#sinners fluff

[dollzstrology]

⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ᝰ It’s 1932. Seven years after Smoke ran to Chicago. He returns to the Delta, knowing he’ll have to face what he left behind. He expected to see you around town, just not with a baby girl on your hip. Jealousy simmers, bitterness rises, and the memories of every failed attempt at a family. At first, there are only sharp words and heated exchanges—but as you break down each other’s walls, the fire between you reignites, and you resume right where you left off all those years ago, trying for a baby.

𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮… Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻… SFW & NSFW ᝰ All Genres [fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort], non-canon/canon, fem!reader, envisioned as black!reader while writing, established relationship [not specified], infertility issues, emotional, crying, vulnerability, second chances, arguing, cursing, pregnancy, soft!Smoke… sexual intercourse [p in v, oral, and handjob], missionary, kissing, heavy dirty talk, mention of belly bulge, implied breeding kink, sub/dom undertones… southern/country dialect used. implied southern/country accent. 1930’s time period.

𝑫𝑼𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… 12.6k words

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹… This fic is inspired and taken from this idea by @starliis [click post & read to get more details about the story below! Spoilers are included so beware!] I had a really good time writing this story because this is my first time writing a oneshot this emotionally complex, using all genres, and with a word count this large. @starliis when I read the post I loved the idea so I really hope you like my interpretation of it!

As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you guys enjoy!!

𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺… Sinners M.List ・Sinners Taglist ・Main M.list

The sun is beating down on the Delta like it’s holding a grudge against the south. High noon on a Saturday in Clarksdale means the heat is scorching, children are running around sticky with ice cream from the downtown ice cream shop, and the market is swarming with folks trading gossip faster than groceries.

Smoke hasn’t been back in the Delta for a full day. Chicago is still clinging to him, you can see it in the way he dresses but he still has that southern twang to him that couldn’t leave him if he tried.

He split off from Stack a while back, saying they could get more done if they parted ways. Now he’s on the way downtown to see Bo Chow, needing to talk to him about some business he needs taken care of before tonight.

He knew that coming back here would bring up some past memories, hurt, things he tried to forget when he ran up north, but he thought he at least had a few days before those things made an appearance, he didn’t expect things to crumble in less than twenty-four hours. 

When he gets out his truck and starts walking down the market strip to Bo’s store, his eyes land on you, standing near a produce stand, dressed in a faded yellow dress that’s hugging your curves just like he remembered. 

Smoke hasn’t seen you since he left for Chicago. He didn’t expect to see you here but since the opportunity to talk to you has introduced itself, he’s going to take it. 

Right when he’s about to make his presence known, greet you in a respectful manner, one that would make it seem like he’s happy to see you, you turn in another direction, giving him a full view of yourself.

There’s a baby girl on your hip, can’t be any older than two years old. She has big, bright eyes, curls wild across her head, and she’s gnawing on some candy like she didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

Smoke stops walking. He doesn’t say a word. He can’t even blink because then he’ll feel like his eyes are playing tricks on him. He just stands there, like his whole body has forgotten how to move.

You’re digging through a crate full of plums, slow and careful, talking soft to the baby. Something about the sweetness of the fruit and how you have to smell the bottom to know if it was ripe.

You look around, glancing at your surroundings and that’s when your eyes lock with Smoke’s, making your heart skip beat. Time doesn’t just slow down, for you it completely stops. You never thought you would see Smoke again, not after how he left you high and dry, not even leaving you any type of explanation about his sudden disappearance. 

Your lips part, like you want to say his name but no words come out. After staring each other down, Smoke finally approaches you but not the way a gentleman should. He just stares at the child, then at you with a face expression cold as ice. “That baby yours?” 

Your arms tense around the girl, adjusting her on your hip before acknowledging Smoke’s presence. You blink at him once, tilting your head to the side, your attitude coming to the forefront while your lips curl with bitterness. “You ain’t seen me in almost a decade and that’s how you approach me? Don’t even ask how I been?”

Smoke’s jaw flexes, his hand twitching where it hangs by his side. He glances back at the little girl, eyes narrowing just enough to show the storm brewing behind them. “Is she yours?” he asks again, completely ignoring your previous words, voice much sharper than before, like he ain’t got time for you to give him the run around.

You press your lips together, not answering him right away. Instead, you sway the baby gently, rubbing her back like you didn’t feel his question hit you in the gut.

You wipe the sweat from your brows with the crook of your arm, letting his question hang in the air like smoke from a low-burning fire. “She eat like she mine. Sleep like she mine. Cry like she mine.” you say with an annoyed tone, looking at him as if he’s asking the dumbest question on Earth. “Now, what that tell ya’?”

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, sharp and quick, trying to push down the smart remark that’s burning his throat, not wanting to get smart with you. “She looks too young to be yours… sure as hell ain’t mine.” He mutters, averting his eyes from you and looking at the little girl who’s resting her head on your shoulder, ready for her afternoon nap. “So whose is she?”

“Ain’t none of your concern, Smoke.”

“The hell it ain’t.” 

“I ain’t yo’ woman no more, not since you left. You don’t get to ask me questions like that.” Your walls are up, that much is clear. Smoke’s looking right into your pretty brown eyes but he can only see a coldness in them, he doesn’t see that shimmer you always carried inside them before he left. 

“Whatchu want wit’ me, Smoke? Why did you come ova’ here?” You ask, tired of standing in this smoldering heat talking to him when the only thing he cares about is if this child was your daughter, not even asking about your well being since he ran off in the middle of the night for Chicago.

Smoke doesn’t immediately respond, he just stands there, jaw so tight it looks like he’s gonna break it. His eyes flicker from the baby to your face, trying to piece together parts of your life that aren't none of his business anymore. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve to ask you things like this anymore, doesn’t deserve to know what's transpired in the last seven years since he left but that doesn't end his curiosity, it doesn’t make him not care about you. 

He shifts his weight, looking down before taking off his blue scalley cap, his eyes becoming a tad bit softer than before, looking as if your previous words hit a nerve. “Me and Stack openin’ up a juke joint. Down at the old sawmill.”

You don’t say anything. Just raise an eyebrow, bouncing the girl on your hip slowly, still swaying like the heat itself is keeping time with your movements. You hum softly, clearly unimpressed by this voluntary piece of information. “And you tellin’ me this ‘cause…?”

“Figured you’d wanna come, check out the place.”

You let out a breathy laugh, one with no joy in it, one that’s not in the mood to dance or drink in the same room with Smoke and act as if everything is alright between the two of you. “Well, you figured wrong.”

A silence between you and him, both of you just looking into each other’s eyes before Smoke breaks the quietness. “I ain’t know if I’d see ya’ again. Thought you woulda left the Delta by now.” 

“Well, you done seen me. Reckon you can go on ‘bout your business now.”  The little girl shifts against your shoulder, her candy-sticky fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You stroke her back soothingly, but your eyes don’t leave his. You want him to see what he ran from and how you haven’t let it break you.

Smoke swallows hard, not trying to be vulnerable in such a public place but not wanting you to think he’s just stone walling you. You can see him struggling, like he has a million things he wants to say but can’t find the right words. “Jus’ come by.” he murmurs. “That’s all I’m askin’. Nothin’ mo’.”

You stare at him a moment longer, letting out a puff of air before nodding once, not giving him a definitive answer. “We’ll see. Ain’t makin’ no promises.”

You don’t give him a goodbye, just turn on your heels and walk away, the hem of your dress swishing behind you, dust curling around your ankles. Smoke watches you go, not saying anything to try and keep you here, his hand still gripping the brim of his hat, heart caught somewhere in the hollow space behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t know if you’re going to show up tonight and if he’ll ever have the chance to apologize but he wants to make things right with you, even if you're going to chew him up in the process.

—

The juke is currently thriving and alive. Sweat dripping down walls and everyone’s backs. Men clapping dominoes on tables, Sammie’s guitar slicing through the cigarette haze, Delta Slim playing the hell out of the piano, and Pearline sings a song that has the crowd dancing across the wooden floor. 

Smoke’s leaned up against the wall, cigarette between his lips, watching the door like a soldier watching the tree line. He’s been eyeing the door ever since they opened, hoping that he’ll see you walking inside. He’s been trying to keep hope alive, but it’s been a few hours and he hasn’t seen you yet, making him agitated.

“She comin’?” Stack asks, sliding beside his brother, making sure he’s alright. Smoke doesn’t answer at first. He just takes a slow pull, eyes trained on the open door like if he stares hard enough, he might conjure you up outta thin air.

Stack follows his gaze, then huffs a little, shaking his head. “Man, we got a whole club full’a pretty women and you worried about her. Ones that ain’t cussin’ yo’ ass out in the middle of the market, too.” Stack jokes, elbowing him lightly, trying to make Smoke feel better but it ain’t working. Smoke gives him a look, stone cold and sharp, one that speaks for him, a look that says ‘don’t play with me right now’.

“Aight, Aight.” Stack mutters, hands raised in surrender, not wanting to make his brother feel any worse than he already does. “Just sayin’. Don’t burn a hole in the floor waitin’ on somebody who might not show, ‘specially after you fucked up.”

Smoke doesn’t respond, he just sucks his teeth and turns back toward the door, lips pressed tight, taking another puff, trying to keep himself from wringing someone’s neck… and deep down trying to hold himself together.

He doesn't care about other women, never did, even when he was in Chicago. Not when his mind still played memories of the time he’s spent with you. Memories of you laughing in the kitchen barefoot without a care in the world, or riding with him around town, hugged up in each other's arms, acting as if the world only revolved around the other. 

Seeing that baby on your hip today really shook him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. He's been standing around wondering if your her mother, if you were able to finally conceive a baby without him. Just the thought of it makes a pain strike his chest. It makes him feel sick to his stomach because that baby should be his, not some other man.

Smoke has gotten to the point where he’s ready to give up, to leave his post and make sure Club Juke is running smoothly, thinking that his little brother is right, but right when he’s about to go and find Stack, that’s when it happens.

The door creaks open, loud enough to cut through the swell of music. There you are, standing in the doorway, talking to Cornbread at the door, looking like heaven on Earth. You’re in a soft colored satin dress, clinging to your figure like a second skin, lips painted a soft berry shade, hair done up real pretty, with your earrings catching the low light as you assess the scenery. 

As your eyes dance around the room, that’s when you find Smoke, standing a few feet from the bar. You take a few steps inside, slow and deliberate, hips swaying easily beneath the satin material, like you aren't in a rush, like you know he’s been watching the door all night just hoping you’d show. Cornbread tips his hat at you as you pass, and a couple heads turn too, the men whistling as you pass by but you ain’t paying them no mind.

Smoke straightens off the wall, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ash tray, while his eyes boring into you like a wolf watching if it’s prey is brave enough to run. He doesn't move toward you right away, doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he damn sure ain’t letting you walk in without sparking up a conversation.

You cut across the room slow, graceful, while Smoke is already making an effort to meet you halfway, the heat between y’all thick as molasses. Folks move out the way without even thinking about it, sensing something in the air, like some drama is stirring up.

Once Smoke is in front of you he takes in a small whiff of your scent, the smell of gardenias and honey filling his nostrils, making his heart settle at the familiarity of it. His eyes drag over your face, pausing at your lips, then finally settling in your eyes. “Ain’t think you was gon’ come.” 

“Ain’t think I was either, but my sister convinced me to show my face. Thought it would be good fuh’ me.”

You both stand there a moment, just taking in each other's presence, both of you secretly happy to see the other, even if your trying not to show it. “You look good,” his voice comes out rough like sandpaper but soft at the edges, his eyes gazing over each curve of your hips and the deep cut in your dress, accentuating the plumpness of your breasts. “Real good.”

You hum, trying to repress the smile that’s trying to creep onto your lips from the compliment, not wanting to let him off the hook so easily. “Ain’t gotta butter me up, Elijah. I’m here now but me showin’ up doesn't mean I forgot how we got here in the first place, how you jus’ up and left.”

His jaw ticks at the sound of his birth name in your mouth again, he ain’t heard it sound that pretty in years. And hearing it now, even with the sharpness behind it, it still makes his heart flutter. 

A flash of frustration passes through his eyes, he already can tell where this conversation is headed. You showed up looking like sin wrapped in silk, just to remind him of all the ways he failed you and your relationship and ready to rip him a new one.

He doesn’t wanna do this down here, not with all these nosy folks watching and trying to catch a whisper of y’all business, wanting to have something they can gossip about come tomorrow morning. He steps in closer, close enough that his voice dips into something just above a growl. “Come upstairs.” It’s not in the form of a question or a plea, just a demand.

And you blink, slightly taken aback since you haven’t heard him use that tone with you in years, the one that’s sprinkled with dominance. It’s the boldness, that edge in his voice, it’s what cuts through your self proclaimed armor. 

Still, you aren’t about to make it easy for Smoke, not after what he’s put you through. You tilt your chin up, squaring your shoulders like you’re thinking about telling him no, wanting him to sweat a little bit. After a few moments you nod slightly, lips parting as you murmur, “Lead the way.” 

He doesn’t respond, just turns and walks, weaving through the crowd without looking back, knowing you’re going to trail right behind him. While you’re walking you feel holes burning into your skull, knowing people are watching. You just ignore the eyes that follow y’all path, ignoring the hum of whispers and curious glances. Folks always did love a good reunion, especially a messy one like this.

You follow him up the creaky stairs, heart hammering louder with every step. The music fades behind you, replaced by the low thump of your own pulse and the sound of your heels clicking against the old wood. The second-floor hallway is dim and hot, lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He leads you down the hall and opens the door to a small room. It’s private, clean, and it’s far enough away so your voices won’t be heard downstairs. The room is just a table, chair by the window, a trunk full of the twins' guns and ammo, and a safe for their valuables. A fan clicks lazily overhead, doing little to fight off the heat but it does help. 

