toiadeenovels

[toiadeenovels]

😍❤️‍🔥🔥

morning dew. (Erik killmonger x OC) AU

summary: Ryka ( pronounced rye-kuh) is shook out of her sleep by a steamy dream, only for Erik to make her dream come true in real life.

warnings: it's smut baby, light D/s, spit play, anal, AAVE, and xxx twitter link included.

authors note: I know everyone is writing for Sinners right now, but for some reason, those characters & story are too close to my heart right now to begin to shift their story. however I was still inspired to write, so you filthy heathens get killmonger. enjoy but be gentle. 🥰

masterlist

Ryka’s tired eyes snapped open, her vision hazy as she adjusted to reality. Her skin stuck to the sheets, damp with perspiration. The thumping in her chest and rapid pulse made her want to crawl out of her own skin. She sat up in bed, slowly so that she wouldn’t wake the gentle giant sleeping next to her. She sighed in frustration as she began to recall the scenes that played in her mind just before she awakened. The throbbing between her legs had her attention immediately. 

On the nightstand she double tapped her screen to check the time. It was 5:16am, hours earlier than the typical time she’d wake on a Saturday morning. Too damn early. She laid back down and rolled over into a cool spot in the sheets. She tossed when she couldn't escape the salacious thoughts that invaded her mind as she tried to go back to sleep. The throbbing was just as intense as it had been moments before. Her mind wanted to sleep so deeply, but her own body worked against her, compelling her to satisfy the flesh. The sticky heat that collected between her thighs at this point could not just be chalked up to perspiration. As much as she tried to ignore the need, all she could do was lay there and surrender her body to sleep, hoping maybe, just maybe her dream could pick up right where it left off.

Shivers radiated down her spine at the snapshots in her head. She could practically feel Erik’s breath on her skin and his distant voice in her head whispering devious innuendos. To her dismay, he was still fast asleep. After twenty minutes of attempting counting sheep she stifled a deep groan. She laid there, inadvertently piecing together the missing plot of her dream. In one flash there was a head full of locs between her legs. The thought of Erik slurping and sucking on her caused jolts of energy to course through her body. She could feel her nipples getting firm underneath the oversized t-shirt she wore. Her imagination recreated the happenings in her dream so elaborately that she could nearly feel him doing all of these things to her that she envisioned. She was disappointed when her mind's eye fell short. Trying to imagine his tongue on her felt like using a touchscreen with gloves on. 

Although it was difficult to see in the shadows of dawn, she knew Erik was asleep because of his deep, slow breaths. She decided against waking him. He needed his sleep, because he was an absolute terror to deal with if not. Feeling his warmth and his subtle pheromones around her wasn’t making this any easier so she left the bed, flinching a bit when the cool air hit her body. She sulked into the bathroom, the misery of unfulfilled desire heavily clouding her. 

After brushing her teeth and washing her face she decided to lay on the couch so as not to disturb Erik in the bedroom. Even as she laid in the darkness, her mind conjured him, making the same sensations arise as earlier only this time, more intense. Between her legs she saw his tongue swimming in her sea of wetness and then drowning in more forbidden places. The sight made her squirm. She could feel his caress on her skin, where nothing but the fabric of her shirt touched her. She thought she could distract herself with a scroll down her timeline, a podcast, music, something. But impulsively she put in an airpod, and changed the orientation on her phone to horizontal before navigating to her favorite adult videos. She believed that watching them would relieve her. That her itch would be scratched, like listening to a song that's stuck in your head. But the suggestive sounds and passion filled faces the actors made only amplified the fluttering she felt in her clit. She envied the woman on her screen. A muscular man pounded the plus sized stallion from the back while she throated the thick, heavy dick of a tattooed light skinned man in front of her. Ryka marveled at how both disappeared inside of her with ease. Ryka began to get lost in the sensation of what it felt like to be sandwiched between two bodies and filled to the brim. The woman hummed when one of the men slid in her pussy from under her and cried out in ecstasy once the other man behind her massaged her ass before she begged him to push inside of her second hole. Her moan’s made Ryka’s pussy clench involuntarily. She rolled her nipples between her fingers as she watched. Her wet folds drew her finger tips to her clit like a magnet. Just as her hand encroached upon her waistband, the sound of Erik’s raspy voice broke her out of the moment. 

"Ry? Come back to bed." She froze but realized he was already turning on his heels headed back down the hallway before he finished his sentence. He hadn't looked at her too close nor did he see the screen. She closed the incognito window on her phone and laid the throw blanket to the side. In the room again, she faced him laying on her side. He laid on his back, eyes closed, hands folded and resting on his torso.

"You been to sleep yet baby girl?” She was a night owl, while he was always the first to fall asleep. 

"Yeah, I had something like a night sweat a little bit ago. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Bad dream?"

"Not really." He turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You feelin’ aight? Does something hurt?" Since the pandemic, any time she so much as sneezed a few times in a row, Erik suggested she was sick and went into caregiver mode. 

He held his hand on her forehead, and then nestled his hand under her chin so he could “see if you runnin’ a fever.”

She smiled at his concern, but let him know she wasn't sick. Not in that fashion anyway, although there was something she was fiendin’ for. Her eyes wandered over his bare chest and abdomen, then back up to his lips just as he licked them. Silence hung between them while she played in his beard, fantasizing about her juices dripping from it, like in her dream. She thought about telling him what was on her mind, but telling him about her devious thoughts made her want to hide under a rock. She’d never been good at initiating. She shrank internally at the thought of recalling all of the details. Guilt swelled inside of her, because somewhere in her psychology her needs felt like entitlement. Revealing herself required her to be too brave at the moment. A battle occurred inside her, each part fighting selfishly to stake their claim. The woman who wished to be desired and the woman that shrieked at being seen. She just wanted him to know she needed him. 

"Give me your hand again?" He laid his hand in hers without any hesitation, they felt softer than they looked. Even in the dim morning light, he could see that her gaze never left his as she guided his hand under the cover. She pulled her shirt up while his hand rested on her tummy. She placed quick pecks on his lips and before she knew it, his hand was already gripping her soft skin. The heat generated between them made her heart beat quicken. She grabbed his wrist and placed his hand between her legs.

"I'm hurting here." For a split second, he considered that Ryka was experiencing genuine pain, but her smoldering gaze told him otherwise. He pushed her leg aside further to give himself more room to work. She smiled nervously, but Erik’s face was unchanged, sensing a challenge rather than a playful game. He was serious about her pleasure, treating it like a puzzle he was dedicated to solving.

"Right here?" He pressed his fingers against her so firmly that she could feel her clit pulsing against her public bone. She tensed and nodded.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“So you can act like a damn grinch all day? Hell nah.” She chuckled to herself. 

“Hmm.”

She felt him shift on his side and his breath near her ear made her shiver. “Grinches do this?” He finally crept inside of her underwear. She let out several jagged breaths that turned to whines when his fingers began to play at her entrance. He teased her, nearly penetrating but instead he just collected her juices on his fingers and rubbed all over her folds.

“She so fat and juicy.” 

“Mmmm.” She licked her lips, and rolled her hips toward him, begging for his fingers to explore deeper. “That feels so good.” Her thighs began to close as she got closer and closer to release, but he was steadfast with his mission even as she writhed under him and tried to push him away. The feeling snuck up on her, that friction that made her body tense and her head floaty. She yearned for his fingers inside of her, but he was already on her way to making her pussy cream just by working her clit. She pushed against his chest weakly, but when he didn’t lay off she gladly accepted her fate. His tongue parted her lips just as she came off of her high. The hand that was damp with her juices was now wrapped snugly around her neck. He kissed her intently and she followed his lead, savoring each other's lips as her breathing slowed to its normal pace.

He rolled the oversized t-shirt up her body, exposing her breasts and collarbone that was always adorned with a few gold chains. Her breasts weren't ample, but he always worshiped the bit of flesh she had there. He stared up at her while placing gentle kisses on them, that turned to hungry suckling of her nipples. The groans that vibrated from his throat sent tingles straight down her spine to her clit. She looked down at him, longing in her eyes, only to find his low, intense gaze staring right back at her. When she looked away, he sucked her nipple between his teeth in protest.

“Look at me while I eat this pussy out.” She nodded and lifted her hips so Erik could pull her panties down her thighs. Without thinking, she opened her mouth when his fingers came near, first sucking then swirling her tongue around them. When they were wet to her satisfaction, she placed his hand at her center letting him know what she wanted.

“Again, please.” She so deeply wanted another release.

His fingers plunged into her with ease. He stared at her body, and saw how her stomach caved and her breath caught in her throat when he hit her spot. 

“Breathe baby.” When she tried to, a series of small moans escaped her lips. 

“Good girl, let all that out. I love hearing you.” For the most part she was a quiet lover, but when her head rolled back and her eyes crossed Erik knew that was her spot. He circled her cavern with his fingers, making room to slip a third one in. 

“Eriiiik?” She kept her eyes on him as he requested. Her clit was suctioned between his lips, his eyes pierced hers, the same way they had in her dream and just with that one look from him her body flooded with pleasure. All of the sexual frustration and anticipation began to erupt. 

“You feel me stretching that pussy?”

“Yes!” She was in heaven. It was better than what she dreamed of.

“You gonna cum for me that quick?” He felt the ridges inside of her tighten and as if on command her body tensed and then shook as he continued his movements pressing against that spot. Her vision became blurry, but she could hear the sloshing noise his fingers made moving within her tightness. Her mouth hung ajar, but she came silently. Erik noticed her bottom lip catching between her teeth like she was trying to get something out but couldn’t.

He moved up her body, snake like. “You can do it.” His voice rumbled in her ear. “Listen to me baby, just say it.” His warm breath on her neck paired with his fingers stroking her walls through an orgasm overwhelmed her. He was everywhere all at once. She tried to push his hand away, but his strength overcame hers. “I’m not gonna stop ‘til I hear you.” A few moments passed as she continued to quake and when she was ready she cried out. “Fuuuck. Oh, fuck. Fuuuck! Fuck, Erik.”

He pulled out of her, allowing her to immediately sample his fingers. He lifted her chin to face him, each of their lips instantly finding their own messy rhythm. Every movement was deliberate. His firm grip on her chin, how expertly his tongue moved around hers. The way his other hand gripped her thigh, demanding her stillness. His touch tormented her. She was both relieved and disappointed when he disconnected from her and lifted from the bed. While he went to the bathroom, she laid there basking in bliss. Her fingers delicately brushed across her nipples and eventually she found relief in gently circling her aching pussy. She hoped Erik came back, dick swinging and ready to christen her mouth with his precum, but instead Erik returned with a warm cloth to wipe her down. As he walked towards her, all of her neediness on display, she became shy. The sun had just risen, so he could now see her moisture wicked brown skin against the rumpled sheets in the bed. It didn’t look like she’d just woken up an hour ago. She looked bright and alert, like his tongue on her pussy was the only cup of sunshine she needed.

“Good morning.” She spoke coyly. 

“Good morning to you.” He spoke amorously. 

Goofily, they smiled at one another, basking in the moment of intimacy they’d shared. She sat against the headboard, propped up by pillows. Even though she knew he was about to clean her up, she still needed a gentle tap on the ankle to persuade her to open her legs again. 

“I know you not tryna hide from me, after all that?” She opened her legs in response, folds soaking and clit swollen. She looked away from him, feeling exposed.

“That tickles.” The cloth brushed against her sensitive crevices. 

He places small kisses on her inner thigh. “That tickle too?” She covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter.

“How about this?” His tongue flicked against her clit before he caught it between his lips and suctioned it passionately. He thought the two of them were through, but the sight of her body in the light of day, and her playing with that creamy, glistening pussy made him salivate. He wanted to reward her for just being her. He couldn't just have a taste, he required the whole meal plus dessert. “No, I think I like that.” He chuckled as she adjusted the pillows to lay back further.

He laid his tongue flat, and moved his head side to side creating the heat that made her so needy for him. Erik pulled her waist towards him roughly, causing her to yelp when he pushed her knees back towards her ears. She held them there, open and willing to receive all delight he bestowed upon her. At his mercy, his mouth made her feel like she would do anything he’d ask her to. When his tongue darted in and out of her, she could feel moisture trickling down her ass. When he pulled away, she saw droplets in his beard. He marveled at the mess the two of them made. Her pussy clenched and pulsated, drawing his attention to her puckered ass that was already slick with evidence of their appetite for one another. Since she was watching him feast on her, she noticed a glint of curiosity in his eyes which immediately made her want to relinquish everything to him. He could have her any way he wanted; this she knew, but there were not words to express it. His lips attached her clit again, his hand gripped her ass cheek before landing a hearty slap on it. It was guaranteed to make Ryka scream and he reveled in anything that broke the illusion of her meekness.

She placed a hand on the back of his neck, urging him deeper into her folds. He ravished her pussy, but she felt a need for him everywhere. Her hand guided him lower to her ass. She was immediately gratified when Erik acted like he knew exactly what to do. He began performing like he wrote the damn script. He looked up to find her eyes on him, steady and focused. When he let out a slight groan, she for sure knew his freak ass enjoyed stepping into this new territory just as much as she did. He gripped her ass with both hands this time, spreading her apart to make room. He slapped her again, then rubbed the same spot, but this time she felt his thumb creep closer to her asshole. When he massaged her there, Ryka’s head rolled back, her eyes closing as she adapted to the new sensation. He withdrew his mouth and watched her grind against his thumb. 

"You want more?"

"Mhmm." She whined and nodded, biting her bottom lip. Erik pressed and heard an audible gasp once he slipped past her opening. 

"Damn baby, you opened right up for me." He inched in until his thumb disappeared, massaging her insides. She couldn’t help but to touch herself. Everything felt so good, it was becoming difficult to contain herself. When he pulled out of her, she was left feeling more needy than she ever had so she placed her hand on the back of his neck and urged him towards her ass again. 

"Eat it some more, Daddy."

When she chose to use her words, she didn’t mince them. He took a deep breath, tempering his unfettered desire. His chest fluttered, the endearment tugged at his heart and his dick. She gently spread her flesh to give him access. He kneaded the outside of her thighs while he worked. The noises she made when his tongue swirled around her fueled Erik. She relaxed against him, letting the circular motions of his tongue lull her. He bit and smacked her ass because he admittedly loved to see her agonize. He loved to see her toil in conflicted arousal, unable to decide whether to pull away or keep him close.

She squirmed when his lubed index finger inched its way inside of her. "Who knew playing with your ass could make your pussy so much wetter?" 

Ryka was almost embarrassed, but she couldn’t help her pussy leaking cream down the crevice of her ass, and all over his mouth. His index finger was knuckle deep and coated in juices. His rebellious hands were touching forbidden parts of her and her clit was engorged, needing to release yet again. Both holes pulsated, inviting him deeper into her depths. She didn't know what had come over her, only that she wanted more. Erik knew it too, by the way she began to pant. She gasped and held her breath when another finger eased its way in. He slid in and out of her, eyes flickering between his fingers and her face to see how she reacted to him stretching her out.

“Oh my God, mhmm. You're in my ass baby.” She whined, in complete awe of her reality.

Her body began to jerk, and moans began to flow with ease from between her lips. She couldn’t remember a time where her clit had been so stiff and swollen. While one hand played in her mess and rubbed her clit, the other moved to her mouth to keep the sounds at bay.

"Move your damn hand, didn't I say I want to hear you?" His tone had been the perfect combination of gentle and strict. Enough to make her comply and just shy of belittling. While he hung on every sound that came from her, she was embarrassed by her needy gibberish. 

"Don't be shy, dig in that pussy."

Erik could watch her fuck herself all damn day. Something about her chasing her own pleasure made his mouth water. She rocked her hips to her own rhythm, knew exactly what needed to be stroked and how much pressure to apply. He loved watching her immerse herself in her own sensations, all while crying out for him. 

He fingered her tight ass, but kept his eyes on her face, watching it twist. Her mouth fell open, but she held her breath, releasing only when she moaned lowly. She strained against the mattress, her head rolling back elongating her neck exposing a single pronounced vein.

She couldn’t even tell where the burst came from that had her spasming as it rocked her core. Each sensation just played off of each other so well. It was everything, everywhere, all at once.

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah right there. Erik, please baby." She cried. He stared down at her, pulling her strings like a puppet master. Like he knew exactly what he was doing when his fingers curled and surveyed a spot that made her go cross-eyed.

"Erik, I'm cumming." Was all she spoke before her body began to seize in place, the only part of her body it seemed like she was in control of was the hand that was still pumping her pussy. 

"Get that nut."

She fucked herself desperately, hoping the waves of pleasure never end. Against her walls, she felt Eriks fingers moving along hers.

"Ouuuh, shit.” She hummed.

If she was cumming as hard as it looked, this was the hardest he’d ever seen her cum and he was with it. He pulls his fingers out of her, and slaps her ass in gratitude as he watches it jiggle as she continues to spasm. She only stopped when her pussy gripped her fingers so right, it prevented her movements. Erik was already thinking of how pretty her backside would be with a jeweled plug filling her up. He could only imagine how her sloppy pussy would grip him then.

He moved up her body, hovering above her. His face was close to hers, and his gaze made her want to hide because he looked as if he could devour her. He wanted her lips, but he could see she was hesitant because of where his mouth had been moments ago. She was so bashful looking at him, filled with conflict between her will to give into the passion of the moment or her self consciousness. That conflict had no place there, between them. He decidedly would be breaking that shit down, inch by inch. 

“Show me your tongue, princess.” She did as requested, and when his spit dripped into her tongue all of her inhibitions went out of the window. All she needed was someone to lead her to the water, the well of desire and she’d drink. His care and protection was the reason why he could give her forbidden fruit and she'd eat it alongside him.

He took the back of her neck in his hand, pulling her lips to his. His tongue plunged in, within moments she was returning his fervor. She sucked his bottom lip when he pulled away from her and stuck her tongue out in anticipation of him. Erik hissed when she slightly dug her nails into his back. She liked getting a reaction out of him just as much as he did with her. With that in mind, her hand slipped in his shorts. He was already rock solid. She purposely avoided the tip of his dick and let her delicate fingers wander further to cup his sack in her hands. His gaze softened and his eyelids lowered. 

"You so fucking sexy." He said in his drunkenness. 

The corner of her lip raised slightly, masking her inability to think clearly or form a sentence. He raised her chin and tasted her again, this time licking the dribbles of saliva from her chin, and depositing it back in her wet mouth where it belonged. She couldn’t help but swoon when he did shit like that. Being subject to his carnal ways satiated the deepest parts of her. She hadn't yet harnessed these lewd proclivities that played in her dreams because she was afraid they’d consume her. Afraid she’d become insatiable. Erik saw her though, and made the repressed come alive. If this is what insatiable felt like, she wanted it.

“I love it when you get nasty for me, you hear me?” Again he had to tilt her chin up so she’d look at him, but this time her eyes were alluring. Her bottom lip between her teeth seductively, she nodded. No shame lived in her at this moment.

"I got something for you, turn over."

Just as quickly as she could get on all fours, her mind filled with all of the possibilities of what would happen next. He moved her knees further under her and pushed the small of her back down gently, so they aligned perfectly and both of her pretty holes were on display.

"Let me see that arch." She leaned down on her elbows and relaxed her upper body into the bed. She wiggled her ass from side to side in anticipation. She yearned for him to touch her anywhere. She flipped her hair and tried to sneak glances behind her. He eyed her while he applied lube onto his stiff flesh, stroking it. She made her pussy wink at him. Cool lubricant was being squirted onto her puckered hole. He  kneaded her lower back and her fleshy backside, allowing her muscles to loosen into the mattress. He leaned over her, placing her arms out to the side, gently massaging them.

Goosebumps prickled her skin when she sensed his warmth only centimeters away. 

"You feel my dick baby girl?" He spoke into her ear tenderly. He was sliding his length up and down her slick folds, transferring the wetness along her backside.

"Yes, put it in." She hissed in desperation. 

"Here?" He sank into her pussy deep, which made her eyelids flutter. She’d felt that in her stomach. "Uhn uhn." He pulled out when she whined.

"Or here?" He let his heavy dick rest right on her asshole.

