Annie and Smoke survive the night of the juke. This was part of the two-shot that this series was supposed to be, but I won't be using it anymore.
*NOT EDITED*
Warnings: Fluff, smut, mentions of blood, grief, and death
October 15, 1932 — Morning
Annie stood at the wash basin, lye soap in hand, humming something sweet. It wasn’t anything she’d actually heard before. It was something she felt, like breath and heartbeat. It lived in her chest, clinging to her ribs like a hearty meal.
She felt a tug in her spirit. Both butterflies and unease twisted in her gut.
Smoke’s comin’ home today, she thought to herself. The thought felt like an omen. Annie hoped, prayed, he wouldn’t bring anything from Chicago with him. She wasn’t worried about a woman. Not the law, nor the mob. Not even the klan.
It was something much worse.
The road to Annie’s shop lay just ahead, looming, narrow and rugged. Dirt kicked up from the wheels, a thick cloud of red dust and exhaust smoke that billowed into the sky and disappeared into the trees.
Seven years had gone by. Seven years of Chicago winters and tear-stained letters. Seven years of ache. Seven years of keeping his brother safe. And seven years without the woman who kept them both alive.
He and Stack shared a lil’ kitchenette apartment in the blackbelt. They ran jobs for Capone, hoarding money, gold, and hooch, and stashing it in a dilapidated warehouse. It was risky business, sure— but Chicago was always a means to an end.
It meant no more busting ass for the white man to roll up a few days after Christmas, cigar in his mouth, smirk on his face, just to tell him he still owed him money after picking his cotton all fucking year.
They had plans. Big ones. They’d open a place where their people could enjoy themselves. Not some raggedy shit that ran out of a plantation shack. They’d buy that old sawmill, patch it up, turn it into a juke joint.
He’d put his share of the profit into something more stable— a funeral home on Issaquena, running hearses from there to Mound Bayou. And Smoke, he could finally build his wife that house they both dreamed about. Something real peaceful. Two stories, a kitchen, a garden, a picket fence, pigpen and a chicken coop. They could live off the land and fill the house with babies. Little chocolate cherubs with his dimples and her eyes.
He’d begged her to follow him. He said he’d go ahead, set everything up for them, take a job at the stockyard. He’d work his way up and buy them a place over in Bronzeville. Something comfortable, with a view of Lake Michigan. A fresh start.
She refused. Told him that blood kept her bound to the land. That she wouldn’t leave their daughter’s grave untended. She poured her soul into his mojo bag before he left. He’d press his lips to it sometimes, when the ache started to feel tangible. He could still taste the salt from her tears, like she blessed it with them.
He kissed her hard and fucked her slow the night before. Then he tucked his hat and held her softly as she wept on his chest.
“I love you.”
He didn’t apologize or make promises. He didn’t need to. Their understanding went beyond what words could explain. When she looked up at him, doe eyes red-rimmed and watery, his chest tightened. Her gaze pierced his soul. He kissed her trembling lips once more, then he walked out the door.
Smoke’s truck stopped short of the house. He took a deep breath. Then he cut the engine, and stepped out of his truck. He looked around, taking it all in slowly. The porch still sagged in the middle; a wayward floorboard still hung loose on the steps. But the garden was tended. The faint scent of rosemary she used to sweep the porch still hung in the air.
He looked to his left and froze. A little mound of earth. A stone with a small handprint. A bottle of fresh milk. An Egun stick...she taught him that. And a rusted tin for flowers. He took off his cap, the bundle of flowers trembling slightly in his hand.
He couldn’t remember how long he’d been crouching before he noticed the wind had stopped blowing. The throaty flute of a windchime sounded and pollen danced around his head, but he could feel no breeze. A chill ran down his spine. The same chill he felt during long nights in Chicago, when the danger felt close and the longing got rough. Nights he swore he could hear her calling his name in narrow alleyways and the back of speakeasies.
His voice was thick, heavy with the weight of things left unsaid.
“How you be?”
Annie shifted her weight, leaning against the doorframe.
“No misery’s worth complaining about.” She spoke with a rawness that brought him to his feet.
When he finally turned to look at her, his breath left him. She looked regal, leather belt cinching her waist, blue skirts moving like tide. She stood perfectly still inside the doorway, looking like a force to be reckoned with. Like a current.
Grief, longing, love and ache all channeled into something that looked more like peace on her. Acceptance. Purpose.
This wasn’t the woman he left seven years ago, the one who kissed left teardrops on the leather of his mojo bag. Certainly not the woman he met 13 years prior— a shy young woman of 18 whose words were spoken quietly but carried weight.
This woman was different. Born of water and baptized in fire. She stood in front of him, a formidable woman. A pillar, a beacon. Unbridled, unapologetic.
Reborn.
The air was thick, sweltering with a lust-filled heat that rivaled the Mississippi’s. Wet smacks and low grunts echoed off the wall, jars and vials clinked as they fell making room for the slick joining of two bodies drunk with need.
Smoke wasn’t gentle. He spun her around and shoved her dress up, putting her exactly where he wanted her. There was no formality, no softness— just a raw need to be close. He pushed in with one long thrust that filled her completely. The stretch was overwhelming— he was thick and long, and it made her face twist up in ecstasy. Her hands reached out, her fingernails digging into the warped wood.
“Nuh-uh, where you goin?”
Smoke pulled out, angling her hips, spreading her wider. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back onto his dick. This angle hit deeper, making Annie see stars. She squealed in pleasure.
“Ah! Elijah!”
He set a punishing rhythm, the wet slap of skin spurring him on. He licked up her neck, then buried his face in it, growling in her ear.
“Who pussy is this?”
“Yours!”
“Say it,” he gritted, feeling her clamp down on him.
“Ah—this p-pussy belongs to you papa!”
“Mhmm.” Smoke slowed down his strokes, letting every thick vein glide against her sensitive walls.
“I’ma fill you up,” he said breathlessly. “Leave you leakin’. Want you walkin’ around that juke full of my nut.” He pulled her hair back, making her arch into him. “You want that baby? Want me to make a mess in you?”
“Yes papa,” she moaned. “I want it drippin’ down my thighs.”
“Ask nicely,” he grunted, tilting his head. She was squeezing him again, her pussy working hard to milk that nut out.
“Please papa,” she whined. “Please make a mess in me.”
Smoke groaned. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”
He sped up his strokes again and Annie started screaming. “Come on baby,” he barked. “Fuck me back. Show me how much you missed papa’s dick.”
And like the good girl that Annie was, she followed her papa’s orders.
A Few Hours Later…
Smoke and Annie pulled up to the mill just as the sun began to set, the sky the color of a bruise. He cut the engine, going over the events of the night. Annie tried to listen, as he went on about roulettes and Irish beer, but her thoughts kept drifting like something reached into her brain and yanked.
“Smoke, what time is it?”
Smoke looked down at his watch. “4:32,” he grumbled.
She grabbed her haint beads.
Smoke raised a brow from the driver’s seat. “You good mama?”
Annie hesitated. “Sun rose at six this mornin’. Ain’t due to set for another hour.”
Smoke rubbed her shoulder as Stack approached the truck. “What you thinkin’?”
Annie looked at Smoke dead in his eyes, “This place give me the willies.”
“Hey sis-in-law, long time no see,” Stack said as he opened the passenger door. He removed his hat and helped her out.
“Hey Stack,” she said, bringing him into a hug.
“Thanks for comin’ tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Annie said, still tugging her elekes. Just as she slipped into the building she looked up— three vultures sat perched on the roof.
Music was flowing, plates were selling, bottles of beer and mason jars of wine and whiskey clinked in the air. Annie stood behind the bar, looking at what her husband and his twin put together for their community with a sense of pride. Still, she couldn’t help but feel an impending sense of doom.
It wasn’t too often people her color were allowed prolonged happiness. There would always be some white person who came along and disturbed their peace just because they could. That’s what they did— they lived to reduce them to nothing but hard laborers and strip any sense of joy they tried to cultivate. That was their formula— break ‘em before they think they deserve more.
But this…this was something different.
It felt older— older than Jim Crow and much more sinister.
As soon as Sammie struck his first chord, she felt it.
The veil wasn’t just thinning, it had split wide open.
🎵See I’m full of the Blues, Holy water too…
I know the truth hurts, so I lied to you…🎵
“Ain't no way of bringing nobody back once they gone, that don’t involve evil. Best thang we can do for ‘em is free they spirit from the curse.”
— Annie Moore
Club Juke turned into a mix of blood, fangs and fire.
Stack emerged from the shadows and lunged, pinning Annie to the ground.
“No!” Smoke darted towards her, but was intercepted by Remmick.