Once you both are inside, he shuts the door and leans against it for a beat, while you stand in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight over your chest. He watches you. Watches the way you shift your weight from one hip to the other, your expression trying to stay hard but your fingers twitching like you aren’t as composed as you pretend to be. “Why now, Elijah?” you ask softly, wanting some answers from him. “Why you come back here, after all this time?”

Smoke’s never been the type to show much emotion. But right now, the weight behind his eyes is heavier than you’ve ever seen it. When you talk to him in that tone, look at him with those hypnotizing eyes, he can’t help but become vulnerable, allowing you to break down his walls and get him to open up. “I ain’t know how to stay,” he says, pushing off the door and coming towards you. “I ain’t know how to look at you every night, wantin’ somethin’ I couldn’t give you.”

“You think leavin’ fixed that?” you ask, voice cracking in the process. “You think disappearin’ made the ache go away?”

“I ain’t know how to handle it. Felt like I failed you. Watchin’ you in that bed cryin’ and couldn’t do nothin’ but hold your hand. I felt like shit, like I was less of a man.”

The time y’all were together before he left for Chicago, your days were filled with doctor visits, herbs, prayers, and tears soaked into your cotton sheets. You cried yourself hoarse each time you found out you weren’t pregnant.

You and him were trying to conceive for a long time, trying to fill your womb with a child, wanting to bring a life into the world that was a mixture of you and him, but for some reason it never happened.

Any method you learned about in books or from talking to the neighborhood midwives who delivered more babies than you can count, you and Smoke tried and yet you could never become pregnant. You and Smoke tried to keep each other lifted up, tried to keep hope alive but after months turned into years it started weighing on both of you.

You both were at your breaking point so when Smoke had the opportunity to leave for Chicago, he was gone on the first train smoking, leaving you to deal with the pain of not being able to conceive alone.

“You was my man, Elijah.” you snap, your voice sharp and trembling, not being able to hold back the storm of emotions that’s been brewing inside you all these years. “I never wanted perfect. I never wanted you to fix the problem, I just wanted you but you ran. Like it was easier to vanish than stay and hurt wit’ me.”

Smoke swallows thick, chest rising with a breath, like he doesn't know how to hold right. “I didn’t know how to sit in that pain, not with you lookin’ at me with that hurt in your eyes. I felt useless to ya’.”

“You think I felt useful?” you spit, stepping toward him now, eyes flashing with anger. “Every month, bleedin’, gettin’ another reminder that I ain’t having your baby. Every time somebody else in town got pregnant and I had to smile like it didn’t feel like I was dyin’ inside? Having to see my friends take care of their kids and pretend I wasn’t jealous. All those times I needed you here, not runnin’ around Chicago like you ain’t got a woman at home.”

The silence between you crackles, heavy with grief, fury, and years of love stretched too thin because of sorrow. You’re both breathing hard now, standing in the middle of the room like two hurricanes about to collide. He doesn’t speak, not because he doesn’t have anything to say, it’s because you’re right.

After watching Smoke just stand there in silence, seeing the hurt in his eyes and feeling the sting of his actions in your own heart, that’s when you break.

You try not to, try to stay hard and proud, but the pain rips through you anyway. “You left me with nothin’ but an empty bed. You ain’t send me a letter, try to get a call to me, nothin’. I ain’t hear from you in seven years, Smoke. Seven damn years.” you whisper, voice raw and tired, tears starting to spill freely down your cheeks. “I hated you for it. I hated you so much, but I couldn’t stop lovin’ you either.”

At this point in your life, your tired of crying over Smoke, tired of the pain you just can’t shake no matter how much you try, but that’s what happens when you truly love someone. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t let them go, even if what they did is unforgivable.

He doesn’t ask permission, just crosses the room in large strides and pulls you into his chest like he’s been dying to touch you since the moment he saw you at the market.

His arms wrap around you tight, and your fists beat against his chest once, then twice, then a third. You try to fight his embrace, not wanting to weaken under his touch but after a few moments your arms fall limp, clutching his vest, resting your head against his shoulder while your tears soak his clothing.

Silence stretches like wire strung too tight before your voice cracks just enough to show the emotional bruise on your heart, showing the true wound that’s been hurting you for years, the thought that’s been plaguing your mind since he left. “I thought I wasn’t enough for you anymore. That without being able to give you a baby I was less of a woman, that I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

Smoke’s breath stutters against your temple, your words splitting him clean down the middle. His voice is so low you barely hear it over the creak of the fan above but you catch every single word. “Don’t you ever say that, aight? You always been enough fuh’ me.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, tilting your head up at him and then pressing his fingers into your waist like he’s trying to make you feel every word before it even can leaves his lips. “You the only thang in this world that makes me feel whole. I left ‘cause I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, not ‘cause you ain’t.”

“Then why you aint jus’ say that? Why you ain’t tell me you was hurtin’ too?”

His jaw flexes again, and you can see it, shame, writing all over his face. It rolls off him in waves, thick as Mississippi fog. You can tell he’s ashamed of how he left things, how he practically abandoned you just because things were overwhelming. “I ain’t know how,” he confesses, his voice soft and vulnerable, a side of him you don’t see often but when you do it makes butterflies flutter around your stomach.

His way of being open, honest, and raw has always had that affect on you, even when you were kids. “Wasn’t raised to talk ‘bout no feelings. Wasn’t raised to sit in pain. All I know is how to survive, and I thought leavin’ was survivin’, tryin’ to find another way to provide for us. Tryin’ to forget the pain.”

And that’s when your breath catches, because you can tell he means every word. You can see it in his eyes. All the self-loathing, all the love, wrapped up in one tortured look. Your lips part, but nothing comes out, lost for words at the moment. 

He lowers his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath brushing your face, making your skin prickle. And for a second, it’s just the two of you, truly seeing each other past the masks you put on for other people. You see the pain brewing inside, the hurt of your past, and the ache of your love, weighing on both of you like a stone.

For a while Smoke just holds you. His arms don’t shake, no tremble in his hands, but his breath does, hitching in his chest as he leans into you, a single tear rolling down his cheek, another expression of his vulnerability and how apologetic he is about the whole situation, filling in the gaps where his words couldn’t. 

The fan creaks overhead, spinning slow and lazy, the outside noise muffled through thick walls and heavy heat, but none of it matters. In this room, it’s just him and you, buried under years of silence and heartbreak, finally getting things off your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice full of conviction and thick with regret. “sorry fuh’ how I left ya’. I’m sorry I made you carry all that weight alone. I ain’t askin’ for your forgiveness ‘cause I don't deserve it. But I wanna make things right, get back in your good graces.”

You stare at him, your hands still clutching his clothing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. You’re quiet for a moment, like you’re testing the truth of his words by the rhythm of his breath. It’s clear to you that he means what he says, that he isn’t just telling you what he assumes you want to hear so you decide to give him some truth as well.

You pull back to look him in the eye, telling him the thing that’s been burning him up inside since he first saw you. “That baby you saw me with earlier…” you begin softly, brushing a tear from your cheek before wiping the one that’s cascading down his. “She ain’t mine. She’s my sister’s little girl.” you explain. “I was jus’ babysittin’ her cause she had to run some errands, is all.”

You didn’t tell him your true connection to the baby at the market because you wanted to see him hurt, wanted him to think you could just move on and sleep with another man, wanted his blood to run hot with jealousy. You had to give him a reality check, make him realize that the world doesn’t revolve around Smoke, that what he does hurts people, hurts you.

Smoke blinks slowly, shoulders drop in the kind of relief that’s so heavy it almost knocks the wind out of him. “Shit,” he murmurs, running his hand down his face, wiping the beads of sweat that’s surrounding his brows. “I thought—” he shakes his head, letting out a thankful sigh. “thought you moved on. Thought I came back too late.”

You shake your head, lips curling into something too tender to call a smile, followed by a bitter laugh coming from your lips. “I ain’t moved on, Elijah. Been stuck right where you left me.” Your voice cracks just a little, but this time with something softer. “I tried to forget you but no matter what I did, I still wanted you. Still do, even with all we been through.”

That does something to him. Smoke’s whole frame seems to shift, like his heart just lifted back into place within his chest. His jaw unclenches, his brow eases, and the way he’s looking at you now,  like he would fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness if you asked. 

He cups your face with one calloused hand, thumb dragging slow across your cheek, wiping away the last wet trace of tears staining your skin. “I was a damn fool.” he says quietly, voice thick with grief, his tone apologetic. “But I ain’t finna be one no more. I’m gon’ spend every day tryin’ to prove to you that I still know how to love you right. That I’m worthy enough to be with ya’.”

You exhale softly, the heat in the room no longer stemming from the Mississippi heat or from Club Juke being packed from wall to wall with people. It’s the air between you, charged with years of everything unsaid, thick with all the thirst and longing for the others touch. Your fingers tighten around the front of his shirt, playing with the buttons. “Then show me, ‘lijah. Prove that you mean what you say.”

You barely finish the sentence before his lips are pressed against yours. It’s not gentle, at least not at first. It’s desperate, seven years of silence, hurt, desire, and love pouring out into a single kiss. His mouth claims yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers again if he waits too long, and you don’t resist. You part your lips leaning into him like your body remembers this rhythm, this man, the one it’s been waiting on all this time.

His other hand slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him, allowing you to feel the bulge growing in his slacks. The second your mouth parts and your tongue brushes his, everything changes. The kiss grows hotter, deeper, like you both just realized how much you missed this. You break the kiss long enough to whisper against his lips, “Lock the door.”

Smoke’s already two steps ahead of you. He pulls you backwards with him and he reaches behind blindly and turns the lock, the soft click making your pulse stutter with anticipation. Once it’s locked he’s back on your body, kissing you like he’s been starving for years, because he in fact has.

You start taking off his vest, taking loose the few buttons before taking it off him and starting the whole process over with his dress shirt. After fidgeting with one that’s giving you trouble, you just rip the shirt open and throw it on the floor once his arms are free, along with his gun holster.

Smoke doesn’t even flinch when you rip open his shirt, he doesn’t care about the buttons scattering across the floor like dice, he just lets it happen and allows you to take the lead. 

You pull up his white t-shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and once you see his body glistening before you, a small smirk curls at your lips.

His body is just as you remember, broad chest, taut muscles beneath his brown skin, a few faded scars and wounds carved into his skin, a reminder of everything he’s endured over his thirty-ish years of walking this Earth. You press your palms flat against his pecs, like you’re trying to memorize the feeling of him again after all this time.

You trace your fingers down the slope of his shoulder, down to the scar that runs over his ribs, a scar you remember from a fight with some hotheads back in 1923, a fight he got into because the men were catcalling you, saying some filthy things he ain’t appreciate being spoken about you. 

Smoke watches your hand move, eyes half-lidded with heat and memory, like the feel of your fingers on his skin brings him back to every piece of who he used to be when he was with you. Your touch is gentle but there’s a certain fire behind it, a look in your eye that tells him you want to swallow him alive.

“Ain’t nothin’ changed,” you murmur, dragging your hand back up to his jaw, tracing the stubble that has grown thick and rough around his lip and chin. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing the faint trail of hair leading into his slacks.

His breath hitches when you reach the waistband, your nails scraping against his skin, sending a shiver across his skin. “I still know every inch of you.” you whisper, lips trailing his neck, moving up his to his ear and swirling your tongue around his lobe, making him close his eyes and let out a groan. 

“Goddamn.” Smoke’s eyes flutter closed for just a second, jaw tightening as your tongue teases his ear, that sweet, warm breath of yours sending a bolt straight down his spine. He lets out a low grunt, deep, guttural, the kind of sound that vibrates from somewhere low in his belly, a sound he hasn’t let out in years, a sound only you can pull out of him. 

Your fingers keep tracing slow paths across his skin, like you’re relearning him, mapping out all the places you used to kiss, used to bite, used to hold when the nights got too heavy. His breath hitches with every pass of your hands, his body coiled tight like he’s only hanging on by a thread. 

You pull back just a little, your lips still brushing his throat, your voice coming out sounding like honey but your tone stern like you mean business. Asking him a question that’s been burning a hole in your mind since you heard through the grapevine he was living it up with Al Capone. “You let any women touch you while you was up there in Chicago?”

Smoke opens his eyes slow, looking down at you, holding your gaze steady like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. “No.” He says smooth as butter, without a stutter or crack in his voice. “Ain’t nobody touched me but myself. Ain’t want nobody else.”

You stare at him for a second with a raised brow before allowing a pleased smile to dance across your lips. “Good,” you mutter, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach again, teasing the waistband of his pants before pulling the loops out of his belt. “’Cause if you did, I woulda cut yo’ ass too thin to fry.”

That pulls a small smirk out of him, half amusement, half awe, but full of lust. “Shit, I believe ya’.” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, eyeing your full hips and pretty physique, licking his lips while he looks you up and down, feeling you pull his belt from around his waist and opening his fly, leaving only one more step before you see the part of him you missed the most.

In one swift motion, he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you without warning, walking over and laying you down flat on the wooden table towards the back of the room.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a soft gasp, the wood cool against your back, your dress bunched up around your hips, thighs parted just enough for his body to slide between them. His hands slide down your waist, rough palms catching on the satin of your dress. 

You slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting them fall before pulling the dress over your head, with some assistance from Smoke, helping you avoid messing up your hair even though he’s about to sweat it out.

Your body is now on full display, your full breasts sitting pretty in your brassiere, plump against your chest while your sex is being covered by your cotton panties, keeping the part of you Smoke desires the most hidden.

Smoke takes his time admiring your body, especially since he hasn’t seen it in years. His eyes move slowly, as if he’s savoring the moment, like every inch of you is a hymn he forgot the words to but still knows the rhythm of. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, chest rising and falling with something too heavy to simply be called desire. 

What Smoke currently feels is hunger. Not the kind that lives in his stomach, but the kind that’s rooted in his veins. The kind that started the moment he walked away all them years ago and never died. Just sat there. Festering. Waiting for this very moment.