"Mhmm." She nodded. He kissed along her spine, still caressing her back. “Tell me where you want it. Tell me you want this dick in your ass.” His tone was gruff and hypnotizing. 

“I want it, I want it in my ass.”

"Are you sure?" She was certain although she spoke in a hushed tone.

She nodded eagerly. She braced her upper body on the bed while she lightly gripped the bedding in anticipation.

“You have to relax. Push out, it’ll make it easier.”

“What if I-”

“I'll handle it. Relax.”

She nodded rapidly, and took in a deep breath. He focused on her breathing and pressed into her firmly on the next exhale. Her ass was so perfectly tight that he had to use his thumb just to push the head of his dick in.

“Fuck!" Erik groaned, his head tilted back in ecstasy. He was frozen in time, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer to why she felt so heavenly was written there. At the same time, her breath hitched, eyes widened, and her body stiffened underneath him. Her silence was loud.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Ima go slow, okay?" Again, she nodded.

He applied more pressure ever so slightly, giving her time to adjust.

"It wont go in all the way."

"You can take it baby, I know you can take it.” He soothed, sensing her confidence fading. She just needed reassurance, and he’d be the one to shower her in it. “You not scared, are you?”

She shook her head no.

"Good. You doing perfect already."

"This your dick?"

“Yes daddy.”

"Then you gotta breathe so I can give it to you."

"Okay. Keep talking to me, please."

“Remember you in control. Daddy just giving you what you wanted, right?” He took his sweet time, moving in and out of her repeatedly teasing the head of his dick. 

“You tell me to stop, I will.”

His slow rhythm and his hands massaging her lower back kept her grounded in the moment instead of getting lost in her head.

She melted into a comfort that could only be found in his hands, in his bed. She found herself breathing in sync with his strokes. He'd been right. The more she trusted herself to relax, the further he slipped into her depths.

“Mmmmm.” She hummed in 

“But you not gonna need to tell me to stop, are you?” Her body hadn't felt tense under him anymore. She moved with him, not against him. Her body was waking up, in more ways than one.

“Uh uh.”

Erik groaned, which was the encouragement she needed. When he was half way in, he told her, "Goddamn, you feel so good." He wasn’t trying to hurt her, but he stretched her out in the best way and she was eager to take more. Cautiously, she began to roll her waist towards him. His hands on her waist was incentive to fuck him back. When he finally bottomed out inside of her, she dared to look back at him with sultry eyes, her mouth wide open allowing a moan to escape.

His abdomen tightened each time he stroked her and the raised marks on his chest glistened with sweat. The longer he was inside her, his thrusts became uninhibited. Their bodies became fluent in this new movement. Each time his hips snapped against her, her clit ached for stimulation. In between her legs was like a slow gushing spring and when Erik's balls smacked her pussy it drove her crazy. 

"You okay, princess?"

"Yes babe, don't stop."

"Good. Fucking. Girl.” He enunciated with each roll of his hips, thrusting into her. “Is this how you needed to get fucked?"

“Yeah, just like that.”

“This tight ass yankin’ me baby, I knew you could take it.”

Erik leaned further over her, so he could fuck her deeper while he circled her clit. She was so full, she felt like she could burst. The build up was agonizing, with each pump the pressure only increased. She was a whimpering mess, the side of her face pressed into the mattress. She had to remind herself to breathe because the only thing her body needed more than air was to cum. The pressure, his grunts as he slid in and out of her, and his fingers rubbing her clit was all she could focus on. Underneath him, her body stiffened and her flesh began to shake. Her orgasm silently overtook her body. He knew he had her exactly where he wanted by the blissfully distressed look painted on her face, and her pulsating ass squeezing around him. He slid out of her, filling the room with curses while silently thanking the gods she came when she did because he was about to bust.

She was weak and spaced out so he lifted her towards him, her back curving to his chest. His hand wrapped around her neck. 

“You almost had me, baby. Daddy was about to cum so deep in your ass.”

“Noooo, I-I mean, not yet.” She begged, her appetite for pleasure was fierce and hadn't been satiated yet. Her whining left him with a prideful smirk on his face. If only she could've seen him.

“When did you get so greedy? Huh?” He teased, “Was it when you came in my mouth or when my thumb was in your ass?” His hands pinched her nipples, making her back arch. Her arm rested atop of his forearm that hugged her waist for support. He teased her hole with the head of his dick. 

“C’mon baby, let Daddy in.” She relaxed into him and shivered when he found home in her again. He moved slowly and meticulously this time. She aimed to please and wanted to take him harder, faster, deeper, but he knew better and didn’t want to take her to heights she might regret later on her first time.

"I've wanted this for so long." The salacious admission caught him by surprise, making his strokes stutter. Ryka didn’t want this to end, but at the same time she needed him to know how she was feeling before she lost courage. He placed his arm on top of hers now, clutching her fingers between his and pulling her closer at the waist. He kissed her shoulder in gratitude, and for once he was the one that couldn’t find the right words. 

“I’m sorry baby, it took me too damn long to notice didn’t it?” He wrapped his hand around the front of her body, grazing her clit ever so slightly. “It took too damn long for me to see that you got such a pretty, tight ass to match this pretty pink pussy.”

Her hand roamed her body, not leaving any place untouched. She groped her nipples, rested her hand on top of Eriks between her legs, and ran her hands over hair because she didn’t know what to do with them. He was unraveling her. 

“This dick is so g-good. I don't know who I am right now.” She’d began meeting his thrusts, but again he stuttered when she spoke. 

"I know who you are, baby. You're my filthy princess and you don't have to hide it okay?" She nodded. "I'm going to give you what you need every single time."

“Thank you baby, fuck me. Please don't stop fucking me.” 

“Don’t move.” He ordered. She knew how he got when she begged. Every swivel of his hips was deliberate. He groaned into her ear, and bit into her shoulder to buffer when they became moans. He lazily kissed the space his teeth pierced. His dick spasmed against her walls as he delivered deep strokes that made her face twist up in pleasure. 

“Touch yourself. And come when I tell you.” 

“I can't.” She stated before thinking. Erik felt it funny how she'd tell him what was impossible, but proved her wrong every time. 

“You will.” 

She couldn't compute how her pussy was so wet. She played in it, rubbing her clit in circles. Her mouth hung open when Erik begin pumping as deep into her as possible. If it wasn't for his grip around her waist, she'd surely have collapsed into the mattress. 

“Oh, shit! Erik!” 

“What is it? It's too much?”

“No I love it, I love feeling that dick deep inside me.” She was saying outlandish things that at one time she felt were just reserved for the girls in porn, but her and Erik reached a level of slutting each other out that allowed her to be completely unfiltered.

Her admission made him weak. He needed to cum ten minutes ago, but it was his utmost priority to give her his all before he drained himself. 

He filled her to the very hilt, and spoke calmly. “You want me to cum right here?”

“Yes!”

“Cum, pretty girl.” His words triggered an immediate rush of commotion her body couldn't contain. Her moans were a continuous tide that echoed with each wave of arousal. Even as her legs shook, her voice echoed in his head. Please don't stop fucking me. She could feel him pulsing inside of her. He growled, ignoring his own sensory overload just so he could keep burying his cum inside her. She tightened around him, siphoning cum from his dick until he was moaning into her back. She collapsed forward onto the bed, and even then he couldn’t let her leave his grip. It wasn't until moments later when the swelling and sensitivity subsided that he slowly resigned. 

He gently positioned her on her knees with her ass up. She could tell Erik was amused by the sight, by the way he held her still, watching her leak.

“Push it out baby.”

She arched her back and kept her legs apart so he could admire what she knew had to have been a glorious sight: her ass slightly gaping and oozing his seed. 

“I wanna see too.” He was proud of her speaking her desires aloud, it was something he could get used to. He grabbed her phone from the night stand to take a video for later.

He brushed curls from her face as they laid there breathlessly. Ryka rolled over, only able to stare at him in awe of what they just experienced together. 

Later that morning. 

Erik was already on his second cup of coffee as he cooked breakfast for himself and Ryka. Erik showered immediately after their session, but Ryka was damn near asleep when he cleaned her off. She rested for a while before taking her own shower. As she was getting dressed she could smell the coffee and breakfast meat in the air. Despite her mouth watering, she really took her time oiling herself, choosing her jewelry, and her outfit. She kept checking herself in the mirror before she finally realized she was stalling. She couldn't understand why she felt nervous walking into her own kitchen. 

Erik was just placing the meat on a tray to drain the grease as she rounded the corner.

“Hey.” She spoke to his back, hoping she didn't scare him. But it was Erik for goodness sake, he didn't scare easily. 

“Morning. I'm making waffles. You look rested.” His eyes trailed her body. She was dressed in a tube stop and jeans. Her skin looked supple, her blunt cut silk press was pulled into a half up half down style with wispy baby hair. Necklaces accentuated her collar bone. 

“Yeah, I am.” Ryka moves around the kitchen, somewhat avoiding Eriks vicinity. He notices that she's more quiet than usual as she waits for her tea and steeps it.  

He tries to make eye contact, but she seems to be very focused on her tea bag. He clears his throat, making her attention snap towards him. 

“Foods ready.” He nodded his head towards the table where he carried their plates. Finally face to face, each of them go to speak at the same time, accidentally talking over one another. 

“You first.” 

She placed her fork down, but she still glanced down at her plate. “Well first I wanna say, um, last night.. Well this morning technically… was great.” 

Erik nodded and smiled while he chewed the turkey bacon. “Fasho’. Unexpected.”

“Yeah, exactly. I think that I-, um maybe that-”

“Ry?”

“Hmm?”

��We don't have to do this thing we're doing right now.” He motioned between them.

“What thing?”

“This… awkward conversation. We did it, we liked it. We're good, right?”

“Yeah. Okay.” She nodded. She picked up her fork again, striking the scrambled eggs on her plate. The moment of relief she felt disseminated just as quickly as it came. Things she didn't know she needed to say just came pouring out. 

She took a deep breath. “I've never done that before. And couldn't imagine it being anyone else… but you. It was transcendent and I'd love to do it again sometime.”

She immediately covered her face. 

“Oh God, that was so awkward.” She said aloud, but to herself. All Erik could really do was laugh.

He moved her hands from her face, only revealing a truly distressed look. “C’mon now, it's alright. I'm not laughing at you, I swear.” He chuckles again.

She smacks her teeth and swats his hands away from her playfully.

“Look, that was my first time too…”

She looked at him in sincere disbelief. “Really? You were so… it seemed like you knew what you were doing.”

He shook his head. “Nah, it's just- I know you. Remember what I told you last night? Ima give you what you need, I meant that shit.” She caught a chill at how his words came out so casually, but held so much weight.

“You really sat the bar high this morning though. I'll have to hold you to it.”

“You do that.” He spoke, sure of himself. “Eat your food before it's cold.”  

“Okay, but wait. I told you how I'm feelin’. I wanna know how you feelin’ too.”

He tugged on his beard while he was in thought. Ryka chewed, swallowed and took a sip from her mug while she waited for his insight. It had to be good since he was taking his sweet time. 

“I wanna fuck you again too Ry.”

“Erik!” She smacked her teeth, briefly irritated.

“What?” He asked with a completely unamused look on his face. He took a sip of coffee. “You want me to be more poetic? Come here.” 

When she didn't move, he pulled her plate away from her demanding her full attention.

“Come on.” He backed his chair away from the table making space for her to sit on his lap. She listened to him this time. He uncrossed her arms and placed them around his neck. 

“I want every time to feel like that. We were free, you were free. I like you free.”

She nodded, “Me too.” She glanced down at her feet dangling a few inches from the ground.

He lifted her chin up. “You know you mine now?”

“I wasn't already?”

“Yeah, but you said it yourself. Last night only could've happened between me and you, right?”

She nodded, looking at both of his eyes, his lips and back up again. The possessiveness in his eyes and broad shoulders intimidated her. She sensed an intoxicating mix of danger and safety. His hand had a subtle grasp around her throat. Part of her wanted to run, but finding refuge in her fear would mean abandoning him, abandoning the freedom she found in their love.

“I can only have you, Ry, you understand?” Her uneasy feeling melted away when his words sank in. He spoke tenderly, eyes softening. She felt his thumb rubbing circles on her skin. 

“I understand, baby. Thank you for telling me.” Erik could be very stoic and difficult to read at times. She appreciated this moment of clarity in which she didn't have to guess what he was feeling or make any assumptions. She leaned in to kiss him, and each time she was finished he pulled her closer again.

“You stay making a nigga communicate, damn.” He gripped her thigh.

“Now that goes both ways. You was making me say all types of freaky things.”

“I didn't have to try that hard.” One shared glance and they started cracking up. 

“I'll clear the table.” She lifted from his lap. He followed her into the kitchen, tidying up behind his mess from cooking. Unlike earlier, the rest of the conversation flowed with ease. 

In the following weeks, Ryka and Erik felt more connected with one another than they ever had. Living, laughing, and fucking. He envisioned them evolving together throughout the ups and downs of life. In certitude, Erik purchased an engagement ring that he would share with her in due time as his spirit guides continued to enlighten him.

---

Pls reblog! I haven't posted in a while and would love for this to circulate.

comment to be added to taglist.

taglist: @hearteyes-for-killmonger @loveeeeandaffection @iamrheaspeaks @adasosweet @goddessofthundathighs @thiccdaddy-mbaku@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @eye-raq @madamslayyy @sweeter-thejuice @wawakanda-btch @theunsweetenedtruth @wokeblock @smutty-smut-smuty @wakandamaybe @stainontheground @killmongerkink @soufcakmistress @mysticbear21 @nickidub718 @blackpinup22 @killmonger-fics @goddessofthundathighs

[toiadeenovels]

idk man, i just wanna write a fic that someone reads obsessively at 3am. a fic that someone loses sleep to finish because just one more chapter and tries to give multiple kudos. a fic that people will leave a comment on every chapter. i want to write a fic that people will recommend to others, that they think nails the characterization and relationship dynamic. i want to write someone’s comfort fic, someone’s favorite fic, or someone’s fic they read when they want to re-read something. i want to be that fic writer. i want to write that fic.

[toiadeenovels]

Writing when you’re struggling

As someone who has several mental illnesses and ADHD, I’ve long thought about how to best tackle writing advice catered to people in similar situations. (Primarily for people who have trouble finishing drafts.)

Writing is hard for anyone. Especially when you’re already struggling. But there are ways to make it a little easier on yourself. I’ll share some things that work for me in this post. (What works for me, may not work for you. But maybe you’d like to try it out?)

I’ve shared some tips on how to write with ADHD in this post. ​

Writing when you’re struggling with mental illness:

Find professional help and tackle your mental health issues to the best of your abilities. Yes, you can write when you’re struggling. But continuously struggling without getting help will not be beneficial to you or your writing in the long run. If you can afford it, find a therapist. Schedule doctor’s visits so that you can talk about potentially getting medicated if that’s something you want to do/can afford. Or find a resource for your specific mental illness that you can fall back on or can contact if you really need to. 

I know that is hard, and I realize that might not be the first tip you want to hear. But like any creative hobby, your best writing will most likely happen when you’re in a mentally good space. The myth that all artists are tortured souls is simply untrue and is quite dangerous. That’s why my first tip will always be, find suitable help for whatever illness you are struggling with. It’s okay to get help.

You’re going to have bad days when writing simply won’t work. Accept that. It’s called radical acceptance and is a technique I learned in ACT therapy. It’s the idea that you will have bad days and you will have good days. And that’s just fact. It’s okay to have bad days. It’s okay to have bad days when you get nothing done. That’s just how it is sometimes. If you can accept that and tell yourself; I’m not getting things done today, it’s okay, tomorrow’s another day. Then you will mentally be in a better position to consider your writing (or any other activity or hobby, really). Be kind to yourself.

Write little snippets whenever you can. A few hundred words every day will be a chapter by the end of the week. To give an example: Terry Pratchett once talked about how he wrote 400+  words every day for a year. If Terry can do it, we can do it too. (And if we miss a day, or a week, that’s okay. Don’t try to force yourself.)

If writing scenes won’t work, try character or world-building. Or take notes. To an extent, this will help in figuring out your story. But be careful that you won’t use it as an excuse to not write your story. (I’ve been there.)

Use apps that work on multiple devices. I personally use Google Docs and Google Keep. Evernote and Scrivener (IOS only for multi-platform) work just as well. Because it means you can write anywhere, anytime. Whenever you do have the mental space.

Fast draft your story first. For me this means I write the scenes I feel like writing and string them together like this:

“Your man’s standing in the back of a moving truck and thus committing a general endangerment violation.” His eyes quickly scan the rest of the car. There are several guns, knives, and a quick look over at Dichali reveals the other man holding up a couple of traps. [Dichali and Nate deal with this] [they deal with a few more things]

And the next scene takes off from there.

(This is from a quick 0 draft, so pay no mind to any bad writing.)

You can be as sloppy as you need to be in a fast draft. Bullshit your way through it if you have to. That’s the beauty of a first draft.

Realize that you will not achieve perfection on the first draft. Or even the second. This is something that I really struggled with. But letting go of the following ideas really helped a ton in getting through my current draft. And it will help with finishing zero/first drafts.

What if people won’t like it?

What if I write something offensive?

What if I will never be good enough?

What if people will hate me for what I write?

What if I’m just a terrible writer?

What if-

What if-

Doesn’t matter. Not in a first draft. Write and write without worrying. That is so so so hard to keep in mind. But you need to let it go as best you can if you want to finish it. Considering these things is not a bad thing, if you can still write your stories. However, if you find that your considering turns into anxiety or writer’s block due to fear, you’re worrying too much and you need to let it go. It’s okay to just write it for you. This is where radical acceptance comes in too. Just accept it if you need to, to write.

Take breaks when you need them. If you don’t have the energy/mental space to write, but do want to distract yourself or work on your story; Take notes. Make a playlist. Make moodboards in Canva. Having a day or two, or even a week or month like this is perfectly fine. 

Don’t throw scenes away. I know it’s so tempting to look at something you wrote and consider it garbage. But you might just be having a bad day. And maybe that scene can work later in the story, or in a rewrite. Save it in another file/document. Don’t delete it or throw it away. It’s still progress.

Your writing isn’t as bad as you think it is. Keep at it. Keep trying. My brain has told me many times just how worthless and stupid I am. This stems from trauma in my case and constant gaslighting by people I trusted. I now repeat those words as if they’re fact and apply them to everything. Including what I write. That is not a healthy thing to do. I am not worthless or stupid, neither is my writing. Still, there are days when I can’t turn that off. What I do on these days, I take a break. Save my writing and look at it again the next day. 9/10 times this will solve my hatred of my writing and keeps me writing my drafts.

You can always edit your drafts after you finish them. Another piece of advice that I really need to accept for myself. Because I have a terrible tendency to go back and forth. What helps me is to imagine my first drafts as assembling the clay of my story. Before I can refine my clay into a pot, I first need to get all the clay together. So I just need to keep writing and assembling. Once I have everything from beginning to end, I can start molding my story.

And these are the tips I can share with you now. I hope they will help you too.

[toiadeenovels]

Minors DNI!!!

Chapter Three: Smoke in the Mirror

Nyla sat curled in the corner booth of the bookstore cafe, sketchbook balanced on her thighs and fingers curling nervously around a warm cup of coffee. The rich aroma of beans and baked goods danced in the air. It was cozy, familiar, but her heart was racing.

This was her third time meeting up with John. And this time? It felt different. The kind of different you feel in your chest, not your gut. She flipped through pages until she landed on the sketch she did after their last meet. Him, soft-smiling. That slight tilt to his jaw. Kind eyes.

It made her cheeks warm.

She wasn’t used to this kind of anticipation.

And when she looked up, there he was.

“Hey, trouble,” Elijah said with that lazy grin, sliding into the seat across from her.

She grinned, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “You the one who said two o'clock. It's 2:07.”

“Fashionably late.”

“Mhm.”

They placed their orders... his black, hers caramel-sweet with cinnamon sprinkled on top, and the conversation flowed like it always did. Easy. Familiar. They talked about work, passion projects, and what made them tick.

She asked him, “Do you ever let people in? Like, really let them in?”

