearline lay sprawled on the rumpled bed, her lilac satin robe fallen open like a spilled petal, the smooth fabric clinging to her curves where sweat beaded on her deep brown skin. She’s dabbed on jasmine oil that morning, the sweet, heady floral scent blooming warm from her neck and wrists now mingling with the musk of her arousal. 

Her wild curls fanned out on the pillow, dark and untamed, framing her face like a halo of midnight. Her eyes are glossy from her climax that still rippled through her, half-lidded and sated. She gazed up at Sammie with a lazy smile, chest rising steady, one hand idly tracing the edge of her robe where it gaped over her breast. 

Sammie wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. That taste lingered on his tongue, tangy and addictive, pulling him back like a river current. He needed more of her pussy, more of that forbidden feast that Stack had talked vulgar about during drives to Club Juke, lessons passed like contraband. 

“Stack…he told me ‘bout findin’ that button down there.” Sammie said, voice rough, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but not quite breaking the stare. “Said to savor it like an ice cream cone. Slow licks, make it last. And keep givin’ the woman what she deserves. A good lickin’, and a happy endin.’” 

Pearline let out a soft giggle, the sound bubbling up warm and surprised, her full lips curving as she propped on her elbows. 

“Oh, that cousin of yours…Stack got a way wit’ words. Teachin’ you right, ain’t he?” 

Her voice carried that southern lilt, smooth as molasses, eyes sparkling with amusement and the afterglow of a woman wielding pussy power. Validation that made her feel seen, wanted beyond the drudgery of her days. 

Before she could say more, Sammie moved quick, surprising her with that surge. His hands gripped her knees, pinning them up to her chest, folding her open wide. Pearline’s, hairy pussy was exposed in full, lips pulled apart, clit peeking like a ripe berry, hole leaking. She gasped, a mix of shock and delight, her body surrendering under his touch. 

“Sammie—”

He was diving back in, face burying between her thighs, but not with frantic laps, no, he started with just kisses—lips pressing tender to her wet curls that shielded her outer lips, then inner, like he was greeting a lover’s mouth. Peck after peck. Pearline moaned, almost as if she was serenading him. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangled in his thick hair. 

“Ooh, Sammie…mmm, baby…”

Each kiss sent sparks up her spine, her hips twitching despite the pinned position. Sammie kissed directly over her entrance next, lips sealing, tasting the fresh trickle of her arousal without a tongue in sight, just the pressure of his lips.

“Your cousin taught you well,” Pearline breathed, voice hitching as his lips brushed her clit in a feather-light kiss, making her arch. “You may be a young man, fresh as spring rain, but lawd, you sure know how to use them lips. Pleasin’ a woman like me…don’t stop, baby. Keep kissin’ it just like that.”

Pearline’s moans grew deeper, drawn-out sighs and low hums with vocal slides like she was making love with her mouth to a microphone. She called his name in that husky drawl—“Sammie, oh Sammie”—legs trembling against his hold. 

He kept at it, kissing every inch, devoted, drawing out her whimpers until her body quivered again, on the brink. His lips mapped her pussy with a steady overflow of kisses that grew firmer, more insistent, each one pressing deeper. Her outer lips, that rich, deep mahogany hue blending into the warm brown of her thighs, began to swell under the attention, plumping pull and heavy. Her inner lips peeked out more like wings, flushed a deeper coral, slick and parting just enough to reveal the tender pinkish core beneath, all of it framed by the coarse, dark curls at the top that were matted now with her growing wetness. With those kisses alone, Pearline started leaking—clear strands of her arousal seeping from her entrance, coating his lips and chin. 

Her clit throbbed into view, swelling to a firm pearl, hooded and begging without words as it pulsed under his gentle presses. Pearline’s breath came quicker, her wide eyes fluttering, that sated glow from before reigniting into something fiercer. 

“Mmm, that’s it, baby…keep kissin’ me there,” she whispered, guiding him like a patient teacher in a one-room schoolhouse. “Right on them lips…feel how I’m openin’ for you? Lawd, your mouth’s got me all stirred up.” 

Sammie patted his lips wider, drawing her inner lips and clit into his mouth, slick petals yielding to the pull, making her hips jerk once. Pearline gasped sharp, a whimper threading through it, her hand sliding from his curls to hook firm on the back of his neck, nails digging just enough to urge him on.

“Suck it like that, Sammie—oh, honey, yes. Get that clit, pull ‘em in your mouth. Ain’t nobody ever…mmmph.” Her words broke into a moan, low and rolling like thunder over the fields. 

His energy poured out relentless, that Preacher Boy devotion twisted into something raw and worshipful—eyes closed tight, shoulders hunched as he worked her pussy with single-minded fire, like he was atoning for every forbidden thought in one endless act. No hesitation, just pure, astounding need to draw every sound from her, to make her body sing under his touch. Pearline’s instructions kept coming, husky and fragmented between gasps. 

“Suck that wet part, make it pop. Yeah, kiss like…oh, lawd, you doin’ it right.” 

Pearline’s levitated her hips then, lifting clean off the bed, her knees still pinned but her core thrusted up, shoving her pussy hard into his face—feeding him every swollen, creamy, gushy inch, grinding against his sucking mouth with a sensual Dan e born of pure want. 

Sammie met her halfway, his large hands sliding under to cup her ass, firm cheeks filling his palms, the skin there smooth and sweat-slick. He squeezed, pulled her closer, pushing more pussy onto his lips, burying his face deeper until his nose brushed her curls. Sammie zeroed in, tongue joining the suck, lapping flat and broad over her clit before sealing his lips around it, sucking steady while his tongue swirled the tip. Then down to her inner lips, his tongue flicking between the petals, flattening at her entrance, lips puckering to suck whatever creamy goodness resided on her slick walls. The wet sound of his mouth was ridiculous, mingling with the distant call of a mockingbird outside. 

Pearline twitched hard, her body a live wire, thighs quivering against his hold, belly tightening as waves built fierce. Moans spilled free, turning to whimpers that pitched higher, gasps ripping from her throat with every suck on her clit. 

“Sammie…oh, baby, it feels so good—don’t you stop, keep suckin’ that…mmm, right there.” 

Her hips bucked wilder, shoving pussy into him, the pressure of his hands on her ass only fueling the grind, jasmine-scented sweat beading fresh on her skin, robe twisted forgotten beneath her. The build was too much, too fast—her words tangled, unable to form the warning, just choked.

“I-OH!!!” 

It crashed over her. Her climax hit like a Delta Storm, pussy cat clenching and flooding his mouth with a fresh gush, clit pulsing under his relentless sucks and licks. Pearline arched rigid, a long, keening moan tearing out—“PREACHER BOY!!”—body shaking as spasms rippled through her core, whole pussy contracting against his tongue. Sammie didn’t pull back right away, eating her through it all, sucking softer, licking that clit I’m slow circles to draw out every aftershock, swallowing her release with that same devoted hunger, hands kneading her ass to hold her in place. Pearline collapsed back, spent and trembling. 

Sammie eased off her then, his lips trailing wet kisses down the inside of her thighs, those smooth, deep brown curves quivering from the aftershocks. He peppered them gentle, savoring the salty tang of her skin mixed with the perfume oil that clung to her like summer vine, working his way lower until her legs relaxed fully, splaying open on the rumpled sheets. Pearline floated in that orgasmic haze, chest rising and falling in lazy waves, her wild curls fanned out like a dark halo, eyes half-lidded with a bliss that softened her whole frame. She was glowing and loose. 

Sammie rolled over onto his back, laying flat beside her, a content smile curving on his moist lips—wide and boyish, cheekbones prominent, the sheen of her pussy juice and cum smeared across his chin and mouth, glistening like dew on his skin. Pearline turned her head, gaze drifting down, and there it was: his dick straining hard against the front of his trousers, the fabric tented thick. A dark spot bloomed where pre-cum had leaked through. Pearline hadn’t touched it yet, hadn’t even glanced during their frenzy, but now it throbbed obvious, begging for attention. 

Pearline pushed up on one elbow, her satin robe slipping further off her shoulder, and reached over, placing her palm flat against that rigid length. She stroked slow at first, graceful fingers tracing the outline through the rough wool, feeling the heat pulse under her touch, the way it jumped eager against her hand. Sammie looked up at her, those expressive eyes wide with a mix of awe and hesitation

His voice came out rough and tender. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, Pearline. I can keep eatin’ your pussy all night if that’s what you need. I’d be satisfied with that—more than.” 

Pearline laughed soft, a warm throaty sound that rolled like river mist, her hand keeping that steady stroke on his bulge, squeezing just enough to make him hiss. 

“Well, what if u wanna know what Preacher Boy Sammie got tucked away in his pants? Been wonderin’ since you walked in here with that smile.”

Sammie swallowed hard, glancing down at her fingers working him, then back up to her face. “You sure? I mean…” 

“I’m sure, baby,” Pearline purred, leaning closer, her seductive eyes locking on his with that confidence she carried like she was captivating an audience. “I want to. And you deserve it for bein’ such a good guest…eatin’ my pussy like no man ever has, drawin’ it outta me ‘til I couldn’t see straight.” 

Sammie tilted his head, curiosity flickering through the haze. “Your husband never ate you up like that?”

Pearline scoffed, a sharp little sound, her strokes turning firmer, thumb circling the tip through the cloth where it wept for her. “No, honey. I married a man that can’t keep it up half the time and sure as hell can’t please a woman like myself. Leaves me high and dry, every night the same old nothin’.” She massaged his hardened dick then, palm pressing full along the length, feeling it throb thick and hot. She worked from base to head in unhurried pulls. “I wanna show you why they used to call me Pretty Mouth Pearline,” she added, voice dropping low and teasing, that southern lilt wrapped around the words like a bawdy blues tune. 

Sammie’s breath caught, but he nodded, stunned silent as she sat up fully, her free hand moving to his belt buckle. She worked it open, with practiced ease, the metal clinking, then she tugged it free, looping it aside. Her fingers dipped to the button next, popping it with a flick, zipper rasping down, each tooth parting. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and underwear both, peeling them down his lean hips, the fabric catching brief on his stiff dick, skin a warm brown flushed darker at the head, semi-thick shaft curved downward, the tip slick with pre-cum beading clear and ready. So much pre cum. 

Pearline let her eyes roam it appreciative, her hand wrapping around the base, fingertips meeting, stroking once from root to crown, drawing a low groan from him. Then, she leaned in, cupping his jaw with her other hand, and kissed him deep, lips pressing firm against his, tongue slipping past to taste herself on him, and that tangy mess of her release smeared between them. Sammie froze for a beat, stunned that she’d kiss him like this with his pecker in her hand, messy and unashamed, her flavor sharp on his tongue as she licked into his mouth. 

Sammie lay there rigid, his gaze locked on Pearline’s hand wrapped around his pecker, those slender fingers gliding with a twist of her wrist like she was churning butter. Speechless didn’t cover it, he cousins form a single word, throat tight as a drum. Jedadiah had run a tight ship back home, no room for anything but scripture and chores, and he’d never even lingered too long with the choir girls after service. Now here he was, stretched out on her bed with her fist working him steady, the heat of her palm sending parks straight up his spine. Sammie flicked his eyes from her face—those knowing eyes watching him close—to the sight of his dick, twitching in her grip, leaking so much pre-cum it stunned him. 

Pearline’s thumb brushed over the slick tip each time she reached the crown. She leaned in without a word, her tongue flicking out to lap away the bead of pre-cum gathered there, tasting him clean in one slow drag. Sammie’s whole body jerked, a choked sound catching in his chest as he fought hard not to spill right then, muscles locking tight while pleasure roared up from his balls. The kiss from before still lingered on his lips, but this new touch had him shaking, every nerve lit up under her strokes. 

Pearline eased her grip just enough to catch his eye. “Can I suck you, Sammie?” 

His chest heaved, the answer bursting out desperate and shaky. “Yes…but I–I don’t wanna cum fast.” 

Pearline gave a small nod, calm as ever. “It’s alright if you do. Just relax.” 

She settled down between his legs while he watched, eyes wide with nerves. Her palms slid under his balls, cupping them firm to hold his dick straight as the floorboards under the bed. Then, her lips found him, pressing slow kisses all along the length, warm and unhurried. Sammie’s mouth fell open, fresh beat of slick welling up at the tip and trailing down as he leaked steady under her touch. 

Pearline didn’t waste another second. She opened her mouth wide and swept her tongue upward, licking him from the base to the crown in one long, slow stroke, just like she was tasting a sweet popsicle on a July afternoon. The warmth of her mouth was a shock to his system, and as she repeated the motion, the tip of his dick leaked a heavy bead of pre-cum that she licked clean with a hungry flick. 

She could feel him trembling, his balls tightening and pulling up close to his body as the pleasure spiked. Pearline paused for a heartbeat, looking up at him with those dark, knowing eyes, her voice a sultry drawl. 

“You like that, Sammie? Feel good, baby?” She let out a soft, teasing hum, her tongue swirling around the head of his pecker. “Preacher Boy love this tongue on his dick? Love how I’m tastin’ you?” 

Sammie’s head hit the mattress, his fingers digging into the sheets. He felt like he was floating and drowning all at once. 

“God…you ain’t real…” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Holy shit, Pearline…”

Pearline stopped for a moment, a playful, wicked smile touching her lips. She reached down, her fingers gently massaging his tight balls, rolling them between her palms while her tongue gave the underside of his shaft a sharp, wet lick. 

“Ain’t no God in here, baby.” She whispered, her breath hot against his skin. “Just you and me. Just this right here.” 

Before he could even process the words, Pearline lunged forward. She opened her throat and took him in, sliding her mouth over him in one fluid motion. She didn’t stop at the head; she pushed deeper and deeper, swallowing him whole until the base of his dick was pressed hard against her lips. 

Sammie let out a choked sound, his entire body stiffening. He was stuck, buried deep in the wet, right heat of her throat. The suction was intense, a vacuum that seemed to pull the very soul out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, just lay there pinned by her mouth, feeling the squeeze of her throat muscles gripping his pecker like a vice. He was completely at her mercy, wet, muffled sounds of her taking every inch of him filling the room. 

Pearline glides her lips off of him with agonizing slowness, the wet suction making a soft popping sound as she finally released him. She kept her eyes locked on his the entire time—dark, hooded, and brimming with a playful sort of power. 

Sammie was a complete wreck. He lay there panting, his chest having, his pecker throbbing and glistening with her spit. He felt stunned, his mind racing to comprehend how she had managed to take every single inch of him down her throat in one fluid motion without even gagging. You see, them Moore men are well endowed. Packing more meat than a butcher. Sammie always struggled with where to put it all, Stack cracking jokes about it. 

“See, that’s why all the Moore men walk slow. Safety reasons.” 

Sammie frowned. “That true?” 

Stack grinned. “That’s what I tell the tailor every time he send me a bill.” 

“How…how you do that?” Sammie rasped, his voice sounding thin and strained. He looked at her, genuine bewilderment in his eyes. “Pearline…I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that. You…you use one of Annie’s spells?” 

Pearline quirked a brow, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. She let out a low melodic giggle that vibrated in the room. “Annie’s spells?” She asked, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. “You think Annie got spells that help a woman suck some wood?” 

Sammie’s mind flashed back to a few days prior. He remembered skipping rocks in the pond near Annie’s shack and overhead Stack talking in a low, gravelly tone to Amelia. He recalled Stack mentioning that Annie sold a special mix—some kind of root powder—that helped women provide their men with a “throat service” that would make a man forget his own name. 

“I heard Stack,” Sammie admitted, his voice earnest. “He was talkin’ to Amelia over at the shack. He said Annie sells a mix…somethin’ to make the throat open up, to make it feel different.” 

Pearline’s expression softened into something wicked. She reached up, her fingers grazing the head of his pecker, swirling the pre-cum around the tip. She looked up at him, her eyes flashing with a pride that was entirely carnal. 

“No, baby,” she whispered, “I don’t need no conjure to suck some dick. This here is all natural. Just a woman who knows exactly how to handle a man.” 

Before Sammie could utter another word, Pearline lunged. She didn’t tease him this time; she opened her mouth wide and drove forward, swallowing him whole once again. The sensation was instantaneous and overwhelming. He felt his shaft slide past her lips, past her tongue, and deep into the tight, wet heat of her throat. 

She took him all the way back, burying him deep until her face was pressed against his pubic bone. Sammie let out a muffled cry, his hips jerking upward instinctively. He was trapped again, pinned by the incredible suction of her throat, feeling the pulsing squeeze of her muscles propping him tight. Sammie lay there paralyzed by pleasure, realizing that no spell in the Delta could compare to the raw, natural hunger of Pearline’s mouth.

Pearline didn’t give him a second to recover. She locked her eyes onto his once more, a predatory glint in her gaze, and then she dove back down. This time, she kept her hands pressed flat against the mattress on either side of his hips, refusing to use them to guide him. She wanted him to feel the raw, unassisted power of her mouth. 

She clamped her lips tight around the head of his pecker and began to suck with a fierce pull. From the very top to base, Pearline was literally eating him, her cheeks hollowing out as she created a vacuum that felt like it was trying to pull the soul right out of his body. There was no hesitation, no tentative teasing, just passionate, hungry consumption. 