He leans over you, big hands dragging up your thighs, prying them open as he lowers his mouth to your belly, pressing slow and purposeful kisses against your skin. One kiss. Then another. Then one more just above the waistband of your panties. “You still the prettiest thang I eva’ seen.” he murmurs against your skin, voice raspy and raw, like it burns his throat as the words pass through.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hand reach up, thumb grazing the swell of your breasts, his lips trailing higher, brushing the valley between them. He doesn’t unclasp your bra just yet, he cusps them like he’s trying to mold a piece of clay, reminding himself what it’s like to have his hands on a woman’s body after having no intimacy for seven years.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look in your pretty eyes. “Then come get what’s yours.” And those words are all it takes for Smoke to finally unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor with all the other clothing that no longer matters. 

Your nipples harden under the air and his harsh gaze, and he leans down to wrap his lips around one, sucking slow and precise, his tongue swirling while his hand kneads the other, making you moan softly as your back arches off the desk. “Missed this mouth.” you whimper, running your hands along his arms, gripping onto his muscular arms.

He hums against your breast, switching his attention to the other side without missing a beat. “Missed you.” He mumbles while his hand slides down your belly, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down your thick thighs, the same thighs he loves putting his head between whenever he gets the opportunity. 

He watches your body the whole way down like it’s some kind of sacred text he’s not worthy of reading but refuses to look away from. He lets out a sharp breath when he sees you bare. When his eyes fall into your wet core, seeing how your is slick smeared across your sex and how it makes your puffy folds glisten in the warm lighting, he can’t help but curse. “Damn, this pussy sexy.”

You grin through your blush, biting your lip while looking at him with darkened eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him worshiping your body again like the way he used to but also missing the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clitoris until you see stars. “Stop starin’ at it an’ do somethin’ then.”

And that he does. Smoke sinks to his knees, spreading your legs wider and planting wet kisses to the inside of your thigh that makes your breath stutter. Within a few minutes his mouth is attached to your pussy, tongue moving meticulously, licking long, lazy stripes up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it soft and steady.

Your fingers run across his coarse hair as your head falls back, a whimper escaping your throat. His hands grip your thighs tight, keeping you in place while he eats you like he’s been starving for years. He moans into your heat, like tasting you is the first time he’s been able to breathe since he crossed state lines out of Mississippi.

You grind your hips up into his face, one hand tugging his hair, and the other gripping the edge of the table, your chest heaving as your mind starts to become fuzzy. “Shit, Elijah…” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

“Baby, I wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He says as he comes up for air before diving back into your heat. He sucks harder, tongue circling and flicking your shining pearl until your thighs begin to twitch. His nose presses into the mound of your pussy, his warm breath causing your skin to prickle.

The more he devours your sex, the more your whimpers and moans bounce off the wooden walls of the room. Smoke wants to warm you up as best as possible for what’s to come, so he places his fingers at your folds, scissoring them open and allowing your slick to collect on his digits and once there’s a good amount he slowly pushes them into your pussy, making you gasp from the sudden insertion.

You arch off the table, thighs tightening around his head like your body’s trying to trap him there, and honestly, he doesn’t mind one bit. You could be suffocating him and he would still be happy, knowing that he has the opportunity to taste your sweetness on his tongue.

Smoke grunts low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your wetness as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow at first, but picking up rhythm with every moan that spills from your lips.

His mouth never stops showing your clit attention, tongue flicking simultaneously with the curl of his fingers, still remembering how you like your body caressed and touched after all these years you’ve been apart.

You’re singing for him now: soft gasps, whispered curses, the kind of sounds that echo with the ghost of every lonely night you spent wishing his mouth was between your legs instead of your own fingers. Your voice comes out broken, barely hanging on, like the coil in your stomach is only a few moments, or a few kitten licks from snapping. “I’m so close, baby…” 

That “baby” unravels something in Smoke. It makes him groan deep and double down in your heat, making a sharp gasp spill from your lips. He adds a third finger, stretching you nice and wide, thumb rubbing circles where his mouth used to be so he can look into your pretty eyes while you fall apart from his touch.

“That’s it, baby.” he murmurs, looking down at you with those deep brown eyes that always make you buckle and listen to his every command when he speaks. “Gon’ ‘head and give it to me, mama. Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

And you do just that. Your back bows off the table, legs quivering as they rest on his shoulders, a cry ripping from your throat so sharp it could make a mirror shatter. Your pussy clenches around his fingers like it’s trying to keep him inside, slick gushing down his hand and past his wrist as your orgasm rolls through you like a Delta heatwave.

Smoke doesn’t stop massaging the sweet spot inside you until your body jerks from the sensitivity, and your hand weakly pushes at his head, telling him you can’t take it anymore. He obeys this time, deciding not to push you past your limit just yet. 

He pulls away, pulling his fingers out of you slowly, making you whimper once you feel him exit. “Tastes better than I remembered.” He states, his voice thick with heat while he licks your juices off his digits. “Sweeter, too.” His lips curl into a soft smile, something he doesn’t flash often but when he does it warms your heart… and your pussy.

You blink up at him, chest still heaving, a lazy smile spreading across your lips. “That’s ‘cause I been waitin’ on you.”

Smoke’s gaze lingers on your face, soft now, as he leans over you, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, making your toes curl at the sensation. “I ain’t ever gon’ make you wait like that no mo’.” he murmurs against your mouth.

“You better not, not after all this time.” you breathe, placing your hands around the base of his neck.

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You gon’ punish me if I do?” Smoke has never been the type of man who would openly admit he likes a woman who’ll dominate him, but there've been multiple moments in your relationship where you had Smoke right under your finger, submitting to your every move so you punishing him sounds like music to his ears.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Damn right I will.” Your hands move down his body, running down his chiseled frame until you reach his slacks, pulling them down towards the floor, removing the last piece of clothing keeping him from being close to you as humanly possible. 

Once his pants are at his ankles, you take him in your hand, watching his brows knit when your palm wraps around his heavy length. His breath catches, head tilting back as you stroke him slow, feeling his thick, aching dick throb against your palm as his pre-cum leaks down your fingers.

He was already painfully hard from eating your pussy but feeling your hands wrapped around him, he’s hard as concrete. “Told you I ain’t let nobody else touch me,” he says. “Ain’t want nobody else, ‘cause nobody else makes me this goddamn hard.”

You grin at that, slow and satisfied, eyes flicking up to meet his while your hand keeps moving in smooth, steady strokes. “Good,” you murmur, voice thick with pride that your soul ties so deeply to Smoke that he can’t even look at another woman sexually or romantically.  “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now that you back.” You grab him by the chin and pull him closer to you, putting your lips right against his ear, wanting him to hear every word. “ I’m gon’ keep ya’ so deep in this pussy, that you won’t ever wanna leave the Delta again.”

Smoke bites his lip and feeling your fingertips glide over his protruding veins, making him groan. Your words hit him just as hard as your precious touch. He watches you like he’s starving, like every inch of you is something he’s been fighting to survive without. 

Smoke’s eyes darken, the sound of you talking filthy tightens something in his gut. He places one hand behind your neck, the other stroking your cheek, his thumb dragging down to rest on your lip. “I’m gon’ fuck this pretty pussy so deep yo’ body ain’t never gon’ forget me, no matter how long I’m gone.”

As he mutters his last words, he takes his dick out of your hands and guides himself to your entrance, the tip of it dragging slowly through your slick-covered folds, making you moan at the feeling. 

He doesn’t rush. He teases, rubs, and takes in the way your pussy flutters and twitches for him, how it’s so wet and open, begging for his dick stretch you out. 

You whine, nails digging into his arms, tired of him playing around when he sees how much you’re aching for him. “Smoke, don’t play with me—”

He cuts you off with a roll of his hips, pushing into you slowly, creating a delicious burn to spread through your core. Your mouth falls open, back arching as you feel every inch of his cock fill you up. “Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, holding onto him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

The stretch burns at first, just like it always did but especially now since it’s been almost a decade since a man has been inside you. But it’s a welcomed pain, one you’ve missed more than you’re willing to admit. Your walls flutter around him, greedy and wet, clinging to every inch as he slowly thrusts inside you.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, brows furrowed, hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” As he thrusts his dick into your pussy, trying to reach that sweet spot before really doing some damage, he gets a moment of Deja Vu. 

The feeling of your walls tightening around him each time he kisses your skin or mutters out compliments that are dripping in pure filth, he remembers when you and him were just teenagers, pressing your bodies against each other for the first time, trying to express your love for each other in the best way possible.

Smoke presses his forehead to yours, his chest heaving as he pushes deeper into your warmth. The sound of your breath catching, the way your mouth hangs open, and the way your walls squeeze around him like you want to stay connected like this forever, edges him closer to his orgasm.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this every fuckin’ night since I left.” He grits through a moan, starting to move once he bottoms out, slow at first, dragging his hips back just enough to feel some resistance, then pushing in deeply, making your breath hitch. “Ain’t just ‘cause I missed yo’ pussy… I missed how you sound. Missed how you smelled. Missed everythang ‘bout you.”

You whimper beneath him, legs trembling from the deep drag of his thrusts. One of your hands moves to cradle the back of his head while the other claws lightly down his back, leaving faint trails on his skin, one of your methods to claim him as yours. “Missed you too,” you breathe out, voice catching on a moan as he rocks into you again, deeper this time. “Missed feelin’ you like this...”

“Yeah?” he asks in a growl, jaw tight as he sinks deeper into you, giving you one long hard thrust, while the heat of you squeezing around him like a vice floods his veins. “Missed this dick fillin’ you up?” He presses against your lower body, hand against the bulge his cock makes each time he thrusts inside.  “Missed feelin’ me reach yo’ stomach?”

“Yes, missed it so much!” You yell out before crying out his name, tightening your grasp around the back of his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he starts thrusting into you at an agonizing pace.

Smoke grits his teeth at the way you cry out, like your moans and cries are chipping away at his self restraint, like your body is begging him to release all seven years of pent up sexual energy into this very moment. 

His mouth presses against your throat, licking and kissing and sucking your soft and supple skin while his hips grind into you deep and slow, thick strokes dragging every sound you can make right out your mouth. 

Even through the lust-fueled heat and haze of endorphins, there’s a softness in the way he holds you, a type of gentleness that only comes from your souls being tied to one another. “You want me to stay?” he pants, his voice low and husky in your ears. “Huh? Want me to stay right here… keep ya’ full’a this fat dick?”

You answer him right away, nodding frantically while a fire starts spreading through your body, throwing your legs around his torso, locking him in place, wanting him to stay deep inside. “Yes, Smoke—don’t stop, please—fuck—you strechin’ me out!”

The back and forth between you and him continues, your bodies locked in a rhythm older than memory. You and Smoke match each other in every way: body, rhythm, desire. Smoke touches you like a man who’s been lost, finally made his way back home, and hoping what comes next will make up for the time lost.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble harshly around his waist. “Damn, girl,” he pants in your ear. “You takin’ me so good… like this pussy know exactly who it belong to.”

“It belong to you,” you whimper, leaning more into his body, wrapping your arms around his back to hold him even closer, like you can pull him into your soul, like if you hold him close he’ll become fused with your body. “Always did.”

Hearing that makes his eyes flutter closed for a second. You feel the tremble in his arms, the way he slows his pace just enough to look at you again, to really look into the windows of your soul. He can see everything your feeling, even the things you haven’t voiced yet. 

He can feel a yearning in your spirit, not for him, but something else, something you’ve wanted for years, even since you were a little girl and honestly what he’s been wanting since the day he met you. 

Smoke opens his mouth and speaks low, almost like it’s a secret between just you, him, and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding. “Still want that baby?” Smoke asks softly, like he’s scared of what your answer will be, like he’s in some type of uncharted territory. 

He knows he’s been gone for years, and he knows that trying to have a child is one of things that put a strain on your relationship but he can’t stop thinking about bringing a beautiful baby into the world with you. 

The question makes your breath hitch, makes your eyes snap open at the mention of a baby. Even in the midst of his dick continuously pushing against your womb, sweat dripping down your skin, and insides being rearranged, the question still lands heavily in your mind. 

It takes you by surprise for sure, you weren’t expecting this conversation so soon, let alone in the middle of sex but you aren’t opposed to talking about it since you know it’s one conversation that has to be discussed.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy with tears you refuse to shed, overwhelmed by the feeling of finally having him in your arms again and what could be if you become pregnant. Your hands cup his face as you repress a moan, your voice a little breathy from all the physical activity but still clear as day. “You still wanna give me a baby? You… you still want that wit’ me after everything?” 

Smoke’s eyes searched yours, raw and honest in the dim light, holding every ounce of hope and fear tangled inside the pit of his stomach. “‘Course I do.” he whispers with a strong tone, gliding his thumb across your skin and whiping the tear you finally allowed to roll down your cheek. “I still want that baby. I want our baby. Never wanted anything else.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing against your chest, flooding you with a mix of longing and cautious hope. You’ve dreamed of this moment many times, but hearing it spoken from his lips and not your imagination makes your heart swell in a way you hadn’t expected. 

“I want it too, Elijah. I always did. Ain’t never stopped wantin’ a baby with you.” Your fingers trace slow, delicate circles on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his facial hair beneath your touch. “I wanna get round with yo’ baby. Carryin’ somethin’ of us both inside me.”

Smoke’s eyes soften even more, like a weight lifts off his shoulders once he hears that you and him are on the same page. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours, breath and saliva mingling with yours. Smoke starts thrusting again but this time his hips jerk into you a little harder than before. 

“Then I’ma give ya’ one. Gon’ make you a mama jus’ like you want.” he promises, voice shaking as he starts to lose control, his need of wanting to breed you taking over. “Gon’ make sure my seed sittin’ deep. You gon’ walk outta here wit’ it drippin’ out of ya’.”

Before responding to him vocally, you place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in for another kiss, sliding your tongue so far down his throat you can taste a mixture of yourself and the beer he was drinking earlier. 