He looked away for a second. Scratched the back of his neck. “Not really. Not used to it. Don’t wanna get hurt. Or do the hurting.”

That honesty settled deep in her chest.

“You can’t build anything if you’re always holding back.”

He smiled, eyes lingering. “Yeah. Maybe I’m trying, though. With you.”

And then his phone buzzed.

“Damn. I gotta take this. Give me one minute?”

She nodded, watching him disappear past the shelves with the phone to his ear. She took a deep breath, leaned back, let the quiet fill her up.

The bell over the door chimed.

She glanced up casually. Thought it was him coming back.

“Back already?” she asked, smiling.

But the man standing there wasn’t John.

Same locs. Same build. Same broad frame and sharp jaw.

But colder.

His eyes cut straight through her, and he walked with the kind of quiet threat that made her stomach twist.

He turned, stared her down.

“John?” she asked, unsure, rising slightly.

He raised a brow.

“I look like a John to you?” His voice was gravel dipped in silk. And then, with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes:

“Nah, Princess. You got me fucked up.”

He turned and walked past her like her existence was background noise.

Her hand gripped the edge of the table. Her knees buckled slightly as she dropped back into her seat.

It wasn’t just a lookalike.

That was the man from her dream. The first sketch.

That tight jaw. Those burning eyes.

That warning.

The bell jingled again.

“You good?” Elijah’s voice brought warmth back into the air. He slid into his seat, totally unaware.

She blinked hard, nodding too fast. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”

He studied her face.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just... cold all of a sudden.”

He reached for her hand. She pulled back before he could.

“Actually,” she said, grabbing her bag and standing fast. “I think I need to get home. Got a few deadlines.”

His smile faltered. “Oh. Okay. I mean, yeah... I get it.”

She forced a smile. “I'll text you.”

He watched her walk out, puzzled.

She stepped into the late afternoon light, heart pounding, head spinning.

There were two of them.

And she had no idea what the hell that meant.

[toiadeenovels]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐕

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Juicy thought she could play it cool, but between Smoke’s games and Stack’s hands, she’s caught in a heat she wasn’t ready for. Good things there’s a pool party to keep things chill….right?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild sexual tension, lots of kissing, suggestive dialogue, jealousy, light cursing, let me know if I missed anything!

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - my wifi is bugging….

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 13, 867+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the rooftops of the neighborhood, painting the sidewalk in streaks of orange. The old wood of the Hall family porch creaked gently beneath their weight, and the heavy scent of weed hung in the air, thick and warm like the summer itself.

Mary lounged in the wicker chair, her curls pulled up high with a pencil sticking out the back. Smoke, ever the picture of calm, sat on the porch swing in a man spread, puffing on w joint with one tucked behind his ear. Stack, sat on the porch floorboards, legs laid out as he rolled the blunt between his fingers with the same precision he used on car engines. Juicy rocked gently on the porch swing, wearing a cropped Baby Phat tee and cotton shorts that hugged her hips just right, her glossed lips pursed as she blew smoke toward the sky from the blunt Smoke passed her.

They didn’t say much—just passed the blunt, breathed in the heat and let the wind do what little it could.

“Hey.” Mary spoke suddenly, flicking ash from the joint onto the rim of the pot by her foot. “Y’all heard about that pool party over at the rec center tomorrow? I think Tyrell and ‘nem throwin’ it. Word is they got a DJ this time.”

Juicy let out a soft hum and pulled her legs under her on the swing, already imagining the scene. Shirtless men with water guns, music blasting, somebody bringing their cousin who couldn’t dress, and the ice cream man pulling up just in time to cause drama.

“I ain’t heard about that.” Smoke replied, voice smooth and distant, like he already knew where this was headed.

“Well, we’re going.” Mary declared, gesturing between her and Juicy. “I told Megan we’d slide through for a bit.”

Stack gave a little grunt from his place on the floorboards. “Damn. Guess we’re goin’ then.”

Juicy perked up at that, turning toward the boys with a grin. “Y’all coming with us?”

Reluctant nods came from both twins—mild annoyance coated in curiosity. Juicy smirked, satisfied. “Well shoot.” She said, pushing herself up from the swing with a small bounce. “Now I gotta get myself together before tomorrow.”

Smoke arched a brow, glancing over his shoulder at her. “What you mean ‘get together’?”

“Gotta get my nails done, toes, hair—maybe pick out a new suit.”

Stack lifted his head just a bit, blinking up at her through lashes thick as trouble. “Didn’t you just get your nails done last Friday?”

Juicy tilted her head, one hand on her hip. “Yeah, but I need something new. You know I like my designs. Everybody’s already seen these.”

Stack didn’t even smile. He just exhaled a stream of smoke and said. “Only you payin’ attention to that.”

“Oh, and apparently you too, stalker.” She shot back, a little giggle slipping out before she could catch it.

Stack turned his head fully toward her now, blowing smoke through his nose with that same calm, hungry gaze. “You wish I stalked you.”

Her breath caught for just a second, her lip curling up in surprise. “You’d like that.”

“I would.” Stack said smoothly. “You’d like that.”

Juicy’s eyes widened, a soft gasp leaving her lips. “What? Nuh uh.” She muttered, half-turned away, trying to play it off. “Well… I’d probably be flattered. But I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

That’s when Mary stood up and stretched, letting out a little groan. “Let’s go, Ju. You know if we don’t get there soon, we ain’t gon’ get a spot.”

Juicy followed, snatching her bag off the porch railing. The girls headed toward Missy’s car, Mary jangling the keys as they walked down the steps.

“Where y’all goin’?” Smoke asked suddenly, his voice sharper than usual. It wasn’t the question—it was the way he asked it. Watchful. Protective.

Juicy turned around with a pointed look, her lips shiny and slightly smirking. “Uh! You’re stalking too. Is that y’all’s thing now? Stalking me?”

“Yeah.” Stack said without hesitation, that devilish look in his eye. Smoke stayed quiet, but his eyes stayed on her, low and unreadable.

“Where?” He asked again, tone clipped now.

Juicy rolled her eyes a little at his shift. “I told you! I gotta get my nails did. Now you’re making me late to a walk-in appointment I haven’t set yet.”

Her arms folded across her chest, the attitude sliding into her tone before she even noticed. She glanced between them. Smoke’s stoic stare, Stack’s crooked smirk, and added quickly, “And no, we don’t need a ride. We got Missy’s car. Are we done here?”

There was then a pause, brief, but heavy. Smoke didn’t say anything. His gaze didn’t soften. That familiar warmth he usually reserved for her had gone cool, and she felt it in her chest more than she expected.

Stack, though… Stack had the nerve to look entertained. He liked her sharp tongue. He liked how her voice pitched up when she got annoyed. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips when he said, “Yeah. We’re done.”

Juicy didn’t even know what to do with the flutter in her stomach, but she gave a little nod and turned away, making her way down the steps with Mary.

Once they slid into the car and Mary started the ignition, she cut her eyes at Juicy.

“They keep a tight leash on you.” She said, adjusting the rearview.

Juicy scoffed, twisting her mouth and buckling her seatbelt. “I guess they try to do that since Martin can’t, but no. I keep a tight leash on them. They don’t run me.”

Mary just laughed and pulled out of the driveway. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, girl.”

As they drove away, Juicy dared one last glance back at the porch. Smoke was still sitting, still watching, his eyes unreadable under the glow of the setting sun. Stack was now leaned against the banister, mouthing something to his brother—but she didn’t need to hear it to know.

They might not run her.

But they were running through her mind all the same.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The nail shop had the unmistakable scent of acrylic and coconut oil, the low hum of fans swirling semi-cool air through the room as the girls settled into their usual pedicure chairs. A wall-mounted TV played 106 & Park on low volume, the sounds of a summer hit barely audible over the buzz of foot files, laughter, and idle chitchat. Juicy and Mary were regulars at Tipz & ToeZ, a pink-and-white storefront tucked between a beauty supply and an old fried fish joint.

They knew their techs by name—Tina and Mimi—who already had their tubs filled with warm water by the time they walked in. Flip-flops slid off, pants rolled up, and legs dipped into swirling bubbles. As Juicy sank back into her seat with a satisfied sigh, Mimi leaned over and plucked at her ankle.

“You let too much time go,” Mimi teased in her usual sing-song tone. “Nail polish chipping.”

“Girl, you act like I walk barefoot in the streets,” Juicy joked, giggling. “That’s just my summer hustle feet.”

The girls chuckled, falling into their usual rhythm of gossip, neighborhood news, and hushed complaints about Mimi’s cousin who borrowed her car last week and came back with it smelling like weed and disappointment.

After a lull in the conversation, nothing but the click of tools and splash of water filling the space between them, Mary tilted her head slightly and peeked at Juicy from the corner of her eye. Her voice came soft, hesitant, but laced with intent.

“Do you like…the twins?”

Juicy’s brows furrowed. “Of course I like the twins,” she said, her voice light with a laugh as if the question was ridiculous.

Mary didn’t budge. “No, I mean like, romantically.”

The smile then dimmed from Juicy’s lips, and her breath caught in her throat. Her heart skipped the way it always did when Smoke looked at her just a second too long, or when Stack said something slick that she pretended not to hear. Her mind stuttered through a thousand versions of what if, but she tried not to let it show.

“Oh.” She said finally. Her voice was softer now. Smaller.

She turned to Mary and met her eyes, the air thick with something unspoken. “No.”

“No?” Mary echoed, her brow lifted.

“Yeah, no.” Juicy replied quickly, brushing the idea aside as if saying it fast enough would make it true. “I mean, they’re attractive. Anybody can see that. But I don’t think…nah.” She tried to sound convincing, even if she was talking more to herself than Mary.

Mary wasn’t buying it. “I mean, I think they might have it for you.”

“For me?” Juicy blinked, startled.

“Yeah. Especially Smoke. I know Stack’s always flirting, but that boy flirts with every girl, hell, and probably with his reflection in the mirror. Smoke though? He don’t look at nobody the way he look at you. It’s like you the only girl in the world to him.”

Juicy’s stomach flipped, warmth blooming in her chest despite herself. But a part of her wilted too—the part that heard Stack’s name tossed out like he was just playing a part. Like he didn’t mean some of the looks, or those slick little comments that lingered longer than they should’ve.

“I don’t know.” Juicy murmured, letting out a shaky breath and laughing it off like she wasn’t falling into a spiral.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Hey, there’s no shame in trying. I get it. You’re scared it’ll mess things up for your friendship. But if a fine-ass man like that looked my way, girl, I’d dive headfirst. Even if it’s just to fuck.”

“Mary!” Juicy hissed, looking wide-eyed toward the techs working on their toes.

“What? I’m serious,” Mary whispered, grinning.

“Oh, I know you are.”

Mary waved a hand like she was swatting a fly. “Anyway, I only asked because Monica told me Anika’s been sniffing around. Says she’s on the hunt since her and Donavan broke up. Again. Says it’s for good this time but we all know that’s a lie.”

Juicy rolled her eyes. “That girl’s always on the hunt. She’d prowl her way into a church function if she smelled cologne.”

“And Yalonda said she don’t even care which twin she gets. Just wants one.”Mary added, her lip curling in disgust. “Like, what kind of thirsty behavior is that? Not even caring which person you want, you just care that they’re sexy so you’ll take either. This isn’t a damn store.”

Juicy hummed in agreement but didn’t say much. Her chest felt tight, the thought of other girls sizing up the twins—her twins—leaving her strangely defensive.

“I mean, if I had to pick…” Mary trailed off, her voice laced with mischief.

Juicy turned to her sharply, caught off guard. “Pick?”

“Yeah. I think I would choose Stack. Stack’s more rugged, bold. I like that. Smoke’s too chill for me. He’d probably make me second-guess myself every five minutes.” Mary laughed, then grinned. “But if I was greedy—which I am—I’d swoop up both and leave these bitches mad as fuck.”

Juicy blinked. Her heart pounded again, louder now, her cheeks warm.

“Who would you choose?” Mary asked innocently, turning to face her with that knowing look.

“I—uh—I don’t know,” Juicy muttered, glancing down at her feet. Tina was painting her toes a soft, pastel yellow, but she couldn’t focus on that. “That’s a hard question.”

“Girl, just answer.” Mary groaned. “It’s just us. I ain’t about to go runnin’ to them with your secrets.”

Juicy took a long breath, let it out slowly. She thought about Stack’s grin when she got annoyed. About Smoke’s eyes watching her like they saw things she didn’t even show. She thought about how her heart never picked a side. And then she said it, quietly, like it didn’t mean everything.

“Both.”

Mary’s eyes widened, a big smile breaking out on her face as she leaned in. “Both?”

Juicy didn’t answer.

Mary gasped dramatically. “Juicy!”

“What? You told me to answer.” Juicy shrugged, still avoiding her gaze, but her lips twitched into a small, guilty smile.

“I know, I just didn’t know you were such a freak like that.” Mary grinned. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m not a freak.” Juicy said with a small smirk as she leaned back in the seat before turning to look at Mary. “Just why have one when you can have both?”

Marin’s grin widened as she looked at her best friend next to her, the sweet and innocent Juicy almost unrecognizable as she looked at her. And she couldn’t stop her grin from widening, almost in pride.

“Exactly.”

As Tina began the second coat on her toes and the shop filled with the chatter of another customer walking in, Juicy leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling fan above them. Her heart was still racing, but her smile—subtle and soft—lingered. Summer was just getting started.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The sun was just beginning to dip below the skyline as tires rolled to a gentle stop at the curb. The cicadas still singing under the thick and sticky veil of southern summer heat that was finally softening into something a bit more bearable as Mary’s car pulled up to Juicy’s driveway. The street was dim, the soft yellow of porch lights glimmering against humid air. Mary turned to Juicy with a knowing smile, her glossed lips shining faintly under the dome light of the car. The AC had been blasting the entire ride, a faint trace of the nail salon’s lavender lotion still lingering in the air. They were both loose-limbed from their pedicures and still giggling over Mary’s bold claims and Juicy’s reluctant confession.

“Alright, babe,” Mary said, slipping the car into park and turning in her seat with a knowing grin. “Don’t act brand new next time I bring up the twins.”

Juicy rolled her eyes with a laugh, already gathering her little purse and salon flip-flops. “Whatever.”

“You know I love you, girl,” Mary said, leaning in. They exchanged their signature goodbye—cheek kisses, one on each side, exaggerated and dramatic. “Mwah. Mwah.”

“I’ll call you later.” Juicy said, pulling the door shut behind her.

“You better.”

Juicy stepped out into the warm evening air, her eyes lazily drifting across the street. Only one car was parked in the twins’ driveway and her chest gave the smallest deflated sigh at the sight of the familiar cutlass absent. Either they were both out, or—more likely—Smoke was gone. Not that she was disappointed. Not really. She turned her attention to her front door, keys already in hand.

Inside, her house welcomed her with the cool hush of an AC unit humming low and the faint scent of lemon cleaner. She slipped off her white flip-flops with the little rhinestones and flexed her freshly done toes on the cool tile. Her body relaxed, ready for a shower and some water—only for her ears to perk up at the unmistakable sound of the TV murmuring in the living room. She blinked, her brows furrowing as she padded softly across the hardwood floor.

When she turned the corner, she froze.

There on her couch, sprawled comfortably like he paid rent, was Stack, the glow of The Wayans Bros lighting up his face in flickers of sitcom chaos. Remote in one hand, legs stretched, and a bag of chips resting casually on the armrest. The volume was low and he turned his head lazily just as she stepped in, both of them locking eyes beneath the dim yellow hue of the side lamp. The air shifted immediately.

“Hey.” He said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey.” She replied, blinking in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching your TV.” He barely even looked sheepish, starting it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And Juicy just let out a breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she walked further into the room. “I can see that.” She said saintly. She didn’t ask for more than that. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was easier to just… accept the warmth that settled in her belly at the sight of him there. Comfortable and at ease like he belonged there normally. It was nice to see.

Stack leaned forward a bit, his eyes skimming over her. “Let me see the nails.”

Juicy arched a brow but held her hands out, fingers spread. “They’re just French tips with a little bling. Nothin’ wild.”

“Yeah.” He said, taking her hand, turning it slightly to catch the light. “But they’re not your usual.”

She tilted her head. “You know what my usual is?” She asked with a small smirk, and Smoke copied her grin as he raised his eyes up to meet hers. “I pay attention.”

Her smile twitched wider at that. He let her hand go, but his gaze didn’t move far.

“Let me see the toes.” He added casually, though there was something in his voice that sent a flicker up her spine.

Juicy laughed again, but leaned back against the couch, swinging her legs into his lap with a teasing look in her eyes. She wiggled her toes, freshly polished with the same glossy French tip, tiny gems them as well.

“Be still.” He murmured with a grin, wrapping his hands around her ankles and lifting one foot to examine it like it was art. His fingers were warm against her skin, rough in all the right ways, and it sent a low, subtle shiver up her legs as he handled her feet like it was the most natural position for them. “You like?” She asked, her voice dipping low, almost instinctive. Soft. Sweet. Sultry.

Stack’s eyes lifted to hers, his smile slower this time, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I love.”

Juicy’s breath hitched just a little, and it surprised her. She tried to mask it with a smile, but there was something about the way he was looking at her now. Like she wasn’t just he and Smoke’s childhood friend or the neighbor or the girl he teased sometimes for fun. There was a weight to his gaze.

His fingers moved in slow, absent circles over her arch, rubbing without thinking, like it was second nature. She shifted slightly, trying to keep her breath steady, but the tension in the room was undeniable now. The TV might as well have been turned off.

The room went quiet, the TV nothing more than background noise now. The air thickened, their energy humming beneath the surface like static before a storm.

“Is… Smoke mad at me?” Juicy asked suddenly, voice quiet.

Stack looked up, his brow lifting just slightly, which emptied her to continue. “He seemed a bit irritated at the way I was acting earlier.” She added, eyes dropping to her lap. “I guess I was being a little…much.”

“Yeah, you were a brat.” Stack said plainly. Juicy frowned at his words, her lips pushing into a pout. “I know.” She sighed. “And I don’t know why.”

“Because you’re spoiled.”

Her mouth dropped open in mock offense. “I am not spoiled!”

Stack chuckled. “Yes you are, Juicy.”

She moved to protest again, but he lifted a finger, silencing her with a teasing smirk. “You’re the youngest girl in your family. You did everything mommy and daddy dearest wanted, no matter how wild they acted back then. To them, you were the good one. The golden one. Compared to your drug-dealin’ brother and your teen-mom sister, you look like a damn angel.”

Juicy wrinkled her nose but wasn’t sure if she could even fully deny it.

“I blame me and Smoke.” Stack continued, rubbing slow along her heel with one bad while the other toyed with her anklet. “We used to do whatever you said. No matter how crazy it was. Then it rubbed off on everybody else. Mary, Missy… hell, even strangers do what you say.”

“Well.” She said sassily. “You could’ve said no.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “And see that pout? Oh baby, you know I couldn’t.”

He lifted her foot and placed a kiss on it—quick, but lingering enough to make her toes curl. Juicy giggled and half-kicked him, not hard, more playful than anything.

Silence fell again, warm and full.

“But no, he’s not mad at you.”Stack finally said. “At least, not for long. You know how he gets when people don’t listen.”

“Yeah, I know how you both get.”Juicy said with a small roll of her eyes. “You just be glad I like that attitude you give me.” Stack said, gaze sharpening just slightly. “Or else we’d have some issues. Issues I’d have to fix, real quick.”His tongue swept across his bottom lip slowly, and Juicy’s breath caught in her throat. She shifted, thighs clenching slightly, something that Stack caught and made him grin.

“You got real soft feet.” He murmured, eyes dropping again.

“I know.” She said, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies blooming in her chest.

“You get ’em done for someone?”

Her eyes searched his face, trying to figure out if it was a joke or something more. “You.” She said after a beat. Stack eyes made their way back to his, his brow lifted slightly. Juicy simply smirked, letting the words hang in the air. “And every other fine man who might be watchin’.” She added.

Stack laughed then, that low and deep sound that made her knees feel weak even though she was sitting down.

“Well.” He said, setting her feet gently back in his lap, “You definitely got my attention.”

Their eyes locked again, and this time, neither of them looked away.