“Elias, not Annie!”
This is it, she thought. She knew when she threw her bones it would come to this, it just hurt to think it’d come at the hands of Stack. That the man in charge of her demise would wear the same face as her husband.
She thought about what she could have done. Then she thought about what happened the last time she didn’t let things play out the way they were supposed to. She thought about Smoke, about what she made him promise. He was screaming her name, pleading with Stack while she sobbed quietly. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to witness the pain on his face.
“Not you,” Annie whispered between tears.
Stack pulled her jaw towards him. His eyes shined bright, a chilling pale blue. His mouth twisted into a smirk, drool dripping slowly from his fangs. He smirked wider when she squirmed, taunting her. He was enjoying this, seeing her uncomfortable, hearing his twin plead for her life. He took his time, watching her try to wiggle out of his grip with amusement. Annie braced herself as Stack lowered his head.
The screams faded. The shooting, snarling, crackle of fire, all dulled like the world was holding its breath. Annie squeezed her eyes shut, praying quietly as she felt fangs tease her neck.
“Asé.”
Click-click.
BOOM!
Smoke was freed from Remmick’s grip.
Click-click.
BOOM!
“Annie!”
Annie’s eyes flew open to find Pearline standing above her reloading her shotgun, the barrel still smoking.
“Annie! Get up!”
Smoke all but dragged her up off the floor, putting a stake in her hand. A not-so-subtle reminder that the fight wasn’t over. Not until they got Sammie someplace safe. “Come on baby, ain’t done yet.”
October 16, 1932
The air felt thick, like the morning after a storm. It smelled of iron, ash, and the morbidly-sweet rot of a juke joint stripped of its soul and forced to its grave. Death moved through the floorboards like a presence, lingering in corners and clinging to walls like shadows that bent wrong. The sun was still on its ascent, the pale light of morning peaking through the rafters, smoking the vampire bodies in its path.
The shooting stopped five minutes ago, but Annie couldn’t tell. Time here felt like it was holding its breath— like she was standing at the edge of something she couldn’t name, but recognized its shape. Like someone split the veil open and something older stepped out.
Annie sat on top of the bar, trying to quiet the sounds of pain, horror and surrender that echoed in her head. She was slouched, breath stuck in her throat, limbs trembling under the weight of grief and guilt. Her face was covered— a layer of dust, blood and sweat like a second skin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, raw and filled with tears that cleared a path where they fell like a map no one asked for. Her dress was in tatters, shoes long gone— lost somewhere in the fight.
Delta Slim’s body was in literal pieces on the stage. Mangled and completely drained of blood, it was a chilling testament to the terror that tore through the night. His harmonica lay amidst a chaotic pile of splintered wood, shards of glass, and blood splatter like a shiny, silver headstone.
Her shoulders shook, tears spilling down her cheeks. The place that was supposed to be somewhere for their community to enjoy themselves became a vehicle of violence and destruction. Of course the klan were involved. Smoke took them out by himself. Picked them off one by one, just like he promised. The mill door creaked open and he stumbled in clutching his side.
“Baby,” Annie gasped, “you hurt?!”
Smoke shook his head. “Just a graze. But we gotta go. I got the truck ready.”
He scooped Annie in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers. His white undershirt was stained red, his pants caked with dirt and gunpowder. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, his hands trembling where he touched her. He had Stack’s dogtags wrapped around his wrist.
“Thought I was gon’ lose you for good,” he murmured. “Ain’t livin’ without you again.”
Annie cradled his face, her tears still flowing. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not without you.”
“Then let’s go home, Mrs. Moore.”
They burned the mill and every trace of what transpired there to the ground until the land was as dark as the blood and ash that soaked it. Black fumes billowed in the air for miles, the smell so vile it burned their eyes. They drove until they couldn’t smell it anymore. Then they kept driving until they saw Spanish moss and swampland. Louisiana.
Her parent’s cottage was still there. Long unoccupied, but still standing. It had a wide porch, a large backyard, and her grandmother’s wind chimes still hanging by the front door. It felt like peace, like this was home now.
Annie swept the floorboards with rosemary and performed her protection spells while Smoke beat the rugs out back and hid their stash under the floorboards.
They bathed together, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. They held each other a little tighter that night, the kerosene lamp throwing gold shadows against their skin. He laid behind her and slid in slowly. The thick stretch of him, the power in his strokes made her shudder with pleasure. He was still buried deep when they drifted off, tangled in the sheets, bodies slick with their love. And when the light of dawn made their eyelids flutter awake, he took her again.
Three Months Later
January 31, 1933
Life was joyfully slow. Annie fed the chickens and tended her shop. Smoke found honest work on the railroad. Every morning they watched the sunrise together. Every night they’d hold each other close, listening to the bullfrogs and crickets compete for sound. He’d fuck her filthy every chance he got. Talk her through it, leave her leaking. She stayed so full of him, he filled her with babies, too.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and saltpork. Annie stood at the stove, apron tied loosely over a faded green house dress that fit a little more snug now that she was showing. She smiled down at her growing belly, rubbing it with one hand and stirring a pot of butter beans with the other. Her hips swayed slowly to the song she hummed under her breath. Smoke sat at the kitchen table, watching her with a tender heat. He crossed the room in two strides, pressing himself against her back.
“I’m hungry,” he said roughly.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “Supper’s almost ready, baby.”
“Nah,” he muttered. “My food right here. Been marinatin’ all day.”
He dropped to his knees and pulled up her dress. No panties.
“Mhmm.” He smacked each ass cheek. “Arch that back, baby.”
Annie whimpered. She arched her back.
He licked his lips and dove in tongue first.
October 15, 1933
Smoke sat in the living room, rocking their daughter. She babbled and cooed gently as he held her on his chest, just above his heart.
Annie kneeled at her altar with a heavy heart, eyes wide with unshed tears. She laid a spread out in front of her like something sacred.
A pearl for Pearline.
A flask for Slim.
An old button from a pair of overalls for Cornbread.
Bo’s keychain.
And a paintbrush for Grace.
She thought about Cornbread. How Therese had to raise their child alone. Thought about lil’ Lisa, how her parents never came home. She thought about Pearline, a woman just trying to find some escape and got caught in the crosshairs.
Then she thought about Slim. Thought about how he laid down his life for Sammie. Welcomed death with open arms.
“He’ll be visitin’ Sammie,” she whispered. “Watchin’ him play.”
Then she thought about everyone else at the juke. Her community who came there looking for freedom and fun, and ended up getting burnt by the sun. Those people left behind children, siblings, parents, friends, lovers, lives, legacies. She still remembered standing there next to Smoke, watching the mill burn to ash and feeling the souls stuck on that land, rotting, cursed.
“I think about y’all all the time,” she said to the empty room. “I wanna help y’all crossover proper…just don’t know how.”
A tear fell onto her bottom lip. She licked it, tasting the salt of her pain.
“I need you grandma, great-grandma,” she pleaded softly. “Please.”
She bowed her head and cried. “So many people lost that night,” she sniffled. “Just gone. It ain’t right.”
A windchime sounded outside, but Annie didn’t hear it. The room got colder, the candles flickered once then held steady.
That’s heavy work, baby girl.
Her head snapped up. “Grandma?”
Abeni.
That was a different voice.
Annie paused. “Who are you?”
The stolen one.
A third voice. Annie thought for a moment, the constant tears shedding clouding her eyes and her mind.
“Great-grandma?”
It was silent for a beat. Then—
The flood. The voice said.
Annie gasped. “The one on the other side.”
Your spirit looks sad.
“I could have done something,” she whispered.
Wouldn’t have stopped it no way. That kind of creature, they love to feed on a woman with your gift. Makes ‘em more powerful.
“How do I start? What can I do?”
A body is a good start.
“So they have to be alive?”
That kind, they may walk this earth, but they ain’t alive.
“But I can set their spirits free?”
You can guide it around what’s feedin’ on it. But it ain’t easy. Gon’ take a lot from you, just like it took from me. Their soul has to want it. And some souls, they like bein’ fed on— no matter what they say. Their type— they’re tricksters. Don’t confuse a spirit that wants to be set free with a rotted flesh that wants to lure you in.
Nine Years Later
October 25, 1941
The living room was…loud. A cacophony of toddler babbling, baby cooing and the high pitch of children’s voices. They huddled around the ham radio, turning the knob until they heard the smooth hum of the radio station.
“Hush now! Don’t y’all wanna hear cousin Sammie on the radio?”
A chorus of yes sir’s rang out. Five to be exact.
“Then be quiet ‘fore ya mama send y’all back to bed,” Smoke barked out.
Annie appeared from the back room, baby Ezra suckling her breast. “Now why am I in it?”
