Here is the master list for all my fics! The date at the bottom is the last time it was updated (I try to keep it as updated as possible)
Thank YOU for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I appreciate and LOVE the reception and feedback and commentary more than you could ever know - it fuels me and keeps the inspiration flowing!
All stories have a face claim. However, with all my OCs, I encourage folks to see themselves in the story so feel free to read as a reader insert if preferred! Also I love angst BUT all my stories are happily ever afters so enjoy the emotional rollercoasters knowing everyone'll be ok lol Thank you again for reading! Love y'all!
MBJ Fics:
Built for Love Series - Michael B Jordan x Black Famous Actress OC
Face Claim: Grace Bryers
Series Summary: Charlotte Bennett was not looking for love when she moved to LA and landed her first role in Creed. Quite the opposite actually. However, her costar, Michael B Jordan, makes her question everything she once believed possible for herself and her future. As she builds a life and relationship with him, ghosts from her past threaten to destroy it all.
Series Warnings: Violence, Mentions of past experiences with DV, Angst, Mature Sexual Content
Completely random one shots that follow Charlotte & MBJ as they navigate the world as Hollywood’s Black power couple. Whether it be stardom, their work, parenthood, or relationship drama, the Jordans are building a love that will last a lifetime. (Not intended to be read in any chronological order but are listed below based on the story's timeline.)
Date Night**
Bleeding Through (1)
Oscar Night Part 2**
Falling Apart (1) (2)
Babies on Board (1)
Protective
Oscar Night Part 1**
Asks:
Nicknames
GQ Couples Quiz
Wicked Fantasies - MBJ x Black OC
Face Claim: Shannon Thornton
Series Summary: Raven’s life, as of late, was one unexpected turn after another. It seemed as though every time she got a break and could get her head above water, something came tumbling to knock her back down. As she struggles to get her foot in the door of LA’s call girl scene to make extra money, she stumbles upon her big break: Michael B. Jordan, Hollywood’s most famous, talented, and notorious actor, director, and playboy. One night of pleasure for him would solve many of her continuously mounting financial problems. However, an unlucky trip to the hospital and an ill-timed flash of a paparazzi’s camera snag her the proposition of a lifetime, one that would solve all her problems and allow her to live out her most wicked fantasies with the sexist man alive. However, she forgot one cardinal rule: fantasies and pretend never last and reality would always come around eventually.
Warnings: Mature sexual content (18+), BDSM (the whole nine), this is for the kinky girlsssssss, angst, emotional familial abuse
Double Trouble (Aaron Pierre x Black Reader x MBJ)***
Erik Killmonger Fics
Unbreakable - Erik Killmonger x Black OC - Paused
Moodboard: Coming soon!
Face Claim: Ryan Destiny
Series Summary: Naja, the younger sister of the Queen of Wakanda, hated few things. And at the top of that shortlist: Prince N’Jadaka. Well, if she were honest, he was the entirety of the list. Once destined to be a princess of Wakanda, Naja was the picture of kindness and grace. Now, she is hailed as Wakanda’s most fearless, dangerous, and reclusive war dog. After more than a decade of putting as much distance as possible between her and the life she almost had, Naja is forced to come face to face with the person she hates most again. With a threat looming over Wakanda and lives at risk, Naja must decide if trusting Prince N'Jadaka is worth the risk before it is too late.
warnings: 18++ NO MINORS. smut: daddy kink, hair pulling, slapping, dry humping, choking, dirty talk. mentions a gun once
an: this my first time trying to write smut and i feel so exposed LMFAOAO
elijah’s patience was wearing thin. he had been holding on to his restraint for the past week but it was all about to snap tonight. it started a week ago.
he had been standing in his closet, packing a small suitcase for the business expansion stack had gotten him into. he sensed her presence before he had the chance to glance up. annie was coming into their bed room. skin glistening with the remnants of body oil from her shower. navy blue lingerie hugging curves that had come with age and smoke treating her right.
he bit his lip at the sight of her. looking too good for him to spend even a second away from their shared home. as much as he wanted to stay, he needed to go make that money to bring home to aneika. elijah shook his head and continued packing, he would be back to her soon. smoke would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted though.
a few days later, smoke was laying across the hotel bed. trying to get some kind of reprieve as the stiff mattress held up his weight. the meeting with their soon to be allies was more tension filled than anticipated. his phone buzzed on the night stand. a text tone picked specifically for annie. lips twitching at the corner as he stretched his arm out to pick up the phone.
his jaw tightened when he saw the messages. annie was displayed across his screen. back arched to the heavens, thong barely covering her center, and smoke’s signature gold chain hanging loosely from her lips. elijah’s pants grew tighter the longer he stared. his body had been craving her, missing how she felt sleeping beside him. these pictures were making it no better.
“missin you jah💋” was all she wrote along side the pictures. as if she hadn’t disrupted his whole day. he ran a hand down his tired face before responding,
“ i miss you more baby, dada will be home soon”
smoke was counting down the days until he made it back home to her.
on the twins’ last night in the foreign city, elijah lay restless in his room. every time he closed him eyes, all he could see was her. stretched out and open for him. body submitting to him, the more he gave her.
memories of intimate moments played on a loop in his brain. the push and pull. giving and taking. falling into each other. just one night until he was reunited with his other half again.
‿.⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙ ‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙
when elijah got home the next afternoon the house was empty. traces of aneika’s vanilla perfume still lingering in the air.
smoke let out a deep sigh, feeling regulated now that he was back in the home he and annie had created together. he took his time unpacking as he awaited his wife’s arrival. soothing sounds of teddy pendergrass coming from his record player as he laid his gun on the dresser.
he heard the alarm system resetting as annie entered the house. he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her. feet tapping with slight impatience and fingers gripping his slacks tightly to hold onto the last of the will to behave.
the door creaked open and there stood aneika in all her glory. long legs shining through the slit in her dress. appearing taller than normal with the stilettos giving her an extra boost.
“wassup mama” he smirked at her from his place at the foot of the bed. a shiver ran down her spine from the way he gazed at her. as if he could feel the need for him building in the pit of her stomach. a feeling that had been growing since the day he left.
“hey baby, i missed you!!!” annie exclaimed as she walked toward him, arms wrapping around his neck.
“i missed you more sugar” he pulled her down the rest of the way until her thick thighs were bracketing his legs.
he ran large hands up and down her back. taking her in to make up for his time away. aneika arched into his touch. her body a match and his hands were fire to combat it. he couldn’t wait anymore to get his fill of her. warm fingers sliding further up the skirt of her dress. she let out a shaky breath.
“you missed dada a lot huh” he began to leave sloppy, open mouth kisses down the side of her neck.
“mhm” she said breathily as she slid down firmer into his hold. she couldn’t even form a full sentence and they had barely started.
he gripped her hips and gently guided her to rock back and forth on the bulge in his pants. annie responded immediately. bending down to kiss him hungrily. the kiss being all tongue and passion. she let him lead despite how desperate she was to feel him.
“grind on this dick and let me know how much you been needing it. sending me those pictures with my pussy hanging out. acting like a slut” he growled low in her ear.
annie’s hips bucked wilder at his filthy words. her grinding getting deeper and deeper as she chases the release she couldn’t get without him helping her.
he pulled her head back by her long braids, wrapping them around his frst. she whimpered, the pain pairing beautifully with the pleasure his hard dick was giving her. even through their clothes.
“open” he slapped her face lightly. her tongue slipped out easily as he spit into her mouth and pushed it closed.
“swallow that shit” he bit his lip and she followed his command with no hesitation.
his hands came back down to guide her again as he saw her losing momentum. he needed to feel her come apart against him. knowing he made her feel this good was bringing him closer to his own orgasm.
“does it feel good daddy” aneika moaned seductively in his ear wanting to reciprocate how well he was talking her through it.
“so fucking good mama. this pussy so wet for me” he whimpered. “she been needing me all week”
annie licked and sucked at his neck. she wanted to hear him more, hear him feeling as good as she did.
“talk to me jah, fuck, keep fuckin talking to this pussy” she moved faster against him, orgasm building up in her core.
“cmon mama you got it. give that nut to daddy, cum all on my lap” he slapped her again.
“harder” she cried out, right on the brink of an overwhelming pleasure.
he smacked her again not enough to actually hurt but enough to satisfy her desires.
aneika’s rhythm stuttered as her peak rushes upon her. fingers gripping his throat as she rode out her orgasm.
smoke was right behind her, gripping her ass hard enough to bruise as they fell apart in tandem.
At The Center: Chapter 1 (SmokeStack Twins x Black!OC)
Summary: Evie Harris was not afraid of a curveball. Occasionally, she liked to throw life one herself. The only area in her life Evangeline played it safe? Her heart. So when the SmokeStack Twins crash-land in her life in a chance encounter, Evie is confronted with a choice. Play it safe and protect her heart or feel every ounce of heat they have to offer and risk being burned.
A/N: What is this... silly lol and fun and fluff and utterly self-indulgent haha and very long for no reason. Just 9k words of fluff here. I'm just putting this out anyway cause I honestly had SO much fun envisioning this and playing around with this idea that I just wrote everythinggggg hahaha indulge me - I've been going through a lot! But this will be a loose series and then one-shots I want to explore through a reverse harem/poly situation where both twins are dating the OC (there is no incest!!! but there will be smut!!)
Warnings: None for now!
Enjoy!
***
“Wouldn’t be wastin’ time if you’d remembered the damn date.”
His voice caught her ear first. The strike of a gavel. Resonant and commanding. A voice that commanded silence without raising it, without excess or fanfare. Just with power and roughness that suggested he knew to back up every word with action.
He was not even loud. Evie doubted another soul meandering the shelves or working in the back corner of her neighborhood’s local bookstore even heard it.
But Evie? Thanks to forgetting to charge her AirPods before a perfectly-curated self-care Saturday, she stopped retaining the summary in the navy blue and floral print hardback in her hands. Her brain and ears strained to find more of that sound.
Feel more of how it settled around her. More of how his low register seemed to send vibrations directly toward her soul, determined to fill it with security and ease. She would’ve never thought a voice so gruff could still carry such tenderness. It was layered beneath harshness, a vocal hardened shell but it peeked out… just enough. And that made Evie stop.
Even without AirPods, Evie blocked out most of the outside world’s noise. Not much made her stop. But he did.
Damn. We crucifyin’ niggas for gettin’ the birthday right, but the party wrong now? Streets gettin’ strict.”
And he made her eyes lift.
Even before Evangeline Harris found them, she knew they had to be brothers. Just similar enough as if they were pieces of the same cloth that were treated differently.
She imagined neither of them ever had to ask for something twice, not sounding like that. The first voice demanded authority, swift compliance without complaint. And the second sounded like he, at least, let a person believe they had options before the smoothest voice to ever land in their ear talked them into whatever he actually wanted.
Honey smooth, the kind of voice you wanted to hear under dim lights with low sensual music in a secluded back corner booth of a bar. His voice was silk, designed to slide along her skin like it already knew the roadmap.
Evie tried to juggle far too potential purchases with her cold brew and cell phone as she glanced up.
Identical twin brothers.
Sexy as fuck identical twin brothers, she could not help but acknowledge. And they strode through the store as if they owned the world and every room on it. Every measured step exuded power as they brought the pair closer to where she stood, tucked away in the corner of the mystery section.
“Only gon’ take 10 minutes. Zu-Zu’s turnin’ 5… not 50. Can’t be that many op… tions.”
Her eyes followed them, even though she knew she should look away, as they turned the corner into the section opposite hers. The vast and vibrant children’s corner.
One with many, many options.
“Exactly.” That austere voice held the smallest hint of smug amusement at being right, his tone that signaled he was right more often than not.
She should’ve gone back to minding her business. That was the proper thing. So that’s what she tried to do. But it seemed impossible to hold. To force her attention away from them for too long. She’d read a sentence or two, examine another title, before her eyes found the glittering path right back to them.
And in those stolen glances, Evie examined two of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen.
She eyed him as he merely rolled his eyes, watching his brother approach the shelves with a renewed cocky grin and focus. His brother paced the length of each wall with intentional ease. Quick as if someone replaced the shaggy colorful block rug with coals for him to stand on.
But if that were the task, she imagined he’d be an expert. He was neither careless nor clumsy. Just quick and light on his feet as one hand slid into the pocket of his perfectly-tailored grey slacks.
Fuck boy, she decided quickly. But he’d give you the ride of your life before he ruined it, at least. Might be worth it?
She took a sip of her drink as she weighed the cost-benefit analysis of lusting after a fuckboy.
She did have to admire their intention. Both of them. The obvious care in what they showed the world.
His hands pulled at the sleeves of his burgundy cardigan, the fabric marked with white lines and splashes of vibrant crimson across it and stitched along the border. His gold chain sat heavy against the white t-shirt beneath it as he lifted his hand to slide his shades off before tucking them in his pocket. Several gold and silver link bracelets shifted down one arm, a very expensive watch settled on the other.
Rich. She could see it in their clothes even though she could not see a single label. Quiet wealth. And they had it. But it was more than dollars in a bank account. Whatever these two did? It came with money and power. And it oozed out of every pore of their skin.
Have finer identical twins ever walked the face of this Earth?
And these two were just here… on her block… on a random Saturday unprovoked?
She forced herself to shift, turning to grab a different book, as she had not moved in a bit. It was time to move on, she knew. Continue about her day and finish her errands and plans. And yet, something asked her to stay. Gut, intuition, she was not quite sure. But it suggested, in her soul, that this was exactly where she needed to be. Her track record of ignoring her gut was not too good. So she chose to listen this time.
And then she set her sights toward his brother. He did not appreciate movement as much as his twin. He preferred to plant himself like a massive, strong, gorgeously-built tree instead. And as immovable as one posted against the archway of the reading corner, his eyes trained on the door of the store with military precision.
Private security? Defense contracting? Former military for sure. Only a soldier could have posture that good, she reasoned. And only a soldier would be eyeing the door like he’s ready to shoot the first threat walking through it.
The way his eyes darted between the exits, assessing. How his set frown didn’t change, not once, his amusement only showing in his eyes or a shake of the head.
His style offered the same intentionality, just a touch more understated. His muted slacks and matching shacket signaled he wanted to look put together but not be noticed or remembered. Someone who preferred for eyes not to linger too long.
And here she was… lingering. But fuck… he was gorgeous. The blue face of his watch caught her eye as he raised it to check the time, the only pop of color on his frame.
“Shit can’t be that hard. Most of em got cartoon animals n shit on em anyway.”
Evie didn’t expect the snicker that bubbled up at that, one just too loud to pass off as anything else. Just loud enough for his eyes to find hers.
And stop her entire world in its tracks.
***
They noticed her quickly, just moments after turning the corner toward the children’s section, tucked away in a corner, nose buried in the front cover of a book with 10 others precariously balancing in her arms.
Smoke was a bit better at stealthy recon than him or her but Stack managed as he eyed her stolen glances in their direction. It was not intrusive or rude, more fueled by curiosity.
Staring was as unusual as a penny to the Twins. They grew accustomed, long ago, to the heads that turned when they walked down the street, the double take or that confused “loading” stare as Elias called it when someone met one of them and then the other. Identical twins, by nature, attracted attention. But when you looked like Elijah “Smoke” and Elias “Stack” Moore? It attracted even more.
Most people’s attention wasn’t worth it. But one giggle from a stranger across an aisle and he imagined he’d sell his soul to hear that sound again. To be the cause of that sound. It reminded him of running through the woods chasing Elijah when they were kids or the first bite of a cinnamon roll from Alexander’s Bakery up the block on his occasional slow Sunday morning. It was a burst of unfettered joy.
It was soft. And softness was not something he nor Smoke felt often. Even when he found a woman to keep him company till sunrise, he wasn’t cruel. But he never offered softness. It wasn’t what they were there for. And nothing in their world or about them attracted it. Because they weren’t crafted for it.
But he found himself craving more of this particular softness and warmth. Noting how Smoke’s shoulders shifted at the sound, instinctively falling out of their tight position. As if her laugh had found its way into his soul.
He caught Smoke’s eye for a millisecond before yours, the briefest but most important conversation of their lives passing through a connection no one else could see or understand like a thread.
An understanding. They wanted her. Both of them.
He held her gaze for a stretch longer than a stranger should, than common decency allowed. Too long to be a mistake. Too long for her not to feel what he felt. The burn, the heat of an explosion around her.
He expected her to look away as she bit her lip, her eyes dancing with lust and something uncertain. A confusion as to why the moment packed so much. Expected her to be the first to retreat from his intensity, most women were. But not her. Even as his eyes commanded her to look away, run away from the danger that set its eyes on her.
But she stayed, eyeing him with equal curiosity. Because it felt good. His intensity and laser heat.
She offered him a soft smile before turning back to her book, Evie forcing herself to look away. Because how did a mere moment manage to make her feel all of that?
“Just give a nigga a minute.”
Evie’s eyes consumed the same sentence about six times as she tried not to watch him pace the corner set of shelves as if standing in one spot was illegal. His brother barely moved an inch since they arrived, as if his back was integral to the building’s structural integrity.
His hand went to his beard, rubbing the coarse, thick hair slightly with this almost paternalistic amusement in his eyes. A look that said he knew he wasn’t going to find a thing. In a minute or two or 10. But he also knew he would never surrender or admit defeat.
The older one, no doubt.
She didn’t need to look up to get an answer. Because all she heard rise above the soft alternative R&B music playing in the background was a grunt of disapproval.
A pause.
“The Humble Pie? Really, nigga?”
“Ain’t like she gon’ learn humility from any of us,” he argued.
“Next best teacher’s a pie then? Ain’t even got emotions.”
As the youngest of three, Evie knew that unique mixture of exasperation and amusement could only be triggered by the eldest sibling.
Evie did not work there or any bookstore for that matter. But she spent enough time in the children’s corner to know the selection. Surely the owner, a close friend, wouldn’t mind if she helped a customer or two… right?
Because while this was an amusing tale all on its own, it would not get this poor child a decent birthday gift. And perhaps, with her intervention, this story would get just a bit more interesting.
We’re doing our civic duty… really…
She didn’t have a plan, a realization that hit her after her feet started to move, after they were already committed to the destination. Evie knew she needed a plan. There were two of them and one of her and she had not thought this through one bit. But her gut demanded she move and she promised to listen.
Evie sized them up. His sexy but decidedly deep frown lines did not scream approachability. His’ smile was as tempting as sin on a Friday night. Inviting but she could not ignore the hint of danger there.
But she didn’t stop. And when she caught his eye by chance as her meandering feet drew her closer, something in his smile shifted to be a hair less dangerous. His brother’s posture slacked a touch. For the first time since they entered the store, something in them softened. Something suggesting they’d be amenable to the right interruption.
To her.
“Can I help y’all find something specific?”
Two sets of eyes descended upon her, taking the moment as her question settled to devour her as her body weight sank into her right hip, her hands shifting the books to the side.
Now standing in front of them, neither brother bothered to hide how their eyes swept her frame. Stack’s eyes roamed, noting the rich oxblood athleisure set and cropped black quarterzip that showed off her thick hourglass figure. Her plump ass begged for him to palm it, squeeze it. He wondered how it would ripple if he smacked it. And he imagined he’d die a happy man between those plush pillowy thighs.
