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[notapradagurl7]

The Blackline.

Summary: The Blackline is a sultry, tale set in 1929 in the hidden quarters of Little Rock’s Black district, where flappers, vice, and hoodoo tangle in velvet-lit shadows. Violet, a timid Gullah Geechee girl with nowhere else to turn, finds herself working in a brothel run by the enigmatic Stack Moore—a pimp with charm, secrets, and a past steeped in sin. But it’s Stack’s older twin, Smoke, who consumes Violet’s thoughts. A war-worn man of few words, Smoke commands the room with silence alone.

Warnings: SMUT (building tension, soft dominance, Virgin!OC)

Part Two

Part One

The air was thick with the smell of mud, gasoline, and tension.

Smoke crouched near the edge of the swamp, one hand resting on the rusted hood of the Ford truck stacked with crates of illegal whiskey. The wood was still damp from its time hidden beneath floorboards in a dry preacher’s shed two counties over. Now, it was headed to a juke in Helena run by a man with gold teeth and too many enemies.

Moonlight shimmered off the bayou. Mosquitoes buzzed. Fireflies gleamed. Cypress trees stood like sentinels in the dark. Stack wasn’t with him this time. He’d taken a different route—diversion. If anyone was watching, they’d trail Stack’s decoy load and leave Smoke to move the real cargo quiet and clean.

He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, then puffed it out through his nose.

Bootlegging in the Delta wasn’t for loudmouths. It was for men who could ride the edge of blood and silence, and Smoke was the best at it. He wasn’t just muscle. He was methodical, deadly when necessary, and trusted by the wrong kinds of powerful men.

As he drove down the narrow dirt road through the trees, wheels kicking up mud and stones, he kept his pistol close. A sawed-off sat under the seat. A blade tucked behind the brake lever.

By the time he reached the turnoff toward the dock, two headlights appeared behind him.

Too close.

Too fast.

He cursed under his breath, flipped the lights off, and turned into the trees.

An ambush.

They thought they had him cornered. Had him outsmarted. Two trucks boxed him in.

But Smoke didn’t panic.

He reached for the sawed-off, climbed out the side of the cab, and disappeared into the trees like a ghost. By the time the two men stepped out with rifles and cocky grins, Smoke was behind them. He took the first one down clean—barrel to the back of the skull. No sound but the crunch of bone. The second tried to run. Smoke caught him by the collar and shoved the shotgun into his gut.

“You workin’ for Silas ‘Shine’ DuBose?” he asked low.

The man stammered, “We—we just got told to—”

BOOM!

He didn’t let him finish.

Smoke never left loose ends.

He loaded the whiskey back up, blood on his knuckles, sweat dripping from his brow.

When he pulled up to the drop site an hour later, the man with gold teeth handed him a fat envelope.

“You always deliver, young blood. Can always count on you to come through.”

Smoke lit another cigarette.

Didn’t smile.

He spoke to himself, “Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop my route but death. And even then, you better check twice.”

This job would pay for more supplies at The Blackline. It would keep him and Stack in power. And when he walked through the red door the next night, dusty, armed, and silent, he still hadn’t noticed the girl behind the curtain.

But she noticed him.

He’d just come off the job.

Boots still dirty from the swamp road. Hands scabbed from a scuffle. Chest humming with the kind of quiet that followed violence. A calm earned by taking care of unfinished business. The Blackline was warm that night. Velvet air. Laughter soft. Jazz slow. He walked in like always with a cigar in his mouth, hat low, shoulders square, dragging a heat behind him that made men straighten and women stare.

He was headed for his usual booth.

Didn’t glance around. Didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge a pretty eye or a pretty smile.

But then…he felt it.

A pull. A tether.

Not sharp, but deep. Low. Like a string tugging at the base of his spine.

He turned his head slow.

And saw her.

She wasn’t working.

Not like the others.

She sat behind a thin curtain, legs tucked under her, body half-shadowed by lamplight. A ribbon tied around her neck. A short slip hugging hips that didn’t move. Hair pinned up loose with curly tendrils falling around her cheeks.

She wasn’t trying to be seen, which made her impossible to look away from. Her skin glowed like candle-warmed honey, and her lips looked soft, untouched and parted slightly when their eyes locked.

Smoke’s removed his cigar from between his full lips slowly.

His whole chest tightened.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight.

Didn’t believe in fairytales or fate.

But something about the girl behind the curtain hit him like a ghost recognizing home.

Violet saw the shift in him.

The pause.

The narrowing of his gaze.

And her breath caught because she could feel it too.

Heat.

Recognition.

Danger.

Need.

Smoke took a step forward.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t smile.

Just stared like she was something he couldn’t name but already missed. And in that moment, under velvet light and saxophone moans, a man like Smoke noticed a girl like Violet, and everything started to unravel.

The Blackline hummed around them with low laughter, glasses clinking, piano weeping under the weight of a blues tune. Smoke had barely stepped inside when Stack appeared at his shoulder, tugging him toward the back, behind the curtain where the light dimmed and the shadows got honest. They stood near the back hallway, a worn fan rattling overhead, paint peeling on the wall.

“Big Brotha. Job go smooth?” Stack asked, lighting a cigarette with one hand, leaning against the doorframe.

Smoke rolled his shoulders, jaw clenched, “Ran into trouble near the canal. Two sent by Shine.”

“That so?”

“Handled.”

Stack nodded, “Figures.”

A pause passed. Long enough for Smoke to glance back through the curtain and towards the floor.

Toward her.

Stack noticed the look but didn’t press it.

Instead, he exhaled smoke slow and said, “Things been movin’ here while you were gone. We took in two new girls. One’s already makin’ her money.”

“…And the other?”

Stack smirked.

“That one,” He jerked his chin toward the soft drape near the corner booth, “Name’s Violet. Gullah blood, I think. Quiet. Real sweet lookin’, but icy. Ain’t opened up to no one. Still got her flower too, far as I can tell.”

Smoke didn’t respond. Just kept staring.

Stack watched his brother’s profile. The way his jaw ticked and his mouth set.

“Ain’t initiated her yet,” Stack added casually, “But I planned to ease her in. Once she soften.”

Smoke’s voice cut in low.

“Don’t.”

Stack arched an eyebrow, “…Don’t?”

Smoke turned to him now, finally, eyes hard.

“Hold off. Not sayin’ I’m stoppin’ you. Just…don’t rush her.”

Stack leaned back slightly, measuring with a mischievous smirk, “You interested?”

Smoke looked away, back toward the drape.

“I just want a feel…she different…and I wanna know why.”

Stack grinned faintly, dragging his cigarette.

“Well, well. Ain’t often you speak first on a girl.”

Smoke didn’t flinch, “I ain’t speakin’. I’m studyin’.”

And with that, he pushed off the wall and walked back into the room, steps slow, eyes never leaving Violet.

It was late now.

That kind of late where everything turns honest. Voices lower, movements looser, touches less disguised. The scent of sweat, bourbon, tobacco, and sex wove through the air like a sensual fog caught in lace. A girl moaned in the back room. Laughter burst at the poker table. A piano crooned something low and tired in the corner.

Smoke hadn’t moved from his booth.

Hadn’t touched his drink in nearly twenty minutes.

Because she was stepping out.

Violet.

For the first time all night, she peeled back the sheer drape and moved out into view.

Not for a man.

Not for money.

Just to breathe.

But even from across the room, Smoke saw it. The way her eyes scanned carefully, the way her shoulders rounded slightly inward, like her body had learned how to make itself smaller when it needed to.

She walked slow.

Barefoot.

In a short silk slip the color of wet bone, the thin straps slipping down the curve of one shoulder, the hem hitting just above the soft part of her thighs.

Her ribbon was still tied.

Smoke’s eyes dragged down her figure—the roundness of her hips, the narrow slope of her waist, the high curve of her small, perky breasts beneath the silk.

But it wasn’t just her body.

It was how she carried it.

Careful. Quiet. Measured.

She wasn’t used to being seen.

Not like that.

And now she was. By him.

He watched the way her fingers brushed her own wrist absentmindedly, a soft nervous tic. The way her chin stayed tilted downward, even though she tried to glance up. The way she paused at the edge of the light, just short of where the men gathered, hovering between the safety of shadows and the threat of being chosen.

And still…

She felt his stare.

He saw it in the way she shifted her weight.

The way her hand lifted to her ribbon like it gave her armor.

Smoke’s jaw clenched.

His cigar burned down to the nub in the ashtray. He sat forward, just slightly, and let his eyes take her in like a man thirsting in the desert.

This girl was untouched.

This girl was hiding.

And this girl had no idea that the man in the shadows had already started claiming pieces of her just by watching.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

And in that stretch of air between them, the room changed.

Everything else faded.

All he could hear was her breath.

All he could see was her legs.

And all he could think about was how she was already in his mouth, in his hands, in his thoughts, and she didn’t even know his name yet.

Violet felt it.

Not like the way men usually looked at her all hungry, obvious, leaning too far forward. This was different.

His gaze didn’t lurch toward her.

It crawled.

Wrapped.

Rooted itself.

And it didn’t let go.

She turned slightly, pretending to adjust her ribbon, pretending not to notice how heavy her breath had become. But her hands trembled against the silk.

Smoke Moore was watching her.

The quiet one. The twin with shadow in his shoulders and heat behind his eyes. The one who hadn’t said a single word to her since she arrived. Not even a hello.

And yet…

He was staring like he knew every secret she was trying to keep.

Her cheeks burned.

Her thighs clenched.

And her skin buzzed like it’d been read.

She couldn’t take it.

Not yet.

She turned slowly and slipped back behind the drape, her posture softer, her steps smaller, her breath caught just behind her lips.

She didn’t look back.

But Smoke…

He never stopped looking.

He waited just waited.

Gave her a minute.

Let her sit in the heat of what just passed between them—no words, no touch, no promises. Just pressure.

Then he stood.

Slowly. Like smoke rising off a fire that didn’t go out when the logs burned down. He adjusted his cuffs, reached for the bottle on the table, and poured two fingers of bourbon. But he didn’t sit again, instead he started walking. Not toward her.

Just…near.

To the bar.

Which just happened to be along the wall beside her curtained corner. His boots echoed soft on the floorboards. His coat moved around his hips like liquid shadow. And every pair of eyes in the room followed him out of instinct.

But Violet?

She felt him coming.

Like a raging storm rolling in.

Her body tensed even behind the curtain. She could feel the way the air changed. How the room shifted around his presence. Smoke stood at the bar, one hand resting on the wood, eyes on the row of bottles like he was deciding what to drink.

But in reality? He was listening to her breath.

Sensing the tremble behind the curtain. Reading the way her silence now said more than any voice in that house. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t look at her. But she could feel the back of his coat inches from the silk veil.

And Smoke?

He was close enough now to smell her skin.

And he didn’t even need to touch.

The music in The Blackline rolled slow and dirty like honeyed drag through a throat full of smoke. Laughter bounced off the walls. Someone moaned behind a closed door. A card game roared to life across the floor.

But Violet couldn’t hear any of it.

All she could hear was his boots near the edge of her world. Smoke was just outside the curtain now, standing at the bar, pouring bourbon like he hadn’t just shaken her to her core. His presence radiated like heat through floorboards, like thunder behind silence.

She sat on the edge of the velvet cushion, hands clasped, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Then…

She leaned forward.

Just slightly.

And slipped two fingers into the edge of the drape, parting it a whisper.

She peeked.

He was there.

So close.

Back turned, coat draped over broad shoulders, shirt tight across a back and chest shaped by violence and long days on the road. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, veins thick across the backs of his hands. His knuckles were scarred. His boots scuffed. His holster dark with wear.

He didn’t fidget.

Didn’t glance around.

He just stood there like the world wasn’t allowed to move without him giving it permission. And yet, there was no tension in him. No vanity.

Only gravity.

A presence that said…

I’ve done worse than you think.

And better than I deserved.

And I’m still standing.

Violet’s lips parted.

Her thighs pressed together.

She didn’t understand it, this pulse that bloomed between her legs just from looking. But she couldn’t stop. She studied the line of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the glint of sweat on the back of his neck. And for a moment, he moved.

Not toward her.

Not away.

Just shifted.

And somehow, she swore he knew. He knew she was watching. And he was letting her.

Violet let the curtain fall.

Her heart was still racing. Her breath shaky.

She tried to sit still again, tucking her legs beneath her and staring at the candle flickering on the table like it might hold the answer to why she suddenly felt like her skin didn’t fit right anymore.

She could still feel him out there.

That man.

That stare.

That heat like a hand around her throat.

The drape shifted again behind her.

And then a voice slid in, low, slow, honey-slick and sharp.

“Mm. So that’s who you watchin’.”

Violet flinched.

Cordelia stepped into the little curtained corner like smoke curling under a door. She smelled like jasmine and rum. Her silk robe was open at the thigh, and her eyes gleamed like a cat that already caught the mouse. She sat without asking, legs crossed, one arm draped over the back of the chair.

Violet tried to say nothing.

But Cordelia smirked.

“Girl, you act like I ain’t seen the way your breath left your body the second he walked by.”

“I wasn’t—” Violet started.

“Don’t lie to me now,” Cordelia said, laughing soft, “You look like somebody plucked your ribbon loose just by lookin’ at you.”

Violet dropped her gaze, cheeks burning.

Cordelia leaned in close.

“Let me tell you somethin’, baby…you ain’t the first girl to sit behind this curtain and melt for a man like Smoke Moore.”

Violet blinked, “what’s his real name?”

Cordelia smiled wider, “mm. Now she wanna know names,” She tapped her nail against the glass on the table, “His name’s Elijah, but we all call him Smoke. The quiet twin. The one who don’t look at much. But when he do look,” she snapped her fingers, “you best believe he seein’ every inch of you.”

Violet shifted in her seat, flustered.

Cordelia leaned closer, voice softer now, “He done killed men with those hands, baby. And still…he touches a woman like she was made of glass. You think a man like that ain’t dangerous?”

Violet swallowed then licked her lips, “I ain’t never had nobody look at me like that.”

Cordelia nodded slowly, “No, you haven’t. And you ain’t ready for what it means when he don’t just look…But comes back.”

She stood then, smoothed her robe, and before slipping out, gave Violet one last glance.

“You better start askin’ yourself one thing, baby girl…Do you wanna be safe? Or do you wanna be seen?”

And with that, Cordelia disappeared into the curtain fold, heels clicking softly.

The curtain was still swaying when Violet sat forward.

Cordelia’s words throbbed in her chest.

Do you wanna be safe?

Or do you wanna be seen?

She didn’t know the answer. But her body moved like it did.She uncrossed her legs slowly and adjusted the tie of her ribbon with quiet grace. Instead of retreating, she shifted closer to the edge of the booth, to the space where the curtain parted just enough to let the world in. And for the first time…She let herself be looked at.

Smoke was back at the bar.

Same place. Same stance.

Only now he turned.

Not fully.

Just enough to lean against the bar with his elbow propped, bourbon in one hand, and his gaze fixed on the sliver of light where Violet now sat, half-shadowed, half-glowing, waiting. He could see her now. Not all of her just the outline. A bare thigh, one strap slipped from her shoulder, the delicate slope of her neck. Her curls had loosened slightly. Her lips were parted, soft and unsure.

But her eyes?

They were different.

Still shy. Still wide.

But no longer retreating.

Now she was inviting.

Smoke’s throat tightened. His grip on the glass flexed. She was sitting still but everything about her screamed movement. The curve of her hip pressed into velvet. The dip of her collarbone catching firelight. Her chest rising in a soft, unsure rhythm.

She hadn’t spoken.

Hadn’t smiled.

Hadn’t even glanced directly at him.

But she was waiting.

For him.

And he felt it like a thread wrapped around his ribs. She wanted to be seen now. Not by everyone.

Just him.

He raised his glass slowly and took a sip, didn’t look away.

And Violet?

She stayed right where she was, trembling, blooming, letting herself be devoured.

No more hiding.

Just heat.

The curtain fell closed again.

She hadn’t moved but everything inside her was shifting. Violet sat still in the quiet hush of the velvet nook, hands resting in her lap, heart drumming like a hummingbird’s wings against her ribs.

She could still feel it.

Him and that gaze and that weight. The pull of it like silk wrapped around her waist, tightening with every glance. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something older, something deeper. Something unnamed. Her thighs were slick and tense and her lips dry. Her mouth unable to remember how to form a word. She reached for the edge of the table for something to ground her and exhaled slowly, as if trying to breathe the heat out of her blood.

Why’d he look at her like that?

Like she was the last quiet in a room full of noise. Like he could taste her without touching. Like he’d already chosen her and she ain’t even spoke his name.

She closed her eyes.

Violet tried to remember how it felt to be invisible. Tried to remind herself that she wasn’t made for a man like him.

Men like that didn’t look at girls like her.

But he did.

And that look made her body buzz like the string of a plucked violin—tight, thin, and trembling.

She touched the ribbon at her throat, fingers grazing the knot.

Her voice caught.

Her skin burned.

And somewhere behind the curtain, she could still hear the faint clink of a glass. The sound of a man drinking slow, like he had time. Like he had already decided.

What if he speaks to me?

The question rang in her chest like a bell.

And still…she didn’t run.

She smoothed her thighs. Straightened her spine.

Let herself bloom in the dark.

She wasn’t ready.

But she wasn’t hiding anymore.

Violet waited until the noise swelled just enough to carry her movement. A crescendo in the music. A burst of laughter near the bar. The groan of wood shifting beneath dancers’ feet. That’s when Violet rose slow and smooth. A breath exhaled into motion.

She didn’t rush.

Didn’t push back the curtain with drama.

She let it part like the petals of a flower at dusk—quiet and deliberate. And when she stepped out, the silk of her slip whispered against her skin, catching the light in places that made every inch of her look soft and secret.

The room was darker now.

Oil lamps turned low. Smoke coiled above heads like lazy ghosts. The scent of musk, pipe tobacco, sweat, and sweet perfume hung thick.

And there she was.

Barefoot. Ribbon still knotted at her throat. Shoulders bare. Back straight. Face calm but burning.

Smoke saw her immediately.

He was still at the bar, leaning with his drink in hand, but his whole body shifted like gravity itself had tilted in her direction. He didn’t move but his gaze locked on her with the kind of stillness that carried weight like he was memorizing her. Violet walked slowly along the edge of the floor, trailing one hand along the wall, not toward anyone in particular, just out into the open. Her hips swayed gently with the rhythm of the piano. Her thighs brushed, and the hem of her dress floated just above the softest part of them.

She passed two men.

One looked.

One said something.

She didn’t hear it.

Because she could feel him behind her.

That gaze. Heavy as a hand.

She turned ever so slightly and glanced over her shoulder.

Her eyes met Smoke’s.

And there it was again. That low-burning tension between them, thick as sticky glide. A pull. A knowing. And this time, she didn’t look away. Her body stayed open, her lips stayed parted. Violet let him look. Let him feel the weight of the woman she was becoming—the woman who was no longer hiding.