Sammie was completely shook. He lay there, his lean frame twitching against the sheets, his toes curling as the sheer force of her suction scent electric shocks straight to his spine. He wasn’t just moaning; he was letting out low, guttural groans that sounded more like prayers than pleas. 

He looked down at her, his expression one of total defeat. He stared at the top of her head, the wild curls of her hair bouncing with every deep, wet slide of her throat, and he felt a sense of awe that bordered on terror. To him, Pearline didn’t seem like a woman from the Delta anymore; she looked like some otherworldly creature, a siren who had lured him into a trap he had no desire to escape. 

He watched, mesmerized and breathless, as his dick disappeared completely into her mouth over and over again. The sight of his own shaft vanishing into the dark, wet tightness of her throat, combined with the wet, slapping of her lips hitting his pubic bone, broke whatever was left of his resolve. 

Pearline could feel him shaking, could hear the way his breath hitched in ragged gasps, and it only fueled her passion. She increased the pace, her tongue swirling around the rim of his head before she plunged back down, swallowing him whole with a greedy, desperate hunger. She was claiming him, marking him with every wet side, proving to the Preacher Boy that no sermon or scripture could ever compete with the visceral pleasure of her mouth. 

Sammie’s body couldn’t take the passivity anymore. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of her throat clamping down on him triggered something primal, something that drowned out the voice of his father and the echoes of the pulpit. He stopped shaking and started moving. He gripped the sheets tight with one hand and reached down with the other to steady himself as he began to thrust. He started slow, pushing his pecker deep into her wet mouth, grinding his hips against her face. He wasn’t just receiving pleasure now, he was taking it, driving himself into her mouth, causing the mattress to creak beneath them. 

Pearline’s eyes widened, looking up at him from under those wild curls. She hadn’t expected the Preacher Boy to find his rhythm so quickly, but she didn’t fight him, her tongue swirling around the head of his dick as he slid on and out. She let him set the pace, her cheeks sunkened as she sucked him past her uvula with every thrust, her eyes locked on his watching the transformation on his face. No.

Then, the sound came. A sound Pearline had never heard from the quiet, earnest boy who played his guitar in the shade. 

“Yeah…just like that,” Sammie groaned, his voice dropping an octave, turning raw and gravelly. “Suck it, Pearline. Eat it all…you like that, don’t you? You like havin’ the Preacher’s boy deep in your throat?”

Pearline froze for a split second, a jolt of pure electricity shooting through her. The contrast was intoxicating—A boy who looked like an angel talking like a blues singer. Hearing him claim her, hearing that filth spill from his lips in that thick Delta drawl, sent a surge of heat straight to her pussy. It fueled a hunger in her that was almost violent. 

Pearline didn’t just let him thrust, she started meeting him. She used her tongue to tease the underside of his pecker, sucking the head with a ferocious, intensity every time he bottomed out in her throat. She wanted him to feel exactly how much his words were affecting her. She wanted to drain him dry. 

“That’s it, baby,” Pearline thought, though she couldn’t speak with his dick filling her mouth. She started to moan around him, the vibrations from her hums Sammie could feel deep in his balls. She increased the suction, her lips tight and wet, swirling and pulling, determined to brings him back to the edge. 

Sammie was losing it. The combination of her expert mouth and the thrill of his own dirty talk had him seeing stars. He thrust harder, his hips snapping forward, breath coming out ragged. 

“I’m gon’…I’m gon’ fill you up, Pearline,” Sammie hissed, his voice shaking with the effort of not clomaxing instantly. “I’m gon’ cum right down your throat—you take all of me. Every drop.” 

The challenge in his voice was the final trigger. Pearline dove in with everything she had, her throat working like a pump, her tongue flicking frantically against his frenulum. She was eating him with a desperate, greedy passion, her eyes hungry and dazed, demanding that he give her everything he had. She wanted it right there in the back of her throat. 

Sammie’s body snapped like a dry branch in a storm. He felt the surge start deep in his gut, a violent, electric blaze that rushed downward, bypassing every thought of sin or salvation. He let out a strangled, guttural cry, his back arching off the mattress as the first wave of climax hit him with a force that nearly blinded him. 

Sammie didn’t just cum; he erupted. 

It was the hardest he had ever experienced—a visceral, pulsing explosion that made his hand-jobs feel like a distant, pale memory. The tightness and skill of Pearline’s mouth, the way she clamped down on him and refused to let go, turned the pleasure into something almost agonizingly sharp. He felt his pecker throb violently inside her, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum deep into the back of her throat. 

“Oh God…Pearline! Pearline!” He gasped, his voice breaking, his fingers digging into the sheets until the fabric groaned. 

Pearline didn’t flinch or pull back to let him breathe or give him a moment of reprieve. She sounded down, gripping the base of his length with her hand, squeezing tight while her mouth became a seal, sucking with a hungry slurp of her lips to draw every single drop out of him. She swallowed hard, her throat working in powerful gulps, taking his hot seed as it flooded her mouth. 

His entire frame trembled with the aftershocks. Sammie felt drained, hollowed out, and completely conquered. Every pulse of his pecker sent another spurt of cum into her, and Pearline met each one with a determined suction. Her eyes locked on his, watching him unravel. She wanted him to feel the full weight of his surrender; she wanted him to know that in this room, under her touch, the Preacher’s boy was nothing more than a man driven by raw, animal need. 

As the final tremors subsided, Sammie collapsed back into the pillows, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged sons of relief. He was floating, his mind a blank slate of white noise and pleasure. 

Pearline finally pulled away with a slow, wet pop. A thin string of saliva and cum connected her lip to the head of his glistening pecker. She didn’t wipe her mouth, instead she licked her lips, tasting the salt and heat of him, a triumphant, knowing smile playing on her face. 

Pearline looked down at him—spent, utterly defeated—and let out a soft, humming laugh that vibrated in the humid air of the room. 

“Now, tell me, Preacher Boy,” she licked her lips, her voice a sultry, velvet caress. “Does your daddy’s book got a chapter on a feeling like that?” 

Sammie’s hands shot up and caught Pearline by the waist before she could finish that teasing question. With a sudden yank, he dragged her down onto the mattress, rolling so he was straddling her hips, his spent pecker twitching back to life against the soft satin of her robe. 

“No,” he panted, voice still hoarse from the way she’d just wrung him dry, “the book don’t got a chapter for that feelin’.” He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear. “But if it did, I reckon it’d call it damnation…and I’d read it every night.” 

Pearline let out a bright, surprised laugh that shook her whole body beneath him. 

He kissed her hard, open-mouthed, tasting himself on her tongue as his hips rolled forward. His pecker, slick and semi-hard again, dragged along the warm seam of her pussy through thin fabric, grinding slow and heavy. Pearline moaned into his mouth, her thighs parting wider on instinct, and he pressed down firmer, letting her feel every inch of him sliding against her swollen lips. Sammie’s hands roamed under her robe, thumbs brushing her nipples, nudging his pecker insistently at her pussy lips. 

Then came a knock. 

Three firm raps against the front door. 

They both froze. Sammie’s mouth hovered over hers, breath ragged. His mind raced starved straight to Stack—maybe his cousin had come early to drag him back to Jedadiah or help him finalize things at Club Juke or whatever trouble the twins cooked up. Pearline’sceyes flocked toward the bedroom door, wide and suddenly alert. Pearline sat up quick, sliding out from under him. She tugged her robe tight around her body, knotting the belt with shaky fingers. A flicker of panic crossed her face, the last thing she needed was some nosy fucking neighbor checking in while her husband was gone. 

“Stay put,” she whispered, voice firm, “I ain’t finished with you yet, Preacher Boy.” 

She gave him one last heated look, then slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Sammie alone on the rumpled sheets, pecker hard and aching, heart hammering as he listened for voices at the door. 

Her feet padded across the worn hardwood as she made her way through the small house. 

Something about the knock sat wrong with her. 

By the time she reached the front door, concern had begun curling in her stomach. She unlocked it and pulled it open. 

The sight before her made her heart sink. 

“Lord have mercy!” 

Amelia stood on the porch. Her curls were tangled and damp. Dirt streaked the hem of her dress. Her cheeks were blotchy from crying, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. She looked exhausted. Like she’d been running. Like she’d been running for a long time. 

“Amelia?” 

Pearline immediately stepped forward. 

“What happened, baby?” 

Amelia opened her mouth. Nothing came out. 

Pearline’s worry deepened. Then, she noticed the woman standing beside her. The stranger was unlike anyone she’d ever seen. 

Tall. 

Elegant. 

Still.

Her skin held a pale gold-brown hue that seemed untouched by the world around her. Long dark hair fell in heavy waves down her back, nearly reaching her waist, catching the moonlight in subtle ribbons of silver. Her features were striking enough to make a person stare twice—high cheekbones, straight nose, full mouth. 

But it was her eyes that unsettled Pearline. 

They were Ancient. Sharp and watchful. The eyes of somebody who spent a very long time studying the world and found little left capable of surprising her. She wore dark clothing fitted close to her fame—a long coat draped over narrow shoulders despite the warmth of the Mississippi night. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on her. As if she hadn’t traveled at all but simply appeared. 

Pearline felt the hairs on her arms rise. 

The woman said nothing. Simply watched. 

Waiting. 

Amelia finally found her voice. It came out small and broken. 

“P–Pearline…”

The sound alone was enough. 

Pearline’s exhaled. “Oh, honey.” 

Amelia lowered her head. Tears gathered again. 

Pearline reached out instinctively, touching her shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” 

Amelia swallowed, then looked over her shoulder toward the darkness beyond the porch, then back at Pearline.

“Can we come in?” 

Pearline didn’t hesitate. 

“Of course you can.” 

She stepped aside immediately. The screen door creaked open wider. 

Amelia entered first, and the strange woman followed after her, silent as a shadow. 

Pearline closed the door behind them. 

It started in a bayou. A bayou that extended wide beneath a pale afternoon sky, its dark water and cypress trunks rose from the earth like old sentinels. Spanish moss hung from the branches overhead, stirring lazily whenever a breeze managed to find its way through the trees. Dragonflies skimmed in the distance, frogs croaked from the reeds, and birds called to one another from hidden perches deep within the swamp. 

Six-year-old Elias Moore sat alone on a flat stone near the water’s edge, his bare feet dusty from a day spent wandering farther than his father would have approved of. His overalls were stained at the knees. A thin stick rested on his hands as he scraped absent-minded patterns into the damp earth. Every few moments he glanced across the water, though he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. His thoughts had drifted elsewhere. 

Somewhere ahead, Elijah was running through the trees. Stack could hear him now and again. A laugh. A shout. The crack of a branch underfoot. His twin sounded carefree. Untouched by the ache that had settled inside Elias’ chest. 

Their mama had been gone a long time. 

He never got to hear her voice. Never got to hug her. Eat her cooking. Sit in her lap under the stars after a hard day in the fields. That frightened him more than he liked to admit. And yet, his daddy blamed him for her passing. Beat him so bad with his belt it left him raw on the ass for days. And Elijah would comfort him. Elias feared that the beatings would get worse. And that Elijah would get darker. 

Elias lowered his gaze to the muddy ground and swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. The loneliness came in waves. Sometimes it caught him by surprise. Sometimes it sat beside him all day. Today it had followed him all the way to the bayou.

A flash of movement across the water pulled his attention upward.

At first, he thought it was a bird. 

Then, he thought it might be sunlight slipping between the trees.

But when he blinked, he realized it was a woman. 

She stood beneath a cluster of cypress trees on the opposite bank. For a moment, Elias simply stared. He couldn’t have explained why. Nothing about her seemed frightening. Strange, maybe. Unexpected. Yet there was something about her presence that rooted him to the spot. 

The woman moved through the trees with an easy grace. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back, catching bits of sunlight where it touched her. Her skin carried a warm, golden-brown glow that reminded him of river stones after a summer rain. She seemed completely at ease, as though the bayou belonged to her. 

Elias frowned slightly. 

He hadn’t heard anyone approach. 

Hadn’t heard a horse.

One moment she wasn’t there. The next she was.

The woman turned slowly, and her eyes found him immediately. 

A smile spread across her face. 

The sadness in Elias’ chest eased without warning.

It wasn’t magic. At least, not in any way he understood. It simply felt like stepping into sunlight after standing in the shade too long. Warmth spread through him. The hurt he’d been carrying all afternoon loosened its grip. 

She raised one hand and waved. 

Elias looked behind himself instinctively, half expecting someone else to be there. 

There wasn’t. 

The wave was for him.

Tentatively, he waved back. 

The woman’s smile widened. 

She began moving closer to the water. Calm. Every step seemed measured, as though she already knew exactly where she was going. The closer she came, the more clearly Elias could see her face. 

She was beautiful.

Not in the way church ladies described beauty. 

Not in the way grown folks talked about pretty women. 

She looked like something from an old story. Like she’d stepped out of one of the folktales whispered on front porches after dark. 

When she reached the water’s edge, she stopped and looked at him for a long moment. There was kindness in her eyes. Kindness and something else he couldn’t name. 

Then, she spoke. 

“Everything’s gon’ be alright, baby boy.” 

Her voice carried across the water with surprising ease.

Elias felt those words settle somewhere deep inside him.

He didn’t know why he believed her.

He just did. 

The woman continued smiling, and for the first time, in a very long time, the ache of losing his mother didn’t feel quite so heavy. 

He found himself smiling back. 

The woman studied him quietly. There was affection in her gaze now. Pride, even. As though she were looking at someone she had known for years instead of a little boy she’d never met before. 

Stack tilted his head. “How you know?” 

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

The woman laughed softly. The sound reminded him of water moving over smooth stones. 

“Know what, baby?” 

“That everythin’ gon’ be alright.” 

Her smile softened.

“Because it will.” 

Stack considered that answer carefully and decided it wasn’t much of an answer at all. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the woman was already looking beyond him, toward something far away. 

Toward something he couldn’t see.

When her gaze returned to him, there was a sadness in it now. A tenderness that made his young heart ache for reasons he couldn’t understand. 

For a moment, he thought she might say something else. 

Thought she might tell him who she was. 

Instead, she simply smiled once more. 

Then, the sunlight shifted across the water. 

A breeze stirred the moss overhead. 

And when Elias blinked, the woman was gone.

For years, that was how Stack remembered it. 

The woman appeared. She smiled. She told him everything would be alright. 

Then, she vanished. 

The memory had lived inside him untouched for so long that he questioned it. Never examined it too closely. It remained preserved exactly as he’d experienced it, tucked away in a quiet corner of his mind where grief and wonder shared the same space. Yet now, standing beside the bayou once more, something felt different. 

The water no longer moved. 

The dragonflies were gone. 

Even the breeze had disappeared. 

The world had become unnaturally still. 

Young Stack frowned.

The woman remained at the water’s edge. Except she wasn’t fading this time. She wasn’t leaving. 

Instead, she took a step forward. 

Then another. 

And another. 

The distance between them began shrinking. A strange feeling settled in Stack’s stomach. And it wasn’t fear, it was recognition. 

The closer she came, the more details emerged. The curve of her smile. The shape of her eyes. The softness of her cheeks. Features he should have recognized before but somehow never had. 

The woman stopped directly in front of him. Close enough that another face began to appear beneath it. Not replacing hers. Blending with it. Like two reflections meeting on the surface of water. Dark eyes. Long hair. A familiar smile. 

Amelia. 

The realization drifted through the dream slowly. 

The woman and Amelia. 

Amelia and the woman. 

Something connected them. Something important. Stack’s young brow furrowed in confusion. 

The woman lowered herself to one knee before him. The sadness in her eyes seemed deeper now. 

Older. 

Like she carried knowledge too heavy for a child to understand. 

“You got a good heart,” she told him softly. 

Stack shifted on his feet where he stood. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The woman smiled.

Then, she reached out and rested her hand against his cheek. 

Warm. Gentle. Real. 

The touch filled him with the same peace he’d felt all those years ago. 

Only now there was something else beneath it. 

Urgency. 

The feeling that she was trying to tell him something before time ran out. 

The golden glow around her brightened. The trees blurred at the edges. The water shimmered. Everything around them seemed to bend and stretch.

Stack opened his mouth. 

“Who are you?” 

The woman looked at him for a long moment. Then, she smiled. A sad smile. The kind grown folks wore when they already knew how a story ended. 

“You’ll know one day.” 

The answer frustrated him. 

Before he could ask another question, her hand squeezed his cheek gently.

Then she spoke again. This time her voice sounded far away. As though it was coming from years ahead instead of a bayou. 

“Take care of my girl.” 

Stack blinked. 

The words didn’t make sense. 

“My what?” 

The woman only smiled. 

The glow surrounding her intensified until it washed across the water, the trees, the sky itself. Everything became gold. Everything became light. 

And then—

Pain. 

A sharp ache exploded through his shoulder. 

The bayou shattered. 

The light vanished. 

Stack jerked awake with a gasp lodged in his throat. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The dream clung to him stubbornly. He could still see the woman’s face. Still feel her hand against his cheek. Still hear those impossible words echoing inside his head. 

Take care of my girl. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the ceiling above him. A familiar scent lingered in the room. 

Lavender.

Rose water.

Amelia. 

Memory crashed into him all at once. 

The confrontation. The jars. Smoke shouting. Annie crying. Amelia glowing.