Smoke’s eyes took the same journey, lingering for a moment on the lethal tip of your nails. A sharp, freshly manicured, stiletto with rich phthalo green and gold swirls dancing across them in odd patterns. Eye-catching, beautiful. Intentional. And made him wonder how they’d feel digging into the hard flesh of his back with those thighs wrapped around his waist.
The things we could do to you. Elias always said Elijah lacked imagination but as he looked at her, he found his imagination conjured up endless ways he wanted to take this soft girl.
He noticed the satin pink scrunchie around her wrist that her keys dangled from. None a standard silver or gold. Instead, they were printed in color or bright patterns. The heavy-laden black Canvas bag handing from your arm had a big bouquet of flowers and paintbrushes printed across it.
His eyes noted the specks of random shades of blue and white along the back of her hands.
Paint. An artist?
“You work here?”
His gruff baritone almost made her falter, his eyes meeting hers almost made her faint. An intensity all the same but tuned to a different frequency. This was steady. Not a giant explosion that made your heart race and head spin and made everything fall away, but a steady rolling heat that made it all still for a moment. A wide and encompassing fire, consuming everything in its path to reach her.
But what their heat shared? That challenge. This warning daring Evie not to linger, to run inside and hide before he consumed her too. But Evie refused to falter or tuck her tail. She just kept her eyes trained on him, her smile unbothered as if to let him know she’d happily get swept up in his flames.
“No. Though if you knew how much time I spend here, you’d think so,” she grinned as she tugged a loc of silky pressed hair behind her ear. “Just a good samaritan who heard an argument about the merits of a pie as an effective teacher brewing? And by the look in his eye,” she gestured toward Smoke before turning to his brother, “You were gonna to lose.”
“Damn right,” he affirmed.
“And saving you means I don’t pick up another book for myself. So it’s purely selfish really. But I didn't mean to overstep or intrude so apologies if-”
“Don’t apologize.”
Evie’s jaw clamped shut, his command setting off this tingling sensation in her that was… not appropriate to feel toward a stranger.
“We do. ‘Preciate you.” He paused for a moment as if waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Oh, you can just call me Evie.”
“Smoke n Stack,” he gestured toward his brother.
Definitely not the names the mama gave them. But Smoke and Stack. It has a ring to it.
So she nodded as if those were normal names.
And for the first time since Evie saw them, he moved. It almost startled her even as she watched him do it.
Smoke noticed her overburdened hands before she even approached them. A full canvas bag, a tall stack of books in her hands. How she kept shifting them to find less uncomfortable ways to hold everything.
He covered the short space separating you, across a shaggy carpet with vibrant splashes of colors across it. Her brain short-circuited the moment he was at arm's length, a deep breath escaping as she felt his presence surround her. Steady, secure, and anchoring.
If he could tell the effect he had on her, he did not show it as he slid the books from the nook of her arm. They were already in his hand before she registered what he did.
“Oh, no. Thanks but I got em. You don’t have to do that.”
“Your arm’s tired.”
Simple. As if intervention had been his only recourse.
Evie shook her head, holding out her hand with an expectant look. But he ignored it, which made her scoff. His brother merely watched the exchange with a snicker on his lips as if he knew she lost the moment his brother set his sights on those books.
“My arm’s fine. I can hold a few books.”
“You were shiftin’ em when you were over there. Came over here, moved em to your hip. But you keep shiftin’ em cause the stack is too tall and too heavy to comfortably hold for long. Why you ain’t get a basket?”
She heard the chastisement in his tone, something that should’ve offended her. But instead she found it… sexy. Or rather, perhaps it was sexy because there was a curiosity hidden in there. A genuine desire to understand why her brain made one choice over another.
“I’m only getting one book. Didn’t need a basket for one book.”
“You got nine books here.”
“Yea but that’s my rule when I stop by. 1 book. So theoretically, I’ll narrow it down before I go check out.”
“Theoretically, how often does that happen?” Stack asked.
“Sometimes…”
Silence.
“Every so often.”
Stack raised an eyebrow, his steps bringing him a few paces closer to her as the pair wore her down with nothing more than a look and patience.
Evie folded like a lawn chair with both of them so close, doubling the intensity swirling around her. And Evie was not even sure which one she was folding for as they both examined her until she revealed her secret addiction to purchasing books.
“Okay fineeeeeee, jeez Sherlock 1 and 2,” she raised her hands in surrender, a very bashful and guilty grin on her face. “Maybe I’ve never left this particular establishment with only one book.”
Stack let out a belly laugh at the playful way she folded her arms and muttered the last part more quietly. But it died off slightly when he noticed Smoke. How his lips seemed to tug into a rare smile, one Stack had not seen grace his features in far too long. How he loosened, in his own Smoke way, with this stranger nearby. Likeshe was a balm for his spirit that his mind didn’t know or understand just yet.
His shoulders were not pinned up to his ears, his back not tight with tension. His eyes left the exits and entrances to scan for attacks. In fact, Elias didn’t think he saw his eyes leave hers since they found them.
“But if I had gotten the first book I grabbed, I wouldn’t be saving a girl from learning humility from a pie so maybe I’ll treat myself to two books today? I’ve clearly earned it,” she joked.
The pair glanced at each other, noting that if they had something to say about it, she’d never know a financial limitation again. They’d buy her the whole damn store, hell every book in Chicago if it kept that earnest smile on her face.
“Speaking of, who are we shopping for?”
She forced herself to return to the task, if only to get their eyes off of her. To stop the way they examined her. As if every word she spoke peeled back a layer she had not realized she revealed.
“Our niece. Turnin’ five on Monday, party’s later today. Got her a dollhouse but it won’t get her till her birthday. Can’t show up empty handed but our cousin’s wife'll cuss us out six ways to Sunday if we bring another toy in that damn house. But-”
“Nigga ain’t bought a children’s book in his life.”
Evie’s heart melted before she bowed her head to laugh at his brother’s very dry delivery of his shade.
“That’s so sweet. She’s lucky to have two great uncles like you two.” She offered, her words filled with sincerity. “And two funny ones," she added. "The options can definitely be overwhelming and they hit on a lot of the same themes. But I got a couple ideas…”
Stack shifted out of her way and moved to stand by Smoke as they switched places with her. This time, the Twins watched her. With focused attention, they watched as her stiletto tips tapped lightly against her thigh as she paced. And then she locked in with a focus Smoke only recognized in himself, like she lost herself in it.
And that focus filled her hands with thin, vibrantly colorful books with Black girls on the cover or by Black authors.
“She probably has some of these so you may wanna trim this down. Like Hair Love is a staple on most Black girls’ shelves these days. But I added some other ones that are similar or by Black authors. Oh my god, The Year We Learned to Fly! I love this one.”
Evie’s hand flew to her heart as the other reached for the book with such enthusiasm, the men would’ve thought she found a stack behind one of those books. Or the book itself would imbue the reader with wings. But no, this was just her.
And they liked that more than men like them should’ve.
“I got this for my nephews a couple years ago. It’s really cute, they loved it. All about history and freedom. It’s a solid one to add.”
Evie turned back to the shelves to continue looking.
“Brandon, the owner, keeps a pretty great selection for kids, I think? It’s really robust and diverse, all ages and reading levels. Most of the authors or illustrators are Black, people of color, or from Chicago, which I love because you get a story and touch of home. Which is kinda nice right?”
The smile she threw over her shoulder in their direction made both of their hearts’ swell.
Stack couldn’t imagine their luck. She was the most exquisite creature he’d ever laid eyes on. And they stumbled across her in a random bookstore? He would thank God for this miracle every day.
“Just if your cousin is ever in the neighborhood and wants to stop by. There are a lot of great Black-owned businesses in this neighborhood too. And he does some great programming for kids in the summer since he built out this space for them.”
Baby girl is a talker.
And Stack couldn’t help but hang on every word. So much so that he had no words to offer himself, which was rare. Nor did he notice how the excess words did not send his stoic twin racing to the car for reprieve. No one found small talk more intolerable than Elijah.
He himself didn’t even understand why he was still standing there. This amount of talking from anyone but the man sharing his face would have sent him reeling into the still frigid Chicago fall in annoyance. But at this moment? He imagined nothing would convince him to leave this conversation.
Because Evie was pure light, a light that seemed utterly immune to the darkness surrounding them. The darkness that repelled most the world. It didn’t seem to repeal her. It didn’t diminish her authenticity, her color. Even if he said nothing, she was still her. Unbothered, confident. She almost floated as if joy kept her inches off the ground. She was unafraid, which Smoke found he respected. Unafraid to be witty and at ease enough to be playful with two admittedly intimidating strangers.
And that intrigued him. That challenged him. He was not used to it. Used to women contorting themselves to be mysterious or ultra sexy or whatever they believed would appeal to one of them. But she just showed up, not trying to impress. Just trying to be her.
So her words, even perhaps a bit in excess like his brother, were not noise to tune out like everyone else’s. Her words invited them into something passionate. Something colorful that could, just maybe, siphon away some of the darkness he surrounded his heart with.
And that kept him planted, rooted in this spontaneous moment of light instead of shutting her down to finish and check something off their to-do list. Because every sentence, every moment in her presence mattered. It revealed more about her. In her words, expression, and the way she moved.
“You know, Zu-Zu would love this.”
His finger gestured at the setting, his eyes finally doing more than a security sweep of the library nook filled with plush pillows and child-sized stools. But what truly caught his eye was the mural painted along the three walls around them.
The walls and columns featured detailed paintings of Black children in blend of fantastical settings and Chicago landmarks. A feeling he couldn't place stirred in his spirit as he took it in. Familiar but ancient and forgotten. And it nearly explored in his heart at the set of twins to his left riding twin dragons across the DuSable Bridge. He lingered there for a moment, the edges slowly transforming into a feeling more like grief before he moved on. Stopping that particular emotion in its tracks.
His eyes moved on to a young boy with dreads and a girl with box braids in a sword fight on a pirate ship on Lake Michigan.
A young girl sitting on a log reading to the most attentive woodland animals he’d ever seen.
And at the center, as you walked under the arch, one black girl nestled reading in the curvature of the moon, a crown of curls cascading down into the night’s sky. The glittering lights of Chicago’s skyline beneath her.
“Yea… She’d love that.” the other chimed in, also truly taking in the art surrounding them for the first time.
Evie’s hands stilled on the page of another option when she heard their words. She waited with bated breath to see if they said anything else about her pride and joy without giving away that she was the artist.
Stack spun around, whistling as he took in the section with the two twins.
“This is dope. Could be us, Smoke. Red dragon’s mine tho. Gotta think of a name. You know, when we watched Game of Thrones, I told you. With some dragons?? We’d be sittin’ on the Iron Throne by lunch.”
“N I’d spend all my time after lunch figurin’ out how to fix the property damage you n a dragon caused? I’m good.”
Evie chuckled as she watched them bicker. But even as he poked fun at his brother’s vision of their Westeros takeover, Evie still noticed an amusement in his eye. A desire to entertain him and how the artwork sparked something in him, something imaginative and youthful. But this was what she had intended with the piece. Not just for children to see themselves but for adults to be reminded that imagination is forever.
“Smoke and Stack, first of their name, rulers of the Seven Kingdoms isn’t too shabby? Has a ring to it? Might be worth the headache of a lil property damage?"
"Not you too."
"See?? Shawty gets it. ignore him. No vision."
"Can't entertain him too much, ma. Or else he'll never let it go."
“You two are something else,” she laughed. “Oh... any special interests? Just realized I should’ve asked.”
Smoke couldn't help but appreciate how committed she was to getting them the right things. Not just books to check a box and ensure she had something. But a genuine interest in ensuring the books would be well received and loved.
“Music. Gon’ be a damn rockstar, that one.”
“Okayyyy, we love to see it. Future singer or musician? Or both?”
“Both.”
She reminded Stack of himself, how her feet did not stop moving once she started. How he could see the wheels churning and processing as she listened and moved. But it did not feel restless or without care. He knew why he moved so much. It was the byproduct of the chase. He was always chasing, always dreaming of the next thing.
But she just seemed to enjoy moving her body. Not restless. Not anxious or unsure. She just seemed to prefer not to linger in one place too long if she did not have to.
“That’s really dope. I’m so jealous of musically inclined people. Like God just gave you that voice? Unprovoked?? It’s really unfair,” Evie groaned, more to herself than the men standing behind her.
“Meanwhile, all he gave me was bad eyesight,” she muttered with a laugh as she pushed the gold plated wireframed glasses higher up the bridge of her nose.
That ain’t all he gave you. Stack shared a look with Smoke as they both took in her round ass as she turned away from them again to go to a section marked for special interests.
Smoke tried to tear his eyes away but fuck… he was an ass man if one ever existed. And hers was perfection.
“Okay, grabbed a couple options. I remember seeing this set of Black music history books in our music classroom. Grabbed one on jazz and one on R&B? The kids loved them all though. Which gave me hope for the future generations because when all the kids’ favorite artists are Ice Spice, you get concerned.”
“You a teacher?” Smoke inquired. He was usually never off.
Observant.
“Yea I’ve been told I wear it on my sleeve,” she grinned. “I was an art teacher at an elementary school nearby for… oh god,” she paused. “Six years? Been out of the classroom for a while though. About two years.”
“Thank God we wandered in when we did, Smoke. Stumbled on an expert.” Stack mused, his hands sliding into his pockets as his strides brought him closer to her. “What do you do now? Runnin’ the whole school?”
She waved her hand dismissively with a laugh. “I could never. No, I’m just an artist full time now. Kinda nice to put the teacher hat back on though so thank you. Haven’t tapped back into that side in a minute.”
Smoke noted how she grew silent for a moment, her eyes filled with nostalgia as she took in the vibrantly illustrated pages. Not loss or even sadness, really. Just reminiscing a past and profession well loved.
She cleared her throat as if her moment of reflection was a crime.
“Well… I believe you’ve got some good options here. Narrowed it down for you if nothing else. But I do fear these will be pretty irrelevant when that dollhouse arrives… you know that right?”
Evie offered with a teasing tone, her smile brightening at how both of them grinned at her. Well, Smoke’s lip twitched. But for him, that seemed similar to showing all his teeth.
“Very aware. But showin’ up empty handed costs more.”
“Smart girl,” she remarked.
“She knows it too.”
Evie tilted her head before amending her previous statement.
“Wise girl.” At Smoke’s raised eyebrow, she added. “If she already knows her worth, means she won’t forget it.”
The distinction settled in Elijah's ear like a confirmation. Affirming a girl’s worth without second thought, elevating her power to demand better from them even at five. And for the first time in his life, he wondered if love at first sight was real. Because he did not know how else to describe the energy that coursed through his veins. This charged frenzy that made him want to claim her as theirs. As his.
That made him want to gather this world and lay all of its splendor at her feet.
Evie held out the titles to him, Stack’s hand brushing against hers as he took them. Chaste by anyone’s definition but the feel of his skin against hers was anything but to them. His hand did not move because he could not tear it away as he felt that spark. Did not want to either. Wanted to feel everything this world had to offer in her touch, wanted to slow down enough to feel this.
Feel her.
And the look in his eye suggested he could stand there with her, his skin softly pressed against hers for hours.
“Is that my Evie-E?”
A jovial voice interrupted, ripping through the moment like a cannon. Brandon, the owner and a friend, waved at her to catch her attention as he walked with a box to the counter.
She cleared her throat, taking a step back from him. Both of them. Because whatever this was they were doing to her? Evie felt it the strongest when they were both near. Every look, every touch, every advance toward her was charged.
“W-We should…” For the first time since she met them, Evie’s words failed her.
“After you,” he gestured with a slight bow, taking the pressure off of her to put a bow on their interaction or find the right thing to say.
She let out a heavy exhale as she walked past them toward the register, both men falling in step behind her. They did not hate the swish in her hips that accompanied every step along the way.
“Heyyyyy B.”
Neither man wanted to admit how the increased sweetness in her voice as she approached the counter made something frustrating swell. Who was this man to you? But Smoke steady himself long enough to notice the wedding band on the man’s hand, that instinct to eliminate a threat to what he wanted subsided.
“How’s my favorite customer and Chicago’s greatest artist?” He emphasized the artist with a wink, her head falling back in laughter.
“You’re so dumb.”
“Taking a break ahead of the big night?”
She let out a huge exhale. “Yea, yea. Should have everything done by Monday. Needed a break though, head was about to explode so today’s all about relaxation. A lil self-care Saturday.”
He paused, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly as if he knew you had done more than relax.
“Relaxing or volunteering in my store?”
“What’s the difference when I got you…” Evie paused as her hand disappeared into her tote bag before pulling out a small neatly packaged to-go box, the Twins too familiar with the green satin ribbon and sticker wrapped around it.
“If that’s a cinnamon roll from Alexander’s, I’ll divorce Shae in a heartbeat.”
The man almost melted into a puddle.
“Damn I should’ve gone this mornin’.” Stack looked utterly dismayed at his own forgetfulness. “Sure we gotta fly out tomorrow?” He added to his brother who merely huffed.
Evie flipped around, surprised. While it was a very quaint neighborhood bakery, their cinnamon rolls had become something of legend. Because she had a full plate the next day, she even splurged and got herself an extra for tomorrow. Though it would take every bit of willpower not to succumb to eating it when she got home.
“Every Sunday.”
She nodded. “Every Saturday. Convinced she’s putting crack in em or something.”
Evie studied him for a moment before reaching into her bag and pulling out another pristine unopened box, her extra, and held it out to him.
“Nah, sweetheart. Can’t take that.”
“I insist. Traditions are important. Can’t have you not getting one this weekend… What kind of Monday could that lead to?? The consequences could be ghastly.”
She glanced over to Brandon in horror, a hand on her chest, who played into her drama. “She’s right. I’d take the cinnamon roll.”
She nodded in a matter of fact sort of way. “I’d listen to him.”
Evie did not know why she was insisting. But she found that she genuinely wanted him to have it. Not particularly for any other reason than she knew it would bring more joy to his day than her.
When he still didn’t reach for it, she added, “You should have it, really. I already had one… This was for tomorrow anyway and I can go get another one before I start working. Besides, you said you’re headed to a five year old’s birthday party?”
He nodded.
“Trust me when I say... You need the sugar high far more than me.” She smiled. “Enjoy it. Please. For me?”
She didn’t even register that she had moved this time, taking a step closer to him. The for me accompanied a head tilt and sweet big brown eyes that let Stack know he and Smoke, two powerful fearless men, were in big trouble.
How would they ever say no to her?
Stack took it in his hands, his eyes studying it like it was holy. Like she had given him more than a sweet treat and burst of joy for his day. Like she was offering him a piece of herself. Without wanting a thing in return. Just because it would make him happy.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
His voice dipped, a need to emphasize his sincerity. Her breath caught.
“O-Of course.”
“She’s amazing. You’re amazing…” Brandon whispered as he continued to hold tight to his own box as if it was the holy grail.
“Very aware." She teasingly rolled her eyes. “But if you don’t ring them up, all my tedious labor working for you for free will be in vain.”
Smoke stepped forward, shifting Evie’s body away from Brandon’s register and the front door and closer to his brother who leaned against the second counter behind her. She had not even realized how they framed her, centering her between their bodies and heat as if it were the safest place to be.
Not intrusive. Nor unwelcome. They were too close for strangers but Evie found that her body demanded more. To be even closer, to be trapped within their flames again. She shouldn’t have but she didn’t even think to move a muscle.