Smoke pulled her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I just wanted you out here, baby. Missed you when you was gone.”
Annie giggled, moving Ezra to her shoulder to burp. “I been gone for five minutes, Smoke.”
He nuzzled her ear, then kissed her on the cheek. “Five minutes too long.”
Smoke squeezed Annie’s waist when a familiar bassline came over the radio.
🎵Somethin’ I wanna tell ya, ‘fore a long time…
It might hurt ya, might lose ya mind…🎵
They looked at each other with recognition. The painful memories of that night still haunted them— Smoke would wake up gasping, covered in sweat. He’d grab his gun and check the locks twice before crawling back in bed. Sometimes Annie would see burning bodies when she closed her eyes. Bo, Grace, Pearline, Cornbread. Slim’s mangled body. His harmonica that laid on the stage like a grave marker.
Stack came around sometimes. He’d leave candy for the kids, whiskey for Smoke and flowers for Annie. Him and Mary settled across the river in New Orleans, living in the shadows of narrow alleyways, rotting churches, and abandoned mills. They could be around their own kind down there, a certain kind of freedom if you squinted your eyes and looked real close.
Sammie wrote to his cousins every two weeks. He made it to Chicago and recorded “I Lied to You” at Columbia Records the following year. Took him a whole week to get it done ‘cause the equipment kept shutting down mid-session. He told Annie that sometimes, when he was alone in the booth, he’d smell a whiff of corn liquor, followed by the faint thrum of a harmonica and a familiar cackle. He wrote a song for his old friend that day, the man who sacrificed himself so he could be free. It’d go on to be the second single on his debut album. Called it “Magic (It’s What We Do).”
December 7, 1985
The room held its breath.
The oxygen machine hissed. The heart monitor beeped rhythmically. Their children, all six of them in their 40’s and 50’s now surrounded Annie’s bedside.
Smoke sat in the chair next to her, staring at the woman he loved since 1919. He was bald now, wrinkled, even walked with a cane— but his presence still filled a room and pressed into the corners.
“Thank you,” he whispered, just so Annie could hear it. “For givin’ me this life.”
Annie smiled weakly. “You mean havin’ all your bighead babies?”
Elijah Jr, who looked like he could have been Smoke and Stack’s triplet, spoke up. “Now mama, why we gotta be big headed?”
Smoke chuckled, rubbing her hand gently. “For lovin’ me. For givin’ me another chance,” he said softly. “And havin’ all my big headed babies.”
Annie choked out a laugh that turned into a cough.
Their eldest daughter Grace stepped forward, helping her mother sit up. “Mama, the doctor said relax. Don’t be workin’ yourself up.”
Annie swatted her daughter’s arm. “Y’all don’t need to worry about me. Be laughin’ plenty where I’m goin’.”
“Mama don’t talk like that!” she hissed, voice thick with emotion.
“Look here,” Annie started. “I told y’all this day would come. Everybody got a time. You just pray that your time come when you ready and not because somebody else decided for you.”
“Mama….”
Annie sat up fully with Smoke’s help. “Now I want y’all to listen to me. I ain’t got long for this earth. And I ain’t scared. I feel a peace I ain’t never felt before. Know where I’m goin’, I get to see your sister again.”
Smoke squeezed her hand.
“She would have been 62 this year. But she wasn’t meant to be on this earth that long. I had to learn to accept that. Took a while. Hurt real bad. Wasn’t my fault, or yo daddy’s. Not everybody meant to stay long. Some people shorter than others. Don’t mean they life didn’t mean nothin’. Your sister didn’t make it a year and I still remember her laugh like it was yesterday. Still remember what she smell like — milk and lavender.”
Annie smiled to herself.
“It used to hurt thinkin’ about her. Thought I’d never think on her without it takin’ a piece of me. But now I feel joy.” She paused. “That’s how I want y’all to remember me. Y’all have a piece of me in you, so whenever you get sad, just remember…you a part of me. I’ll always be here in spirit.”
Annie looked around the room at her family, the children her and Smoke made out of love and wrapped up in it. She looked at her husband, a formidable man even in his old age. Their eyes held a silent conversation.
“I love you.”
Smoke kissed the back of her hand. “I love you too, mama.”
She winked at him, then she laid back with a smile and closed her eyes. The beep of the heart monitor slowly decreased.
Annie took her last breath that night. Smoke sat by her side— an ever steady presence amidst chaos. He didn’t cry. Didn’t even look sad as the room filled with sobs and screams of their children. He just adjusted her blanket like it would make her more comfortable, kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. “I’ll see you soon.”
He wouldn’t make it to her funeral.
Stack came by that same night. He looked at his 87-year-old brother and saw the face of a man who ultimately lived life on his own terms. He saw a man who led a life so fulfilling, he was happy to leave it to spend eternity in the sky. He saw a man who he knew he’d never see again in person, not even in the mirror.
They stood side-by-side under the old oak in the backyard, watching the warmth of the house lights spill out the windows.
“How’d she go?” Stack asked.
Smoke dipped his head, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Peacefully,” he said quietly.
Stack nodded. “You next,” he said, not a question.
“It’s my time,” Smoke said with finality.
Stack turned to face his brother. “You know I ain’t good at goodbyes,” he said with a shaky voice. “That’s why it’s never goodbye, always see you later.” He tried to chuckle, but a sob came out instead. “But it’s fuckin’ me up that I won’t be seein’ you later ‘cuz of this…curse,” he choked out. Stack took a deep breath to calm himself. “Maybe Annie can conjure up somethin’ from the spirit world, have me swallow some herbs ‘n shit so I can see y’all again.”
Smoke looked at his forever 35-year-old twin with a profound sadness. He saw a restless spirit. He saw a 9-year-old Elias, terrified to walk this world alone. He saw a 23-year-old Stack terrified to go to Little Rock alone. His heart swelled. There were so many emotions he wished he could convey, but they all got stuck— like they were meant to be left unsaid. Or maybe because Stack already knew. “I’ma miss you,” was all he could manage to get out.
They pulled each other into a hug.
“Ain’t no me without you,” he sobbed. “I can’t do this shit without you.”
“You can and you will. You gon’ do it for me. For my lil’ ones. Make sure they don’t get in no trouble.”
Stack chuckled low. “Thought I don’t know how to watch my own back?”
“You ain’t gotta choice now fool,” he laughed. “Annie gon’ put belt-to-ass, even from the afterlife.”
The SmokeStack twins stood under the stars, reminiscing about their glory days and the nights that still haunted them. New York. France. Chicago. Clarksdale. They talked until dawn threatened the horizon. 9 decades. Two brothers. Two paths. Split for eternity. When Smoke turned to the house, he looked over his shoulder one last time and saw tear stained cheeks that matched his own.
“I love you, lil’ brother.”
“I love you too, big brother.”
As Stack watched his brother slip back into the house, something came over him. It wasn’t a breeze. More like a feeling. A prickling of his skin, like when the temperature drops suddenly. Then her scent wrapped around him— lavender and vanilla, the smell so strong it made his nose tingle. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Knew you’d come through,” he whispered into the darkness, tears still falling.
Elijah “Smoke” Moore passed three days later. Peacefully. Just like Annie had. As he took his last few breaths, he smiled weakly at the ceiling. “Told you,” he whispered softly. “I ain’t livin’ without you again.”
Song Inspo: Beetlejuice x Mariah the Scientist (I loveeee this song pls listen)
Author’s Note: Gworlllsss this is my first sinner's fanfic, I hope y'all love it 😝😫💗 Everybody voted smut on the poll so I tried to do fluff, smut, and angst in one to please everybody, luv u 😚 p.s. very lightly proof read, sorry for any mistakes in advance 😬
Late night had settled over Elias’s condo. Leon Thomas drifted from the speakers, lulling the room into a comfortable silence. Dim purple lighting washed over your soft brown skin, making it that much more alluring.
Somewhere nearby, a window was left cracked open and a gentle breeze blew through the curtains across your damp skin, raising goose bumps that sent chills over your body. The air carried the rich, woodsy scent of Elias’s cologne mixed with cooling sweat and the intimate evidence of what you two had been doing for hours.
Stack shifted so that he was between your legs again. His warm, bare chest rested against yours as his eyes wandered over your features, hands on either side of your head. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, your jaw, down your throat. It had only been 15 minutes, and he was already ready for more of you.
“One more baby? Lemme have you again.” His southern drawl came out sweet and enticing. You traced your fingers down his spine as he continued placing tantalizing kisses across your exposed flesh.
“What we doin’ Stack?”
He hummed against your skin in confusion, never stopping his torrent of kisses.