The force of her power slamming into him. 

Stack sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through his ribs and shoulder, forcing him to grit his teeth. He pushed himself upright anyway, one hand pressed against his side as he looked around. 

Moonlight spilled through the curtains and stretched across the floorboards. 

Amelia’s room. 

Her dresser sat against the wall. A brush remained where she’d left it. One of her ribbons rested on the counter of the vanity. Her books were pilled in the corner. A dress hung from a peg near the door. 

Small pieces of her. 

Evidence that she’d been here. Evidence that she wasn’t now. 

The realization settled heavily in his chest. 

She was gone. The dream lingered. The woman’s voice lingered. And for the first time in twenty years, Stsck found himself wondering if that day by the bayou had ever been a memory at all. 

When Stack finally stepped out of Amelia’s room, the floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he made his way down the hallway, one hand braced against the wall whenever the ache in his ribs threatened to steal his breath. Every part of him felt sore. His shoulder throbbed. The side of his head pulsed steadily. Even his jaw ached from where he’d hit the floor. 

The smell reached him first. 

Coffee. 

Sage.

Burnt candle wax.

Home.

A warm glow spilled from the kitchen doorway ahead. Stack rounded the corner and found exactly what he’d expected. 

 Nobody had gone to bed.

Smoke sat at the table with his arms folded across his chest, a half-empty mug resting near his elbow. The hard set of his jaw told Stack he hadn’t moved much since Amelia ran. Annie stood near the counter sorting through bundles of herbs, carefully separating stems from leaves and placing them into small bowls. Broken pieces of glass sat piled nearby, gathered from the wreckage left behind in the shack. 

The moment Annie saw him, she abandoned what she was doing.

“There you are.” 

She crossed the room immediately. 

Before Stack could protest, her hands were already on him. Turning his face. Checking his eyes. Pressing careful fingers against his ribs.

Stack endured it without complaint. 

Annie clicked her tongue. “You hurt.” 

“I noticed.” 

“You lucky you ain’t crack nothin’.” 

Smoke let out a grunt. “Hard-headed bastard probably cracked the shelf instead.” 

Despite everything, the corner of Annie’s mouth twitched. 

Stack managed a weak snort.

Then, the moment passed quickly. Reality settled back over the space. 

Annie returned to the counter. Smoke stared into his coffee. Stack lowered himself carefully into a chair. 

Silence lingered. Heavy. Uncomfortable. 

Smoke finally broke it.

“You still gon’ defend her?” 

Stack looked up.

Smoke was already watching him.

Waiting. 

Stack rubbed a hand over his face. 

“I ain’t defendin’ what happened.” 

“Sound like it.” 

“It ain’t.” 

Smoke leaned back in his chair. “She damn near killed you.” 

The words hung there. Sharp. Unavoidable. 

Stack’s jaw tightened. “She ain’t mean it.” 

“That don’t change what happened.” 

“No.” 

“Didn’t change what happened to Nathaniel either.” 

Silence. 

Annie stopped sorting herbs. 

Stack looked down at the table. 

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Annie sighted softly.

“I keep thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.” 

Smoke looked toward her. “So say it, woman.” 

Annie sat down across from them. Her hands folded together. “Everythin’ she done got one thing in common.” 

Smoke frowned. “What?” 

Annie’s gaze drifted toward the dark window above the wash basin. “She lose control.” 

Stack lifted his head. 

Annie continued. “She lost control with Nathaniel. Lost control tonight. Every story got the same end. Fear. Grief. Anger. Somethin’ pushes her too far and that light takes over. 

Smoke’s expression remained hard. “Still got people hurt.” 

“I know.” Annie’s voice softened. “I know.” 

The sadness there settled over the room. Because they all knew. Nobody had escaped this untouched. 

Smoke stared into his mug. Stack stared at the table. Annie stared at neither of them. 

Then, Stack finally spoke. “I saw her again.” 

Annie looked up first. “Who?”

“The woman.”

Neither Annie nor Smoke said anything. 

“The one from the bayou.” 

The words pulled their full attention. Stack leaned back carefully and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to organize the memory. Trying to make sense of the dream. 

“When we was little,” he began, “I told Amelia about somebody I seen near the bayou. That woman.” 

Annie nodded slowly. 

“I dreamed ‘bout her.” 

Smoke leaned in. “Dreamed?” 

Stack nodded. “Only this time it wasn’t exactly the same.” 

Annie’s brow furrowed. “How?” 

Stack hesitated. Then told them. The bayou. The trees. The water. The woman approaching. Her face. Her voice. The way she’d touched his cheek. Every detail. 

Annie listened without interrupting. Smoke stayed unusually quiet. 

Then, Stack told them the part that had followed him into waking.

“Take care of my girl.” 

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. 

Annie’s eyes narrowed slightly. Deep in thought. 

“What?” Stack asked.

Annie looked at him. “You sure that’s what she said?”

“Yeah.” 

“You ain’t never heard her say that before?” 

“No.”  

Annie leaned back slowly. The gears were turning behind her eyes now. 

Stack recognized the look. It was the same look she got when Rootwork revealed something she wasn’t expecting. 

“What you thinkin’?” 

Annie didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft spoken.

“You described that woman before.” 

“So?” 

“So I know somebody she sound an awful lot like.” 

Stack sat forward. Smoke did too. 

Annie looked between them. 

“Amelia’s mama.”

Neither brother spoke. The words landed harder than either expected. Stack’s heartbeat picked up. 

Smoke frowned. “You think that’s who he saw?” 

“I don’t know.” Annie rubbed her hands together slowly. “But I know one thing.” 

“What?”

Her gaze shifted to Stack. “The honey jar aint why you saw that woman.” 

Smoke’s jaw tightened. “Annie—”

“No, Elijah.” She shook her head. “A sweetenin’ jar don’t make somethin’ from nothin’. It don’t put feelings where there ain’t none. It amplifies. Encourages. Feeds what’s already there.”

Stack held her gaze. Smoke looked away first. 

The implications settled heavily between them. 

Years before Amelia arrived. Years before the jars. Years before any of this. Stack had seen her mother. Or someone connected to her bloodline. And remembered. 

All this time.

Stack exhaled slowly. “I don’t care what that damn jar did.” 

Neither Annie nor Smoke interrupted. 

“I don’t care what she is neither.” His voice was rough now. Honest. Painfully honest. “I love her anyway.” 

The confession lingered in the room. Smoke closed his eyes briefly. Annie lowered her gaze. Neither argued. Neither mocked him. Because they both knew he meant it.

After a long while, Annie pushed her chair back and stood.

“What now?” Smoke asked, lighting a cigarette with a match.

Annie looked toward the dark window. Toward the night beyond it. Toward all the unanswered questions waiting somewhere out there. 

“We find her.” 

Smoke stared at her. Stack did too. 

Whether from anger, grief, love, or some mixture of all three, neither man could tell. 

“We find her,” she repeated softly. “And we get the truth.” 

The decision settled over the house with a weight that none of them could ignore. The lantern on the table cast a warm glow across their faces, catching the exhaustion that had carved itself into each of them.

Then, Smoke stood.

The chair legs scraped against the floor.

That was all it took.

The room shifted from discussion to action.

Stack pushed himself to his feet more slowly. Pain immediately flared through his ribs, drawing a curse from beneath his breath. He pressed a hand against his side and waited for the worst of it to pass.

Smoke noticed. “You sure you can do this?”

Stack shot him a look. “You askin' or tellin'?”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

Smoke held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

That was the end of it.

The brothers disappeared into different parts of the house.

Annie remained in the kitchen long enough to gather the things she’d already begun setting aside. Her hands moved automatically through years of habit and practice. Small cloth bundles filled with protective herbs. Bottles of oil. Salt wrapped in muslin. Iron nails. Twine. A carved bone charm her grandmother had once carried. Each item found its place inside the leather utility belt resting across the table.

By the time Smoke returned, she was fastening the belt around her waist. A white tank top stretched across his broad chest. Dark trousers sat low on his hips. The leather shoulder holster he wore crossed over his back and chest, hugging muscle and scar alike as he adjusted the straps. His pistol rested securely beneath one arm. A second firearm disappeared into the back of his waistband.

Years of dangerous living had made the process second nature.

He checked each weapon carefully. Then checked them again.

Annie barely looked up.

She knew that ritual.

Smoke had always prepared for trouble the same way.

Quietly. Thoroughly. Without complaint.

Stack emerged from the hallway moments later.

He still looked rough.

The bruise darkening along the side of his face had deepened since waking. Every movement carried a faint stiffness that told Annie he was hurting far more than he admitted. Yet there wasn't a trace of hesitation in him.

He pulled a pistol from the top drawer of a cabinet near the door and tucked it securely into the waistband of his slacks. The motion drew another wince from his ribs.

Smoke noticed that too.

He didn't comment.

No point.

Stack wasn't staying behind. They all knew it.

Annie secured the final pouch on her belt and reached for a lantern resting near the kitchen wall.

That finally got Smoke's attention.

“What you doin'?”

Annie lifted the lantern. “What it look like?”

His expression immediately hardened.

“No.”

She rolled her eyes. “No?”

“No.”

The single word landed firm.

Annie turned toward him fully.

Smoke crossed his arms. “You ain’t comin’.”

A short laugh escaped her. The sound carried absolutely no amusement.

“The hell I’m not.”

“I’m dark.”

“So?”

“We don’t know where she is.”

"We gon’ find out."

Smoke’s jaw tightened. "We don’t know who else out there."

Annie’s expression didn't change. “We never do.”

“Annie.” His voice lowered. More serious now. “The Klan been active these last few weeks. You know that.”

Stack shifted against the wall. He hated agreeing with Smoke, especially lately. But this time he did. 

“He right.”

Annie looked at him.

Stack met her gaze. “If she made it far enough out, we ain’t just lookin’ for Amelia.”

Annie remained silent.

Stack continued. We could run into anybody.”

“Then it’s a good thing I know how to handle myself.”

Smoke exhaled sharply. “That ain’t the point.”

“It is the point.”

Annie set the lantern down harder than necessary.

The glass rattled.

“You think I’m sittin’ in this house while that girl out there alone?”

Neither man answered. Because they knew exactly what she meant.

Annie looked between them, emotion glimmered in her eyes.

Raw. Painful.

“I let her in my home.” Her voice softened. “I taught her. Fed her. Loved her.”

Smoke's expression eased slightly.

Annie swallowed. “And whether she lied or not, whether she wrong or not, she ran outta here hurt and scared.”

The words hung heavily between them.

“I already shoulda seen more than I did.” She looked down briefly. Then back up. “If somethin' happen to her tonight and I stayed home knowin’ I could’ve helped…” She shook her head. “I wouldn't forgive myself.”

Smoke rubbed a hand over his face. Stack looked away.

Neither liked it. Neither wanted it. But neither could argue with it either.

Eventually Smoke sighed. Long. Defeated.

“Stubborn woman.”

Annie smiled faintly. “That's why you married me.”

Smoke muttered something under his breath that made Stack snort despite himself. The tension eased for the first time all evening.

Only slightly.

Smoke stepped closer to Annie and pulled one of his pistols from the holster at his back. The weapon rested in his palm for a second.

Then, he offered it to her.

Annie's gaze dropped to it.

Slowly she accepted.

The familiar weight settled comfortably in her hand. Smoke held her eyes as she checked the cylinder.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t.”

“You better not.”

Annie slid the pistol into her belt. The lantern returned to her grip. Around her waist hung enough rootwork supplies to stock a small altar. Around them waited the Mississippi night.

The night waited just beyond the threshold.

Smoke stood nearest the door, one hand resting against the frame while the other adjusted the pistol secured beneath his shoulder holster. Stack had already started toward the door, favoring one side despite his efforts to hide it. None of them wanted to waste another minute.

Every second Amelia remained out there alone tightened the knot in their chests.

Then, came the knock. The sound echoed through the house.

Three sharp raps.

Everyone froze. The silence that followed seemed to swallow the room whole.

Stack was the first to move. His head snapped toward the door. Hope flashed across his face so quickly it almost hurt to witness.

“Amelia.”

Smoke was already reaching for his weapon. “Hold up.”

The brothers exchanged a look.

Another knock followed. More forceful.

Stack took a step forward. “It could be her”

Smoke’s hand settled around the grip of his pistol. “It could be anybody.”

“It could be Amelia, Smoke.”

The desperation in his voice made Annie close her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her gaze remained fixed on the door.

“No.”

Both brothers looked at her.

Annie tightened her grip on the lantern. “Amelia ain't gonna knock.”

The words settled heavily in the room.

Because she was right.

If Amelia had returned, she wouldn't be standing politely on the porch. She would've come straight inside. The realization drained some of the hope from Stack's face.

Then came a third knock.

Hard enough to rattle the frame.

Whoever stood outside had lost their patience.

Smoke's expression darkened immediately. “Get back.”

Stack ignored him.

Smoke sighed. “Dammit, Stack.”

Together they approached the door. Smoke positioned himself on one side. Stack took the other. Both men drew their weapons.

The atmosphere inside the house tightened. Annie remained a few feet back, lantern in one hand, pistol resting at her hip.

Smoke lifted three fingers.

Stack nodded once.

Three.

Two.

One.

The door swung open.

The woman standing on the porch looked ready to kill somebody. Rain clouds rolled overhead behind her, turning the night sky nearly black. The lantern light illuminated sharp cheekbones, furious eyes, and a posture so rigid it looked painful.

Celine Broussard–DuPont. 

Celine's gaze landed on Stack first.

Recognition flashed immediately. Then confusion.

Her eyes narrowed.

She looked at him. Then looked at Smoke. Then back to Stack. A small crease formed between her brows. The fury didn't leave her face. If anything, it deepened.

Slowly, her eyes traveled between the brothers.

One.

Then the other.

Two identical faces.

Two identical men.

Understanding dawned.

A cold realization settled over her features.

"So…that's what this is."

Her voice was low. Dangerously controlled.

Smoke didn't lower his weapon.

Neither did Stack.

"What you want?" Smoke asked.

Celine barely acknowledged him.

Her attention shifted beyond the brothers. Toward the interior of the house.

Toward Annie.

The moment their eyes met, something changed. The anger sharpened. Became personal.

Ancient.

The kind of resentment that had survived years.

"Cordelia James's granddaughter."

Annie went still.

Celine stepped forward onto the porch. She didn’t cross the threshold, but it was enough to make her intentions clear. The lantern light caught the fury burning in her eyes and for the first time since arriving, she smiled.

It wasn't a pleasant smile.

It was the smile of someone who had finally found exactly who she'd been looking for.

“Been a while since I seen you, Antoinette. Wish this reunion could have been under better circumstances but…I’m here to collect a floozy that fucked my husband. The one you’re keepin’ hidden in this house. The one workin’ in your shop? Yes…the town talks.”

Stack and Smoke didn’t flinch. They remained at the ready, Smoke with one arm extended and his finger on the trigger, Stack with a two–handed grip that didn’t waver. Annie remained still, chin elevated, never blinking as she locked eyes with Celine. 

Celine looks between Stack and Smoke, a jaded look on her face.

“I’m not here to tussle wit’ you folks. I just need the girl. Tell me where she is if she ain’t here or bring her to me. Then, I’ll be out your hair.”

Stack narrowed his eyes and flashed a cunning smirk, “She ain’t here. And we ain’t telling you shit, wench.” 

Celine rolled her eyes, “Oh, please, nigga. I’m done foolin’ ‘round wit’ ya’ll and this fuckin’ town and your lies and your games. Now if I gotta come in here—”

“You step foot past that do’ I’m a light you up like fireworks on Juneteenth.” Smoke barked. 

Celine pursed her lips, light skin turning beet red. She balled her fists and glared between all three of them, refusing to back down. 

“She killed my husband! I know it! She skipped town, he was the last person to see here I KNOW!” Celine shouted with a shrill voice. “I’m not leaving ‘til she come out!—”

“And what do you plan to do? Huh?” Annie fired back. “You plan to turn her in to the law? Kill her?” 

Celine’s eyelids fluttered and then a slow, creeping, devious smirk spread across her lips.

“I wish I coulda killed her the day she showed up on our doorstep wrapped in cloth while her worthless mama ran off. Ever since she came in our lives it’s been nothin’ but trouble. She ain’t like us. Best to eradicate her now before she cause more harm.” 

Stack was seeing red. Annie’s fingers settled tighter around the pistol on her hip. Smoke continued staring at Celine like she was an annoyance that needed to be put down. 

Celine looked between them, eyes seemingly looking past them like she could sense that there was an altercation. One twin looks beat up. The other got his hand wrapped in cloth with blood stains. Annie look like she done lost her entire world. And they look like they were ready to leave. 

“…She did it again, huh? Came and created a storm before runnin’ off like a broken doe. She ain’t human. I don’t know exactly what she is, my mama knew and didn’t tell me. My brother—” Celine paused, swallowing a knot in her throat. “My brother would still be here if it wasn’t for that strange girl. I wish she ain’t never showed up.”

Silence. Then, Annie stepped forward.

Celine locked eyes with her, cautious. Annie was eye to eye with her, 

Then—

SLAP! 