The TV flickered in the background, forgotten. The ceiling fan hummed low overhead. But all Juicy could feel was the heat between them, thick as the summer night outside, and just as electric.

Stack’s fingers lingered just above her ankle now, the circles slower, heavier. Like he was remembering the feeling of her soft skin under his. Juicy swallowed hard, the thrum in her chest matching the quiet hum of the ceiling fan, blowing out warm air that didn’t help cool her flushed skin.

Stack hadn’t said anything since his last comment, but his eyes were still on her. And his gaze was so heavy and intense that she felt a heart eat start at the lower part of her body. He didn’t stare at her in that way boys used to look at her when she walked by in low-rise jeans. He did it in that way that made her feel seen. He was peeling her open with a glance, figuring out where to press, where to touch, how to unravel her.

Juicy sat up a little, her legs shifting so her calves rested across his lap instead of just her feet. A bold move, maybe. But it was hot. And his hands were warm. And that look in his eye made her forget how to second-guess herself.

“You good?” Stack asked, his voice low, like velvet soaked in heat.

Juicy nodded, slow. “Mhm.”

He raised a brow, but the corners of his lips tugged into a knowing grin. “Alright then.” His hands moved again, this time sliding from her ankle to her shin. His thumb brushed the curve of her calf, just slow enough to make her squirm. She looked away for a second, then back at him, only to catch his eyes already there—watching her reactions. He was closer to her legs now, and he watched as she took a sniff, and the way his eyes closed briefly had her wanting to clench her thoughts together.

“You smell sweet.” He stated as his large hands rubbed against her legs, squeezing her thick calf every now and then. “This the lotion they put on you at the salon?”1 He asked, voice playful, but the rasp in it gave him away.

Juicy licked her lips. “No, it’s the one I carry with me. Gotta stay soft.” She shrugged.

That earned a chuckle, low and deep, and his fingers didn’t stop moving. Now they were tracing the line behind her knee, then higher. She felt her breath hitch, but she didn’t stop him. Her body was humming. Like her skin was remembering the nights she used to dream of this exact thing and pretend she didn’t.

“You tryna drive me crazy?” He murmured, his fingertips brushing along her thigh now—just below the hem of her little shorts. It was light. Barely there. But it lit a fire under her skin.

“I thought I already did.” She replied, voice dipping, almost shy but not really. Stack smiled. That slow, lazy smile that said he liked where this was headed. His hands slid further north, one staying on her thigh, the other moving to her waist, like he was trying to anchor her and set her on fire at the same time.

“Juicy…”

She looked at him, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her lips. “Yeah?” She asked breathlessly.

“You ever think about us?” He asked, thumb stroking just under the band of her shorts.

Her heart thumped. “Like what?”

His gaze was heavy now. Weighted with meaning. With memories of all the late nights they’d danced around each other, shared jokes a little too flirty, lingered in the same room just a little too long. “Like this.” He said simply. “Like… me and you. No frontin’ or nothin’ like that. Just us.” He said, and the way he was speaking, that soft voice like he was begging, had Juicy’s heart beating hard within her chest.

Juicy’s throat felt tight, but she nodded. “Yeah… I think about it.” She said, her eyes wide and twinkling as she stared into his eyes. “Me too.” His hand drifted further, palm cupping the outside of her thigh now, fingertips brushing the curve of her hip. “All the time.”

His touch turned more confident, the tease of it replaced with intention. He leaned in slightly, close enough for Juicy to smell the faded cologne on his neck—something warm and woodsy that clung to him even through the heat.

Her hand found his chest, soft at first, then gripping the front of his white tank like she needed something to hold on to. Stack leaned forward, his mouth brushing her shoulder before his lips pressed there, then higher—up her neck, slow and deliberate.

“You want me to stop?” He whispered, his voice sending a shiver straight down her spine.

She shook her head, breathless. “No…”

That was all he needed.

His hands moved with more purpose now, dragging her closer until she was nearly straddling his lap. One arm hooked around her waist, the other dipped lower, beneath the hem of her shorts. She felt his hand explore the curve of her thigh, the hush between them thick as the moment stretched.

Then… he slid further, his fingers brushing against her clothed heat. Then he pressed against her, his large fingered rubbed her through her panties.

Juicy gasped—quiet, startled, but far from unwilling. Stack’s eyes never left hers, watching every flicker across her face, gauging her every breath and reaction as his fingers moved in slow, deliberate rhythm. His mouth brushed hers, feather-soft, like he was asking for permission even as his hand spoke for him.

She gripped his tank tighter, her eyes fluttering shut as she subconsciously, slowly rocked her hips against his hand.

And in the sweltering quiet of that summer night, Stack got to work—steady, focused, and with the kind of confidence that told Juicy he’d been waiting a long time to do this right.

The air felt heavier now—thick with something unspoken but deeply understood. Juicy’s breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could hear was the slow hum of the fan and the soft rustle of Stack’s hands as they moved against her skin.

He kissed her again. This time just beneath her jaw, then down to her collarbone, letting his lips linger. Like he was memorizing her. His hand, still tucked beneath the waistband of her shorts, moved with a deliberate rhythm that had her thighs tensing and her hips subtly shifting, almost involuntarily. A slow, languid ache built low in her belly, and her fingers slid across his cornrows, gently tugging at the long end as if to ground herself in something.

“Stack…” She breathed, barely able to get the name out.

He looked up, eyes hooded and warm, his smile crooked like he knew exactly what he was doing. “You good?” He asked, the rough edge in his voice betraying how much he wanted to keep going.

She nodded—maybe a little too fast—but she couldn’t help it. Her voice was soft when she answered, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

That smile deepened, and he kissed her again, this time on the mouth—slow and full, with tongue, like he wanted to make her forget any man who ever kissed her before.

Stack’s hand was slow and sure, trailing up the outside of Juicy’s thigh with the kind of care that made her nerves hum. The couch beneath her felt too soft, too warm, like it was melting beneath them, and her heartbeat thudded in her ears louder than whatever was still playing on the TV. His fingers moved with ease, confident and patient, making her body respond before her brain could catch up.

Juicy let her head fall back as Stack nipped at her neck, her breath coming out in shallow little sighs, eyes fluttering shut. Every inch of her felt like it was waiting on him—like her whole body was leaning into the moment, breathless and trembling.

Then—

Click.

The sharp sound of a key turning in the front door lock cut through the air like a lightning bolt. Juicy’s eyes snapped open just as Stack’s hand stilled beneath the soft cotton of her shorts. For a beat, neither of them moved, suspended in disbelief.

The door creaked open, and Juicy practically leapt up, pulling her shorts down as if they’d betrayed her.

Stack sat back with a groan that was barely audible, raking a hand over his face as Juicy scrambled to look like she hadn’t just been caught on the edge of sin.

Into the doorway stepped Sinclair, her arms full with a sleeping Tyson slumped against her shoulder, his little curls damp with sweat. She didn’t step fully into the living room, but her gaze drifted—just for a second—over to Juicy, who stood awkwardly next to the couch with her curls a little too messy and her tank top slightly askew.

Sinclair didn’t say anything, but one brow arched ever so slightly.

“Hey.” Juicy said quickly, voice too high. “Y’all back already?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sinclair hummed, tired but alert. “Tyson crashed on the way. Figured I’d just carry him up.”

Stack stood up then, brushing his hands on his jeans, and Juicy caught the faintest smirk playing at his lips, like he found the whole interruption funny. “I’mma head out.”He said casually, his voice warm but cool. Not too rushed, but not slow either.

“Yeah… okay.” Juicy said, following him toward the door, trying to smooth out her curls as they went.

Sinclair disappeared down the hall without a word, but Juicy could feel the suspicion lingering in the air. She knew she probably wasn’t going to get questioned later but whatever just happened would linger between them until it was bright up again.

The porch light buzzed faintly as she stepped into the doorway while Stack stepped outside. The warm night wrapped around them like a slow, sticky blanket. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, and the faint scent of grilled meat still hung in the air from someone’s barbecue earlier.

Stack turned to her, hands slipping into his pockets, his tall frame backlit by the porch light. “You alright?” He asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

Juicy rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. “I was, until somebody got me caught.”

“You wasn’t caught.” He murmured, stepping just a little closer. “She ain’t see nothin’. ’Sides… you the one that got all flustered.”

“I was not flustered.” She argued, eyes narrowing.

“You are flustered.” He leaned in even closer now, his voice low and lazy like syrup on a hot day. “Still got that little red blush right here…” He tapped her cheek lightly, and Juicy swatted his hand, but not really. They both laughed softly, the kind of quiet, private laugh that was meant to only be shared between two people in close quarters.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed lightly over her chest, watching him. “I’m grown.” She said, her usual sassy attitude coming back as she smoothed what we gloss she had left on her lips.

Stack’s gaze flicked down to her lips—quick but not shy. And then back up to her eyes. “Trust and believe I know that.” He said, his eyes training over her again. Juicy bit at the inside of her lip at that, looking up at him. “I should go.” He said, but made no move to leave.

“Mm-hmm.”Juicy hummed, still watching him with those big, round eyes. “You should.”

And yet… neither of them moved. The space between them tightened like a rubber band stretched too far. Then, without warning, Stack leaned in.

His lips found hers—warm, full, and hungry.

Juicy didn’t think. She just melted into him, her arms coming up to rest against his chest as his hand slid around her waist. The kiss deepened fast, hot and breath-stealing, like all the tension from earlier had been waiting for permission.

Then his hand, so bold and certain, slipped lower, gripping her behind in one smooth motion.

Juicy gasped into his mouth, the sound soft and shocked, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might float away if she didn’t.

Stack broke the kiss then, just barely, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavy.

He looked down into her face, those dark eyes searching hers. She looked wrecked in the prettiest way—lips parted, cheeks flushed, her curls wild, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

He kissed her again, quick and tender, right on her slightly open mouth. Then his hand slid slowly from her behind, the warmth of his touch still tingling against her skin.

“Have a good night, Juicy.”He said softly, his voice lower than before. Something about it sent a shiver down her spine. She swallowed and whispered, “Goodnight, Stack.” She said, but she wasn’t even sure the words made it past her lips.

She watched him walk down the steps, his tall frame cutting through the quiet of the street until he crossed over to the porch across from hers. He didn’t look back, not before she went quickly slipped inside and shut the door, pressing her back against it. Her hand went to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

She stared up at the ceiling for a second, completely dazed. Then, finally, the words slipped out in a breathless, disbelieving whisper.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The morning sun had just begun to stream through the gauzy curtains of Juicy’s bedroom, casting a warmth across her floor. The summer air was already thick with heat, promising a sweltering day ahead. She stood near her dresser in nothing but a black tank top and her favorite pair of boy shorts, the soft cotton clinging to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was up in a bun with a silk scarf wrapped around the base, though a few strands were curling down the side of her face as she rubbed sunscreen onto her arms. The scent of coconut filled the room, mingling with the faint trace of her vanilla perfume.

She paused mid-rub, her eyes drifting toward the door as she remembered something.

Sinclair.

She needed to tell her sister about the pool party. Dropping the sunscreen onto the vanity, she wiped her hands on a towel and padded barefoot down the hall. Tyson’s door was slightly ajar, but she walked right past it, heading straight for the largest room in the house. Sinclair sat cross-legged on her bed, meticulously going through Tyson’s diaper bag, organizing bottles and wipes like she was preparing for war.

“Hey.” Juicy called softly, catching her attention.

Sinclair looked up from a pack of baby wipes. “Hey, what’s up?”

Juicy stepped further into the room, her bare legs brushing against the side of the bed as she smiled down at the toddler who sat surrounded by soft toys, babbling to himself. “Mary and I are gonna hit the pool party at the rec center in a few. Martin might be there, so I thought maybe you and Ty could slide through. Make it a family affair.”She said, reaching down to scoop up the baby.

Tyson squealed with delight, giggling as Juicy peppered his chubby cheeks with ticklish kisses. The baby’s laugh was contagious, filling the room like sunlight.

Sinclair’s smile was tentative. “Uh… yeah, I can see if we can do that.” She said, but something in her tone held hesitation. “It’s just that—”

Knock knock knock.

A knock at the door cut her off.

Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “I’ll get it.” She said quickly, gently placing Tyson back on the bed before heading down the hallway.

She didn’t ask who it was, didn’t pause, didn’t peek cautiously through the side curtain like she normally would. It was almost like she knew who was there form the knock alone, even the presence.

As she pressed her eye to the peephole, her breath caught. There he was. Those familiar full lips she knew better than her own name, framed by the smooth lines of a face she could spot even in a dream.

She opened the door, slow and unsure.

Smoke stood on the other side, tall and still and undeniably handsome, his expression unreadable but his eyes glued to her.

“Hey,” He said, voice low, intimate.

“Hi.” Juicy’s throat tightened, her breath catching. It was the first time they’d seen each other since her impulsive outburst yesterday. She’d sent two texts last night, trying not to sound too desperate, but they’d gone unanswered and call her an over thinker but know she didn’t know where they stood.

“Can I come in?” Smoke asked gently, watching her closely.

Juicy blinked, shaking off the trance. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Come on in.” She said, stepping aside.

He moved past her into the house, his presence immediately grounding, immediately consuming. She shut the door behind him and took his hand without thinking, leading him down the hallway to her bedroom. The house was still and quiet, Tyson’s babbling just a murmur in the distance.

Once inside, she closed the door behind them. Like he’d been here a thousand times, Smoke crossed the room and sat on her bed, picking up one of her pink decorative pillows and resting it against his knees. His eyes scanned her slowly. Her bun, her bare arms still glistening with sunscreen, the tank top that hugged her chest just tight enough for him to see the curve of her nipples underneath, and the boy shorts that left little to the imagination.

She stood with her hands on her hips, heart thudding against her ribs. “You mad at me?” She asked, lips pouted.

Smoke shook his head. “No.”

“Well…”She dragged the word out, tilting her head.

“…Were you mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you, baby.” He said, that low rasp in his voice drawing her in like a magnet.

That last word—baby—settled right in her chest and melted whatever walls she’d tried to put up. She exhaled softly, stepping forward until she stood between his knees. Her arms wrapped around his torso, pulling herself closer to him. “You didn’t answer my messages.” She murmured, her voice small and vulnerable. “I thought you were mad after what I did yesterday.”

Smoke’s arms slid around her waist, grounding her. His hands rested gently on her lower back, fingers drawing soft circles there.

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” He said. “After you dipped out to get your nails did, I had to handle some business. Came back late and crashed. I was tired.”

Juicy lifted her head just enough to look him in the eye, glancing down at her hang as she toyed this his gold chain. “So you weren’t mad at me? Not even a little?”

“Baby, no.” He repeated gently, then his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shorts, teasing the bare skin of her hip. “But you better never talk back to me like that again.” He added in a low, commanding voice. “Or else you’re due for a punishment. Am I understood?”

A sharp thrill ran down her spine at the firm warning.

“Yes.” Juicy answered breathily, her thighs instinctively pressing together.

“Mmm, good.” Smoke said before leaning in to kiss her, slow and possessive, his hands traveling downward to rest on the curve of her ass. His words and touch made her heart skip. She felt a slick warmth pool between her legs at the way he claimed her without even needing to undress her.

“I been thinkin’ bout you.” He muttered, lips brushing hers. That thick sexual tension, so thick it could choke, melted into something else—still hot, still heavy—but now softer. Sweeter and longing.

She kissed the corner of his mouth with a feather-light touch. “I missed you.” She confessed, voice tight with emotion. Smoke tightened his hold with another soft him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. “I missed you too.”

They stayed like that, tangled in each other’s limbs, in a moment so intimate it felt like time slowed. The outside world ceased to matter. All that existed was this boy she’d grown to crave and the way his body molded perfectly to hers.

Juicy’s chest tightened, her heart blooming into something dangerous. Something real, and that she wasn’t sure she ready to name, but couldn’t deny.

“I was worried.” She whispered, afraid to say it out loud. She practically spoke the words into his mouth since didn’t want to pull away, but he didn’t seem to mind as his around her tightened.

Smoke tilted her chin gently, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “You don’t have to be. I’m here.”And for a second, she believed him. Fully and completely. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, touching the warm skin of his stomach. Her voice was soft. “You better come to that pool party later.” She said.

Smoke smirked, that lopsided grin she both hated and loved curling on his lips. “I might pull up. Depends on how good you look in that swimsuit.”

“Oh, I’m gon’ look good.” She grinned, tilting her head. “So you better be there.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Then I’ll be there.”

And just like that, the tension returned, but this time, it wasn’t uncertainty or doubt. It was anticipation. It was summer heat, sticky and sweet, and the thrill of knowing something good was coming.

Before they could Steele back into the heat of their moment, Sinclair knocked twice before easing the door open, her hand resting lightly on the knob as her eyes scanned the room. The first thing she noticed was Smoke, sitting casually on the edge of Juicy’s bed like he’d always belonged there, while Juicy was bent slightly at her dresser, sifting through clothes. Her back was to the door, unaware of her sister’s entrance at first.

Sinclair paused mid-step, almost doing a double take when her gaze landed on the man lounging comfortably in her baby sister’s bedroom. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She said slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit, like she couldn’t decide whether she was suspicious or surprised. Juicy, halfway through tugging open a drawer, turned and blinked. Her brows pulled together at the same time Smoke’s did, the pair of them mirroring each other like they were already synced without trying.

“He knocked a few minutes ago.”Juicy replied plainly, but her voice held the faintest trace of dry amusement. She stood up straighter, one hand still resting on the dresser as she looked back at Sinclair.

Sinclair’s eyes darted between them, then shifted toward the floor as her toddler son, Tyson, who came bumbling in with soft patters of his feet and the sweet sound of baby banter falling off his tongue. He wore a lopsided grin, his little hands reaching for whatever was nearby—his mother’s jeans, the air, the bed frame—giddy from just being seen.

“Oh, yeah.” Sinclair muttered, rubbing the side of her forehead as the memory finally clicked into place.

“Damn. I think the mom brain is starting to get to you.”Juicy said with an arched a brow, lips twitching with a small smile.

“Yeah, me too.”Sinclair let out a low sigh and adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Anyway.” She started, a hesitant note sneaking into her tone. “We might pull up to the pool later, but first I’m taking Ty to see Mom and Dad.”

Juicy’s expression shifted, just barely. She was careful, giving her sister nothing but a sharp nod, her mouth set, and a blink. “Oh.” She said with a quick uptick of her chin. “Okay.”

But there was a new stillness in the room. One that Smoke picked up on instantly, his eyes flicking from Juicy to Sinclair. Something unspoken had entered the air. Sinclair’s eyes stayed on her sister for a moment longer, trying to gauge the exact temperature of her reaction. Then she spoke again, casually.

“They haven’t seen him in a while. And neither have I, so…” She trailed off with a slight shrug, feigning nonchalance, but even Tyson seemed to slow in his babbling, sensing the shift in his mama’s voice.

Juicy hummed, soft and brief, not looking directly at Sinclair as she turned back to her drawer. “Okay.” She repeated, her tone light but not warm. Her hand paused over a folded orange swimsuit, fingers tapping the fabric once before picking it up. Smoke didn’t say a word. He sat still, observing, but his jaw flexed slightly, like he could feel the tightness forming under her skin.

Sinclair gave a weak smile, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. She nodded once, lips pursed. “Alright.” She said, stepping back toward the doorway. “See y’all later.”

Juicy finally looked up again, flashing a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “See ya.” She waved.

Then her gaze dropped to the little boy now holding onto the seam of his mother pants and grinning up at her with his two tiny bottom teeth showing. Her whole face softened.

“See ya, Ty!” She grinned, leaning down a little to wiggle her fingers in his direction.

“Say, ‘See ya, TT,’” Sinclair cooed in that syrupy baby voice as she leaned down beside him. But Tyson only giggled at the attention, waving his hand in a messy arc and showing off those same little teeth like he knew he was the moment.

Juicy laughed softly, the sound light and brief, but Smoke could tell her mind wasn’t fully in it. She was still stuck in whatever thoughts Sinclair had stirred up.