“My bad. How yall doin? Find everythin’ you need?”
The music was slightly louder in this part of the store, the front register packed with punny trinkets and planners. Magnets and bookmarks and the like. Elijah couldn’t help but watch her hand picking up a few of them and chuckling before setting them back down with a shake of her head. As if a voice inside reminded her she did not need another funny magnet or bookmark.
“Thanks to her.” He tilted his head in her direction, sliding their books and hers across the counter.
She had not even noticed Stack pass them off to him.
“Oh those are mine, B. Mind ringing em up for me after them?”
“Nah. We got it.”
Stack’s voice floated to her ear, void of the flippantness of a meaningless gesture, the kind you accidentally blurt out. No, this one held authority. Even if he was not the one holding the wallet or heavy-looking credit card. And that man seemed utterly unfazed by his brother adding her reckless shopping habits to his tab.
She shook her head, laughing as if he were doing a bit. “Oh no, I got it. Gotta winnow it down and all that anyway. Thanks for the offer though and reminder that perhaps chivalry isn’t dead yet.”
“Now you don’t need to. We got it. A thank you for the help n breakfast.”
She tried to find the tease. The joke hidden in his words but she quickly understood he was quite serious. And that opposite his brother, he just preferred to command with a smile.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Good thin’ we ain’t ask. Ring em up,” he instructed Brandon, the man’s hands moving toward her stack without a second thought.
“Wait, wait, wait. Don’t just ring them up cause he said! What about what I said??” Evie’s tone signaled bewilderment and amusement at how she had lost control of this interaction. But then she wondered if she ever had control to begin with. She lowered her voice to Brandon, a lethal whisper. “You’ve known me for five years, you don’t know these two from Adam’s house cat.”
This is what happens when we don’t have a plan…
She turned toward Stack, bewildered. “It’s really not necessary.”
“We know." A pause. "N you should know…”
She felt him close the space between them, felt his chest a mere inch from her back as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Ain’t too fond of repeatin’ myself.”
Her legs almost crumpled beneath her like paper as she felt his breath tickling the skin of her neck. His cologne wrapped around her like a caress too delicious and too erotic to feel in public. Something she had never felt before, even in her past relationship. It pulled her body closer to him, made her sway and beg to be in his skin.
B-” the words failed.
Why were you resisting? Did you even know why? The voice in her head screamed at her to, respectfully, shut the hell up.
Smoke let out a soft grunt as if her show of resistance was exhausting to him. As if he could tell Evie had no intention of surrender. Just like them.
Smoke silently reached and grabbed the top book off her stack. He flipped it in his hands to check the price before sliding it toward her on the wooden register.
“I don’t know what that means yet but I feel like I should be offended,” she muttered under her breath with an eye more to Brandon than the other two, Elijah’s lips turning into a real but small smile.
He didn’t hate the sound of “yet.” As if she already were anticipating another opportunity to understand them, their intricacies and habits.
“Ring that one up for her. We’ll do the rest. One book.”
“Well, I think the men have spoken.” Brandon immediately started ringing up the entire set. “And friend, I’d listen.”
Unluckily for Evie, as she tried to force her heart rate back to an acceptable resting pace, she failed to see it. That glint in a friend’s eye when they’re about to change your life. By getting in your business and meddling. Hard.
“Shae's so excited for the festival. She wanted me to tell you she’s invited everyone we know on Saturday. But we’re gonna come for a bit of opening night too. Are you excited?”
Evie froze. Felt the two men beside her internalize those words. Watched them file it away with everything else they had learned.
She narrowed her eyes at him, answering without much enthusiasm.
“I am.”
Polite enough. Because she knew she did not need to offer much. Because even after just a 10-minute interaction in a bookstore, she knew what was coming next. And she knew by the mischievous joy in his eyes, that Brandon would sing like a canary.
“Festival?”
“Yea! Starting Friday night.” Brandon took a step back, glancing around before grabbing a glossy postcard further down. He handed it to Stack, who was closer to him. “As much as this girl loves to talk, the one topic she sucks at is about herself. She’s the featured artist this year,” he tapped the larger name.
E.V. Harris. He flipped it around and held it up in his hand for his brother. Smoke’s eyes flickering down it before down at her.
She chewed her lip as both men glanced at her. There was almost disappointment in their eyes.
“‘Just an artist’ really undersells it, ma.” Smoke shook his head. “Told you that book wasn’t shit. See what that pie is teachin’ people?”
“I wasn’t influenced by a pie!” Evie called out with an exasperated laugh. “It just didn’t really come up in our conversation or… this one,” she cut your eyes toward Brandon. “But it’s just the local community art festival in the city. Nothing much.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers but his response was a simple, “Brandon?” As if they had not gotten the whole truth out of her. And wouldn’t.
“Well, I think that was a really weird way to say she’s the featured emerging artist at the largest art festival in Chicago. Being their featured emerging artist means she’ll be too booked for her volunteer gig in my store. Good thing you found her when you did,” he mused.
While everyone on the opposite side of the counter was wise to his tricks, two of them were silently giving gratitude to him and God for it.
Evangeline was trying to determine if and how she could curse his entire lineage.
“And if you want a teaser, bet she didn’t mention she’s the artistic genius behind the mural above the children’s section. Where you all were standing and talking about children and books and books children might like, I presume? I’m sure that came up in conversation, Evie?”
“And I’m sure they just asked about the festival,” she sucked her teeth in annoyance, the man winking at her
Smoke’s hand stilled just a bit too high above the card reader to not be intentional. Just for a moment before he paid then turned to her.
He took a deliberate step toward her as Brandon giftwrapped their purchase and put hers in a standard bag. She felt her breath hitch as he reduced the already minimal space between them to nothing. Something in her instinctively started to back up but she only ran into a hard chest thanks to his brother behind her.
Trapped. Their attention squarely on her. Centered. In the most erotic and sensual bubble of her life. Evie could’ve cowered as he towered over her, studying her like there would be a pop quiz to follow.
“You painted that?”
She chewed on her lip, unsure why she became almost too bashful and nervous to admit it. Unsure why admitting it to him, someone who already complimented it, felt like revealing something vulnerable and intimate.
“Yea... One of my first paid gigs, actually. Reason the festival’s even a possibility honestly.”
“It’s beautiful.”
No extra prose or hyperbole. Simple. But it didn’t land that way. Instead, it felt like something similar to quiet worship. Not just in the adoration in his tone but in how he looked at her. As if the mural she spent months painstakingly sketching and painting revealed everything he needed to know about Evie’s soul and spirit. And that made her feel as if the compliment was not just directed at her art.
It took her too long to realize his words still hung between them without response. But she was paralyzed by his praise. By his admiration. It meant more than most people’s for some reason.
What are words?!
“T-Thank you.”
“Seems like we got plans Friday night, huh Smoke? See more of whatchu got.”
She was already concerned her legs would not hold her up and here he comes… that panty dropping voice in her other ear.
“O-Oh you don’t have t-”
Smoke leaned forward as if he needed to ensure she could hear him. His voice low.
“You gon’ learn we don’t do nothin’ we don’t want to, darlin'. N to stop questionin’ that.”
His words were definitive.
Well damn.
“W-Well I know not everyone’s interested in p-paintings o-or art like that…”
Smoke glanced at his brother for a moment before his hand went to grab their gift bag.
“Never been into art at all, to be honest. Not my interest. Think we’ll be interested in yours tho. See you Friday night.”
He offered one last glance, as if he had to commit her to memory before leaving. And with that, he turned and walked toward the door without another word.
“See you Friday, sweetheart. Thank you,” Stack lifted up the box before shifting to follow after his brother.
However, he did stop long enough to add “Brandon,” He leaned over to dap the man up. “Preciate you, brah. Think we gon' owe you.”
“What does that mean?” She called after him.
But he merely winked and continued out the door.
Evie watched them leave, both men pausing to offer one last look through the windows at her before they hopped into the back seat of a slick black SUV.
When the car pulled off, she finally slumped against the counter, a shaky laugh escaping.
“What… the hell was that?” She asked breathlessly.
“I don’t know but something better than every damn book I got in here,” he snickered, his eyes still wide. “I almost asked if I should give you some privacy in my own store. Idk the festival might be date night Friday cause this’ll be a show all on its own.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen Friday night for Shae to forgive you cancelling. She’s been looking forward to that concert for a month.”
“Oh yea? See you Friday night,” he offered in a very poor imitation of Smoke’s deep and rough register. “See… when he said it, you damn near exploded. In my highly flammable store. This is the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Can’t wait for Friday.”
“Brandon…” she groaned, her head falling forward.
And yet, Evie was also, now for different reasons, wishing Friday would come just a tad bit sooner too.
***
A/N: Very excited about a new thing!! This is unfortunately replacing what Say It (that little smut one shot) was going to be because I realized... I really hate writing in reader pov lol and transparently, I really wanted them to meet her at the same time. See yourself in our OC, our sweet artist Evie (face claim tbd) and enjoy this very loose ride haha been wanting to write a MFM with Smoke and Stack since Sinners came out and just couldn't get it together lol finally had some creative energy and needed some joy lol so this is that for me.
No tags simply because I haven't posted much or anything new in so long so not sure who wants to be tagged but def leave a comment if you'd like to be! Hope you enjoyed it!
Pairing: Cherry x Stack (Feat. Smoke / “Smokey Bear”)
Summary: After fleeing a controlled life in Florida, Cherry finds herself rooted in Mississippi with Stack, a man who doesn’t offer safety in the traditional sense, but something heavier, louder, and impossible to ignore. As she gives birth to her son and steps fully into motherhood, Stack locks into his role as provider and protector, reshaping his world around her and the baby with an intensity that borders on obsession. With Smoke grounding the chaos as both brother and “Smokey Bear,” the house begins to feel like something real, something chosen. But peace doesn’t stay untouched. Because while Cherry builds a life where she is no longer small, the past watches from a distance… and eventually, it knocks.
Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content, possessive and obsessive behavior, violence, weapon use, strong language, morally gray characters, psychological tension, pregnancy and childbirth, references to past abuse, dark romance elements, unhinged male lead, power imbalance.
Something Like Hope | Soft Hands, Heavy Love
The night didn’t settle right.
It pressed in, heavy and thick, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something that refused to be rushed.
Inside the house, nothing was quiet.
Cherry’s voice carried through the walls, raw, strained, breaking in ways that didn’t sound like her. Not the soft version of her, not the one that laughed low or spoke easy. This was different. This was pain. Real, loud, undeniable.
Stack was losing his mind.
He couldn’t stand still. One second he was pacing the length of the room, his boots scraping against the wood floors in a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of his own heart. Next, he was at her side, his hand hovering, then back again, like movement was the only thing keeping him from snapping completely. His hands kept reaching for her, then pulling back like they didn’t know what to do with themselves, like they might cause more harm than good.
“Do something,” he snapped, his voice sharp, cutting through the room like a whip.
The midwife didn’t even look up from her work. “I am.”
“That don’t look like nothing,” he shot back, his words laced with an edge of desperation.
“Then you can step outside.”
“I ain’t going nowhere.”
Cherry cried out again, louder this time, her body tightening, folding into itself as another wave hit her. The sound was guttural, a primal thing that seemed to tear right through him.
That shut him up.
For a second.
He moved back to her immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the other hovering near her like he needed to touch her but didn’t want to make it worse.
“I got you,” he muttered, even though his voice didn’t sound steady, even though his certainty was cracking under the weight of something he couldn’t control.
Cherry barely heard him. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care.
“Stack—” she gasped, her fingers grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer whether he was ready or not, the fabric twisting in her grip.
He leaned in without hesitation, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath uneven against her skin.
“I’m right here,” he said again, a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.
Smoke stood off to the side. Still. Watching everything. Not panicked. Not pacing. Just present, a solid, unmoving figure in the chaos. Every now and then, his eyes flicked to Stack, tracking him, measuring how close he was to doing something stupid.
“Sit down somewhere,” Smoke muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Stack to hear.
Stack didn’t even look at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
Cherry let out another sharp cry, her grip tightening like she might rip his shirt clean through, her knuckles white with the effort.
“Breathe,” the midwife instructed calmly, her voice a steady counterpoint to the storm in the room. “You close now.”
Cherry shook her head, tears slipping down her temples, soaking into the pillow beneath her. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” the midwife said, firm but not loud, her hands moving with a practiced efficiency. “You already doing it.”
Stack’s jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated not being able to stop it. Hated not being able to fix it. His hand finally settled on her stomach, firm and grounding, like that was the only place he knew what to do, the only thing he could claim in this moment.
“I got him,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, a mantra against the helplessness. “I got him.”
Smoke’s eyes flicked to him at that. Didn’t correct him. Didn’t argue. Not right now.
Another wave hit, stronger than the last. Cherry cried out, louder than before, her body arching, her whole frame tightening like it might split apart under the pressure.
Stack leaned in closer, his voice dropping low, rough. “Look at me,” he said.
She didn’t want to. But she did. Her eyes found his, wide and overwhelmed, a silent plea in their depths.
“You ain’t doing this alone,” he said. “You hear me?”
Her grip tightened again, a silent answer.
The room shifted. Faster now. The midwife moved with purpose, her tone sharpening just slightly. “Alright. This is it.”
Cherry cried out again. Long. Deep. Everything in it.
Stack felt like it was happening to him, his body going tight, his breath catching like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.
“Push,” the midwife instructed.
Cherry did.
And the world narrowed. Sound blurred. Time stretched. Everything pulled into that one moment—
And then—
A cry.
Sharp.
New.
Alive.
Everything stopped.
Stack went still. Completely. Like something in him locked into place all at once, the frantic energy draining away to be replaced by a profound, earth-shattering stillness.
The midwife lifted the baby, quick and practiced, clearing him before placing him down for just a moment.
“Healthy,” she said.
But Stack barely heard her. His eyes were fixed. On him. On the small, moving, breathing thing that had just entered the world.
“…that’s my son,” he said.
Quiet.
Certain.
Like it had always been true.
Smoke huffed softly under his breath, shaking his head just once, but there wasn’t anything in it this time. No argument. No correction. Just acceptance.
The baby cried again, louder now, his little body moving, fists clenching like he's ready to fight the world.
Stack stepped closer. Slow. Like he didn’t want to break something.
The midwife handed the baby over.
And Stack took him. Careful. But firm. Like he already knew how. The crying softened slightly as he adjusted him, his large hand supporting his head, his thumb brushing against the baby’s cheek like he needed to feel it to believe it.
Stack stared at him. Really stared. His jaw unclenched slowly. His shoulders dropped. Something in him shifted. Not gone. Not softened completely. But changed.
“…yeah,” he murmured. “That’s mine.”
Behind him, Smoke leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with a look that said he saw it too. The shift. The lock-in. The point of no return.
Cherry let out a weak breath from the bed, her body finally easing as the tension left it.
Stack turned back toward her, the baby still in his arms. For a second—just a second—he looked unsure. Then he stepped closer.
“Look,” he said.
Cherry lifted her head slightly, exhausted but searching. And when she saw him—saw the baby, something in her softened completely. Tears slipped down the sides of her face.
“He okay?” she whispered.
Stack nodded once. “Yeah,” he said. “He perfect.”
And he meant it. Fully. Completely. Like nothing else existed outside of that moment. Outside of her. And the child in his arms.
Morning came slow, like the house itself was easing into it, careful not to disturb what had settled there overnight. It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t rushed. It was quiet in a way that felt earned, like something had been fought through and finally laid to rest.
The house, which had held so much noise the night before, now rested in a softer kind of stillness. The kind that followed something big. Something final. Something that changed everything without asking permission.
Cherry lay back against the pillows, her body heavy, drained in a way she had never felt before. Every muscle ached, her limbs slow to respond, her breathing steady but deep, like her body was still catching up to what it had done. But underneath all of that, under the soreness and the exhaustion, there was something else. Something calm. Something settled.
Her eyes moved before anything else. To him.
Stack sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, the baby in his arms like he’d been there all night and hadn’t moved once. Like time had stopped for him the second that child entered the world.
The light from the window caught against his face, softer than she had ever seen it, but his focus, his focus hadn’t changed at all. Locked in. On the baby. On his son.
The boy was small, but not fragile. Plump in a way that made him look full, healthy, solid, like he had weight to him already. His skin still carried that newness to it, soft and untouched, like the world hadn’t had time to leave anything on him yet. His little chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, calm in a way that didn’t match how he arrived. His fists stayed half-curled, like he hadn’t decided yet whether he was ready to open up to the world or keep it out.
Stack watched all of it. Every breath. Every shift. Every small movement. Like he was studying something he needed to understand completely. Like if he looked long enough, he’d find something in that child that belonged to him.
“…that’s my son,” he said again.
Cherry let out a quiet breath through her nose, something between a tired laugh and disbelief, her lips twitching faintly. He hadn’t stopped saying it. Not once. Not through the night. Didn’t matter who was in the room. Didn’t matter that nobody corrected him. Didn’t matter that nobody needed to. To him, it was already decided. Set in place like fact.
Stack shifted slightly, adjusting the baby in his arms with a care that didn’t match anything else about him. His large hand supported the boy’s head naturally, like his body had figured it out before his mind did, his thumb brushing along the baby’s cheek again, slower this time, more deliberate, like he was confirming he was real.
“…look at him,” he muttered.
Cherry was already looking. She hadn’t stopped. But she didn’t say anything.
Stack leaned forward just a little, narrowing his eyes like he was inspecting something important, something only he could see. “He got my nose,” he added.
Cherry blinked. “…what?”
Stack didn’t look at her. “You see it.”
She didn’t. At all. The baby barely looked like anything yet. But the way Stack said it, so sure, so grounded, so completely convinced, made her lips press together to hold back a smile.
“He just got here,” she said softly, her voice still rough from the night before.
“And?” Stack shot back immediately. “You don’t think I know what I look like?”
That made her laugh. Soft. Tired. Real in a way that came from somewhere deep. And something in Stack shifted at the sound of it, his eyes flicking up to her for just a second before going right back to the baby. Like he couldn’t help it. Like both of them held his attention now. Not separate. Together.
Cherry watched him. Really watched him. The way his shoulders sat was different, less tense in some places, heavier in others. The way his movements slowed when it came to the baby, like time moved differently around him. The way his voice dropped without him trying, like something instinctual had taken over. She had never seen him like this. Not in Florida. Not on the road. Not even in those quiet moments when it was just the two of them. This was something else. Something deeper. Something that reached past everything else he was and settled into something that felt permanent.
“You been staring at him all night?” she asked.
Stack shrugged slightly. “Yeah.”
“You ain’t sleep?”
He shook his head once, like that wasn’t even worth considering.
Cherry’s chest tightened a little at that. Not worry. Something warmer. Something heavier.
“You need to rest,” she said quietly.
“I’m good.”
Of course he was.
Cherry shifted slightly in the bed, wincing just a little from the soreness, her body reminding her of everything it had just done, but she pushed through it, her eyes never leaving them.
“You wanna hold him?” Stack asked suddenly.
Cherry stilled, her hands flexing slightly against the sheets. “…yeah.”
He stood carefully, slower than usual, like he was adjusting himself to something new, something that required control in a way he wasn’t used to giving. When he stepped closer, he didn’t rush it. He placed the baby in her arms like it mattered. Like she mattered. Like this moment mattered more than anything else he had ever done.