“I’m spending more nights at your place now than my own and we been doin’ this for a hot minute now. We spend most of our time together anyway.”
Stack made his way back to your lips now, leaving a soft one at the corner of your mouth.
“What you gettin’ at, sweetness?” He pulled away to look at you fully now.
“I just mean… is this all? We just gon’ keep hookin’ up and calling each other friends even though we both know it’s more?”
He held your gaze but his expression was unchanged.
“You know you special to me. Ain’t nobody else got me like this.” His hands were roaming your thighs and hips now. His kisses made their way down your tummy, ending with a lingering one above your navel. “We know what it is, why we gotta go and complicate it?”
Before you could answer, the conversation died how it always did. With him between your legs and you too lost in pleasure to continue pressing. But truth be told, you were tired of being his favorite option instead of the only one.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
By the time the weekend came you’d made your decision. You had spent enough time waiting around on Elias to finally claim you. Your mama taught you at a young age that you should never beg a man for anything. What one won’t do, another will. And it was for this reason that you finally said yes to Malik’s offer to take you out for dinner and drinks. He worked in the building next to you and had been chasing you for a while now. You had turned him down more than a few times hoping that Stack would finally put a label on things. But after your previous conversation with him, it was clear that wasn’t happening any time soon. So, today when Malik asked what you were doing that night while y’all ate lunch together, you told him the truth.
Nothing special.
You made your way to your car after work and settled your belongings in the passenger seat. Like clockwork, your phone lit up with a photo of Elias as it began to ring. You stared at the screen for a moment before opting out of answering. Friday nights had been you and Stack’s thing for months now. You would pick the take-out and he’d pick it up after work along with a bottle—or two— of wine for your movie night. It had become so routine that he never even considered you wouldn’t be attending.
By the time you got home your phone was ringing again. With a deep sigh, you answered this time.
“You a hard lady to get a hold of. Y’know, I was startin’ to think you were avoidin’ me.” He chuckled to himself. He was currently at the liquor store perusing different kinds of wine, hoping to find something you guys hadn’t tried before. “What you in the mood for tonight? White or red?”
You fidgeted with the sleeve of your shirt uncomfortably as you thought about how to respond. You didn’t necessarily want to lie to him, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna tell him the truth either. Your answer landed somewhere in the middle of those two options.
“I actually got plans tonight. Some of my girls wanna check out this new spot downtown.” Biting down on your lip nervously, you waited for his response. The other end of the line went so silent you almost thought he hung up.
“Stack?”
Stack was stunned silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t spent a Friday night with you. Even if you didn’t come to his place, usually he would just come to yours. The sudden change in routine made him deeply uncomfortable. But alas, he reluctantly quipped,
“Since when you busy on Friday’s? You seein’ somebody else or somethin’?” He was teasing but when you didn’t laugh, he leaned in closer. The silence was not comforting.
“Since tonight. My girls wanna see me, and it’s been a minute since I’ve been out.” You replied simply, suddenly growing irritated that he was prompting you to explain yourself. Stack swallowed and shifted awkwardly on his feet, nodding as if you could see him. He wanted to continue pressing the topic, ask the specific name of this new spot that was more interesting than him or his club. But his pride got the best of him.
“Aight…ladies’ night. Handle your business then, baby girl. Don’t have too much fun without me. Let me know when you make it in the house safe.”
You promised you would before quickly ending the call. The refusal did not sit well with Stack. He had recovered smoothly from your rejection in the moment, but now that the call was over, he was stuck staring at the same bottle of Moscato he had been holding for the past five minutes. It wasn’t like you to say no to him.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
As much as he hated to admit it, Stack didn’t really have back up plans. He always reserved Friday nights for you no matter who else he was seeing. He sat on his couch for a while, sipping the wine he’d picked for the two of you earlier. He scrolled through his recent messages debating who he should hit up, if anyone. Honestly, his roster had been thinning out the more attached he became to you. They just weren’t like you. They didn’t laugh like you or smell like you, and the more time he spent with you the more intoxicating your presence became to him.
Truth be told, he was disappointed. Stack kept a line up. There was no shortage of women in his life— he could have anyone he wanted within a single text or call. But you were his favorite. There wasn’t anyone else he wanted to lay up with and kiss on but you. With other women, he usually just skipped to the main event. Minimal foreplay, surface level conversation. Nothing like what he had with you.
Stack’s train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing. He snatched it from the cushion next to him, nearly dropping it as he tried to answer. A disappointed groan made its way from his mouth when he realized it was just one of his homeboys. Not you. He’d never admit it, but he was hoping that maybe you would change your mind and decide to stay in with him after all— even though he’d never ask.
“Yo” He answered boredly.
“Aye, Stack. What you on tonight? Lil’ Ms. Fine as hell over there?”
Stack chuckled and shook his head. It was no secret that you were the finest woman on his roster, and again, his absolute favorite. You were the only woman he had a silent claim over.
“Naw, she’s with her girls. Said somethin’ about a new spot openin’ up downtown, I don’t know.” he felt his annoyance bubbling to the surface again as he reiterated your words. He had no right to feel possessive over your time, but he couldn’t help it.
“Yeah we gon’ head over there too. You tryna pop out?”
Stack fixed his mouth to say no. He was aware that it was probably clingy to follow you to the exact place you told him you would be—on the one night you’d taken space from him. Still, the idea that he could feign bumping into you, and that maybe through a turn of events you would end up ending the night with him after all, got the best of him. And there was still something ugly and jealous tugging at him about the way you never answered when he asked if there was someone else.
“Yeah I’ll meet y’all over there. Gimme like 45.” He ended the call with his homeboy and went straight to his closet.
Girls night, huh? He tutted to himself as he scanned his clothing, looking for something to wear. Unfortunately for you, he was about to crash your party.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Any time Elias Moore stepped into the building, he was the main attraction. The SmokeStack twins were known by people clear across the Mississipi delta— and in other places too. Tall tales and fables alike had been whispered through the grapevine for years now. Stories about men who’d encountered the twins but never lived to tell the tale. Gossip about the havoc they wreaked in Chicago prior to returning to their little hometown… mysteriously, with enough money to open a club of their own.
Stack didn’t do lines. Upon arriving to the club, hushed whispers and watchful eyes oriented toward him immediately. There was a confident swagger in his walk as he headed straight to the front of the line, like he always did. He slipped a crisp $50 bill to the bouncer out of respect before dapping him up. Then, he made his way inside. No fuss, no muss.
Vibrant neon lighting flashed across the club, highlighting its lively crowd. Music thumped through the floors and radiated into Stack’s chest. The crowd parted instinctively for him as he found his way through the room. Women stared lustfully, admiring his confident walk and the million-dollar smile he’d flash if you were lucky enough. Stack was fly, it was no secret. He only wore the best and he was always iced out.
“How you doin’, daddy?” a tall, slim woman cooed as Stack brushed past her. His gaze raked over her, and he nodded in acknowledgement as he made his way into his section. If he wasn’t VIP, he wasn’t attending.
“Stacks-A-Billion! You made it. My nigga finally got from up under that girl and graced us with his presence.” Donte clapped Stack on his back and pulled him into a brotherly hug. The other men at the table did the same, greeting him one by one like he was a don.
The night was smooth at first. Real smooth. Stack was in the middle of chopping it up with one of his old flings who he’d cut loose when his eyes caught a familiar face. There you were. He froze completely as he took you in.
You were wearing all black. Leather shorts that sat on your hips low and hugged them just right and a lace-up sleeveless biker top. Black heels adorned your feet, and you were wearing your signature gold jewelry. The corner of his lips twitched upward into a smile involuntarily and he licked them as he took in your appearance.
However, the smile quickly dropped from his face when he realized that your girlfriends were nowhere to be found. Instead— you were with some tall guy. Stack looked hard and long to ensure he wasn’t imagining things.
Nope. No girlfriends. This was definitely a date.
Immediately, Stack tuned out the woman that had been talking to him. The music in the club dulled to a thumping pulse, and suddenly he had tunnel vision. He couldn’t help the possessive ugly feeling that arose deep in his chest as he watched the man’s hand brush the small of your back when he leaned in to whisper something to you.
You didn’t see him for several minutes. But when you did— your eyes locked with his. You were caught. Completely and totally caught red-handed in the act. Stack stayed where he was, but he held the piercing stare long enough that you wished you could disappear. Then, he turned back to his boys as if nothing had happened.
It stayed like that for a short while. Stack kept mingling, talking to people who approached him. He managed to make it through half of another drink before he became so consumed with a silent possessive rage that he turned from his boys mid-conversation and headed straight over to you. The crowd parted for him like the red sea.
“ ’Scuse me patna, I need to talk to her for a second.”