A sharp, stinging slap that sent Celine back on her heels, arms bracing the doorway. The side of her face swelled up quickly, and the corner of her lip began to bleed. She looked startled. Like she’d been slapped into a new dimension. Smoke and Stack’s eyes landed on Annie wide. They lowered their guns immediately. 

“WHA—YOU BIT—”

“You keep talkin’ ‘bout killin’ that girl like it’s some righteous thing. Let me tell you somethin’, Celine. Every rootworker know there a difference between justice and spite. One got ancestors behind it. The other got consequences.”

She took one slow step forward.

“You come after Amelia with hate in your heart, and I promise you this. Every candle you light gon’ drown in wax. Every prayer you send up gon’ come back unanswered. Every road you walk gon’ lead you right back to the misery you carry inside you.”

Her expression never changed.

“And if that ain’t enough, I got a shovel, a graveyard full of restless company, and more patience than you got years left. So tread careful.”

Celine stood with one hand cupping her cheek and her eyes swimming with unshed tears. 

Annie folded her hands in front of her.

“You knew my mama. Which means you know my people ain’t never been in the habit of makin’ empty threats.”

The way Annie spoke was never with a scream. She spoke soft. Careful. And that made it worse.

“If you lay a hand on that girl, I won’t chase you. I won’t argue with you. I won’t beg.”

A pause.

“I’ll simply sit down at my altar and introduce your name to people who ain’t breathed in a very long time.”

Her gaze sharpened. “And unlike me, they ain’t interested in forgiveness.” Annie tilted her head. “Let me save you some trouble, Celine. If you got murder in your heart, carry it somewhere else.” Her eyes were steady. “Because if you bring it to my doorstep, I’ll bury it right alongside you.” She let that sit. Then added quietly. “And the earth around here know my name better than it know yours.”

Smoke clenched his jaw, staring at Annie with a flicker of adoration behind his steadfast eyes. Stack didn’t pull his eyes away from Celine. Because even though he didn’t speak it, he mirrored exactly what Annie said. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, we have some place to be. To go look for your niece that ran scared. A niece you were supposed to protect from your nasty, fuckin’ husband. He was preyin’ on her, waitin’ for the moment to strike. How dare you stand here in your t-straps and perfect press with them pearls around your neck talkin’ ‘bout your blood like that? You think August woulda wanted that?” 

For the first time, the fury on Celine’s face cracked. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, anger and grief tangled together so tightly they were impossible to separate. Her jaw flexed. Her nostrils flared. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, held upright by pride alone. Annie’s words had landed exactly where they were meant to. Celine didn’t fear many people, but she knew enough about the James women to understand that Annie wasn’t bluffing.

Celine stepped aside. Annie, Smoke, and Stack exited the house, shutting the door behind them. Smoke’s eyes trailed Celine walking with a hunch in her back and a shake on her shoulders back to the car she’d picked up while in Clarksdale. Then, she stopped. That caused the three of them to pause. She turned, sadness in her eyes. 

“I hate to be wrong. But I feel a heaviness.” She touched her chest. “Like a crushing feelin’. Like…like—”

“Like someone tellin’ you to stop? To be still?” 

Celine’s lower lip trembled. She looked toward the night sky. “mama…?” 

“We gotta go,” Stack whispered sternly. 

Celine exhaled a shaky breath. “Listen…anger makes you say some terrible things. I know my mama wouldn’t want harm comin’ to her.”

“Funny how a slap across the face change the heart, huh?” Stack quipped. 

“You can either come or leave. But when we find her, you don’t touch her. You apologize to her, and you leave.” 

“I wanna know why she killed him—”

Annie was getting fed the fuck up.

Celine’s composure finally splintered. The anger she'd been holding so tightly gave way to something rawer, something closer to grief. Her eyes shone as she looked from Annie to Smoke and then to Stack.

“Then tell me why.” The question came out rough. “Tell me why she killed him.”

Nobody answered immediately.

Celine swallowed hard. “He wasn't perfect,” she said. “Lord knows he wasn’t. But he didn't deserve to disappear like that. He went lookin’ for her and never came home.”

Her gaze landed on Annie.

“You know somethin’. I can see it all over your face.”

Annie’s stepped forward, lantern light catching the hard set of her features.

“For the last time, Celine, she ain’t kill that man on purpose.”

Celine laughed bitterly. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want.”

“I want the truth.”

Annie folded her arms. “The truth is she loved him once. The truth is things got complicated. The truth is somethin’ happened that day she never intended to happen.”

Celine’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Annie shook her head. “That ain't my story to tell.”

“You protectin’ her—”

“I'm tellin’ you what I know.”

Celine stepped closer. “Then tell me why she ran.”

The question lingered between them. Annie’s expression softened for the briefest moment. Not toward Celine. Toward Amelia. Toward the frightened young woman who had arrived on her doorstep carrying more pain than sense.

“Because she was scared.”

Celine scoffed. “Scared of what?”

“Guilt.”

The single word landed heavily.

Annie held her gaze. “She been carryin’ it ever since.”

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Celine's face. Only for a moment. Then, the anger returned.

“That don’t bring Nathaniel back.”

“No,” Annie agreed quietly. “It don't.”

Smoke remained still. Even Stack. 

Annie looked directly at Celine. “You came here wantin’ a monster.” Her voice stayed calm. “What you gon’ find is a scared girl who made a terrible mistake and ain’t forgiven herself for it a single day since.”

Celine’s eyes glistened again. But whether those tears came from grief, rage, or heartbreak, nobody could tell.

Stack glanced toward the darkness beyond the front yard then back toward the adults still standing beneath the lantern glow. 

“We gotta go.” 

His voice cut through the argument cleanly. Nobody immediately disappeared because he was right. Every minute they spent standing around talking was another minute Amelia remained alone somewhere out there. 

Smoke shifted his grip on his pistol and nodded once.

“He right.” 

Annie looked toward the tree line. “We losin’ time.” 

Celine’s expression tightened. The grief returned to her face. The anger remained too. Both emotions seemed to be fighting for space behind her eyes. Then, she surprised them. 

“I’m comin’.”

Annie blinked. Stack looked openly irritated. 

Annie folded her arms. “Why?”

Celine’s gaze slid toward the woods. For a moment, she looked older than she had all evening. More tired. 

“I wanna find her.” 

The answer came quickly. Too quickly. Annie wasn’t convinced.

“You wanna find her for what?” 

Celine didn’t answer right away. 

Her jaw tightened. “I deserve answers.” 

Smoke made a skeptical sound. Stack looked away. None of them fully trusted her. Not after everything she’d said. 

Eventually, Annie sighed. “Fine.” 

Smoke looked at her. Annie shrugged. 

“We keep our eyes on her.” 

“I’m a keep more than my eyes on her,” Stack displayed his pistol. “Or I’ll get Annie to slap her ass ‘round if she try anything. That seemed to do the trick.” 

The group set off down the path. Past Annie’s shack. Into the woods. Nobody called Amelia’s name. That had been Annie’s decision. Draws too much attention. Instead, they searched. 

Watching. Listening. Hoping.

Pearline returned from the kitchen carrying three steaming mugs balanced carefully on a tray. The scent of chamomile and mint drifted through the room ahead of her. She set the try down on the coffee table and offered Amelia a small smile. 

“Drink somethin’, baby. You look like you done cried every year God gave you.” 

Amelia managed a weak laugh. “Feel like it.” 

Pearline settled into a nearby chair and tucked her lilac robe more securely around herself.

Sammie stepped in from the hallway, shirt buttoned and tucked, wiping his mouth off. He stopped short when he saw Amelia. 

“You alright? What's goin’ on?”

His eyes flicked to Virelle next, standing rigid by the window, one hand resting on the frame as she stared into the blackness beyond the glass. The stranger’s presence filled the room in a way that made both Pearline and Sammie exchange a quick glance. Who was this woman? How did she know Amelia?

"What happened?" Sammie asked. 

Nobody spoke right away. Amelia’s shoulders shook once, a small, exhausted motion. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floorboards, glowing faint with the storm inside her. Virelle didn’t turn from the window.

Sammie leaned forward on the couch, voice low and careful. “Where Stack at? He know you here? Annie? Smoke?”

Still silence. Pearline waited, hands folded in her lap. The question hung there, heavy, until Virelle finally spoke without looking away from the dark.

"Remmick wasn’t hunting you because you’re Amelia,” she said, voice cool and even. “He was hunting you because you’re fae.”

Amelia’s head lifted slow. The glow in her eyes sharpened. “What?”

Virelle turned then, facing the room fully. “Creatures like him know exactly what you are. They’ve known for longer than any of us been alive. This ain’t just about Nathaniel or Celine or Clarksdale. It’s older. Bigger. And they want you for it.”

The words landed like stones in still water. Pearline’s breath caught. Sammie stood frozen, eyes darting between Amelia and the stranger. Amelia’s hands tightened on the cup until her knuckles showed pale against her warm brown skin, the truth cracking open everything she’d tried to hold shut.

Sammie and Pearline sat stiff on the worn couch.

Who is Remmick? 

Celine?

Nathaniel?

Fae?

The steam from their untouched tea curled between them. 

The words hung heavy in the warm room. 

Pearline’s hands tightened around her cup until the porcelain creaked. 

Sammie’s mouth opened, then shut again, his eyes wide and fixed on Amelia’s shaking shoulders.

“Amelia, what’s going on? Talk to us. Tell us something.” Pearline said with a pleading voice. 

Sammie nodded. 

Amelia drew a shaky breath. She could feel her light flickering faint in her fingertips. 

“I killed a man,” she said, voice low and raw. “Nathaniel. He was my aunt’s husband. A prominent figure in the community back in New Orleans. Then he became my lover. He was the first man I’d ever been with.” 

Tears slid down her cheeks, catching the faint glow. 

Pearline’s breath hitched. Sammie leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“My aunt found out,” Amelia went on, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I left to go back home. Nathaniel showed up. “She paused, throat working. “I don’t know how I did it…it was an accident…he just walked into the bayou and never came back up.” 

The only sound was the faint tick of the clock on the mantel. Pearline’s lips parted, but no words came. Sammie’s fingers dug into his own thighs. Both of them stared at Amelia like the floor had moved under their feet, the truth settling between the four of them. 

Amelia’s shoulders slumped further, the faint gold glow around her eyes dimming to a tired shimmer. “I’m fae,” she said quietly. “I’m not fully human. My powers cause harm more than good. I–I hurt people…Stack…Annie… Smoke… I ain’t tell them what I was. I ran. And ended up staring death in the face.”

Pearline set her cup down with a soft clink. “Is that who Remmick is? The devil?”

Amelia shook her head. “He’s a vampire.”

Sammie blinked hard, brow creasing. “Vampire?”

“I know this all sounds crazy,” Amelia went on, voice cracking, “but it’s real. I’m sorry for bringing this to your doorstep, Pearline. We can leave.”

Pearline reached across the space between them and laid a steady hand on Amelia’s wrist. “No. You stay for as long as you need to. Both of you.”

Sammie rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the window. “My cousins…they might be out lookin’ for you right now. Maybe I oughta head home, see what’s what.”

Pearline turned to him, voice low but firm. “Maybe that ain’t a good idea, given everything we just heard.”

“Going out in the dark while a blood sucker roams around looking to feed…it’s best you wait ‘til morning.” Virelle spoke. 

Pearline stands. “We have a guest room. I’ll get it situated. Then you can take a bath and settle. Miss?…”

“Virelle.” 

“Virelle…the couch is pretty cozy. If that’s okay?” 

Virelle’s gaze remained fixed on Pearline. Studying. 

Pearline shifted uncomfortably beneath it. 

“What?” She finally asked.

Virelle tilted her head slightly. “Who was your grandmother?”

Pearline blinked. “My grandmother?”

“No.” Virelle’s eyes narrowed. “Your grandmother’s grandmother.” 

The confusion on Pearline’s face deepened. “What kinda question is that?” 

Amelia glanced between them. She looked lost. Virelle said nothing for several seconds. Then, she spoke again.

“You got old water in your blood.” 

Pearline stared. “I beg your pardon?” 

A faint smile touched Virelle’s mouth. It wasn’t amusement, it was recognition. 

“The blood’s thin. Barely there.” Her eyes remained on Pearline. “But I can still feel it.” 

Pearline laughed nervously. “Lady, I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout.” 

Virelle ignored the comment. 

“You ever know things before they happen?” 

The laughter disappeared. Pearline’s expression softened. “Sometimes.” 

“You ever dream somethin’ and then watch it happen a few days later?” 

Pearline looked away. “Maybe.” 

Virelle nodded once. “Animals like you?” 

Pearline’s eyes snapped back toward her. Now Amelia was staring too. 

“What exactly are you sayin’?” 

Virelle folded her hands together. “One of ours wandered too close to humans a long time ago.”

Pearline frowned. “Ours?” 

The ancient fae looked toward Amelia, then back to Pearline. 

“The blood almost disappeared. Almost.” 

Pearline swallowed. 

Sammie grabbed a piece of cornbread, more so for something to do. He chewed, his eyes landing on Amelia. 

“Melia, I’m sure Annie, Smoke, and Stack ain’t mad at ya.”

“You ain’t seen their faces, Sammie.” Amelia exhaled a shaky breath, a single tear falling. “They probably glad I’m gone.”

“I doubt that,” Sammie smirked, trying to make light of the situation. “Soon as morning come, we can go there.” 

Pearline returns, a few blankets in her hand, placing them on the couch. Virelle looks at them then a small ‘thank you’ escapes her mouth. 

“Any friend of Amelia’s is a friend of ours. Night. Make sure you eat somethin’, Amelia. If you need anything, my room is down the hall.”

“Thank you, Pearline.”

Sammie stands, walking up to Amelia. 

He gives her a kiss on the cheek before following Pearline down the hall. 

The woods stretched endlessly around them. Crickets sang from the grass. Frogs called from hidden pools of water. The occasional towel cried somewhere overhead. Fireflies glowed like tiny lanterns. But this glow seemed different. Like they were keeping watch.

Smoke and Stack naturally drifted toward the front of the group. Old habits. Old instincts. 

Neither brother had spoken about the war much since coming home years ago. Most days they pretended it hadn’t happened. Most days it worked. 

Tonight wasn’t one of those days. The darkness between the trees looked too familiar. Every snapped twig made Smoke’s shoulders tense. Every rustle in the bush pulled Stack’s attention immediately. 

The woods became France again. 

The memory sat beneath the surface. 

Mud. 

Gunfire. 

The feeling of enemies appearing from nowhere. 

The certainty that death could be hiding behind any tree. 

Stack hated it. Hated how easily his mind returned there. Hated that some part of him never truly left. No matter how many times he tried to hide it behind a smile. 

He adjusted the pistol tucked into his waistband and continued forward. Smoke moved silently beside him, the same tension lived on his brother’s posture. Neither acknowledged or needed to.

Then…something moved. 

Everyone stopped. 

The sound had come from somewhere ahead. A disturbance in the brush.

Annie raised the lantern slightly. The flame trembled behind the glass. Smoke lifted his weapon. Stack did the same. 

Nobody spoke. 

The woods seemed to hold its breath. 

Then, a figure stepped from the trees. 

A woman. Young. Barefoot. Thin. 

The sight of her made Annie freeze. The lantern nearly slipped from her hand. 

The woman looked terrible. Her dress hung loose from her frame. Dirt streaked her clothing. Long braids clung to her shoulders. Her eyes looked hollow. 

Lost. 

Like she’d been wandering for days. Maybe longer.

Annie knew that face. She knew it immediately. She had stared at it countless times in Shelby. Seen it in photographs. Seen it in the desperate eyes of family members begging for help. 

The missing girl. 

“Oh my God.” 

The words escaped before Annie could stop them. Everyone looked at her. Annie took a step forward. Disbelief flooded her features. The girl stared back at them. Unblinking. Silent. Like she wasn’t entirely sure they were real. 

Annie’s heart began pounding. Because she knew exactly who she was…

Lavinia Bell. 

The missing girl from Shelby. The one who was supposed to be miles away. The one nobody had been able to find. The one everyone thought was dead. 

And somehow…she was standing in front of them. 

“Lavinia,” Annie whispered.

@championshipshade @plan3tch1ld @lizbehave @shereeluvssinners @cloviacreem-18 @aretasreads @harleycativy @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @shanthefemalerapper @alaysiunaadams23 @shamansha @smokingangelhoe @themindfulwriter16 @venusisrising @margepimpson @fairysoulja @chromexbarbie @pinkangelwing222 @rolemodelshit @d1gitalb4rbie @astr0babez @solarssins @secretisme4 @ofwgkta-maur @brownskincheyenne @shecuteforaewok @callmemckenzieee @prettypinkprincess29 @mmbee675 @vibrantlymellowknight @itsspixiedusst56 @kleighw86 @bananajoeclone @sintizc @richonne4life @dammitj4net @kaystacks17 @midnightmemoirsofher @addelinedarling @abcedfy @brownsugarcoffy @imperoyalblue @girlmath101 @dezzy154 @softy212 @overzealouszeitgeist @blaqwidow91 @christinabae @mirathebookworm @theblulife @cocochannelmoi @kindofaintrovert @tatelangdonsweater @og-goddesstrill

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

VOTE PLEASE

Say My Name will be the third update after you guys vote on which you would prefer me to do next:

Second Update goes to…

Camera off 📷

Sanctified Heat ❤️‍🔥

Remaining time: 6 hours 50 minutes

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Ya’ll want Daddy Smoke to get fed up with holding back and start making a move on Malaya? 😩😭

STILL GOT TIME TO VOTE!