Sinclair gave her sister one last look, her eyes lingering a second longer than necessary on the man behind her. She clocked the way he sat—comfortably, as if this wasn’t his first time in that room. And something about that seemed to settle, or unsettle, in her chest. Then, without another word, she stepped out, gently guiding her son with her, and pulled the door shut behind them with a soft click.

Silence bloomed in the room like smoke after a match strike.

Juicy stood there, still holding the swimsuit, but her shoulders had stiffened. Smoke watched her quietly for a moment, studying the way her jaw tensed ever so slightly, the way her fingers gripped the bright orange fabric too tightly.

He didn’t speak right away. Just let the moment breathe. The silence between them was the kind that said a lot without either of them needing to say a damn thing. Summer heat curled in through the open window, thick and lazy, stirring the edges of the sheer curtains and gliding across her skin.

“You alright?” Smoke asked finally, his voice low, careful.

Juicy blinked like she’d just come out of a daze, turning to face him with a quick nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Smoke didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push—not yet. Instead, he let the moment sit. Let the tension hum like the faraway cicadas outside. He didn’t say anything for a second, just tilted his head slightly. “You sure?”

She gave him a softer smile then, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, just surprised me is all.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of her dresser, sifting through neatly folded swimsuits. “I didn’t know she was going over there.”

Smoke leaned back slightly, palms pressing into the mattress. “You not cool with that?”

Juicy shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “I mean… it’s whatever. It ain’t my business.”

But the edge in her voice betrayed her. Smoke caught it.

“She told you about taking him over there?”

“Nope.” Juicy popped the ‘p’ as she pulled out a swimsuit—bright orange with gold detailing—and tossed it onto the bed without looking at him. “But like I said, it’s whatever.”

Smoke nodded slowly. He didn’t push, just watched her for a beat longer. “Your folks… y’all not on good terms?”

Juicy paused again, her hand resting flat on the dresser, nails tapping rhythmically. The pause stretched out a little too long before she answered.

“We cool. Just… history, you know?” She said vaguely, grabbing a pair of shorts to go with the swimsuit. “It’s nothin’ new.”

Smoke hummed low in his throat, but didn’t press further. He could feel the wall going up in real time. Whatever the story was, she wasn’t ready to unpack it right now—not with her sister freshly gone and her mood already shaken.

He stood, walking up behind her slowly. “You don’t gotta pretend with me.” He said, voice softer now. “You don’t wanna talk about it, fine. But don’t do that ‘I’m fine’ shit.”

Juicy looked at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she gave a small smile—this one a little more real.

“Noted.”She murmured.

Smoke leaned down, pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Good.”

For a while, they stood like that. Quiet. Though everything unspoken still buzzed beneath the surface, but neither one of them needed to say anything. Outside, the world was still alive with chatter, sprinklers, and the faint bass of someone’s car rolling down the street.

Juicy finally pulled herself away from the stillness, tucking the different swimsuit options and shorts under her arm. “I’m gonna change real quick.” She said, tilting her head toward the bathroom. “Don’t peek.”

A slow grin began pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I ain’t say nothin’,” He murmured, voice rich and playful as he moved and sat back down on the bed. “I’ll be here.”

She raised her brows at him with a small laugh, disappearing into her bathroom with a soft click of the door behind her.

She gave him a quick glance before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind her. And as soon as she was gone, Smoke leaned back on his hands again, his gaze drifting toward the closed door.

Something in her sister’s visit—and Juicy’s too-calm reaction—lingered in his chest like smoke that wouldn’t quite clear. Whatever it was, he figured it wasn’t just history.

It was something more.

And he had a feeling that it wasn’t done showing its teeth.

Inside the bathroom, Juicy peeled off her tank top and shorts, stepping into the cool lining of her black-and-white gingham bikini set. The top had a halter neckline that hugged her curves just right, and the matching mini skirt hit high on her thighs, barely grazing the bottom curve of her cheeks. It was more fashion than function—more for looking good than getting wet. She had no intention of swimming today. Just a little sun, a little music, a little flirtation. Maybe a drink or two, maybe a little dancing. And with Smoke around… maybe more of the last one.

She smoothed down the skirt, adjusted the top, then stood back to glance at herself in the mirror. Hair still fresh from her wrap the night before, she slicked her high bun back with her fingers, adding a pair of gold hoops to finish the look. A swipe of glittery gloss, a spritz of body spray that smelled like coconut and vanilla, and she was done.

When she stepped back out into the bedroom, Smoke sat up a little straighter. His mouth opened slightly like he was about to say something slick, but no words came—just a long, appreciative glance that traveled from her glossy lips to her honey-toned thighs.

Juicy caught it and smirked. “What?” She teased.

He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “Ain’t nobody even gon’ make it in the pool wit’ you lookin’ like that.”

Juicy rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the little blush that crept up her neck. She crossed the room to grab her sandals, bending just a little too slow when she picked them up, and when she straightened, Smoke was still watching her.

“You tryin’ to be funny.” He said, narrowing his eyes playfully.

“I’m tryin’ to be fine.” She replied with a wink, slipping on her sandals and tossing her purse over her shoulder.

“Mission accomplished.”

They shared a grin as well as a laugh, something more easy and light, as if yesterday’s tension had been blown away with the breeze rolling through the window. Whatever that conversation had been, it didn’t follow them now. This was a new rhythm. A new beat.

As they headed out the door, Smoke opened it for her. “After you, Miss Juicy.”

Juicy giggled, flipping her silk scarf, which she now wore as decoration, as she passed. “You gon’ call me that all day now?”

“Yup,” He said, trailing behind her. “Miss Gingham if I’m nasty.”

She swatted at him as they walked down to his car, laughing. The heat had crept up since the morning, and by the time they got in, the leather seats were already warm under her thighs. She shifted, adjusting her skirt with a little tug.

The drive through the neighborhood was quick, familiar streets lined with porches and sun-faded cars, kids running through sprinklers and old heads playing dominoes under shade trees. Mary’s block was alive with the sound of a Saturday in May.

As they pulled up to the curb, Juicy leaned out the passenger window, scanning for her friend. She barely had time to blink before the screen door flew open and Mary burst out onto the porch, her high ponytail bouncing behind her and her gold sandals clacking against the wood steps.

“Y’all ready?!” Mary shouted, waving both arms like they hadn’t seen her in years. Her swimsuit was loud and proud, a bright yellow with white flowers, and a sheer cover-up that fluttered behind her as she jogged down the walk. “Let’s gooo, I been waitin’ since eight o’clock!”

Behind her, Missy stood on the porch, arms crossed and a faint smile on her lips. She was still in her house dress, a phone in one hand and the news paper tucked under had arm. She raised her hand when she spotted the car.

Smoke leaned a little, giving her a respectful nod after a quick blow of the horn in greeting. Juicy lifted her fingers in a wave, and Mary grinned, turning around to blow her mom a kiss.

“Be good!” Missy called, though her voice held no real warning. “And tell Sinclair I said hey!”

“I will!” Mary and Juicy called back.

The woman waved one last time, then disappeared inside with the slow creak of the screen door behind her.

Mary slid into the backseat, breathless and already pulling a tube of lip gloss out of her bag. “Okay. Playlist ready? Vibes set? Let’s go, I need to feel fine today.”

Juicy turned in her seat, grinning over her shoulder. “You always fine, girl.”

Smoke laughed softly, pulling off from the curb as the music kicked in, Ashanti’s ‘Rock Wit U’ floating through the speakers like the soundtrack to a perfect afternoon.

The sun was high now, casting long shadows and soaking the world in a white gold. And with Smoke behind the wheel, Juicy in the front seat in her barely-there skirt, and Mary gassing herself up in the back, everything about this moment felt exactly right.

Summer had never looked better.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The car rounded the corner and dipped onto the long gravel road leading to the city pool, tires crunching beneath the heat. The closer they got, the louder the music became, the bass vibrating through the thick, humid air like a heartbeat. Juicy leaned forward in her seat, peeking out the windshield as she caught sight of the blue glint of water and the crowds already swelling behind the black barred fence.

Smoke nodded toward the commotion. “Stack said he’ll meet us here. He on his way now.”

Mary perked up in the backseat, tugging her sunglasses down over her eyes. “Oop—Stack comin’? Say less.” Her voice danced with excitement, and she reached for her strawberry-scented body oil, giving her legs a quick gleam.

Juicy glanced at Smoke, smirking. “So this really gon’ be a thing, huh? Y’all going everywhere with us?

He shrugged, amused. “I just drive the car. I don’t ask no questions.

Mary rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Please, you always ask questions.” Then she leaned forward between the seats, grinning. “But thank you for the ride, Mr. Chauffeur.”

“You welcome.” Smoke replied coolly, pulling into a shady patch near the edge of the lot. He cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, watching the scene unfold beyond the windshield. He then furrowed his brows, looking over at Juicy. “Dwait, didn’t y’all ask us to come?” He questioned.

“I thought you didn’t ask questions?” Juicy asked as she popped a piece of him in her mouth, smiling at him as Mary hopped out of the car to get the party started.

Despite the official Parks & Rec flyer calling it a “Family Fun Day,” the vibe was anything but kiddie. Sure, there were toddlers splashing in the shallow end and a few aunties under the pavilions eating BBQ on Styrofoam plates, but most of the crowd was teens and twenty-somethings, all fresh fits and flip-flops, drippin’ with baby oil and bottled water, posted up in every corner of the pool area with red solo cups.

The scent of grilled hot dogs and chlorine mixed with the blare of Chingy’s ‘Right Thurr’ booming through a set of old speakers someone had dragged to the edge of the pool deck. It was hot, it was loud, and it was everything summer was supposed to be.

Juicy opened her door and stepped out, the sun immediately warming her legs. She tugged her mini skirt down on instinct, though it didn’t do much. The fabric barely covered her, and when she turned, Smoke’s eyes flicked upward. She caught him.

“You lookin’?” She asked, hands on her hips.

“I ain’t say nothin’,” He replied, voice smooth as syrup.

“That’s not what I asked you.” She shot back with a wink, then reached into her purse to pull out her lip gloss. “Just know I seen it.”

Smoke chuckled low in his throat, closing his door and nodding toward the gate. “Let’s go before it get too packed. Some lil boy already doin’ flips by the ‘No Diving’ sign.”

Sure enough, as they stepped through the open gate, a boy with plaits came sailing through the air in mid-cannonball, splashing a group of girls who screamed and laughed while holding their phones and purses above their heads. A tangle of floaties bobbed along the edges of the pool, and people were posted up on every available inch of concrete—some laid out on towels, others perched on plastic lawn chairs with drinks in hand.

Juicy spotted a mutual friend of her, Lamont, almost immediately.

He wasn’t hard to miss. Shirtless in red trunks, chain swinging against his chest as he grinded behind some girl in a lime green bikini. One hand held a red cup, the other was suspiciously low on her waist, and he looked like he hadn’t seen a lifeguard whistle in at least twenty minutes.

Mary laughed when she saw him. “Lord, Lamont really acting like he ain’t on payroll.”

“Girl, he never act like he on payroll,” Juicy said, adjusting her hoops. “He only work here for the free hot dogs and attention.”

Up in the high chair, their homegirl Megan sat post, stoic as ever with her arms crossed, and clearly unamused. Her mirrored shades hid her eyes. She tapped her whistle once, loudly, then pointed at the boy gearing up to dive again.

They walked deeper into the party, weaving between coolers, foldout chairs, and sunbathing bodies. Juicy felt the eyes on her immediately—she always did—but today, with the sunlight catching her skin and the black-and-white gingham hugging her like it was made just for her, she felt it too. She wasn’t trying to swim. Wasn’t here for the water. Just the vibe. The music. And maybe the way Smoke’s hand brushed the small of her back every now and then as he guided her through the crowd.

Mary skipped ahead to greet a few friends already camped out by the edge of the pool, but Smoke and Juicy lingered by one of the empty loungers. He gestured to it, offering it like it was her throne.

“You tryna sit, or you gon’ stand here and let the sun hit you like a sexy model on a magazine cover? Cause I wouldn’t be mad at it if you stood in front of me.”

Juicy rolled her eyes and sank into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Magazine cover, huh?”

“Yeah, girl. You’re my Jet Beauty of the Week.” He said smoothly. “But better.”

She laughed, tipping her head back, and for a second, everything else disappeared—the splashes, the laughter. It was just them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

Juicy lounged like she belonged in a music video. Her legs glistening from the shimmer lotion she dabbed on earlier, ankles crossed, chin tilted just enough to keep her glossed lips in the sun. Her magazine was open across her lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, catching her on a spread of luxury heels. Delicate strappy numbers from Jimmy Choo, those Miu Miu platforms she’d been eyeing since March, and some throwback Gucci slingbacks in cherry red. She licked her thumb and flipped the page lazily, humming along to “Frontin’” as it poured from the speakers set up by the snack stand.

Mary, meanwhile, was perched up next to her in the chair beside the lifeguard chair where Megan sat post—legs swinging, sunglasses halfway down her nose as she leaned in to whisper.

“No, like—he really tried to play in my face.”Mary said, voice low but clearly animated. “He called me from a random number and said he was at his grandmas. I called back a day later and some bitch named Tamika answered.” She scoffed.

Megan sis the same, disgust tracing her features. “He bold and dumb. That’s a deadly combo.”

“He’s a clown.” Mary muttered, adjusting her top. “What’s wild is I really liked him for a second. Like, I was plotting playlists for this man in my head. That’s how far gone I was.”

“Playlists?” Megan echoed, horrified. “Girl.”

“I know.” Mary groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I almost burned a CD.”

They both gasped dramatically in unison, and that was what caught Juicy’s attention. Her gaze shifted over the top of her magazine, brows lifting. “What? I wanna know.”

But neither girl responded. They just stared past her, toward the pool’s entrance, mouths parted in small, stunned expressions that leaned more into irritation than awe.

Juicy, never one to be left in the dark, lowered the glossy pages and followed their line of sight.

And there they were.

Anika and her crew.

Like clockwork, the pool gate creaked open and the temperature seemed to shift. The girls stepped through like they owned the pavement, all matching energy but not outfits. Anika’s hair was freshly pressed, as always, bouncing with every calculated step. She wore a coral bikini that looked expensive, her top tied perfectly above a flat, glistening stomach. Her girls followed close behind, equally beat—each with a fresh press, glossy lips, designer shades, and earrings that sparkled like the pool itself.

Their heels clicked against the concrete, like a warning shot.

Juicy turned her lip up slightly.

They were beautiful, no doubt. But that little flash of insecurity never even got the chance to rise—not after what Mary had whispered to her at the nail salon yesterday. About how Anika had openly talked about wanting to fuck either Stack or Smoke, like it was a game of eeny meeny miney hoe.

So Juicy didn’t gape like the others. She just squinted, unimpressed. “They not even dressed to swim.” She mumbled, flipping through her magazine with one hand and shrugging to herself.

Mary, without missing a beat, said, “Neither are you.” Glancing over at her.

Juicy’s eyes cut sharp to the side, a little grin curling at the corner of her mouth even as she rolled them. “And?”

Mary tilted her chin like Exactly, and turned back to Megan.

Juicy sighed and folded her magazine carefully, placing it in her chair. She stood, smoothed down the hem of her gingham mini skirt, and sauntered across the hot concrete until she reached the edge of the pool. It was packed—teenagers doing cannonballs, couples lounging waist-deep, kids with floaties. But she found a spot and slipped her sandals off, dipping her freshly-pedicured toes into the cool water.

She lowered herself until she was perched on the edge, knees drawn up, arms crossed as she turned back to Mary, who watched from afar like a proud big sister.

“Is this good enough?” Juicy asked, sass dripping off every syllable.

Mary stood from the lifeguard chair, smirking. “Nope.”

Before Juicy could respond, Mary marched over and without hesitation, slid right into the pool. A soft splash echoed, water rippling around her as she dunked everything but her hair. When she emerged, she slicked water down her arms and looked up with a wide grin.

“You gotta have more fun, girl.” She called.

Juicy answered with a very matter-of-fact middle finger, flashing her acrylics. Mary cracked up, kicking away and floating backwards into the deeper part of the pool.

Juicy couldn’t help but smile. Not the tight-lipped kind she reserved for strangers or polite moments, but something softer and much more easy and natural. Even in the middle of a party, with Anika’s clique parading around like they were filming a music video feature and the sun beating down like a spotlight, she still felt good. Still felt wanted.

Juicy let her legs sway gently in the water, toes flexing as they sliced through the shimmering blue. The sun warmed her skin, and the air smelled like cocoa butter, grill smoke, and chlorine. Her elbow rested lazily on her knee, her chin tucked into her palm as she scanned the poolside crowd with a dreamy kind of smile. Laughter rose in waves around her. Somebody hollered across the deep end. Girls squealed when a boy cannonballed too close.

Juicy’s eyes wandered, taking it all in—the summer buzz, the unapologetic joy of being young without weighing responsibility as if right now. For once, she wasn’t worried about how she looked or who was watching as she enjoyed the setting around her.

Until she saw Smoke.

He was crouched near the back corner where a group of guys surrounded a towel spread with bills and dice. Martin and a couple of his boys were laughing, talking shit, slapping palms between rolls. And Smoke was in his element, white wife pleaser clinging to his back, gold chain swinging low as he leaned in and watched the dice tumble.

Then he scooped the money up with one hand, the other brushing against his waves. He then glanced up and caught her in the middle of ogling.

His smirk deepened, shifting from cocky to slow and dangerous. His eyes roamed lazily, pausing at her bare shoulders, her shiny thighs, the subtle bounce of her curls in the heat. He looked like he was remembering things he shouldn’t be thinking about out in the open.

Juicy’s breath caught. Her lips parted slightly before she caught herself and looked away, cheeks warming as she let out a soft, involuntary laugh. That was all Smoke needed. He licked his bottom lip slowly and turned back to the dice game, but not before letting that smirk linger in her direction a few seconds longer than necessary, even if she wasn’t looking at him. He knew she felt the weight of his gaze.

She shook her head to herself, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks.

And then the gate creaked open again.

Juicy glanced up just in time to see Stack walk in, and if Smoke had her heart skipping, Stack had it full-on backflipping.

Unlike his brother, who stayed in his tank top, Stack came shirtless, and Lord—he knew what he was doing. The sun kissed every inch of his chest, his abs sculpted but not overdone. His torso glistened a bit, but she knew it wasn’t likely from the lotion or oil he slathered on before leaving the house, she could see the sweat beads he built up over time out in the Mississippi sun. Though the sheer did make the tattoos on his triceps pop, as the muscles flexed with each step he took. His black basketball shorts hung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers peeking just above.

Juicy sucked in a quiet breath.

Jesus.

She didn’t even try to look away. How could she, when he walked with that kind of confidence. His eyes scanned the crowd lazily as he chewed gum, one hand dragging over his jaw before they landed on her.

And he smiled.

Stack didn’t bother to hide the way he looked at her. His gaze dropped, lingered on the way her thighs spread against the concrete, the glint of her new belly ring catching the sun— a tiny gem that matched the brightest star, little gold rays hanging. He didn’t even pretend not to notice the way her top lifted when she leaned back, or the way her lips parted ever so slightly at his gaze. She looked so good, he almost turned around and left, just to come back in again for the drama of it.

She had on something soft today, he realized. Not just her outfit, but her. The makeup, the lotion, the faint shimmer on her collarbones. Maybe it was the memory of last night, of his hand gripping the round of her ass while they kissed under the light of her porch. Maybe it was the way she said his name like a secret she wasn’t ready to share, breathing into his mouth as his hands exploded under her shorts. Either way, she was glowing, and he felt every bit of it hit him in the chest.

He winked.

And Juicy practically melted. She fumbled her gaze back to the water like it had answers, heart thudding as if the sun itself had reached down and tapped her on the shoulder.

Stack moved on toward his brother, the two of them meeting halfway with a dap and a shoulder bump. Juicy couldn’t hear what they said, but the way they laughed together, easy and familiar, made her stomach twist. It was strange, watching them like that—like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t kissed one of them in the dark the night before.

Like she hadn’t kissed the other one in broad daylight this morning.

Her fingers curled over the edge of the pool, nails tapping lightly. The music thumped on behind her, girls laughed, somebody cracked open a soda nearby—but her thoughts had narrowed to one singular sentence, loud and clear.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into.”