Cherry took him, her hands instinctively adjusting, pulling the baby close against her chest. The warmth of him settled into her immediately, something instinctual taking over without thought, like her body knew what to do even if her mind hadn’t caught up yet. Her breath hitched slightly.
“…hi,” she whispered.
The baby shifted, letting out a small sound, his face scrunching slightly before settling again, his body relaxing against her like he belonged there. Cherry smiled. Soft. Overwhelmed. Her eyes filled before she could stop it, tears slipping out quietly now, different from the night before.
Stack watched her this time. Not the baby. Her. The way her face changed. The way she held him. The way something in her opened up without hesitation, without fear. His hand came down to rest against the baby again, then slid slightly so it touched both of them at once. Grounding. Claiming. Holding it all together in one place.
“…yeah,” he muttered again, quieter now. “That’s my son.”
Cherry didn’t correct him. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even think about it. Because in that moment—with him looking at the baby like that and her holding him like this, it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel forced. It felt real. Even if it didn’t make sense. Even if it wasn’t supposed to.
Across the room, Smoke leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the whole thing unfold with a look that was hard to read, somewhere between disbelief and acceptance.
“…man,” he muttered under his breath.
But he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t joke. Didn’t break it. Because he saw it too. What this was. What it had become. And as the quiet settled back over the room, softer now, steadier, like the house itself was adjusting to the new shape of things, there wasn’t anything uncertain about it. Not for Stack. Not for Cherry. And definitely not for the boy in her arms.
Cherry looked down at the baby, her fingers tracing the soft curve of his cheek. He was so warm, so solid, so completely hers in a way that still felt new and overwhelming. She felt Stack’s eyes on her, on them, a steady, unwavering presence that filled the quiet space between them.
“He needs a name,” she said softly, her voice barely disturbing the peace.
Stack leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “I already got one.”
Cherry looked up at him, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t hesitate. He looked from her to the baby, his expression completely serious. “Silas.”
Cherry repeated the name in her head. Silas. It was strong. Old. It had weight to it. It sounded like it belonged here, in this house, on this land, with them.
“Silas,” she said aloud, testing it. The baby stirred slightly at the sound, his little mouth opening before closing again. It felt right. “Where’d that come from?”
Stack shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the baby. “Just knew it was his.”
Cherry studied his face, the absolute certainty in his tone. He wasn’t suggesting it; he was stating it, like it was another one of the facts he had decided upon and now expected the world to fall in line with.
She didn’t fight it. She didn’t want to.
“Silas,” she said again, a little softer this time, a little more sure. She looked down at the boy in her arms, at the small, perfect face that already seemed to be taking shape. “My Silas.”
Stack’s gaze softened, just a fraction, just enough for her to see. He reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on the baby’s back. “Our Silas,” he corrected, his voice low and firm.
Cherry’s breath caught. She looked from his hand to his face, and she nodded. A single, slow nod that sealed it. “Our Silas.”
A quiet satisfaction settled over Stack. He leaned back, his hand still resting on hers, his thumb stroking slow circles over her skin. “Told you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Told you he was mine.”
Cherry smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes, which were still shining with unshed tears. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You did.”
Across the room, Smoke shook his head slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his own lips before he straightened up and pushed off the doorframe, giving them their moment. The house was quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t just the quiet that followed a storm. It was the quiet of a new beginning. The quiet of a family, strange and complicated and fierce, finally finding its name.
By the second day, the house didn’t feel fragile anymore. It didn’t feel like something that could be disturbed with one wrong move or one loud sound. It felt lived in. Full in a way that settled deep, like everything inside it had already shifted to make room for him and wasn’t trying to go back.
The baby’s presence reached into every corner, quiet but constant. The small sounds he made carried through the house, soft breaths, little grunts, the occasional cry that never lasted long before someone was there. It didn’t echo anymore. It settled. Mostly Stack. Always Stack.
But not this time.
“Don’t hand me that baby,” Smoke said, already reaching.
Cherry didn’t even look up from where she sat, her back supported by the chair, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly like she’d been waiting on this. “I didn’t say I was.”
“Yeah, but you was thinking it.”
“I was not.”
Smoke stepped closer anyway, eyeing the baby like he didn’t trust himself but wasn’t about to back off either, like something in him had already decided before his mouth caught up.
“…aight,” he muttered. “Give him here.”
Cherry let out a soft laugh, shifting the baby carefully before placing him in Smoke’s arms. “Thought you said you ain’t want him.”
“I don’t,” Smoke said immediately.
But his hands were already adjusting, settling the baby against him in a way that looked natural, like his body understood what to do even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.
He looked down at the boy, brows pulling together slightly like he was trying to figure something out, like he was looking for something he didn’t expect to find.
“…he heavy,” Smoke muttered.
Cherry laughed again, softer this time. “He’s a baby.”
“I know what he is,” Smoke said, but there wasn’t any bite behind it.
The baby shifted in his arms, letting out a small sound, his face scrunching for a second before relaxing again, his body settling like he didn’t feel threatened at all.
Smoke froze.
“…what that mean?”
Cherry shook her head, smiling. “It don’t mean nothing. He just moving.”
Smoke looked down at him again, more focused now, his grip adjusting just slightly.
“…aight,” he said quietly.
There was a pause. Then, his thumb moved. Just slightly. Brushing against the baby’s arm. Careful. Testing. Like he didn’t want to admit he was doing it, like it wasn’t something he planned.
Cherry watched that. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. Because she saw it. The shift. Not big. Not loud. But real.
“You gone drop him?” she asked casually, her tone light but her eyes watching him closely.
Smoke shot her a look immediately. “Don’t play with me.”
“I’m just asking.”
“I ain’t gone drop him,” he said, adjusting his hold just a little tighter like he was proving a point, like the idea offended him.
Cherry smiled, leaning back slightly, letting the moment sit.
“You sure?”
Smoke cut his eyes at her again. “You want him back?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
That made him pause. Then huff quietly under his breath.
“…yeah, aight,” he muttered, like he’d just accepted something he wasn’t planning to, like he realized he wasn’t giving him back anytime soon.
The baby let out another small sound, shifting again, his tiny hand flexing against Smoke’s shirt, fingers catching slightly in the fabric.
Smoke looked down. Really looked this time. Longer.
“…damn,” he said under his breath.
Cherry tilted her head slightly. “What?”
Smoke shook his head once, still staring. “Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. His posture had changed. Subtle. But there. More careful. More aware. Like the weight in his arms meant something now, like it wasn’t just something he was holding, it was something he was responsible for.
A soft whimper from the corner pulled their attention. Cherry shifted in the chair, adjusting her bodice with a wince that was becoming more familiar. “Alright, little man,” she murmured, her voice a balm. “Time to eat.”
Smoke’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic crossing his face before he could hide it. He stood frozen for a second, a man who could face down a rival without blinking, suddenly looking utterly lost.
Cherry smiled gently, holding out her hands. “Here.”
Smoke moved carefully, transferring the baby back to her like he was handling something made of glass and not just a small, warm person. The moment Silas was in her arms, he rooted instinctively, his little mouth opening and closing against her skin. Cherry guided him to her breast, and he latched on with a surprising fierceness, his tiny body going still with the singular focus of feeding.
Smoke watched, his throat working, his gaze fixed on the scene with an intensity that was part awe, part sheer bewilderment. He took a half-step back, then another, like he was witnessing something sacred and private and didn’t know where to look.
Stack chose that moment to walk in, his presence filling the doorway before he even spoke. “There he is,” he said, his voice dropping into a lower register, something soft and proprietary. “My boy hungry?”
He crossed the room in a few strides, his eyes not on Cherry, but locked on the baby at her breast. He crouched down beside the chair, bringing himself level with them, his elbow resting on his knee.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his finger reaching out to trace the curve of Silas’s ear. “Working hard already. That’s right. Gotta be strong. Can’t have nobody out here thinking they can push you around.” His thumb stroked the baby’s soft cheek. “You already bigger than everybody. They just don’t know it yet.”
Cherry looked down at the top of Stack’s head, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the baby at her breast. He was completely lost in it, talking to Silas like he was a grown man, like he was already giving him advice on how to handle the world.
“Yeah,” Stack continued, his voice a low rumble. “Your Uncle Smokey Bear act tough, but he soft. You see how he was looking at you? Scared to hold you. Don’t worry, though. I’ll teach you how to handle him. We gon’ run circles around him.”
Smoke, who had been trying to look anywhere else, shot him a glare. “Man, shut up. He can’t even understand you.”
“He understand me just fine,” Stack shot back without looking up. “We got an understanding. Don’t we, Si?”
The baby let out a soft sigh around his mouthful, content.
“See?” Stack said, triumphant.
Cherry laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her chest. Silas stirred, pulling back slightly with a wet pop before latching on again with renewed vigor.
After a few more minutes, his sucking slowed, his little body going lax and heavy against her. His eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth went slack, releasing her nipple. A thin line of milk trickled down his chin.
Cherry gently adjusted her dress, her movements practiced now. She lifted him carefully, patting his back softly until a small burp rumbled through him. He was out. Completely and totally gone, his head lolling to the side, his mouth open in a perfect little ‘o’ of sleep.
Stack watched the whole process like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. “He done,” he stated, like he was announcing the end of a prizefight.
“Yeah,” Cherry whispered. “He’s tired.”
Stack stood up, holding out his arms. “Here. I got him.”
Cherry passed the sleeping baby over, and Stack took him with the same careful reverence he always did, cradling Silas against his chest. He stood there for a moment, just looking down at him, his face soft with an emotion that still felt too big for his features.
Then he turned to Smoke, who was still hovering near the wall, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
“Aight,” Stack said, his voice dropping back to its usual tone. “Your turn.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”
“To hold him,” Stack said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He sleep now. He ain’t gone do nothing but drool on you. Even you can’t mess that up.”
He carefully transferred the sleeping baby into Smoke’s arms.
Smoke adjusted his hold, his movements stiff at first before settling into that same careful rhythm he’d found before. He looked down at the sleeping boy, his expression unreadable.
Stack leaned against the wall beside him, crossing his arms. A slow, sharp grin spread across his face.
“Look at you,” Stack said, his voice laced with teasing. “Uncle Smokey Bear. All domesticated and shit. Who would’ve thought.”
Smoke didn’t look up. “Don’t start.”
“Nah, I’m just saying,” Stack continued, pushing off the wall to circle him slowly. “You holding him right and everything. Got that gentle touch. Maybe you the one who should be changing all them shitty diapers.”
Smoke’s jaw tightened. “I ain’t changing no diapers.”
“That’s what you say now,” Stack said, grinning wider. “Wait till he look at you with them big eyes. You gone be folding like a cheap suit.”
“I don’t fold.”
“You folding for this little nigga right now,” Stack pointed out, nodding down at the baby. “Standing there holding him as if he made of gold. Scared to breathe too loud.”
“I ain’t scared.”
“Then why you standing like you posing for a picture?”
Cherry watched them, a genuine smile spreading across her face. This was them. Loud, annoying, and completely wrapped around a tiny baby’s finger without even realizing it.
“Man, fuck you,” Smoke muttered, but there was no heat in it. His eyes were still on the baby, his thumb stroking that same slow, absent circle against Silas’s arm.
“Nah, fuck you,” Shot back cheerfully. “I’m his daddy. I got rights. You just the help.”
Smoke finally looked up, and for a second, Cherry thought he might actually take a swing.
Instead, he just shook his head slowly, a reluctant smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, looking back down at the sleeping boy in his arms. “We gon’ see.”
And in the quiet of the room, with the morning light spilling in and the three of them standing there, it felt like the most real thing in the world.
A month changed the house.
Not all at once. Not loud. But steady. Like something settling into its place without asking permission.
The noise was different now. Not sharp cries and tension-filled movement. Softer. Rhythmic. The quiet sounds of a baby who had learned the shape of the house and the people inside it.
The morning light was still soft, spilling across the bedroom floor in long, hazy stripes. Cherry was asleep, deep in it, her body turned slightly toward the window, one hand resting near her pillow, the other curved loosely as if she still expected to feel the weight of a child there. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a testament to a rest that was never quite complete, even when it was deep.
Stack moved without a sound.
He was already awake. He’d been watching her for a while, his eyes tracing the line of her shoulder, the soft curve of her hip where the blanket had slipped down. He slipped from the bed, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor, and then he was back, sliding under the covers from the foot of the bed, a slow, deliberate predator moving with a purpose that was anything but violent.
The air shifted under the blanket, warm and close. He moved up her body, his hands parting her legs gently, his breath a warm puff against her inner thigh. Cherry stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips, her body shifting unconsciously, making room for him even in sleep.
Then his mouth was on her.
The sensation was a slow, creeping warmth, something unfamiliar and shocking. Cherry’s eyes flew open, her breath catching in a sharp gasp. Her hands flew down, tangling in his hair, not to push him away, but to hold on, to ground herself in a feeling so intense it bordered on terrifying. No one had ever done this to her. No one had ever even thought to. Her husband had seen her body as a vessel, something to be used for his pleasure or to carry his child, but never something to be worshipped.
This was worship.
Stack’s tongue moved with a slow, devastating knowledge. He wasn’t exploring. He knew exactly what he was doing. He found the small, sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her sex and circled it, slow, lazy circles that made her whole body arch, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. It was too much. It was perfect.
“Stack—” she gasped, his name a broken plea against the quiet morning.
He didn’t answer. He just hummed against her, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through her entire body. His hands held her hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, holding her open for him. He built the pleasure slowly, expertly, like he was crafting something, like he had all the time in the world to watch her fall apart.
Her mind went blank. The baby, the house, the world outside this room—it all dissolved. There was only the heat of his mouth, the firm pressure of his tongue, the coil of pleasure tightening low and deep in her belly. It was a feeling she didn’t recognize, a right she didn’t know she had. He pushed her higher and higher, his movements becoming more focused, more demanding, until the pleasure snapped, sharp and blinding.
Her back arched off the bed, gripping his head, as a moan escaped from her lips, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. It was overwhelming, a pleasure so profound it felt like a, like a part of her she hadn’t known existed had just been woken up.
He worked her through it, his tongue softening, gentling, drawing out every last aftershock until she was a trembling mess and her body limp against the sheets. Only then did he emerge from under the covers, his face glistening, his eyes dark with a satisfaction that was both terrifying and deeply comforting.
He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, her ribs, the soft swell of her breasts, before finally capturing her mouth. She could taste herself on him, sweet and intimate, and it sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
“Good morning,” he murmured against her lips, a smug, satisfied grin in his voice.
Cherry could only answer with a soft, breathless laugh, her body still humming.
Later, when she finally made her way downstairs, Silas was already awake, a solid, warm presence in Smoke’s arms. A month had done wonders for him. He was no longer a fragile newborn but a sturdy, chunky boy, his round brown face already showing hints of the man he would become. He’d gained weight at an astonishing rate, a solid twenty pounds of pure baby, his thighs thick and creased, his arms chubby little bracelets. A soft fuzz of dark hair covered his head, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, and he was dressed in a tiny, sky-blue romper, expertly stitched by the midwife who had brought him into the world, a gift that was as practical as it was cherished.
Smoke sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand and the baby propped against his shoulder. He was talking to Silas in a low, steady murmur, the kind of voice one used for spooked horses or nervous men.
“…so your daddy, he’s a fool,” Smoke was saying, his eyes fixed on the window. “Thinks he runs everything. Don’t he?”
Silas let out a loud, wet gurgle, waving a fist.
“Exactly,” Smoke nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “See? You already know. Can’t pull nothing on you.”
He shifted the baby, settling him more comfortably in the crook of his arm. Silas turned his head, his dark eyes focusing on Smoke’s face with an unnerving intensity. Smoke stared back, completely unbothered.
“You got your mama’s eyes, though,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “That’s good. Means you see more than he do.”
He reached up with his free hand, his thumb gently stroking Silas’s soft cheek. The baby leaned into the touch, his body going lax and trusting.
“Yeah,” Smoke said quietly, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. “We gon’ be alright, you and me.”
And in the quiet of the kitchen, with the morning light streaming in and the scent of coffee filling the air, it was impossible to tell who was comforting whom.
The day didn’t split clean. It stretched. From morning into afternoon, without losing its shape, the house holding onto that quiet warmth even as the sun climbed higher.
Inside, Stack moved differently. Not slower. Not softer in the way people might expect. But… focused. Directed. Everything he did had a reason now.
Silas lay against his chest, small but solid, his weight settled like something that belonged there. Stack leaned back in the chair, one hand supporting the baby’s back, the other resting over him, fingers spread wide like he was covering more than just skin.
“…you listening?” he murmured.
Silas made a small sound, something between a grunt and a breath.
Stack nodded like that was an answer. “Yeah,” he said. “You hear me.”
Cherry stood nearby, watching as she folded a small stack of cloths, her movements easy, practiced now. She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t need to. Because Stack talked to him like that all the time. Like the boy understood every word.
“You ain’t gotta worry about nothing,” he continued, his voice low, steady. “I got it handled.” His thumb brushed slowly along Silas’s back, a repetitive motion, grounding, like he was reassuring himself as much as the child.
Cherry glanced up at that, something soft crossing her face. He meant it. Every word. Even if the baby couldn’t understand yet.
Stack shifted slightly, adjusting Silas higher against him, careful without thinking about it. “You hungry?” he asked.
Cherry huffed a quiet laugh. “He just ate.”
Stack looked at her. Then back at Silas. “…you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He nodded once, accepting it, but still watching him like he might change his mind.
Cherry stepped closer, brushing her hand along Stack’s shoulder as she passed. He caught her wrist without looking, pulling her just enough to press a kiss against her palm before letting her go again. Small. Automatic. But there. She smiled faintly, not stopping, continuing as if it was normal. Because it was. That was the difference now. Everything had a rhythm.
Stack rose after a moment, still holding Silas, moving through the house with purpose. He checked the windows. The doors. The space around them like it was something that needed constant attention. Cherry watched him do it. Always did.
“You just checked that,” she said lightly.
“I’m checking it again.”
“It ain’t changed.”
“It could.”
She shook her head, but there wasn’t frustration in it. Just acknowledgment. He was still him. Just… with more to guard.
Later, when the sun started to dip lower and the house settled into evening, Stack handed Silas off to Cherry without argument when she asked, his hands lingering a second longer than necessary before letting go.
“I’m heading into town,” he said.
Cherry looked up at him, adjusting the baby against her chest. “You gone be long?”
Stack shrugged slightly. “Not if I don’t got to be.”
She studied him for a second. Then nodded. “Be careful.”
That made something shift in his expression. Small. But real. “I got it,” he said. Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips, quick but firm, then another to Silas’s head, his hand resting there for a second before he stepped back. And just like that, he was gone.
The town didn’t hold the same quiet. Never did. The moment Stack stepped into it, the air changed. People noticed. Always did. He moved through the street like he owned it, his presence loud without him needing to say a word. Eyes followed him. Conversations dipped. Some men straightened up like they needed to prove something. Others looked away completely.
“…that him,” someone muttered under their breath.
“Yeah.”
“That the one with the girl?”
“And the baby.”
A pause. Then a low voice—“…man got a baby now and somehow got worse.”
Stack heard it. Of course he did. He didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. But his mouth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile. Something sharper. More certain.