The kiss is full of fire, passion, love, and all the above. In the beginning, this escapade was just full of hot passion but now, talking about trying to make a baby, it quickly turns intimate, making both you and him soften up.

Your lips part from his, swollen and slick from the kiss, and you keep your forehead pressed to his, eyes fluttering shut as your hands rest on his shoulders. His weight, his warmth, it’s all wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, it feels like you can finally breathe again.

Smoke rolls his hips into you at a delicious pace, each thrust deeper than the last, but not rushed. It’s slow and sensual, something both of you have been craving since you and him were apart. 

His hands slide under your back, holding you delicately like the diamond you are. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the kind born from years of loving each other, of knowing every scar, every mole, and every inch of skin by heart.

“God, I missed you.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, your voice breaking as you feel the tip of his dick pressing against your cervix.

Smoke groans low, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest. “Missed you too, baby. Gon’ stay right in the Delta with you. I swea’.”

He buries his face into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin that intoxicates him every time he inhales. His breath is shaky and warm against your throat, causing your skin to prickle. The gentle rocking of his hips turns more deliberate and forceful, and you can feel the difference almost instantly.

Every stroke is intense, every moan and whimper he pulls from you feels like a prayer. Your fingers thread through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and his arms tighten around you like he is trying to mold your body to his. You whisper against his ear, voice trembling as your words become vocal, “So deep, baby… feel so full.”

Smoke lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweat glistening along his brow, jaw tight from the effort of holding back, not wanting to completely wear you out during the first round. “I love you,” he says in between kisses against various areas of your body. “And this pussy.”

Your eyes fill again, tears catching in your lashes, but you don’t blink them away. You allow him to see it, see how much he still moves you. How much you still love him. He brushes a kiss over each cheek, then your lips, then your chin. His mouth lingers everywhere and each place his lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind.

Soon he starts to tremble. Hips stuttering, breath going ragged, while you feel your own release stirring inside you, slow and consuming your body and soul. It wraps around your spine, makes your toes curl and your walls tighten around him. “I’m close,” 

“Me too,” he grits through another surge of pleasure, hands slipping down to hold your hips steady. “ Let it happen, baby. Come wit’ me.” His speed doesn’t lessen, it only rapidly increases, making it feel like his dick is reaching the depths of your soul. 

Every drag of his hips feels like he’s trying to make up for every night you cried and every moment you thought he forgot you. And with every moan you make, arch to meet his movements, and whispers of praise, you let him know that never stopped wanting him. 

Your second orgasm hits hard: tighter, deeper, it makes your body quiver as your walls convulse around him. Your mouth parts in a moan that sounds like his name, your legs trembling around his waist, as your juices splash against his pelvis and your cream surrounds the rim of his dick. 

And that’s all it takes for Smoke to follow, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep, groaning into your neck as he spills his seed into the depths of your womb, not wanting a drop of it to escape because every droplet counts when trying to have a baby.

Once he releases he doesn't pull out right away. He just stays buried inside you, allowing his seed to travel inside you to its rightful place. Both of you are breathing hard, bodies tangled, skin slick with sweat, and your hearts pounding in sync. He runs his fingers along your jaw and gently kisses you, like a man who’s finally at peace. 

You run your fingers along the strong line of his back, the soft curve of his nape, eyes closed and body humming with the aftershock. “I hope it takes.” you whisper, gliding your hand against the back of his head.

Smoke doesn’t respond right away, first he kisses the curve of your shoulder, then soft of your cheek, and lastly he looks in your eyes. “That baby already on the way,” He mumbles, reassuring you while moving a few strands of your hair out of your face. “I can feel it.” He places his hand on your stomach, rubbing your skin like he already feels something growing there. 

You laugh softly, feeling a flutter in your chest when you see him acting as if you’re full of his child already. “Don’t play. Once you get me pregnant, you stuck with me fuh’ good.”

Smoke lifts his head, eyes locked on yours with a serious expression on his face. “I wanna be stuck. Wanna have a house full of kids,” he murmurs while his hands still linger against your skin. “Want all of ‘em lookin’ jus’ like you.” You smile when you hear him say that, Smoke has always had a way of saying the words that make you feel all mushy inside. 

You pull him in for another kiss, allowing your lips to linger against his before pulling away. After you and him take a few moments to gather yourselves, you find yourself tangled together once again but this time you're on top, you can’t let have Smoke have all the fun of being in control.

For the rest of the night it's just you and him in the little office. Rekindling your love, fucking each other senseless, while the scent of sweat and love lingers in air. For the first time in a long time, both of you are right where you want to be, in each other’s arms. 

—

ONE MONTH LATER….

The morning started slow, like most have lately. You’re sitting at the small wooden kitchen table, sunlight slipping through the curtains and beaming on the tablecloth your mama gifted you years ago. The smell of frying pork fat still hung in the air, and the biscuits you made sits half-eaten between you and Smoke.

You’re wearing one your many nightgowns, cotton thin and soft against your skin, while your feet are propped on the edge of his chair, knees bent. He’s eating quietly, calm as always, big hands steady as he sopped up syrup with a piece of biscuit. 

He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world but your mind has been running wild all week. Something in your body has been feeling off. You’ve been nauseous almost every morning, tired all the time, snapping at Smoke for no good reason, and your breasts have started to to become tender. 

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. A stretch behind your ribs, a mysterious heat low in your belly. You’ve been trying to brush it off. Tell yourself it’s too early to get your hopes up, reminding yourself it will take a while before your in the family way. But this morning you can’t hold it in anymore. “Elijah?”

He glances up, chewing slow, then wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Hm?”

You hesitate at first, fidgeting with the food on your plate, pushing the scrambled eggs around with a fork, before speaking. “I… I think somethin’ goin’ on wit’ me.”

His brow crease as he straightens up in his seat. “What kinda somethin’?”

“I don’t know. I jus’ feel different. Been tired, sick in the mornin’, and my body been achin’. I think i’m comin’ down with somethin’.”

You look up at him for the first time since sitting across from him, searching for any sign of emotion in his face. At first Smoke doesn’t blink. He just stares for a beat, then his face softens just a little, making your heart flutter. “I been watchin’ you.” he says, voice low and still filled with sleep. 

Smoke is an attentive man, his eyes are always on you no matter what. So when he noticed you moving slower, how you could no longer stomach certain foods, and how your emotions have been all over the place, his mind started to spin with his own ideas of what could be going on. “Baby, ion think you sick.” He looks down at your belly, then back at you. “I think you pregnant.”

Your heart clenches at the mention of a baby possibly forming in your womb. You set down the fork and rest your hand on your stomach, feeling your nerves begin to get the best of you. “You think so?”

He nods, standing firm in his statement. “Don’t jus’ think it. I feel it.”

“I ain’t wanna get my hopes up. Not after all we been through…” You express to Smoke. With everything you and him went through years ago, all the emotions it brings out of you and the strain it can cause on your relationship, you don’t want to go through that again. You know you won’t be able to handle it a second time and Smoke does too.

“I know.” Smoke says as he takes a deep breath, reaching across the table and lays his palm over your hand that’s tapping nervously against the wood. “But this time feels different. You feel different.”

You sigh sharply, feeling yourself calm down just a little when you see how confident Smoke is about you being pregnant even though there’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you it’s impossible after you’ve only been trying for a month plus all the prior failed attempts. “You think Annie would come by? Check me out?”

“She’ll come,” Smoke reassuringly tightens your hand before standing up, reaching for his tweed jacket thats hanging off the back of his chair. “I’ll go get her myself.” Before he walks out the door, he places a kiss on your temple, making a soft smile come across your lips.

After almost thirty minutes, Smoke shows up with Annie trailing behind him inside the house, basket in hand with all of the supplies she needs for a full exam, her haint blue dress hugging her full figure. Annie is your closest friend, and you trust her to guide you through this journey more than any backwoods doctor or midwife. 

She’s caught babies all across the county and laid hands on sick folks so long, folks say her touch can pull a fever right out the skin. Her first love is hoodoo but her second is bringing new life into the world. She sets her basket down with a thud and gives you a look, letting you know that something sassy is about to roll off her tongue. “You gon’ make me dig around or you gon’ tell me what’s goin’ on first?" 

“I’m late,” you say quietly, fidgeting with the lace pattern along your dress that you changed into before she arrived. “Been sick, tired. I jus’ wanna see if I’m...”

Annie knows how hard it has been for you and Smoke to conceive, and how long you’ve yearned to become a mother so she understands the weight of this moment, and how its hard for you to allow the word “pregnant” to slip through your lips until you know for sure. She flashes you a soft smile and gives you a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s see what’s goin’ on.”

You lead her to the back of your home where your bedroom resides and you lie down on your bed, with Smoke right by your side. Most men don’t want to be around for exams like this, thinking it’s just “womanly work” or gross but Smoke is far from that mindset, he wants to be included in every phase. Plus, you don’t want him far. You’ve separated from each other for far too long and you need him right by your side holding your hand, whether it’s good or bad news.

Annie’s touch is gentle as she presses and prods your body, asking you a series of questions, humming under her breath while her eyes are half-closed like she’s feeling more with her spirit than her fingers. She uses a series of instruments, including a Pinard Horn, searching for a fetal heartbeat to fill her eardrums.

After what feels like hours of long silence and tension so thick it can be sliced with a knife, she completes her routine exam. When she first looks up at you and Smoke, her face is neutral, not really showing any sign of emotion until she flashes a smile. “Honey, you with child.”

Your throat closes and it feels like you can’t breathe for a second. The air leaves your lungs in a rush, chest heaving while tears immediately fill your eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand, trembling all over. “Really? I’m… I’m pregnant?” The word finally emerges from your throat, your tone sounding like you barely believe what Annie despite her many years of expertise.

Annie nods, her smile growing even wider. “Yes, y/n. You pregnant. Belly’s already startin’ to swell. You ain’t too far along. Maybe five, six weeks, but it’s a baby in there, no doubt.” She says, rubbing your belly softly. “Baby strong too. I heard that heartbeat clear as day.”

The tears fall freely now, spilling down your cheeks as you turn your face into Smoke’s shoulder. He’s already there, leaning down, wrapping you up in his arms before you have the opportunity to fall apart. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs against your temple, voice calm despite his own brewing excitement, soothing you in the moment. “You hear that? You carryin’. We gon’ have a baby.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, fingers clutching at his jacket, holding on like you might drown in your own of tears and waves of emotion. “we tried for so long. I thought— I thought it would never—”

Smoke tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are wet too, though he hasn’t allowed a single tear to fall. He just looks at you with his usual brooding intensity, but much softer now. “Believe it. I told you. I felt it. From the night I put it in ya’, I knew.”

You choke on a laugh, even through the tears, not believing he said that right in front Annie without a care. “You so sure of yo’self.”

Annie clears her throat gently, gathering up her things, wanting to give you and him some time alone to reflect on the joyful news. “I’ma leave y’all to it. Let her rest, Smoke. Don’t you let her lift nothin’ heavy, and make sure she eat good.” She gives you a wink, letting you know that you and her will be talking later, before slipping out the door, leaving the two of you wrapped in silence.

When she’s gone, you lie back against the pillows, still trembling, your hands covering your belly as if you could already feel something moving inside. Smoke gets in the bed with you, pulling you close to him until your skin presses against his own. 

His hand rests on yours, circling his thumb against your very slightly swollen belly while a warmth spreads through him that he’s never felt before. Since that night in Club Juke he believed you would become pregnant, he just didn’t know exactly when but now that the day has come he is the happiest man on Earth. 

He can now become a “Papa” to little boy or girl. “Thank you,” he whispers with a vulnerability you haven't heard from him since that long talk you and him in his office. “Thank you for givin’ me a second chance. For givin’ me this baby.”

You run your fingers through his hair, caressing the strong line of his nape, then smoothing over the crown of his head, something you know he loves, something that always makes him melt a little no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Smoke’s hand never leaves your belly, he just rubs gently against your skin in a way that calms your soul. His head dips towards you, his full lips pressing against your temple, your damp cheek, and then the curve of your jaw. Your tears quickly turn into sniffles, chest still hitching as you let out a trembling laugh while Smoke’s lips continuously press against your skin. “You gon’ smother me, Smoke.”

“I ain’t smotherin’ you. I’m lovin’ on you.” he corrects, wrapping both of his arms around you while giving you one last kiss. “You, me, and this little one. We gon’ be alright.” Despite Smoke’s seven year absence, he’s a good man, you know that. One thing he’s always been is devoted to you, even hundreds of miles away.

Now that Smoke is going to be a family man, his devotion and love for you will only grow stronger, he’ll never cross over state lines without you by his side.

One thing Smoke loves about you is how nurturing and loving you are, how strong you care for the people you love. In his eyes, you have all the qualities to be a perfect mother to your baby boy or girl. “You gon’ be a good mama.”

“And I already know you gon’ be the best papa.” When he hears that he can’t help but smile. With all the trauma he experienced with his own father, he’s always vowed that once he had children he would treat them with love, kindness, and most of all respect. 

He leans down and kisses for the millionth time, slow and sweet, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than by your side. “We gon’ have a house full of babies. Jus’ like I told you.” The words run off Smoke’s tongue so easily, like he’s already planning future pregnancies before you can even complete your first trimester.

You giggle softly, shaking your head at the seriousness in his tone. “One thing at a time, Smoke. Lemme give birth to this one first before we talk about havin’ more.”

In this moment, with Smoke’s warmth around you and the spark of new life growing inside your womb, you feel like all the trials and tribulations that you and Smoke went through in your relationship is worth it. 

Everything you’ve ever wanted in life has now fallen into place. Smoke has come back into your life, your womb has been filled with a child, and your relationship couldn’t be better. In the end, all the pain, crying, longing, and tears were worth it. Your heart is now complete.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg @li-da-savage @minyara-kun @st4rrdrexm @rose-bliss @sajoi @plan3tch1ld @queenofklonnie22 @n-ae-vis @3tallions @weirdwhimsicalblackgirl @avatar4eva @d1gitalb4rbie @deexoxomuah @tnychellee @moundbayou @sweet13aby @whammyy @n-ae-vis

— all rights reserved ©𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐙𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost repost on other platforms (ex. AO3 or Wattpad) nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[tojisteddy]

Just can’t stop thinking about little things Stack does.