[aretasreads]

ryan's lil dance always sends me😂

[bigheki]

I dont want a single person to ever forget about this picture of Michael B Jordan ever

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

VOTE PLEASE

Say My Name will be the third update after you guys vote on which you would prefer me to do next:

Second Update goes to…

Camera off 📷

Sanctified Heat ❤️‍🔥

Remaining time: 6 hours 50 minutes

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

So I posted Hoodoo Apprentice

I hope you guys enjoy, I’ve really tried my hardest to post all of what I wanted but this damn app and even the desktop version isn’t allowing me to post all of what I wanted to I had to cut the damn chapter 😭

What I will start doing is writing shorter chapters. I hate doing that because I feel that the story is progressing slower but at this point it’s gonna have to happen!

Hoodoo Apprentice is about to be done I feel like I have maybe two or three more parts depending on what I can fit.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

What if stack had a cat? Like one day while he was out and about doing his rounds, he found a little white kitten meowing in an alley, and he befriended it and took it home

This is freaking adorable as hell 😭

Little Rock, Arkansas, Circa 1931

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore was making his way back to The Blackline as the heat hung over the city, beating down on him something fierce. He had spent most of the day handlin’ business. A shipment needed confirming. Two men owed him money. A supplier on the east side had spent twenty minutes explaining why he was late and another ten apologizing for it. And Smoke was tied up seeing a man about hiring two new runners to travel from Mound Bayou back to Little Rock.

By the time Stack turned down an alley behind a butcher shop, he was ready for a drink and a quiet chair.

That was, until he heard it.

A sharp cry.

Stack stopped.

The sound came again

“Mrrrow”

Stack glanced around the alley.

Wooden crates. Broken barrels. A rusted tub. Flyers for the Dreamland Ballroom. Billie Holiday’s faded picture on the front cover.

Then, he spotted a flash of white beneath a stack of boxes.

Stack crouched.

“Well now.”

Two blue eyes stared back at him.

The kitten looked half-starved. Its fur was dirty. One ear had a small nick. It couldn’t have been more than a few months old.

The kitten immediately hissed.

Stack blinked. “That’s a mighty strong opinion from somebody the size of a biscuit.”

The kitten hissed again.

Stack chuckled. “Yeah. You tough.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the wrapped piece of smoked sausage from the butcher he’d bought earlier for a little taste until he’d gotten back to see what Aunt Pearl was cooking up.

The kitten watched every movement.

Slowly, Stack tore off a piece and set it on the ground.

The little thing hesitated.

Then, it darted forward and clamped it between its paws, pink beans dirty. It started munching, tiny sharp teeth nibbling away.

Gone in seconds.

Stack tore off another piece.

And another.

By the fourth piece, the kitten wasn’t hiding anymore.

By the sixth, it was standing beside his shoe.

By the eight, it was rubbing against his ankle.

Stack sighed. “Ah, hell.”

The kitten meowed.

“You done made up your mind already, ain’t you?”

The kitten looked up at him.

Stack pointed toward the alley entrance.

“You know I run a juke and brothel, right? Loud music. Drink fools. Women that’ll dress you in ribbons and bows.”

The kitten blinked.

“I ain’t got time for no cat.”

The kitten rubbed against his shoe again.

Five minutes later, Stack Moore was walking toward The Blackline with a white kitten tucked inside his jacket.

The first person to notice was Peaches.

Stack had barely stepped through the back entrance when she narrowed her eyes.

“What you got under there?”

“Nothin’.”

Something moved beneath his jacket.

Peaches gasped.

Cordelia appeared from nowhere.

“What is that?”

Stack groaned.

The kitten poked its head out.

“Mrrrow.”

The women erupted.

“Oh, Lord!”

“Look at that baby!”

“Where’d you find him?!”

“She hungry?”

“Can I hold it?!”

Stack immediately regretted every decision that had brought him to this moment. Within minutes, the kitten had been fed milk, wrapped in a towel, and given three different names.

Stack rejected all of them.

Smoke found them gathered in Stack’s office later that evening. He stepped through the doorway and stopped.

The kitten was asleep on Stack’s desk. Cordelia sat nearby sewing something. Peaches was scratching beneath its chin.

Stack was attempting to read paperwork.

Attempting.

Smoke stared. Then looked at his twin.

“You got a cat.”

Stack didn’t glance up.

“It got me.”

Smoke folded his arms.

The silence lasted several seconds. Smoke staring at the kitten with a peculiar expression. Then, he nodded his head once.

“That’s worse.”

Cordelia and Peaches giggled.

They would not stop hounding Stack about a damn name.

The kitten sat in the middle of Stack’s desk, licking one paw while half a dozen girls stood around staring at it. Even some of Stack’s muscle came peeking in to see.

“You gotta give it a name, daddy.” Peaches said.

“I don’t gotta do nothin’.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “You can’t keep callin’ it ‘cat.”

“I damn well can.”

The kitten stepped directly onto one of Stack’s money books. Stack lifted it and placed it back on the desk. The kitten immediately walked onto the book again.

Minnie pointed. “See? She got personality.”

“Or he.” Cordelia said, puffing on a cigarette.

Nobody actually knew. The kitten was too young to tell.

Peaches leaned forward. “What about Pearl!”

“No.”

“Daisy?” Another girl said.

“No.”

“Snowball?” Another girl said.

“Absolutely not.”

Cordelia laughed. “Angel?”

Stack looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Have you met this animal?”

As if on cue, the kitten swatted an ink pen off the desk.

It hit the floor.

Everyone watched it happen.

“See?” Stack said.

“Maybe Lily?” Peaches offered.

“No.”

“Magnolia?”

“No.”

“Sweet Pea?” Aunt Pearl called out as she walked past Stack’s office.

The look Stack gave her nearly sent Cordelia into laughter.

“What? She eaten my scraps I outta give my input, Elias.” Aunt Pearl argued.

“That cat ain’t sweet and neither are you.” Stack mumbled.

Aunt Pearl twisted her towel and swatted it at Stack. The girls giggled.

The kitten chose that moment to bite Stack’s finger.

It wasn’t hard but it was just enough.

Stack stared down at it.

The kitten stared right back.

Smoke stepped into the office. He took one look at the gathering.

“What ya’ll doin?”

“Namin’ Stack’s cat.”

Smoke looked at the kitten. The kitten looked at Smoke.

Then, for absolutely no reason, it hissed.

Smoke raised an eyebrow.

Stack pointed. “See? Mean.”

The kitten puffed itself up, all six ounces of attitude on display.

Smoke nodded once. “Mean little thing.”

Stack looked down at the kitten again.

The kitten looked up at him.

Then, it reached out and placed one tiny white paw on top of his hand.

Something about it made him grin. Not a big grin. Just enough.

“Trouble.”

Cordelia blinked. “What?”

Stack scratched beneath the kitten’s chin.

“That’s the name.”

The kitten immediately climbed onto his shoulder as if it approved.

Peaches laughed. “Trouble!”

Smoke nodded. “Fits.”

The kitten settled comfortably against Stack’s neck.

Stack shook his head. “Yeah.” Looking around the room, he added, “Besides, that what everybody call me when I walk through the door anyway.”

The kitten purred.

The name stuck.

Stack shook his head.

The kitten purred.

Trouble stayed. Nobody ever officially decided it. It simply happened.

A small cushion appeared beside Stack’s desk. Bowls for water and mashed up scraps the girls stole from the kitchen sat right outside of the office door. Smoke was talked into making a slot at the bottom of the back entrance door for the cat to come and go when it needed to relieve itself.

Trouble grew. Its fur became soft and bright. Its ribs disappeared. And despite an entire building full of people wanting its attention, it followed Stack everywhere.

It slept in his office. Sat on his desk during meetings. Occupied his bed when he was away. Curled beside him whenever he sat still longer than five minutes.

Every night after closing, Stack would lean back in his office chair while the cat occupied his lap like it owned the place.

Maybe it did.

One evening, long after the music downstairs had ended, Stack scratched beneath the cat’s chin while looking over the night’s books.

Trouble began purring.

Stack shook his head. “Everybody in this city wants somethin’ from me.”

Trouble blinked.

“You don’t even know who I am.”

Trouble stretched and settled deeper into his lap.

A smile tugged at the corner of Stack’s mouth.

For once, there was no business to handle.

No debts to collect.

No trouble waiting around the corner.

Just a small white cat asleep against him while the sounds of The Blackline drifted softly through the floorboards below.

It was the closest thing to peace Elias Moore had found in a very long time.

—

Just like every night, The Blackline was full to bursting. Folks were stacked three deep at the bar. Saturday night had filled The Blackline to the rafters. The poker tables stayed busy, the whiskey flowed without pause, and not a single chair sat empty in the house. Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling while laughter rolled through the crowded room.

On stage, Ruby Mae or “Big Beaver Mae” sat atop the piano in a sequined dress that caught every oil lamp in the room. Her voice slid through the Juke and Pussy Haven like warm sorghum syrup drizzled over cornbread. Speaking of, she had a hefty slice of Aunt Pearl’s sweet potato cornbread in her hand while she sung about a man with a hook for a pecker that ran off with her money. She earned whistles and applause from the crowd.

Meanwhile, Stack Moore was three hands into a poker game. He had a decent stack of chips in front of him and a man across the table sweating through his collar.

Then, Cordelia appeared.

Stack immediately knew that look.

He leaned back in his chair with a crease between his brows and a toothpick resting in the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

Cordelia folded her arms. “Don’t get mad.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“It ain’t bad.”

“Cordelia.”

She pointed toward the stage.

Stack followed her finger.

Then froze.

There, perched on top of the piano beside the singer, sat Trouble.

The little white menace looked entirely pleased with himself.

Stack closed his eyes.

The poker players around him started laughing.

“How the hell…”

“He climbed up there.”

“Yeah but who let his little ass out my office?!”

Cordelia flicked her gaze away.

“Let me guess. Liza?”

“She said Trouble kept meowin’ wantin’ to get out—”

Stack shoved back from the table.

"That cat so little somebody could've stepped on him."

Cordelia followed as he headed across the room.

“He ain’t been stepped on.”

“Yet.”

By the time Stack reached the stage, Miss Ruby Mae had already spotted him.

A wicked smile spread across her face.

“Oh, look who’s comin’!”

The crowd turned.

Several people immediately started laughing.

Trouble stood, stretched, and sat right back down on top of the piano.

Miss Ruby Mae pointed dramatically. “Ya’ll know that cat?!”

The crowd answered at once.

“That’s Stack’s cat!”

“Hmm,” Ruby Mae laughed. “Just like Stack to surround himself with pussy, ain’t it?!”

“DAMN RIGHT!”

She laughed and slapped the piano. Then, she launched into an improvised verse.

🎶 I got a man named Stack, lord he dress so clean and fine… 🎶

The crowd cheered.

🎶 But his little white cat run that Blackline better than he run mine. 🎶

The room exploded with laughter.

Stack stopped at the edge of the stage.

Ruby Mae wasn’t finished.

🎶 That cat steal fish from the kitchen, knock whiskey on the floor… 🎶

Trouble meowed loudly.

A series of ‘aww’s’ filtered about.

Ruby Mae pointed at him.

🎶 And if Trouble don’t like your face, baby, don’t come back no mo’ 🎶

People were doubled over.

Even the piano player nearly missed a note.

Stack rubbed a hand over his face. “You encouragin’ him, woman!”

Ruby Mae laughed. “Honey, that cat don’t need encouragement.”

Trouble chose that exact moment to walk across the piano keys. A loud, awful cluster of notes rang through the room.

The crowd howled.

Stack finally stepped onto the stage and scooped the cat into his arms.

Trouble immediately started purring.

“You proud of yourself?”

The cat blinked.

Ruby Mae leaned toward the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give a hand to Mr. Elias Moore!”

The applause started instantly.

She pointed at the cat. “And the real owner of The Blackline!”

The cheering got even louder.

Stack shook his head while Trouble sat comfortably in his arms, completely unbothered by the chaos he’d caused.

As he walked away from the stage, he could still hear people laughing.

Cordelia passed by and grinned. “Trouble suits that cat just fine.”

Stack looked down at the little fluffy menace.

Trouble looked back at him.

Then, the cat had the nerve to yawn.

Stack sighed. “Yeah.”

The cat had been at The Blackline less than a month.

Already everybody knew his name.

[kkbeauty86]

New Series Alert!🚨

I wanted to write about a younger Annie and slightly older Smoke. I wanted to capture the experience of finding your first true love as an adult. I am pulling from my own experience as well as a lot of my friends. We had so much fun back in the day. 🥴😂😭 Whew! A time was definitely had.

The title of the series is called

My first Love

Inspired by the remake that Avant and Keke made.

Slightly Older Smoke

Younger Annie

Virgin Annie!

Nostalgia

Early 2000’s

Chapter 1

“Come & Talk To Me”

It’s August of 2004 in South Kansas City, Missouri.

Annie is starting her first job at Red Lobster.

She’s a senior in high school, freshly eighteen years old. Her mom and dad made it clear that if she wanted senior pictures, prom, graduation fees, class dues, yearbooks, and all the other expenses that came with being a senior, she would have to pay for them herself.

There were too many kids in the house.

Money had to stretch.

Growing up between Grandview and Raytown, Annie had lived a sheltered life. She rarely spent time in the inner city. Her dad kept her busy with school, church, chores, and helping raise her younger siblings. Most weekends were spent babysitting or cleaning instead of hanging out with friends.

At eighteen, she was still a virgin while most of her friends had already crossed that bridge years ago.

Now that she was officially an adult, her father had finally loosened the ropes a little.

Not much. Just enough.

As Annie walks through the front doors of Red Lobster, her stomach twisted with nerves and excitement.

The blast of cold air conditioning immediately hits her face.

The restaurant smells like cheddar bay biscuits, fried shrimp, butter, lemon, and seafood. A large lobster tank filled with lobsters sits in the lobby.

Glasses clink. Silverware rattles.

Servers hurry through the dining room carrying trays balance high on their shoulders.

Customers laugh from booths.

A baby cries somewhere near the front windows.

Everything feels loud.

Fast. Alive.

Annie smooths her uniform shirt and wraps her blue apron around her waist.

Her fresh wrap hangs past her shoulders, bouncing when she moves. Her lips are coated in clear gloss and her chocolate skin glows beneath the bright restaurant lights.

She was finally making her own money.

That thought alone makes her smile.

Near the host stand stands two girls wearing the same uniform.

Both blonde.

Both looking just as nervous.

One smiles.

“You starting today too?”

“Mhmm,” Annie replies.

The girl extends her hand.

“My name is Lindsey and this is Melissa.”

“My name is Annie.”

Before they can say much else, a voice calls out behind them.

“Alright ladies.”

They turn.

Standing there is a middle-aged, skinny pale woman with tired eyes and smoker’s wrinkles around her mouth.

She looks like she drank every weekend and maybe a few weekdays too.

“I’m Michelle,” she says. “Let me show you around and introduce you to everybody. Follow me.”

The girls fall in line behind her.

Michelle leads them through the dining room.

As they walk, she introduces managers, hosts, bartenders, and bus boys.

“That’s Tony.”

“That’s Chris.”

“That’s Mike.”

Everyone nods or waves.

The farther they walk, the louder things become.

Then they reach the kitchen.

The moment Annie steps through the swinging doors she nearly stops in her tracks.

The heat hits her instantly.

Steam rises from pots.

Fryers hiss.

The smell of grease and seasoning fill the air.

Orders are being shouted from every direction.

The galley sits in the middle of it all.

One side belongs to the servers and food dressers.

The other belongs to the cooks.

A narrow window separates them where finished plates slide through.

Four cooks stand on the line.

All young. All Black. All handsome.

But one stands out immediately.

He has good height.

Around six feet.

Broad shoulders.

Muscles stretching beneath his black t-shirt.

Coffee-brown skin.

Thick lips.

Sharp jawline.

Low cut with deep waves.

Looked to be twenty one or twenty two.

He’s talking to another cook when he turns his head.

The second he does, his eyes land on Annie.

His entire expression changes.

His eyes light up.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Like something had caught his attention.

Then he checks it.

Goes right back to whatever conversation he was having.

Annie notices.

And for some reason, her stomach flips.

Before she can think too much about it Michelle calls out.

“Fellas! We got some new servers starting today!”

The cooks look up.

Michelle points down the line.

“This one here is Jesse. He works the fryers.”

Jesse grins. Light skinned.

Curly hair—a product of when races mix.

Looking every bit of nineteen.

“Hello ladies.”

All three girls greet him back.

Michelle continues.

“This is Brandon. He’s one of our grill cooks.”

Brandon nods.

“Sup.”

He’s slightly chubby with a perfectly trimmed beard, cornrows.

His lips are dark from years of smoking blunts.

Still handsome though.

The way Brandon looks at the new girls makes it obvious he considers them fresh fish.

Michelle moves on.

“This is Jessie and he garnishes all the food.”

The girls laugh

“Your name Jessie too?”

He smirks.

“Yeah, but I’m the better one.”