Malik looked startled, he hadn’t seen him approach. He looked like he wanted to say no, looking between the two of you as the tension rose. Apparently, he waited two seconds too long, because Stack increased his proximity to the man with one large step, a cold stare closed the rest of the distance between them.
“I ain’t askin’, I’m tellin’ you. Don’t get hurt boy.” He snarked; tone laced with southern venom. And with that, Malik scrammed.
Stack grabbed your bicep, gentle enough not to hurt you— but with enough force that you knew now was not the time to test him. He guided you to the backdoor of the club and slammed it open. The cold air kissed your hot skin and instinctively made you flinch.
“Let go of me, Elias” you snapped, snatching your arm away once it was just the two of you. He turned toward you with a look that made it hard to pinpoint his emotions.
“Who the fuck is that?” He snapped back. You looked away towards the busy street and crossed your arms defensively. The distant sound of impatient drivers filled the silence.
“A friend.”
He sucked his teeth and responded, “Don’t gimme that shit girl, a friend? I just watched how that nigga was lookin’ at you, and it ain’t nothin’ holy or friendship-like on his mind.” Stack was trying to remain as calm as he could given the situation.
“We grabbed food and decided to stop by for a drink, that’s all” you sighed. You rubbed your temples out of frustration. Why the hell was he even here? Stack’s eyebrows lifted at your confession. He stepped closer and cocked his head to the side.
“Fuck you mean y’all just had dinner? That’s what we doin’ now? You goin’ on two-part dates with random niggas?” Now his voice was starting to raise. He looked away in an effort to find his composure, but he felt his heart beating fast with panic. This was the second part of the date?
“I’m not your girlfriend, Elias! I can see who I want, why do you care anyway.” Your voice rang out sharp and shrill against the brick walls of the alley.
Instantly, his head snapped back towards you. He stepped closer. One step, then another, until your back was against the cold brick wall behind you. One of his palms came up beside your head and he leaned in close enough that you could tell what liquor he’d been sipping on. His eyes flicked from your eyes down to your lips, and back again. Almost like he was trying to make sure they were the same as they were the last time he’d tasted them— untouched by anyone else.
“If you ain’t mine…why you lyin’ to me ‘bout who you with, baby?”
And for that, you did not have an answer. You simply looked at him blankly. After a long hard stare, you scoffed and pushed him by his chest away from you, refusing to give him an answer that he already had. You turned around to make your way back inside to find your date. He was probably scared shitless.
“Tell ol’ boy don’t get caught alone in no dark alleys.” Stack’s voice rang out sharp from the alley as you walked away. You rolled your eyes hard.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
A week went by after your encounter with Stack at the club. You’d sent texts, called a few times. He was radio silent. He had stopped randomly popping up at your place with tokens of his affection, and he hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to you himself. Your last text which read, “How long are you gonna do this? Say something” had been delivered nearly 12 hours earlier and he still hadn’t responded.
You were in the middle of sulking and smashing a bag of hot Cheetos when your phone pinged. A soft gasp escaped you and you quickly picked it up.
Lias ❤️🔥: You ain’t mine right? Lose my number.
Your heart sank as you re-read the message. So he gets to keep a revolving door of women, but you go on one date now you’re the bad guy? Furiously, you typed out your next response. Your jaw dropped when you pressed send and the message went green.
He blocked me you gasped to yourself.
A few hours went by, and it never came. You kept waiting for it— a slick little follow up, the way he always did when he knew he had gone just a little too far. The response sat final in the text thread. You stared at it until your screen went black. You guys had fights in the past but never like this. Stack had never shut the door completely before, really he had never fully opened it either. But this time felt different.
Fine.
From that moment, it was on. You started answering Malik’s calls on the second ring, you let him take you out to dinner, and when he asked you if he could see you two nights in a row you said yes. One night, he kissed you outside the restaurant after the date. He waited to see if you’d pull away, instead you leaned in deeper. The kiss felt nothing like Stack’s. But the attention was real and constant, and it was better than the half-ass relationship Stack had been giving you.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Four days. That’s how long Stack lasted before he tried to fill the void you left behind.
The woman’s name was Tasha, she was real thick and real bold too. He met her at his club, she was staring him down like she heard all the rumors about him and wanted to know if they were true. This night, she’d been looking extra hard, and Stack was always aware of watchful eyes.
He took her back to his place with full intent on giving her what she was looking for. Another easy and forgettable night with a face he probably wouldn’t remember in a few months unless they gave him a reason to.
The night started off easy enough once they made it back to his place. Tasha started kissing on him while he was preparing drinks, talking about all the things she wanted to do to him. Her perfume was too sweet and sharp in a way that made him miss the signature fragrance you always wore. Stack wandered over to the couch and sat down, legs spread wide. Tasha was on him immediately, she straddled him without waiting for an invitation, rolling her hips real slow like she already knew what he liked.
Out of habit, he rested his hands on her waist. His fingers didn’t dig in or stroke, wander to her ass, he just sat there looking bored. Tasha continued to pepper kisses across his jaw and he allowed it. But when she made her way to his lips— he turned his head sharply.
The woman’s body tensed and she pulled away with a frown.
“You good?”
“I’m straight.”
Hesitantly Tasha got back into her groove, dragging her nails down his chest. The silence stretched and he could feel her getting frustrated in the way her body tensed. Still, he kept the same bored expression.
“You sure you good? Cause you actin’ real bored for a man who invited me over.”
Finally, Stack looked at Tasha. She was pretty. Nice body, pretty smile. There wasn’t anything wrong with her, but still Stack didn’t feel a pull low in his belly or any urge to flip her under him. There was no interest in hearing what she sounded like when she came or moaned his name. He just kept thinking about you. How your thighs slotted perfectly over his and how your mouth always tasted like whatever chapstick you’d chosen that day.
“Yeah, you right. I think you should go.” He mumbled, gently lifting Tasha off him by her hips. She didn’t move from where he placed her on the couch. She continued to sit, staring at him in blatant disbelief.
“You serious right now?”
Stack stretched and reached over, grabbing the remote. He clicked a button and the television came on, filling the silence of the room.
“Yeah.”
If looks could kill Stack would’ve been six feet under.
Tasha rose from the couch hastily, snatching her bag from the coffee table before leaving. The door slammed behind her harder than it needed to and the echo of it sounded through the apartment. Still unphased, Stack let out a heavy sigh as he started flicking through different movies on Netflix. He kept the tv on, letting it consume the silence. Quiet had never bothered him before you.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Smoke stopped by to check on Stack two days later. Ever since they were in the womb, he knew when something was wrong with his twin. He didn’t knock when he stopped by, he always came in unannounced. Smoke walked into the kitchen and dropped the greasy takeout bag on the counter. He looked his twin over like he was diagnosing how bad the heartbreak was— and he’d never seen it this bad. Not even with Mary.
“You look like shit. Y’ain’t been sleepin’, have you?”
Stack was sitting motionlessly, halfway watching a basketball game with no idea of who was in the lead.
“I’m fine, what you got to eat?”
Smoke nodded his head silently as he started unpacking the food. But he didn’t leave the topic alone just yet.
“Y’all still on that silent treatment?” Now it was Stack’s turn to ignore the question, that was all the confirmation his brother needed. “Once you start catchin’ feelings, nobody else taste the same. Y’know that right?”
At this, Elias shot his twin a look that said leave it be.
“Ain’t nobody catchin’ feelings.”
“You put that fine ass stallion out the other day ‘cause she wasn’t the one you wanted in yo lap.” Smoke’s voice stayed flat, bored almost. “That sound like not catchin’ feelings to you?”
The temperature in the room stayed the same despite the heaviness of Elijah’s words. As much as Elias wanted to curse at his brother and tell him he was wrong, he was right. Still, he mumbled an annoyed “whatever” and sat across from him at the table, fighting back a smirk when he noticed his favorite Indian food.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Bad news came the next Tuesday. The gym had put a hurting on Stack, and he was making his way from his car to his front door when Smoke pulled up. Evening was settling over the city, and his shirt was still clinging to his back with sweat from his work out.
“I got bad news.” Smoke said simply. Stack wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt as he slowly approached his brother’s car. If it warranted an in person visit, it was more than bad.
“What.”
“Saw ya girl at the comic bookstore on 5th street. She was with ol’ boy from the club, tall nigga.”
Stack went totally still and the towel in his hand stopped moving over his neck.
“She still dealin’ with dude?”
Shrugging once, Smoke held his hands up. “Look like it to me. They was walkin’ out together and he was holdin’ a bag for her. Looked real comfortable if y’ask me.” He took in his twin’s ragged appearance before adding, “If you love that girl don’t wait too much longer. He got plans for her. I can tell.” That was all. He didn’t comment further, ask what his brother planned to do, or offer further advice. He delivered the last sentence and held Stack’s stare for a second longer than necessary before leaving.