He stepped into the general store, the bell above the door jangling a cheerful little tune that died the second he crossed the threshold. He nodded once to the man behind the counter, a wiry fellow named Lester who suddenly found the inventory ledger on his counter fascinating.
“Lester,” Stack greeted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
“Stack,” Lester replied, not looking up. “What can I do for you?”
“You got that jewelry case you keep in the back for folks with sense?” Stack asked, leaning his forearms on the counter. The wood groaned under his weight.
Lester hesitated, then sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. “Yeah, Stack. I got it.”
“Good,” Stack said. “‘Cause my pussy’s been good to me, and I’m in a mood to show it.”
Lester’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. He stared at Stack, who just stared back, completely unbothered.
“You… you what?” Lester stammered.
“My pussy,” Stack repeated, slower this time, enunciating each word like he was talking to a child. “Cherry. My woman. She been good. I’m gon’ get her something shiny so she remember why.”
Lester just blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly.
Stack rolled his eyes. “You gone get that case or you gone stand there looking like a fish all damn day?”
Lester scurried to the back, returning with a small, velvet-lined box. He set it on the counter with a thud and opened it. Inside was a modest collection of silver and gold-plated pieces.
Stack’s eyes scanned the contents, his expression unimpressed. “This all you got? This the shit you give to your cousin when she turn fifteen?”
“It’s what I have, Stack.”
“Nah,” Stack muttered, digging through the tray. His fingers, thick and calloused, moved with a surprising delicacy. He bypassed the delicate chains and floral pendants, his gaze landing on a simple, heavy silver chain. Next to it was a small, matching link bracelet.
“This,” he said, pointing at the necklace. “And this.” He pointed at the bracelet.
“I need something on ‘em,” Stack said. “Engraved.”
“Of course.”
“On the necklace,” Stack said, his voice dropping. “E.M. Elias Moore. So every time she look at it, she know who the fuck she belong to.”
Lester swallowed hard. “And… and the bracelet?”
“S.M.,” Stack said. “Silas Moore.”
Lester’s eyes widened. He looked from Stack to the door and back again, like he was expecting someone to jump out and yell ‘gotcha’. “Stack… the baby’s only a month old. You don’t gotta—”
“I do,” Stack cut him off, his voice flat, final. “He my son. He gon’ have my name on him just like his mama. Now you gone do it or I gotta find somebody who will?”
“I’ll do it,” Lester said quickly. “I can have them ready by tomorrow.”
Stack nodded, satisfied. He slapped a wad of cash on the counter that made Lester’s eyes bulge. “Good. And throw in them hard candies. The cherry ones. My boy like the sound they make when he smack ‘em on the high chair.”
Lester just nodded, grabbing the money and the candy, eager for this transaction to be over.
Stack left the store, the little bag in his hand, stepping back out into the afternoon sun. He was almost to the car when a couple of men leaning against the wall of the barber shop decided to be stupid. One of them, a big fella with a belly that hung over his belt, stepped just slightly into his path.
Stack stopped.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at the man, his head tilted, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face.
“Well, look at this nigga,” Stack said, his voice carrying down the street. “Standing in the sun like a scarecrow with a belly full of cornbread. You lost?”
The man’s buddies snickered, but he puffed out his chest. “Just enjoying the day, Stack.”
“Enjoy it from over there,” Stack said, his smile not wavering. “You blocking my light. And my light important. I got shiny new things in this bag for my pussy and my son. I ain’t trying to get your peasant stank all over ‘em.”
The man’s face flushed red. “Man, fuck you.”
“That’s the spirit,” Stack said, taking a deliberate step forward. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was somehow more threatening than a shout. “But let me give you some advice, friend. You see this bag? This bag means I’m happy. And when I’m happy, I buy things. But when I’m unhappy?” He let the word hang in the air. “When I’m unhappy, I break things. Usually starting with bones. So you can either move, or you can find out if your kneecap works as good as it did yesterday. Your call.”
The man stared at him, his bravado evaporating like water on a hot griddle. He looked at his friends, who were suddenly very interested in the cracks in the pavement. After a long, tense moment, he stepped aside.
“Thought so,” Stack said cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. He continued to his car, whistling a low, tuneless melody.
As he drove off, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the men still standing there, staring after him. He just shook his head and laughed.
“Dumbass niggas,” he muttered to himself, already thinking about the look on Cherry’s face when she saw her necklace.
By the time he returned, night had settled over the land, quiet and deep. Inside, the house was warm. Cherry sat in the chair near the window, Silas against her chest, both of them calm, settled in that soft rhythm the house had learned.
Stack paused in the doorway. Just for a second. Taking it in. Then he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his presence filling the space again. Different. But not less. Never less.
He crossed to her without a word, his hand finding the back of her neck, his thumb brushing there gently before sliding down to rest over Silas.
“…y’all good?” he asked.
Cherry looked up at him. Soft. Certain. “Yeah,” she said. “We good.”
Stack nodded once. And stayed right there. Exactly where he belonged.
Early afternoon settled heavy over the land, the kind of heat that didn’t rush but pressed, slow and steady, against the windows and into the walls. It wasn’t suffocating, just present, like something that expected to be endured instead of escaped. Outside, the air shimmered faintly above the dirt, but inside, the house held onto its cool, the air quieter, thicker, like everything moved a little slower to match it.
Cherry sat near the window with Silas in her arms, one leg tucked beneath her, the other stretched slightly, rocking him in a soft, practiced rhythm that came naturally now. He was awake but calm, his eyes half-lidded, drifting in and out of focus, one small hand gripping the fabric of her dress like he had no intention of letting go. His breathing was steady, warm against her chest, a weight she had already learned to carry without thinking.
“You don’t need to wrap him that tight,” she said.
Stack paused. He stood a few steps away, holding a blanket he had just folded over Silas not even a minute ago, his hands still half-raised like he hadn’t decided whether he was finished adjusting it or not.
“…what?”
Cherry didn’t look up right away. She adjusted the edge of the cloth near the baby’s shoulder, loosening it slightly, her fingers gentle but sure. “He too warm. He don’t like all that.”
Stack frowned, stepping closer immediately, his attention locking in like something had just been challenged. “He was fine.”
“He was fussing.”
“He wasn’t fussing.”
Cherry finally looked up at him. Not sharp. Not irritated. Just sure in a way that didn’t ask for permission. “He was,” she said. “You just don’t hear it yet.”
That made him pause. Just long enough for it to register. Not long enough for him to argue again right away. His eyes dropped to Silas, watching him closer now, like he was trying to catch something he’d missed before, like he was listening harder than he had been. The baby shifted slightly, letting out a soft sound, his body relaxing more as Cherry adjusted the blanket again, his grip loosening just a fraction. Stack watched that. Really watched it. Taking it in.
“…aight,” he muttered.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t push it further. Just… accepted it, even if only for now.
Cherry went back to rocking, her hand moving slow and steady across Silas’s back, her touch instinctual, her focus steady in a way that didn’t waver.
“You been holding him too tight too,” she added after a moment.
Stack looked back up. “…what?”
Cherry’s lips twitched faintly. “Not in a bad way. Just… you don’t gotta grip him like he gone disappear.”
Stack’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flicking down again like he didn’t like how accurate that sounded, like it hit somewhere he hadn’t said out loud.
“He not going nowhere,” she said, softer this time, her voice gentling without losing its certainty. “You can relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You not.”
“I am.”
Cherry smiled just a little, not pushing it, not pressing harder, just letting the truth sit between them where it didn’t need to be argued.
From the doorway, Smoke leaned against the frame, arms crossed, one shoulder resting into the wood like he’d been there long enough to hear more than just the last few words.
“…she right,” he said.
Stack didn’t even turn. “I ain’t ask you.”
“Don’t matter. I’m telling you anyway.”
Cherry huffed a quiet laugh under her breath, the sound light, familiar now.
Smoke stepped further in, nodding toward the baby, his eyes flicking between them both. “You hold him like you trying to keep him from getting snatched by the air.”
Stack finally looked at him. “Watch your mouth.”
“I am watching it,” Smoke said calmly. “You should watch what you doing.”
Stack stared at him for a second, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, something that usually would’ve turned into something bigger. Then he looked back at Cherry. Then at Silas. His shoulders shifted slightly. Not fully easing. But adjusting.
“…he small,” Stack muttered.
“He strong,” Cherry said.
“He still small.”
“And he still fine,” she answered, her tone steady, not dismissing him, just balancing him.
There was a beat of silence. Thicker now. Not tense. Just… real. Then Stack exhaled through his nose, something in him settling just enough to not push it further.
“…aight.”
That word hung in the air for a moment, a small flag of truce. Stack’s eyes darted between Cherry’s calm face and Smoke’s unimpressed stare, and his expression soured.
“Man, what is this?” he demanded, his voice rising with theatrical offense. “Y’all ganging up on me now? A damn committee?”
Cherry’s lips twitched, but she managed to keep a straight face. “It’s not a gang, Stack. It’s a conversation.”
“Nah, this a ambush,” he shot back, pointing a finger at Smoke. “He supposed to be on my side. That’s the rule. Blood thicker than water and all that shit.”
Smoke just raised an eyebrow, completely unmoved. “The rule is you holding that baby like he a sack of feed you about to drop.”
“He ain’t no sack of feed!”
“Then stop gripping him like you about to haul it to the barn!”
Cherry couldn’t hold back the soft laugh this time. Stack whipped his head around to look at her, betrayal written all over his face.
“You too?” he said, his voice dropping to a wounded whisper. “After all I done for you? The house? The… the pussy eating this morning?”
Smoke’s head tilted, his expression deadpan. “The what?”
Cherry’s face bloomed with color, and she swatted at Stack’s arm. “Stack!”
“What?” he said, defensive. “It’s relevant! It shows I’m a good provider! A sensitive man! And this is how y’all repay me? By attacking my fathering techniques?”
He turned back to Smoke, his eyes narrowing with a new, dangerous resolve. “Aight. That’s it. You fired.”
Smoke blinked slowly. “…I’m what?”
“You fired,” Stack repeated, crossing his own arms now. “From your position as Uncle. Effective immediately.”
Cherry stared at him, genuinely baffled. “Stack, you can’t fire him from being family.”
“The hell I can’t,” Stack said, puffing out his chest. “I’m the daddy. I make executive decisions. We gon’ put out a listing. ‘Wanted: New Uncle. Must be quiet. Must not question my methods. Must not conspire with the baby’s mama against me.’”
Smoke looked at the ceiling, like he was praying for patience. “You are a damn fool.”
“Am I?” Stack challenged. “We’ll see how you like it when you ain’t getting no more Uncle Smokey Bear hugs. We’ll see how you like it when I find a replacement. Maybe that old man from the end of the road. What’s his name? Jedediah? He look like he good with kids.”
A tiny snort escaped Smoke. He tried to hide it, turning his head toward the doorway, but it was too late.
Stack pointed a triumphant finger at him. “Ha! You scared! You thought I was serious!”
“You were standing there looking serious as hell,” Smoke shot back, a grin finally breaking through.
“‘Cause I am serious!” Stack insisted, though his own mouth was starting to twitch. “Silas don’t need no traitor for an uncle. He need loyalty.”
Cherry shook her head, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She looked down at Silas, who had slept through the entire ridiculous argument, his little mouth open in a perfect ‘o’.
“Looks like he’s taking your firing pretty well,” she said softly.
Stack looked down at the baby, his entire demeanor softening in an instant. All the bluster and comedy drained out of him, replaced by that fierce, unwavering focus. He reached out, his thumb gently stroking Silas’s cheek.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, his voice low again. “He know who his real daddy is. Ain’t no amount of ganging up gone change that.”
She shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting Silas higher against her chest, her hand smoothing over his back, then looked back up at Stack.
“I need you to stop hovering every time I move too,” she said.
That one landed harder.
Stack blinked once, like he wasn’t expecting that to follow everything else.
“…what?”
“I mean it,” she continued, her voice still soft but steady, not rising, not backing down. “I’m not gone break. And he not either.”
“I’m making sure y’all straight.”
“And we are,” she said. “You don’t gotta check every second.”
Stack’s jaw worked slightly, like he wanted to argue, like the words were already forming, sitting right there on his tongue waiting to come out. But he didn’t. Didn’t say them.
Smoke snorted quietly. “She been trying to tell you that.”
“Man—”
“No, listen,” Smoke cut in, pushing off the doorway, stepping further into the room now. “You doing too much. Ain’t nobody saying stop caring. Just… ease up.”
Stack looked between both of them. Cherry. Smoke. Then back to Cherry again. She didn’t look away. Didn’t challenge him. Didn’t soften it either. Just stayed right there in it. Present. Certain. Not asking. Telling. That was new. And he saw it. Really saw it. Not just heard it.
“…aight,” he said again, slower this time.
It wasn’t full agreement. Not a change. Not a promise. But it wasn’t dismissal either. It was something in between. Something shifting. Something learning.
Cherry nodded once, like that was enough for now. Because it was. She didn’t need more. Not yet.
Silas let out a soft sound, his body settling deeper against her, calm, content, like none of this tension ever reached him.
Stack stepped closer again, but this time, he didn’t reach immediately. Didn’t adjust anything. Didn’t correct her. Didn’t take over. He just stood there. Watching. Taking it in. Learning it. Letting it happen without inserting himself into every part of it.
Smoke caught that, his eyes flicking between them before he shook his head slightly under his breath.
“…look at you,” he muttered. “Learning.”
Stack cut his eyes at him. “Don’t get used to it.”
Smoke smirked. “I ain’t. Just noticing.”
Cherry smiled softly, her gaze dropping back to Silas as she rocked him, the motion steady, sure, grounded in something that felt like it belonged to her fully now. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like Stack was holding everything in place. It didn’t feel like she was moving inside something built only by him. It felt like it was holding itself. With her in it. Not behind it. Not under it. But right there. And even if Stack didn’t fully step back, he didn’t step over her either. Not this time. And that was enough.
Stack watched her for another long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and disappeared into the other room for a second, returning with a small, plain paper bag in his hand. He didn’t say anything as he crossed back to her, just held it out.
Cherry looked up at him, then at the bag, a question in her eyes.
“Open it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
She took the bag, her fingers brushing against his. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, were two small boxes. She opened the first one. Inside, on a small bed of cotton, was a delicate but heavy silver chain. At the center, in a simple, elegant script, were the initials E.M.
Her breath caught. She looked up at him, her eyes wide.
“Elias Moore,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So everybody know.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back, a slow smile spreading across her face. She opened the second, smaller box. Inside was a matching link bracelet, tiny and perfect. On the clasp, the same script read S.M.
“Silas Moore,” Stack said, his voice softer now, dropping an octave as he looked down at the baby in her arms. “He my son. He gon’ have my name on him just like you.”
Cherry looked from the jewelry to his face, to the raw, unvarnished certainty in his eyes. He wasn’t just giving them gifts. He was giving them his name. His legacy. A claim so solid it could be held in the palm of your hand.
Smoke, who had been watching the whole exchange from the doorway, let out a long, slow breath. He shook his head, a look of profound resignation on his face.
“…y’all stuck with him now,” he muttered.
Stack didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on Cherry, on the way her fingers traced the initials on the necklace.
“Put it on,” he said.
It wasn’t a request. But it wasn’t a command either. It was just the next step. The only step.
Cherry nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she unfastened the clasp. She lifted the chain around her neck, the cool metal a shock against her warm skin. As she settled it into place, the initials resting just above her collarbone, she felt a shift. Not in the house. Not in the world. But in her.
It felt like a lock clicking shut.
A door closing on a life she used to know.
And a new one opening.
One where she wasn’t just Cherry. She was E.M.’s. And the baby in her arms was S.M. And the man watching her with fire in his eyes was theirs.
And as she looked up at him, her hand rising to touch the silver at her throat, she knew, with a certainty that rivaled his own, that she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Across the road, where the land dipped just enough for a house to sit half-shadowed behind a crooked fence, Ray stood still.
Not in the open. Never that.
He kept to the side of the house, shoulder brushing against the worn wood, the grain rough against his shirt, just enough to stay hidden while still giving himself a clear line of sight through the window across the way. Their window.
He didn’t blink much. Didn’t move more than he had to. Even his breathing stayed measured, controlled, like he understood that even the smallest shift could give him away. He’d been there longer than he planned. Long enough for the sun to shift, long enough for the light to change from sharp to soft, from high to slanting low through the glass. Long enough for shadows to stretch and settle across the floor inside that house.
Long enough to see more than he wanted to.
Inside, it didn’t look like how he remembered her life being. It didn’t look temporary. Didn’t look like something she was passing through. It looked… settled. Cherry moved through the room slow, easy, the baby in her arms like he belonged there, like she belonged there. There was no hesitation in her steps. No looking over her shoulder. No stiffness in her spine like she was bracing for something that might come out of nowhere. She moved like she knew the space. Like the space knew her.
She laughed.
That’s what caught him first. Not the man. Not the house. Not the baby. That. The sound didn’t carry all the way across the road, but he saw it in her face, in the way her shoulders lifted, the way her head tilted back just slightly, the way her mouth opened without restraint. She wasn’t holding it back. She wasn’t checking herself. She wasn’t… careful.
Ray’s jaw tightened. That wasn’t how she used to laugh. Before, there had always been something behind it. Something measured. Something contained. Like she was making sure it didn’t get too loud. Too noticeable. Too much. This, this wasn’t that.
Inside, Stack crossed the room, reaching for the baby before he even got close, small arms lifting, body leaning in his direction like it was instinct. Ray watched the way he took him—natural, like it was something he did every day. Like it wasn’t something he had to think about. Like it was his right. Like he belonged in that space.
Ray’s eyes narrowed slightly. The baby settled against Stack without fuss, small hand curling into his shirt, head tucking in like he knew him, like he recognized him. That sat wrong. Deep. Uncomfortable in a way that didn’t have a clean edge to it, something dull and constant that pressed instead of cut. This was his son. His seed. And the boy reached for another man like he was his own father.
Cherry moved closer to them, her hand brushing along Stack’s arm without hesitation, like it was something she did without thinking now, like contact between them didn’t need permission. And Stack didn’t stop her. Didn’t correct it. Didn’t shift away. Didn’t even look surprised. He leaned into it. Like it belonged there.
Ray’s fingers flexed at his side, his hand tightening briefly before loosening again. He’d heard the talk in town. Whispers that followed him out of the jail and onto the streets, words that clung to him like filth. Engaged. The word was a stone in his gut. And the other, the one that made his blood run cold. Claiming the boy as his own. He’d told himself it was just talk. Just Clarksdale running its mouth. But looking through that window, he saw it was true. It was all being unraveled, every lesson he had instilled in her, every rule he had laid down, all of it dissolving in the warm light of a house that wasn’t his.
The news hadn’t come all at once. It had seeped in, slow and poisonous. First, his cousin Leon showing up at the jail with that smug, pitying look, telling him Cherry had packed up and left with two men from Mississippi. Two brothers. The Moores. He’d laughed it off then, told Leon he was a fool, that Cherry knew better, that she’d be waiting right where he left her. But the seed had been planted. Then came the letter, a few weeks later, from an old friend in Clarksdale, a man he’d done business with years ago. The letter was short, careful, but the words in it burned. Heard your wife is down here with Stack Moore. Heard she’s carrying his baby now, or at least that’s what he’s telling everyone. He’s claiming it. Bought a house and everything. Looks like he’s making a life with her. He’d crumpled the paper in his fist, rage hot and sharp, but he’d told himself it was a lie. A misunderstanding. Stack Moore was just trying to save face.