And no amount of summer sun was gonna answer that for her.

By the time Mary had slinked back to the spot Juicy at the edge of the pool, her body was soaked and glistening, water droplets clinging to her skin like diamonds under the sun. Her pony was slicked back, her bikini clinging to her curves as she dropped beside her friend with a sigh of pure satisfaction.

“Girl, that water feels so good.” She said, wringing a bit of water from the end of her pony tail as she leaned back on her elbows. “You better stop being cute and come float with me.”

Juicy smiled faintly, her attention still half-watching the crowd. “I’ll think about it.”

“See? That’s your problem now. Always thinking about something.” Mary teased, nudging her with a damp foot. “Loosen up, it’s a pool party, not a courtroom.”

They both laughed softly, that lazy, sun-drunk kind of laughter, the kind that only came when your skin was warm and your stomach was full of the content of the splendid afternoon.

But the someone walked by and ruined it all.

Her heels clicked lightly against the pavement, despite the pool setting, and her glossy lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk as she passed the two girls.

“Hey, Juicy.” Pearline said, voice syrupy-sweet with just enough venom beneath it to sting. She barely paused, her eyes flicking over them with a casual kind of shade.

Juicy just looked at her, chin lifted slightly. Her mouth stayed closed, her eyes cool and unimpressed. Pearline didn’t wait for a response—didn’t need one, apparently. Her smirk deepened like she expected it.

Mary blinked after her, eyebrows furrowing. “Well damn.” She muttered, loud enough to be heard. “I’m here too, but okay.” She scoffed, causing Juicy to finally let out a soft laugh, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ain’t nobody worried about ole girl.” She said, physically waving her off.

Mary hummed as she side-eyed the woman that walked away from them. “Not since she switched up soon as Anika rolled in with that fake ass Fendi, a different accent and a fresh silk press.” Mary said, shaking her head as she thought about how it all blew over. “Tragic, really. Anika can’t even speak Spanish and she’s supposed to be half Dominican. That was, like, all of her appeal.” She said, more to herself now as she scoffed.

Juicy didn’t answer right away. She was too busy watching Pearline strut away, heels clacking. That same old ache stirred in her chest, that old mix of resentment and something else—something deeper. Something she didn’t want to name.

She and Pearline hadn’t talked since junior year. Not since Pearline switched up on her, started rolling with Anika like she’d been born in Queens herself. Like she hadn’t once shared Kool-Aid in Juicy’s granny’s kitchen, or whispered about first crushes under the oak tree in Mary’s backyard. Or gossiped with them at the Friday night games.

And Mary knew. Mary had been there for the fall. For the way Juicy cried that night after Pearline left them at the dance, choosing Anika’s afterparty instead, not before leaving a nasty note and some hurtful words to the chubby girl. She’d been there when Juicy admitted that it wasn’t just about friendship—it was heartbreak. The kind that came when a person knew too much about your body, your laugh, your secrets. Pearline wasn’t just a best friend.

She was Juicy’s first almost. Something she’d never try aging after the hurt she faced.

And maybe that was why Juicy didn’t say anything now—just stood, brushing off her thighs as she grabbed her phone.

“I’ll be back.” She said quietly.

“Where you going?” Mary asked, concerned.

“Bathroom.”

Mary nodded, letting her go without pushing. She watched her friend disappear into the crowd, her expression softening. She knew what day this was turning into.

Juicy crossed the pool area quickly, dodging wet feet and floating beach balls, slipping into the public restroom near the concession stand. The moment she stepped inside, she grimaced.

The air was damp and sour. One of the sinks had a paper towel shoved in the drain, and water pooled on the floor like the aftermath of a middle school fight. The stalls were questionably clean, one of them with a door that hung off the hinge.

Juicy stepped back, shaking her head in disgust. “Yeah, no.” She mumbled to herself, turning right back around.

The better bathrooms were inside the main building, where the events coordinator worked and the lifeguards took breaks. She’d been in there once before—clean tile floors, working soap dispensers, and air conditioning. She needed that now.

She opened the back door and stepped outside again, sunlight smacking her full in the face as the bass from the music rattled the patio furniture. She squinted against the brightness—and that’s when she saw it. Juicy hadn’t even made it three steps back outside before the sight hit her square in the chest like a punch she wasn’t ready for.

Her steps faltered.

Anika.

She was walking—no, floating—across the concrete pool deck like it was a runway. Her long legs glistened with cocoa butter under the Mississippi sun, her flowy blouse flaring behind her like a flag of war. Her glossy lips curled into a slow, practiced smile as she made a beeline straight toward him.

Smoke.

Juicy stopped, dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing beneath her oversized Dior shades. Her fingers curled around the edge of her phone, the plastic digging into her palms as she watched the scene unfold in front of her like a movie she didn’t want to star in.

Anika reached him first, tilting her head in that way that always seemed rehearsed—chin dipped, lashes low, like she was some music video girl. In her manicured hand was a red solo cup, and she extended it to him like it was a gift.

And Smoke took it. He didn’t even seem to hesitate.

And that smile she knew so well—the one that tugged at just the left side of his mouth, the one he gave her that time—it was there. But it wasn’t for her.

It was for Anika.

Juicy’s stomach twisted so hard she felt dizzy.

She couldn’t hear what was being said, not from across the pool, but she didn’t need the words. The body language told it all. Anika touched his arm, ran her fingers down it with a softness that was far too familiar. And Smoke—he let her.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t step back.

Whatever he said made Anika laugh—loud, hand to her chest like he’d just told the funniest joke on Earth. Her laugh was sharp, but Smoke didn’t flinch, he simply looked at the woman before him.

Juicy stood frozen, legs locked, sunglasses slipping down her nose. And for a moment, she forgot to breathe. She swallowed hard and turned, walking stiffly back to her lounge chair. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck, but it wasn’t from the sun.

Mary glanced over from her seat, noticing her face immediately. “Girl. What happened?”

Juicy dropped down beside her, yanking her towel across her lap and pushing her shades all the way up to hide her eyes.

“Nothin’.” She said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

Mary blinked, followed her line of sight. “Wait. Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s talkin’ to her?”

“Yep.”

Mary let out a long whistle. “Oh, she was t playin’.”

Juicy didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Because from where she sat, she could still see it all—the way Anika leaned against the fence, the way she kept angling her body so Smoke had a full view of her chest every time she flipped her hair. And worse, the way he looked.

Relaxed.

Entertained.

Interested.

It made Juicy’s throat tighten. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper.

Just this morning, he was grabbing her by the waist in her bedroom, whispering things in her ear that made her knees weak. She thought—hell, she felt—like something was building between them. Slow. Intense. Real.

But now he was out here laughing it up with a girl who wore matching designer bikinis and had two-toned highlights like they were still in a 702 music video.

And all Juicy could do was watch. It’s what she always did. What she bad grew accustomed to do.

“You good?” Mary asked again, voice softer this time.

Juicy forced a smile, but it barely held. “Course I am. Why would anyone be? I ain’t worried about no dude.”

But she was. And she hated herself for it.

Because no matter how hard she tried to sit still, her eyes kept flicking back to them. Anika was talking with her hands now, and Smoke was nodding, sipping whatever was in that damn cup. His gold chain glinted in the sunlight as he gave a smile again.

And maybe that was the part that stung the most.

He didn’t look mad anymore.

Didn’t look bothered about her walking away yesterday. Didn’t look like he even remembered.

She watched Anika press a hand to his chest—flat palm, fingers splayed like she was claiming him—and Juicy’s body tensed.

Maybe he really was feeling her. Maybe Smoke really was the type to flirt up a storm and move on the second a girl made him work too hard. Maybe all of their tension, all the flirting and teasing and late-night phone calls, meant more to her than it ever did to him.

She clenched her jaw and leaned back in her chair, trying to act like she didn’t care. Like she didn’t just see the boy who made her heart beat faster let another girl touch him like he was hers.

But inside, she was fuming.

And worst of all—hurt.

The kind of hurt you can’t even name out loud, because it’d mean admitting you care more than you said you did.

So instead, she crossed her arms. Pressed her lips into a hard line. And kept her eyes forward, pretending like she didn’t notice when Anika threw her head back in another laugh.

But she noticed.

She noticed everything.

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[toiadeenovels]

So Good Part 2/?

(I need better gifs smh)

Sugar Daddy! Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black! Reader

I open my eyes to sunlight blinding my vision.

“Rise and shine, beautiful,” Elijah says in a playful tone, knowing I’m not much of a morning person but enjoying my suffering nonetheless.

“It’s too early,” I groan, turning my head into the pillow, dreading getting out of bed.

“Girl, it’s nine o’clock in the morning,” Elijah replies as he watches me complain from his standing position, still in his pajamas from the previous night. The man has always been an early bird and a night owl at the same time. It doesn't make any sense. I know it's mainly due to his job and how proactive he is. Smoke is the type to wake up early to get a workout in, and I know this because I’ve seen him do it multiple times in the months I’ve known him.

As I continue to wallow in bed at the thought of getting up, I suddenly feel a harsh slap on my ass, jolting me upright. I slowly turn to glare in annoyance at my sugar daddy as the blanket slides down my figure and pools at my waist.

“What the hell was that for? I’m awake, just like you wanted,” I say, feeling betrayed.

“You ain’t moving fast enough for me,” he replies as he leans down over my body in bed, a smirk on his handsome face. Placing a hand under my chin to tilt my head, he says, “Don’t look so mad—you’re too pretty for that,” then pecks my lips. “Also, go downstairs. Breakfast is ready. I’m gonna work out, and then I’m all yours, baby girl.”

Walking away, he gives me a chance to stare at his muscular back—the same one I’ve had the pleasure of scratching up every time I gave him some of my cookie.

Moments later, I make my way downstairs to see that he did, indeed, make breakfast: eggs, bacon, grits, waffles, and a side of fruit. I make myself a plate before sitting down for thirty minutes, enjoying breakfast as I watch television.

Time goes by before Smoke appears from his home gym—sweaty and all—with a gold chain to match, as if he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“How’s breakfast?” he asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Good. Thank you for feeding me,” I reply, smiling.

“No problem, baby. I’m trying to make sure you have something other than one bag of chips and water,” he jokes. Smoke has always been a firm believer that I need to take care of myself properly. And for some reason, he thinks all I eat is snacks and barely any nutritious meals, like the madman he is.

But I let him have it, because sometimes I do feel light-headed.

“Anyways, I’m gonna disregard that comment, because I don’t respond to fake news,” I cut in playfully, rolling my eyes.

Smoke walks toward me before arguing, “Or, you know I’m right, as always—because you don’t eat enough when you're not with me.”

I wave a hand in his face. “That’s not true. Where do you get that from?”

He ponders, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how you scarf down food like crazy when you’re with me.”

He caught me there—but I’m not gonna tell him that, because then he’s right. Half the time, I don’t even think about how hungry I am until he reminds me. It's annoying, because then he asks me a bunch of questions, like he’s my dad or something.

“Whatever. I’m done talking about it. Let’s table that discussion for the day,” I suggest, feeling tense all of a sudden.

Elijah just stares at me for a minute before agreeing.

After we both get ourselves ready for the day, Smoke tells me he has to stop by his company to handle something—and then he’s all mine for the rest of the day. We drive through the city in his black Porsche, his hand permanently resting on my thigh. I think he can be clingy at times—in the sense that he always wants to be near me or touching me. But he says, “I just want to touch you, baby.”

It makes me melt in all the best ways.

After the Porsche is parked, we walk hand in hand into Joint Company, which is the name of his business, co-owned by him and his twin brother Elias “Stack” Moore. Even though they are identical twins, they act completely differently—so it’s easy to tell them apart. Stack acts hot-headed and reckless. Smoke, on the other hand, is reserved and level-headed.

To me, it’s a no-brainer who I’d choose.

Also, Stack likes white women who want to Black themselves. They’re so down with the brown, it’s all they want to be around.

The receptionist greets Elijah as he walks by.

“Hello, Mr. Moore. It’s nice to see you, sir,” she says, while my hand stays snug in his grip.

“Same to you, Pearline.”

Riding the elevator is a short trip. He still refuses to let go of my poor hand, so I lean into his side and kiss his neck, brushing against his gold chains.

“I’ll try to make this business talk as quick as I can. Bear with me,” he promises, leaning his head to the side to give me more access.

I rub my hand across his belly. “It’s alright, baby. You know I have nowhere to go today. I’m all yours.”

The doors glide open to reveal the company floor—employees scattered across desks, doing their jobs as usual. The twins run a successful and smooth-sailing business, so they don’t have too much to worry about when it comes to their staff.

We make it to his office. We open the door to see Stack waiting. He turns around as the door opens.

“Well, look at this—my brother and his favorite girl,” he greets with a smile, flashing his grill.

I wave softly. “Hello, Stack.”

Smoke breaks away from me to greet his brother with a warm hug.

“What’s so important that you called me in?”

Stack chuckles. “It’s all business. More than usual with you today.”

Smoke smacks his lips. “You pulled me away from my time off, so yes.”

At that comment, Stack stiffens slightly, sensing his brother’s annoyance.

“Alright. Leave her here, and let’s go into my office to discuss business.”

Both twins are gone for about an hour before Smoke returns to find me seated on his couch, phone in hand. I look up as I hear the door open.

“Sorry for the wait, baby. We had to straighten some stuff out, but it’s done now,” he apologizes, sitting next to me.

I put my phone down and lean closer. “You’re all mine now?” I ask.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he replies with a look of longing in his eyes—like he hates being away from me.

At that look, I place my hand on his neck with a simple but firm grip.

“What’s the matter, Eli?” I ask gently.

“I just see peace when I look into your eyes.”

At that comment, my heart flutters at his confession. His beautiful brown eyes never leave mine as I press my forehead against his.

I place my lips on him deeply, causing him to groan from deep within his chest. Large hands firmly grip my waist, pulling me onto his lap while my hands wrap around his neck.

The hands rub up and down my back as we fight for dominance in each other's mouths. I pull away for a second to breathe, wishing I didn’t have to. Smoke just stares at me, eyes hazy, then forcefully pulls back into his mouth with pecks to start before kisses get deeper again.

“Smoke, we can’t do anything crazy in here,” I mutter between kisses. “Baby, we can do whatever we want; I’m the boss, remember?” he replies, not giving a fuck about the people outside the office. My hips start to grind on him as we continue. 

Elijah’s pants continue to get tighter, and his bulge gets hard under me. His hands grab one of mine from his neck to slide it towards the top of his pants. “Look what you did to me, lil mama,” he rasps, pulling back to intensely look into my eyes. I blush at the discovery, feeling a sense of pride at my accomplishment. “That’s not my fault, you just don’t know how to control yourself.” I jok,e trying to lighten the mood, hoping he’ll take it easy on me.

He shakes his head full of waves before replying “I didn’t do shit and we ain’t leaving until to take of it” he promises 

Wordlessly, I undo the buckles of his belt and unzip his pants, sliding my hand underneath his boxer briefs to wrap my hand around his length.

Slowly grazing past the pubic hair, he sighs as he leans his head back, exposing his neck in relief. “I barely got started, and you’re already acting like you’re in heat,” I joke. “Don’t start teasing,” he grits out, groaning as I start sliding my hand up and down the length.

His moaning and groaning are music to my ears.It's always funny when Elijah talks smack to me as if I don’t have the balls. “Oh would you look at that moaning like you’re my bitch” I taunt feeling a little cocky.

His breathing gets heavy at my words; he's unable to respond. Feeling overwhelmed but enough at the same time.

He’s always been the dominant one in the relationship he also enjoys it when a young thing like yourself shows him up at his own game. There’s also a level of trust and intimacy in letting you take control because he feels at ease, especially with you.

So I continue stroking him as I lean in his ear, “You can act all tough in front of everyone, but I just want you to know I’m just as capable of turning you out. No matter how much you think you have over me.”

I run my other hand over my chest, tugging on my gold chains. You lean back to hold eye contact with him as you bring him closer to pleasure and release. His stomach starts to feel tight as he gets closer, “I’m gonna-” he starts before you interrupt,“It's alright, I’ve got you,” then he releases with a grunt. 

His hand pulls you closer so you’re against his stomach and exposed length, his breathing is slowly coming down as he feels the afterglow.

Elijah starts kissing your forehead and rubbing your back, wanting to get you closer. Processing how overexposed and vulnerable yet comfortable with you in the intimacy that you shared, “As soon as you’re done collecting yourself, we can get out of here,” You say in a soft voice

A/N : I'm sleepy but, I was inspired to write. What do you think? I also appreciate all the love and support! Furthermore, the random reblgs with the memes had me dying. Anyways, see you later>

[toiadeenovels]

So Good Part 1/?

Sugar Daddy! Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black! Reader

Don't Copy My Work 😐

Elijah “Smoke” Moore has been my main squeeze—AKA sugar daddy—for the past year. I’m a twenty-one-year-old college girl just trying to get some money. When he DM’d me on Instagram wanting some company, I was surprised, but also intrigued.

“Hello, lil mama.”

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“You can help me by allowing me the pleasure of enjoying your company.”

“Mhm, why do you want my company?”

“Because I see a pretty thing, and I want to spoil her.”

“Send a picture of what you look like.”

Once he sent over a picture—mustache and beard combo, head full of waves, a gold chain to match, and drop-dead gorgeous features—I was instantly hooked. My roommate Tracey chimed in, “Damn, he looks good,” causing me to jump in surprise—I hadn’t even noticed her. I whipped my head around. “Girl, make your presence known! I almost punched you. "Tracey scoffed, waving a hand in my face. “Explain who that fine chocolate is on your phone.”I turned back to focus on my screen. “Just some guy who wants my attention." Tracey laughed. “But that isn’t new—all the guys want your attention." I smacked my lips. “Well, this guy wants my company in exchange for spoiling me.”“Oh, so a sugar daddy,” Tracey realized. “Yeah. I’ll let you know what happens,” I promised, trying to get back to my conversation.

My roommate walked away. “Well, I’ll be watching Bad Girls Club. See you later.”

Four months later, it’s been nothing but sugar baby bliss. Smoke has this way of making you feel cherished—he really enjoys taking care of me. He’s quiet and shy, but he’s oh-so-sweet. Just the way I like it. I don’t want a man who does too much—but I want him to do a lot when it comes to us.

In public, Smoke gives off a tough persona, but people don’t know he’s a lover—and I’ll keep that secret. It’s summer vacation, and he’s been taking me around the world and treating me like a princess. We’re currently at the mall, shopping just for fun.

“Where do you want to go shopping first, baby?” he asks, pulling me closer by the waist.

I scrunch up my face while thinking, then spot a Jimmy Choo sign and immediately drag Smoke along. He’s always been good at giving me the space to explore without interfering—treating me like I’m not one.

We walk deeper into the store and spot a mini couch for him to sit on.

“Go take a seat, baby. Get comfortable,” I suggest, softly rubbing his back as he towers over me. His pretty brown eyes never leave mine.

Before he sits, he leans down and plants a kiss on my full lips. He slowly opens his mouth, requesting tongue as we get lost in our kisses. Moments later, I pull away, distracted.

“We’re getting carried away,” I admit, gently pushing back. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say, feeling guilty.

Smoke’s eyes never leave mine as he sits down, biting his lip and smirking a little. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll make it up to me later,” he promises, then pulls out his phone to handle business—work and investments and all that.

I explore the store for an hour before I find four pairs of shoes I want.

“Baby, I’m ready to get out of here.”

Smoke puts his phone away, rises from his seat—his gold chain swinging—and grabs the shoes in one hand and my smaller hand in the other.

“Let’s go, lil mama.”

After we leave Jimmy Choo, we stop by a local jewelry store. Elijah’s been dying to get me some jewelry. As I walk in, I take in the all-white displays filled with gorgeous pieces and bright lights. Smoke never lets go of my hand while carrying the big bag of shoes in the other.

As I walk past one of the displays, I see a white gold diamond tennis bracelet and necklace set, along with a pink ruby set beside it—which makes me stop in my tracks. Elijah chuckles.