This Jessie is dark skinned and shorter than the rest.

The entire line laughs—except Smoke.

Finally Michelle points to the last cook.

“This one here is Elijah. He can do it all. Grill, fryers, whatever’s needed.”

The cook immediately corrects her.

“Smoke.”

Michelle rolls her eyes.

“My name is Smoke.”

Michelle sighs.

“Sorry. He goes by Smoke. Which I really don’t want us calling out in the kitchen, but whatever.”

Everybody laughs

Including Annie.

Smoke doesn’t.

He just looks directly at her.

Holds her stare.

Annie’s breath catches.

The boldness of it nearly makes her look away immediately.

But she can’t.

For several seconds they simply stare at each other.

The noise of the kitchen fading.

The voices. The fryers. Everything.

Then Smoke finally breaks eye contact.

And Annie finds herself breathing again.

After introductions Michelle brings the girls back into the galley.

They are paired with veteran servers.

Annie ends up with a girl named Meagan.

Meagan couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Petite. Brown skin. Pretty face.

A short ponytail swinging behind her head.

Small but loud. Very loud.

“Come on,” Meagan says immediately.

“We moving fast around here.”

Annie hurries after her.

Meagan walks so quickly Annie almost has to jog.

“This where you get your salads.”

She points.

“This where the biscuits go.”

Points again.

“This the drink station. We get free drinks.”

Another point.

Annie blinks.

“Wait.”

Meagan laughs.

“You already lost?”

“A little.”

“Girl, don’t worry. Everybody lost their first day.”

As they walk she continues talking.

“If somebody asks you for ranch, bring two. Trust me.”

“Okay.”

“If somebody asks for extra biscuits, bring six.”

“Six?”

“Yes six. White folks love these damn biscuits.”

Annie laughs.

Meagan grins.

“And stay out the managers’ faces.”

“Why?”

“Because they crazy.”

Annie laughs harder.

By the time they return to the kitchen, Meagan has already shifted gears.

Completely.

She grabs a plate from the window.

“Aye! Where the fuck is my steak?!”

The entire kitchen looks up.

“I already got fucking fries on this plate getting cold! Hurry the fuck up!”

Brandon sucks his teeth.

“Shut the fuck up! It says well done on the ticket! You’ll get it when it’s done!”

He points toward the fryer.

“Blame Jessie ass for dropping the fries too early!”

They immediately start arguing.

Back and forth. Like siblings.

Annie stands there watching in disbelief.

She glances toward Smoke.

He’s reading tickets hanging above the line.

Calling out orders.

“Two salmon.”

“One shrimp linguine.”

“Need a medium ribeye.”

Then his eyes flicker toward her.

Again.

The look wasn’t accidental.

Annie immediately looks away.

Heat rising in her cheeks.

As Meagan loads food onto her tray she smirks.

“Don’t think I don’t see you.”

Annie freezes.

“Huh?”

Meagan laughs.

“Girl please.”

Annie looks down.

“I’m not—”

“Mhmm.”

Meagan lifts her tray.

“Come on.”

Then immediately yells—

“Move the fuck out my way!”

Annie nearly jumps and everyone in the galley parts.

Once they hit the dining room though…

Everything changes.

Meagan smiles.

Laughs.

Plays peek-a-boo with babies.

Calls elderly couples sweetheart.

Asks people about birthdays.

It’s like watching two completely different people.

When they return to the kitchen Annie finally says it.

“Wow.”

Meagan looks over.

“What?”

“I just saw a different person out there.”

Meagan clicks her tongue.

“I do what I need to do for money.”

She points toward the biscuit station.

“Now go get me some biscuits.”

The day flies by.

The dinner rush hits.

And suddenly hours disappear.

The restaurant grows louder.

Hotter. Busier.

The cooks move like machines.

Servers dart around each other.

Managers yell table numbers.

By closing time Annie’s feet hurt.

Her back hurt.

But she’s smiling.

At the end of the night she and Meagan sit rolling silverware.

“You gotta roll it tight like this.”

Meagan demonstrates.

“Or they’ll complain.”

“Okay.”

“And always tip out the bar.”

“How much?”

“Ten percent.”

“And the bus boys?”

“Whatever you wanna give.”

They roll two entire tubs.

When they finish, Meagan shoves forty dollars toward Annie.

Annie stares.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Girl take it.”

“No seriously—”

“Take it.”

Annie smiles and stuffs it into her apron.

Forty dollars.

For one day.

She can’t believe it.

Outside, she pulls out her Nokia phone to call her dad.

Meagan stays behind talking to a male server named Saul.

A few minutes later the front doors open.

Smoke steps outside.

Saul immediately calls out.

“Aye bro. I need that good shit from you. I know you got some.”

Smoke nods.

“I’m gettin’ ready to bring my truck up.”

“Bet that.”

Smoke glances toward Annie.

Slowly looking her up.

Then down.

Then back up.

A chill crawls down her spine.

He walks away.

Annie looks down.

Trying to act unaffected.

Failing miserably.

There was something about him.

Something dangerous.

Like he works a regular job but belongs somewhere else after hours.

The streets. The city.

Places Annie had only heard stories about.

She was intrigued despite herself.

Eventually she gets bored waiting.

She starts playing the Snake game on her phone.

Then she hears music.

Loud music.

She looks up.

A dark blue candy-painted 1988 Chevy Silverado rolls toward them.

Chrome twenty-fours gleam beneath the lights.

Tint too dark to see through.

Bass rattles the pavement.

The truck looks expensive.

Custom.

Attention grabbing.

It pulls directly in front of the restaurant.

Smoke climbs out.

Looking straight at Annie.

Like he wants her to notice.

Like he knows she’s watching.

His non-slip shoes are gone.

Jordan’s now.

White tee.

Baggy jeans.

Confidence dripping off him.

Annie swallows hard.

Smoke finally looks away and walks over to Saul.

Leaving the truck door wide open.

Annie can’t help herself.

She peeks inside.

Leather seats painted Superman colors.

Red. Blue. Yellow.

A giant S stitched into the center.

TV screens built into the headrests.

J-Kwon’s “Hood Hop” blasts from expensive speakers.

The truck looks like something straight out of a music video.

She watches Smoke hand Saul something.

The two talk quietly.

Then Smoke turns.

Starts walking back toward his truck.

Slowly.

His eyes never leaving Annie.

Not once.

Not until he climbs inside.

He shuts the door.

Starts the engine.

Then nods at her.

Annie nods back.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Then he pulls away.

Fast.

The engine roars.

Annie jumps.

Lindsey and Melissa busts out laughing behind her.

“He so damn sexy,” Lindsey said.

Melissa nods immediately.

“Mhmm. I was making sure I kept my eyes on him all day.”

“Sameeeee.”

Lindsey laughs.

“Now that I seen his car, I gotta try and talk to him.”

Melissa smirks.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with a man like that.”

“Maybe not. But I’m sure he can teach me.”

The girls laughs.

Annie smiles and shakes her head.

“How was your first day?” Melissa asks.

Annie shrugs.

“It was cool I guess.”

“Girl I made good money. Keisha gave me a hundred dollars.”

Lindsey’s mouth drops open.

“What?!”

Melissa laughs.

“Cortez ain’t give me nothing.”

Just then Annie’s dad pulls into the parking lot.

“See y’all later.”

They wave.

By the time Annie gets home, her siblings were asleep.

The house is quiet.

She showers.

Pulls on a t-shirt.

Then climbs into bed.

She slips her Nivea CD into her Walkman.

“25 Reasons” fills her headphones.

The room glows softly from the moonlight coming through the blinds.

Annie stares at the ceiling.

And thinks about Smoke.

The way he looked at her.

The way he held eye contact.

The confidence.

The truck.

The mystery.

Everything about him felt different from the boys she’d grown up around in South Kansas City.

He unnerved her.

Made her curious.

Made her nervous.

Made her want to know more.

Her heart skips just thinking about the way he’d stared a hole through her before leaving.

Eventually her eyes grow heavy.

The music plays softly.

And somewhere between thoughts of Smoke and dreams of tomorrow, Annie finally drifts off to sleep.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Smoke rides through Kansas City with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console.

Rich The Factor thumps through the speakers.

Streetlights blur across his windshield as he cuts through the city.

Normally he doesn’t think about work once he’s off the clock.

Once he’s done cooking, he’s done.

But tonight his mind won’t stay where it’s supposed to.

It keeps drifting back to the same person.

The new girl.

Annie.

He shakes his head.

“Damn.”

The truck rolls through Prospect.

Then toward 39th.

Then back out south.

Making stops.

Dropping off what his customers need.

Collecting money.

Conducting business.

The usual.

But every time he finds himself alone again, his mind circles right back to her.

He sees her standing in the kitchen.

Fresh wrap, hair bouncing whenever she moved.

Glossy lips.

Big brown eyes.

Chocolate skin glowing under those fluorescent lights.

Shy. Quiet.

Completely out of place.

And that’s exactly what caught his attention.

Most girls would’ve been giggling.

Showing off, like the other two who started with her.

Trying to get noticed.

Not her.

She barely looked anybody in the eye.

When Michelle introduced them, Smoke noticed the way Annie stood with her hands folded in front of her.

Almost nervous. Almost innocent.

Like she wasn’t used to being around people like him.

And she definitely wasn’t.

Smoke knew the difference immediately.

He’d met girls from every part of Kansas City.

The hood.

The suburbs.

The projects.

Annie wasn’t from his world.

He could tell.

The way she talked.

The way she carried herself.

The way she blushed when he looked at her.

The girl was green. Fresh.

And Lord help him…

That made her ass even prettier.

Smoke pulls into a gas station on Troost.

One of his regular customers walks out.

Money exchanges hands.

Business gets handled.

A few words are spoken.

Then he’s back on the road.

The city glows around him.

Neon signs. Liquor stores.

Corner stores.

People hanging outside apartment buildings.

Cars rolling through intersections.

Kansas City at night.

His city.

His phone rings.

It’s Brandon.

Smoke answers.

“What’s up?”

“You hittin the club tonight?”

“Nah.”

“Damn. Why?”

“Ain’t really feelin it.”

Brandon laughs.

“Bullshit.”

“What fool?”

“You thinkin’ about that new girl.”

Smoke chuckles.

“I don’t know what the hell you talkin about.”

“Man please.”

Smoke hears Brandon sparking a blunt.

“You ain’t slick. The whole line saw you starin’ at her ass.”

Smoke shakes his head.

“Tskk Whatever nigga.”

“Nah. Whatever my ass. You was looking at her like she was the last biscuit in that muthafucka.”

Smoke laughs despite himself.

“Nigga shut the fuck up.”

“And she was lookin’ at yo ass too.”

Smoke doesn’t answer.

Because she had been.

Every time he looked up.

She was looking.

Then she’d immediately look away.

Like she’d gotten caught.

The memory makes him smirk

“See.”

Brandon starts laughing.

“You smiling right now ain’t you?”

“Man get the fuck off my phone.”

“You got it bad already my nigga.”

Smoke hangs up.

Still smirking

He drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

The truth is…

He doesn’t get nervous around women.

Never has.

Women usually come easy.

But there was something different about Annie.

She didn’t seem impressed by his truck.

Didn’t know about his reputation

Or the fact that half the city knew his name.

Hell, she seemed like she barely talked.

But every time she’d looked at him today, Smoke felt something strange settle in his chest.

Something he couldn’t quite explain.

The truck slows at a red light.

Smoke glances at the passenger seat.

Empty.

Then he thinks about Annie sitting there.

Looking around.

Asking questions.

Laughing.

The image appears so clearly that it catches him off guard.

“Damn.”

The light turns green.

Smoke pulls off.

For the first time all night, he realizes he’s smiling like a fool and he hardly ever smiles.

One day.

That’s all it took.

One day.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of business.

More stops.

More conversations.

More money.

Eventually he pulls into his apartment complex sometime after midnight.

The city finally quiet.

He kills the engine.

The music dies.

For a moment he just sits there.

Looking through the windshield.

Thinking.

Annie.

Her smile.

Her eyes.

The way her eyes got wide every time he caught her staring.

Then he remembers the way she nodded back when he pulled off.

A simple little nod.

Nothing special.

Yet it’s the thing he remembers most.

Smoke climbs out and locks the truck.

As he heads toward his apartment he laughs softly to himself.

Because for the first time in a long time…

He’s actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow.

And he already knows exactly why.

📚✏️📚✏️📚✏️📚✏️📚✏️📚✏️📚✏️📚✏️

The next day at school, Annie is sitting in the cafeteria at lunch with her best friends Ebony, Devin, and Rhonda.

The cafeteria is loud as always.

Trays slam against tables.

Kids yell across the room.

A group of football players are crowded around two tables arguing about who won a game of Madden the night before.

The smell of pizza, french fries, and cafeteria tacos hangs in the air.

A teacher blows a whistle somewhere near the vending machines.

Annie picks at her fries while her friends crowd around the table.

Ebony turns toward her.

“So how was your first day of work?”

Annie shrugs.

“It was okay. It’s fast paced but I can handle it.”

Devin immediately perks up.

“Shit, I can’t wait until you in there good. I need the hook up, girl.”

Annie shakes her head.

“Here you go. Stay tryin’ to get free food. We don’t even get free food. We only get half off.”

“Oh wow,” Devin says. “They can’t even give y’all free food?”

“Uh no. We get free drinks though.”

Rhonda cuts in.

“What good is that?”

“Shit, I’d take that. Free is free,” Ebony says.

Then she leans forward.

“Anyway, we goin to Bannister Mall Saturday or what?”

Rhonda immediately shakes her head.

“Nah. Let’s go to The Landing Mall. That’s where all the fine niggas at. Don’t nobody wanna see the same niggas we see at school every day.”

Devin points across the table.

“Yo fast ass always tryna go down in the city.”

“So?” Rhonda shoots back. “Them niggas ain’t boring. I love ridin wit em while they buss serves.”

The girls busts out laughing.

Annie shakes her head.

“I can’t. I gotta babysit and I haven’t even gotten paid yet.”

Devin groans dramatically.

“You always gotta watch them damn crumb snatchers.”

“Yeah,” Rhonda adds. “They bad as hell.”

“I know y’all,” Annie says. “Butttt what can I do? They my siblings.”

Ebony shakes her head.

“You better than me.”

“Whatever.”

Annie tries to laugh it off, but the familiar frustration creeps in.

Because the truth is…

She doesn’t want to babysit.

Not every weekend.

Not every Friday night.

Not every time her friends are doing something fun.

She loves her brothers and sisters.

Would do anything for them.

But sometimes it feels like she’s helping raise them instead of just being their sister.

Meanwhile everybody else gets to be teenagers.

Everybody else gets to go to the movies.

Go to parties.

Hang out at the mall.

Ride around.

Have fun.

Annie feels like she’s constantly missing something.

She stares down at her tray.

Ready for the day she can finally get away from home.

Ready for the day she doesn’t have to ask permission for every little thing.

At this rate she doesn’t even want kids.

Ebony pulls her from her thoughts.

“Ryan was looking for you earlier.”

Annie immediately rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know why. That’s been over.”

“I don’t know,” Ebony says. “He told me to give you this letter.”

She slides the folded paper across the table.

“Don’t do him like that. Y’all was so cute together.” Devin says

Annie groans.

Ryan was Annie’s ex-boyfriend.

If that’s what you wanted to call him.

Most of their relationship happened at school.

The rest happened through whispered late-night phone calls that Annie had to sneak to make.

At first she liked him.

Thought he was sweet.

Then she found out he loved attention way more than he loved her.

Especially attention from girls.

When he got caught kissing another girl on a football trip, Annie was devastated.

Not because she lost Ryan.

But because she trusted him.

Then when she confronted him, he tried to make it her fault.

Told her she didn’t spend enough time with him.

Told her she cared more about following her parents’ rules than being his girlfriend.

Annie broke that shit off immediately.

Ryan never got over it.

Even though he was talking to another girl now—the same girl he was caught kissing.

It was like he couldn’t handle the fact that Annie left him first.

And everybody at school knew it.

Annie stuffs the letter into her pocket.

Rhonda grins.

“That little long paragraph he wrote on your guestbook on BlackPlanet was too cute.”

Annie sucks her teeth.

“It was not. I cussed him out too because who does that? You just supposed to put your name in there. Not write whole paragraphs for the whole world to see.”

Devin laughs.

“He loves you girl.”

Annie waves her off.

“Ryan don’t know shit about love. I blame Kevion for setting me up with his ass.”

Ebony points.

“That’s who you should’ve gotten wit.”

Annie immediately knits her brows.

“Hell no. That’s like my brother. He’s annoying as hell. I don’t see how any girl can put up wit him.”

“You can,” Devin says.

Annie throws a fry at her.

“Anywayyyy let’s change the subject.”

The girls crack up.

The bell rings moments later.

Everybody starts standing.

Chairs scrape across the floor.

Backpacks zip.

Teachers begin ushering students toward class.

The four girls gather their things and head toward the hallway laughing.

♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️

A little later, Annie is sitting in her last period.

The teacher is at the front of the room droning on about something written across the chalkboard.

Most of the students aren’t paying attention.

A few are passing notes.

Some are sleeping.

Others are listening to CDs through headphones hidden beneath their hoodies.

Sunlight streams through the classroom windows.