Stack has a hand on the small of your back ir your waist, always. Can’t not be touching you, when yout walking or talking or just sitting together. He acts the most touch starved when he hasn’t seen you in a week, groaning and inhaling you when he finally gets to wrap his arms around you, “Baby I fuckin missed you.”

Stack always has to make some sort of face at you when no one is liking. He’s playful, throwing up the finger or sticking his tongue out at you. Rolling his eyes at you when Smoke says something he doesn’t wanna hear. And Smoke somehow always catches it, eyes of a hawk, “Watch yourself Elias.”

And the younger twin will throw his hands up in defense, grin wide as ever, grills gleaming, “I’m just playin, I’m playin, I hear you. Damn.”

When there’s a puddle or something, if it’s small enough, he likes to jump over it. Very cute when you tell him he does it, and then he likes to get you in on it too. Taking your hand and helping you jump over it like you’re in Singing In the Rain— one of his favorite movies.

Will pull you into him when the train gets too crowded so no one tries to squish you. Can’t help but look at you so lovingly as you complain about someone’s overly loud phone playing music. You guys both holding onto the pole, his underneath yours. He can’t help but brush his fingers against yours, so soft, so intimate— he loves it.

Stack loves making you giggle, whispering in your ear and talking straight nonsense. Ticking your side when you least expect it or telling you straight out how breathtaking you look. Making you do a little spin for him, hyping you up so much making you think you’re the talk of the town— and in his eyes you absolutely are.

When the younger twin doesn’t like a certain thing you do, such as talking to your ex, or letting someone get too friendly, he’ll start re-adjusting his clothes, jaw ticking. The type to have to push and push until his anger comes out with a sarcastic laugh, “Mama you playin a dangerous game”

It takes him time to apologize, sighing like a puppy dog who’s been beat up. Either he’ll go take a walk or a drive or shyly come into your space, taking your hand in his, a bit of stuttering, “I’m sorry baby, it’s not- I ain’t mean what I said. Shouldn’t’ve said it t’ begin with. I wanna be sweet to ya.”

a/n: man shut up and walk with me.

[pinkhoodi]

curious and curiouser .ᐟ

✎ᝰ ∿ the smokestack twins as nerds (lowkey losers) !!!

♡⃕ ∿ ft. nerd!elias “stack” moore && nerd!elijah “smoke” moore

♡⃕ ∿ genre && warnings: fluff ! stack is lowkey (highkey) a smart ass, both men are geeks but one refuse to admit, smoke uses anime as flirting ?? lemme know if I missed anything

♡⃕ ∿ a/n: was this me wanting to combine all my interests as one ?? well yessss 😁

⋆˙⟡ nerd!smoke, the historian genius of his circle. he’s so enwrapped in the past to the point where no one can go a day without hearing, “you know on this day”, even if it’s just to say that this was the day that something miniscule was invented. though, his pride in his knowledge heightens when he’s asked about black history. since a youngin, smoke has immersed himself in learning, reading, and researching the history of his own people

⋆˙⟡ nerd!smoke, quiet, composed, but unnoticed, he can become quite the chatter when asked a simple question about a historic event. he usually gives you a straightforward answer and ends it there. however, when asked about an event that he has such passion for, his answers become lengthy, and you end up learning more than you need to

⋆˙⟡ nerd!smoke, has a glass case in his home with various genres of nonfiction books. wars, inventions, especially politics, and don’t try to say he’s wrong about a fact either cause he will pull up the exact source he found it from

⋆˙⟡ nerd!smoke, outside of history, and a little bit of physics, he’s a bit of a comic book nerd. then again, he’s always been one to keep himself deeply wrapped in any sort of literature; graphic novels, science fiction, informational, he enjoys spending his time reading

⋆˙⟡ nerd!smoke, superhero and anime nerd through and through! especially anime; he’ll geek out and explain the power system of just about any and every anime/manga he’s into at the moment. stack usually likes to tease him about it, but smoke don’t be taking it to the heart (cause stack is lowkey worse)

⋆˙⟡ nerd!smoke, when explaining an anime and its character, he has a sort of charming lilt to his voice. he knows how complicated this sort of media can get when explaining, so he breaks it down into something you can understand. he doesn’t dumb it down or make you feel dumb when explaining; instead, he starts with a simple example, typically a battle between two characters, then smoothly moves over to breaking down each character’s powers and how it affects the battle. add a couple of deep chuckles, small smiles that show his pearly whites, and hand gestures (that usually never help, but it does help when you notice the slim, gold rings on his hands. but that’s neither here nor there !!)

꒰ curious ❀ curiouser .ᐟ ꒱

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack, booksmart, streetsmart, everything smart and highly cocky about it. it’s hard to have him be wrong about something cause he knows the answer to just about everything (almost everything). even when he’s blatantly wrong, he won’t admit to it at the moment; instead, he’ll brush up on his incorrect statement and prove his knowledge again. even the most trivial, minuscule debate will turn into a heated blowout cause stack refuses to back down until you give up

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack that you can rarely ever win against in a debate. his deep knowledge always gives him the upper hand, and it doesn’t help that he’ll school you on whatever you were wrong about. sometimes he’ll do it to prove how intelligent he is (again), and other times he’ll do it so you’re not providing misinformation to him again

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack who, when not being a cocky prick, can be quite helpful whenever you’re confused on something. don’t get me wrong, he’ll joke about it at first, but then he’ll provide about three different methods that could help you understand better. he likes it when people gain more knowledge through and not use him as a cheat sheet

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack, even though a genius of many things, he has the greatest set of knowledge in mathematics and science. he finds himself studying people more often than he needs to and uses that to his advantage

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack, who can’t help but turn everything into a hypothesis. trivial or not, everything in this man’s life is an experiment to him, and you can’t fault him for the hypothesis being right almost every single time. the same amount of passion his brother had for history and literature, stack has for science. every subtopic of science, stack has found himself delving into; from the times he performed absurd experiments in his childhood backyard to him in college doing deep research on a physiological theory that has yet to leave his curious mind

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack, similar to his brother, is a geek at heart; classical literature and video essays about superheroes are his guilty pleasure!! as much as he jokes about smoke and his obsession, his walls are covered in his favorite heroes and villains; he studied people for too long not to support at least some villains (please don’t ever ask him about jason todd or omni man). figurines standing on shelves, certain pieces (i.e cap’s shield, batman’s batarang, etc), little pins kept in a vintage venom/spiderman mug; all of this and he will still call his twin brother a “loser”

⋆˙⟡ nerd!stack who likes to use his expertise on superheroes and gets into constant debates with smoke about who is more skillful with their powers or who will win in some wild, crossover 2v2 battle. sometimes to get under his skin and other times to use this as a brotherly bond (still annoys smoke though)

♡⃕ i hope someone out there catches the title. you know ball if you do

♡⃕ I wanted to incorporate mbj’s love for anime so why not do it with one of my fav roles of his ? he looks saurrrr mf fine when he gets to talkin bout anime 😋

♡⃕ hope you guys enjoy my sinners debut 🫶🏾. imma go watch the movie again byeeeeee

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: jeremiah 31:25

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟨 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[lulaaaaaaw]

my masterlist / my ao3

remmick x fem!reader

word count: 716

me… writing FLUFF…. WHAT IS GOING ON???

synopsis: you’re sick, and remmick insist on taking care of you

WARNINGS‼️: fluff, kissing, reader doesn’t like remmick, pet names, stockholm syndrome, slight age regression (non-sexual), daddy kink (kinda sexual idk anymore)

race/appearance neutral reader!

tags: @horror-moviehoe , @s1ut4adamstanheight , @angel1207 , @z0mb13xxxx

song:

your whole body aches as you shift uncomfortably in your bed. you’ve been sick for two days now, it’s only gotten worse with time.

your head hurts, well, everything hurts. your vision is blurry from the headache and you feel nauseous. the constant sweating is the worst.

well, remmick is maybe the worst part of all this. he will not leave you alone for even a second, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll die.

he’s always been annoyingly clingy, but now it has gotten even worse.

he’s constantly checking your fever, putting his lips on your forehead. he keeps changing the wet cloth on your forehead, wiping your sweat. he feeds you, even helps you pee.

now he’s making some vitamin drink for you in the kitchen, giving you a minute of silence.

it doesn’t last long, though.

”baby, how y’feeling?” he asks, setting the mug on your bedside table.

”i’m fine”, you sigh.

remmick kisses your forehead. he frowns. ”no ye’re not, ye’re burning up”, he says.

”drink”, he says, giving you the hot mug. it smells of ginger and honey.

you take a sip, it tastes weird. ”what’s in this?” you ask.

”jus’ drink it, baby”, remmick says, helping you hold the mug. your hands are already shaking.

”my poor lil’ baby”, he coos, looking at you with pity.

he gives you another kiss on the forehead.

”i got ye this”, he says, taking something out of a bag. a teddy bear.

he places it on the bed beside you.

”someone to keep ya company”, he says. like he isn’t there 24/7.

you finish the drink. ”good girl”, remmick says.

he climbs into bed with you, taking you in his arms.

he starts giving you constant kisses. on your forehead, your lips, your nose, your cheeks. vampires can’t get sick, so he doesn’t have to worry.

then he takes out a book. ”lemme read f’ ya”, he says.

”you don’t have to”, you say, slightly dreading the idea.

”i know, but i wanna”, remmick says.

he starts reading to you. some children’s story book. he often treats you a bit like a child, like you’re his little girl.

you quickly fall asleep in his arms.

you wake up to remmick petting you.

”dinner time, baby”, he says.

”i’m not hungry”, you whine.

”ya gotta eat”, remmick says.

he goes into the kitchen. then he comes back, holding a hot bowl of soup.

he sits beside you on the bed, taking a spoonful of soup, putting it in front of your mouth.

”say ahh”, he says.

you hesitantly open your mouth, eating the soup. it’s actually really good.

he feeds you in silence, sometimes wiping some soup from the corner of your mouth. you feel like a kid.

when you’re done remmick smiles and gives you a kiss. ”such a good girl”, he says. ”daddy’s so worried ’bout ya”, he says, sliding his hand between your legs. he slightly caresses your folds, but stops.

he lets out a sigh. ”i won’t fuck ya now, baby, ya need to get better first”, he says.

thank god.

”daddy, can you please get me another painkiller?” you ask remmick with puppy-dog eyes. you know that playing along to his sick fantasies will slightly better your chances.

remmick lets out a sigh. ”ya can’t have them anymore, baby. ya already took like three”, he says.

”pleaseee”, you whine.

remmick kisses you again. ”shh, baby, go to sleep”, he coos.

you have some tears in your eyes, the pain is too much. remmick climbs into bed with you again, taking you into his arms.

he puts another cloth on your forehead and kisses your cheek. ”my sweet lil’ baby”, he purrs. ”my poor girl”, he murmurs, giving you another kiss.

”d’ya wanna listen to some music?” he asks.

you nod.

remmick gets up, putting on your favorite vinyl. then he gets into bed with you again, cuddling you.

you snuggle up into his arms, you feel tired. tired of resisting him all the time. so what he’s holding you captive? he loves you.

remmick kisses your hair. ”get some sleep, baby”, he says. ”daddy’s gon’ be right here with ya”, he adds.

you close your eyes, listening to the music and remmick’s breathing. you slowly fall asleep in his arms.

not me being cute for once

[sinfulteeth]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down / I'll Crawl Home To Her

Pairing | Remmick x Reader

Summary | He weaved in and out of your life like he was some stray animal, dragging gore and viscera not far behind. Here he was at your doorstep once again, a mess of blood and dirt for you to piece back together.

Word Count | 3.5k Warnings | Fluff, Non sexual nudity, Brief mentions of blood and non fatal injury, Remmick is VERY creature coded (growling, purring, etc), Remmick does not know how to emotion, Mention of medical equipment and bandages, Probably inaccurate use of said medical suppies A/N | This is my VERY first fic in several years and I'm very excited to get it out there. A big thanks is needed for the entire Remmick discord for bringing me into a community that inspires me to create once again. The biggest thanks to @bloodandbutts for being the best beta reader I could ask for and @flowersforjude for all the help with the heading and overall tumblr stuff. I couldn't have done any of this without you both <3

Now Playing: Work Song - Hozier

You were fixing yourself a small dinner in your quaint kitchen, the dim light of your oil lamp casting a warm glow throughout the room. The only thing breaking the focus of your quiet humming was several sharp knocks at your front door- knocks, that practically shook the foundation of your home, knocks that if you had neighbors, they’d probably think you were being robbed. With a sigh and a playful shake of your head, you set down the knife you had been using to cut up some scraps of meat. The metal gets placed onto your wooden cutting board with a dull thud.

You didn't even have to turn, you knew exactly who would be at the other side of the threshold. What you two had was just supposed to be a fling, one night of guiltless passion only for you to return as nameless strangers as soon as dawn broke. You stopped wondering why that man continued coming back; desperately pounding on your door as if he were a loose animal looking for a meal.

Reaching underneath your kitchen sink, you gather a small, but extensive, first aid kit filled to the brim with alcohol and gauze. Maybe the reason he kept coming back to you was because you didn’t mind the stench of viscera that clouded him. While you were no nurse, your mama did her part and volunteered during the Great War to care for injured soldiers, so you didn't blink twice at some cuts and blood every now and again. Knowing the drill, you set your kit down on the dining room table as you passed it- the pounding continued mercilessly.

The air was thick with the summer heat as you strolled to the door with no real sense of urgency. It was simple, if it was dire enough for him to be in any real danger he’d be shrieking bloody murder- But all there was were the knocks of a broken man, coming to you to put together the pieces.