But looking through that window, he saw it was all true.
Smoke came into view next, stepping into the room like he had just as much place there as the other two. He moved without hesitation, without pause, like he didn’t need to check if he was welcome. He said something, Ray couldn’t hear it, but it made Cherry smile again, softer this time. Familiar. Easy. Not forced. Not careful. The kind of smile that didn’t come from obligation.
The three of them moved around each other without bumping, without second-guessing, without looking to see who needed to move first. Like they had already learned the rhythm of it. Like they had already figured out where each of them fit. Like this wasn’t new anymore. Like it was theirs. They looked like a damn family portrait, a happy little family. And his wife was the star of the show, beaming like she’d forgotten every single thing he’d taught her about how a woman was supposed to behave.
Ray watched all of it. Every detail. Every shift. Every touch. Every glance that passed between them without words. Trying to find something, anything, that looked like what he remembered. Something familiar. Something that belonged to him. He didn’t. She didn’t move like she used to. Didn’t hold herself like she used to. Didn’t shrink into space or make herself smaller inside it. Didn’t look like someone waiting. For instruction. For permission. For approval.
She looked… settled into herself. Like she had found a place that didn’t press her down. And that, that bothered him more than anything else. All his work, all his careful molding, all undone by this loud-mouthed fool who had simply decided to take what wasn’t his.
His eyes dragged back to Stack. The way he stood. The way he held the baby. The way he didn’t look around the room like he needed to check anything. Like he already knew everything in it belonged to him. The way Cherry stood next to him, not behind him, not smaller than him, next to him. Equal in space if not in presence.
Ray’s jaw tightened harder. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The baby shifted, letting out a small sound, and Cherry reached for him instinctively, her body already moving before the sound fully left him. Stack didn’t pull away. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t correct her. He let her take him. Just like that.
Ray’s brow furrowed slightly at that. There was no tension in it. No control. No correction. No claiming of space. Just… ease. That didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit anything he understood. He leaned forward slightly, just enough to get a clearer look through the glass, his presence still hidden by the angle of the house, by the shadow cutting across the yard.
Cherry pressed a soft kiss to the baby’s head, her expression open, unguarded, something warm settling across her features without hesitation. Not scared. Not small. Not his. Ray’s expression hardened. Something low and tight settled in his chest, sat heavy all the same, something that pressed instead of flared.
Because this, this version of her wasn’t the one he left. And it damn sure wasn’t the one he expected to come back to. Across the road, the window framed them like a picture. A life built without him. A space filled in ways he hadn’t accounted for. A place where he didn’t fit just by stepping into it.
Ray didn’t move. Didn’t step forward. Didn’t make himself known. He just watched. Silent. Still. Taking it in piece by piece. Learning it. The way a man studies something before he decides what to do with it. The way a man measures distance before he closes it.
And as the light shifted again, casting longer shadows across the floor inside that house, stretching them out into something softer, something harder to read, Ray stayed right where he was. Unseen. Unheard. But no longer gone. Not anymore.
The peace of the house was a living thing. It had weight and texture, a warmth that settled into the wood and the quiet spaces between breaths. It was the kind of peace that came after a storm, when the air is clean, and the world feels new, but it carries the memory of the rain. Cherry felt it in her bones as she moved through the kitchen, the late afternoon light stretching long across the floor, catching dust motes that danced like tiny, lazy spirits.
Silas was asleep in his cradle, a solid, warm weight of contentment, his little chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was the heartbeat of their home. Stack was at the table, cleaning his gun with a methodical focus that was both comforting and unnerving. The slide of the oiled cloth over steel, the soft click of parts being reassembled, it was a sound she had grown used to, a sound that meant he was here, that he was in control.
But today, it felt different.
It wasn’t the sound. It was the space behind it.
A stillness that wasn’t empty.
A feeling that wasn’t fear.
She paused by the counter, her hand resting on the cool wood, her gaze drifting toward the window. The road was empty. The trees were still. Nothing was out of place. And yet.
And yet.
It was a prickle at the back of her neck. A shift in the air so subtle it could have been her imagination. A sense of being looked at, of eyes on the house, on her, on the baby. It wasn’t the sharp, sudden fear she used to feel, the kind that made her shrink and hold her breath. This was deeper, older. An instinct. The feeling a prey animal gets when a predator is just beyond the treeline, silent and watching.
“You good?”
Stack’s voice cut through her thoughts. She hadn’t heard him move, but he was there, standing behind her, his presence a sudden, solid weight in the room. His hand rested on her lower back, warm and firm.
“Yeah,” she said, turning her head to look up at him. “I’m fine.”
But her eyes flicked back to the window.
Stack followed her gaze. He saw nothing. Just the quiet road, the dipping sun, the long shadows. He looked back down at her, his expression unreadable.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice lower now.
“Just… a feeling,” she admitted.
He didn’t dismiss it. He didn’t tell her she was imagining things. His jaw tightened just slightly, a subtle shift that most people wouldn’t have noticed, but she did. He moved closer, his body shifting so he was slightly in front of her, a silent, unconscious act of shielding.
“A feeling,” he repeated, his eyes scanning the yard again, this time with a different kind of focus. Not just looking, but hunting.
That night, the house felt different. The shadows seemed deeper, the quiet heavier. Stack moved through the rooms like a ghost, his usual loud confidence replaced by a tense, watchful silence. He checked the locks on the doors twice. He stood by the window for long stretches, staring out into the darkness, a stillness in him that was more dangerous than any of his usual movements.
Cherry felt it too. She put Silas to bed, her hands lingering on his warm, small body, a protective ache in her chest. She didn’t know what she was protecting him from. She just knew she was.
She found Stack in the living room, standing in the dark, looking out the front window.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that floor,” she said softly.
He didn’t turn. “Something ain’t right.”
“You felt it too?”
“I feel you,” he said, his voice low. “And if you feel it, it’s real.”
Before she could answer, the back door opened and closed, the sound soft but distinct. Smoke stepped into the room, his presence a stark contrast to Stack’s restless energy. He was calm, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
He looked from Cherry’s worried face to Stack’s rigid back.
“We got company,” Smoke said. It wasn’t a question.
Stack turned, his face hard. “You see something?”
“Last night,” Smoke said, his voice flat. “Was up late. Saw movement. Across the road. Behind the old Henderson place. Someone hiding in the shadows.”
Cherry’s breath caught in her throat. She had been right. It wasn’t just a feeling.
“Who?” Stack demanded, his voice a low growl.
Smoke shook his head. “Couldn’t tell. Just a shape. But they were watching. Watching the house. Long enough to know they weren’t just passing through.”
The air in the room grew thick, charged with a new and dangerous current. The fragile peace they had built was shattered, replaced by the cold, hard certainty of a threat. Stack’s protective instincts, already on high alert, now roared to life. He wasn’t just a man watching his family anymore. He was a wolf guarding his den.
“You should’ve told me,” Stack said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“And have you charging over there in the middle of the night like a fool?” Smoke shot back. “We needed to know what we were dealing with. We still don’t.”
Stack paced the length of the room, his movements caged and powerful. “They watching my house. My woman. My son.”
“I know,” Smoke said, his voice steady. “Which is why we don’t make a move until we know who they are and what they want.”
Stack stopped in front of Cherry, his hands gentle as he took her face in his. “You ain’t leaving this house without him or me. You understand? Not to the garden. Not to town. Nowhere.”
Cherry just nodded, her heart pounding against her ribs. She wasn’t scared. Not for herself. She was scared for this. For the life they had just started to build.
Smoke stepped closer, his gaze serious. “He’s right. We keep it tight. We keep it quiet. We watch, and we wait. Let them make the first move.”
Stack’s eyes burned with a fierce, protective fire. He looked at Cherry, then toward the hallway where Silas was sleeping. A new kind of resolve settled over him, hard and unyielding as stone.
“Let them make the first move,” he said, his voice a low promise. “And I’ll make it their last.”
The house was quiet that night, the kind of quiet that felt earned after a day spent holding its breath. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and the lingering warmth of the stove, a comforting blanket against the cool darkness pressing against the windows. Cherry had gone to bed early, a deep exhaustion settling over her that had less to do with the baby and more to do with the unseen eyes Smoke had confirmed were watching them. Silas slept soundly in his cradle, oblivious to the tension that had coiled in the walls around him.
In the living room, the only light came from a single low lamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. It made the room feel smaller, more intimate, and more trapped. Smoke sat in the worn armchair, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a pocketknife, his movements slow, precise, and utterly calm. Stack paced.
He moved like a caged animal, his energy a violent, crackling thing that filled the small space and made the air feel electric. Back and forth, from the window to the fireplace, his boots making soft, rhythmic thuds on the floorboards. He’d been at it for an hour.
“You gone wear a path in my floor,” Smoke said, not looking up from his task.
“Don’t give a damn about your floor,” Stack shot back, his voice a low growl. He stopped by the window, peering out into the blackness as if he could will the watcher to reveal himself.
Smoke finally looked up, his eyes sharp and assessing in the dim light. “Pacing ain’t gone make him show up any faster.”
“I ain’t waiting for him to show up,” Stack snarled, turning from the window. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what the fool said.”
Smoke sighed, setting the knife down on the small table beside him. He leaned back, getting comfortable, like he was settling in for a story he didn’t want to tell.
“Wasn’t at the general store,” Smoke began, his voice even. “Was at the barbershop. Caleb was getting a shave when he saw him. Said Ray was asking questions.”
Stack went still. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock into place. “What kind of questions?”
“Just asking,” Smoke said, his gaze unwavering. “Asking if a woman matching Cherry’s description had been seen. Asking about the Moore brothers. Asking if anybody knew where they lived.”
A muscle in Stack’s jaw jumped. He didn’t say anything, just listened, his whole being focused on Smoke’s words.
“Caleb said he played dumb,” Smoke continued. “Said he didn’t know nothing. But Ray… he said he didn’t like the way the man was looking. Said he had a stillness to him that was… wrong. Like a snake getting ready to strike.”
Stack let out a harsh breath, a sound that was more like a curse. He started pacing again, faster this time, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“He’s been asking around town,” Smoke added, his voice dropping slightly. “Not just Caleb. A few others. Quiet-like. Trying to piece things together. Trying to find out where his property went.”
Stack stopped dead in the center of the room. The word hung in the air between them, ugly and sharp.
“His… property?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Smoke just nodded, his expression grim.
A slow, terrifying smile spread across Stack’s face. It wasn’t a smile of humor. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated rage. It was the look of a man who had just been given a target.
“He thinks she’s property?” Stack asked, his voice a low, pleasant rumble that was more frightening than any shout. “He thinks my son… my Silas… is his property?”
“Stack—”
“He thinks he can just come back here?” Stack continued, his voice rising as he started moving again, this time toward the door. “After everything he did? After he left her? After he made her feel small? He thinks he can just walk back into her life? Into my life?”
Smoke was on his feet in an instant, stepping between Stack and the door. His movements were fluid, economical, but there was a steel in them that was unmovable.
“Where you going?” Smoke asked, his voice calm.
“I’m gone find him,” Stack said, trying to push past him. “I’m gone find him and I’m gone string him up from the nearest tree by his own damn intestines.”
Smoke didn’t budge. “And do what? Leave Cherry and the baby here alone while you go off half-cocked and get yourself thrown back in jail? Or killed?”
“I ain’t gone get killed,” Stack snarled.
“You ain’t thinking,” Smoke shot back, his voice hardening for the first time. “This is what he wants. He wants you to react. He wants you to make a mistake. He wants you to come out swinging so he can be the victim.”
Stack stared at him, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a fire that threatened to consume everything. For a long moment, it looked like he was going to push past his brother, to go out into the night and hunt.
But then, a sound from the hallway. A soft whimper.
Both men froze.
It was Silas.
The sound was so small, so fragile, but it cut through the rage like a knife. It was a reminder of what was at stake. Of what they were fighting for.
Stack’s shoulders slumped. The fire in his eyes didn’t go out, but it banked, turning from a raging inferno into a cold, deadly ember. He took a step back, running a hand over his face.
“I ain’t letting him take them,” he said, his voice low and thick with a promise that was more terrifying than any threat. “I ain’t letting him get anywhere near them.”
“I know,” Smoke said, his voice softening. “Which is why we don’t play his game. We make him play ours.”
Stack looked at his brother, his expression unreadable. “How?”
“We wait,” Smoke said. “We let him get close. We let him think he’s winning. And when he makes his move… we end it. Together.”
Stack looked toward the hallway, toward the room where his woman and his son were sleeping. He thought about Ray’s hands on Cherry, about his voice in her ear, about the fear he had instilled in her. A cold, hard resolve settled over him, a certainty that was as unshakeable as the earth.
“Together,” he agreed, his voice a whisper in the quiet room.
But in his eyes, the promise was clear. He would share the fight. But the kill… the kill would be all his.
The next morning came, but the peace didn’t return with it. The light that filtered through the windows seemed thinner, the air in the house charged with a new, brittle tension. The unease from the day before had solidified overnight into a cold, hard certainty. Cherry felt it the moment she woke up, a knot in her stomach that had nothing to do with the baby.
She found them in the kitchen. Stack was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his coffee cup untouched on the surface beside him. Smoke sat at the table, staring into his own cup like he was trying to read the future in the dregs. Neither of them had spoken when she walked in, but the silence they offered her was different. It was heavy with things left unsaid.
She sat down slowly, her hands wrapping around her own empty cup. “What is it?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.
Stack pushed himself off the counter and pulled out the chair next to her, sitting so close their knees almost touched. He took her hand, his grip firm and warm, a stark contrast to the chill in the room.
“We got some news,” he started, his voice low and rough. “And we ain’t gone keep it from you.”
Cherry’s heart began to beat a little faster, a frantic drum against her ribs. She looked from Stack’s serious face to Smoke’s grim one.
“Someone saw him in town yesterday,” Smoke said, taking over when Stack didn’t continue. He spoke plainly, without softening the edges. “A man who works for us, down at the juke joint. Said Ray was asking questions. About you. About us.”
The name hit her like a physical blow. Ray. It was a name from another life, a ghost she thought she had buried in another state. The air in her lungs felt suddenly thin, and she had to force herself to breathe.
“He’s here?” she whispered.
“Close enough,” Stack said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, a repetitive, grounding motion. “He’s sniffing around. Trying to find out where we are.”
Cherry looked down at their joined hands, at the silver chain around her neck, the E.M. that rested against her skin. It felt like a shield and a target all at once.
“What does he want?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
Smoke’s expression was grim. “He thinks you’re his. He thinks the baby is his. He came to take back what he believes is his.”
“He can’t have you,” Stack said, his voice dropping into a possessive growl that left no room for argument. “He can’t have Silas. He ain’t gone get nowhere near either of you. I swear to god, Cherry, he’ll have to go through me first.”
She looked up at him, at the fierce, unwavering conviction in his eyes. She should have been terrified. And a part of her was. But another part, a stronger part, felt a surge of something else. Safety. Not the fragile safety of a locked door, but the solid, unshakeable safety of a man who would burn the world down to keep her safe.
“We don’t think he’ll try anything in town,” Smoke added, his voice a calm counterpoint to Stack’s intensity. “He’s a coward. He’ll wait. He’ll watch. He’ll look for a weakness.”
“So we don’t give him one,” Stack finished. “We stick together. We stay sharp. We let him get close enough to make a mistake. And when he does…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The promise in his eyes was clear and deadly.
The day stretched on, long and tense. Every sound from outside, the creak of a branch, the distant call of a bird, made them all look up. Cherry stayed close to the house, her hand never far from Silas. She felt like a character in a story she hadn’t agreed to be in, a pawn in a game between two powerful men. But as she looked at Stack, at the way he moved through the house with a predatory grace, at the way Smoke watched the windows with a quiet, steady vigilance, she knew she wasn’t a pawn. She was the prize. And the men who held her would not let her go easily.
Night fell, heavy and absolute. The house was dark save for a single lamp in the living room, casting a warm, golden glow that did little to chase away the shadows gathering at the edges of the room. Cherry sat on the sofa, Silas asleep in her arms, his small body a warm, solid weight against her chest. Stack sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him, his presence a solid, immovable force. Smoke stood by the fireplace, a silent sentinel in the corner, his stillness more menacing than any weapon.
The silence was thick, broken only by the soft sound of Silas’s breathing. They were waiting. They all knew it.
Then it came.
A knock.
Not loud. Not aggressive. Just three slow, deliberate raps on the front door. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound echoed through the house, sharp and final.
Cherry froze, her heart leaping into her throat. Her arms tightened instinctively around the baby. Stack didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. He just sat there, his body going utterly still, a predator who had just heard the snap of a twig in the underbrush.
From the corner, Smoke straightened, his hand moving subtly to rest near his hip, where his gun was holstered.
Cherry looked up at Stack, her eyes wide with a question she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
He already knew.
His gaze met hers, and in his eyes, she saw no surprise. No fear. Just a cold, dark certainty. He had been expecting this. He had been waiting for it.
He gently took the baby from her arms, his movements careful and sure, placing Silas in the cradle beside the sofa. Then he stood, turning to face the door. Smoke moved to stand beside him, the two of them a unified front, a wall of muscle and will between Cherry and the threat outside.
Stack took a step toward the door, his hand resting on the handle. He didn’t look back at her. He didn’t need to. His focus was absolute.
He turned the knob.
The door swung open, revealing the figure standing on the porch, half-hidden in the deep shadows of the night.
summary: the moores have had a long life together, full of ups down, trials, and tribulations—but never once did their love wane.
cw: smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, tensionnn, mentions of war & childhood trauma, annie grandmama don't play!!, lil stack x mary but more later on, they're cute babies here
a/n: so this mini series (?) is a collection of micro stories about my favorite loversss. it spans the entirety of their relationship as imagined by me, but i'm reimagining the vampire storyline. i also took some liberties on the timeline as given to us in bits and pieces by wunmi, michael, and ryan. and pearline is a friend of theirs from their young years!
this was fr gonna be a one shot to get me back in the groove (annie x reader x smoke is kicking my ass y’all) but things happen! part two already writtenn
masterlist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
may 26, 1919
The air was damp as the girl who was new to the town walked back to her grandmother's home. Dirt and rocks kicked up, dusting the hem of her dress, only adding to her taut emotions. Her eyes squinted in faux anger. Her back tensed subtly.
“I’m not lookin’ for no boy to be in my way,” Annie churned out smoothly and full of attitude. The basket on her arm—full of the herbs her grandmother had sent her into town to retrieve—swung with each sway of her hips. The pursing of her lips—full of annoyance from being followed by the eager young man—intrigued the onlooker more than it should have. He loved her attitude, the bite in her voice that got stronger and more accented the longer he stayed at her side. But he never pushed too hard. He was a constant, a warm eye that she couldn’t deny the feeling of capturing.
He grunted at her side, hands in his pocket, feet kicking up more dust as he followed.
“I’m a man,” Smoke corrected gruffly but with no real heat, “not no boy.”
“Yeah, sure,” she rolled her eyes, stuffing down a chuckle. In the distance, her grandmother’s home came into view, but her stomach churned because despite the annoyance the man could be, she didn't want her walk to be over just yet. She scoffed to remind herself how to act, adding fire to her words. “Whatever you is, you gettin’ on my nerves,” she breathed with her lips in a straight line.