Violet walked past the bar.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t sway too much. She held her chin up just enough to look composed, her fingertips grazing the edge of the wall, the slip of her dress brushing the inside of her thighs. She was trying—trying to own her steps, to hold the quiet fire Cordelia lit in her chest. Her breath still fluttered, but she kept moving.

Behind her…she heard nothing.

But she could feel it.

That weight.

That energy like coiled thunder.

She didn’t have to look back to know he was moving.

Smoke Moore.

He was following.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

Just present. Like the slow drag of stormclouds across a summer sky—you don’t hear it right away, but you know the air’s about to change. She turned the corner near the back hallway, just beyond the glow of the main room. A curtained doorway behind her, a stack of crates ahead. Dim. Quiet. Close. She paused, pretending to smooth the ribbon at her throat.

And that’s when she felt him.

Close.

So close the heat from his chest kissed her back.

And then…

His voice.

Low. Velvet-wrapped gravel.

Southern Smoke.

“…You walk like you tryna convince yourself you ain’t afraid.”

Her breath caught. He didn’t touch her. Not yet. But she could feel him—just inches away, his energy wrapping around her like silk ropes.

“…You that scared of me, baby girl?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her hands tightened at her sides, the edge of her dress clenched between her fingers.

“No,” she whispered timidly.

He leaned in closer. His heat consuming her from behind. Still not touching. Just air, heat, and hunger.

“…Say that again,” He spoke with a hushed tone.

Her breath hitched. She tried to sound steady.

“…No.”

Smoke exhaled slowly near her ear, his mouth barely a whisper from her skin.

“You tremblin’. I ain’t even laid a hand on you yet.”

She felt a shiver ripple down her spine. Her knees wanted to give. Her voice betrayed her body.

And still…she stayed.

Quiet.

Soft.

Open.

He could smell her now. Skin warm, breath sweet, the faintest scent of fear laced with something deeper.

Want.

“You run now, I’ll let you go,” he murmured, pausing for effect, “But you stay?” He tilted his head dangerously close, “You mine to learn.”

And she stayed.

Trembling.

Timid.

But not moving.

She didn’t dare move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe right.

Smoke was right there with his breath still warming her shoulder, his voice still curling around her spine like smoke through cracks in a door. Her body was betraying her—softening, aching, silently begging.

She didn’t need his hands to feel claimed.

She already did.

But then…

He stepped back.

Just a half-inch or less. And somehow, the loss of him, of his warmth, his weight, his watchfulness, hit her harder than the press of his body ever could have.

She blinked.

Her fingers curled against her thighs.

And then she felt it…

The tension between them stretch like silk soaked in heat.

He hadn’t touched her once. But she felt more bare in that moment than she ever had undressed. He watched her for a breath longer—just watched. Then his voice came, quiet. Steady.

“…You don’t even know what you doin’, do you?”

She shook her head. Slowly.

Smoke hummed, “Didn’t think so.”

Another pause. The air thick between them.

“…But I do.”

And then?

He turned.

Walked away slow. Boots low and heavy on the floor.

Didn’t touch her.

Didn’t speak again.

Just left her standing there in the soft light, alone with the ache he placed between her thighs without ever laying a finger on her.

The room was still.

Only the faint hum of music bleeding through the walls, the occasional moan from the back hallway, the creak of footsteps overhead.

Violet sat alone on her narrow bed behind the curtain, legs curled beneath her, slip still clinging to her thighs like a second skin.

Her breath was slow. But her chest rose too fast.

She could still feel him.

The heat of his body. The gravel of his voice. The way he whispered like he could taste her fear and loved the flavor.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t even touched her.

He didn’t have to.

She slid her hand to her chest.

Just above the ribbon.

Her fingers trembled slightly, tracing the bow. Then lower—over the curve of her breast, down the dip between her ribs.

She thought of his voice in her ear.

You tremblin’. I ain’t even laid a hand on you yet…

A whimper caught in her throat.

She lay back, the pillow cool beneath her, eyes half-lidded.

Her knees parted.

The silk slipped higher.

And with a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her hand slid lower.

Between the heat.

Through the ache.

Right where he left her wanting.

She touched her pussy like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to—soft, tentative, gasping.

But the more she remembered his voice…

But you stay? You mine to learn.

…the deeper her fingers sank.

Violet stroked her clit gently, like she was afraid of what her body would do if she pressed down harder. Her hips twitched faintly. She shut her eyes, drifting back to the way his body felt behind her, a heat so intense. She could hear how soaked her folds are. The sound deafening. Violet opened wider, whimpering. Moaning soft and faint. Barely above a whisper.

She came quickly, shaking, the sound muffled against her wrist as her body clenched and opened around nothing—but the memory of him. When it passed, she lay there breathless, thighs damp, skin burning. He hadn’t touched her.

But Smoke Moore already owned her breath.

The ache between her legs and the exhaustion of her strong climax had Violet slipping into sleep like a drop falling into warm syrup. She was still wet between her thighs. Still flushed from the touch she gave herself.

But what lingered most wasn’t her own fingers.

It was him.

Smoke.

His breath.

His voice.

His presence like thunder waiting to break.

And now…he was in her dream.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The walls didn’t matter. The light was soft and gold. She was bare, thighs parted, laid out like a sacrament on fresh sheets.

And he was standing there.

Smoke Moore.

No coat. No holster. Just skin and shadow and slow breath.

He didn’t say a word. He just stepped forward and stared at her like she was already split open for him.

She felt no fear.

Only ache.

Only longing.

If he had touched me…

He knelt between her legs, eyes locked to hers as his hand grazed her inner thigh.

Not rushed.

Not rough.

Just…inevitable.

“Did you cum thinkin’ about me?” he asked in her dream, voice low as river water.

She couldn’t speak.

He smirked.

“You wet in your sleep. That ain’t just a dream. That’s your body rememberin’ what it never had.”

She gasped when he touched her there—just once—and it was enough to make her cry out.

He didn’t stop. He dragged his tongue along her thigh, slow, teeth grazing her skin. Her hips lifted on instinct.

His voice came again—dark and thick.

“You want me to eat it, baby?”

She nodded.

Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He smiled against her inner thigh.

“Then keep your legs open, and let me feast.”

And when he did?

She broke.

Soft cries. Trembling thighs. A climax that rolled through her like waves licking the shore of some secret island.

She woke gasping.

Sweating.

Empty.

And aching all over again.

Don’t hide from me, girl. I see you. And what’s mine don’t got to shrink…

Come here. Bring all that fear, all that want. Bring it to me. I got you…

Next time you touch yourself thinkin’ ’bout me, you better come find me instead. I wanna see it. Hear it. Taste it…

Violet hadn’t slept much.

The morning light pressed in low through the gauzy curtain, soft gold and dust-flecked. She’d stirred on and off—waking breathless, thighs damp, her dream replaying in vivid, pulsing fragments. Now she sat at the small vanity tucked in the corner of her sleeping space, brushing her hair in slow, gentle strokes.

Her eyes were unfocused.

Her thighs still pressed together.

Her body hummed with memory.

His mouth.

His hands.

That voice—low and knowing—telling her to stay open and let him feast.

She swallowed.

Her ribbon was untied. Hung loose down her chest like a thread of silk she no longer needed to hide behind.

She glanced at herself in the mirror.

Her cheeks were warm. Her lips slightly swollen from biting them in sleep. She looked kissed. Touched. Marked. But it had only been a dream.

And still…

Her body didn’t care.

She picked up a small notebook from the drawer—just pages she sometimes jotted thoughts in when the silence got too loud. She didn’t write much. Just a line.

Her hand trembled as she spelled it:

He hasn’t touched me.

But I feel like I belong to him.

She closed the book softly.

Set it down.

And then went to draw her bath, knees still aching from how hard they had clenched the night before.

The Blackline was quieter in the morning.

But not silent.

The house never slept fully. It shifted. Stretched like a cat in the sun, its sounds softer but still alive. Footsteps on creaking floorboards, water boiling on the stove, a distant radio playing slow Delta blues on the back porch. The sun leaked in through the stained-glass windows—coloring the wooden floors in fragments of amber, rose, and wine.

Curtains hung loose.

Smoke from someone’s cigarette curled lazily through a shaft of light in the parlor. The girls were up and moving—some in robes, hair pinned, faces bare. Others already dressed, painting their mouths red in shared mirrors, laughing soft between swigs of morning bourbon. There was perfume in the air, powder and orange blossom, musky oils, sweat sweetened by heat.

Stockings were hung over chairs to dry.

Heels lined the baseboards like soldiers.

Some girls cleaned their rooms. Others climbed into each other’s beds for warmth or gossip or comfort. Someone was ironing lingerie in the kitchen. Someone else was bent over a basin, washing blood from silk with careful fingers and a hymn on her tongue.

Stack was around, but easy.

He was seated at the long table near the front room, counting money from the weekend, cigar between his teeth. His suspenders hung loose over a rumpled shirt. Every so often, he’d pause, lean back, and scratch the side of his face while listening to the radio.

“We need more rye,” he muttered to no one, “And more ice.”

No one answered.

He didn’t care.

He just kept flipping bills.

Violet moved differently.

Not slower. Not faster.

Just…more aware.

She’d bathed early. Combed her curly hair back into a bun. She wore a soft green slip today, thin at the shoulders, hugging her hips.

Violet didn’t talk much. Just lingered in doorways. Sat near open windows. Swept when asked. Watched.

Always watched.

Her eyes traced the curls of smoke rising from Cordelia’s cigarette…the shape of a dancer’s back as she stretched in the hall…the gold necklace one girl wore backwards so it draped down the small of her back like a secret.

But her thoughts weren’t on the house.

They were on him.

Smoke.

His voice still echoed in her.

His breath still lived in the bend of her neck. Every step she took, every time her thighs brushed together under silk, she remembered.

You mine to learn.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

But she knew what her body remembered as she walked the halls of The Blackline with his gaze still burned into her skin.

Not to long after, Violet was folding linen napkins in the side parlor, the morning light slanting across her bare feet. She didn’t speak much that day. Just moved with her usual softness, her hair pinned loose, her green slip fluttering just above her knees.

Her body still felt tender.

Sensitive in places she didn’t dare touch again just yet.

She’d just finished setting the last napkin down when Cordelia passed by with her robe open, heels clicking, cigarette trailing a ribbon of smoke.

She paused at the archway and looked back at Violet with that same cat-glint smile.

“Smoke’s back from town.”

Violet looked up.

“Oh?”

Cordelia nodded, walking over to the tea tray on the buffet.

“He asked for coffee. But he don’t really drink it. Likes it warm, though. Something bitter in the mouth, sweet in the aftertaste…”

She poured a black cup, added a drizzle of cane syrup, then held it out to Violet.

“You bring it to him.”

Violet’s hands froze.

Cordelia’s smile widened just slightly.

“He’s out back, takin’ off his boots.”

“Why me?” Violet asked softly, eyes lowered.

Cordelia leaned in, voice low and lazy.

“Because he didn’t ask for it from nobody else.”

She pressed the handle of the cup into Violet’s palm.

“Go on. He won’t bite…Not yet.”

Cordelia sauntered off, leaving Violet with a task. A task that left her heart thumping beneath her ribs. She stared down at the cup, then exhaled a rattled breath. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before facing the man that she thought of while playing with her pussy. Dreaming of almost every night since she’d laid eyes on him.

Violet walked down the hall slow, cup trembling slightly in her hand.

Each step felt louder than it should.

The back door was open, light pouring in golden against the floorboards.

She could smell him before she saw him—leather, pine, dust, tobacco. The scent curled around her like haze and made her thighs press together. He was seated on the edge of the porch, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up, one boot off, the other halfway unlaced.

He didn’t look up when she approached.

“Heard you comin’,” he said, voice rough from the road.

Violet paused just behind him, heart pounding.

“…Cordelia said you wanted coffee.”

“Mmm.”

She stepped beside him, carefully placing the cup on the small table near his hand.

He finally looked up.

Right at her.

His eyes dragged over her face. Her lips. Her collarbone.

“You bring it ‘cause she asked you to?”

Her breath hitched.

“Yes.” She replied with a small voice.

He reached for the cup, sipped once, then leaned back.

“And you stayin’ now ‘cause she told you to?”

Violet said nothing.

Smoke’s lips curled faintly at the edges, “Didn’t think so.”

He looked out over the trees again.

“You smell like rosewater. That yours?”

She nodded.

“Don’t wear too much of it,” he murmured, “Makes a man wanna follow you ‘til he finds where it’s comin’ from.”

Violet swallowed hard.

“I’ll…I’ll remember that.”

He didn’t look at her again. But his voice was low enough she felt it in her stomach.

“Good girl.”

The words followed her like heat.

Good girl.

Two little syllables—barely more than breath—but they landed like a hand pressed between her thighs.

Violet didn’t reply.

Didn’t dare look at him again.

She turned.

Careful. Quiet. Controlled.

And walked back inside with the empty tray still trembling in her fingers.

Her knees felt soft.

Her core hummed.

The ribbon at her throat suddenly felt like too much and not enough all at once. She moved through the hallway like a girl floating—dazed, raw, skin warm from within. In the mirror of the front parlor, she caught her reflection.

Cheeks flushed.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

And she whispered it once—not for anyone else to hear.

“Good girl.”

Her thighs clenched hard.

Her breath hitched.

And she didn’t sit for a long time after that.

Because the ache between her legs was too tender.

Too fresh.

And that voice—his voice—was still buried in her bones.

It was Cordelia again.

Mid-afternoon, warm light spilling through the windows, the house quieter now—girls resting, Stack gone off with a bottle and a deck of cards. Cordelia found Violet in the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

“Smoke’s washin’ up out back,” she said, casual, like she wasn’t smirking behind her cigarette, “He asked for a fresh shirt. You know where the clean ones are. Go on and take it to him.”

Violet didn’t ask why.

She just nodded.

And tried not to let her hands shake when she folded the crisp white fabric over her arm.

Smoke was on the porch again.

Hair freshly slicked, combed back with a deep side part by Stack’s hand, glinting beneath the low sun. He wore only his trousers now—bare from the waist up, his back to her as he dried his hands with a cloth. His skin was the color of wet earth and iron, all tanned deeply from the heat of the South. Broad back, ridged muscle. Scars. One long one across his shoulder blade like he’d been cut once and never talked about it.

He turned when he heard her.

Didn’t speak at first.

Just looked.

“You bring that for me?” he asked, voice thick as velvet syrup

She nodded, holding out the shirt for him to take.

“You wanna help?” he said low.

Not teasing.

Just offering.

She hesitated.

Then stepped closer.

Violet unfolded the shirt in shaking hands. His body radiated heat. He smelled like soap, cedar, and something underneath—raw and masculine and animal. He bent his arms slightly and she slid the fabric over one first, then the other, brushing her fingers along his forearm to pull the sleeve through.

Her hands trembled against his skin.

When she reached up to guide the shirt over his back and onto his shoulders, her palm skimmed the top of his chest.

He was watching her the whole time.

Quiet.

Steady.

Hungry.

“You always this careful,” he murmured, “or is it just me?”

She couldn’t speak.

Her fingers hovered at the buttons.

Smoke leaned forward slightly.

“Start at the top, baby. I like it slow.”

She obeyed.

One button.

Then the next.

Each one closer to his heart.

Violet’s fingers brushed the top button.

The white cotton was still warm from his skin, soft from wear but clinging in places where his chest curved and swelled—solid and unyielding. She pressed the first button through the hole slowly, careful not to tremble too much.

Smoke didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

He just watched her.

His head tilted slightly, eyes locked on her mouth as she worked her way down.

Each button brought her closer to the center of him.

Her knuckles brushed his sternum.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like if he breathed too deep he might lose the self-restraint he wore better than his clothes. By the third button, she could feel the beat of his heart beneath the cotton.

Not fast.

But heavy.

Her hands moved lower, guiding the fabric closed over his ribs, over the slight dip above his navel.

She could feel his heat through it.

Could smell the mix of soap and sweat and skin.

And even though he hadn’t touched her…

She felt him everywhere.

His voice came, low and gritty, just as she reached the last button.

“You always this gentle?”

She didn’t look up.

Didn’t trust herself to.

Her fingers slowed at the last button. Held it there.

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered.

Smoke leaned forward just slightly.

“That mean I’m your first?”

She blinked hard.

Her lips parted.

But her answer—whatever it might’ve been—caught in her throat.

She finished the button.

Pulled her hands away.

Tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

He stared at her.

A full breath.

Two.

Then stepped back.

Not far. Just enough for the air to grow colder between them.

His shirt was buttoned now.

His body clothed.

But the tension?

Still naked.

“You done real careful,” he said finally, “Almost too careful.”

He turned before she could reply. Smoke reached for his hat, smoothed it on top of that slicked-back part, and stepped off the porch.

No touch.

No praise.

No smile.

Just the soft clink of his belt, the low creak of the stairs…

And the sound of Violet’s breath shaking in the absence of everything she wanted.

As Smoke stepped off the porch, the screen door whispered closed behind him. He didn’t light a cigarette right away.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t curse.

He just kept walking—down the back path, past the chicken wire fence, past the empty rain barrel, boots scuffing dirt as if the earth itself needed to feel how tense he was.

His hands flexed at his sides.

Jaw tight.

Chest tight.

He could still feel her fingers—soft, unsure, adoring—moving down his shirt one slow button at a time like she was afraid touching him might make her burn.

Hell, it just about burned him.

Good girl.

He’d said it without thinking.

But the sound of it on his tongue felt too damn natural.

Too right.

He made it to the old toolshed behind the fig tree and leaned against the frame, the wood creaking under the weight of him.

He rolled his neck once.

Twice.

Then finally lit a match.

The tobacco sparked. Smoke curled.

But the fire in his blood?

It didn’t cool.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him.

She couldn’t.

That little ribbon at her throat, the way her lashes fluttered when he spoke, the way her thighs brushed with every step like they ached even when she didn’t move.

She didn’t even smell like the other girls.

She smelled…quiet. Like rosewater and something softer underneath. Something only he’d find if he buried his face deep enough to taste it.

And that tremble in her hands?

God.

He wanted to hold her wrists and make them tremble harder. He wanted to hear what her breath sounded like when it broke. He wanted her on his lap, in his bed, under his weight, whisperin’ his name like a sin she’d learned to love.

But he didn’t touch her.

Because if he did?

I wouldn’t stop. And I ain’t ready to let her see that part of me…Not yet.

He took another drag from the cigarette.

Felt the ache in his dick throb hard beneath his belt. He wouldn’t jerk off. Wouldn’t give himself that release.

Not for her.

Not yet.

He’d wait.

And when she came to him—when she begged?

He’d give her everything he’d been holding back.

And she’d finally understand why he kept walking away.

The next few days passed like molasses poured over flame. The air in The Blackline stayed thick—sweet in the morning, sultry at dusk, dangerous by night.

Smoke and Violet never said much.

But everything between them spoke loud as thunder.

Every morning, she brought him his coffee.