When the conversation with his twin ended, Stack stood in his living room for a long while thinking hard. It was one thing for y’all to be at the club, but a bookstore date? Nah. That’s too close to home. He couldn’t stomach the idea of you going on real dates with this man. Smiling at whatever stupid thing he said, letting him touch you. The uncomfortability of it all settled deeper under his skin the longer he pictured it like a petulant sunburn. You weren’t even trying to hide that you were dealing with this guy anymore. You were just out here, dating in the open like he’d never put his mouth between your legs and made you shake.
Autopilot mode was the only way to describe Stack’s thought process once he entered the shower. The night at the club kept replaying behind his eyelids. The way you looked at him when he caught you. How you went back to Malik instead of staying, instead of going home with him. And especially— how you kept seeing this man even after Stack had told you to lose his number. Pride and jealousy wrenched together in his gut until he couldn’t tell which hurt worse.
When the water from the shower was cut off, he had already made his decision. The only way through this was to make you his. Quickly, he got dressed. Grey sweatpants a black t shirt, and the chain you always played with when you sat in his lap. He was out the door before the water had even fully dried on his skin.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
By the time Stack was halfway to your place he was fully dry and his thoughts had unfogged enough for his good sense to be activated. He couldn’t come over empty handed. He shook his head at the thought of coming to your place and agitating you without having food to soothe you after. Only a fool would do something so stupid. So, like a good boy, he stopped and ordered your favorite food and grabbed your preferred wine and some flowers for good measure. His elders always taught him you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
The bags sat in the passenger seat of the car and Stack kept looking over at the flowers like they might disappear if he didn’t check. By the time he pulled up at your place he had rehearsed what he wanted to say a million times over in his head. He was coming to fix things, and he brought things you liked because some part of him thought it might make a difference. He knocked on your door in that familiar rhythm only he used. You knew it was him without checking the peep hole.
When you swung the door open, your attitude was on full display. There he was, bags in one hand and flowers in the other. The familiar scent of his soap clung to his skin and his hair was still damp. The second he laid his eyes on you his expression softened and he forgot everything he planned to say. Except for,
“You datin’ niggas now?” His voice was pained and tight. Your gaze dropped to the items he was holding and drifted back up to his face. Grudingly, you stepped to the side and allowed him to come in.
He watched with greedy eyes as you sauntered into the kitchen to grab wine glasses, hips switching and jiggling your ass as you walked.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is a man who told me to lose his number actin’ brand new?” You grumbled, avoiding eye contact. Stack shut the door behind him with a quiet click. The bags were set down with more care than his voice had. Suddenly, the space felt a lot smaller than it did before. Stack crossed his arms over his chest and his eyes moved over your face like he was looking for something.
“You out here goin’ on dates, my patnas tellin’ me you still spendin’ time with ol’ boy after I caught y’all at the club.” Your expression remained unchanged as you uncorked the wine and began pouring the glasses. “Why you bein’ like this?”
When you still didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow in annoyance, he increased his proximity. You felt the solid heat of him against your back. He wasn’t touching you— yet. Just letting you feel the warmth of him against you. Then, he brushed his lips against the back of your neck and said,
“Tell me baby. Why you doin’ me like this, hm? Like I ain’t never stroked you so deep you cried for me ‘cause it felt so good… like this lil body don’t react every time I touch it.” As if on cue he pressed his lips against the side of your neck and you let out a soft involuntary sound, leaning back into him instinctively.
“You made the rules stack. Don’t get mad when I finally start playin’ by ‘em. And you damn sure don’t just get to show up with food and these sorry ass flowers like that fixes everything.”
He pressed his back against your chest fully now and mumbled, “Look at me.” When you didn’t, he gently turned you in his arms by your waist. His voice was barely above a whisper when it came out. “I don’t wanna see you with nobody else. I don’t wanna think about somebody else knowin’ how sweet those pretty lil moans sound when you get like that. So I need you to tell me it still belong to me.”
The audacity of this man was astonishing honestly. You stared at him unblinking. The raw honesty in his voice almost had you until you remembered that last nasty text he’d sent. Then your eyes sharpened.
“I’m not yours. You never claimed me.”
“I’m claimin’ you now” he replied simply, as if it was obvious.
“No” you shook your head firmly. “You only sayin’ that because somebody else wants me. You comin’ over here today doesn’t change that.” His hands came to rest on either side of you on the counter, trapping you in between his arms.
“I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I mean it. I’m done pretending I don’t”
When he leaned in, you instinctively leaned back. You held his gaze for a moment and he respected the distance. It lasted for only a second. Once his thumb brushed over the exposed skin of your belly, you allowed him to catch your waist and pull you in. Initially the kiss was pride and anger. Teeth and tongue, both looking for dominance.
The second time your lips joined, it was slow enough for him to slide his tongue against yours in a tantalizing rhythm. A small sound escaped your lips without permission, and Stack’s breathing changed when he heard it. By the time you went in for a third kiss, you were on top of the counter and he was fully between your legs spreading them wider. His hands were roaming under your shirt like he’d been starving for the feel of you.
“You still mad, I know.” he said the words in between needy kisses. “But I know you missed me just as much as I missed you.” He voice had dropped several octaves and it was rough with lust. Your pulse quickened against his lips as he kissed your throat and he squeezed your hips to show he noticed.
“Fuck you, Stack”
“Oh I’m bout to, baby. Don’t even worry that pretty lil head.”
With that, he lifted you from the counter and you reflexively wrapped your legs around his waist. Straight to the bedroom you went.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Clothes hit the floor in random pieces until they were all gone. Stack made himself comfortable between your legs and gazed over your features as if he was still deciding how nice he was gonna be to you. Whatever he saw made his pupils become more dilated with lust— most likely your stubborn unwillingness to secede. When he kissed you his tongue moved slow and thorough like he was trying to make you forget every bit of the argument you two had.
A hand drifted between your legs and he groaned against your lips when he found that you were already wet for him. His eyes flicked down to your sex and back to your face, watching your expression closely as he slid his middle and ring finger inside you. A satisfied grin made its way across his features when your lips parted and your lashes fluttered against your cheekbones.
“This pussy gon’ tell me it missed me even if you don’t.” he cooed as he continued his torment, curling his fingers just right against that spongy spot inside you. Your thighs twitched and a shaky breath passed your lips. Your hips chased his fingers and he drank in every little pleasured expression greedily. He paid close attention every time your expression changed.
“Tell me it’s mine” he murmured. When you shook your head stubbornly, he used his other hand to push your—his— t-shirt under your collarbones and just above your breasts. He latched a hot mouth to your areola, drawing a surprised cry from you as he suckled your nipple gently into his mouth. Your refusal to give in to him ignited something. A third finger joined the others and pressed harder, thumb circling your clit with precision until your thighs started shaking.
“Say it baby, stop playin’ with me. This pussy loves me just as much as I love you.”
A small squeak escaped you as your hips chased his hand desperately. You’d been craving his touch just as much as he’d been craving your presence in his bed at night. Still, in all your stubbornness, you uttered,
“Make me”
When the words he desired never passed your lips, he withdrew his fingers and sucked them into his mouth, holding your eye contact steadily as he tasted your essence. Hungrily, you tugged at his sweats. Stack drew his teeth between his bottom lip when his length sprung free, hard, thick, and leaking pre-cum. You nearly drooled at the sight, not having seen it in two weeks. Before you could touch him, he shifted you onto your back. And before you knew it, your calves were pinned on either side of your hips.
Stack dropped his forehead to yours as he gently dragged the head of his dick between your folds, nudging your clit intentionally each time. He waited until your expression grew needy with want before gently pushing past your entrance. He stretched you slowly, head dropping further into your neck the further he sank into you. When he was buried inside you, he let out a deep exhale. Like he’d been homesick and was finally home.
“Fuck— I missed bein’ this deep inside you. You feel that baby?” He lifted his head now, longingly staring into your irises. “That’s me puttin’ it back where it belong. Go on dates if you want, keep lettin’ that nigga buy you books. But this right here still answer to me. Say it.”
Instead of answering you whimpered and the sound make his stomach tighten. He adjusted his angle so that the head of his dick massaged intensely into that swollen bundle of nerves that only he seemed to find so easily. Your eyes flew open and a high-pitched moan flew past your lips. His breathing hitched as he watched the way your lips trembled. Something real close to satisfaction settled over his features.