As you open the door, you’re taken aback by the sight in front of you. He'd come back to you beaten, bruised and bloody sure, but he’d never been in this bad of shape before. It silently broke a little part of you. There stood Remmick, the man who had awkwardly strolled into your life-and you secretly didn't want him to leave. Looking at him, you weren’t sure where his blood began and some undetermined sources ended, both fluids muddling into a dark red splatter as it practically dripped off of him. His eye was swollen almost entirely shut, unable to see the swirls of red with a hint of blue that you had grown accustomed to getting lost in. Littered all over him were small burns and cuts seeping with thick, red blood. You blinked twice, unsure if your vision was deceiving you because you could almost swear his flesh was smoking. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as he borderline white knuckled your doorframe to keep himself up, a playful little smile gracing his bruised face.

“Hey darlin..” He talked with a faux suaveness you could hear bubbling up from his throat that made your eyes roll. He should know there's no need to do that anymore. You know exactly what he is, you don't care.

He’s what mothers warn their children about, the reason livestock end up butchered in the middle of the night, why parents tell their young to not play after the sun goes down, but not to you. To you he was a ravenous dog who doesn't know why he bites. He had no reason to fight with you anymore, you had shown a rare gentleness to a beast like him and he didn't know how to handle it.

“You gon’ let me in, or are you just gon’ let me burn out here?” His sarcasm bordered on a whine.

You sigh with a little playful tilt in your tone, taking a couple steps back from the entryway with your arms outstretched, hands waving him in.

“Come on in.” You say with a casualness rivaling the state of the bleeding man on your porch, as though you hadn’t just invited some wolf in sheep's clothing into your home.

His face visibly changed when your lips uttered the words he longed to hear. He had seemingly dropped whatever facade he was pretending to have. His first couple steps past your baseboard were heavy, boots thudding against the wooden floor. The man resembled a doe taking its first shaky and wobbly steps as he released his grip on the frame. Evidently, that flimsy piece of wood was the only thing keeping him standing in front of you. His knees buckled under him as soon as he let go. He tumbled clumsily into your open arms, his legs giving up on trying to keep him upright.

The man's skin was hot to the touch as you embraced him, sweltering to the point that it didn't even hold a candle to the worst flush of a fever. He allows you drag him into the dining room and heave him onto a chair at the end of the table. Your arms wrap around his waist, unconsciously rubbing his back in soothing circles and placing a chaste kiss on the mole that graced his flushed cheek.

You promise that you’ll only leave him in that lone chair for a moment as you do a quick lap around your home, drawing in all of the curtains to protect Remmick from the setting sun's cruel rays. As you carry your oil lamp over to the seated man, its light bathes him in a warm glow that borders on heavenly. He looked similar to an angel that had plummeted from Heaven and was broken by the sins of man.

The smell of antiseptic wafts through the air as you open a small bottle of alcohol. Your gentle fingers run through the hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, quietly shushing any little protests escaping from the man's mouth as you brush the strands back with a small smile. His one open eye scans down your face as he takes in every minute expression. He tracked your movement like you were a threat to him, his gaze darting rapidly between your hands up to the furrowedness of your brows as you tried to make the clean up quick. The gentleness in your grip rivaled everything he had known. Since he was young, he had known nothing except the brutality and violence that clung to every fiber of his being like it was woven into the strands of his DNA. But here? There was a foreign care put into every little touch- your warmth seeping into his skin as you cradled his face with a kind hand. You touched him as if he were made of porcelain, like he was something so beautiful that it deserved such a delicate hand.

With one hand keeping his chin still, your thumb absentmindedly stroked his cheek while the other hand dug through your box of medical supplies until you found exactly what you were looking for. The spooled gauze sprang to life as you dipped a small section into the awaiting alcohol, the fabric sagging under its sudden weight change. You take the soaked bandage and steady it in between your middle and forefinger. Clear liquid drips down into your hold like a river, burning the little cuts you didn't even know you had along the way.

The house around you settles into a strange, domestic silence - the kind of stillness that it wasn’t used to. You could hear the dripping of the faucet, the creaking of the old wood around you both, the shallow breaths quietly leaving Remmick’s lips. When you are by yourself, the silence originates from loneliness. There's no need to talk to someone that isn't there- the air felt heavier then, weighed down by things that could not be shared. Now, it was comfortable. There was an unspoken, peaceful quiet that came from the two of you. The only things filling the emptiness were the quiet hushes and apologies you whispered as you pressed the alcohol-soaked fabric into his cut skin, your lips pursed in focus.

As you dab his blood soaked skin, you feel him begin to try to pull away with a low, almost imperceptible growl. Your fingers squeeze into his cheeks to keep him still, shooting him with a glare as his lips pout from your grasp. It made you chuckle every time you had to do this. A creature as bonechilling as Remmick, something that could end your life in a heartbeat if he really wanted to, couldn’t handle the sting of a little alcohol. He would try to turn and squirm away in his seat like a child with a scraped knee. It was endearing.

He was lucky that all of his injuries were superficial, they all grazed his skin just enough to split open and reveal the dripping illusion of life. You did not feel like listening to his whines as you mended his skin as if he were a beloved, old quilt that was worn with age. Cleaning up the last of the blood on his face, the man practically melted into putty through your fingertips.

“I truly don’t know how you manage to get so filthy, Rem” A small smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you comb through the man's hair, his eyes closed in contentment. For once in his long life, he was more than fine not running his mouth and instead basking in the homely silence you two created. The only thing rippling through the waves of silence was your gentle, honey coated voice. It was like music to his ears.

You pat his cheek as you stand from your seat, brushing your hands on the dirty apron you wore. As your warm touch left his face, you could almost swear you felt him chase after it.

“We can't have you stayin’ in those clothes, I don’t need you draggin’ blood all through my house” The tone you scold him with edges on teasing, as if he were a dog tracking mud in from outside.

“You can stay here for the night, gotta get cleaned up first though.” You accentuate your words with a kiss against his temple as you stand above him, his skin much less warm from when you first dragged him in.

“I got some stuff you can change into, let me get the washtub in here, alright?” The silence hung heavy in the air, deafening. What you didn't tell him was that you got those clothes in town just for him. You kept a drawer of men's clothes as if this were home for him. No matter where he went, he always came crawling back for you to pick up the pieces with a loving hand. Almost imperceivably, a quiet hum in agreement escaped his lips. His hand grabbed yours quickly as you began to walk away, keeping you in that spot for a moment.

The man’s head lifts to look at you, his fingers still laced with yours. A foreign grin graces his features as he takes in the glow from your face, borderline angelic. With a deep sigh and roll of his shoulders, he gives your hand a light squeeze before releasing it.

“Don’ take too long now darlin’. May pass out from shock in ‘ere.” At his words, you roll your eyes, putting some water on the stove to boil before running outside to lug in the steel bath.

Emptying the last of the warm water in the basin, you grab Remmick up by his forearms. Your eyes look at him through your lash line as your hands hover over his bloodied shirt collar, silently asking the man for permission. Your roles for once were being reversed. After an uncharacteristically shy nod, your fingers work to undo the buttons running down his shirt. This was unusual for him. Here he was being stripped down without an ounce of sexuality swirling in the air. He was letting someone else tend to his injuries. Here, someone else cared for him and it felt good. Leaving him bare, you guide him down into the tub, watching as you see his shoulders relax at the comforting warmth of the water.

Pulling a chair up next to him, you cup water into your hands and allow it to run through his scalp to cascade down his shoulders. Your nails rake through Remmick’s hair as you work the soap into the blood sticking to the strands. Looking down at the man, it made you chuckle a bit seeing him crammed into the tub. He wasn't the tallest, sure, but something about a man who was all blood and teeth with his knees up to his chest as you washed his hair made you smile to yourself.

The water dripped down his back pink, taking all of the burdens of the night with it. You swear you could almost hear him purring as you shielded his eyes with your hand and rinsed the soap from his hair. With a rag in hand you begin to run it over his blood-soaked arms, breaking the silence with almost hesitant breath as your eyes tunnel into his flesh-refusing to meet his eyeline.

“Y’know.. you dont gotta keep this up all, this leaving for a month and then coming back half dead.” You say cautiously, a hair above a whisper.

“You’re welcome to stay here, we can figure some things out. I hate you bein’ gone so long ‘n leavin’ without a word, it makes me worry” You confess, rubbing gentle circles into his flesh as you wash his sins away.

There's a beat of silence as your words hang in the air. It is probably the longest few seconds of your life. Finally, Remmick let out a subtle, shaky breath, his hand coming up and stopping yours from doing death spirals in his arm.

“Don’ want you gettin caught up ‘n all this stuff baby.” He uttered in a way that seemed almost caring.

“I do mean shit darlin’. What I do when I leave..it’s brutal and it’s bloody. It's what townsfolk create stories about ‘n tell their grandkids. Ion need you gettin’ caught in the middle of all that” He speaks with a finality that heats the blood in your veins.

“ ‘n I don't need you makin’ decisions for me” You combat, surprising the man who sits beneath you.

“You think I don’t know what you are? What you do? I ain’t stupid Rem. I don’t care about all that shit!” You take a deep breath in, you didn’t even notice your hand shaking in his grasp. You raise your eyes to meet with his and you’re shocked to see what's there. There he sat, his surprised eyes rivaling saucers in their width. You could finally see the glimmering red that danced in his iris’, and they were looking you up and down, like if he wasn’t holding onto you he wouldn’t have believed you were in front of him.

“I ain’t some naive kid, Remmick. I wait up every night prayin’ you'll come back to me safe. Just stay here with me and I swear to you you’ll always have a place to call home” You didn’t mean for that last sentence to sound so desperate, but it was true.

The constant worrying, it created a pool of nausea and bile that would creep up your throat the more you sat at your dining table late at night wondering if it was going to be the last time you saw him alive. You just couldn’t stomach it anymore. You didn’t even realize hot tears were falling down your cheeks until the man's wet hand came up and brushed them away, holding your face. Your chest shook as you took in a deep breath, the action would’ve been endearing if his hand wasn’t dripping with water.

It took several moments for him to break the heavy silence. You can almost feel him thinking, how to react to your pleas and your confession. He still hadn’t let go of your face, diving deep into your eyes as if they could tell him the truth.

“Now I ain’t some normal man darlin.. ‘m no Saint. ‘M some creature o’ the night you invited in like a fool,” He started and you hung onto every word like a prayer.

“But if ya serious, we could try this. It surely ain’t a bad thing, stayin’ with a site to sore eyes like yourself too” He said with a smile that actually seemed sincere. It was the first time you saw it go all the way up to his eyes.

You couldn’t help what came next. As soon as those words left his mouth, you captured his lips with yours, pouring every pent up emotion you had into this kiss. He was momentarily stunned in shock before moving his lips in sync with yours. He tasted like blood and brandy. The home seemed to come to life around you both, the air charged with the mutual confession and broken tension. Leaning over him, you tilted his head up to you as you grin into the kiss, fingers brushing his soaked hair back.

After a few moments, you make him separate to catch your breath, leaning your forehead onto his with a little giggle. You’re pretty sure he forgets that unlike him, you do need to actually breathe. You’ve never seen him smile like he is now, a love drunk little grin baring all of those sharp teeth that you’ve now grown accustomed to. Cradling his head in your grasp, you give his temple one last little kiss before you stand up, grabbing a towel behind you. You feel his eyes track you once again, but this time it feels different. Instead of the usual wariness, tracking you like you’ll hurt him, it's out of adoration.

With the towel in your hands, you reach down and ruffle Remmicks hair with the cloth, earning you a confused chuckle and an eyebrow raise from the man.

“I think it's time to get you outta here Rem” You say playfully, drying his hair off.

“Don’ need you gettin’ sick on me in all that cold water” You see him roll his eyes at your comment as you grab his forearms to help him up. He didn't even know if he could get sick and he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you were the person taking care of him.

You wrap the warm fabric around his waist before guiding him into your bedroom. While small, it was certainly the most at home Remmick has felt in something close to a millennium. He sits on your bed as you dig through your drawers, the plushness definitely beats the dirt ditches he had grown used to sleeping in. Everything in your home seemed buzzing with life, with love that he seemed undeserving of.

Turning around, you present him with a simple linen shirt and pants which seem just a little too long, but nothing a simple hem job couldn't fix.

“Arms up” You commanded and for some reason, he listened.

He's never had anyone fuss over him, not since he was a child and time wasn't worth keeping track of. Slipping the shirt over him, you turn your back to give him some privacy as he pulls on trousers and undergarments. They didn’t fit too poorly, comfortable enough to sleep in for sure.

As he watches you get changed into your own night clothes, a warm feeling blooms into his chest. The bliss of domesticity that he had missed out on, it was finally here for him. It was finally his turn. He is snapped out of his thoughts as you shut the curtains in your room, turning down the oil lamp until the room is plunged into a comfortable dim light.

You lift the covers for him to slide into, its warmth cocooning his cold body comfortably. Climbing in behind him, you lay down next to him and casually wrap an arm around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder. As if you were scared to break the peaceful quiet that surrounded you both, you place a kiss on his cheek as you whisper.

“We’ll run into town and get you some proper clothes tomorrow”

Tomorrow. He liked the sound of that as it left your lips. The promise that anything that happened tonight wouldn’t be forgotten and he’d be cast out of heaven like Lucifer's great fall. It brought that warm feeling back in waves throughout his body.

Before sleep claimed you both, Remmick wondered if tomorrow night would be the first night of many that he could walk through your welcoming doors without an invitation. He surely hoped so.

© sinfulteeth 2025, dividers by @uzmacchiato

[sintizc]

MAJOR MOORE PT.1

PT.1 PT.2 PT.3

Thank you guys for all the support on that last post!😭🤍 I'm new to this writing stuff so please give any helpful criticism!I hope you guys like this🤍🤍

Word count : 1.2k

Summary : Two weeks of trying to get back into the rhythm of civilian life , Elijah ‘smoke’ Moore was finally back in uniform, back in the corps. Back to being a Major.