Same way: hot, bitter, with a thread of cane syrup stirred slow.

She never asked if he wanted it.

She just brought it.

And he always took it from her hand, brushing her fingers like an accident he meant.

She watched him when he cleaned his pistols. He’d sit out back with a rag over his lap, gunmetal gleaming, sunlight sliding down the ridges of his forearms. She’d pretend to be folding laundry near the open window—but her eyes always found him.

And Smoke?

He let her watch.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t speak.

Just dragged a slow cloth over the barrel like he was teaching her how he handled things that got out of line. When Stack came by, they sat close at the porch table, talking in low tones over the hiss of liquor being poured into tin cups.

Business.

Bootlegging routes. Threats. Names.

Violet couldn’t hear it all. But she saw how they leaned in close—twin shadows, born from something brutal, bound tighter than blood.

And even then…

Smoke would glance at her.

Every time she passed, every time she walked near.

He noticed.

By nightfall When the house came alive, Violet floated. Soft slip. Ribbon back around her throat. Mouth painted the color of crushed berries.

Men watched her like moths.

Some tried to talk sweet.

Some talked slick.

She smiled. Laughed. Gave lap dances but never let them touch too much.

And always, Smoke watched.

Sometimes from the booth near the back. Sometimes from the bar. Sometimes while he cleaned a blade behind the curtain.

Until one night.

A man—drunk, swollen with coin and frustration—grabbed her arm too tight.

“I done spent two whole nights feedin’ you drinks, girl,” he slurred, spit thick in his throat, “You ain’t gon’ keep teasin’ me like that.”

She pulled back, “let go of me—”

He grabbed harder.

Her ribbon pulled loose.

“Lemme see what I paid for,” he snapped.

Smoke moved like a shadow with teeth.

No warning.

No shout.

Just there—sudden, solid, deadly.

Hand at the man’s collar. Gun drawn. Cold steel pressed against his cheekbone. Violet flinched, stepping back as she watched with wide eyes.

“You touch her again,” Smoke growled, voice like thunder in a cellar, “and I’ma put a hole in your face so clean they’ll bury you in silk.”

The whole room stilled.

Girls froze.

Men backed up.

Even Stack sat up straighter.

The man stammered. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Empty your pockets.”

“What—?”

“Every dollar. Every coin. Give it to her.”

The man looked at Violet.

Then at Smoke.

Then started dumping crumpled bills and coins into Violet’s palm.

Smoke’s voice dropped lower, but heavier. He raised the end of his pistol and cracked the man on the side of the face. Sharp. Bloody.

“You step foot back in this house…I’m killin’ you where you stand.”

Then he shoved him back hard—sent him stumbling towards the front by Stack’s bodyguards, half-drunk and humiliated, clutching the side of his face as blood seeped through his fingers. They shoved him out the front door. Left him stumbling into the night with his pride bleeding and Smoke’s threat still ringing in his ears.

The man was officially gone.

And just like that, everyone knew.

Violet wasn’t just pretty.

Wasn’t just new.

She belonged to someone.

Even if he hadn’t said it yet.

The room had started breathing again—slow, nervous, pulsing like something had just been broken and patched back together.

But Violet…she hadn’t moved.

She stood near the back wall, breath shallow, one hand curled around the ribbon at her throat, the other hanging limp at her side.

Smoke stepped toward her.

“You alright?”

His voice was low, but she felt it in her chest like it pushed past her bones.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, then they dropped, dragging slowly down the front of him.

The crisp lines of his buttoned shirt.

The shadow of muscle straining beneath cotton.

The dark holster vest at his chest and the way his gun disappeared into it like it had always belonged there. He shifted his arm and the fabric clung tight across his biceps.

Violet nodded faintly.

But her eyes… they were wide. Glossy. Shaken.

Smoke moved closer.

Suddenly.

His hand came up, rough fingers catching her wrist before she could tuck it behind her back.

She flinched.

“Lemme see,” he murmured.

His thumb pressed into the skin just above her pulse.

There was a faint red mark where the man had grabbed her.

Smoke’s jaw ticked.

That was when Stack stepped in.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice hit the room like a hammer.

He looked between them.

Saw the look on Smoke’s face.

Saw the way Violet’s body shook.

“He hurt her?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stack turned to Violet, eyes gentler, “You alright, baby girl?”

She nodded. Still quiet.

Stack looked at Smoke again, voice lower. Sharper.

“If we catch that son of a bitch,” He stepped closer, “We kill him. Don’t nobody hurt my girls. You hear me?”

Smoke gave a slow nod.

Stack squeezed Violet’s shoulder and walked off, muttering something to one of the other men.

When they were alone again, Violet looked up.

“…Thank you.”

Her voice cracked.

Her eyes still glossy.

Smoke met her gaze, calm and steady.

“You ain’t got no worry,” he said, “Me and my brother? We’ll kill any man that tries to put hurt on a woman in this house.”

His thumb brushed over the mark on her wrist once more.

Gentle. Intentional.

“That’s a promise.”

Then he let her go.

Turned.

And walked back into the dark—the weight of his words curling in the air like gun smoke.

@theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @theegoldenchild @blackpantherismyish @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg

[notapradagurl7]

we're ready for snowfall franklin !!

Fangs Out.

Black Fem! Reader x Vampire!Franklin Saint.

A/N: here you go! I missed writing about this fine man, 😫 hope you enjoy!❤️ Franklin as a vampire, I would've binge-watched the hell out of that series, 😩

♡(Requested)♡

Summary: You had a feeling that your boyfriend Franklin was a vampire after a plethora of months after disappearing, until he returned to your house. Explaining his side of the story.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @dabratzchronicles

@becauseimswagman1

@pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @henneseyhoe @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @secret89sblog @ranikyani

@uniqueoutlierblog @mama-2001

@fakxmbj @kaylalb @theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @kumkaniudaku @luckydaye777 @that-one-anxious-mango @rose-bliss @kindofaintrovert

Warnings: dirty talk, praise, overstimulation, rough sex, worshipping, mention of murder, choking kink, use of the n-word, vampire!Franklin, confession, possessive!Franklin, consensual intimacy.

———

You remembered the night too vividly, you could've sworn it was bad dream since you always ended up in the safe comfort of your bedroom.

The silent dark night had arrived once again before your eyes opened, moonlight shined through the light green curtains as your bonnet rested on your other pillow and you groaned lowly, your box braids pooling around your face. Sporting a plain tee shirt and matching sweatpants

Rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes, blinking twice just to be sure. All you remembered was that you went to your job, clocked out, and came home.

You sat up from your bed, making a beeline for the doorway, the door creaked open with a push of your hand. Heading inside the bathroom to relieve yourself, wash your hands and wipe them off with a soft green towel on the rack.

You had a gut feeling that Franklin was a vampire, the shift in his demeanor and his pearly white shiny teeth sharpening like knives, the crimson red color in the iris of his eyes that used to be dark brown, but immediately changed when you were around.

Every time you saw the news on television, there was a string of murders and missing bodies of men who looked your way, catcalled, a former boyfriend or anyone who tried to harm you.

It was a strange pattern that you took notice of.

You walked toward the window to see a figure walking toward your house, squinting your eyes long enough until you could make out the familiar silhouette. It was him—Franklin.

The way he moved was predatory, confident, like he owned the night itself. Every step he took was deliberate, and your heart raced in your chest, anxiety and an undeniable thrill.

The moonlight cast a silver glow on his deep ebony skin, accentuating the sharp angles of his face, making him look even more ethereal, almost otherworldly.

Missed me?

What?

Y/N, it's me, Franklin.

Your eyelids widened in shock from hearing his voice in the depths of your mind, it was really him. What happened to him?

You watched as he approached your door, and a shiver ran down your spine. Closing it before blinking twice, "Is this a dream?"

Thoughts raced through your mind, a whirlwind of confusion and desire. Why had he come back? It had been months since he just vanished, leaving you with nothing but memories that felt both sweet and tainted.

You had tried to move on, but the echo of his voice, the warmth of his presence lingered in your mind like a haunting melody.

When he finally knocked, it felt like a tiny thunderclap in the silence of the night. Wind brushing through you, he was a vampire.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you hesitated for a moment, remembering the way he used to look at you—with that possessive passion that made you a bit scared.

You opened the door, and there he stood, a smirk playing on his lips as if he had just won a victory.

"Y/N, missed me?" he drawled, his voice slightly raspy and smooth like honey, yet edged with something darker.

You felt a rush of emotions—anger, relief, longing—all crashing together. "You disappeared, Franklin. Just like that. What happened to you?"

The question slipped from your lips, tinged with the urgency of all the unanswered thoughts. You saw him walk right through your walls, with red energy clinging to his body.

He stepped inside. "I was bitten that night I disappeared when I was workin' with Unc and Leon, I walked out and she followed me home, then I turned to this," he said, his gaze locking onto yours, a red glimmer shimmered in his deep brown eyes.

"Franklin. You're a vampire? Wait...all those missin' men? You did that?" You asked him, backing up from him.

You didn't have any time to be scared, or shocked at this moment. All you could do was stand there, he was different.

"I couldn't let those niggas hurt you in any type of way, couldn't let anythin' happen to my girl, right?"

The way he looked at you, it was like he was peeling back the layers of your soul, seeing right through you. "I wasn't myself, but I'm back now."

Your heart pounded as he approached, the warmth radiating from his body contrasting with the chill creeping into your bones.

He reached out, tucking a loose braid behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Being a vampire ain't good as they say it is, immorality, drinking blood, the sun don't kill us, wooden stakes or garlic don't do shit, not even a damn cross," Franklin explained, his voice filled with emotion.

The mental agony of being a vampire must've taken a toll on him, it was difficult, and exhausting for him.

"Going through that is a real damn battle, it's a lot."

You knew that you couldn't ask him to bite you since you didn't want to be a vampire either. There was nothing to say at all

You swallowed hard, aware of the danger that lingered in his words. "I know that Franklin, but you're different now,"

His smirk plastered on his attractive face, a flicker of primal flashing in his eyes. "I'm the man who's willin' to do anythin' to protect what's mine. That's you, Y/N, you've always been mine."

With those words, he pulled you closer in a warm hug with his chin resting on your head, "You have no idea how much I missed you, baby." he replied to you, as you spoke up, "I missed you too,"

Hs lips crashing against yours in a quick, hungry kiss, the mint lingered on his tongue. And that scent of cologne on his clothes evaded your nostrils.

"I thought you were dead, or missing but I had a feeling that you were still out there, Franklin." You replied back, looking up at him.

Franklin kissed your lips passionately, pulling away from each other, as the two of you walked through the dim hallways, he took off his shoes next to the front door, and zoomed at you, scooping you up in his arms.

And walked you inside the bedroom, laying you on the bed. He laid beside you, grinning at you.

"I'm glad you're back, but I want you really bad," You spoke up.

His eyes locked with yours, sensing the desire inside. "That's what you want? Some dick?" he shot back, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Franklin showered your knuckles with affectionate kisses, savoring each gentle touch of his full lips as he adoringly locked eyes with you.

"That's what I want, come here," You said in a bold tone, your hands cradled his face.

Both of your clothes were tossed across the floor, you hovered over him. As you engaged in a steamy make-out session, lips collided filling the room.

He gazed up at you, grateful to be near you, grateful to be this close. To feel you once again.

"oh f-fuck..Franklin.." you moaned lowly, your hand resting on the nape of his neck, feeling more of his warm mouth around your nipple. He watched you break apart in pleasure underneath him and put back together in bliss.

Franklin's hands gently cupped your breasts, bringing them closer together. "So beautiful," he mumbled, Leaning down, he delicately flicked his tongue against your nipple, causing it to respond eagerly.

He enveloped your areola in his mouth, suckling it with care. While, his other hand massaged your other breast, leaving a trail of saliva on your now-sensitive nipple. Consumed with pleasure, "Oh shit, Franklin..." you kneed lowly.

"You're still mine?" you asked playfully, a smirk curled up.

"All yours, gorgeous.." he replied with a grin, there he goes again.

He tenderly pushed his dick between your folds, causing you to let out a soft gasp of pleasure. "Fuck.." you both moaned slightly, Franklin filled you completely, and you instinctively held onto his shoulders for stability. Sensing your reaction, he paused, his concerned gaze fixed upon you.

He resumed thrusting with an intense desire, fully immersing himself. "You feel so good, all mine," he grunted deeply, Leaning closer, he kissed your lips, as your essence coated his dick, saturating the cushions beneath your thighs.

Your walls clenched his dick tightly, providing a perfect fit. "Pussy's so tight, damn, girl." he whispered hoarsely, his fingers pinched your sensitive clit, now coated with your arousal. He moaned again, overwhelmed by the warmth of your pussy.

"Franklin, fuck!" you moaned loudly, nails leaving marks on his skin. He groaned lowly at the pain before smirking at you.

"How you know I like a little pain, baby?" Franklin asked you, thrusting deeply into you. Hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

He spanked your ass, admiring the jiggle as he firmly held your asscheek in his hand. "Just a guess..shit! More!" you moaned, he watchec himself fuck you deeper, you gasped sharply in response. You felt the love he gave you.

His hand wrapped around your neck, bringing you in for a wet kiss, as his thrusts slowed down, your body shakes. Your stomach was tied in knots with your screaming getting louder, over and over again, "I-i'm gonna cumm.." you whined, your mouth went ajar before you could utter a peep. Your essence gushed around his dick completely, "That's my girl.." he spoke with pride.

He gradually withdrew from you as both of you stood up from the current position, After painting your tummy white with his warm cum onto your stomach, Franklin wiped away the remnants of his essence using a moist green washcloth from the nearby closet after washing it in the sink.

In a state of exhaustion, he panted heavily. He threw the washcloth in the hamper. "You good?" he asked, lying on the bed as he pulled you close.

He nestled his face affectionately in the curve of your neck while Franklin snuggled up to you. "Yeah, I'm good," you spoke softly, your voice panting.

Both of you held each other tightly, wrapping your arms around each other, as he lovingly kissed your warm brown skin. You were glad to know that he was alive, but where could you go from here?

"So...you're a vampire and I'm human, I'm sure that we can still make this work right?" You asked him, your eyes on him.

Franklin nodded, with a smile. "Of course, we can. Go on dates, spend more time together and go back to the right way,"

He kissed you tenderly, before pulling away. "I love you so fucking much,"

"I love you too," You whispered in his ear, you felt his thumb swipe over your cheek.

——————

[notapradagurl7]

wunmi mosaku as annie • via instagram • @/shunika.terry

[notapradagurl7]

note: this isn’t proofread, haven’t written smut in years. Pls Let me know your thoughts or if anything is confusing!

ᨳଓ PAIRING: PEARLINE x READER

APART OF THE OUTLAWED REDEMPTION II SERIES

— LOW!HONOR!PEARLINE, RDR2!SINNERS!AU, AFAB!BLACK!READER, SMUT.

word count: 2k+

The mission was simple. Rob the stagecoach before it reached Rhodes. The gang needed more money, everybody pitched in their half’s whenever they came across something good but it wasn’t enough. Smoke sent Pearline and Preacher Boy out on a job, Mary had heard from the Saloon on a night her and Stack were out.

Preacher boy glanced down at his gold plated pocket watch before clicking his tongue, “It should be here by now..” he sighed out, before pocketing the watch and patting the neck of his Chestnut Hungarian Half Bred horse, Lady.

“You ‘no patience, Preacher Boy?” Pearline teased with a smile as she stood beside him on her own Missouri Fox Trotter horse, Silver Dollar, her hat low on her head covering her eyes.

He chuckled, “Don’t start, you out of all people know, I have patience…” Pearline chuckled through the short silence but Sammie spoke again, “But something ain’t right.”

She cocked her eyebrow at him, “You sayin’ Stack, your cousin, overheard wrong?”

“Stack ain’t overhear nothing, Mary did and she bought it up. She’s worse than Stack when it comes to money. No danger in sight, just money.” He sighed out.

“Look, just because the arrival of the coach is a little off doesn't mean nothing, Mary said, they supposed to have some cash and bonds on the inside. Enough for the gang to leave! Take out the driver and the one guard and we are out of this town, boy!” Pearline exclaimed, tossing her hands in the air before dropping them back down to the reins of her horse.

“One guard, right?” He looked off into the distance, “Try two including the driver.” He nodded behind her towards the road.

Her head snapped down towards the road, Sammie was right. Four guards. Armed. One driver. And the side lantern was lit, meaning a passenger was on board. Which was a problem, Mary was sure they were only supposed to carry cargo.

“Shit.” Pearline drawled. “What we doing?” She glanced at Sammie.

He was quiet for a moment before hopping off his horse, going towards a brush and picking up a lone rock, they were a good distance and at a good height to watch the coach pass, it also gave them high ground.

Sammie went towards the edge of the cliff, crouching down, he pulled his arm back and waited. His brown eyes flashed gold before he snapped his arm forward, shooting the pebble at one of the back wheels of the carriage.

You sat humming a tune in the stagecoach, looking out of the window at the scenery when a loud crunching sound came from the right side and the back of the carriage went down.

You yelped as you slid down towards the right, “Woah! Woah!” You heard the lawmen escort holler.

“What the hell was that?!” The driver shouted, you heard his feet carry him towards the back where you were before the door opened, “Miss! Are you okay?” He was getting paid top dollar by your husband to safely transport you back to town.

“Yes but what was that? Did you hit something?” You asked, your boots hit the dirt road before traveling up front to where the lawmen were looking at the wheel. Perfectly lodged into where the wheel turns was a stone, never had a pebble been stuck like that, it was a metal stagecoach not one of the wooden cheap ones.

The longer you were out on the humid road, the more annoyed you became. The bottom of your dress and boots were already covered with specs of dirt and dust from when you had jumped out.

As the lawmen examined the wheel, you examined your surroundings and not far from you, you saw two people riding on horses towards you, a Black man on top of a Hungarian Half Bred, and a Black woman on top of a Missouri Fox.

Once they had gotten closer to your group, the first to speak was the black woman, “You folk in trouble?” Her voice was smooth like silk, her skin shined bright under the moonlight like she had put a fresh layer of shea butter on, you wonder if that’s what she smelled like.

When none of the men spoke up, too enhanced by the woman’s beauty but on edge with the man next to her, you stepped up, “just popped a wheel. Somehow my silly driver..” you looked towards the man how blushed deeply feeling more than one person's eyes on him. “Must have run over a rock and a piece of it is lodged into the turning axis.” You sighed out looking back towards the man and woman.

“He should be more careful driving, ‘specially at night. Names Pearline. This here is Preacher Boy.” She spoke with a grin, pointing towards the man beside her who tipped his hat towards you with a wink and a small smirk. You swore along with his skin, his eyes shined as well. Maybe you were seeing things.

“We’ll gladly help you, if you wouldn’t mind.” She continued on.

You smiled and nodded, quickly saying ‘yes’. Such kind people helped you even though you were strangers. But you wouldn’t complain, the quicker you were home. The better. Pearline’s grin widened with satisfaction that you agreed for them to help you. A pretty woman like yourself shouldn’t be waiting so long. She thought to herself.