“Yeah, that’s it baby. Whenever I kiss that lil spot just right you start shakin’ for me. Keep them pretty eyes on me. Wanna see what you look like when you finally stop fightin’ it.”
And true to his word, he stayed right on that spot. Your walls started fluttering around him and he noticed the change immediately. He slowed his strokes, deliberately dragging them out to hear you moan real pretty for him. When your first orgasm hit, your mouth fell open and your eyes went glassy. Stack drew his bottom lip between his teeth as the sight and kept grinding through it, relishing in the way your expression grew desperately needy.
“That’s one. Still ain’t said it though.”
You were still riding through the aftershocks of your first orgasm when he hooked both your legs over his arms and folded you deeper into the mattress. The new angle forced a high-pitched sound he hadn’t heard before from your lips and his eyebrows rose in both enjoyment and surprise.
“Stack— wait. Too much” you stuttered through deep breaths.
“Nah. You said make you, right?” He ground against that small bundle nerves in slow circles and your face twisted with ecstasy. Stack’s own expression tightened with hunger as he watched you. “So I’m gon’ make you. Say it belong to me.”
Unwilling to relent, you shook your head even as waves of pleasure crashed through your core. He saw the refusal sitting behind your eyes and his strokes got meaner, more precise and deliberate. Your stomach clenched again and your thighs trembled against his arms. He felt every little flutter and took pleasure in knowing the words he desired were an orgasm away.
“Say it, baby.”
“It’s yours Elias, it’s yours.” You cried as your second orgasm rose slowly but intensely. His eyes closed and the words fell over him like a prayer. The confession hit him harder than expected. When he opened them again, he was completely focused and he drove deeper.
“Again” he mumbled against your lips.
“It’s yours” you whimpered brokenly. He leaned down and brushed his lips over yours. Not really kissing, just letting you feel the soft heat of his mouth against yours while he kept up that focused rhythm between your legs. Every time the head of his dick dragged over that spot, your pussy clenched and fluttered around him.
“Stack—” you stuttered, voice still shaking. “It feel… it feel so good when you dig in me like that. Right there, please, I think I’m gon cum again”
He moaned softly against your lips, a low intimate sound that was pulled deep from his chest. He kept repeating that same motion, intentionally grinding into that little spot over and over again in relentless strokes. He watched your face the whole time. His eyes tracked the way your brows furrowed and how your lips parted every time he pushed inside you a little deeper. The orgasm started pulling out of you in long, drawn out waves. Those little sounds that Stack had missed so dearly kept spilling past your lips as you creamed around him in messy gushes. His jaw went tight when he felt it.
Right as the orgasmic wave hit its peak, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His were dark with need.
“Open”
You opened your mouth without hesitating, and he let a string of saliva drop from his lips onto your tongue. The second it landed you swallowed and your orgasm intensified hard. Your pussy clenched around him in intense, rhythmic pulses and another rush of cream squelched around his dick. The wet sounds got obscenely loud and Stack’s gaze stayed locked on your face. He admired the way your expression cracked even further, like the sight of it was doing something to him.
“That’s it, good girl baby.” He groaned against your mouth. “Take it just like that. Let me feel how wet you get when I stroke it real deep like this. Tell me again. Who it belong to?”
“You” you sobbed, completely fucked out at this point. “It’s yours, Stack. I promise.”
Something in his expression softened and he kissed you deep and slow while he continued fucking you through the aftershocks, never fully letting the overstimulation fade.
“I got you, mama. This stays mine. These legs stay open for me… this soft lil pussy only gon’ get wet like this for me. Promise me.”
“Yes, anything. You can have whatever you want. This pussy’s yours” your voice was still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.
“Fuck— gon’ make me cum talkin’ to me like that girl” he growled. Only when you had promised yourself to him several times over and your body was trembling non-stop did he bury himself as deep as you’d take him. His eyes stayed locked on yours as he came, and a low, primal sound left his chest while his dick pulsed hard inside you. He watched your pretty face the whole time, like he needed to see you were taking it.
After, he stayed inside you, still breathing hard. One hand stroked over your hip where it met your belly like he still couldn’t believe you’d given yourself to him like this. His pupils were still dilated and searching your face.
“You mine. That ain’t changin’” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. Just a fact he decided to force into existence. You didn’t answer. You were still shaking and your adrenaline was still pumping. The anger hadn’t fully subsided yet but something warm and tender was taking its place. He kissed you again, slower and deeper this time, and still didn’t pull out.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
please respect my work 💌
Everything posted here is written by @brownsugarletters. Please do not repost, copy, translate, claim as your own, upload to AI tools, or share my writing outside of Tumblr without permission.
I put a lot of care into these stories, so please keep them here and respect my space.
CW : nasty, smut, missionary, infidelity, wife next door kink, after care sex, little fluff, anal, D-expansion, dirty talk.
A/N : not gon lie I rushed the end a bit. It’s a one shot of 1.2K words so pretty short. I was challenging myself lol. Enjoy 👀
Pairing : Annie and Smoke
Annie had always been the perfect spouse for Joseph, neglecting her needs to fulfill his. Her marriage was kept safe that way. Or so she thought.
She shouldn't be there, in this hotel room, moaning lecherously to her husband bestfriend's bites on her tits. She should have been at home, cooking dinner for the gruff Joseph. And so should he. But no, that bastard was certainly somewhere else with another woman.
Annie was just mirroring his actions. She wasn't at fault.
"when was the last time he fucked you like this, huh?"
"Please don't stop— Elijah—!"
He stuffed her tight pussy to his girth, jamming inside her cunt while his tongue flicked wet on her erected luscious nipples.
Annie's eyes whitened as spams of pleasure overwhelmed her body. Her walls clenched around his length, grazing sensitively along the veins of his soggy dick.
Her brain went numb each time Elijah pounded fat on her G-spot — one fistful hand gripping and sprawling the soft flesh of her ass, the free one spreading her thigh wider.
The bed creaked under their weight, and Annie's nipples twitched inside his mouth, tickling his tongue.
"You're sensitive here?" Smoke grunted, nibbling her swollen meaty buds. He flicked and swirled his tongue around her lacteous breast — lapping, guzzling, drinking each sip of her milk. "You still breastfeeding, Annie?" He groaned, cockily — his mouth full. "Fuck you taste so good."
"Harder— oh fuck— don't stop— it's so good— oh Lord!" She cried out, her breath coming in gasps, as her fingernails dug into his back.
Smoke abandoned her doused tits in a squelchy pop and pushed himself up, one knee pressed into the mattress — Then, he caught Annie's thick thigh, hoisted it onto his shoulder, pumped his hips faster, thrusting harder into her pussy. "Then don't think about tapping out baby."
As if matching his deep strokes, the room's air conditioner began to blow harder. Annie's legs went limp, and her cunt clenched fiercely around Smoke's thick cock, baking cream. With a vagabonding hand, Smoke slapped her ass and groped her cheek — the doughy flesh wiggling in his palm. "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, mama."
He jerked once inside her, his fat dick smacking her walls side to side. To each jam, the shape of his cock outlined on her belly, cutting her breath away.
Annie sucked her lip until bleeding, her entire body giving in to the guilty pleasures Elijah was putting her through. Her enormous milk-filled breasts bounced heavily on her chest while her eager little asshole throbbed rhythmically, craving the thick cock of her husband's coworker and best friend.
"Oh fuck—yes, Elijah, your cock is so huge—fuck me harder, please. My pussy is yours—" She begged with her tongue lolling out, a thin trickle of drool running down her lips.
Annie had already forgotten about her bastard husband's micropenis. She had never been taken like this by any man before.
She was overwhelmed by his enormous cock growing stiff and swelling even more in her creampied vagina. Then, suddenly a short popping sound cracked — The condom had snapped, flowing her womb with Elijah's hot cum.
"Shit—"
"Don't stop Elijah...take good care of me..." She panted, her holes pulsing.
Smoke's irises dilated, darkening. He hunched over her face and captured her lips, nudging, nibbling, eating them.
Annie thigh, fell back on the mattress totally boneless and he pressed her knees, gaping them to extreme before burying himself further down.
He penetrated her through her cum-flooded pussy, foaming her creampied cake. He hit her spot, once twice and thrice — his pubic hair brushing against hers as her sensitive dampened clit flattened on his mound — and she gushed, squirting on his abdomen.
"Oh Jesus—YEAAH— Gnngn— Fuck..." Annie climaxed, her body clenching possessively around his meat.
Elijah pulled out of her squelchy cunt, stretching her hole deliciously. "Pretty needy thing." He spat onto two fingers and shoved them in her gaped foaming vagina. He drove slow then faster while her pussy spurted, queefing.
"You are so soft pretty mama. Look at how sweet your honey is." He licked her juice off his fingers. "That fool is damn lucky."