“Which one should I get, baby?” I ask, inching closer to the glass, hypnotized by their beauty. “Why not both?” he replies, kissing my forehead. I turn to look at him. “Seriously?” I want them so bad—I just don’t want to get overly excited. “Of course. Only the best for you, lil mama. You seem to forget—it’s my job to spoil you. You’re also getting a set of earrings to match,” Elijah insists. After grabbing a store attendant, we get both sets—and a pair of pink ruby earrings to match. “Sir, your total comes out to be $7,500,” the cashier saysElijah whips out that black card so damn fast. “Thank you for your services, sir.”

On the car ride back to Elijah’s house, he’s driving with one hand on my thigh while I control the radio. When my favorite song—So Good by Big Sean ft. Kash Doll—comes on (I love this song so much btw), I start singing along and lean over to rub my hand on his head.

Last time I let you fuck, it was amazin’ shit

Love a nigga who aint scared to put his face in it

And I still remember every place you licked

So I sucked the soul outchea just think that dick

I’m a nasty bitch, I can take that shit

Pussy tight as long johns, I’ma make that fit

As I continue reciting Kash Doll’s verse, I glance over to see Smoke smiling wide with a little blush on his face. I know my sugar daddy loves being bragged on, so I don’t mind giving props when they’re due. I lean over to kiss his bearded cheek.

When we arrive home, I take my bags upstairs while Elijah gets started on dinner.

“Baby, I’m cooking tonight. I sent the chef home for the weekend—so it’s just me and you,” he tells me as I head up the stairs to put my things in our shared closet.

Two hours later, we’re laid up on the couch watching TV, our stomachs full. I doze off on his chest until I’m gently shaken awake.

“Time to go upstairs and take a shower,” Smoke demands, rubbing my back.

I whine in protest—I just want to sleep.

“Stop whining before I give you something to whine about, girl.”

That shuts me up quick, because I know I won’t be getting any sleep if he follows through.

“Sorry, Papa,” I apologize, leaning up to kiss his full lips.

“It’s okay. Now let’s go—I’ll clean you myself,” he promises.

He walks behind me to make sure I make it up the stairs, then steps ahead to warm up the shower. I sit on the edge of the bed, sleepily undressing. When he comes out and sees me naked, he tells me to hop in—he’ll be there in a minute.

Moments later, he joins me, washing me first with gentle care before taking care of himself.

We hop out and get dressed. I change into one of his shirts and a pair of panties, with my bonnet on. He’s already in bed, shirtless, in pajama pants. I lay down on my side of the bed and notice a few missed calls from my roommate, Tracey.

I lean my head on Smoke’s chest.

“I’m gonna call Tracey real quick before we go to bed.”

He rubs my head and kisses it as he turns on the television.

I FaceTime Tracey.

“Where have you been, girl? I haven’t seen you in person in a week!”

I pan the camera to show Elijah watching TV.

“Wow. I thought we were a sisterhood, but it is not a sisterhood right now,” she playfully cries, being dramatic.

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Don’t start. I’ll be home in a few days.”

“You better remember, girl—we still gotta go out of town for our girls' trip, remember?”

Elijah chimes in, “How long are you girls gonna be gone?” He looks down at me, pulling me closer, like I could even get closer.

“About a week, baby—we talked about this.”

And by talked, I mean I was talking while he was kissing all over me because he missed me so much.

“Mr. Smoke, sir,” Tracey says, grinning, “can she pretty please come with us on our trip? I promise I’ll take good care of her—I swear!”

She’s literally begging on camera.

He chuckles at her antics, then sighs and looks back at me.

“You can go. But don’t make me fuck someone up. You know I’ll come find you and bring you home myself.”

I nod happily. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

I place my hand on his cheek and pull his jaw toward mine so I can peck him on the lips.

“Alright, well—I’ll see you tomorrow, girl. Good night,” Tracey says before hanging up.

A/N: I might make this into a series. idk I just love a good sugar daddy fantasy. Tell me what you think. See you next time.

[toiadeenovels]

Modern au Elias "Stack" Moore x Black Female reader

Coffee: enjoying the little moments (short but sweet)

(Inspired by the song "Coffee" by Miguel)

A/N: Pls ignore any mistakes

----------

You lay down in your bed facing him as he laid on his back.

You smile lightly as you watch him sleep.

You didn’t want to wake him.

Not yet. 

You took a moment to analyze him and his slow, but steady breathing. The way his nose would lightly scrunch as he slept and the slight twitch of his body when he felt your touch.

You loved it. 

You loved the little details that made him who he was.

You adored it, you adored him. The pimp and the gangster that wouldn’t go soft for any woman, had gone soft for you.

You traced the tattoo on his chest, across his heart.

Your name.

You cussed him out in anger and then cried tears of joy when he surprised you with it. 

You swore up and down that he was stupid for doing so, because at the time you and him were both unsure of how the relationship would workout .

When he showed his brother Smoke what he had done, Smoke popped him in his lips.

He told him, that he was a dumb ass nigga that was blinded by good pussy.

You giggled at the thought.

You dragged your finger down to his arm and traced the names of your twin boys. Salem which means peace and Sincere which meant pure and honest. Beautiful names for beautiful boys. You giggled once more  and rolled your eyes as you recalled the day you were going into labor.

“Elias, baby calm down” you spoke as you let out a groan full of pain

“Shit, where’s the diaper bag!” he exclaimed as he ran around the house like a madman

You let out a small laugh but it was cutoff by the urge to push 

“ELIAS!”

Long story short your babies were born in the main hallway of your shared home. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of strong hands gripping and caressing your bare ass, that was half covered by the satin blankets you laid in.

“Is there a reason why you’re giggling in my ears?” He inquired with his voice deep and raspy. He turned to face you with his eyes still closed. “Nothing, I was just thinking" , you whispered sweetly as you caressed his face .“About?” he asked with a hint of curiosity.

"You, us".

"Is that so" a cocky grin tugged at his lips. In this moment he had finally opened his eyes to look at you in your morning state. He took some time to admire you, like the way you had admired him earlier.

He was glad that he woke up to you every morning.

He pulled you closer then you already were and gave you a slow kiss before rolling you over onto your back.

You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck realizing where this was heading.

You enjoyed mornings like these.

[toiadeenovels]

Late, But Loved (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “You know I hate when you do this shit Annie.” 

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning ⚠️: They're a trio. Fluffy.

A/N I love a good pregnancy fic 🥰 I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 My Masterlist ____ Annie was pregnant. Glowing, radiant, full-bellied pregnant — and, funnily enough, it was Stack who’d turned into the overbearing one.

“You sayin’ this fair is where again? And who all gon’ be there?” he asked, pacing the living room with his hands behind his back like a man ready to declare war.

Annie was perched on the arm of Smoke’s chair, one of his arms looped lazily around her waist. She was calm — too calm for Stack’s nerves.

She tossed her head in his direction. “Elias,” she warned.

He spun on his heel.

“I ain't letting you go out there all soft and vulnerable for some jerk to put his paws on you.” 

“Why would a man put his paws on me? I’m pregnant.” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Some niggas like that shit!” Stack snapped. “Especially in that hot ass sun!”

She rolled her eyes and rested her hand on her belly, which had gotten rounder by the day. “I’m not asking for permission,” she said sweetly. “I’m informing you. The girls and I got a day planned, and I’ll be back by 8.”

“I’ll come with you, I can hold ya purse.” The man was already heading to the coat closet to grab his coat and cap. 

Annie looked at the older twin exasperated. Smoke just smiled and stroked her skin.

“Stack. Calm down. Annie’s a big girl. She’ll be fine, she don’t need no escort. And she’ll be back by 8 — right mama?” He patted the small of her back. 

Exactly,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. “Back by 8.”

But Annie was not back by eight. Or by 8:15.

By then, Stack was still pacing the same damn floorboards, heated and anxious.

“This exactly why I ain’t want her to go,” he hissed. “You too lenient on her, Smoke. She gets you all soft with them big eyes and next thing you know, she out past sundown.”

“No vision,” he added, like it personally offended him.

Smoke rose to escape his nagging and went out the front door to be on the lookout. 

He stood on the porch watching the dirt road while he lit up a cigarette. 

He looked up and noticed the sun was starting to set. He wasn’t worried before but as the minutes dragged on his anxiety increased. 

He sucked on his cigarette for a few minutes more while checking his watch once more. Where was she at? 

Then he saw it. A dusty little car pulling into their property. He squinted but couldn’t miss it. His very pregnant wife was sitting in the front seat. 

He let out a sigh of relief before discarding his smoke. He could breathe a little easier once she was in his eye line. 

“She's here!” He called out to his brother. A few seconds passed before he saw the man draw the curtains and look out to confirm before closing them roughly in a huff. 

“What happened?” Smoke asked as he jogged down the porch steps over to her and offered her a hand out of the car. 

Smoke flipped a coin at the taxi driver, watching as the man caught it mid-air and tipped his hat before pulling off in a cloud of dust.

Annie let out a long sigh and leaned against him, her full weight melting into his side. Smoke wrapped an arm around her and guided her toward the front steps, taking it slow.

“It was just a lot of walking,” she murmured. “I should’ve worn better shoes.”

He glanced down at her sandals—cute, but flimsy. No real support. 

“Mmhm,” he muttered. “You been swellin’ more lately.”

She didn’t answer. Just leaned in closer.

“C’mon. Let’s get you inside. Run you a bath. Soak them feet.”

“A bath sounds heavenly right now.” She looked up at him lovingly, then toward the house. 

“Where’s Elias?” her brow furrowed.

Of course she’d ask. Always looking for both of them. Always needing to feel their eyes on her.

“In the house,” he said, guiding her through the door. “Sulkin’.”

He eased her down into the rocker by the window. The boys had built it with their own two hands. 

As soon as she settled, a cabinet slammed in the kitchen. Annie flinched.

Her brows pinched. “He okay?”

Smoke gave a tired exhale. “He’ll get over it.”

He knelt down and tapped her ankle. She lifted her foot obediently, and he began to undo the sandal strap with practiced care. Still, she kept glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen, chewing her bottom lip.

Smoke clocked it all — the way her hand splayed across her belly, the tension that hadn’t eased even after she sat down. Stack was upsetting her without even being in the damn room, and Smoke didn’t like it one bit.

“Tell me about the fair,” he said, tone easy, coaxing.

A smile flickered across her lips. “They had a lot of good fruit stands. Stuff from other states, too. I brought y’all some.” She gestured toward the bag by the door.

He tapped her other ankle. She lifted it for him.

“They got any plums?”

She opened her mouth to answer—

But Stack came barreling out of the kitchen.

“You know I hate when you do this shit Annie.”

“Stack —”  His brother started. He was doing too much. 

“Nah, we talking about this shit tonight.” 

Smoke’s eyes flashed. “Hey,” he snapped. “Pipe the fuck down.”

The room went still.

Stack took a deep breath to compose himself. 

He turned back to Annie and rephrased his statement.

“Recently, you just been doing whatever, not taking care of yourself. You’re pregnant — you can’t be running around like that. You think all that walking around today was smart?” He asked pointedly, gesturing to her feet. 

Annie didn’t respond. 

She just… looked up at him. All soft and tired. And then her face crumpled.

The tears came fast, no warning. She tried to cover her mouth with her hand, but a sob escaped anyway—quiet and aching. 

Stack’s chest caved.

“Aw, hell… baby. Don’t — please don’t cry.”

He rushed to her side, knees hitting the floor quicker than his pride could catch up. Smoke closed his eyes and exhaled before rising to give his brother more space to grovel. 

“I ain’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He fumbled for the handkerchief in his shirt pocket and pressed it into her palm.

“C’mon, Annie. Don’t do me like that,” he pleaded, voice cracking as he reached for her hand. “I was just scared, s’all. You wasn’t home and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I ain’t tryin’ to fuss. I just—shit.”

She sniffled, wiped her eyes, but the tears kept falling.

“You were bein’ so mean to me,” she managed.

Stack looked stunned. Wrecked.

Smoke threw his hands up in the air. “Look what you did.” Smoke couldn’t believe the man had the nerve to look shocked when it was his ass that got them into this mess to begin with. 

“Naw, baby. I wasn’t tryna be mean…” he said, voice low and hands reaching for hers. 

Her sobs continued to fill the sitting room. 

Smoke turned his back and bit his fist before running a hand over his head. Between managing his wife’s emotions and Stacks typical antics he swore the duo was shaving minutes off his life every day. 

His brother was lost whenever Annie cried. He poked fun at Smoke for melting whenever she made eyes at him, but if Annie was a worser woman she’d use those tears to get anything she wanted out of the younger twin. 

When it came to Annie, Stack had major trick energy. 

“Don’t cry. I’m sorry – I was wrong. Ain’t no need for that now.” He looked up at her and saw the tears begin to subside. 

She stared at their joined hands, eyes still glassy, breathing shallow.

“I hate when you cry,” he went on, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand. “Hate it. Feel like it split me down the middle.”

She sniffled again, but her lashes flicked to meet his eyes.

“You looked so pretty today, by the way,” he added. “Real soft. Real glowy. I didn’t say it, but I thought it. Whole time I was pacing.”

Her lip twitched — almost a smile.

Stack brightened. “There she is.”

Then he reached down and gently placed a blanket around her legs, tucking it just right. Without a word, he took one of her swollen feet into his lap, hands tender and steady as he worked slow circles into her arch.

“You want your peaches?” he asked after a pause, voice low.

Annie had been crushing peaches like crazy recently. The sweet juice brought her joy like no other during her third trimester. When they found out about her new fixation the boys had gone out and bought jars and jars of them. 

She paused for a moment and bit her lip. No doubt fantasizing over the fuzzy fruit. The tears clumped in her lashes before she gave him a little nod.

Stack jerked his chin behind him.

“Go grab some from the cellar,” he said to Smoke, who’d been standing in the doorway, watching like a man stuck between stepping in and staying the hell out.

Smoke lingered a second, then turned without a word.

This was not his cross to carry. Stack made the mess — he’d have to clean it up.

Once she’d calmed enough to form words and was dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief Stack gave her, she finally spoke.

Her voice wobbled. “You yelled at me.”

“Now, I wasn’t yelling—”

The glare Smoke threw over his shoulder as he passed shut Stack up real quick.

Stack exhaled, softer this time. “You right. I did. And I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

The cellar door creaked open a few minutes later, and Smoke stepped back into the house with a fresh jar in hand. He didn’t say anything — just popped the lid in the kitchen and brought it over on a small dish with a spoon.

Annie took it gratefully, the softest little “thank you” leaving her lips as she scooped up the first bite. Sweet syrup clung to her tongue.

Smoke leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

Stack, meanwhile, stayed knelt beside her — holding her foot in his lap, gently massaging slow circles into her arch.

“That feel good, baby?”

She nodded, eyes puffy from crying, but calmer now.

“You don’t want nothin’ else?” Stack asked. “I can get Smoke to bring you some popped corn. Something salty for your sweet?”

“No, Elias. That’s okay. Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, a little hoarse. She sniffled and asked for another blanket.

Stack stood and grabbed the folded one from the couch, tucking it around her legs with care — smoothing the edges so it wouldn’t slide.

“I ain’t mean all that,” he said again, voice low. “I was just worried about you. But you were right. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“I know you were just nervous… I was a little late.” she murmured.

He reached for her hand again, holding it gently between both of his.

“I just… I hate makin’ you feel like that, I just worry about you so damn much. Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” he admitted. 

She understood him, Stack had anxiety and he didn’t manage it the best. It often came out like this, with outbursts. They were working on it.

Annie didn’t say anything at first. Her thumb brushed over his, slow and quiet. 

Then she guided his hand — to her belly to share a moment. She laid it there, warm and steady against the soft curve of her stomach.

“Feel that?” she whispered.

Stack went still. He waited.

And then — the faintest nudge beneath his palm.

His breath caught.

“Holy shit,” he murmured. “She’s been active all day?”

Annie nodded, her lashes still wet. “Couple more months and you’ll have someone else to boss around,” she teased.

Stack let both hands roam over her belly now, his face soft with wonder.

“Thank you,” he said, voice thick.

She blinked. “For what?”

“For this. For carrying her. For being our lady. For making us a family, creating our legacy.”

He looked down, almost shy. “I know I be doing the most sometimes.”

Annie tilted his chin up.

“And I chose you anyway.”

He smiled — real and slow — like her words had settled something deep in him.

She had a soft smile, thinking of their origin story. How the two wormed their way into her heart. 

Smoke had already slipped out of the room at some point, unnoticed — quiet as ever. A few minutes later, they heard the pipes rattle in the distance, followed by his boots in the hallway.

He returned, sleeves rolled, and leaned his frame against the doorway.

“Water’s nice and hot for you, baby girl,” he said softly. “Let’s get you in the tub.”

Annie’s shoulders dipped in relief. She nodded, eyes glossy with gratitude.

Stack stood first and offered his hands.

“C’mon now,” he murmured. 

She took his hands, rose slowly — wobbled a little before finding her footing.

“Did you put my flowers—?” she started.

“They’re in there,” Smoke answered, already at her side.

And together — one on each side — they guided her toward the bath.

Gentle. Certain. Like they’d walk her through anything.

Annie was the center of their world, their matriarch, sun, moon, stars and the fucking sky where they were concerned. And they’d make sure she never forgot it. 

____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. a/n And we're back with more of the Trio! Next up will be their origin story me thinks. But alwasy taking requests. Your thoughts and encouragement keep me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading! ___

Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines @goddessofthundathighs @rolemodelshit @bbymuthaaa @boonoonoonus @joysofmyworld @twistedsistas-stuff @blackctrl

@heytemporary @lizbehave @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @raysogroovy @prettygirl2800 @girlsneedlovingfanfics @hotcommodityyy @blackctrl

[toiadeenovels]

Modern/Au Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black Female Reader

Cocoa Butter: Just that black love your mama told you about.

Warnings: none

A/N: Just another short and sweet one

It's like a turban

I can't wrap my head around this shit

But

I need your brown skin

-Teyanna Taylor x "Wake Up Love"

---------------

He sat on the edge of the bed with his legs slightly open, so that you could stand in between them. You massaged castor oil into his beard while he rested his strong hands on your waist. The sun was setting, and this was the nightly routine.

A routine that was quiet, but spoke so many words.

This was a version of healing that the both of you, cherished. It didn't matter how angry you were, or how stressful his day was. You and him were still going to take some time at the end of the night, to love each other.

When you finished, he reciprocated his love for you, how he always would. he helped you lotion the parts of your body, that you couldn't reach.

Your back was now facing him, as his tall frame stood behind you. He worked his hands into your shoulders, massaging them. You let out a silent moan as you felt the pressure in your shoulders lighten.

To you, this was the best part.

Smoke didn't talk about his feelings to much. He was always an "action speaks louder then words," kind of guy. So when he felt a certain way, he would show you instead of telling you.

Now of course he would tell you that he loved you.

But when he showed you, it felt as if he was saying so much more then just, "I love you". It felt like he was making promises to you, in every action he would do.

So when he worked his hands down your back in smooth, gentle motions. You knew what he was saying, even though he was saying nothing.

He stopped, and watched as the light of the moon, peaking through the curtains, shined against your moisturized skin. It was beautiful.

He loved how your skin was so rich.

Still standing behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and left little kisses on your neck.

Yes.

This was the routine.

A routine that was silent.

A routine that created a bond stronger then love.

-------------

Creating a taglist so just comment if you want be added :)

[toiadeenovels]

[toiadeenovels]

Tired of seeing folks complain about not seeing any good BLACK AUTHOR fanfics for Sinners.

Here are some of my favorite blogs for Sinner fanfics (smut included😉):

• @yamst3rdamctrl • @melodyofmbaku • @moth2flamewriting • @uzumaki-rebellion • @nerdyscouttribute • @enticingmelanin • @brownsugarcoffy • @nayaxwrites

Feel free to add this post other BLACK fanfic authors only.

[toiadeenovels]

Twin Flames: Double Vision

Minors DNI!!!

Chapter Two: Black Coffee, No Sugar

The dream came in flashes.

Wind. Heat. A desert sky burning orange. A silhouette in the distance—tall, still, watching. Nyla couldn’t make out his face, but she felt the pull in her chest. Felt the weight of his stare.