Her and Preacher boy walked a few ways to the side to tie their horses to a tree before walking back towards you and your group.

“Wait, what you say your name was again?” Javier, one of the lawmen asked.

Pearline and Preacher Boy gave each other a look, not a look of nervousness or even worry. Preacher Boy had slight annoyance mixed with something else on his face. You didn’t know how to describe their expressions more but it started to make your stomach turn when Pearline looked back at Javier again with that sweet grin of hers.

“Pearline.” She repeated.

“No last name?” Javier questioned again, his hands resting on his hips near his gun belt.

“Why would my last name matter? We just helpin’ some good folks out.” Preacher Boy spoke this time.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with askin—” Javier went to say but you had cut him off before he gets too ahead of himself with questioning people.

“Javier! Please for the love of God, just let Preacher Boy help you!” You snapped. “Quicker for me to go home to my husband, quicker for you to head home to ya wife!”

Javier sighed out before eventually agreeing and just for a few minutes, he pushed the questions to the back of his head. Although the woman, Pearline and the man Preacher Boy, looked familiar, he couldn’t remember where from. Clearly that doesn't matter when it comes to your decision.

“Preacher boy can help yall better than me. He’s good with his hands.” Pearline nudged Sammie towards the men with a knowing look in her eyes.

“You ladies can sit inside while we fix the wheel, let us align the coach first.” The driver said before disappearing off behind the carriage, he returned with a large chest, laying it on the ground, “lift on the count of three?” The driver asked Javier and Preacher Boy.

“On the count of three,” Javier and Preacher Boy got into position lifting the coach up while the driver slid the box under it to level it out while they fixed the wheel and the ladies could sit comfortably. Javier was slightly out of breath from holding his side out while Preacher Boy breathed calmly, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth when needed.

“Preacher Boy must be strong.” You mentioned, mesmerized by his strength, clearly seeing the difference with who was struggling and who wasn’t. Not one drop of sweat, not one hesitation in his movements.

“Strong as a bull.” Pearline replied, biting her lip, watching not only Sammie but you as well. Her teeth sharper than the average person, nipped at her bottom lip drawing blood to which her tongue lapped up quickly. “You wanna see what he’s about?”

Your breath caught in your throat, snapping your eyes from Preacher Boy to the woman next to you, you gasped out, “See what he’s about? O-oh..no..” You a small nervous smile appeared on your lips, “I-I’m married..that would be sinful—”

“Happily?” Pearline cuts you off, stepping a bit closer into your space which you failed to notice at the time since you were confused by the question.

“Excuse me?”

“You said, you married. Are you happily married?” She giggled, looking down towards her hands, pulling her gloves off her hands and putting them in her carry-on she had on her hip.

Your mouth was slightly agape from her reckless question and what seemed to be a lustful gaze. You expected this from a man, from Preacher Boy. But a woman? A woman as beautiful and kind in front of you at the moment, you wished you weren’t married.

“Now, you ladies can wait inside!” The driver interrupted y’all’s talk. He grabbed yours and Pearline’s helping you two into the coach, making sure you were comfortable, “Won’t be too long, miss!!” He shuts the door and you both are in silence.

Two poorly lit carriage lights, one by the door and the other by the window, you both sat across from each other, stomach was in a ball of nerves as Pearline just sat calmly, staring directly at you like she sees something you don’t.

“Why are you lookin at me like that?”

“You never answered my question.” She reminded you, setting her purse aside. Her right leg crossed over her leg, she leaned forward, crowding into your space, resting her elbows on her knees. “You happily married? Or just married?”

You took a deep breath, why was it so difficult to tell her of all people? Strange woman, yes, but she was still a woman, she wouldn’t do no harm so why does your heart rate increase the more she stares at you with those brown eyes.

“Javier seemed interested in you..wanted to know your name.” You mentioned, changing the subject. “You must be wanted.” You joked making her laugh but she didn’t deny it.

“Well..I do tend to take things quite often..” she trailed off, making you go quiet, she looked around the inside of the stagecoach, it was very much closed off, giving whoever inside the privilege of privacy. Windows had shutters on the inside, clipped in place to keep it from folding back up, red and gold engravings were made into the cloth material wall, and the cushions felt like heaven. It didn’t take much thinking to know you come from a rich family or were married into one.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if there were a bounty on my head.” She shrugged off as if it was an everyday thing to her. “Wonder how much it is now.”

“What type of things do you take?” You couldn’t help but ask even though it was an inkling that she and Preacher Boy weren't here because of dumb luck.

“I take pretty things.” She simply smirked.

“Pretty things like this here stagecoach..” she gestured around, “pretty things like you..”

“You gon let me take you, girl?” She leaned forward in your personal space. Her scent was sweet just like her voice, she smelt of jasmine with a slight earthy smokey scent.

Whimpers and gasps filled the cart, your bare body shivered from her cold fingertips as they traveled downward past your chest, past your navel then reversing upwards dragging her sharped nails around your breast then latching her mouth onto your nipple. Pearline mewled over the taste of you, her fangs nipping your skin drawing tiny bits of blood, it was addictive like honey.

Your back arched off the material of your dress, gasping when she bit down harder, sucking the blood that poured out of the small fits her teeth made. The poor clothing was ripped straight down the middle, you still had your arms in their sleeves but Pearline had easy access to the rest of your body.

“You taste just as I expected…” she muttered against your breast, rolling her tongue in circles, suckling over your right nipple before switching over to your left.

“W-we shouldn’t—ah!“ You stuttered before letting out a cry as her fangs bit down then releasing licking her bottom lip.

“We shouldn’t what? Hmm?” She hummed, kissing down your stomach.

“We shouldn’t..I’m married..happ—“ The feeling of her lips and tongue, slurping, licking every inch of your folds, her tongue circled, spelling unknown words on your clit and all you could do was reach down and tangling your fingers into her hair, knocking her hat to the floor.

“Please..please..” You whined when her head shook side to side. Your back arched off the seat, pushing upwards, trying to get away. It all felt like too much, she was too much but you didn’t want her to stop, if anything you wanted more and more.

Pearline moaned against you, her arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you closer to her mouth, “hmm, where ya going, pretty?” She murmured against your clit, making your body jerk.

Panting as she continued to eat you out, her hands gripped your chest, her thumbs circling and pinching both buds. You bit your lip to quiet your sounds until she softly nipped your clit with her fang which earned her a small sequel and another jerk making her giggled. Sitting up and placing a kiss to make up for it, she didn’t even give you time to process what was happening before you felt her fingers into you like nothing.

Your head fell back, gasping as she sunk two fingers to the hilt, your walls fluttered and it's almost as if she had explored your body before, finding and rubbing that spot that made spots of white appear in your eyesight. Her other hand had pushed your left leg upward towards your chest giving Pearline a full view of your cunt.

You felt cold and hot all at once as she pumped faster, fingers curling, you had no control over your sounds nor did you feel the embarrassment of not being quiet. Squirming, eyes shut, panting, hands trying to find a proper place to grab was all you manage to do. Her thumb flicking over your clit in an eight figure motion, you were close but what made you shatter was when she sunk her teeth into your thigh deeply and began drinking. Your moans were garbled and choked, body rocking with the motion of her fingers until you couldn't take any more and was shaking from oversimulation.

She released her fangs from your leg as you quivered from the release, you breathed heavily as Pearline crawled up your body towards now face to face with you. Droplets of blood dripped down her chin onto your chest. “Aw, maybe I took a ‘lil too much..” Pearline cooed, paying attention as your breathing got slower and the discoloration began on your skin.

“Drink…” you felt her pry your jaw open and something in between your lips then something continually dripped in your mouth until you had no choice but to drink. You moaned, with the little bit of strength you had, you pulled her wrist closer, drinking greedily. It almost tasted like wine with a slight copper taste.

“When you wake, I might let the others have a taste..”

Preacher Boy hopped onto the stagecoach, wiping his mouth with the handkerchief he took off one of the lawmen laying face first in the ground. Pearline peeked her head out of one of the windows, hat missing, hair wild, eyes dilated with blood drying on her chin.

“Whatchu waitin’ on? Ride before the sun rises! Ion feel like hearing Smoke mouth either, we already took longer than expected.” She cussed.

Ignoring her words, Sammie smirked and motioned towards his mouth with her pointer finger, “I’m guessing you..uh.. found that button, huh?” He chuckled as Pearline blushed and dipped back into the carriage.

“Shut up and drive!”

His loud laughter could be heard for miles if there was anyone still riding the road late this night, “Yes, ma’am.”

Taking control over the reins, he noticed a newspaper coincidentally being left open on the recent bounties lawmen put out. He couldn’t help but shake his head. He whistled and used the rope on the horses to get them going while balling the piece of paper up, tossing it into the dirt.

$$$ REWARD.

650.00. FOR THE CAPTURE OF—

PEARLINE MOORE. MEMBER OF MOORE GANG.

“THE BANDIT QUEEN”

WANTED FOR MURDER, ROBBING MULTIPLE STAGECOACHES BETWEEN BLACKWATER AND STRAWBERRY, MISSISSIPPI.

A BLACK PETITE, PRETTY WOMAN ABOUT 5 FT, 6 INCHES TALL. BROWN EYES, DARK HAIR. OFTEN WEARS THE CLOTHES OF A PROPER LADY.

CONTACT LOCAL LAWMEN IMMEDIATELY IF SPOTTED.

4EVA © MINES ᭝ usersorcerer ⋆ 2025

[notapradagurl7]

ON SIGHT (2025) dir. Sebas Coto

[notapradagurl7]

𐙚⋆.˚ 𝒀𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝑩𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 , elijah moore.

𝑺𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── after leaving chicago with mob money, smoke and stack open up their own juke joint in the mississippi delta. when cash starts running low, they call on a favor from an old friend. that same favor came with a price, and now smoke’s new job is to protect one thing mr. laveau loves most, his daughter.

꒰ bodyguard elijah “smoke” moore x spoiled!black female reader. time setting can be interpreted by you, profanity used, sexual tension, suggestive content, criminal themes, power dynamic, older!smoke, younger!reader — very much legal 21 and above, dominant!smoke, brat!reader, light possessiveness. ꒱

the summer heat was evident in the backroom of the juke joint, the air heavy with the remainder of last night’s activities. smoke and stack sat at a small table, peeling apart stacks of crumpled bills from the register. business was decent, couldn’t complain, but not nearly enough to keep up with the promises they made after skipping town with pockets full of mob money.

after hitting both the irish and italian mobs in chicago, they hightailed back down south with blood on their hands and a vision of owning something that was theirs. the juke joint was supposed to be that vision. but when the profits didn’t match the heat they were under, they reached out to an old acquaintance, mr. laveau.

mr. laveau was cut from the same cloth as any other black man, but he made a name for himself in the mississippi delta. people didn’t go to him unless they really needed to. still even with all the power he possessed. he couldn’t protect his daughter from everything, so he fronted smoke and stack a loan with one simple string attached — one of them would serve as his daughter’s personal bodyguard and that duty fell onto smoke.

“ain’t you supposed to be picking up lil miss right now?” stack asked, raising an eyebrow as he skimmed through the cash. smoke sucked his teeth and let out a low hiss, already irritated. “damn,” he muttered, pushing back from the table. “finish countin this for me, and don’t fuck up. you know damn well yo ass can’t count past ten without usin your fingers.” he pointed a serious finger in stack’s direction.

stack looked up, insulted. “nigga i can count the hell.” smoke didn’t bother arguing. he was already on his feet, grabbing his keys off the hook near the door. “be safe,” stack called after him. smoke nodded once, “always.”

by the time smoke made it across town to [ꪆৎ]’s house, the sun had started to set. his mind was tangled in thoughts of how to make it up to the girl, how to soften her disappointment, how to explain without sounding like he was making excuses.

he hated being late, especially with her. she wasn’t just some job or favor owed anymore. no, she was something else entirely. something that gnawed at him in his quiet moments and pulled at him more than he cared to admit.

the tires crunched over gravel as he pulled up to the laveau residence. the house stood tall and proud, just like the man who built it — gated, guarded, protected. he adjusted the collar of his shirt, wiped the sweat from his brow, and approached the front door like he had serious debt to pay.

the door swung open before he could knock, and there she was. standing there in dim lighting, arms crossed, lips pursed in a pout that could get her anything she wanted. the dress she wore was the color of warm strawberry cream, soft pink with a delicate texture. it hugged her body with purpose, the corset bodice sculpting her waist and lifting her chest just right, while the skirt flared out.

smoke leaned against the doorway, his eyes trailing down the length of her legs. those soft, thick thighs he remembered tracing with his eyes, countless of times, distracted.

he remembered when she first tried that dress on in the boutique, standing barefoot on the carpet, indecisive, per usual, with two different options in hand. she had walked out the dressing room twirling, asking him, “this one… or the other one with the slit?” and his only response was to toss both on the counter and pull out his wallet.

now, here she was standing in front on him. wearing the one she’d picked for the day, looking too fine and too proud for her own good. “you’re late,” [ꪆৎ] said, voice soft, but the pout on her lips and the disappointment laced in her tone cut deeper than anything loud ever could. smoke blinked, shoulders tightening as he looked at her. “i know,” he sighed, eyes softening with guilt. “i’m sorry, miss.”

[ꪆৎ] didn’t move. she just stared at him, slow-blinking like she was deciding whether or not to slam the door in his face. she wouldn’t. he knew that, but the possibility was still there.

“pa already left,” she said, finally stepping aside to let him in. “told me not to wait, but i did anyway.” smoke stepped inside, letting the cool air hit him, but it didn’t do much to ease the warmth crawling up his neck.

“i appreciate you waitin”, he said, glancing down at her again, the way her thighs brushed together as she turned, her scent lingering in the air — a hint of vanilla and something fruity he couldn’t put his finger on. “you look… real beautiful.”

[ꪆৎ] scoffed, soft but pointed, her back to him now as she reached for her small purse on the foyer table. “you only sayin that cause you late.” “i’m sayin it cause it’s true,” he replied, voice low, watching her from the corner of his eye. “and i apologize, should of been here earlier.”

she waved her hand, dismissing his apology. “you ain’t never been late before,” she said, stopping at the mirror near the door to check her makeup. she shook her head, “not this late.” smoke sighed, “we had a long night at the joint. stack was draggin his feet countin.” she turned toward him, giving him that look. the one that made his chest tighten and his mouth go quiet. “you should’ve left earlier. you know how my daddy feels about being on time.”

smoke nodded, taking the weight of her words. he stepped forward, just a little closer than polite. “i ain’t worried about what your daddy thinks,” he said. “i’m worried bout how you lookin at me right now.”

she tilted her head, arms folding once more across her chest — drawing the dress tight across her bust, the top straining dangerously close to slipping down the soft swell of her breasts. the motion was unintentional, but it still left an affect on him.

“and how’s that?” she asked, one brow raised, her voice laced with challenge. “like you wanna be mad,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to her chest before meeting hers again. “but you miss me just a little.”

her lips twitched, the pout threatening to soften. “i don’t miss you,” she said, turning to open the front door, but her voice had gone soft again, stinkingly sweet. “i just hate waiting.” smoke followed her out, his hand brushing the small of her back, lingering longer than he should’ve. the fabric was soft, but her skin beneath it was softer. “then i’ll make sure you don’t have to wait next time,” he said.

[ꪆৎ] glanced at him from the corner of her eye, “you better mean that, smoke.” he opened the passenger door for her, holding it with that quiet kind of care that said everything he couldn’t. “i do,” he said simply. and he meant it.

she sat into the passenger seat without a word, her legs crossing slow, deliberate. smoke rounded the hood, settling behind the wheel and starting the engine, but he didn’t pull off just yet. silence settled for a beat too long before she spoke.

“you know you don’t have to call me ‘miss,’ right?” her voice was soft but direct, eyes fixed ahead through the windshield, hands resting in her lap.

smoke glanced at her, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “and you don’t have to call me smoke.” that made her turn. just a little. enough to look at him from under her lashes, a faint smile threatening the edge of her lips. “well… i don’t know what else to call you,” she said, half teasing, half serious.

he shrugged, shifting the car into gear. “you’ll figure it out. i’m sure you got all kinds of names for me in that pretty little head.” she let out a quiet laugh, turning back toward the window, but the tension eased, for now.

“you were supposed to take me shopping,” she reminded him. “i had half the boutiques in town holding things”, a frown showed on her face. “i know,” he nodded, making the first turn onto the road. “and we still are. just got a little sidetracked.”

“you always got an excuse,” she huffed, crossing her legs slow like she wanted to be seen. knowing good and well her dress was sliding higher with every movement, showing more of those soft thighs he could never ignore.

smoke glanced at her, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. he knew her game. she wanted a reaction out of him, but he wasn’t the type to let her get her way just yet.

he cut his glance from her to focus on the rode. “you gon keep actin like that, or you gon let me make it up to you?”, he asked, voice low, laced with warning to check her attitude. she didn’t answer right away, just smirked to herself, fingers toying with the strap of her purse. “you lucky i’m still in the mood to let you spend money on me,” she said sweetly, like she hadn’t just tested his patience on purpose.

“not doin it cause i’m lucky,” he muttered, giving her another look, longer this time, letting his gaze linger on the fat of her thighs. “i’m doin it cause you deserve it. even when you sitting in my car with this fake pissy attitude.”

she didn’t say anything to that, just pressed her lips together, fighting a knowing smile, and turned to look out the window. that told smoke everything he needed to know. the rest of the ride hummed with quiet tension. not awkward, just thick. like both of them had more to say but neither one wanted to be the first to cave.

they pulled up to a boutique tucked between a flower shop and a record store, one of those high-end spots with blacked-out windows and gold-painted lettering that barely needed to advertise. everyone already knew who it catered to.

smoke killed the engine and turned to look at her, but she was already unbuckling her seatbelt, hand poised on the handle like she didn’t need him. still, he got out first and came around, opening her door like he always did. a gentleman, no matter her mood.

she hesitated for a second, just enough to make a point, then placed her hand in his. her fingers slid into his palm like they belonged there, soft and warm, with that quiet kind of confidence that always knocked him a little off balance.

smoke steadied her as she stepped out of the car, slow and smooth like she knew he was watching. the second she rose to her full height, her perfume hit him again. it wrapped around him thick, curling low in his gut and settling somewhere behind his zipper.

he clenched his jaw, eyes flicking away too late. the soft bounce of her body, the way her dress clung when she moved. every step she took made his self-control slip just a little more. his pants had already begun to tighten, his bulge pressing uncomfortable and obvious against his slacks, the effect of just being near her. and the worst part? she knew.

the way her gaze dropped for a second, and the slow curve of her smirk afterward? she didn’t need to say a damn thing.

no cars were in sight. the boutique was empty, just like it always was when she came. the owner knew better than to have customers hanging around when [ꪆৎ] laveau was in. she liked to browse in peace, and with her last name, peace was something folks were quick to make space for.

just as they crossed the threshold, smoke held the door open for her. “you gon behave in here?” [ꪆৎ] scoffed, brushing past him with a toss of her curls, hips swaying with purpose. “that depends. you gon show up on time next time?” her tone laced with sharpness. then she paused, just long enough to glance back at him.