“Oh, please, woman,” he laughed under his breath. The eighteen year old’s eyes shined down at her, captivated by everything she was. He shook his head once. “You know you want me,” Smoke goaded. He bumped her shoulder to provoke her to which she reacted dramatically as if he’d pushed her toward the nearby bush. The stumble caused him to roll his eyes and laugh, only moving in closer. “You let me walk wit’ you ‘cause you like me. If you didn’t, you’d have that grandmama of yours set fire under my ass before I could even get away good.”
She had no real comeback because it was true. It was true, and he wasn’t supposed to know that. Moving her basket from one hand to another, she cocked her head at the man, eyeing him up and down.
“I’m still debatin’ it honestly,” she lowered her voice to appear menacing. But she couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across her face when he leaned in once more and matched her smile with a soft one himself.
~~~~~
may 30, 1919
Annie Laveau was only in Clarksdale for the summer. With hurricane season fast approaching, she was encouraged by her mother and father to spend time with her only living grandparent. She'd finished schooling not too long ago, and with not many prospects, she had nothing to lose by learning a new place. What she didn't realize was that she had so much to gain.
The young woman had quickly found a friend, Pearline, and with Smoke always in her face, she'd also had the pleasure of meeting his twin, Stack.
Outside of her small social circle, she'd also grown closer to her grandmother in such a short span of time. She'd taken to watching the older woman as she worked in the small home that converted into her shop during work hours. Hoodoo wasn't something that her family back home practiced so intently, so she found joy learning by watching, always sure never to over step.
Her grandmama was a hardy lady. She'd been through a world of experiences that added to her solidity and grandeur. Annie admired her uprightness, how the woman moved with a grace she only hoped to possess one day.
"Alright," the older woman announced, dusting her hands off on her apron before turning quickly on her feet. She faced her customer head on, and Annie watched with astonished eyes as she relayed the notes for the man. "When you get home," she continued, words firm, "you pour this oil over a burnin’ candle. Say what you need over the flame and leave it to burn. Then you rest, ya' hear? No unnecessary movin' or yard work. Just rest."
“Yes ma’am,” the customer replied with a sharp nod of his head. He departed with a shake of the older woman’s hand and an acknowledgment to Annie, and the shop returned to quiet at once.
“You’re good at this,” Annie whispered, rising from her seat to help tidy up the work surface. She put oils back where she learned they went, tossed cloths into a hamper. Behind her, her grandmother hummed in affirmation.
“A woman always gotta find something she good at,” she sighed, a smile playing on her lips. “It helps the tough days feel a little lighter.”
The young woman took a deep breath as the words penetrated her heart. She was newly a woman—able to go long journeys without her parents at her side, able to make decisions for the life that she wanted. But she had no clue what her future held, and she had no idea what she was good at. She didn’t know much about life outside of Louisiana, and Clarksdale had been it’s own shock to her system—though welcomed.
The older woman watched with an amused gaze while anxiety grew over Annie’s body. And with one smooth look and a gentle tone full of care, all her worry was taken away.
“I know you ain’t here for long,” she sighed regretfully, already so used to the younger woman being around, “but I’ll teach you some of what I know. Maybe you’ll find something that you’re good at, huh?”
~~~~~
june 4, 1919
Smoke Moore hadn’t had an easy life; He was young with a world of trouble on his shoulders. A dead mother. A dead father. A brother he had to keep out of trouble. Trauma from a war he shouldn’t have fought in. Oftentimes, his life felt bleak, like it wasn’t going anywhere. But then he met her.
Smoke couldn't deny the fact that Annie had somehow crawled into his chest. The sight of her alone was enough to have his heart beating erratically. The sound of her voice, her laugh, her humming when she got comfortable on their walks, it all made him melt for her.
She was unlike any person he’d met before, somehow possessing the qualities that allowed him to get out of his own head. With her, he saw himself as more than the boy with no parents, the boy who’d brought the end to his father’s life before fleeing the only place he knew for war overseas. He saw himself as more than the boy who stole other folks hard-earned money to make a living for himself and his brother.
He found himself envisioning a life with Annie, how they'd get married and have babies and create a home where only love, care, and dedication reside. He wanted her, but somehow, on their walks together, he’d fallen into more of a playful friend type of role. It didn’t matter how hard he flirted, how much he cared for her, how frequently he walked her home—Annie gave him no energy back.
The man sighed begrudgingly, folded his arms across his chest as discontent made itself known on his face.
“What’s wrong wit’ you now,” the younger twin chirped out, rolling his eyes at his brother’s moodiness.
“It’s Annie,” Smoke huffed, bringing a sly grin to Stack’s face.
“You still ain’t locked that down,” he laughed incredulously, tossing his head back and smacking his knee. When Stack had first met the young woman and saw how much his brother wanted her, he’d told him, That’s the kind of woman you get by bein’ in her face all day. Fine as she is, I ain’t got time for all that. And while Stack allowed his eyes to linger between the various women he dated, Smoke had taken those words to heart.
Whenever he got the chance, he made sure Annie knew he was around. The younger of the two couldn’t believe his brother’s dedication, but he deeply respected it nonetheless.
“She different,” Smoke grunted as an excuse for how hard it had been to hold himself back. He bit the inside of his cheek when remembering the other, more real excuse. He shrugged, words raw in his throat. “And she only here for a few more months anyway. So it don't matter.”
Stack watched the emotion pass over his brother’s face, and his grin dropped to something more sincere. He shook his head in disagreement.
“It do matter,” he reasoned. “Even more reason to get y’all locked in.” Upon his declaration, he smacked his brother on the back of his shoulder. His eyes shined, sincerity quickly bleeding into hilarity. "And yo' ass ain't never had a girlfriend, so I gotta make this happen," he belly-laughed. Annie had been the only woman the older twin ever found interest in. Girls would fall all over themselves for either of the Moore brothers, but Smoke always casted his eyes aside. Of course his brother just had to go for the first girl that didn't want him bad enough to beg.
As Stack's mind went wild around an idea to get the girl of his brother's dreams, Smoke's thoughts ran to Annie.
I bet she lookin' real pretty right now, he thought to himself with a soft smile. It was nearing night, so he knew that she was home. She probably cookin' wit' her grandmama, he breathed. Or sittin' out on the porch. Or roundin' the chickens up. Or bathin'. That last thought made him flustered, mind holding on to the image much longer that he thought it should've, but he couldn't push the need to wonder away.
His thoughts of the woman didn't lead there often, but when they did, they overcame every bit of his function. Annie was beautiful, anybody with eyes could see that.
When he retired to his bed for the night, Smoke allowed his body to be lulled to sleep by the thought of her—ever prominent at the front of his mind.
~~~~~
june 15, 1919
It was a blazing night in mid summer, but every young person was itching to get out the house and into some real fun. The twins—the younger one in all honesty—we’re throwing a li’l shindig a few miles out of town. It was on an open plot of land they’d been scoping out for weeks, and Stack, propelled to assist his brother in winning Annie’s affection, finally bit the bullet and started spreading word of the party. The news went everywhere. From plantation to plantation. To Mound Bayou to Jackson. To church pews and grocery store aisles. Everybody was ready for a night of fun, and Annie had been successfully convinced by Pearline to sneak out of her grandmother’s home.
The young woman respected authority, especially her grandmama’s. Annie knew that the older woman didn’t play games and her household had rules, but when Pearline had let loose that she’d heard a couple girls talking about scooping up Smoke, she didn't even fight herself on it before caving.
Since she arrived in Clarksdale, the man had been in her face and on her ass about giving him a chance, and not once had he backed down. He was committed to whatever game she was playing. He wanted her—they both knew it—and she wanted him. For some reason, she hadn’t allowed herself to have it. Part of it could have been that she was only supposed to be in Mississippi for the summer due to hurricane season. Part of it could have been that her grandmother didn’t always have the nicest things to say about the twins. But either way, she was beginning to feel herself tear down those high ass walls brick by brick.
And she wasn't about to let some other girl have what was meant to be hers.
Stack combed the gel through his brother’s hair, both sets of eyes locked forward on their reflection in the mirror. The style was simple and polished with a practiced ease that came from years of doing the same matching hair doo every time. Their attire was similar but specific to each brother.
“When you see her, you ask her to dance,” the younger twin coached with a seriousness locked up in his cadence. “I don't care what you got goin' on. There don’t need to be nothing more important tonight than her, got it?”
“Got it,” the older twin nodded, eyes low as he tried his best to envision the night ahead.
Dress skirts and bare legs trudged through ankle height grasses to get to the function’s center. There was a bonfire, adding more heat to the night air, and around it were folks dancing to guitar strumming and low singing. Loud voices filled the scene with something messily warm—like the consequences of the night didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
Annie and Pearline moved like sin. The Louisianan allowed the music to move through her just as her friend did, shoulders back and chin high, but there was an unease to her. Annie kept her head on a swivel because she was here for one reason only. While Stack was by the fire with three women hanging off his arms—all ranging in shape and color like he was in a damn wet dream—the older twin was nowhere to be seen.
Smoke could often be located in the back of rooms or off in a lone corner, but they were outside with nothing but open field around them. He could be anywhere—doing some of anything.
“You gon’ stress yourself out over that man,” Pearline crooned, voice like velvet against soft skin. Her hips moved with a tantalizing roll from her dancing.
“I ain’t worried ‘bout Smoke,” Annie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms to feign annoyance. She tried to appear like the reason she snuck out wasn’t because she’d been worried about other girls getting their hands on the man, but she found it hard to conceal the truth. Smoke had already begun to grow beneath the surface of her skin, planting himself in her system. The thought of losing that felt like a lifeline being stripped away.
She tried her best to control her emotions, but when the young woman heard an uptick in flirtatious laughter behind her, her eyes narrowed.
A woman stood close, too close, while smoke from a cigarette billowed around the man’s face. He was unamused, not giving the girl any bit of his attention, but whether it was a grunt or a low hum, she continued to find something to chuckle at. She continued to find a reason to lean into his side just a bit more.
Annie was partially right in her assumption; Smoke was off to the side of the fire where he could watch a majority of the land. He was keeping his eye on every person, every laugh, every stomp of someone’s foot as the music picked up. When she shifted her position, dancing a little deeper now that he was near—now that she knew that he could see her—their eyes met through the tall flame, blazing a hello only they could understand.
Pearline snickered because in her words, It’s only a matter of time before you give that man a chance, Annie-girl. And she was right. Because every walk on backroads was weighing her down. Every nudge to her shoulder. Every harsh word he softened just for her. Every look across a room.
The woman at his side looked appalled when the man pulled away from her. Smoke muttered something about having something to take care of because though troubled, he was never not polite. Each step worked to bring himself closer to Annie, and as he moved in, his heart thudded. Anticipation and unfettered joy mingled as one, an emotion he only experienced when in the woman’s presence. Since she’d moved into town, his body had been overwhelmed by it, but he had no complaints as he realized all he needed in life was her and the feeling she brought him.
Annie gulped at how heavy his eyes were on her. It was like he was stripping her with his gaze. Stripping away her barriers. Stripping away her clothes. She met him halfway—body hot beneath the surface because of his eyes, because of how he looked so damn good in his clothes.
His stride was long, eating up the space between them until he was standing in front of her, and Annie closed the rest of the space. Her chest pressed into his, head tilting in a question she wasn't ready to ask just yet.
~~~~~
june 16, 1919
Eighteen years old and only living with her grandmother for the summer, Annie understood the reality of things. They were young and would have miles between each other in just a few months, but she didn’t want to believe it. Last night, she’d let her guard down. The music filled her as they danced as one, her arms around his neck and his holding her closely at the waist. Their bodies melded together, sticky from the heat and open from their shared emotions. They had leaned in, Smoke more than Annie, of course, but the kiss they’d shared was mutual. It was full of want. Full of desperation. Full of months spent getting closer to the inevitable.
When the man had whispered against her lips, asking her to stay longer, she couldn’t say no. And now, he was walking her home in the early morning air. Beneath their feet was the dirt road they’d traveled too many times to count. The sun threatened to rise behind their heads, but it was still dark, too late for two young people who cared so rawly to be out alone together.
“Thank you,” Smoke whispered against the dewed morning. His eyes were looking out into the distance, Annie’s grandmama’s house coming into view. A smile sat on her face, and when the young woman looked his way, she was taken away from how soft he looked.
“For what,” she questioned, brows drifting closer together. Their arms brushed each other continuously, their bodies not knowing how to be apart anymore.
“For puttin’ up with me mostly,” he huffed out a laugh, pressing in closer. Their words were quiet to not disturb the waking world too much, but Annie’s confusion only settled deeper. “I know what people think of me,” he continued in answer. “Doin’ crime to get by. Daddy gone missin’. Goin’ to war off forged documents and too young to even have my own thoughts. My life ain’t pretty. Ain’t what I think you deserve neither—”
“I’m the only one who can say what I deserve, Elijah,” she cut in, using his given name for the first time aloud. It took him aback, the sound of it, the softness, how her voice curled around the syllables in a way that left no room for judgment.
“I’m just sayin’,” he continued exasperatedly. “When I first saw you, you was like a dream I just realized I’d been envisionin’. You been puttin’ up with me for months now, and last night was better than I could have ever imagined.”
“Yeah,” Annie whispered breathlessly, agreeing too deeply with his words. The smile on her face was enough to make Smoke’s heart explode in his chest. Neither of them could stop picturing a future where they got to do this every day—walk, talk, dream.
But then reality struck as they approached the home.
It was early, too early for Annie’s grandmother to be awake, but there on the porch, the woman sat in her rocker. Eyes bored into the two young people. The slow, steady sound of the rocker built their fear.
“Annie,” the man breathed, terrified at the way he was being watched. He’d never met the older woman, had only seen her in passing, keeping his head down because she meant business and he respected that. But now, she was watching and judging, and he was walking her granddaughter home in the near dark morning after she’d snuck out the night before.
“Just follow my lead,” she whispered, breath growing heavier as if she’d just ran a lap around the whole of Clarksdale.
Their steps faltered the closer they got, bodies grazing just once more before separating for good. The older woman had already clocked it all from afar anyway, and when they stood at the bottom of the porch steps, she’d already made her mind up.
“Go inside, Anna Mae,” her grandmother growled. Attention locked on Smoke, she sized him up, just waiting for him to back down. But his eyes never wavered. He stood before her with a straight spine, soft shoulders, head forward.
Annie was terrified for the man. Her eyes grew wide, hands flailing as her words came out broken and strangled.
“But grandmama—”
“Inside,” she hurled, finally breaking eye contact with the young man to give Annie a stern and threatening glance. The younger woman stomped her foot—just once in discontent—sending dirt into the air as she crossed her arms under her ample bosom. She turned toward Smoke, face shifting from pissed to apologetic—remorseful. Moving a step closer, she engulfed him in a hug. She squeezed tight as if it were going to be their last chance to do so, and he held on even tighter, amazed that she’d come around to him in a night. He promised himself that he’d make sure this hug wasn’t their last no matter what happened once she inevitably followed her grandmother’s instruction.
“Thank you for walkin’ me home, ‘Lijah,” she whispered in his ear, lips soft against his skin. “And thank you for last night.” The appreciation came out torn, each syllable punctuated with fear. She’d deceived her grandmother and had returned with a man she knew was deemed unsavory, but the feeling of him and his presence was too real to give up. Smoke shivered at the feeling of her breath against his ear, fingers twitching at the young woman’s sides from the feeling of her grandmother’s eyes on him.
“Oh—Of course, Annie,” he breathed, shock floating through his body.
And in a second, she was gone, disappearing into the home with a defiant stomp of her feet when passing the older woman. All light softness had been snuffed out of the morning as the two people stared at each other. The young man stepped forward, hands at his side pulling at his pants in anxiety. He cleared his throat, and his mouth fell open. But before he could get a word in, she interrupted.
“This is a household with rules,” she began.
“Yes ma’am,” he answered.
“And we do things in a particular manner,” she breathed sternly.
“As you should,” he affirmed hesitantly.
The older woman stood from her seat, and as she shifted her weight to one foot, pursed her lips, and settled her arms under her chest, she looked far too much like the young woman that had trampled into the house all angry. Her eyes took him in once more, mind thinking loudly as she weighed the consequences of her next words.
“What yo’ intentions wit’ my Anna Mae,” she wondered aloud, cadence dipping sweetly at the young girl’s birth name. And Smoke smiled to himself because he’d never actually spoken his wants aloud in such a manner. He’d been quiet in his affection—verbally only—because when people saw him walking with Annie or dancing with Annie or kissing Annie near a roaring fire, they knew his care for her. But this was different. Honesty coursed through him, the need to convey his heart’s desires helping him speak his truth.
"I have plans to court her, ma'am," Smoke choked out. And the woman's brow raised, and her face contorted into skepticism, and out of fear, he immediately continued his train of thought. "I was goin' to ask if that was okay with you," he nodded truthfully, words ripping through the morning air, "but I wasn't entirely sure she liked me very much."
"She likes you plenty," the woman bellowed, hands moving to her hips. She was ready to rip him a new one—something about how he hadn't yet made the effort to introduce himself, how she'd see him in town ducking and dodging, how he was trouble personified and her Anna Mae didn't need no trouble—but when the man's eyes drifted toward the front window and softened at the pair of eyes he met on the other side, all she could do was take a deep sigh. "Come back in the morning," she commanded, body settling back into her rocker. The sound of wood against wood filled his ears, and his expression brightened. "I wanna see you bright an' early. 'Fore my rooster crow and the world wake up. Then maybe we can talk about it."
She nodded once, keeping her face stone, not allowing the man to know what was running through her mind.
All he could think about was Annie standing at the window, curtains drawn and face red with embarrassment and adoration at the same time.
"Yes ma'am," he smiled delicately, hopefully. Just before he turned back to the road to travel in the direction of the place he laid his head, he sent a nod to the front window, and the young woman's heart swelled.
~~~~~
july 23, 1919
Smoke had come back the next day as told by Annie's grandmother, and since then, he'd been given permission to court her. That bright, early morning, the older woman had put him to work; Every one of her chores had to be completed in an extremely particular manner as she watched, noting if he huffed or sighed in annoyance—although he never did—paying attention to if his body relaxed when Annie brought him a cup of ice water—which it always did. There was no negating the fact that he had deep affection for her, so she allowed the relationship to bloom, even with the knowledge of Annie returning back home to Louisiana once hurricane season was over.
The pair of young people laid near a row of magnolias and pines, taking in the late summer breeze that worked to cool their hot skin. Annie was wearing her favorite color, blue, a color Smoke had grown fond of in his months knowing her. The dress dipped off one shoulder as she looked up at the sky through the leaves above them, taunting the man to lean in impossibly closer.
"You love to stare, don't you, Smoke," she teased, giggling to herself when he jumped at the sound of her charming voice. The young man grunted familiarly, joining her with his back to the blanket he'd brought along with their light lunch. And still, his head turned in her direction, eyes meeting her face like always.
"I told you 'bout callin' me that," he drawled in that thick accent the woman swooned for. Her smile softened in acknowledgement—because yes—he’d told her too many times to count that after he heard her utter his given name, he never wanted to be called anything else. She’d been added to a short list of individuals who could know him so deeply. She saw him for who he was past the war scars and trauma. Past the looting and destruction.