When she jolted awake, her heart was racing.

She rubbed at her eyes, slid off the couch where she’d fallen asleep, and reached for her sketchpad like muscle memory. Before she could second guess it, her hand moved across the page, charcoal smudging and lines forming.

When it was done, she sat back and stared.

It was him.

Almost.

The man from Foot Locker. But the sketch felt off—too rigid, too cold. The eyes weren’t his. The jaw clenched too tight. He looked like him, but harder. Sharper. Like someone who didn’t want to be known.

She tucked the sketch away.

Tried to forget it.

It was almost a week later when she walked into her favorite little café on instinct. She needed a hit of something warm, maybe sweet, maybe strong. She wasn’t sure which.

What she didn’t expect was to see him again.

Sitting in the corner. Same profile. Same locs pulled back. Same black and gold 12s.

She froze.

He looked up.

And smiled.

“Told you you’d see me again.”

She blinked. “Took you long enough.”

His grin stretched slow. “You were waiting?”

“Nah,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him. “Just happened to be here.”

“Fate, then.”

She shook her head, lips tugging up. “Coincidence with good taste.”

He chuckled. They ordered coffee—black for him, hers dressed with caramel and a dash of cinnamon—and talked. Easy. Flowing. Like no time had passed.

That’s when they finally exchanged names.

“I’m John,” he said, offering his hand.

“Nyla.” She took it.

He held it a second too long. Neither of them minded.

They sat for almost an hour.

That Thursday evening, Nyla sat at her desk, a brush still wet with color in one hand and her phone glowing in the other. After three days of pacing her apartment, dreaming in soft shapes and Jordan 12s, she finally gave in and typed:

Hey E, you got plans this weekend? Wanna grab a coffee or somethin’?

She stared at the message. No emoji. No overthinking. Just… casual. Then she hit send before she could change her mind.

The response came quicker than she expected.

Hey Nyla, that sounds good. I’m free this Saturday around 2. Wanna meet at that cozy lil' café on 5th and Main?

A slow smile curved across her lips. He remembered she liked that spot. Or maybe it was just fate again.

Saturday came warm. The café smelled like cinnamon, fresh espresso, and a touch of something floral drifting from the windows. Nyla walked in with her curls loose and her heart a little too high.

He was already there.

“You made it,” he said, standing halfway.

“I said I would.”

“You look…” He let the word hang. “...incredible.”

They ordered. Talked. Laughed. He asked what made her tick.

“Color,” she said. “Making something out of nothing. Creating what I can’t explain.”

He told her he liked peace. Silence. But sometimes, connections.

“Like this?” she asked.

He nodded. “Exactly like this.”

As they walked out, he offered the park.

She countered with a curveball.

“There’s this bookstore near the park,” she said. “Café in the back. It’s quiet. Perfect for rainy days and good conversation.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way, Nyla. I’m more than game if you are.”

That night, after the bookstore, after the lingering smiles and soft goodbye, she painted again.

This time with intent.

She painted John.

Relaxed jaw. Gentle focus. Locs tied back, hoodie loose. His posture soft but steady. The warmth in his eyes. And the shoes.

She let the paint dry.

Then she pulled out the first sketch.

Side by side, they shouldn’t look so different.

But they did.

The first was shadow.

The second, light.

Two versions of the same man.

And somehow... neither one felt complete.

She tucked both away.

And left them there.

For now.

[toiadeenovels]

Twin Flames: Double Vision

Minors DNI!!

Chapter One: The First Spark

She almost didn’t go out that day.

The air had that clingy, heavy feel that made everything seem like a chore. She'd been curled up on the couch in a pair of worn sweats, flipping through half-finished client drafts on her laptop with a spoonful of Nutella stuck between her lips. The messages from her best friend, buzzing on and off the screen like a damn alarm, were what finally pushed her. Something about the last one - "You gone die alone and barefoot if you don’t get out the house" - made her roll her eyes and grab her hoodie.

She didn’t know where she was headed when she left. Just… not home.

Her tote bag was heavy on her shoulder, strap biting into her skin, and she adjusted it more than once on the way to the shop. Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm against her thigh as she walked, sneaker soles scuffing against the concrete like she was chasing something she couldn’t name. She paused at the corner, letting the wind pull at the hem of her hoodie. Her fingers curled tighter around the tote. In her chest, there was that familiar ache—low and humming, like something unfinished.

She ends up in a Foot Locker on a Wednesday afternoon. The air is thick with the scent of fresh rubber soles and cheap cologne, music low and pulsing like a heartbeat. She’s there for no reason in particular, just killing time after dropping off a finished logo pack for a local barbershop. Her curls are pulled up in a high puff, a few tendrils brushing her cheek, hoodie half-zipped over a paint-stained crop top.

The day had been dragging. Her phone was blowing up with revisions from a picky client, and her best friend had texted her three times in a row saying, "Girl, go outside and let somebody flirt with you. I beg." She laughed it off, swore she was fine. But now she was here, standing in the quiet buzz of Foot Locker, pretending she wasn't a little bit lonely.

She didn’t need new shoes. She just needed a minute to be still. Somewhere she could breathe. Somewhere nobody asked for anything.

She’s eyeing the shoe wall display when a particular pair snags her breath. Black and gold 12s, sleek as sin. Her fingers reach out.

So do his.

“Shit,” she mutters, laughing under her breath.

“Damn,” he echoes, deep and smooth. A voice like dark liquor.

They both freeze, hands brushing. Her eyes lift. And for a second, it feels like she’s staring at a reflection through heatwaves.

He’s tall. Hoodie pulled low, beard clean and lined, locs pulled back from his face. But his eyes have a softness that doesn’t match his frame. A quiet kind of tired. Like he’s seen too much but still holds onto peace with both hands.

“You got good taste,” he says, nodding toward the sneakers.

“I know.” She smirks, folding her arms. “But I saw ‘em first.”

He lifts a brow. "You touch 'em though?"

“Almost.”

“Almost ain’t ownership.”

She narrows her eyes, playful. “Wanna fight me for ‘em?”

“Only if I win.”

She bites her lip, holding back a laugh. “That’s bold.”

He grins, crooked. “Nah, that’s confident.”

They go back and forth a minute more, until she lets him have the shoes on one condition.

“You wear ‘em next time I see you,” she says, backing away.

He nods. “Bet.”

“And if I never see you again?”

He pauses. “You will.”

She leaves before he can ask her name.

He watches her walk away like he already misses her. Her hips sway under that oversized hoodie, leggings clinging to her curves just right. She’s carrying a canvas tote slung over one shoulder, paintbrushes peeking out, and he catches a faint whiff of something warm. Vanilla, maybe cinnamon. It lingers.

He looks down at the box in his hands like he forgot it was there. The sneakers feel heavier somehow. Like they came with a choice he hasn’t figured out yet.

He pays and walks out with them anyway, the weight of her still clinging to him. Something about her had crawled under his skin fast. The way she laughed without trying. The way she looked at him like she wasn’t scared of anything.

He tells himself it was just a moment. A fluke.

But that don’t stop him from walking past that same store again the next day.

And the next.

He doesn’t even wear the shoes. Leaves them in the box by the front door like some unspoken promise he ain’t ready to keep.

And she walks out that day with her heart beating louder than the music. She doesn’t even know why. It’s just shoes, just banter, just a man with kind eyes and a voice like velvet.

But the echo of him stays wrapped around her ribs the whole damn walk home.

In the days that follow, she catches herself replaying the moment. Not just what he said, but how he said it. The cadence of his voice. The tension in his shoulders that didn’t quite match the softness in his smile.

Something about him felt unfinished. Like a story told out of order.

She’d never seen someone look at her like that.

And it scared her a little.

So she picked up her sketchbook, flipped past logos and thumbnails and half-done commissions. And in a blank page, she let her pencil move without thinking.

A silhouette formed first. Broad shoulders. A bowed head. Locs pulled back tight.

But the eyes, something in the eyes stopped her.

Hard. Unforgiving. Too sharp around the edges.

It wasn’t him.

It looked like him. Enough to confuse her. But not enough to comfort.

She stared at it for a long time. The wrongness of it. The way it felt like a warning.

She closed the book fast, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

And then she laughed at herself.

“Girl, get it together,” she whispered.

But she didn’t tear out the page.

That night, she lays in bed, lights out, fan humming overhead, and her mind runs in loops.

She should’ve asked his name. Should’ve told him hers.

But something about that moment felt too fragile to define. Like giving it a name would’ve broken the spell.

She wonders if he’s thinking about her too. If he’s laced those sneakers up or just left them sitting in the box. If he’s walking these same streets, hands in his pockets, hoping he’ll bump into her again.

And even though she knows better, even though she’s told herself a hundred times not to romanticize strangers, she lets herself pretend for just one night.

Pretend he’s out there thinking the same thing.

Pretend maybe… fate is real.

And it’s got his voice.

She dreams in gold that night. Big hands brushing hers. Laughing eyes. The smell of cedar and smoke and something sweeter. It lingers like heat under her skin, like the whisper of something she hasn’t painted yet. When she wakes, her fingers are curled like they’re still holding a pencil. Her thighs are tangled in the blanket. Her heart is racing.

And all she can remember from the dream is a voice.

Low.

Deep.

Unmistakable.

Saying, “You will.”

[toiadeenovels]

Hush

masterlist MDNI! AN: I told yall i had something cooking for yall!! please let me know how you feel about it as always. please heed the warning because if you dont like audio k*nk, idk how you would feel about this.

this is a multi-part series. I do have a one shot that will be coming out soon! warnings: audio play, terry x black!oc, slow burn, smut, praise k*nk, female + male m*sturbation and v*yeurism

please forgive me if i missed any warnings.

She says his name like a secret.

He hears it like a sin.

Terry had just finished his last set in the gym downstairs, muscles burning with that deep, bone-level fatigue he craved. He exhaled hard through his nose as he re-racked the weight, the clang of iron echoing in the stillness of the space. Sweat clung to his skin like a second shirt, cooling in thin rivulets as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face, neck, and the back of his head.

The air smelled like effort—sandalwood soap, chalk, steel, and something else beneath it.

Feminine. Sweet.

That scent again.

He took the stairs two at a time, his body tired but his mind on fire—unsettled, alive, too loud in the quiet.

Upstairs, the house was dim. Just the way he liked it at night. Shadows draped over walls and furniture like silk. One hallway light buzzed faintly in the distance, soft amber against the dark. But the air shifted as he reached the landing.

She was home.

He could feel it before he saw her. Before he even got to the hallway that led to their rooms.

Her presence left a trail—one only he seemed to notice. It lingered in the air like perfume left too long on warm skin. He inhaled deeply.

That custard.

That warm blend of vanilla bean, oat milk, aloe vera, and something uniquely her. He couldn’t name it, couldn’t shake it, couldn’t forget it. It sat heavy on his senses every night like a dare.

He tried not to breathe it in.

Failed, as usual.

Leilani.

Even her name felt like temptation.

She’d been his neighbor for nearly a year before she moved in. Her situation hit him sideways—grad school, clinicals, late shifts at the hospital, and a breakup that looked more like a slow-burning disaster than a clean break. He watched her unravel from a distance. Watched her try to carry too much, too fast. He offered her the spare room when everything finally collapsed.

No rent. No pressure. No conditions.

Just a place to breathe.

And she took it—but never once treated it like a handout.

She cooked. She cleaned. She paid for groceries without being asked, kept the house humming like she’d always been a part of it. And not once—not once—did she overstep.

It made her harder to ignore.

And God, he tried.

But how do you ignore someone like her?

So soft. So focused. So... present.

She had this way of being in a room even when she didn’t say a word—like her silence wrapped around you and made everything quieter. Calmer. Warmer.

She wore those little shorts that barely counted as clothing. Walked barefoot on the hardwood like she didn’t know what it did to him. Always smelled like dessert, and always smiled like gratitude was stitched into her DNA.

It wasn’t the big things that got to him.

It was the little ones.

The sound of her laugh when she let herself forget how tired she was. The way she hummed under her breath while she stirred pasta. The way she folded his hoodies when they ended up in her laundry pile by accident.

Or maybe not by accident.

He didn’t ask.

He should’ve known back then—when his eyes followed her without meaning to when his thoughts wandered down paths he had no business walking.

Is that the pull?

It was never going to go away.

Tonight, it was worse.

Because tonight—he heard his name.

Terry slowed as he passed her door.

It was open.

A sliver.

Just enough.

He shouldn’t have looked.

But he did.

And what he saw made the air in his lungs evaporate.

Leilani was spread out across her sheets, bathed in dim light and vulnerability. Her legs were parted, one knee bent lazily outward. Her nightgown was bunched at her waist—cotton soft and thin, clinging to the curve of her hips. Her thighs were bare, glistening faintly with lotion and sweat.

His name caught in his throat before she ever said it.

She was on the phone—or at least, her AirPod was tucked in. Her head was tilted to the side, curls spilling across the pillow. One hand rested on her stomach. The other—

Fuck.

Her fingers moved slow.

Methodical.

Dripping.

They disappeared between her legs with practiced ease, each motion slick and deliberate, dragging gasps from her lips like she didn’t care who heard.

But Terry heard.

He heard everything.

Because in her ear—barely audible—was his voice.

Not really, but close. One of those Reddit fantasy audios, smooth and dark and commanding. It sounded like him in every way that mattered.

“That’s it. Keep going for me, baby.”

“Don’t stop until I tell you.”

Her breath caught.

Her back arched.

“…Terry…”

His name left her mouth like she was praying.

She didn’t even realize she’d said it.

Didn’t know he was standing there.

Didn’t know what she was doing to him.

Terry backed away from her door like he’d been scorched, muscles locked, blood pounding. He shut his own door with more force than he meant to, chest heaving, head spinning.

His cock was already hard.

Not just hard—aching. Thick and leaking against the inside of his sweats. He could feel his pulse behind his zipper.

She had no idea.

None.

How close he was to losing it. How long he’d fought this. How he’d paced his own bedroom with headphones on just to block out the sound of her in the shower. How he’d turned up the music to drown the little moans she let slip when she thought no one was around.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched on his knees.

He couldn’t pretend anymore.

Not after this.

He shoved his sweats down, fingers wrapping tight around his cock. It was hot, heavy, too full. Already twitching in his palm. He didn’t stroke yet. Not until he had the image back.

Her.

Leilani.

Back arched. Skin slick. Lips parted.

Using her fingers because she didn’t know he would’ve dropped to his knees for her without hesitation. Letting some fake-ass voice tell her how to touch herself because she didn’t know he would’ve done it better.

“Is this what gets you off, baby?”

“My voice, even fake, telling you what to do?”

“You don’t have to imagine anymore.”

He started slow. One hand. Spit-slick. Firm.

Eyes squeezed shut.

He imagined peeling those little shorts down her thighs. Pressing his mouth between her legs until she forgot every name but his. Tasting the sweetness he smelled every night and hearing her sob for more.

“Moan for me, sweetheart.”

“Say my name like you mean it.”

“Let me hear how wet you get when it’s real.”

His grip tightened.

The ache in his balls curled up into his gut.

He didn’t want to come like this.

Not alone.

Not in his hand.

He wanted her.

But it was all he had.

He jerked harder. Faster. Every breath a curse. Her name on his lips like a confession.

And when he came, it was hot. Violent. It painted his stomach, coated his hand, made him groan into the dark like a man who’d finally snapped.

He sat there, chest heaving. Skin flushed. Head spinning.

She had no idea.

But soon?

She would.

The Next Morning

The kitchen smelled like maple and cinnamon.

Sunlight poured through the wide windows, catching the steam curling up from the pancake griddle. Everything looked normal.

But it wasn’t.

Not anymore.

Terry moved through the space like usual. Calm. Steady. He poured coffee, flipped pancakes, set out two glasses.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him made his pulse spike.

Leilani padded in, hoodie swallowing her frame, scrub cap slightly crooked, scrub pants hugging her hips like they were made for it.

She blinked at the sight of breakfast.

“You made food?”

Terry shrugged, flipping the last pancake. “Figured you could use a good start to the day.”

She smiled—small, sleepy, sincere. “You spoil me.”

“You cook most nights. I’m just returning the favor.”

She reached for the smoothie. Sipped.

Their fingers brushed when he handed her a plate.

Skin to skin.

Brief.

Charged.

She sat at the island, trying not to look at him. He leaned against the counter beside her, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t been picturing her moaning with her hand between her legs less than twelve hours ago.

The silence stretched.

Not awkward.

Just knowing.

She broke it.

“Guess what?” she asked, voice lifting. “I got a 94 on my pharm exam.”

He turned to her slowly. Let his eyes travel—intentionally—from her mouth to her eyes.

His voice dropped, just enough to make her blink.

“Good girl.”

Leilani froze.

Something in her shivered.

Something deep.

The words clung to the air between them, sweet and sticky like syrup.

Leilani’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Her breath stalled behind her ribs. Something low and electric pulsed between her thighs—fast and hot, like her body recognized something before her brain did.

Her lips parted.

She blinked fast.

Terry didn’t look at her.

He just sipped his coffee—unbothered, unreadable—but there was a twitch. The smallest curve of his mouth at the corner, just enough to confirm what she already feared.

He knew.

He fucking knew.

Her thoughts scattered. Had he heard her last night? The door was only open a sliver. The lights were off. She had her AirPods in—but they weren’t noise-canceling. And his room was right down the hall.

Her stomach flipped.

Had he heard her say his name?

Had he known it was him in her head?

Oh, God.

Her thighs squeezed together beneath the counter, involuntary. The ache was back. The one that started last night and never quite left.

She needed to say something. Anything. Change the subject. Save herself.

“You, um… remembered my favorite,” she said softly, motioning to the pancakes with a weak smile.

Terry finally looked at her again.

Really looked.

His gaze was slow, dragging over her features like he was committing them to memory. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

“Of course I did.”

Three words. Simple. Steady. But they landed like a hand pressed low against her belly.

Heat flushed her chest. The room suddenly felt smaller. The air is thicker. Like every word from him carried extra weight now—more than it used to.

Leilani reached for her smoothie again, just to have something to hold. Something to ground her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I really needed this.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, voice velvet-smooth. “You’ve been working hard.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to respond. Her throat was tight. Her tongue dry.

And then—he shifted.

Stepped just a little closer. Not enough to invade her space, but enough that she could feel it. The energy. The hum beneath his skin.

“You gotta take care of yourself,” he said, still casual. “Burnout’s real.”

Then—another pause.

His next words were soft. Low. Laced with something darker.

“Can’t pour from an empty cup.”

She nodded again, almost on instinct.

But then—

“Especially when you’ve been working yourself up at night.”

Her breath caught.

A choked sound slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She nearly dropped her fork.

Terry didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Just picked up a napkin and wiped the edge of his plate, like he hadn’t just annihilated her from the inside out.

She sat there, stunned. Breathless.

Her eyes darted toward him.

He was calm. Collected. But that smirk?

That subtle, private, lethal smirk?

He knew.

He’d heard everything.

She was mortified. Aroused. Speechless.

The silence between them stretched thin, tight as a violin string. One pluck, and she would unravel.

Her mouth opened.

No words came out.

Terry finally turned, dropped his napkin by the sink, and rinsed his mug.

“I gotta log in,” he said, voice neutral again. “Security breach flagged in D.C. Shouldn’t take long.”

He walked out without another glance, leaving her there—flushed, stunned, wet, and clenching around nothing.

Leilani watched him go, eyes trailing down his back, to his shoulders, to the low dip of his joggers hanging off those hips like sin.

He didn’t look back.

But she?

She looked way too long.

And every step he took away from her only made her ache harder.

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[toiadeenovels]

SOON COME…

Southern Hospitality.

Summary: Lieutenant General Swanwick admires Terry Richmond’s ability and leadership in the Marines. They both share a bond with their roots in Louisiana. Terry Richmond sees the Lieutenant General as a father figure, one he’d looked up to after his father’s passing.

Terry is invited to Lieutenant General Swanwick’s luxurious home in North Carolina and meets his daughter, Gianna, and his wife, Melyssa. They provide good ol’ Southern Hospitality, one that Terry Richmond would never forget.

Warnings: HARDCORE SMUT