“i ain’t no child,” she added, eyes narrowing slightly. “and i damn sure ain’t stack, so don’t talk to me like i am.” he just stood there for a second, watching her sway farther into the store.

he should've been annoyed. he should've put her in her place. but truthfully? he liked the way she said it, low, firm, with that little bite in her tone — damn near made him grin. he stepped up behind her, close enough for her to feel his presence. “you right,” he said, voice low and steady in her ear. “you ain’t no child.”

she froze for half a second, then kept walking like she hadn’t heard the change in his tone. as if just his tone didn’t make her wet. “and if i wanted to be round stack,” he added, following her with calm, measured steps, “i’d be back at the juke joint listenin to him count ones like they fives.”

[ꪆৎ] tried to hide her reaction. “i’m here with you,” he continued, watching the way her fingers skimmed over fabric. “so act like you know the difference.” she turned to face him then, dress she picked up in her hand. “is that you checkin me, smoke?” he tilted his head, eyes dragging from her face down to the hem of her dress. “nah. that’s me remindin you who you talkin to.” a beat of silence passed between them, hot and heavy like the mississippi air.

their moment of silence was interrupted as quick as it came. “miss laveau,” the girl behind the counter called, perking up. “everything you requested is in the back. i’ll set up your fitting room now.”

“thank you, baby,” [ꪆৎ] replied, her tone softening just enough to let her charm peek through. she turned back to smoke, gaze flicking down the aisle of mannequins and dresses. “make yourself useful.”

he didn’t say a word. just followed her as she moved from rack to rack, holding every dress she picked out. she held a champagne-colored dress up to her frame, studying herself in the mirror near the end of the row. “you gon stand there lookin, or help me pick?” she said smartly over her shoulder, not even glancing at him.

smoke stepped up behind her. he reached past her slowly, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder as he plucked a deep red slip from the rack. it was cut low, short, made of silk, and left nothing for the imagination. something she could wear only for him.

“this one,” he said, holding it out. “fits that smart ass mouth.”[ꪆৎ] turned her head a knowing gleam in her eye. “you sure you can handle my mouth?” smoke met her gaze, unbothered, that lazy smirk working its way across his face. “i been doin just fine so far, ain’t i?” she rolled her eyes with a small huff, snatching the dress from his hand, but not before their fingers brushed. [ꪆৎ] grabbed two more pieces on her way to the fitting room.

smoke watched her go, brown eyes trailing her figure the whole way down until the velvet curtain swished behind her. “you need anything, miss laveau, just holler,” the shopgirl called after her. “i’ll be alright,” [ꪆৎ] yelled back.

smoke exhaled slow, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned against the nearest wall. the boutique was still and quiet again, except for the hum of the AC and the faint rustle of fabric behind that curtain.

she hadn’t even been in there thirty minutes. and already, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to keep playing it cool.

sevyn’s note: i didn’t feel like writing a smut scene, just know the poor girl that works at the boutique would of been traumatized 🤭. expect more smoke fics and i hope yall enjoyed, feedback is welcome <3.

layout inspo @dollerin

[notapradagurl7]

random gifs of my favorite people 3/?

[notapradagurl7]

Shiddd, God has blessed him indeed😫❤️

🫦

[notapradagurl7]

Just One More | 5 (In The Mornin’)

Lewis Hamilton x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT!! Cockwarming, Slight Somnophilia (?), Squirting (I warned yall that this Lewis is a slut for his wife), Fingering, Pussy eating (Lewis is an EATER in this) Dad!Lewis, Fluff (VERY fluffy moment with the kids at the end), Slightly unedited.

SUMMARY: A hard working mother and boss deserves to relax and Lewis’s goal is to make you do exactly that..

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

✮✮✮✮

There was nothing better than waking up in a warm bed with no seven year old feet next to your face or toddler drool on your chest. Just your husband laying right next to you, his head nuzzled into your neck and arms wrapped around your body, hands softly caressing your plush tummy. It was the best sleep you had in months.

Lewis was plotting to make it better.

You felt your leg move aside and your thighs part, falling upon stronger ones as cold air hit the dewy glow that stuck to your skin.

You stir and grumble as you feel a weight on your chest, kissing along your jawline, then a dull stinging in your core followed by the pit of your stomach feeling full.

Your eyes slowly open to sunshine while moans fall from your lips, reaction to both the blinding light and the constant stretching.

You could feel the hard chest of your husband against yours, heavy and sturdy.

“Babe? What are you doing?”

You ask, your voice just as tired as your eyes. Your hands move to cover your face and rub the tiredness away, but he didn’t give you much of a chance to finish as he grabbed your arms and pinned your wrists to the mattress.

“Loving my wife. Is that a crime?” He asks, his tongue teasingly licking up your neck.

“Loving me includes being inside of me at the crack of dawn?”

You hear him chuckle softly against you.

“It does right now” He responds, this time more in a moan as his hips connect with your center, making you sigh in relief. He held himself just there for a moment, breathing in the scent of you deeply. You couldn’t be any more impatient.

Your walls took the shape of him perfectly and they couldn’t help but squeeze him, almost like a ‘welcome back home since last night’ hug.

As you begin to subconsciously rock your hips against his to reach that special spot you needed touched the most, you feel that tingle between your thighs intensify, only to be halted by lewis.

He presses his hips to yours to stop the rocking, his hands squeezing on your wrists.

“Just wait, baby”

He hums out against the skin of your neck, once again breathing in deeply the scent of the curl cream in your hair.

You whine, your nails digging into your own palm.

“I just wanna feel you. Just for a moment”

He locks his fingers together with yours, both of your legs becoming entangled with the sheets and the blanket half way off of the bed.

The feeling of the tight warmth wrapped around his shaft had him holding off on the almost animalistic instinct he had to move his hips and rut into you with no regard, but he successfully forced himself to enjoy the feeling of temporary euphoria while he could.

You felt yourself start to be beckoned by the sandman regardless of your throbbing clit, the fluffy lashed lids you owned getting heavier as time went by until you were pulled back to reality by Lewis slipping further into you.

“Lew~” You whine once again, earning a groan from him as his head rises from the crook of your neck. He admires your sleepy but pleasured expression, his eyes tracing the outline of the rising sun's light that grazed your features. It made your plump lips more prominent and your button nose stuck out a little more, something he found so cute.

Capturing his bottom lip between his teeth, he shuts his eyes to keep himself from cumming inside you then and there, his dick only twitching inside of you more frequently than before.

Opening his eyes up again, he’s met with your dark irises staring back at him. Your heart skips a beat still even while in the most compromising position.

“Stop looking at me like that..” You mumble shyly and Lewis smirks.

“I can’t help it. After all these years I still can’t believe I’ve got you all to myself” He confesses and you get flustered all over again, your tummy fluttering at his words.

“Just so. Damn. Beautiful” He kisses your lips in between words while simultaneously rolling his hips up into you.

You suck in a great amount of air, the pressure of the tip of his dick pressing deep inside of you so intoxicating that your eyes rolled back for a quick second.

“And you smell so sweet all the time. Last night you were lucky I didn’t just take you right there on the dining table”

Sucking in air through his teeth, the grip around his shaft just got tighter, and so did the grip he had on your hands.

“All of my friends were there” You responded, as if he would have cared in the moment. Your friends would have just had to take the big hint and excuse themselves. You giggle at the thought of them scurrying off, meanwhile Lewis almost growled in your ear just thinking about you letting him fuck you anywhere and maybe even in front of others.

All before he couldn’t imagine that turning him on in a million years, but here he was with the thought in his head and the pit of his stomach doing mini flips.

“You’d love it. Simply knowing they knew what was about to happen would make you so fucking wet. Huh, baby?”

Nodding, you were making sounds only desperation could make you do. “Just fuck me” You huffed with need, your arousal now pooling around him. If he was gonna wait to fuck you, he could have left you to sleep, but he was obviously feeling a little more selfish this morning.

“Fuck you? I wasn’t done… And now that I think about it, I wanna make you beg for it, baby”

And beg, you did. From 6 to 10, that’s all you did and Lewis gave you exactly what you wanted.

You felt his tongue on your clit for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. You were so sensitive that your hips jolted up and your thighs attempted to close shut on him, but his hands had a tight hold around your waist, just to keep you from running.

Now you were face to face with his erection, his shaft wet with your spit, juices, and his own release. He had already finished in your hands, you in his mouth, but he wanted more.

You mewled and purred as he sucks on your clit, two of his long tattooed fingers massaging your walls skillfully, pushing and caressing at the spongy part inside of you until it became soft and you clamped around him once again.

Lewis didn’t stop moving his fingers for anything, not even when your water came pouring down onto him, your thighs shaking. Instead, Lewis took it like the champ he was. He opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out for you, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as you squirted all over him. The sound of water splashing against the bed, your skin, the palm of his hand as he continues to finger you, and maybe most importantly, the sound of it filling his mouth was so lewd.

You were in absolute shock that you could cum that hard or that much, you would have thought that you almost drowned him.

He spits, a large hand patting your marked ass cheek in approval.

“That’s a good fucking girl” He praises, licking at his wet lips before leaning back into you, kissing your sensitive, swollen pussy. There were cries leaving your mouth as you made another attempt at pulling yourself away from him, hoping to catch some sort of break. Still, your husband was unwilling to let up, amazed at his work and what he could really make your body do.

“Don’t run from it. I wanna see that again” He expresses, almost sounding excited for what was next to come.

Your body went limp almost when he let you go, but you used the last of your strength to pull yourself away from him before collapsing onto the bed, your legs still shaking.

✮✮✮✮

Hours, two changed sheets, and a long hot shower later, you and Lewis laid out on the deck in the sun, watching waves crash against themselves and rocks in the distance. You loved the smell of the salt water and the sound of the aggressive clashing. It brought you a kind of peace that you didn’t always have back in the city, but you could only think of one thing missing still, even with the perfect view.

“Lewis”

“Hm?”

“…I miss my babies-“

Lewis let out a knowing sigh. “Babe…Please”

“I knooww!”

It wasn’t like he was actually annoyed, but you had said that three times that day, now four, after promising Lewis that you would enjoy the kid-free vacation that was just for you to relax.

Your head pops up from his chest, a pout displayed on your lips.

“I’m sorry…I just wanna know what they’re doing. It's nearly bedtime for them, and I bet they miss us”

“I know they miss us..I miss them too” Lewis laughs. He knew he couldn’t distract the both of you for long, this is exactly how he expected the vacation to go. You blowing up their nanny’s phone and him trying to get you to relax for more than an hour. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

Sighing, he leans up on his elbows to look at you.

You stare back, almost pleading with him to give you full autonomy to bug your children before they were out for the night. Thankfully, Lewis could never tell you no.

“…Fine! Call them. I guess it can be our turn to annoy them for a change”

“Yaaaay!” You squeal and reach across him to get to your ipad, completely ignoring the fact that your entire body weight was on the man’s chest for a second in the process.

The call came immediately after your happy dance, and the answer wasn’t too far behind.

“MOMMYYYY!!!”

Lewis’s head pops into view, his jaw dropping in fake shock. “I leave for three days and suddenly I don’t exist anymore?”

There was commotion and shouting blaring through your ipad with their nanny’s voice in the background telling them to quiet down. Bright smiles, curls and dimples began showing up in the camera, all of that accompanied by roscoe’s barking and playing with a toy in the background.

“I miss you guys!” Saint shouts, taking the ipad from his sister before it was taken from him by Silas.

“Mommy, when are you coming back?”

Silas questions immediately, his recently blow dried afro almost covering his curious eyes. It was a question you expected from him the most. All of your children were attached to you in their own little ways, but Silas’s attachment came with a side of anxiety, which you understood completely. He was only seven, and this would be the longest any of them have been away from you.

Leaving him with anyone that wasn’t Lewis was the hardest.

“We’ll be home soon, bubby!” You answer with a smile beaming back at him, the boy nodding.

“When is soon?” Saint interrupts, his face popping back into the camera, eyebrows knitted together. Lewis laughs at the seriousness of them both. These days they began to look more and more like their grandfather.

“Well-“

“Daddy, Carson ate playdough today…” Your daughter’s voice cut in through the conversation. Clearly this was something they had discussed beforehand considering both of the older boys sent a look towards their younger sister that said something along the lines of,

‘I thought we had an agreement?’

But, it was unlike your daughter to keep a secret.

Silas turned the camera to your youngest children, your son's cheeks blushed with embarrassment.

“Saint dared me to eat it” He pointed.

“Didn’t” Saint simply disagreed behind the camera, making you sigh.

“We don’t eat things that are not food, Carson. We’ve been through this” Lewis explained for what he could have sworn was the tenth time.

“Tell Roscoe that, he eats off the floor all the time” Carson grunted, Chloe nodding in agreement.

“He’s a dog. He’s gonna do that” Lewis defended.

Turning the Ipad back, the identical boys peered at the camera with raised brows.

“So you love him more than us?”

“That is not what I said, Saint-“

“No, if he hated us he’d put us on Roscoe’s diet” Silas commented.

You could hear your daughter snort behind the camera before speaking,

“Grass diet..���

The kids giggled among themselves, poking fun at their favorite thing to bully their father over; being vegan.

The giggles carried on well into their bedtimes and until they were forced to hang up, you and Lewis once again left with the sounds of the ocean.

Laid together again with the sun setting once more, Lewis gives you a final kiss on the lips.

“You know we’re gonna have to confiscate that playdough when we get home, right?”

“One step ahead, I already texted the nanny”

✮✮✮✮

💌—i love them so much 💔 may we all find someone as loving and freaked out as dad!lewis

[notapradagurl7]

SINNERS 2025 | dir. Ryan Coogler

[notapradagurl7]

TAKE 4 🎬 -> + Stack. M x Reader+

Anothhhheeerrrr Stack draft

Summary: In which Stack likes your perfume a little too much. Why, he could just eat you up…

Contains: my completely nonexistent self control, cursing, teasing, flirting, manhandling, oral (f.receiving), Stack is vicious with it, pussydrunk!Stack, no seriously he’s captain eat ‘em down🫡 in this, overstimulation, manhandling, petnames, everyone has a country accent, this is for the ✋🏽 strictly for the ✊🏽, kissing, biting, scent kink?, established relationship, you really need to stop playing with him before you get preg- 🤠whoops! aaaannnnnnd that’s all for today folks!!

A/N- thanks for all the get better wishes and comments<333 y’all are hilarious😂 proud to announce that I’m not sick anymore and my lung is much better so eyyyow!

MY CREW @thefirst-ofus @simpingfor-wakasa @hotcommodityyy @thabiddie23 @myislandbunny @funrabbit @ayeeeitsmiracle @known-only-by-the-insane @enticingmelanin @brattyfics @aizawaspersonalassistant @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @spookysanta @szatears @thegreatlibraryofalex @ariesthetouchdeprivedgirl @thequeenkhlo @saintsssrow LETS GO😂🤝🏽🎀

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

You’d never finish your checklist like this. Pointedly ignoring the eyes boring suspiciously into the side of your skull- even humming every couple seconds. However, it was all part of your plan unbeknownst to Stack.

As soon as you came through the door of the joint, ready to help check and tally inventory like you always did in the middle of each week- walking in and kissing him on his jaw like you always did with a soft ‘all ready here, baby’- he immediately noticed it.

A scent.

It was sweet, full, with a crisp nectarine linger to it. Like a freshly bitten apple. Made him taste the sugar of you in the very air he breathed as you breezed past him. For a moment he was frozen; confusion along with a special kind of want took over his face while he wracked his brain for what exactly you did to yourself. You looked the same, pretty n’ heavenly- sounded the same too but something….he swears he’s not crazy. But, you’re acting normal so he tries to do the same, following you to stand behind the bar while you worked. Humming softly as you flip through their records and inventory.

He doesn’t let up, almost in a trance, his eyes fixed on you as the minutes go by.

“God forbid you have anything else to do ’sides eyeball me”, you’re messing with him, trying not to grin at how much closer he’s gotten while studying you. Trying to focus on the lists and feign indifference even as he “subtly” creeps closer to you, dipping his head to trace his nose down from your ear to your chin leaving goosebumps in his wake. The way his lips ghost over the underside of your jaw make you tremble, gripping the pen in your hand that much tighter, you swallow down a breathy whine before shaking him off you. Schooling your face into a scandalized type of shock, you gasp.

“What’s gotten into you? Breathin’ down my neck like I owe you money or somethin’!”

Your fussing barely even reaches his ears and the way you try to bay him away just makes that mouthwatering scent of yours float him higher. Don’t get him wrong- you always smelled good but this was on another tab entirely.

He felt damn near tipsy…

How could you not smell you? Did the rest of you smell the same or only certain areas? Stack knows he ain’t crazy but you’re close to taking him there.

“What is that?”

The usually smooth timbre of his voice sounds rougher from his arousal, bass in his low drawl making your heart skips so hard you jolt, sheer anticipation having your nerves go haywire as you fight the slow heat licking it’s way up your stomach.

“What is what, baby?” You sound confused but he knows better- felt the way you jumped when he asked. Unfortunately, like him, you were a damn good liar and he’d need to have a lot of patience and time to get answers. Time he didn’t have because he was already fattening up in his slacks already.

“Stop playin’ w’me. You did somethin’ different today but I just can’t prove it”, his eyes narrow like that’ll help him figure it out but you’re dedicated to your (false) innocence.

“Can’t prove anything because I ain’t done anything”, riling him up as he pulls back to stare you dead in your eyes, whispering low.

“Oh I know you did.” You keep your eyes locked on his as that familiar itch burns to life inside you. Biting your lip, you lean your head back until your mouth is right up against his ear. It’s a dangerous game but that’s the fun. The thrill.

“And wouldn’t you like to know?”

You’re for sure trying to kill him. Groaning, Stack can’t help himself, taking another deep inhale of your smell, he feels his blood start to simmer. You sigh breathily, teasing him with a barely there brush of your ass against his dick. Stack freezes before nodding slowly- finally piecing it together. “You tryna get ate up ain’t you?” You try to suppress another grin but he makes it too easy. Huffing out a light laugh you shrug him off. Muttering,

“Asks the one tryin’ to eat me up..”

“What?”

“What??”

You speak almost at the same time but Stack can’t be bothered to indulge you right now, earning a delighted little moan from you when he lands a heavy smack on your ass.

From there he’s on autopilot, pressing himself firm against you and sucking bruises on the soft skin of your neck. Loud, needy gasps spill from your lips making his head spin, large hands grabbing all over you intensely while you pant and god help you when Stack purrs in your ear,

“..smell so good mamas..”

There’s a sharp pulse of warmth in your clit- like a heartbeat as you keen. Arousal laced adrenaline washing over you in waves. Stack is caught in a mix between smelling you and touching wherever he can reach and you rush to get back on track.