He doesn’t have a clue what's in store for him.

Elijah walked into the building taking his hat off, as he reached the top of the steps , placing his bag on the floor, he shifts the hat to underneath his arm before sighing deeply as he glanced around the school.

(Bell ringing)

(Over the PA)

“The glee club will be meeting at 3:30”

That's all he heard before pushing it to the back of his mind as he watched the students fill the hallways, students moving around him rushing to their classes.

“Tiger, get back here! Don't make me chase you!.” A voice called out faintly down the hall.

Elijah raised his eyebrow before tilting his head down when he felt a small body bump into him. He looked at the small boy and lifted him up. “You alright, son?.” He asked with a hint of irritation before adding. “Why you running in the halls anyway?..”

“She's trying to give me a shot.” The little boy uttered.

“You don't like needles huh?”

The boy shakes his head no.

“Me neither.” Elijah expresses with a small chuckle, fixing the boy's hat as he stands up straight.

“There you are Tiger, you are too fast for your size.” A woman's voice spoke from behind him, he slowly lifted his head to face the voice, he paused as he saw the woman in front of him.

“You must be Major Moore, I'm Annie Richard's the school counselor.” she stated with a smile as she shook his hand with a firm but soft grip.

Elijah stared at her for a good moment, his train of thought crashing before him. She was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, and he's seen a lot of women.

“That's a mighty fine handshake you got there.” He uttered before cussing himself out internally, who even says that to a woman they just met?

“Well thank you,never gotten that compliment before." Annie said with a faint smile a bit amused by his comment as she let go of his hand, Elijah had to stop himself from keeping her hand in his.

“You-uh..usually chase him around?..” he asked after finally finding his voice, glancing at Tiger before looking back at Annie.

“No, I don't usually go around chasing little boys.” She responded softly, resting a hand on her hip, chuckling quietly as she shook her head.

“He's usually my little helper.” Annie added with a huff as she looked down at the little boy.

Tiger smiled up at the Major wiggling his eyebrows at the man.

“I see..” he muttered to himself in thought, the little boy reminding him of someone.

“Well it was nice meeting you major.” Annie said with a soft smile as she grabbed Tiger's hand.

“It was nice meeting you as well, miss Richard.” Elijah muttered softly with a soft gaze as he watched her walk away with Tiger in hand.

He chuckled quietly to himself as Tiger made a run for it again and Annie started chasing after him once more.

Maybe being here won't be so bad after all.

----

Elijah sighed deeply as he stood in front of the boys, these are the goof balls he has to deal with?

He kissed his teeth with irritation, needing a smoke already before saluting them. “at ease.” He grumbles to them,his hands resuming their position behind his back..

“My name is Elijah “Smoke” Moore as of 0900–” Elijah starts off saying in a firm voice before getting interrupted by one of the boys.

“Why your middle name smoke?”

Elijah paused for a moment before walking to Dwight.

“Cause I came out smoking.” He replied with sarcasm, looking him up and down before walking down the line. “Now! As I was saying, I will be replacing Major Frankfurt as your commanding officer..” He continued firmly with a nod before stopping in his tracks again as he heard booing.

Really, booing?

He grumbled something underneath his breath before letting off a few gunshots, shutting them all up in that moment.

“It seems we are having trouble with our communication.” he said with a hum, putting his pistol away as he moved to stand in front of all of them.

This was gonna be a long day.

—

Elijah sits at his desk, looking over the report cards and files of the boys, tilting his head as he glances out the window in thought before suddenly feeling a pressure in the room.

“Major Moore." Her voice sounded firm , he almost immediately moved into position before remembering where he was.

“Yes,miss Richard's?..” he responded with a raised eyebrow wondering what he did as his eyes found hers.

“Might I ask why you shave the boys' heads?..”Annie asked softly with an unamused huff as she walked up to his desk, Elijah fought back a smile , she smelled really nice , like vanilla and flower he can't recognize.

“Well they had to earn their due and in case you haven't noticed, they're some bad ass kids..” he responded with a sigh as he adjusted his position, he really liked this firmness from her.

“And that gives you the right to shave their heads?.”she said with disbelief, crossing her arms as she stood in front of him.” Major, have you ever done this kind of work before?.”she questioned,raising an eyebrow as she tilted her head..

He pauses at her words a little offended actually.

“Woman, I've trained over countless men, turning them into soldiers and weapons for the country..” Elijah responded with a hint of firmness in his voice as he lifted his hat up.

Annie sighed deeply and rested her hands on his desk.

“You're dealing with children now. Not men, not weapons. Children. “

She paused for a moment before adding.

“Do you know what positive reinforcement is?.” She asked gently with a soft gaze as she tilted her head.

Elijah looked at her curiously, fidgeting with a pen before speaking up.

“no ma'am I don't.” He answered truthfully after a moment, looking at her blankly.

Annie blinked a few times unamused because she can tell he's being very much serious about this.

“May I make a suggestion?..” she uttered with a faint smile,moving to stand up straight.

He sighed internally in disappointment feeling distance between them even though she's only six inches away.

“Me and you work together to help the kids?.” Annie said with a soft smile, raising her eyebrows at him.

Elijah perks up at the suggestion, he could spend more time with her. He sits up leaning forward onto the desk.

“You could be my little helper.” Her voice is warm with a hint of teasing as she tilts her head.

“So what do you say, major moore?..” she asks as her expression softens.

Elijah gives a small nod feeling speechless with his gaze on her, her eyes have him wanting to do everything and more for her.

“Good, I'm glad we could come to that conclusion..” Annie replied with a soft smile before leaving his office.

His eyes followed her out of the house, he leaned forward over the desk watching her walk away before noticing that Tiger saw him watching.

“What you looking at?.” He questioned firmly with a huff which sent Tiger running off.

He sighed deeply, slumping into his chair staring up at the ceiling.

“I've done lost my mind.” He grumbled to himself as his eyelids slid closed, still smelling whatever perfume she had on.

That's all I got for this part! I wanted to keep it a bit similar to the first half of the movie before really going into it. Imma make the second part longer.🤍🤍 let me know if you want to be tag!

Tags : @bananajoeclone @blackgirlsrock444

[hoetachi]

LOVEHAPPY — E. (SMOKE) MOORE

➠ modernau! smoke x blk! reader

➠ mulan’s input; this song by the carters was on loop as well as int’l players anthem and the idea of a big luxurious wedding had me cheesing

➠ cw; in this annie passed unfortunately, n-word usage, smoke has cherophobia (yes, ik im evil yall), stack just being the best (& worst) best man

“big pimpin’ settlin’ down!? can you believe this nigga, sammie!?” stack chuckled as he readjusted his twin’s tie. smoke gave a small smile, but it barely shifted the knit in his brows as he returned to his thoughts. todays a big day— the biggest day for him and you… so why do he feel—

“we all knew you was the one really pimpin’, nigga. you was wildin’ last night,” sammie teased. “lucky mary ain’t see what I saw,” he added, cutting his eye at his older cousin.

“hey, y’know what the smokestack twins do to snitches?”

“do what?”

“shoot ’em in the ass,” they both said in unison, dead serious.

“go make sure cornbread is actually watchin’ over the bride’s door. knowin’ his ass, he got slim ol’ ass sittin’ drunk at it,” stack ordered, smacking his younger cousin in the back of the head playfully as he sent him out.

once sammie left the room, stack turned back to his twin, giving him a once-over.

“nah, for real though, big pimpin’…” stack’s grin softened as he dusted off his brother’s shoulders. “i’m proud of ya’”

“’preciate it…” smoke smiled sheepishly, eyes flicking to the mirror in front of him.

stack exhaled, pulling in his lips like he was bracing himself. like what he was about to say could shift the whole energy of the room.

“i know it was a lot to open up again after annie…” his voice dropped. “she was a great woman. epitome of a great wife.”

a long silence held them. smoke stared at his reflection—royal blue tux hugging his frame, a white magnolia tucked in his lapel like a whisper from heaven.

“i believe y/n is the best woman a man with blood on his hands could pray for,” smoke finally said.

then, quieter, “i just hope i’m the answer to her prayers.”

he turned, meeting his twin’s gaze head-on

3 years earlier

the hospital room smelled faintly of clean linen and antiseptic. the machines beeped soft and steady, but every tick of the clock felt louder than it should.

smoke sat beside annie’s bed, his large hand engulfing hers, thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. her body looked fragile, but her eyes—when they opened—still held that same flame. faint, yes. but not gone.

“eli…” she murmured, her voice brittle, like a memory hanging on thread.

he leaned closer. “yeah, baby?”

a soft smile curled her lips, small and tired. “you look like ya’ already buried me.”

smoke swallowed hard. “don’t talk like that.”

“i gotta,” she whispered. “you hardheaded. and i can’t haunt your ass if i don’t get the last word.”

she paused, shifting her hand slightly in his. “eli… you gotta stop thinkin’ love is punishment.”

he tried to speak, but she shook her head gently.

“you ever heard that old saying? ‘when the roots are deep, there is no reason to fear the wind.’”

he blinked. “what that mean?”

she smiled again—this time with a quiet pride. “it means love that’s real… it don’t break when life blow through. it bend. it sway, but it don’t fall. we had roots, eli. me and you, but you gotta let somebody plant new ones with you. someday.”

his jaw clenched, but his voice cracked when he finally spoke. “ain’t nobody gon’ love me like you.”

“no,” she whispered. “they not s’posed to.”

a silence fell between them, broken only by the rhythm of her breathing, slower now.

“just promise me…” she said, breath hitching, “you’ll let yourself grow again. you deserve to grow. to bloom into something beautiful..”

smoke bowed his head to her hand, tears soaking into her wrist as her fingers curled one last time around his

present day

smoke exhaled slow. the weight in his chest wasn’t gone, but it had shifted—become something steadier.

“when the roots are deep…”

he looked into the mirror, fingertips brushing the magnolia pinned near his heart.

“i’m still growin’, baby,” he whispered. “and I think I finally found good soil.”

stack’s voice came from the doorway, warm and steady. “e, don’t let that cherophobia ruin this damn day for you,” he strolled over to his other half, “‘cuz i spent too much on a damn suit that ain’t even my favorite color” he complained

“but what if someone objects? o-or she has second thoughts and gets cold feet?” smoke’s once relaxed features now etched with paranoia; gripping him like a vice

stack just sighed, smirk tugging at the corner as he shook his head. “1. i don’t think that’s how that works, especially at weddings and 2. sounds like you’re the one gettin’ the chills in ya big toe,”

stack watched his brother spiral in silence for a moment—eyes darting, lips tight, fear creeping up like smoke from an old fire. then he stepped forward and pressed his weight on him like a ragdoll, locking his eyes on his twin in the mirror

“look at me, e.”

smoke raised his eyes slowly.

“she chose you, my nigga. ain’t no bluff, no charity, no ‘maybe.’ she know who you are, who you was, what you used to do and she still wanna meet you at the altar. that mean somethin’.” he jabbed a finger right where the magnolia was pinned against smoke’s chest.

smoke stared at it, silent, trying to breathe past the knot in his throat.

stack pulled back, eyes narrowing like he was tryna decide whether to console him… —or call him a pussy. then his lips curved. “y’know what? you remind me of that one song…” he started, waving a finger as if he was sorting through his memory right before him. smoke sighed.

“what fuckin’ song stack?” smoke asked, sounding exhausted of his own paranoia

stack cleared his throat as he rested back on his twin, “so.. i typed a text to a girl I used to see, sayin' that i chose this cutie pie with whom i wanna be” smoke shook his head at his twin’s stupidity, but a tiny smile was threatening his lips.

stack raised his arms in feigned surrender, backing away while still going “…and i apologize if this message gets you down then i cc'ed every girl that i'd see-see 'round town and hate to see y'all frown, but I'd rather see her smilin'” he pointed towards the door, like he could already see her at the altar, waiting.

smiling.

for him.

“wetness all around me, true, but I'm no island, peninsula maybe” stack shrugged, sauntering over to open the door, revealing sammie, cornbread & a surprisingly sober delta slim that all held knowing grins

stack strolled back to smoke, slung an arm over his shoulder, cool as ever. “it makes no sense, I know crazy? give up all this pussycat that's in my lap, no lookin' back”

smoke snorted despite himself, head dipping down, that weight on his chest beginning to ease. “you done?” he asked quietly.

stack just smirked. “would not burn me on my bum, when I shoot the moon high jump the broom, like a preemie out the womb”

“my partner yellin' "too soon! don't do it!, reconsider! read some literature on the subject, you sure? fuck it”

“y’know we got your back like chiropractic,” cornbread brought him into a brotherly dap

sammie giddily joined in, “if that bitch do you dirty, we'll wipe her ass out as in detergent” smoke cut his eyes at his cousin, an unspoken “my wife ain’t some bitch” look

“now hurry, hurry, go on to the altar!” they all shouted in unison, laughter erupting as they pulled smoke in for big bear hugs, back slaps, and handshakes. then, just like that, the others filtered out—leaving only smoke and stack in the quiet of the dressing room again.

stack leaned in, hand cupped around the back of his twin’s neck, foreheads nearly touching. “i know you ain’t a pimp,” he said softly, “but pimp… remember what i taught ya.”

stack cut in again, voice low now—soft but clear as a prayer, “keep your heart, 3 stacks, keep your heart…” he squeezed firmly, a few tears flowing down his twin’s cheeks without him realizing his crumbling exterior.

“hey, keep your heart, 3 stacks, keep your heart… man, these girls is smart, 3 stacks, y/n is smart” smoke let out a choked half-laugh, half-sob, wiping at his eyes at the alternation.