Annie reaches into her pocket and pulls out Ryan’s letter.

She unfolds it carefully beneath her desk.

Immediately she recognizes his handwriting.

Messy. Slanted.

Trying too hard to be cool.

She starts reading.

’Sup,

Nothin much this way just chillin like a muthafuckin villain.’

Annie rolls her eyes so hard they almost hurt.

“Boy…”

She shakes her head and keeps reading.

‘Anyway, you really not returning my calls? That shit crazy. I told you I ain’t mean for it to happen. I know you probably heard about me and Dana but she don’t mean shit to me. She ain’t you. I’m only wit her now cause you won’t take me back. I miss you and I know I blamed you for yo parents being so strict but it ain’t yo fault and that’s my bad. If you can meet me at my locker at the end of the day. Just give me another chance Annie. Please. I hope to see you later.’

This is my sorry for 2004...

Peace,

Ryan

Annie stares at the paper for a few seconds after she finishes. She holds in a laugh at the song reference.

She folds it back up.

Then unfolds it again.

Her jaw tightens.

The nerve.

The absolute nerve.

Ryan really had some audacity.

Dana don’t mean shit to you?

Then why was your tongue in her mouth?

Annie immediately feels her blood pressure rise.

The memory comes back clear as day.

Her friend’s phone call.

The embarrassment.

The disbelief.

Then Ryan standing in front of her trying to explain it away.

Trying to make her feel guilty.

Trying to convince her that somehow his cheating was connected to her parents being strict.

That part probably irritated her more than the actual kiss.

Because Ryan knew her situation.

He knew how hard it was for her to do anything.

He knew she couldn’t just leave whenever she wanted.

Knew she had younger siblings to help with.

Knew her father wasn’t playing that sneaking out shit.

Yet somehow he still tried to make her feel responsible for his choices.

Annie sucks her teeth quietly.

“Whatever.”

The girl beside her glances over.

Annie immediately looks back toward the board.

But her mind keeps drifting.

A small part of her wonders if she should meet him.

Just hear him out.

Maybe he really was sorry.

Maybe he meant what he wrote.

Maybe—

She cuts the thought off immediately.

No.

Because if he was really sorry, he wouldn’t have done it.

And even if she forgave him…

What would change?

Ryan still liked attention.

Still flirted too much.

Still thought apologies fixed everything.

The truth was she didn’t trust him anymore.

And once trust was gone…

What was left?

Annie folds the letter one final time.

Smaller this time.

Until it’s just a tiny square.

Then she shoves it into her backpack.

Decision made.

She isn’t meeting him after school.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not ever.

Ryan had his chance.

He chose Dana.

Now he could go be with Dana.

The final bell eventually rings.

Students immediately jump up from their desks.

Books slam shut.

Chairs scrape across the floor.

The hallway fills with noise.

Annie gathers her things and heads toward the door.

As she walks down the hallway, she spots Ryan leaning against his locker exactly where he said he’d be.

Looking around.

Waiting.

Searching every face that passes by.

Waiting for her.

Annie slows for half a second.

Just long enough to see the hopeful look on his face.

Then she keeps walking.

Straight past him.

Without stopping.

Without speaking.

Without even turning her head.

A few moments later she hears him call her name.

“Annie!”

She keeps walking.

“Annie!”

Her grip tightens around her backpack strap.

But she never looks back.

Eventually his voice disappears behind her.

And for the first time since they broke up…

She feels completely sure she made the right decision.

By the time she reaches the parking lot, Ryan is already fading into the background.

And strangely enough…

The person occupying her thoughts isn’t him at all.

It’s a quiet cook from Red Lobster who hadn’t even said one word to her.

A man named Smoke.

And that realization makes Annie shake her head at herself.

Because she doesn’t even know that man.

Yet somehow she’s smiling on the ride home.

♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️

When Annie makes it home, the house is quiet for all of five minutes before the phone rings.

The loud ring echoes through the house.

Annie drops her backpack by the couch and picks up the cordless phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey baby,” her mother says.

Annie smiles automatically.

“Hey Mama.”

“I need you to feed your siblings before you go to work.”

Annie’s shoulders immediately slump.

“But Mama…” she groans. “I don’t have much time. Where’s Edward at? He can feed them.”

“Annie, don’t question me.”

Her mother’s tone isn’t harsh, but it leaves little room for debate.

“He’s at theater practice.”

Annie sighs.

Of course he is.

Edward was the second oldest—16, but he was hardly ever home.

Between theater, choir, band, and whatever school activity he had signed up for that month, he managed to stay busy.

Meanwhile Annie somehow always ended up being the one available.

“Your dad will be home shortly to take you to work. Watch your baby sister closely. She had to stay home from daycare today. Your auntie just dropped her off, so make sure her pull up is dry please.”

Annie glances at the clock.

She really doesn’t have much time.

Still…

“Okay.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome.”

After hanging up, Annie drops the phone back onto its charger and heads into the kitchen.

The house smells faintly like laundry detergent and whatever cleaning products her mother used that morning.

Her six year old twin siblings are somewhere throughout the house.

The twelve and fourteen year old are watching 106th and Park.

The youngest who is two years old is playing with toys on the floor.

Nobody seems remotely concerned about dinner.

Annie rolls her eyes.

“Y’all know y’all gotta eat, right?”

A chorus of the twelve and fourteen year old groans follows.

“We tryna go outside and hoop in a minute.”

She ignores them.

Opening the freezer, she pulls out french fries.

Then grabs the ground beef from the refrigerator.

Before long the smell of sloppy joes fills the kitchen.

The meat sizzles in the skillet.

The fries crisp up in the oven.

The twins and the two year old begin wandering into the kitchen one by one, drawn by the smell.

“Is it done yet?”

“No.”

Five minutes later.

“Is it done now?”

“No.”

Another five minutes.

“What about now?”

Annie points toward the living room.

“If y’all don’t get out this kitchen.”

The kids scatter, laughing.

Eventually dinner is ready.

Annie fixes everyone’s plates and lines them up on the table.

“Sit down.”

Nobody moves fast enough.

She snaps her fingers.

“Now.”

Chairs scrape against the floor.

The kids finally sit.

Annie watches them start eating before grabbing her own plate.

For a few minutes the only sounds are kids smacking and the television playing in the next room.

Then, as soon as they’re done, Annie starts gathering homework folders.

The complaints begin immediately.

“Aww man.”

“I already did mine.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Bring it here then.”

The child suddenly grows quiet.

Exactly.

Annie shakes her head.

Sometimes she felt more like a third parent than a big sister.

She sits at the table helping one sibling with spelling words while another struggles through multiplication.

She holds her baby sister in her lap.

Outside, she hears her father’s truck pull into the driveway.

Relief instantly washes over her.

Because as much as she loved her family…

She was more than ready to get out of the house and head to work.

Even if it was only for a few hours.

It was the one place lately that felt like it belonged to her….

Part 2

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

I know I said I’m updating Say My Name next after I get this fic out but what ya’ll want next? If it is Say My Name just comment to confirm and I’ll go ahead and get it started

[hopefulandromantic]

Good Neighbor

Featuring: Elijah “Smoke” Moore

Warnings: Smut + Age Gap (Smoke is 35 and Divine is 23)! Please, don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable! 🫶🏾

IN WHICH Divine asks her fine ass, older neighbor to take her virginity.

Please excuse any and all mistakes! 🙃

Divine's been Smoke's neighbor for about a year now—right across the hall from him.

One day, while she was still in the process of getting moved in, he felt like being kind enough to help her haul a few boxes into her apartment. He did and she noticed that he lived right across from her.

He’s been her go to ever since.

She knocks on his door if she needs something put together. Knock if she needs something heavy brought up. Knock if she needs sugar, or any other common kitchen ingredients that everyone should have. Knock if she needs to borrow money to order food (which she never pays back). Hell, she even knocks when she's bored.

It's gotten to the point that all three of the women Smoke’s currently juggling know of her, even initially asking if that's his little sister.

Of course, he introduces her as his irritating ass neighbor, to which their curiosity and amusement shifts to jealousy.

Smoke pays it no mind, knowing deep down that if it’s up to him, Divine isn’t going anywhere, but they can.

Smoke initially did find her annoying to a point, the younger reminding him of his twin, in a way. After getting to know her in depth, he understood her taking to him so quick.

Divine ran away from her family and hometown in North Carolina, settling in Chicago to get a fresh start in her twenty-three years of living.

In a world where seeing a man as safe isn't safe, he felt a sense of obligation—knowing that that wouldn't be the case for her.

Yes, he’s a little hard on her, especially since she works most of her nights at a well known, local gentleman's club.

Through all of that protectiveness and strictness, Divine notices and appreciates that he cares and looks out for her.

At the end of the day, she’s a good girl with a good head on her shoulders, so doing so isn't too hard.

Like, what feels like, clockwork, his carefree day of leisure is interrupted by someone wanting access to him.

Impatient knocks on his door urged Smoke to toss his PS5 controller aside, releasing a huff of air from his nose. He pulled his sagging sweats up on his hips, trudging to the front door.

"Wait a damn minute." Smoke grumbled just as they started up again. He swung it open, already knowing that Divine is behind it.

"What the fuck do you want, lil girl?" Smoke gritted, irritation all over his face and that usual Southern bite deep in his gruff tone. "You can't be banging on my do' like som' wrong!"

"Damn, can you calm down?" Divine sassed with a soft frown and eye roll. "Something is wrong. This is serious, Smoke."

"Life or death?"

"Uh...no, but—." Divine was cut off by Smoke closing the door in her face, smirking softly at the fact that he knows she's internally throwing a fit. "Smoke, please!" She whined, making him roll his eyes and pull the door back open.

Smoke stepped aside, silently giving her permission to enter.

Divine sauntered in like she owned the place, her black, plush Victoria’s Secret slippers sliding against the floor loudly.

She's currently wearing some light blue, Smurf printed shorts that are too damn short, and a white, cropped tank top that's barely containing her full, generous breasts and resting just above her soft, pudgy stomach.

Divine plopped down on his couch, releasing a loud, dramatic sigh as she sprawled out all of her limbs.

Smoke shook his head with a soft scoff, sitting down and manspreading in his previous spot.

Divine released an even louder sigh when she noticed that he picked his controller back up and unpaused the game.

"I'm 'spose to ask you what's wrong?"

"Yes."

Smoke cut his eyes over at her, pausing the game that he just unpaused to see what's her issue.

"What's wrong, Divine?" Smoke asked with concern so false that it came out sounding almost forced.

"Ugh, It's stupid."

"Girl, just tell me what the hell wrong wit' you."

"Fine." Divine sat up with a huff, looking over at Smoke with a pout. "I'm tired of being a virgin."

Smoke's brows furrowed, and he tilted his head in visible confusion as she looked down at her slippers.

"You a virgin, D?"

He’s not blind. The young woman is very attractive.

Rich brown skin. Thick, black coils that she keeps done in bold, natural styles. Big, soft brown eyes and full, plush lips. Curvaceous, thick frame. In addition, she's intelligent and has an extremely likable personality (even though Smoke will never tell her that).

There's also been a few men that she brought around, so he just assumed that she had to be serious with at least one of them.

"Yeah." Divine muttered. "I know. It's fucking embarrassing. A grown ass virgin that gotta sit back and...miss out!" She rambled.

“Ain’t nothing wrong wit’ being a virgin, Divine.” Smoke reassured her with an amused chuckle. “It ain’t that serious.”

“It’s serious when I have desires that aren’t being fulfilled, Elijah.” Divine sassed, saying his government almost like it disgusted her at the moment. “I’m at my limit.”

"So, you ready to fuck?" Smoke spoke—half questioning, and half asking for confirmation. "I mean, have sex." He caught and censored himself, gritting his teeth apologetically.

"See?"

"What?"

"That! Don't...treat me like a fucking child. Like an inexperienced, fragile teenager, or something!" Divine spat with a frown, making Smoke shake his head, and fight the urge to mock her despite understanding where she’s coming from.

“I hear you.” Smoke grumbled, looking back over at her and returning his full attention to her.

"Yes, I wanna fuck. I wanna be fucked. I wanna be fucked so good that I can…barely walk the next day! I don’t know!" Divine went on passionately, throwing her arms in the air and dropping them.

"So...." Smoke trailed off, shrugging. "You want me to help you ask one of yo’ lil boyfriends to…fuck you?”

"No, Smoke." Divine said firmly, straightening her spine to boldly deliver her next words. "I want you to fuck me."

Smoke froze in shock, but a smile made its way onto his face as he eventually let out a small laugh.

When he realized that she isn’t laughing along and is serious, the most serious he’s seen her since they met, his smile faltered and his heart dropped.

“Wait, fo’real?”

“I’m not laughing, Elijah.” Divine said stiffly, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I'm not fucking you, D."

"What?" Divine asked, the disbelief and shock from the rejection evident in her tone. "Why? Come on! I-I trust you, Smoke! I know you won't hurt me, and—. Oh my God." She paused and frowned deeper. "You think I'm ugly."

Smoke smacked his lips, letting his head hit the cushion behind him with an audible groan.

"Nah, don’t “ahhughh”!” Divine spat, mocking his groan.

Caught off guard, Smoke barked out a laugh. He dropped his head in a fit of snickers as she pushed his shoulder with a mug.

“Bro, what the fuck?” Smoke wheezed in a fit of laughter.

“That's basically what the fuck you telling me!"

"Just because I don't wanna fuck you, don't mean you ugly, Divine." Smoke retorted with a chuckle.

"Is it because of my age?"

"Eh, in a way, I guess." Smoke admitted with a subtle shrug after thinking about it. "I don't have time for attachment and shit. It piss me off, honestly. I ain't tryna stereotype you, or virgins in general, but like....I like my women experienced. I like women who know how to get down to business, then gon’ ‘bout they day.”

“Smoke, that’s so me!”

“Girl, you don’t fucking know that ‘cause you never had to do it before.” Smoke tilted his head, giving her a bored look.

"Well, nigga, I can learn!"

"Divine, it's not that simple." Smoke said with an amused chuckle. "I'm sure there's plenty of niggas 'round yo' age that—"

"I knew I shouldn't have brought this up to you." Divine muttered, shaking her head with a scoff. "Should've just asked Stack."

"Who?" Smoke asked, raising a brow and lifting his head to properly look at her like she lost her damn mind.

“Bingo!” Divine thought, fighting the urge to smirk.

"Nobody."

"Don't fucking play wit' me, Divine." Smoke said sternly, making her roll her eyes with the soft, prideful smirk that she couldn’t resist.

The jokes on him, actually. He isn't scaring her, he's actually making her want to be fucked more. He doesn't even know why that remark irritated him so much. He just knows that it did.

"Look, I came to you because you're the only man that I trust with this. I trust you with me, and…I trust you to be honest, I guess.” Divine spoke seriously, looking away and fiddling with her long, black acrylic nails. "If you don't want to do it, that's fine. I'll just try to take your earlier advice. You can just give me pointers, or some shit, at least." She stressed, releasing a soft, anxious sigh at the thought.

“You can’t just play wit’ yourself?”

“It’s not the same.” Divine admitted with defeat. “It’s like there’s an itch there that I can’t scratch, Elijah.” She grumbled, sinking back into the couch and deflating.

Smoke stared over at her, lost in thought as he nibbled on the inside of his cheek. Divine shook her head as she stared at the ceiling.

When she sat up to speak again, attempting to change the subject, Smoke cut her off.

“You sure you want to?” Smoke asked with a never before seen tenderness that made her visibly freeze and her eyes to light up.

“Yeah.” Divine breathed out, nodding feverishly. “I-I do. I’m so sure.” She rushed out, softly smiling.

"Bet." Smoke said with a "fuck it" shrug and a heavy exhale. "C'mere."

Divine barely let him get his words out before she leapt onto his big, bulky frame.

Smoke firmly gripped her hips as she straddled him, staring down at him and biting back her smile. She don’t want to come off as too excited. She definitely don’t want to show just how much she’s been secretly dreaming and fantasizing about this.

Smoke stared up at her and examined her with so much intensity that Divine grew convinced that he’s reading her mind just as thoroughly as he’s reading her physical.

"You know how to kiss, right?"

"A little." Divine said softly, making him nod.

"Show me."

Divine leaned down, smashing her lips onto his. Smoke attempted to set the rhythm, but her eagerness overtook him, making him grip her neck firmly to physically try and slow her down.

When she didn’t get the message, a soft laugh slipped out of him, making her pull back and look down at him with a sheepish smile.

“You actin’ greedy as hell, right na.”

“Sorry.” Divine muttered quickly before leaning down, grabbing his face and gently locking her lips onto his—desperate to correct herself.

Divine began to follow Smoke’s lead and pace, her brows furrowing slightly at the newness of him introducing tongue.

When she got the hang of it to a point, the awkwardness seemed to fade as she melted into him, moaning softly and demanding more.

Smoke hummed softly in approval when she began to move her lips and tongue fluidly against his, gripping her hips with one hand and the front of her neck with the other.

This grip of her neck held an entirely different energy.

The warmth from the firm hold and the small, sexy sound of praise went straight to her core that's already hot, pulsing, and ready.

"Get up." Smoke rasped against her lips, nipping at her bottom one as she stared at him, dazed.