“S-Stack! Waiiit-!” But he’s in a world of his own, spinning you quickly to face him, muffling your less than genuine protests with his lips. Broad tongue not missing a beat- licking firmly across your teeth before dipping hotly into your mouth. You feel so good, you’re shaking. Eyes fluttering back as your hands find themselves on his wide shoulders.

“Stac- oohf!”

Huffing out when the air is knocked clean out of your chest as you’re mindlessly manhandled onto the top of the counter; dizzy from how fast he’s moving, layers of your poofy dress get thrown up around your waist before he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, massaging greedily at the plump softness. The nerves from before were nothing compared to how they were now. Watching dazed as Stack licks his lips like a wolf, eyes steeped to dark chocolate while he presses his nose into the underside of your knee, skimming down to your ankles.

Letting out another wrecked groan, it’s just as he thought.

It’s all over you. That delicious smell.

Your pulse skyrockets when you feel your panties being tugged at, biting your lip in heated anticipation. Stack shoves his face in your chest, taking another drag of your smell and whining before lapping a fat stroke up to your neck from your cleavage, humming drunkenly as he nuzzles into you.

Now Stack has always been a wanting and wanted man. You’d seen him be both but you’ve never seen him like this- so… desperate. You were almost concerned. Stack brings his face level to yours again and just the look of him has your stomach clenching.

“What is that smell, pretty? Drivin’ me goddamn crazy..”

He grounds out, taking your mouth in another filthy kiss before you can respond. The hand tugging at your knickers end up ripping them clean off you, your gasp swallowed up by his tongue in your mouth.

That perfume might be the best 20 bucks you’ve ever spent.

When you bought it, it was only because you immediately liked the smell. Sweet, crisp, with a linger to it. Before you left to see Stack, you’d sprayed it on various points of your body- on both sides of your neck, middle of your chest, both wrists, behind both knees and ankles. You liked it so you knew Stack would love it. But this much?

Stack pulls away with your lower lip between his teeth, making you hiss- trying to catch your breath. He rises to his height, no longer bent over you as he starts to undress. Tearing off his jacket and shirt, thick muscles of his arms and chest hypnotize you before he drops to his knees, ripping a gasp from your throat when you’re yanked roughly to the edge of the counter.

“..good, smell so good…”, the words are a soft hush into your skin, almost like he’s talking to himself.

“N’ wet too..”

Shivering, you barely get the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows before he’s on you.

The first lick up your cunt has you crying. Stack feels his cock throb as your wetness coats his tastebuds, long tongue lapping up and down your pussy in hot, thorough swipes. Between your smell and your taste, it was only a matter of time until he was completely gone off you. The nasty moan he lets out shakes you to your core as your eyes water, shaky hips grinding up into his greedy maw while you sob in pleasure.

Hulking arms lock around your thighs, holding you in place as Stack suctions his mouth over your clit, working the poor nub over with his tongue. You yelp, hands shooting out to grab his thick arms, needing to ground yourself. With a sigh, Stack pops wetly off your clit, only giving you a second to gather yourself before lapping his tongue into your tight hole. Undulating that perfect fucking muscle in hard thrusts then up and down through your slit, your eyes fluttering back into your skull at the pleasure running up your spine. Wet, wrecked moans bubble freely from your mouth as Stack buries his mouth deeper into your heat. Smooching your bud in a gentle kiss before slurping it into his mouth, laving his tongue against the underside.

Oh God. Your eyes slam shut- jaw dropping in a deafening wail, manicured nails digging into his arms as you’re abruptly flung off the edge you’ve been trying so hard to hold on to, thighs tensing in his hold as you shatter.

Your back is arched to an almost painful degree, coming so hard euphoria sears through your every nerve, leaving you a mess under Stack’s tongue that doesn’t stop. Licking at you hungrily until you’re pushing at his head.

Reluctantly, he takes his mouth off you, burying his face in your inner thigh, huffing in your sugary scent like a drug. Your heart pounds as you try to catch your breath, holding yourself up on quivering arms so you can look at him. Preparing to move off the counter, you start to close your legs but Stack stops you- peppering heavy kissing all over your thighs and lower stomach.

Rekindling that heat inside you.

Making a noise of confusion, you try to move again when he stops you by pressing a kiss on your lower lips before moving to look you in the eyes. You two make quite the sight with your flushed face and his blown pupils. Cheeks dimpling as he licks his lips, the gold glinting at you while savoring your taste. You let out a shaky moan as you watch him. Fuck it being the best perfume you’ve ever bought, at this point- it was the best thing you’ve ever bought in your life and Stack’s next words confirm it.

“M’not done with you yet, sweet thing..”

And he wouldn’t be until he was bathed in you.

I’m so happy to be back I mf missed yall🥹😭heyyyyyy sistaaaas🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🥰!!

[notapradagurl7]

Sly Stone, Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)

[notapradagurl7]

All for us

Summary: You’re pregnant, and everything’s shifting—in the best way. You and Bo are building something real, one quiet moment at a time.

Pairing: Lover! Sweet! Bo x Wife! Black! reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of childbirth, mentions of sex. MDNI

WC: 2.3k This is part two! Here’s part one

The news of your pregnancy spread through the community, it was joyous news. Everyone is so excited, including you and Bo. He’s been on a high ever since you told him. He’s always asking you to be careful with his baby. Treating you like a fragile piece of glass, which makes you laugh.

Today, you got up early. You say your prayer, fix your side of the bed— trying not to Startle Bo and get a move on. You’re going to the store, because yesterday’s shipment didn’t get put away— but you’re moving slow today. The baby has started draining your early morning energy. You throw on your clothes, make some tea to take with you and hope that the day goes by fast.

It’s freezing in the store today. You turn on both heaters to heat the store and look over the inventory list. Tomatoes, bell peppers, flour, bread and apples— all needed to be stocked. You start handling that, but after a while you start to get sleepy again. You go into the back closet, sitting in a chair to rest your feet— but you rest your eyes instead.

Three hours later, Bo comes into the store. A crate of potatoes and corn in his hand. He’s concerned, because the front door of the store is unlocked. He rushes to set down the crate.

“Baby, are you here?” He shouts.

You’re still in the closet sleeping peacefully, drooling.

“Baby?” He calls out again, as he checks the store. He’s starting to panic.

“Hon—“

He opens the door and sees you in the chair, sound asleep. He sighs, feeling a sense of relief.

“Lord, have mercy.” He mumbles.

He picks you up and carries you out to the truck, opening the door and putting you in. He locks up the store and jumps in the truck, driving you home. You’re none the wiser, still sound asleep. He can’t help, but laugh at you.

He pulls up at the house, opening the front door and then picking you up out of the truck. He carries you into the house and lays you on the bed, pulling off your shoes and covering you with a quilt. Pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” He whispers as he walks out of the room and out of the front door.

You wake up, confused and disoriented. You realize you’re in the bed and at home, you figure that bo must’ve brought you home. You don’t even remember falling asleep, but you know that you slept good. You get up, having the best stretch of your life and make your way into the kitchen.

You pour yourself a glass of water and gulp that down like you hadn’t drank in days. You open the cabinet and pull out two onions, tomatoes, garlic, some banana peppers and rice. Making it easier on yourself for when you cook dinner tonight. You love cooking for Bo and seeing the smile on his face. He devours his food every time, eating extras and saving leftovers for work. He constantly brags about your cooking and baking, bragging to anyone he can.

When his parents came to town you had them try so many different dishes, they were sure that they’d gained weight when they left. You made them some cookies for the road and sent them with some goulash.

The hours pass by, you tidy up the house and get started on dinner. The stew simmering and fresh baked bread coming out of the oven. You hear the lock turning and see Bo coming in the door.

“Mhmm, baby it smells mighty good in here!” He shouts.

You laugh, wiping your hands off on a rag. Bo sets down some papers he brought from work, making his way to you— a grin on his face and arms wide open for a hug. He hugs you like he hadn’t just seen you a few hours ago, smothering you in kisses.

He slips some tongue in when he kisses you again, catching you off guard. You laugh, nudging him.

“Bo!—“

“We gotta eat dinner first.” You gush.

He kisses your neck, arms still wrapped around you.

“Sugar, you smell so good.” He groans.

“I know, we gotta eat dinner— but I don’t mind a taste of dessert first.” He smirks.

Hearing him talk like that makes you so weak and hot. You still stand firm on it this time, y’all wouldn’t eat dinner at all tonight if you didn’t.

“Later” you giggle, kissing his cheek and walking back over to the stove.

The food is ready—you make Bo’s plate, handing it to him and then you make your own. You both sit down at the table and chow down on the food you made.

“I need to talk to you.” Bo says.

You raise your brow, sipping your iced tea.

“Hmm?”

“When I came into the store this morning, the door was unlocked and you were asleep in the closet—“

“Sugar, you can’t be doing that. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re too precious to me, you and the baby.” He confesses, his southern accent taking over.

Your heart flutters at what he’s saying, just hearing him talk about how much he loves you and the baby.

“I’m sorry. It’s like a wave of sleepiness hit me. I thought I locked the door, I wouldn’t have went to sleep if I thought otherwise.” You admit.

He puts his fork down, grabbing your hand.

“Baby, look at me—“

You stare into his eyes, getting lost.

“You don’t have to worry about the store anymore. You just worry about propping your feet up and growing our baby. I’m gonna take care of the store and you.”

You feel yourself getting emotional. Being loved by Bo is possibly one of the best gifts life could’ve give you.

“I want to help you, I don’t want you to do it all by yourself. I love helping you.” You respond.

Bo smiles at you, like he always does.

He helps you put the dishes in the sink after dinner, you wipe down the table and follow him into the bedroom. You crash onto the bed, letting out a sigh and Bo lays beside you. He puts his hand on your bump and smiles.

“What do you think it is?” He asks, staring at your belly.

“I don’t know, I want a girl though.” You grin, placing your hand over Bo’s.

“You do?” He looks at you.

You nod.

He leans down whispering into your belly.

“I love you so much. We love you so much. I can’t wait to see you on the other side and to hold you. I’m already proud to be your dad.”

You listen to him, trying not to cry. If anyone was meant to be a dad, it was Bo chow.

6months later.

Your belly has grown so much. It’s fully round and out there, stretching all of your clothes.

Bo measures your belly weekly and writes on his notepad how big your belly is getting. He got a camera and has been taking pictures of you non-stop. He keeps one picture in his wallet, another in the visor on his truck.

You’ve gotten so much ready for the baby and Bo’s already set up the crib, it’s just a waiting game at this point.

Bo’s parents have sent you so many baby items. You’re running out of space in the room. Annie’s brought you some baby blankets, Therisse gave you a book full of names, Stack and Smoke were the ones who bought the crib, Mary bought some stuffed animals and Sammie gave the baby knitted sweater. Y’all’s baby is already so loved and you’re so thankful.

———-

You sat on the porch, eating an orange and rocking in your chair. Bo went to the store to grab a few items and would be back shortly. You rub your belly, humming a song that Bo taught you. You and Bo have just recently decided that the baby will be fluent in Chinese, like both of you are and then you’ll teach them English.

Bo’s mother calls to talk you twice a week, asking about the baby and how you’re doing. Normally, you’re on the phone with her for an hour or two— She makes sure that she speaks Chinese the entire phone call and making sure that you’re keeping up with it.

Bo pulls down the driveway in his truck, honking at you. He gets out grinning.

“Sugar, I got you some apples and Oranges. I know the baby has been craving em.” He approaches the porch with his bags.

“You didn’t have to do that, honey. I have 4 oranges left.”

He holds open the screen door.

“Those will be gone by tomorrow.” He grins.

You throw an orange peel at him, laughing as he goes into the house.

He’s been bringing you a bunch of fruit. It’s one of your favorite things to eat, you’ve craved it constantly— bananas and peanut butter, watermelon, cantaloupe.

Bo comes back out onto the porch, sitting in the other chair. He leans over rubbing your belly, stealing one of your oranges.

“Has she kicked today?” He asks.

You glance at him, smirking.

“You still think it’s a girl?”

“Yup.” He nods, chewing on the orange.

“I'll love it either way, but I think it’s a girl.”

“It?” Your brow raises, staring at him.

“Baby, you know what I mean.”

You turn you chair, facing towards him and placing your feet in his lap.

“Can you rub em? They hurt.” You plead.

“Of course, honey. All you have to do is ask.”

He rubs your feet, taking his time and not being too rough. It is exactly what you need.

You look at him and seeing how good he is to you, how sexy he is— just turns you on.

This pregnancy has caused you and Bo to have even more sex than you did before. He says that you look so beautiful carrying his child and he can’t get enough. He was in you every time he got the chance. Each time, making sure he wasn’t too rough and always making sure that you orgasm.

3 months later, the day of Halloween.

You wake up to contractions, they’re mild at first— but they keep you from getting a good rest. Bo is right beside you, asking if you need anything. You shake your head no, you just want him to hold you. The contractions stay pretty mild throughout the day—you’re able to get up and walk around, drink a bunch of water and talk to Bo.

As the day carries on, your contractions get worse. You rest in the bed— you’re hot, uncomfortable and the contractions are coming closer after each one.

You won’t say anything to Bo, but you’re terrified. You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother, you don’t know if you’ll be a good one, you dont know if the baby will be okay— so many worries.

You’ve sweated through your nightgown, it clings to you and you can’t get comfortable in the bed.

“Bo!” You shout.

He comes running from the kitchen.

“What’s going on, Sugar? Are you okay?”

You nod, grabbing his hand and wincing in pain.

“I’m scared Bo.” You admit.

Bo squats down beside the bed, kissing your hand.

“You have nothing to be scared of, baby. I’m right here. We’re gonna get through this, I promise.” He replies.

You feel pressure, like you have to poop— feeling the need to push.

“Bo, I think it’s time.”

“I need to push.” You panic.

“Okay, okay. Hold on, baby.”

He runs to the kitchen, grabbing a bucket with cold water, a few rags, along with some scissors.

You push your legs up, gripping onto the sheets— screaming out in pain. Sweat drenching your forehead, this is painful.

Bo comes to the foot of the bed, pushing your nightgown up and looking between your legs.

“Lord, there’s a lot of blood.” He mumbles.

“Sugar, just breathe. Breathe for me baby.”

“Do you need to push?” He asks.

You breathe out, trying not to cry again. You nod.

“Okay, push for me baby. Hold it for 10 seconds.”

You push with all the your might, holding your breath.

“1.”

“2.”

“3.”

“4.”

“5.”

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there.” He coaches you.

“6.”

“7.”

“8.”

“9.”

“10.”

You finally breathe after what feels like an eternity and burst into tears.

“Bo, I can’t do this.” You whine.

He shakes his head.

“Yes, you can. You got this.”

“I need you to push again, baby.” He asks.

You sigh, trying to keep your composure.

Bo starts counting and you start pushing.

“1.”

“2.”

“3.”

“Baby, you’re doing real good. I can see the head!” Bo shouts.

“Keep pushing.”

“4.”

“5.”

“6.”

“7.”

“Shit, the head is out.”

“8.”

“9.”

“10” The baby comes out, screaming at the top of their lungs. They sound healthy.

You feel a relief and instant happiness.

Bo grabs the baby in one of the towels, crying.

“Mama, you did it. It’s a boy.” He cries.

He walks over showing you the baby, kissing your forehead.

“You did so good, Sugar. I love you.”

You hold your son and weep. He’s so perfect and looks just like Bo.

“I love you too.”

Your baby boy, Lee Chow made his way into the world on Halloween at 7:30 pm.

ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[notapradagurl7]

Ride Along

Elijah “Smoke” Moore X Reader

Req @themindfulwriter16

Warnings smut as usual

Smoke ain’t had no damn business up on a beast like that.

That horse was wild-blooded, eyes white like it seen ghosts, breath cuttin through the air like a blade. And Smoke? All city-swagger and bad knees from the war, holdin the reins like they was a mic cord. No, he ain’t belong out here—out where the dirt talk back and the sky stretch so wide it make a man feel small.

But Stack and Sammie, they had dreams bigger than bruised knuckles and blood money. Said they was done breakin they backs for men who ain’t never learned to say thank you. Said the land could be theirs, if they just held on tight enough.

So when they got discharged, they took what lil they had and cracked open a juke down by the bayou. Not nothin big—just tin roof, creakin floorboards, and neon that hummed like it was prayin. Sold whiskey out the back, let the music bleed into the soil. Every dollar made went into the farm. Horses. Cows. Some loud-ass goats and them damn sheep Stack kept losin in the woods.

Smoke ain’t never wanted none of it. Said he preferred concrete and the sound of a train track hummin. But blood was blood. And when Stack pressed that deed in his hand, eyes all soft behind the storm, Smoke just nodded.

Ain’t like he had anywhere else to be.

He ain’t know how the hell they learned to ride. Or when

Hell, he’d grew up in the same house, drank the same well water, slept on the same porch when the lights got cut. But now they sittin pretty on them horses like they was born in saddles, like they ain’t used to the same hard floors and broken streetlights.

Smoke squinted up at Stack, perched easy like a damn cowboy, reins loose in his fingers. Sammie was beside him, leanin forward just enough to pet his horse���s neck, grinnin like he already knew Smoke was ‘bout to make a fool of hisself.

Smoke wiped sweat off his brow and muttered, “Y’all just picked this up one day? “Watching farmhands or somethin?”

Stack chuckled, low and syrupy. “Ain’t no rocket science, Smoke. You just gotta grab the saddle horn, plant your foot in the stirrup, and swing on up. Like this—watch.”

He demonstrated slow, smooth, swingin up and settlin back like the saddle missed him.

Sammie added, “Don’t lean too far forward or you’ll spook him. Keep your weight even, keep calm. Horses feel that fear, Smoke.”

“Fear?” Smoke snorted. “Boy, I been in Baghdad. A damn horse don’t scare me.”

“Alright then,” Stack said, gesturing. “Show us.”

Smoke grabbed hold of the saddle, grumbled under his breath, and stuck his boot in the stirrup. Tried to swing his leg over just like Stack showed him—but soon as he did, that horse flinched like it felt his city soul. Reared just a lil, enough to twist Smoke sideways, off balance.

“Shit—”

Next thing, he on the dirt. Flat on his back, hat rolled off, elbow scraped.

“God damn it!”

Sammie damn near fell off his own horse laughin, mouth wide, hands slappin the saddle. “You alright, unk?” he wheezed through the laughter. “You looked like a cat tryna jump a fence and forgot how legs work.”

Stack tried to hold it in, but a deep chuckle broke out his chest. “You went up like a prayer and came down like a curse.”

Smoke rolled over, dust in his mouth, eyes squintin mean. “Y’all think this funny, huh?”

“Little bit,” Sammie said, still grinnin, horse side-steppin like it was in on the joke too. “Want me to walk you through it slower? Like… kindergarten slow?”

“Walk yo ass on into traffic,” Smoke spat, getting up, dustin off. “Ain’t no damn horse gon punk me.”