“play your part,” stack whispered, brushing away one last tear from his twin’s face.

the music started soft—low strings and the distant coo of a piano, like the prelude of a dream. the altar was dressed beautifully—lit candles, antique candelabras, and vines crawling up wooden beams like nature wanted to bear witness too. the double doors parted, first came pearline, regal as ever, arm locked with a freshly lined-up sammie, who walked like the aisle was his big break.

behind them came grace, cheeks pink with nerves, walking proudly beside bo, who nodded respectfully to everyone like he was at a barbecue and a board meeting all at once.

then came cornbread, slow-steppin’, lips pursed with fake reverence and one hand curled protectively around mary’s. she looked elegant—graceful even—but something in her eyes was off. distracted. sharp.

grace’s brow furrowed. a subtle twitch that can be missed if you wasn’t taking in the details of each bridesmaid. however, pearline noticed too, glancing discreetly over her shoulder once the pair had passed.

and that’s when it hit them.

there were only three groomsmen.

and stack hadn’t walked out with any of them.

pearline leaned in to grace, her voice barely a thread beneath the music.

“where’s stack?”

grace shook her head slowly, clutching her bouquet tighter. “i was wonderin’ the same thing.”

mary, already halfway into formation, dipped her chin slightly as she caught their eyes.

then, low and quick like a snake through grass, she whispered—just loud enough for them to hear, “smoke ain’t cold, but his feet might be. stack’s in the back—tryna keep it from reachin’ her before it’s too late.”

grace’s eyes widened.

pearline’s lips parted, but she said nothing. just turned forward again, holding her position like any good soldier would.

the music swelled again. the chapel walls seemed to lean in closer.

the tension had shifted—just slightly.

a tremor beneath all the satin and lace.

the hush in the chapel was thunderous once the doors opened for a second time

and there she was.

y/n, radiant. floating. veiled in ivory and wrapped in soft candlelight. every step was poetry. every breath held in by the crowd.

her hand clutched her father’s arm like a lifeline, bouquet trembling just enough to give her nerves away.

but when her eyes lifted—when they reached the altar, her breath caught.

there was no groom waiting.

the aisle stretched on, long and holy. the officiant stood patiently beneath the archway, hands folded. the groomsmen had lined up. the bridesmaids were all in place. but the man she was walking toward?

he wasn’t there.

y/n’s heel stuttered on the tile. a half-step. almost nothing, but her father felt it.

“hey,” he murmured, squeezing her hand tight. “look at me.”

she turned, eyes wide with quiet panic, lips already trembling. “now i know what you’re thinkin’, baby girl. but let me ask you this…”

his voice softened, memories laced through every word.

“‘member that time you got sick down in lil’ rock? 4 states away, middle of nowhere, ain’t no flights runnin’, weather all sideways?”

y/n blinked, throat thickening.

“you ain’t even call him. just mentioned it to pearline in a damn text. and that boy—that man—showed up at your door in less than twelve hours. had soup in one hand and damn near tears in his eyes.”

she let out a shaky laugh, shoulders easing just a little. her father leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple like he used to when she was little.

“if that man could move mountains and highways to get to you then, you don’t think he movin’ heaven and hell to get to you now?”

y/n swallowed hard, vision blurring behind her veil—but her back straightened. her grip steadied.

she nodded once, strong. chest now blossoming with confidence, not for herself but for her husband

“alright then,” her father smiled. “let’s go greet whatever miracle’s 'bout to walk through them doors.” and together, they began walking again

she reached the altar with every eye still on her, every breath in the chapel caught in a slow, suspended hush.

her father brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. then, as if blessing her journey into something deeper, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“you’re gonna be alright,” he whispered. “you already are.”

he stepped aside, blinking faster than he’d admit, and gave her hand one final squeeze before moving to his seat.

y/n stood alone now at the altar—no veil of nerves left to hide behind. just her, radiant and trembling, wrapped in satin and courage.

pearline was the first to speak, soft and reverent from behind her.

“girl… you look like a damn vision.” her voice cracked halfway through, eyes shining with pride. “ain’t no one ever looked that stunning and that ready at the same time.”

grace fanned herself dramatically, sniffling. “lord, bo, i might cry more than i did at our wedding.”

bo, standing among the groomsmen with a steady expression, gave a quiet, reassuring nod to y/n

“he’s comin’,” he said calmly, his voice carrying just enough to be heard without stirring the crowd. “man like that? he wouldn’t leave you. not for all the nerves in the world.”

y/n blinked away the burn in her eyes, lips parting—but she couldn’t find words.

mary gave her a slow wink from the bridesmaid line, chin tilted, that old fire in her voice. “you better not cry and mess up that beat face. stack’d kill him before you ever got the chance.”

the guests were quiet, but a ripple of chuckles moved through the front pews.

as if on queue, the music started again but this time bold and a little too upbeat. people turned, confused, as the chapel doors flung open like a movie set.

and there he was. stack.

“y’all can relax—wedding’s still on!” he announced, arms wide like a prophet, tux glistening under the light, sunglasses still on indoors.

he strutted down the aisle slow, with the kind of confidence that said ‘i helped make this day happen, so you gon’ see me’.

“y’all thought i wasn’t gon’ walk?” he called out, halfway down. “i’m the best man, not otis!”

laughter bubbled up from both sides of the aisle. pearline groaned, already shaking her head, while someone’s uncle clapped in approval.

“he treatin’ this like a bet awards entrance,” mary muttered from the bride’s side.

stack paused to shake hands with a few guests like he was campaigning for mayor. then he stopped mid-aisle, threw his head back dramatically and yelled

“SMOKE! THEY WAITIN’ ON YO’ BLACK ASS!”

that drew full-on laughter this time.

stack made it to the altar, popped his collar, and dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief like the moment was too hot to handle.

“okay, now we good,” he grinned, finally falling in line beside the officiant. “commence the tear-jerkin’ shit.”

then the music shifted.

a slower, cooler rhythm with that deep southern soul rolled in. the chapel settled.

and then— smoke appeared.

framed in the doorway like the final line of a poem; royal blue tux sharp as sins from his youth, magnolia pinned near his heart like a memory.

his eyes swept the room—nerves still lingering in their corners—but when they landed on her?

the world quieted— his world quieted

y/n stood at the altar, light hitting her just right—veil soft like moonlight, bouquet clutched tight to her ribs. her lips parted, and though her eyes shimmered, they didn’t cry. she smiled.

the kind of smile that broke chains and erased all doubt

smoke exhaled hard, almost staggered. like something cracked wide open inside him and poured out into the soles of his shoes, steadying him.

he walked.

not rushed. not too slow. just enough to carry the weight of this moment like a crown and a cross, that won’t be stolen from him this time

pearline mouthed, “told ya’.”

mary let out a relieved breath, fanning herself with her bouquet.

bo gave a knowing nod to his longtime friend

and stack?

stack smirked like his work here was done.

as smoke reached the altar, he didn’t say anything right away. he just took her hand.

“sorry i was late…”

II

[starliis]

[SNEAK PEAK] members only— sinners.

 pairing

vampire! elias “stack” moore x black! reader.

 synopsis

the paper carried news of southern mississippi becoming home to one of the largest missing persons cases on a single night. word traveled north to chicago—where seeing his name among the vanished, shattered you. that is, until he began appearing at your home near gold coast, night after night. except this time he wasn’t the same. there was something otherworldly in his eyes, in the way he lingered in shadows. even at the lounge where you danced, he would come, demanding members-only access, as though nothing, not even death, could keep him from you.

 warnings

afab!reader, sexual content, in other words smut, mature content, consensual sex. fleeting lovers, vampire!stack, some angst + pining, soft obsession, possessive tenderness, romance, african american reader; black representation, reader smoke cigarettes, violence warning; guns are used. takes place in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written regularly, with dialogue in a southern tone.

October 31, 1932 — Chicago Defender

MASS VANISHING IN MISSISSIPPI: FOUR DOZEN BLACK CIVILIANS GONE, SAWMILL SOAKED IN BLOOD.

Authorities are baffled as ‘mill party ends in slaughter and mystery.

The night erupted in horror as a vast gathering of Southern Mississippi residents disappeared without a trace. What remained was a sawmill soaked in blood, with bodies of white men strewn across the grounds. The sole suspect, identified as Elijah Moore, was himself found dead at the scene. Authorities released a list of names believed to have attended the gathering, which has been formally broadcast over the radio and printed in local newspapers, for none of the missing have yet been found or recovered.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

Smoke curled from the cigarette that dangled between your lips, rising into the evening air like mist. It's slow burn reminded you of your exhaustion. An ache not only of the body but of the heart, even the soul. A fatigue that burrowed deep into your bones and clung with maddening persistence. On the table, a lone candle guttered, its flame quivering against the shadows as you stared at the ceiling. If it weren't illegal to buy wine, you would already have a glass in hand-anything to dull the weight pressing down, to soften the pain of loss, and to ease the sharper ache of not knowing whether you would ever receive the grace of goodbye.

Then came a low, almost shallow knock that was loud enough to be heard but careful not to be mistaken for anything else.

The reverberating sound sent a shiver down your spine. Who, in their right mind, would come here at half past midnight on a weekday? The cigarette burned to its end between your fingers, ash scattering across the floorboards as the candle flickered eerily. All of it—classic bad omens. Signs your mother had once taught you to heed, steeped in the hoodoo she carried long before she migrated north.

Another knock followed, and with that, you rose, heart caught between dread and defiance. Before stepping toward the door, you reached for the small .32 Smith & Wesson Revolver that had been tucked away. It had been the only gun your daddy made sure you knew how to handle before he passed. In this day and age, anything could happen, and you had learned better than to be caught unprepared.

Slowly, you cracked the door open. Not expecting to come face-to-face with the devil itself. A man stood there, framed by the night. The dim porch light washed across his face, all shadow and sharpness, with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth like he knew he shouldn't be here and didn't care.

"Stack," you whispered in disbelief, fingers tightening around the doorframe, while the other hand instinctively gripped over the handle of the gun.

"Now I'll admit, I didn't expect ya' t' open up. Figured' you'd leave me out here all night, just waitin' on ya""

"I-I don' understand," you continue as if he didn't just speak. "Your name was in this mornin' paper."

"Was it now? An' what way's that?"

"It was on the list," you admit softly. "As one o' them missin' persons."

Stack chuckles low, the sound rattling your ribs more than the gun in your hand ever could. "Missin' ain't the same as gone, darlin. Least, not when it comes t' me."

Something wasn't adding up. His demeanor didn't match that of a man who'd just lost his brother or lived through a tragedy. You let your gaze roam over him, taking in the fitted vest worn without a shirt, the kind of choice that left nothing to the imagination. Every ridge and contour of his torso stood out in sharp relief, muscles defined as though carved from stone. There was a magnetic, predatory quality in the way he carried himself, something that made your pulse falter-amplified by the sharp, canine glint of his teeth when he smiled, or when that smile threatened to turn into a snarl. The grills caught the dim porch light, flashing with a dangerous, otherworldly gleam. He didn't simply stand on your doorstep; he commanded it, radiating confidence, menace, and an intoxicating allure that was impossible to look away from.

In that moment, nothing he could say would ease the gnawing unease in your chest. Something about him felt off, though you couldn't yet put a finger on it. The only way to uncover the truth was by asking the right questions, so you weighed your thoughts carefully before finally voicing one aloud.

"Where's your brother?"

"Handlin' business, 'per usual."

"Wit'out you?"

"He don't need me for everythin’. 'Sides, I got me a few things t' tend t' over here in Chicago—,” he pauses, locking eyes with you, an otherworldly gleam flickering within them. His next words strike like a blade, heavy with a meaning that lands squarely in your gut. "More specifically, Gold Coast."

The only person he knew in this area was you. That is why he added it, to make clear that it was you who inspired him to come here.

"What business you done got wit' me?"

"Nothin' crazy, baby. Jus' wanted t' lay eyes on ya"," he admits easily, letting the words roll off like whiskey. "So why don'tcha go on and let me in? Hell, we got a whole ‘lotta time t' make up f’r."

Without warning, you raise the gun, leveling it at his head. He only lifts his hands in mock surrender, leaning lazy against the doorframe like he owns the place. The wood groans under his weight, but his stance stays loose and unbothered. His steady eyes never leave yours, carrying that same dangerous calm that makes your finger twitch against the trigger.

"Now," he hums. "Mind yo' aim."

"I'll mind it when you start makin' sense," you snap. “Cause none a' the shit you spillin' is addin' up."

"These city niggas done got ya’ sold on some make-believe shit. Go on an' put that down 'fore I gotta handle yo' ass myself."

"You ain't handle'n' shit, but since you wanna keep playin' wit' me," your words trail away as an idea comes to mind. Without breaking eye contact, you snatch the paper off the door, side-table and toss it at him. It smacks his chest, falling open at his shoes. "Why don't you go on an' read that. Then tell me I'm crazy again."

Stack stoops and picks up the paper. His eyes scanning through the print. For the first time, tonight, that familiar grin of his fades completely. His jaw tightens, muscles flexing with emotion, and when he lifts his gaze, a shadow lingers in his eyes.

"Smoke dead?"

"What? You mean t' tell me you ain't heard?"

He doesn't answer, which leaves you to believe maybe he didn't. The silence crawls thick through the space, heavier than the barrel still aimed at his skull.

"What the fuck's goin' on, Stack? What're you doin' here? What happened t' Smoke... what happened t' you? What the fuck went down in Mississippi?"

"I'll answer all yo' questions later," Stack leans back slightly, running a hand over his face, eyes dark but controlled. "But I got some shit t' handle first, he looks at you, at the gun in your hand and the robe on your shoulders before slipping away from the door. "I'll be back fo' you, [Name]. Jus' like I promised."

Then, he slipped back into the shadows, his body vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. With a quick motion, you shut the door and sank to the floor, still gripping the gun. Had it all been a figment of your imagination? Was he really missing—or was it something far worse? Heart racing, you grabbed your keys and bolted for your mother's house. If anyone might know something, it would be her.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────── coming soon.

authors’ ending note: always got ideas for these men. and i’m coming hard for the month of october, this’ll be mix well with spooky season, heavy smut, and is a bit of a longer read but hopefully it’ll be one for the books.