Annie stared at him with a longing gaze as her dripping wet pussy spat the used condom out of her now gaping hole. She still wasn't sated.
With his still-erect penis dangling in front of him, Smoke watched as Annie got down on all fours. She arched her back, her round ass wobbling uncontrollably. Then she grabbed her voluptuous butt cheeks and squeezed them apart, flashing her glistening, twitching asshole. "If—if please, Elijah... fuck my fat ass. Stuff my tight brown hole with your big cock, please..."
The nerves in Smoke's cock strained violently, his cock went rock-hard as he watched Annie's tight anus, his mouth watering at the sight.
In this position, her pussy was still wide open, leaking cum, and her big clit, nestled in a patch of pubic hair, was twitching.
"You've got a nice ass there, Ma." He rubbed the brown rim of Annie's hole, then slid his thumb inside. "Do you want this big cock in your ass, Ma?"
Without saying a word, Annie arched her back even more, drawing air into her pussy.
Smoke drew closer, then lined up behind her.
With his hardness, he slapped her butt cheeks, then tapped the broad tip against her rear.
"I'm going to fuck your big slutty ass, sweet baby. Don't worry. But first, I'd like to taste it..."
Smoke got on his knees and cupped Annie’s backside with his face, eating her from behind. She nearly suffocated him as she squirmed ; Then, Smoke rose up, knocking his head against her back entrance. “Hold tight baby. Don’t worry I’ll make you feel good.”
Slowly, he drove his length down her body, stroking languidly at first, then quickening his pace. “You right?”
Annie moaned, taking him as best as she could.
She’d never tried it there and it felt so good with Elijah.
After pounding fast into her, Smoke gave in, cumming endlessly.
“Shit…let me marry you instead baby.” He fell limp on her back, smooching her hair.
Annie flustered. And as if common sense suddenly hit her, she jerked away from him, padding to the bathroom. “I— I should— I should— shower and go.”
Smoke straightened up, trailing her steps. “Let me soap you.” He whispered lovingly close to her ear, enveloping her body with his strong arms.
“I can do it myself.”
“I know. But still, I want to do it baby.” He fluttered kisses along her neck, guiding her inside the bathroom.
Nine and forty at night and her husband was still not home. Annie had returned from the hotel four hours ago, fearing Joseph would come early.
Stupid thoughts.
While she lit off the lights in the house, she heard the garage open and saw from the window her husband’s Sedan parked inside.
She hurried to the bedroom and lay on the mattress.
“Oh you don’t sleep yet?” Joseph greeted, entering the room.
“No. It’s quite late, I was worried.”
He laughed gruffly and retorted. “Ha. Don’t worry darling. I was with Elijah. We stayed late night at the office today.”
Elijah, huh?
Annie smiled, shutting the lamp off. “I see. Glad you made home safe.”
Tag list : tell me if you want to be removed from it as usual.
Black reader who’s dark skinned. Black reader who’s light skinned. Black reader who’s brown skinned. Black reader who has Albanism. Black reader who has vitiligo.
Black reader who’s Soulaan/African American. Black reader who’s Caribbean. Black reader who’s latine. Black reader who’s West African. Black reader who’s East African. Black reader who’s Central African. Black reader who’s South African.
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Black reader who’s a daughter. Black reader who’s a son. Black reader who’s a father. Black reader who’s a mother.
We are not a monolith. We are beautiful. We are capable. We deserve to take up space in this world.
Happy Black History Month! Shout out to us!
❤️🖤🔱🖤❤️
And because I’m Soulanni/African American, stream “Sexy Soulaan” by MONALEO!
౨౿ ⁺ thinking about ex-husband!smoke. the divorce yall went through was quick and straight to the chase. you dropped the papers on his desk and he signed them without a messy fight, court hearings, or anything like that. ex-husband!smoke let you have the house in the divorce and moved into his own makeshift apartment, since he never wanted for much. ex-husband!smoke still comes over yall used to be shared house to fix on things that broke or to put groceries in your fridge.
“you said the sink acting up again?”, he asked with the phone pushed up on his shoulder while grabbing his keys and toolbox. “i’ll be over there mama.”
to be honest, smoke didn’t even fully process the divorce. he got that yall weren’t legally married, but in his eyes you were still his wife. he kept pictures of yall together up on his social medias, yall weddings pictures were still framed at his apartment, and your contact stayed “wife♥️.”
ex-husband!smoke will find any excuse to be in your presence again. you sick? he’s at the house with soup already on the stove and some nice lemon tea with honey ready for you. you going out with your girls? he’s yall personal driver. you tired at your job? he callin’ your boss to tell ‘em you not coming in tomorrow and sending you double what you make in a day. he honestly didn’t give a fuck yall was divorced.
ex-husband!smoke hasn’t touched another woman since yall divorce and he wasn’t planning on either. stack would often tease him about it, but no matter how many times his younger brother took him out for a night—no other woman could compare to his beautiful ass wife.
ex-husband!smoke who honestly can’t stop yearning for you and wants to wake up to you every morning in bed again. he knew you divorced him for a reason, and he was putting in the upmost effort to fix his issues and put that rock back on your finger.
ex-husband!smoke who finds himself back in the bed yall shared together when one of yall can’t sleep. “you had a nightmare, baby? ‘m sorry”, while slipping under the silk sheets and guiding you to lay on his bare chest—head rested right below the tattoo of your name on his collarbone.
ex-husband!smoke who’s actually a little delusional about you trying to head back into the dating scene. he would kill any nigga who thought they had a chance with you . . .
His name alone was enough to make grown men lower their voices and rethink their decisions. People feared him. Respected him. Avoided him.
Everyone...
Except you.
Which was exactly why you got under his skin.
You were halfway out the door, sliding into your shoes, when your phone lit up for what felt like the twentieth time in the last ten minutes.
Elijah.
You sighed dramatically before finally answering, tapping the speaker button.
"Yes, Elijah," you deadpanned. "What could you possibly want?"
A loud kiss of his teeth echoed through the speaker.
"Girl, why the fuck you ain't been answerin' ya phone for?"
Smoke was already pacing the hardwood floors of his penthouse, phone pressed against his ear, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. Anybody looking at him would've thought somebody had robbed him blind.
You froze in the middle of your living room, one brow raised.
"I told you I was going to brunch with my girls."
Silence.
"You remember? Tonya got promoted last Monday, so we're celebrating."
...
"Elijah."
Nothing.
"You were literally sitting next to me while I was on Zoom with all the girls making these plans."
The silence somehow got louder.
A slow smirk spread across your lips.
"Yeah... that's what I thought."
Smoke dragged a frustrated breath through his nose.
You rolled your eyes so hard they almost disappeared into the back of your head.
"Look, I should've been gone. The only reason I'm still standing here is because you keep blowing my phone up like somebody got shot."
One hand settled on your hip while the other adjusted the strap of your purse.
Your reflection stared back at you from the hallway mirror.
A buttery-yellow cropped jacket hugged your curves perfectly, paired with a matching pleated tennis skirt that showed off just enough leg. Your honey-blonde French-curled braids cascaded down your back, half-up, half-down, framing a face that looked entirely too good to be arguing with a hardheaded man before brunch.
Meanwhile, Smoke was still talking.
Talking...
Talking...
Talking.
You honestly tuned him out somewhere between 'you need to answer' and 'what if something happened?'
"Are you done?" you interrupted, your voice dripping with enough attitude to sour milk.
The line went dead quiet.
"...Girl."
His tone dropped.
"Who you gettin' smart with?"
A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.
"Ain't nobody getting smart. You just doing the absolute most."
"You always got a mouth—"
"And you always got a problem."
Another beat of silence.
You smiled sweetly... the kind of smile that usually came right before somebody got cussed out.
"My ride's here."
"You better not—"
Click.
You hung up.
Across town...
Smoke slowly lowered his phone from his ear.
His eyebrows knitted together.
"...Did this girl just hang up on me?"
Nobody...
Nobody hung up on Elijah "Smoke" Moore.
His boys sitting around the living room exchanged cautious glances before immediately finding something else to look at. Nobody was volunteering to comment on that.
Meanwhile, you were already locking your front door, sliding your phone into your purse with a satisfied grin.
Finally.
A peaceful brunch.
No drama.
No interruptions.
No Elijah.
Your phone vibrated.
Then again.
And again.
You sighed before pulling it back out.
Smoke: Don't hang up on me.
Another vibration.
Smoke: Are you out ya fuckin' mind?
Then another.
Smoke: Answer the phone.
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost gave you a headache.
"He's so damn dramatic."
You tossed the phone back into your purse without another glance.