He was gone learn how to ride that damn horse.

Come nightfall, the house was still.

Crickets sang steady outside the screen door, and the moon hung low and heavy like it was watchin. Dinner long done, Sammie knocked out on the couch with his mouth open, some old gospel record hissin low in the corner. Stack was in the back room snorin just enough to shake the walls.

But Smoke couldn’t rest.

He rolled onto his side, then his back, then onto his stomach. Cussed under his breath. That damn horse kept runnin laps in his head, eyes wild, breathin like a demon. He threw the sheet off his chest and sat up on the edge of the bed, bones crackin. Ran a hand down his face and sighed long.

Then he stood.

Took his time dressin quiet in the dark. Slid on his old jeans, faded at the knees. Tucked in a soft white tee, pulled on his boots slow, like if he moved too fast the doubt might catch up to him. Snatched his flannel off the back of the chair, buttoned it halfway, and stepped out into the night like it owed him answers.

The horse was still in the pen, black and gleamin under the moonlight, breath mistin in the cool air. Smoke climbed the fence and landed soft. He walked up, calm like Stack said, talkin low.

“Ain’t no demon,” he muttered. “Just muscle and bone. Same as me.”

He tried once—got halfway up before the horse kicked back.

Tried again—this time the saddle twisted and dumped him straight onto his ass.

He groaned, rolled, dusted off, cursed loud.

Then tried again.

Each time, the horse bucked, shifted, pushed him back. But he kept gettin up. Boots heavy in the dirt. Mouth runnin curses in every direction. The loud brays and hoof claps started echoing off the trees.

Inside, Stack groaned.

Rolled over, pulled a pillow over his head like it could shut out the world. Just like he used to do when the ringing in his ears got too sharp after a roadside bomb in Mosul. But the noise kept on.

Another curse. Another neigh. A thud.

Bang.

The screen door slammed loud as Stack stormed out. No words needed.

Sammie shot upright on the couch, chest tight. He didn’t ask no questions—just grabbed his slides and followed, half-asleep but already knowin. That bang was enough. Family didn’t need to speak when something was goin down.

Outside, Smoke was breathin hard, sittin in the dirt again. Stack was already on him.

“The fuck you doin out here in the ass crack of the night?” he barked.

Smoke groaned, voice tight. “I can’t get it, Stack. I can’t—” He hit the dirt with his fist. “Son of a bitch got it out for me.”

Stack stood quiet a second, lookin at his big brother sittin there breathin heavy like a dog left in the street. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t throw it back in his face.

Just walked forward. Reached out a hand.

“C’mere.”

Smoke hesitated, then slapped his palm into Stack’s, let him haul him up off the ground like they was kids again.

Stack dusted him off once, then gave him a look hard enough to cut through sweat and shame. “You ain’t gon learn like that, Smoke. Gon fuck around and break somethin.”

Smoke waved him off. “I’m fine.”

“You ain’t. Not like that. Tryna ride like you fight. Grit ain’t all it take. Need rhythm. Patience.” Stack stepped close, voice low now. “We’ll ride out tomorrow.”

He paused.

“I got somebody gon teach you. Better than me.”

Smoke blinked. “Who?”

“You’ll see. But for now? C’mon inside. Get some rest.”

Sammie stood quiet just a few feet back, arms crossed, watchin. He didn’t say nothin either.

And together, they walked back toward the porch, the moon stretchin shadows behind them, the horse watchin quiet as a sentinel.

They didn’t know you like that. Not back then.

Not really.

Smoke and Stack knew your daddy more than they knew you. Old man kept ’em busy when they first came home—fresh out the service, still wearin stiffness in their shoulders, still sleepin with one eye open. He let ’em do some work around the land—fixin fence posts, mendin the barn roof, tillin up red dirt.

That was before they had a farm of their own. Before the juke. Before the years folded over.

You was always there, movin quiet in the background. Tending your flowers with them soft, steady hands. Barely said a word. Never smiled long enough for it to stick. Just nodded polite when they passed. The kind of girl the breeze seemed to bend around, not through.

But every so often, you’d show up with a tray of lemonade—beads of sweat on the glass, your eyes low under the brim of that worn straw hat.

“Lemonade,” you’d say, soft as cotton.

And that’d be it.

Smoke would go still, like he forgot how to breathe. Big, battle-worn man and all, and couldn’t even make his mouth work right.

Stack used to clown him hard for it.

“Look at you,” he’d grin, tossin a wrench from hand to hand. “Big ol’ strong man actin like a boy in the pews starin at the preacher’s daughter.”

“Shut up,” Smoke’d grumble.

“Nah, I mean it,” Stack laughed. “You always been like that. Seen you square up with folks twice your size, walk through hell in boots two sizes too tight—but a woman look your way and you forget your name.”

“Shut up, Stack.”

But he wasn’t wrong.

Smoke didn’t know how to talk to you. Couldn’t make the words sit right in his throat.

So you did it for him.

Late afternoon sun melting across the fields. The scent of honeysuckle thick in the air. Stack’s down at the truck bed sortin tools. Smoke’s shirt clings to his back as he leans on the fence. You walk up slow, same quiet you always carry, lemonade tray in your hands.

“You always watch folk this hard?” you ask, not lookin at him.

Smoke straightens up like you caught him stealin.

“Nah,” he says, throat dry. “Just thinkin.”

“You think loud.”

You pass him a glass. Your fingers brush, and he almost drops it.

“Thank you,” he says low.

You nod, but don’t leave. Don’t say much either. Just sip your own drink and lean on the fence beside him, your shoulder close enough to feel the heat.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asks.

“I talk. Just not to folks that ain’t worth talkin to.”

He looks at you then—really looks.

And for the first time, you look back. Steady. Like you see him. Like you always had.

He didn’t know it yet. But Stack had plans.

And you? You was waitin. Flowers still bloomin. Lemonade still cold. But your hands weren’t soft no more. Not after the years.

And the woman you became… was not the girl he remembered.

Sun wasn’t even broke through the trees yet when Stack came stompin through the house like a man on a mission.

“Get up.”

He kicked at the foot of the couch first. Sammie grunted, rollin over, one eye open and annoyed. Stack didn’t slow. He moved on to the back room.

“Smoke.”

Smoke groaned from under the blanket, voice rough with sleep and soreness. “Hell you want?”

“You shoulda gone to sleep ’stead of fuckin with that horse all night. Now get your ass up.”

He ripped the cover clean off him. Smoke cursed, squintin against the light from the hallway.

“I’m up, dammit. I’m up.”

Stack was already walkin out.

By the time they made it outside, the air still held that blue-gray chill, dew stickin to boots. Stack was already behind the wheel of the old pickup, engine coughin like it had a pack-a-day habit. Sammie slid in the backseat, hoodie pulled up, still half-asleep. Smoke climbed in passenger side, arms crossed tight over his chest.

They rode in silence for a good minute, tires crunchin over gravel, the radio hummin nothin but static. Then Smoke shifted.

“Where we goin?”

Stack didn’t even glance his way. “Somewhere familiar.”

Smoke squinted, lookin out at the road stretchin ahead. “The hell does that mean?”

Stack kept his hand on the wheel, steady. “You’ll see.”

Sammie popped his head up from the back. “Damn, you actin like we headed to a funeral.”

“Might be his pride’s,” Stack muttered.

Sammie laughed.

Smoke didn’t. “Why you talkin in riddles? I thought you was gon teach me.”

“I was,” Stack said, takin a slow turn off the main road. “Then I remembered I ain’t got the patience to deal with your stubborn ass.”

“So where we goin then?”

“Like I said. Somewhere familiar.”

Sammie leaned forward, lookin past his cousin to the road.

“Ain’t this near…?”

Stack just smirked.

Smoke turned slow, brows furrowed, heart beatin a little harder now.

“Nah,” he said. “Ain’t no way.”

But the driveway told the truth. The old wooden post, the field stretchin wide and open, flowers dottin the side like they always had. House sittin proud at the top of the hill. Porch swing swayin in the breeze.

Smoke swallowed hard.

“You ain’t…”

“Oh, I did,” Stack said, killin the engine. “You ain’t the only one remember her.”

Sammie grinned, leanin back. “Man, this gon be good.”

And from the porch, a figure stepped out slow. Mornin light hittin her face just enough.

Smoke sat real still. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.

You was already lookin dead at him.

Stack leaned back against the wheel, elbow hangin out. Sammie sat up taller in the back, both of them lookin toward the porch like they was sittin front row at the picture show.

You stepped out quiet, like the house opened its mouth and let you spill from it. Sun lit you up gold—hair back in a scarf, jeans worn soft, tank top tight at the waist. Ain’t no makeup on your face, and you didn’t need a drop.

Stack let out a low whistle. “Lord have mercy…”

Sammie grinned wide. “That woman somethin serious.”

“She always been. Just ain’t never looked at you.”

Sammie laughed, slapped the seat. “Damn.”

But Smoke ain’t said a thing. Couldn’t. His whole body’d gone still like somebody hit pause. Eyes trailin up your frame like he was scared to blink and miss a piece. His throat worked hard. You met his gaze then—slow, deliberate—and he felt his heart knock against his ribs like it was tryin to get loose.

He reached up, fingers stiff, loosening the tie that Stack made him wear—said it might help his chances. Then he pulled off his hat, held it low, and tipped it toward you.

You didn’t smile.

Not yet.

You just started walkin down the porch steps, easy, like you had all the time in the world.

“Boy,” Sammie whispered, “she comin to you. You gon sit there lookin dumb?”

Stack chuckled, low and mean. “Ain’t no helpin that. He stuck.”

“You better say somethin,” Sammie hissed. “She right there—”

But you was already standin by the passenger side, lookin at him like he was still that quiet boy leanin on a fence with lemonade sweatin in his hand.

“You still don’t talk much,” you said, voice like warm rain.

Smoke blinked.

“Hey,” he managed. “Hey, you.”

You grinned, soft and sly. “That all I get after all this time? Just hey you?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I—uh—”

You leaned closer, elbow restin on the door frame. “Don’t hurt yourself now.”

Sammie nearly folded laughin in the backseat.

Stack slapped the dashboard. “Damn, she eatin you up.”

You turned your head just a bit, voice sharper now—but playful. “Y’all gon sit there or come see these horses?”

“Yes ma’am , Boss Lady,” Sammie said, already pushin the door open.

“Right behind you,” Stack added with a grin, slappin Smoke’s arm hard. “Come on, Romeo.”

Smoke climbed out slow, hands wiped nervous on his jeans, still starin like he couldn’t quite believe you was real and standin this close.

You walked ahead, hips swayin, not even lookin back. And for the first time in a long, long while Smoke followed. Barn smelled like sweat and hay and sweet feed. Sun leaked in through the cracks high up, cuttin gold lines across the floorboards.

You walked ahead of them, steps sure, every movement steady like you knew every creak and knot in that old wood. The boys followed like schoolchildren. Stack whistled low when he caught sight of the mare you led out—a tall, dark roan with fire in her eyes.

“She’s a beaut,” he muttered.

You didn’t respond—just reached up, stroked the horse’s neck gentle. “This one’s name’s Mercy.”

Smoke swallowed hard.

Figures.

You turned, hand on your hip. “Who ridin?”

Stack and Sammie both turned their heads in unison.

Smoke damn near blushed.

“C’mon, cowboy,” you said, that smile tugging at your lips, teasing just behind your tone. “You ain’t scared, is you?”

Smoke stepped forward, quiet, hat still in hand. “Just cautious.”

“Good,” you said. “Horse can feel that. You come at her nervous, she’ll throw you without a second thought.”

You patted the saddle once, then crooked your finger.

“Come here.”

He did.

Close enough to smell the sun on your skin and the lilac oil in your scarf. You moved behind him without another word. Laid your hands right on his hips.

“First, don’t try and muscle your way up. Use rhythm, not fight. Like dancin.”

“Dancin?” he asked, stiff as a plank.

You leaned up, whispered near his ear, “You heard what I said.”

Stack from the other end of the barn: “Ooooo, she said dance, Smoke!”

Sammie hollered. “She gon have him two-steppin right into them stirrups.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop. Hands glided down the backs of his thighs, tappin where to bend. You grabbed his hand and placed it on the saddle horn.

“Now. One foot here, grab up here, swing light.”

Smoke tried.

Failed.

Hard.

Boot caught, leg flailed, and he slid back down with a grunt.

Stack leaned on the barn post, laughin so hard he had to wipe tears.

“Boy, that horse just looked at you like really?”

Smoke got up, dustin himself off, cheeks red.

You held out your hand again, steady. “Again.”

He took it.

Failed again.

This time his knee near buckled and he cursed loud, stomping away from the horse in frustration.

You clicked your tongue. “You done already?”

“No,” he gritted.

“Then come on.”

He tried again.

And again.

And again.

Sweat beading at his neck, shirt clingin to his back. You never left his side. Every time he got close, your hand was there—on his shoulder, his hip, the small of his back—guiding, correcting, steadyin.

Finally—finally—he swung up, legs awkward but holdin. Horse shifted beneath him, but he stayed on.

He looked down at you like he ain’t know if he’d passed a test or fallen into a dream.

You reached up and touched his ankle, eyes trailing up.

“See?” you said, voice low. “Told you. Just rhythm.”

Sammie damn near clapped.

Stack whistled. “I’ll be damned. Man stayed on.”

Smoke let out a shaky breath. “Ain’t easy.”

You smiled.

“Nothin worth it ever is.”

You stepped back, eyes on the roan. “Think you can ride alone?”

Smoke looked down from the saddle, squinting. His eyes slid to Stack, who was already leaning over with his hand on his knee, laughing like it was the funniest thing he seen all year.

“Boy lookin at you like you got the answers,” Stack wheezed. “Hell, he barely know how to hold the reins.”

You rolled your eyes, looked toward Sammie instead. “You ridin or just talkin?”

Sammie stood taller, smile lazy. “I’m ridin, Miss Lady. You just say the word.”

You pointed with your chin. “Take Rose. She know your rhythm already.”

He tipped his head, easy. “Yes ma’am.”

Then you glanced toward Stack. “And you? Get on Grace. She’ll buck if you pull too hard.”

“I don’t pull,” he muttered, already headed for the stall. “I guide.”

That made you smile, just a little.

When you turned back, Smoke was still perched awkward on the saddle, holdin onto the horn like it might save his life. His hat shadowed his eyes, but his gaze hadn’t left you.

You stepped closer, just enough for your voice to carry quiet. “Mind if I join you, Elijah?”

And Lord.

He ain’t know what did it.

The sound of his name in your mouth, soft and sure. The golden slant of morning behind you makin your skin shine like honey. Or the fact that his body hadn’t slept since last night and everything felt like a dream. But he couldn’t speak.

He just nodded.

You climbed up easy, one leg swung over, settling behind him like you belonged there. Your arms wrapped around his waist, tight for a second, then relaxed.

From the fence, Stack elbowed Sammie. “Look at ‘em.”

Sammie whistled low. “That boy done got himself a backseat angel.”

You ignored them. Leaned in, lips near Smoke’s ear. “Ain’t about control. You still gotta lead—but with a looser hand. Tighten up when the time’s right.”

He nodded. Your breath warm on his neck, hands restin light on his belly, made it hard to focus.

You helped him nudge the mare forward. She stepped slow, steady out the barn, hooves thunking soft against dirt.

Stack hollered, “Where was all this help when I was learnin?”

Smoke glanced over his shoulder, squintin. “She liked me better.”

Sammie cracked up. “Tender as a chicken.”

Smoke just waved ‘em off, grinnin. “Okay, okay—”

You rolled your eyes but let the smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

The four of y’all rode slow around the ranch—just wide enough to taste the wind and smell the dew still clingin to the grass. Eventually, you slid off, letting Smoke steer solo.

You hung back with Sammie, talkin low.

“He tryin,” Sammie said, laughing. “Gotta give him that.”

“He doin better than y’all did,” you said. “Didn’t have to drag him by the belt like I did Stack.”

Sammie raised a brow. “You always this sharp?”

“Only when men talk slick.”

That got a laugh outta him. But it cut off fast when Smoke leaned too sharp into the turn, lost his balance—and the mare kicked back, throwin him straight into the dirt.

You didn’t even breathe. Just rushed forward, boots kickin up dust.

He groaned, sittin up slow. “I’m alright.”

You crouched beside him, eyes sharp. “You sure?”

He nodded, breath ragged. But you saw it. That frustration boilin under the surface.

Stack and Sammie was already laughin loud from the porch.

“Man hit the ground like a sack of feed,” Stack wheezed.

“He roll like a barrel,” Sammie said. “You alright, cuz?”

You shot them a look. “Alright, that’s enough. Go on. Head back. Y’all jokes ain’t helpin him none.”

Stack raised his hands, grinning. “Yes ma’am.”

He slapped the back of Sammie’s arm, already turnin toward the house. “Come on, court jester.”

Sammie lingered just a moment longer. Gave Smoke one of those looks—the kind that said boy, you better not let her slip—before turning to you. He tipped his hat.

“Y’all have a nice evening now.”

Then he winked, slow, and disappeared up the porch steps behind Stack.

And there you stayed.

Kneelin in the dirt beside a man still breathin hard, still achin, and still tryin. Sun crawlin higher in the sky. Your hand restin gentle on his knee.

“You ready to try again?” you asked.

Smoke looked up at you.

And for the first time, he didn’t flinch.

Smoke tried.

Lord knows he tried.

But it didn’t matter how many times he gripped the reins, squared his shoulders, breathed deep like you told him—he couldn’t feel the horse. Not really. Couldn’t let go enough to ride with her instead of against her.

The mare’s ears pinned back every time. She shifted restless beneath him, hooves stompin the earth like she had somethin to prove. He tried to guide her forward again, but his hands were too stiff, too sharp.

The mare snorted, side-stepped, and nearly bucked again.

“Damn it—!” he growled, pulling her up short, boots digging into the dirt as he hopped off, barely landing on both feet.

You were standin a little ways back, arms folded across your chest. Watching. Quiet.

He turned to you, chest heaving, jaw tight. “I don’t get it,” he spat. “I’m doin everything right.”

You stepped forward, voice low but clear.

“She feelin your frustration, Elijah. That’s what’s throwin her off.”

He looked at you, jaw clenched.

You walked over, hand reachin to soothe the mare’s neck. “It ain’t just about what your body doin. She feelin your energy. You stiff. Tight. Like you waitin to fight her. That ain’t ridin, baby—that’s just bracin.”

Smoke dropped his hat in the dirt, rubbing both hands down his face. “So what—you want me to just pretend I ain’t frustrated?”

“No,” you said, calm. “I want you to breathe. Let it pass through you, not sit in you.”

He kicked at the dirt, jaw flexin, tongue pressin to the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know how to do that.”

You tilted your head, then gave a little nod toward the house. “Come on.”

He looked up, brows tight.

You smiled, just a little. “You need some lemonade.”

He stared at you a beat. Then huffed out a breath, picked up his hat, and followed. The sun beat down like a lesson. And the mare watched him walk away like she knew he’d be back.