Annie hummed thoughtfully as her head turned in his direction. Fingers caressing his open palm, she considered how summer was drawing to a close and home was calling her name. But here in Clarksdale, she had a young love that was beginning to feel impossible to live without.
"I'm sorry, Elijah," she enunciated, smile bright, eyes wetting near the corners. She turned over, scooting in real close. Her head rest atop his chest, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt, and she fully rested her body next to his. The feeling of him, strong and sturdy beneath her, had her pulse droning in a soothing beat.
Then Elijah pulled her closer.
Her leg swung over his, straddling him on both sides. Their faces were inches away, so close that their breaths mingled, tickling the edges of their mouths.
"I like seein' you above me," the man flattered, hands drifting up the young woman's outer thighs.
"I like you beneath me," she blushed. She ghosted her lips against his in a teasing manner, and when he moved forward to capture her mouth in a kiss, she pulled back with a laugh. "Tell me why you deserve it," Annie purred, hips settling down against his pelvis. Elijah groaned, teeth gritting, hands gripping the fabric of her dress.
"Because I'm good to you, baby," he swooned, jaw relaxed. He was ready to beg for it, to submit to the woman because he needed it just that much—and who was he to not submit for a woman like Anna Mae Laveau.
The young woman above him hummed, ease taking over her features, and then she leaned down, capturing him in a kiss, and he conceded.
~~~~~
august 3, 1919
When Annie met Cornbread, Grace, Bo, and Mary for the first time, her heart filled out even more.
That day, she had been in town with Pearline, checking out some fabrics at the tailor’s, when the two women stumbled upon the twins. They both looked freshly shaven and crisp, identical but with their own unique flares. Stack had a wide smile plastered on his face, taking in the sight of her and Pearl with a greedy eye. The quieter man, though, tipped his head at the young women, polite and friendly.
“Stack,” Annie greeted with a nod. She turned toward the other man, lips lifting into a knowing smile. “Elijah,” she nearly purred, voice so decadent that the man blushed, casting his eyes away in an effort to calm his beating heart.
“You two look beautiful,” Smoke commented, only looking into Annie’s eyes. Beside them, Stack and Pearline chuckled, shaking their heads.
"Thank you, Smoke," Pearline hummed, paying close attention to the way her friend gazed at the man. "What y'all up to today?"
"We havin' a li'l get together tonight," the younger twin disclosed, grin getting larger. He moved into Pearline's side, bumping her shoulder while looking her up and down. His teeth tugged on his bottom lip, head tilting to the side. "Y'all wanna come?"
"I ain't tryna be no where wit' you if you gon' be flirtin' with me, Stack," Pearline turned her nose up. "Especially if Mary there," she added, crossing her arms.
The man huffed, moving back toward his brother who was too concerned with making eyes at Annie—who was too concerned with imagining having Smoke all to herself.
Elijah raised an eyebrow, quietly questioning the woman. A feeling crept into his body, a flutter in his stomach, an expanding in his chest. When he was around her, Smoke felt like he was constantly having to hold himself back. His adoration for her was a consistent emotion that only wanted to make itself know. He was eager and desperate for more time with her, greedy for her attention.
And Annie was willing to give it to him. She didn't allow their eye contact to waver. Her fingers twitched at her side. Her feet itched to move in his direction.
"We'll be there," she answered aloud for both of the young women, cheesing at the man who was overjoyed by her answer.
The young girl didn't have to sneak out this time around. Since Elijah had been in her grandmother's good graces—helping around the house and speaking each time he walked Annie home—she felt that he was to be trusted. And aside from that, Annie had promised to not be out late. Promised to stay near Pearline. Promised not to come home pregnant.
“Well, you must be the girl Smoke be spendin’ all his time daydreamin’ ‘bout,” Annie heard as she and Pearline entered the lively farmhouse. The voice belonged to a man who was tall and sturdy with a way about him that easily pulled laughter from the back of her throat. And his words didn't even bring her pause. She drifted her eyes to the man behind him, quiet as always and staring with that usual brooding need.
"I think I might be," she chuckled, paying close attention as Smoke's face grew a bashful smile. "Annie," she greeted with a hand out, learning that the man's name was Cornelius—though everybody called him Cornbread.
She met Bo and Grace next, a young couple around her age who were falling all over each other in love. She couldn't help but to envision being like that—carefree.
Then she met Mary. She was slightly younger, spry and with her nose wide open for Stack who seemed to enjoy every ounce of attention she gave him. The girl's mother owned the farmhouse they were hanging out in, and as Annie eyed her curiously, she understood a lot from what was not being said.
The night was fun—so fun that she forgot what the future held. Those moments—laughing with new friends, dancing with a man that was becoming tangled in her heart—made her feel alive in a way she hadn't experienced before.
But soon, reality would come crashing in.
~~~~~
august 21, 1919
“My mama wrote to me a few days ago,” Annie announced, cadence slow like the words themselves were not ready to leave her mouth. Her body language was taut, less inviting with the onslaught of emotions. She cleared her throat. “She said the worst of the weather is over. That I can come back home.”
The man said nothing. He just simply looked ahead, face dejected.
“I’m leavin’ at the top of the month, ‘Lijah” the young woman concluded, eyes on her hands. She pulled at her fingers, twisting a ring around one of them to give herself anything to keep her focus on. If she thought about it too long, she’d say something she regretted—three words that felt inappropriate and somehow inadequate for the moment. Her emotions were too big, and Elijah still hadn’t said a word.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed eventually, and instead of opening his mouth, the man reached over, tangling their fingers together.
~~~~~
september 1, 1919
Dust filled the air of the train station to the point that it felt like their lungs were coated in grit. Their mouths were dry, eyes wet.
Smoke stood off to the side as Annie said her goodbyes, hugging her grandmother and her friends—Stack and Pearline. She’d said farewell to Cornbread, Grace, Bo, and Mary yesterday, and that was filled with just as much emotion as now. The man was wiping his face when the young woman pulled away from Pearline’s hug, and their eyes met on instinct.
“You just gon’ stand there,” Annie questioned in a lilt, head cocked to the side, hands meeting her hips. And Elijah didn’t respond with words; He simply engulfed her, arms circling her torso, face landing in her neck. As Annie held him close, it felt like they were the only two people that mattered, that everybody else who was leaving their loved ones didn’t exist.
“Elijah,” the young woman’s voice cracked. She felt tears wet her skin and the fabric of her dress the deeper the young man sank into her, but she just held him closer, her cries matching his.
~~~~~
october 4, 1919
Being apart for just one month, Smoke felt he was spinning off his axis.
He remembered the day clearly: waking up at the ass crack of dawn, trudging over to Annie’s grandmother’s, knocking on the door with sad eyes, walking her, her grandmother, Pearline, and Stack to the train station, and sending her off with tears in his eyes. He had kissed her after, after crying in her neck, and he had promised to write to her. But he wasn’t the best writer—or reader, for that matter. With his upbringing and joining the war so young, school was never a stable environment for him. He did what he could, got by ‘cause that’s how a lot of people lived in Clarksdale. But he committed to doing it for her, to learning.
It seemed the man was writing every damn day once he got the hang of it. He’d tell her all about his day, how he still helped her grandmama with chores, how he committed himself to visiting her everyday, how Stack was still planning his elaborate parties with dreams of making it a career someday. And she wrote him back just as much as he wrote her. Annie’s letters were full of stories about the bayou and what city life was like on the weekends. She’d send him kisses pressed to paper with incantations written in the margins—all of it flooded with her love.
It wasn’t practical, but it was necessary, and it worked for them. For now.
Annie was doing her own spinning and spiraling because since she’d gotten back from Mississippi, home just hadn’t felt like home. She thought of her grandmother often—her soft sternness that meant well, her lessons in hoodoo that had become incorporated in her everyday life now. She thought of her Elijah—his gruff delicate nature that soothed every part of her being, his kisses beneath magnolia trees that still blazed against her lips.
She stared at his most recent letter, full of pressed flowers and his words of love. He wrote of how he missed her and her eyes and her smell and her body and her kisses. The casualness of it made her chest burn, lower stomach sizzling right alongside it as she remembered the last time their bodies had been close. She missed him—terribly. But even then, there was more to Clarksdale than Elijah Moore.
She had friends there, Pearline specifically. She had connections to the people and the land that she couldn’t give up. In the summer she’d been there, she and the town had become woven in a way. There was no going back to how her heart beat before she knew Clarksdale.
~~~~~
october 16, 1919
The young woman writhed against her bedsheets. She tossed and turned and fought herself to find a comfortable position to lay, but there appeared to be none. The air was damp and hot, the space between her legs meeting the feeling head on.
In her attempt to sleep, she allowed herself to picture Elijah, and in picturing him, she got real imaginative. The pair hadn't done anything obscene together. Their interactions had been marked by chasteness, but beneath it all, need clawed to be let out.
Annie's hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown, toying with the idea to seek her own body out. Fingers light and curious, she felt at the fabric of her panties, gasping in surprise at what she found. And after that first touch, she was unable to deny herself any longer.
The pads of her fingers circled her clit, tight swirls driving her crazy. She imagined them to belong to Smoke. In her mind, he was being all gentle to make sure she was okay, but when her fingers pressed into her button in indecent need, she imagined him to have become greedy by the small cries she was letting out.
She whispered his name—in her head only because she couldn't imagine what would happen if she said it aloud. Like a spell or a chant or a cry laced with intent.
She worked herself to the edge, and when she was ready, she imagined Elijah breathing a command into her ear: a small let go for me.
And she did.
~~~~~
october 28, 1919
The longer Annie spent in Louisiana, the more she dreamed of Clarksdale. Her body was attuned to the spiritual world, and every night—when she wasn't thinking about fucking Elijah—she fell into elaborate dreams about the lives of people in the town she missed dearly. The man's letters were certainly helping her in doing that. Not once had they slowed in frequency or dipped in quality.
In his most recent letter, though, the man had expressed concern that he was holding up her life, that she could do better than him—because Elijah always thought that she could do better than him. He told her that he wouldn’t crucify her for entertaining another man, and he couldn’t be mad because he felt like he was wasting her time.
And the letter had propelled Annie into a heap of dreams about Sad Ole Elijah, crying and writing letters just to pass the time before he heard from her again. And Sad Ole Elijah seeing Annie return after five, ten, fifteen years apart with a new man on her arm. And Sad Ole Annie foolishly trying to fill an Elijah shaped hole in her heart.
There was no one for her but him, no one for him but her, and she resented him for thinking so.
She expressed as much in her next letter, how she don’t need no man but you and how you selfish to just push me off on somebody else ‘cause you feel bad. It wasn’t fair, but it was how she felt, and Annie never held back her feelings for no man.
~~~~~
november 1, 1919
Smoke received it one early November morning, right after visiting with Annie’s grandmother and right before he went to run the streets with his brother. He felt his heart pitch, confusion and dread mingling with his fear. He was just trying to do what was right. Never once did he plan to stop being there for her. Never once did he plan to stop his care for her—what had turned from care and into love right before his eyes—but she was pissed, and he honored that.
His hand crumpled the page's edge, her words of anger splayed there in all their honesty.
He didn’t write back all at once. He gave himself time to think—the length of the rest of the day—and when the sun dipped, he got to spilling every crazed emotion just for her.
Annie,
I ain't never meant to offend ya'. I just want the best for ya'. I want you to have a good life. If that's with me, then thank God. If it's not, then I just want you happy, healthy, safe.
You mean the world to me, Ann. You my friend. You my heart. You my love. You my comfort. And you will always have me in yo' life no matter what. I love you Anna Mae.
Yours 'til death, Elijah M.
~~~~~
november 18, 1919
Annie didn't write back, and Elijah didn't stop writing.
He isolated himself, spent weeks with his nose to the paper. He didn't want to overwhelm her, so the most heartfelt letters were kept to himself, but the others were sent back to back—day after day. He wrote of his day: what he had planned and what he'd already done; what he'd eaten and what he wished he could eat—usually her cooking; what her grandmother was up to and what crazy chores she had him doing to keep him out of trouble. He kept things light—but personal—and she still didn't write him back.
For more than a week, he felt his chest caving in. An agonizing feeling was making its way into his system, and he felt that without her, he would simply become a husk of himself.
That morning, he stayed in bed past sunrise—past the rooster call and the rising of day. He didn't eat—couldn't; Half the time, it barely felt he could breathe at all. His heart grew heavy as he willed himself out of bed, the afternoon sun already high, but he knew he had to go to the woman's home eventually. His body was riddled with last night's sleeplessness. He was a vision of exhaustion and sadness and hopelessness and lovesickness. And when he walked out into the sun, he was blinded by the crisp day.
Each step to Annie's grandmother's house felt like dread. He'd missed the morning chores without notice, and since he'd been visiting with the woman daily, he could already imagine the mix of worry and disappointment on her face when she saw the state that he was in. He had worked to conceal his hurt while around her. He didn't want to appear pathetic, though he felt he was.
Every thought he had was of Annie.
Every dream he dreamt was of Annie.
And he felt that he had ruined it with an ease he didn't quite understand yet.
The walk reminded him of when he'd stroll beside the young woman with a grin and a brush too close to her arm. He remembered her rough exhales when pretending to dislike his advances, her light laughs when she allowed herself to give in just once. The house stood in the distance, and the closer he got, the more he felt like falling apart.
Annie's grandmother was in her rocker, as always, the steady sound of wood against wood flitting past his ears. She worked at something in her hands: a beaded necklace—white and blue in color. His breath caught in his throat before she even met his eyes, and just as she did, the screen opened to a view of the woman he'd missed dearly.
Annie stood there, glass of sweet tea passing between her hand and her grandmother's hand. Then she turned to him, fists settling on her waist as she cocked her hip to the side.
Smoke felt sick in the best way.
He could reach out and touch her.
He could smell her.
He could taste her—if she allowed.
Months apart began to feel like they hadn't been a thing at all because here she was—in the flesh, looking all pretty in their favorite color. Blue.
Smoke wasted no time in speeding from his spot in the road to where she stood on the porch. He engulfed her, hugging her deeply and scooping her body up in his arms. He lifted her from the ground, pulling a surprised squeal from her throat and not even caring about it. He held her like she was his lifeline, and she accepted it, burying her face in the side of his neck while tears weld up in her eyes.
~~~~~
november 21, 1919
"You don't get to tell me what I need, Elijah," Annie reprimanded, finally allowing the man to know why she decided to come back, why she decided to stay in Clarksdale for good. "That letter pissed me off because you are good enough for me. You are perfect for me, and there ain't nobody on God's green earth that can take the place you've made in my heart." She shook her head, eyes wild in confusion and hurt. Smoke bit back a whine, emotion building in his chest.
"I feel the same way 'bout you," he admitted, moving forward and attempting to touch her waist. But the young woman moved away, holding her hand up between them.
"Then why did you write the letter," she questioned. "Why do you keep actin' like better is waitin' for me when you right here?"
"Because, Annie," he breathed, throat tight, "I ain't shit. I don't have nothing to offer you. No money. No real job 'less you count the bullshit me and Stack do."
"I don't want no money, Elijah," she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, "I want you. The good and the bad. No matter what that means."
"Baby—"
"I wouldn't have come back if I didn't want that with you," she tried again, words strangled. "I know about yo' mama and daddy. I know what you did. I know why you had to leave. And I know how you and Stack gotta get by. That shit don't scare me."
"Annie—"
"I want you, Elijah," she interrupted once more. "I love you. Nobody else."
And that cemented it—because there was nothing he could do to change her mind because when Annie made a decision, she was sticking to it. And even then, there was no way he could deny her wants when he needed the same thing just as bad.
~~~~~
december 7, 1919
Tension grew as the pair got closer.
There was no longer the impending doom of Annie returning to Louisiana. She was in Mississippi to stay—for good now—and they used that knowledge to their advantage.
Nearly every moment was spent at each other's side.
At Annie's home. At Smoke's.
There was no logical reason to hold back. So their hands explored each other's bodies. And their fear bled away into yearning—a craving for the other person and a drive to meet that need.
~~~~~
december 17, 1919
“Elijah,” the woman cried, voice straining around his name in a way it hadn’t before. It made the man’s body unfurl, emotions spiking deep in his gut. He kissed along the side of her neck, holding her close because even with the wood stove warming his small home, it was freezing. They removed layer after layer of clothing, settling under thick blankets in a hurry. She whispered his name against his forehead when he moved between her legs, and he whimpered hers back when he felt like her warmth and sweetness was going to be the death of him.
Neither of the two young adults had ever been in this position, this bare and close to another person. Their chests heaved at the thought of coming undone at the hands of another. They writhed at the novice touching of fingers to trembling skin. Annie trailed her hand down Elijah’s chest, spurring the man to move his hand to her hip. He let her touch, let her explore, and when her hand slipped from his stomach to the dense patch of hair between his legs, he moaned spiritly.
“Baby,” he gasped, nails piercing her skin. His pelvis flinched into her palm, sparking a gentle curious laugh out of the woman. And she followed her instinct to track the line of his body. Smoke’s face was in her neck when Annie wrapped her hand around his length. She squeezed gently, stroked it just once before guiding him to her folds.
The delicate, wet feeling of her meeting the throbbing, harsh feeling of him had their minds spiraling beautifully. When Annie directed him toward her entrance and nodded for him to continue, that was enough to have them both holding onto each other for dear life.
“Annie,” he spoke her name like it was the only word he knew. “Annie,” he spoke her name like she was capable of saving him from himself. His stomach clenched at the feeling of her soft walls surrounding him, and he wasn’t even all the way in, and he wasn’t even moving yet.
The young woman laid beneath him, eyebrows scrunched because what was this pressure?
She’d never felt anything like, and, sure, she’d touched herself before—often to the thought of the man above her—but she’d never felt something so intrusive yet inviting at the same time. She felt herself pulse around him, hips raising curiously only to recoil from the pain. Elijah was immediately moving to correct the harm he felt he’d done to his lover, palms coming to each side of her face before he attempted to shift away, but Annie halted him.
“Don’t move,” she whispered into the cold two room home. The whine came out before she could stop it, arms reaching around the man’s neck and pulling him down to lay flush against her body. “I want you here. Right here,” she demanded softly, rolling her hips to find comfort where the man had landed.
“O-okay,” Elijah trembled, trying his best to keep himself in tact. But his chin brushed the tops of her bare breasts and his hands sat at the sides of her ass and his dick just barely penetrated her walls.
They stayed like that. Just like that. Unmoving until they were both ready for more.
~~~~~
december 31, 1919
The pair rang in the new year together with a small group of family and friends. Stack, Mary, Cornbread, Bo, Grace, Pearline. They all piled over to Annie’s grandmother’s house because she and the older woman felt a hankering for a big meal. Greens, black eyed peas, and cornbread were the most important dishes to any New Year’s feast. They brought fortune, good luck, and money, so the two hoodoo women made sure that the people they cared about most were taken good care of.
Everyone sat around the dinner table, laughing bright and loud like they didn’t know no other way of being. But Elijah and Annie were in their own world. Their hands grazed under the table, bodies existing as one. Smoke would lean in real close, nudge Annie’s shoulder or whisper in her ear, and the woman would giggle bashfully and fight to hide her smile.
Across the table, the elder’s face held a grin. She nodded to herself, hopeful for the young couple’s future.