"Why?"

“We gotta get out these clothes to fuck, Divine." Smoke muttered with a soft laugh, causing her face to heat up.

"Oh…I knew that." Divine muttered, standing to her feet and giving Smoke the space to do so, as well.

Divine pulled her tank top over her head, letting her luscious globes fall free without shame.

Her nipples are erect and already stiff from the heightened sexual tension in the room.

Stripping herself bare for Smoke held a type of exhilaration that’s entirely different than doing it to make money at the club.

Her eyes fell on Smoke's heavenly sculpted torso as he tossed his hoodie to the side.

The sight of his gold chain against his gorgeously bronzed skin and his arm muscles flexing with minimal movement nearly made her mouth water.

Smoke noticed that she was staring and quirked a brow with a soft smirk. Divine flirtatiously smiled and turned her back to him, looking back to see him hungrily watching her shimmy out of her shorts and panties while he got rid of his sweats—leaving him in his grey briefs.

Smoke was behind her before she could even attempt to turn her front back in his direction.

A giggle slipped from Divine’s lips as he gripped her hair, loving the weight and presence of him hot and heavy against her backside.

“Call yo’self teasing me, lil girl?”

“I’m just doing what you told me to do, Elijah.” Divine said softly, feigning innocence while looking back at him and batting her wispy lashes.

Smoke hummed with a soft smirk, pulling her towards his dimly lit bedroom—the only light illuminating it being from his TV’s screensaver. He threw her onto the bed before looming over her and slotting himself between her legs, kissing her with slow, teasing intensity.

The anticipation made Divine whimper against his lips and lock her legs around him, chasing the friction that occurred whenever her swollen clit brushed against the bulk of him in his briefs with gentle shifts of her wide hips.

"Ever got yo’ pussy ate?" Smoke asked against her lips.

"Yeah, but I didn’t like it." Divine said with a soft whimper.

“What you ain’t like about it?” Smoke asked curiously, reaching between her legs and gathering some of her slick onto his thumb before circling it around her aching clit.

The sound of her breath hitching made his dick twitch in its confines, the man licking his lips as his eyes stayed locked with hers.

“It didn’t…feel like anything. It was really wet, too. Like, entirely too much spit.” Divine breathlessly giggled at the memory with a pleasurable sigh from Smoke’s ministration. “The only thing my pussy really likes is when I hump my pillow.” She admitted shyly, earning a chuckle from Smoke.

“I wanna see som.” Smoke muttered, giving her a light kiss. “I’m gon’ eat yo’ pussy. That’s okay wit’ you?”

Divine reluctantly nodded, scooting back and spreading her legs wider to give him more access.

When it comes to Smoke, she’s convinced she’d let him do anything that he wanted to do to her.

Divine sat up on her elbows, tilting her head as she watched his gaze brush over every inch of her pussy that’s wet and flushed from arousal.

Before she could ask him what he was looking at, Smoke spoke.

“Pretty.” Smoke muttered, that one word making her blush like crazy. Just as she started to shyly clamp her legs close, he held her open with a firm grip on her thighs and dove in.

Divine gasped and jumped softly in shock when his tongue brushed her clit.

He did that a few times, his deep brown eyes locked on her face, taking mental notes of every soft sound and movement she made.

Smoke swirled his tongue against it, making Divine press her hips down more towards his tongue as her mouth fell open.

“Shit.” Divine whined, head falling back and her hand gripping a fistful of his soft, grown out coils.

A loud, shameless moan shot out towards the ceiling when he suckled the nub sloppily, the sound of the action lewd and nasty.

“I think she likes my mouth, baby.” Smoke teased, earning a sultry and eager “mmhm!” from Divine.

Smoke used the notes that he took from her bodily responses and incorporated them into a messy, intricate rhythm that he unleashed on her entire pussy greedily.

Divine squirmed and bucked against his mouth, releasing sounds and cries that she didn’t even know she could muster.

The delicious, achy buildup in her core left her speechless as she tugged at the sheets above her head, mouth hung open and face twisted into a helpless frown of ecstasy.

Suddenly, her taut muscles went limp and she deeply shuddered as she let the coil of pleasure snap free.

Smoke hummed against her pussy and she let out a soft yelp, slapping the bed before gripping his hair with both hands.

Divine jerkily bucked her hips as she rode out the aftershocks against his flattened tongue and tender suction.

Smoke ceased the beautiful torture and kissed her inner thighs with a smirk as a breathless Divine shivered and dropped her hands down to rub his broad shoulders.

“You cum so fuckin’ pretty.” Smoke groaned softly, kissing up her body and placing kisses on her nipples before taking one in his warm mouth.

Divine arched into him with a soft moan, pussy pulsing when his teeth grazed the sensitive peak. He moved to the other, giving it the same attention as Divine pinched the one he just left.

"I think you ready for some dick, Divine." Smoke teased softly, making her let out a breathy giggle.

“Don’t treat me like a virgin.” Divine reminded him as he stood to his feet, removing his briefs. Her eyes locked on his dick, and her eyes lit up in disbelief.

It's at least eight and a half inches—thick with veins canvassing the smooth, deep, velvety skin. The sight should’ve scared the shit out of her, but instead, it made her stomach churn and clit pulse with excitement.

“The message still stands.” Divine sassed when she locked eyes with Smoke, noticing his silent, cocky demeanor.

“Ok.” Smoke said with a soft shrug, crawling back between her legs. “I'm not gon' baby you, but imma be careful."

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“It’s not, girl.” Smoke shot back, smacking his lips. “Shut up.”

"Yes, sir." Divine sarcastically retorted with a giggle.

“You ready?”

“Smoke, I been ready.” Divine fussed, rolling her eyes. “I can take it. If that change, I’ll let you know.”

Smoke wordlessly nodded, releasing some nerves of his own.

"The more you relax, the easier it'll go in."

“I know.” Divine moaned softly, melting into the sensation of him softly rubbing her clit with his thumb.

Divine closed her eyes and breathed deeply, gasping at the dull ache and pressure that followed her slit trying to accommodate him as he breached her entrance.

"Loosen—there you go." Smoke whispered through a strained groan as Divine let her body go limp despite the grimace on her face.

The buildup of her slick arousal reduced the friction tremendously, allowing him to sink the rest of himself into her with ease, but the full feeling and the way her pussy is struggling to mould around the heaviness of him made her toes curl.

"Look at you." He praised lowly, watching and feeling her pussy struggle around his length.

Divine released a loud sound of discomfort as she adjusted to the intrusion, digging her nails into Smoke’s back when he leaned down to kiss from her lips and jawline.

"You doing good. Real good, pretty." Smoke whispered in her ear, rubbing her thigh with one hand and brushing his thumb against her cheek with the other.

As the discomfort subsided, the throbbing heat inside of her made her let out a soft moan despite the foreign sensation.

Smoke took that as his cue to lift his head, pull out to the tip, and slowly sink back into her.

His forehead pressed against hers as he watched her brows dip and mouth part at the feeling of adjusting to multiple things.

The stretch. The fullness. The ache that’s no longer rooted in discomfort and seemingly felt to get soothed with each passage of his dick against her walls and cervix.

Before they both knew it, Smoke had picked up a steady pace and Divine’s back was arching off the bed—her body chasing more.

"Oh my God." Divine lewdly moaned. "Feels so good, Smoke. You feel so good inside of me. Oh my fucking—!" She squealed, legs trembling in his hold.

“Fuck, D.” Smoke hissed at her walls clenching and sucking him deeper as she shuddered with another orgasm and a broken, deep moan.

Smoke pulled out, earning a whine of displeasure from Divine from the loss. He’d be damned if he slip up and nut in her. He never did it before, and he has no intention of doing it tonight.

“I want more, Elijah.” Divine moaned shamelessly as he flipped her over, a little bemused at how needy she is for her first time. Divine arched her back deeply, rambling softly about his dick and how much she wants it.

“I got you, baby. I’m givin’ it to you.” Smoke muttered, placing a hand on the back of her neck and sinking back into her, earning a muffled, satisfied mewl from Divine and a shaky exhale from him.

Smoke didn't think Divine's virgin ass falling apart on his dick would be this sexy.

"Oooh, yes, Smoke!” Divine moaned when he began to pound into her after gradually picking up the pace, her toes curling tightly. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She squealed with each thrust.

The sexy sounds of her moans and the squelching of her drenched pussy made Smoke’s head tip back, a soft, barely audible “shit” leaving his lips.

“This some good ass pussy.” Smoke grunted more so to himself. “Fuck, Divine.”

His large hands flew to her hips, holding her right where he wanted her as he pistoned into her harder.

"Yes, Elijah!" Divine moaned loud and desperate, looking back at him and digging her nails into his arm with her face still pressed against the bed. "Fuck my pussy! Fuck my fucking pussy!" She sobbed, tears of pure ecstasy soaking her face.

The sight of her boohoo crying from his dick rewired something in his brain. He's never seen anything so sexy—so desperate.

Yeah, he's had some of his flings shed a few tears here in there, but full on sobbing has his dick throbbing like crazy.

He's now in an internal war to keep from painting every inch of her walls with his kids, as well as holding off long enough to continue hearing those sweet, pathetic moans.

Smoke snatched her up by her hair and put her in a headlock as she softly trembled against him. “Give it to me." He spat in her ear. "Gimme this shit."

"Smoke, I gotta pee! Fuck!" Divine cried out, not sure if she wants to push him back or beg him not to stop.

Smoke muttered a soft "uh uh", prompting her to gladly choose the latter because it just feels too good. Plus, she trusts him.

"Right there! Don't stop, Smoke, imma—!"

As soon as his dick began fighting against the attempted expulsions of Divine's squirting pussy, he slammed deep into her—releasing with a loud, primal moan that mixed beautifully with her broken, high pitched yell and spurts of fluid.

Divine collapsed on the bed with, breathless sobs—her body trembling and nails digging into any part of him that she could reach back and grab as he fucked his seed deeper into her with ragged, jerky thrusts.

Smoke collapsed beside her after they both came down, chuckling softly at her appearing boneless where she lay with her eyes closed—absolutely wrecked and dazed.

Smoke slid out of her, spreading her open to admire the way his seed is leaking from her sweet, swollen pussy.

The sight made him shake his head, laughing lightly at the fact that he did exactly what he told himself he wasn’t gonna go.

Honestly, he doesn’t even have the energy to trip on it. He’ll just DoorDash her a Plan B later.

Smoke went into his bathroom and started the shower. He stepped back into his bedroom, scooping Divine up. She shifted awake, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder that’s damp with sweat as she locked her legs around his waist.

“Thank you, Smoke.” Divine’s hoarse voice croaked out. “Thank you.” She whispered.

Smoke simply kissed her forehead in response, standing her under the water as he got in himself, sliding the glass door closed behind them.

I know I said that I was going to be a one and done ass bitch on here, but ovulation compelled me to write a little something inspired by thoughts of Smoke taking my virginity 😔

BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE READING THIS! 🫶🏾❤️ I’m still not sure what I’m doing, but I’m still extremely appreciative of you all! 😭

Thank you for reading my shitty ass smut and indulging in my shitty ass fantasies! 🥰

[xeebop]

On My Way

Coming Soon…

Summary: Elijah and Annie’s oldest daughter, Arielle, is able to convince him to let her go to a party with her friends one Friday night. When what started as a fun night out with her closest friends takes a turn, Arielle finds herself locked in a bathroom, making a hesitant phone call to her father.

Content & Warnings: Modern AU, family dynamics, sprinkles of fluff, implied underage drinking, teeny tiny mentions of blood, written and implied physical violence, harassment, coercion, shitty friends, use of the n-word.

Sneak peek…

“I don’t know. Somethin’ ain’t right,” he mutters, refreshing the screen one more time.

Annie’s free hand comes up to his forearm as she tightens her grip on his hand.

“It never feels right when one of them ain’t here. She could’ve just lost track of time, it ain’t often we let her go out without one of us dropping her off and picking her up.”

Elijah’s grip tightens on his phone. Everything she was telling him made sense, but the knot forming in his stomach was telling him otherwise. 

He’d been sitting around stiffly since she left, and it eased slightly when she texted to let them know they made it. However, as more time passed, he found himself even more tense than he was before. 

Annie leans closer to him, making him unclench his jaw when she leaves a few kisses on it.

“If she needs you she’ll call, Papa. You reminded her of the safe word, right?” she asks, and he nods. 

Elijah’s eyes meet hers, and she can see the worry pooling in his irises. The thought of Arielle needing to use it made the feeling in his gut intensify. The word was only to be used if she was in a situation she couldn’t get herself out of, and the idea of that made his chest tighten.

“I should’ve taken her. This is why I always take her to wherever she’s going. Annie, I swear, if she has to-”

“She’s not gonna need to use it, Elijah,” Annie cuts him off as he rises out of the bed, his phone forgotten on his pillow. 

“She can handle herself. You and Stack made sure of that.”

“I know she can handle herself,” he starts, beginning to pace back and forth. “I know how them lil niggas can be. Her knowing how to defend herself ain’t gon’ stop one from trying something.”

Annie sighs softly. She stands and steps into his path, making him stop in front of her. There was a deep frown on his face, and his brows were furrowed so deeply that Annie could tell he was panicked more than anything else.

“You are working yourself up,” she says firmly, her hands finding his forearms. 

“You just want her to be okay. Me too, but she don’t need us makin’ all the decisions for her anymore, and it’s time for you to start getting used to that.”

He exhales deeply, his hands finding Annie’s waist as he closes his eyes and tries to ground himself. 

After a few moments, he opens them and is met with Annie’s soft gaze. Her hands move up to his biceps, rubbing soothing circles in them.

“She hasn’t even texted, Annie. She normally texts if she’s gonna be late.” 

“It won’t be the first time she does something she don’t normally do. It ain’t the last time it’s gon’ happen either.”

Elijah raises an eyebrow as he listens to Annie’s tone. He looks at her, not missing the way her eyebrows twitched when she finished speaking.

“It’s something you ain’t telling me?” he questions, making Annie shake her head.

“No. I just have a feeling,” she replies. He looks at her, waiting for her to explain.

“I heard her talking to Marley on the phone earlier. Something about meeting some boys,” Annie tells him, her grip on him tightening slightly when she sees the deep frown reclaiming its place on his face at the mention of the one friend of Arielle’s that he wasn’t too fond of.

“I didn’t think she’d stay out so long past her curfew, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You should have, because I would’ve told her she couldn’t go. She lied to me, Annie.”

“She didn’t lie, Elijah. She said she was going to a party with her friends. Even gave you the address like you told her she had to, and that’s where she’s at. Don’t look or sound like a lie to me, plus she's 17. Think about what you and Stack were doin’ at 17 and be glad that ain’t her,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

He smacks his teeth and looks away from her. 

“If she needs you, she’ll call, and if she doesn’t, you’ll get to practice your disciplinary skills when she gets home.”

“I discipline my kids just fine,” he rebuts halfheartedly, making Annie laugh.

“Even you don’t believe that,” she says, her fingers intertwining with his. “Remember when she cheated on that test?”

“I talked to her about that.”

“Yeah. You talk to her every time, and she knows that’s all you’re gonna do. She makes you think she hears you, then she moves on to the next thing as soon as you let her go. That’s Elias with a bow, and each time she plays you with those sad eyes and that pout.”

Elijah looks away for a moment before finding Annie’s eyes again, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“She got your eyes, though.”

“That’s how I know what she doin’,” Annie replies with a smile, leaning up to peck his lips.

“If she’s just out late and nothing’s wrong, then 3 weeks of early curfew,” he says.

“Good job. Now make sure you stick to it,” Annie says with a knowing look.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Elijah replies, leaning down for a kiss. 

Just as Annie’s hands find his face to pull him in for another, his phone rings. 

Elijah’s eyes shoot open and lock on Annie’s. They look toward his phone at the same time, Elijah pulling away to grab it after a moment.

“It’s Ari,” he mumbles, the tension in his body seeping into his voice again.

He answers it after a second, Annie’s hand finding his arm as he puts the phone on speaker.

“Arielle.”

“Papa,” she answers, and her parents clock the unease in her tone.

“I need you to come get me.” 

A/N: omggggg I’m so excited about this🤣 I was standing at work one day and this idea popped into my head. I’ve been trying to get back into the groove of writing and this one shot def did it. The warnings are more precautionary than anything, nothing too intense will happen. I’ll be posting it soon!

[maurawrites]

Michael B Jordan GIF Pack ['Sinners' as Stack]

In this here gif pack you’ll find 171 gifs of Michael in the movie ‘Sinners' in the role of Elias 'Stack' Moore. All these gifs were made by me, so please don’t claim as your own. Do NOT put into other gif hunts. If credit is given, you may use/edit them as sidebars, crackships, etc, just please ( @ ) me so I can see your wonderful creations!

TW: blood, death

Find this pack on payhip for FREE!

Check out my other gif packs here!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

STACK DADDY WITH THE REDACTED 😍😍😍

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

I struck gold with the kitty request! Thx for writing it

YOUR’E WELCOME!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

don’t be scared choose a number between 1-30

😬 yeah and what happen when I do?!

[artcollectorninja]

[aretasreads]

he loves his director overalls okay!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

WHEW

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

do you want to play a game?

I’m scurrred 🤣😭