You held the screen door open, warm breeze curling ’round your ankles, one hand steady on the frame.

Smoke paused at the step, eyes dropping down to where your fingers curled around the wood, then up—slow. He looked down at you like the sun was hitting you different. And maybe it was. Or maybe it was just him, hot and frustrated and still wired from the ride, but standing there with your hair pulled back and the porch light catching on the sheen of your cheek, you looked—

Like a problem he wouldn’t mind breaking himself over.

He stepped through, but not before giving you one last glance. Deep. Like he was memorizing something.

You held your breath, just a little. Confidence wasn’t your issue—never had been. But Elijah?

Elijah was fine.

Fine like things that didn’t make no sense. Fine like heat that stuck to your bones. That build and them arms, sure—but it was the quiet in him that’d got you. That softness. That way he always looked like he had a hundred thoughts but never said none of ‘em first. The shyness you’d had to pull out of him bit by bit, like teasing the bloom outta a stubborn flower.

He dropped into the kitchen chair, exhaling through his nose, sweat still glistenin at his temple. His eyes followed you across the room, slow and steady, dragging over every movement.

You pulled two thick glasses from the cupboard, and he watched the flex of your fingers, the way your belt caught at your waist. Watched the small rise of your shoulder as you reached overhead. Every gesture, quiet and easy, had him locked in like a sermon.

You set the glasses down with a soft clink, turned, walked to the fridge.

He couldn’t stop staring. The curve of your spine, the sway of your hips. The small crease where your pants hugged the back of your thighs.

The fridge door opened with a hum and you pulled out the pitcher. Cold beads of condensation slid down your wrist. You brought it to the table and poured slow. He didn’t even blink.

“You ever think,” you said, breaking the silence, “that the mind gets loud when the body tryna talk?”

He looked up at that. Lips parted. “What?”

You smiled a little, passing him his glass.

“You asked how to clear your mind,” you said, easing down into the chair across from him. “Sometimes the only way I know how is to listen to the rest of me. Let my body speak. Don’t always have to be a war between the two.”

He took a long sip, eyes still on you. “And you figured that out on your own?”

“Took some time. Some fallin’ off my own horses,” you said, with a half-smile. “But yeah. In order to guide somethin’—a horse, a life—you gotta follow it too. Feel it out. Give it space to tell you what it need.”

He nodded slow, his jaw workin like he was holdin back another question.

You stood up.

Your voice came softer this time, almost playful. “Come on.”

He blinked. “Come on where?”

You didn’t turn right away. Just walked to the living room doorframe and paused, leaning against it, one hand braced above your head.

Then you looked back over your shoulder.

“You comin?”

He stood up slow, that big frame unfolding like he wasn’t sure what waited in the next room. His boots dragged a little as he crossed the floor, glass in hand, eyes never leaving you.

You didn’t say a word. Just stepped into the living room, let the screen door’s light fade behind you, and moved toward the old couch that faced out the wide window. The sun was anglin low now, paintin the walls gold.

He eased down beside you, a full cushion of space between—but his arm brushed yours when he reached to set his glass down on the table. You didn’t pull back.

“You always been this quiet?” you asked, voice soft like the way folks talk when they don’t wanna scare off a good thing.

Smoke looked at you out the corner of his eye. Then gave a small shrug. “Guess I ain’t ever had much to say.”

You looked back out the window, that same quiet ease in your chest startin to melt into something heavier. “No. You got things to say. Just don’t always know how to say ‘em.”

He didn’t answer that. But the silence between you turned warmer somehow, thicker.

You tapped your fingers along your knee, like you were wrestlin with a thought, then glanced at him again.

“You remember that summer day my daddy asked you to come help me with them damn sheep?”

That made him stiffen—just a flicker—but you saw it.

He looked over at you slow. “Yeah… I remember.”

You laughed, low. “They was all out past the fence, damn near in the woods. Took us a good hour just to corner ’em.”

He nodded, a breath leaving him like he was tryin not to smile. “One of ‘em kicked at me. Damn thing had spite in her heart.”

That made you laugh for real.

But then it quieted again. Like y’all both stepped over into something deeper without meaning to.

You didn’t look at him when you said it. Just let the words come.

“And when it was done… I told you to help me check on the water barrels. You remember that too?”

He did.

God, he did.

Behind the barn, sweat clingin to both of you, the sun hidin low and heavy behind the trees. You’d leaned up against the fence, dress hitched just high enough. Told him, plain as anything, “Ain’t no shame if I’m the one doin the milkin, Elijah.”

He’d gone still. Swallowed hard.

And then you’d sunk to your knees like you was prayin.

Only thing sacred was the sound he made when you took him in your mouth, soft like you was drinkin from a spring after walkin through fire. Your hands on his thighs, the way his big hands gripped the fence behind you, knuckles white, tryin not to cry out too loud.

He’d never been touched like that.

Never by someone who looked up at him with that much want.

When he’d finished—Lord, when he’d finished—you stood, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and kissed his cheek. Like it wasn’t a sin. Like it was just the weather.

Neither of you had spoken on it since.

Back in the living room now, you looked over at him finally. Real soft.

“You ain’t forgot.”

He shook his head once, slow.

You leaned back on the couch, a smirk just at the edge of your mouth.

“Didn’t think you had.”

He shifted in his seat like he was tryin to breathe right again. His fingers tapped his thigh. “You… you always been like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

He looked at you now. Really looked.

“Kind. Quiet. Dangerous.”

Your smile widened.

“Only when I want to be.”

You ain’t say nothing else at first. Just let your head rest against the couch, eyes half-lidded, the quiet in the room growing heavy as July heat. His glass was still full, condensation crawling down the sides. Your eyes dropped to his hand—those big, veined hands, twitchin against his thigh like they didn’t know where to go.

You leaned forward, slow. Picked up your glass, took a sip. Watched his eyes follow the way your throat moved.

“You gone keep sittin like you scared of me?” you asked, voice low and teasing. “Or you gone come when I call?”

His head turned slow, the look in his eyes gone somewhere between fear and reverence.

“Come here, Elijah.”

He moved like his body didn’t belong to him no more—legs stiff, breath shallow. Sat closer, but still left space between y’all. Like that would help.

You didn’t let it.

You turned toward him, bent one leg up on the couch, the other foot flat on the floor. His eyes dragged over your thigh, your sundress riding up just enough to tempt ruin.

Your voice dropped lower. “I know you remember how I sounded when I moaned your name behind that barn.”

His mouth parted, just a little. You saw him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing like he was tryin to hold back a yes, ma’am.

You leaned in close, lips just by his ear. “Say it.”

He breathed in sharp. Then, quieter than a prayer:

“Please…”

You leaned back, fingers trailing along his collarbone, then down his chest—slow and deliberate.

“Mmhm. That’s what I thought. You listen real good.”

He nodded, breath hitching.

You climbed over him, straddled his lap without askin. That dress shifted up your thighs like it was born to rise for him. He didn’t dare touch—not yet.

“Keep your hands to yourself, baby,” you whispered, grippin his shoulders to hold him steady. “Unless I say.”

He nodded again.

You rocked your hips once, soft, just enough to make him bite his lip.

“You hard already?” you asked, lips curved. “You ain’t even tasted the real thing yet.”

He ain’t say nothin then just hissed through clenched teeth.

“Shh.”

You reached between your bodies, cupped him through those old work jeans. He groaned low, back pressin into the couch.

“Ain’t no shame in wantin,” you whispered, stroking him through the fabric. “But you don’t get to beg. You get to obey.”

He nodded so fast it made you smile.

You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth—light, lingering, cruel.

Then your lips moved to his ear again, warm breath makin him shiver.

“I’m gon ride you like I broke that damn horse. But first—” your fingers undid his belt with slow, perfect ease, “—you gon sit back and thank the Lord.”

He gasped as you freed him, thick and hot in your hand.

“Thank Him for sendin you a woman who knows what to do with a man like you.”

“Thank you l—”

Your mouth was already on him.

No more talkin.

Just him breathin heavy, hands fisted in the cushions, back archin while you worshipped every inch of him. You kept eye contact—slow, filthy, commanding. Took him deeper every time he whimpered. Pulled back with a pop just to hear him cry out again.

“Don’t move,” you said, voice low. “Don’t you dare move.”

He didn’t.

Even when his whole body was tremblin. Even when your name left his lips like it was the only scripture that ever mattered.

And when you finally rose, wiped your mouth, and sat back on his lap with that same slow drag of your dress ridin up—

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

“Now,” you whispered, hand guiding him home, “this what obedience gets you.”

And he moaned like you’d saved his whole damn soul.

Didn’t even care how it sounded—high, wrecked, broken open. His back arched clean off the couch like he couldn’t believe how deep you took him. You sat on him slow, slick, ridin’ down inch by inch like you was dippin into somethin holy and heavy. And Lord, he felt it—felt you take him in like you wanted to ruin him, like you meant to.

“Fuck—” he hissed, head throwin’ back, throat straining.

But you just grinned, hips grindin’ slow as molasses. “Uh-uh. Keep your eyes on me, Elijah.”

And he tried. God, he tried.

His hands clutched at the couch like holdin’ on to the earth itself, body shakin’ from tryin’ not to buck. You leaned over him, one hand on his chest, pressin’ him back down when he twitched.

“I told you already,” you said, voice low and firm, drippin’ heat like summer sweat. “It ain’t about control.”

He was pantin’ now, lips wet, eyes locked on you like he was drownin’. “Th-then what is it?”

You slid your hips forward, slow and deep, and watched him break.

“It’s about trust,” you whispered.

He whined—whined, from the back of his throat, needy and sweet and helpless as all hell.

You cupped his jaw, thumb draggin’ lazy across his lower lip. “Let go, baby. Let me move you. Let the horse lead.”

And you rode him like that—steady, fluid, like the rhythm of a trot, like the earth was beneath your thighs and he was the reins in your hand. Your pussy grippin’ him every time you rolled forward, his breath catchin’ with each pass, every inch of him pulled deeper into your heat.

He moaned with every shift, loud, no shame left in his voice—just need. He’d never sounded like that before. Hell, he ain’t never felt like this before. Taken. Guided. Let down into somethin he ain’t know he wanted ’til you gave it to him.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice all breath and ruin.

You tilted your hips, grinded deeper, watchin his abs flutter and his thighs twitch. “Please what, baby?”

He shook his head, couldn’t even finish. Just stared at you like you was draggin heaven through his body.

“Say it,” you said, lettin your teeth graze his throat. “Say what you need.”

“I—” his voice cracked, hips buckin’ once before you locked him down again with a squeeze of your thighs. “I need you to—fuck, I need you to take it. Take me.”

And oh, did you.

You gripped his wrists again, pressed them above his head, ridin’ him slow and deep, makin’ him feel every wet, thick stroke like it was gospel. Your name spilled outta his mouth like a prayer—over and over, soft and desperate. “Yes—yes ma’am—please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

His body was shakin’ now, tremblin’ under you, chest damp with sweat. He was red in the face, lips swollen, thighs quiverin’ beneath your grind. He was gone. And he loved it.

You leaned in again, kissin’ just beneath his ear as your hips kept rollin’, voice soft but sharp:

“See how much easier it get when you don’t fight it?”

He whimpered again, noddin’, eyes flutterin’ shut like the pleasure was too much.

“Good boy,” you breathed.

That made him whine. Real low. Real nasty.

You smiled, sittin back up and lettin him feel all of you—slick, tight, soaked through, ridin him deep and slow like you was wringin the sin outta him one roll at a time.

“You ain’t never gonna forget this ride,” you said. “And you ain’t never gonna fuckin’ try to lead again.”

“No ma’am,” he gasped, damn near cryin now, body pullin tight under you.

“Who’s in control, Elijah?”

“You are,” he whispered.

“Say it again.”

“You’re in control,” he moaned, voice wrecked, body twisted up beneath your hands, your hips, your heat. “*You—*you runnin’ me, baby, I’m yours.”

“Damn right,” you said, slammin down once, draggin a scream out his mouth.

And just like that, he came—loud and grateful, hands clenched, tears prickin’ his eyes, his whole body undone under you.

And you?

You kept ridin—slow and easy, chasin your own end now, sayin his name low and filthy, feelin the way he stayed inside you even as he trembled and begged, lettin you take what you needed like he was made for it.

Because he was.

He was yours to ride.

And he knew it now.

You barely had time to breathe before he shifted beneath you, hands strong now, braced on your hips like he was takin’ the reins for real this time. You went to ride him again—slow, sweet—but he held you there, still, hips pressin’ up so deep it made you whimper.

“Nuh uh,” he said low, voice cracked open, country-soft but solid. “You ridin’ me, but I’m leadin’ now.”

He rolled his hips, not fast—but deep, hittin’ that spot that made your breath catch in your throat. You blinked down at him, mouth already fallin’ open, tryin’ to find words that wouldn’t come.

“Oh nah,” he said, drawlin’ now, sweat glistenin’ on his chest as he dragged you down again. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

He thrust again. You gasped.

“Say it.”

You shook your head, smilin’ like you had control still. But he dug his fingers into your thighs, not enough to hurt, just enough to warn.

“I said talk to me.”

Another thrust—this one faster, harder—like he was diggin’ his way inside your soul. You moaned loud this time, eyes rollin’ back, one hand on his chest for balance.

“Elijah—” you managed.

He grinned. “That’s it. Say my name. Again.”

“Elijah,” you groaned, and that only made him buck up harder.

“That feel good?” he murmured against your collarbone, hand slidin’ up to your back, keepin’ you pressed close while he drove up into you like he had a point to prove. “That how you like it, huh? Deep like this?”

You nodded, whined.

“Use your words,” he bit out. “You been teachin’ me how to ride—now you tell me how I’m doin’.”

You gasped when he hit just right again, body archin’, tryin’ to hold on. “You—you drivin’ me crazy, boy—”

“That right?” he chuckled, breath hot against your throat. “Say it again. Say you mine.”

And Lord, the way he was movin’ now—steady, rough, perfect—you couldn’t do nothin’ but say it.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

He flipped you then—smooth and sudden—your back hittin’ the couch cushion, legs still wrapped around him like you couldn’t bear to let him go.

“I know,” he growled, settlin’ between your thighs, not lettin’ you catch your breath. “And now I’m gon’ finish what you started.”

He drilled into you now, slow but hard—real rhythm, real grit, takin’ everything you taught him and pourin’ it back into you tenfold.

You cried out, nails diggin’ into his arms.

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, every thrust deeper than the last. “You feel that? You feel how good you take me?”

You nodded, barely able to hold yourself together.

He leaned down, lips at your ear, voice low and commandin’ now: “Then say it.”

“Feel so good,” you choked. “You—oh my God, Elijah—”

“That’s right,” he growled, hips hittin’ yours in perfect rhythm. “Say you close. Let me hear it.”

You were already tremblin’ beneath him, damn near cryin’ from the build-up. He watched your body writhe under his, all that control you once had now meltin’ into the couch as he pressed into you like salvation itself.

“Say it,” he repeated, and you finally broke

“I’m—‘Lijah—I’m comin’—I’m—”

And when it hit you, he stayed right there—grindin’ through every wave, kissin’ you like he ain’t never gon’ stop. You clenched around him, cryin’ out his name like a prayer, and he followed right after—hips stutterin’, a raw, deep moan spillin’ from his lips as he filled you up and collapsed against you, both of y’all gaspin’ like you’d just come up for air after drownin’.

You lay there, chest to chest, still connected. His arms wound tight around you, face buried in your neck.

You stroked his hair, soft and slow. “Look at you. Ridin’ like a real cowboy now.”

He smiled against your skin, voice hoarse and proud. “Only ‘cause I had the best damn teacher.”

The heat still shimmered between y’all, even after. You laid tangled up in each other for a while—his heartbeat slowing against your back, his breath a soft rhythm at the nape of your neck. Neither of you spoke at first. Just the hush of your breath, your fingers running along his forearm, his lips at your shoulder.

When you finally moved, it was quiet and slow, like neither one of you really wanted to break the spell. But you turned your head, brushed your lips over his, and whispered, “Come on. Let’s clean up, cowboy.”

He followed you to the bathroom like you hung the moon. You ran the water warm and let the steam fill the small room, made it feel like another world. He stood there in the doorway for a second, just lookin’ at you again. Like he was memorizing the lines of your back, the sway of your hips, the way you wrung your hair out and stepped under the spray like it didn’t matter who watched.

“Don’t just stare,” you said over your shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’ you ain’t seen already.”

He chuckled low, then joined you.

The shower was quieter than before. Intimate, sure—but gentle. He washed your back with slow hands, thumb brushing a trail down your spine, forehead resting against yours when you turned to rinse. You took your time rinsin’ him too, letting your hands glide over the strong slope of his shoulders, that lean stomach still tight with heat.

When you were both clean and pruned, you toweled off and dressed—him in the same shirt you’d tugged off like it had offended you, now buttoned back on with quiet reverence. You threw your hoodie on and your boots, hair still damp, skin warm.

He followed you out to the truck. Didn’t ask where you were goin’. Just opened the passenger door and slid in beside you, his hand grazin’ your thigh like he wasn’t ready to let go of the moment.

You drove slow, headlights catchin’ on branches and dust, the dark curling in around the road like it was tryna protect what had passed between y’all. He sat turned toward you, hand relaxed on your knee, thumb movin’ slow in circles.

By the time you pulled up to the ranch, the porch light was off. House quiet, soft glow from the window tellin’ you Sammie and Stack were knocked out.

You cut the engine and looked over at him.

Elijah looked back like he wanted to say a thousand things. But you leaned in first, kissed him like you meant to brand it in his bones. His hands found your waist, but he ain’t try nothin’. Just held you close. Still.

When you pulled back, you smiled. “Don’t forget what I taught you.”

He looked at you like a man reborn. “I could never.”

You kissed him again, softer this time.

Then he slid out the truck, boots hittin’ the gravel, turnin’ back once more with a look you’d keep with you for a long while.

You watched him go up those steps, open that door real quiet, and disappear into the house.

But the warmth he left in your chest?

That stayed.

Sammie was still half-asleep when Stack threw the door open, light flooding the room.

“Wake up,” Stack barked, pulling a shirt on over his head. “Brotha’ out there like it’s a damn rodeo.”

Sammie sat up slow, hair a mess, voice groggy. “Ain’t no way.”

“I’m tellin’ you.” Stack was already steppin’ into his boots. “Get up. Come look.”

They stumbled out the front door together, the early Delta sun stretchin’ long shadows across the grass. Dew still clung to everything. But out there, just past the fence, Smoke sat tall on that stubborn bay horse like he’d been born in the saddle.

And he wasn’t just on the horse. He was movin’ with it, every motion clean and natural, like a river bendin’ ‘round what used to block it.

“Boy ain’t playin’,” Stack said, whistlin’. “That’s you ridin’ that thing like you ain’t never got thrown off once?”

Smoke glanced over, chest rising under the plain white tee stuck to him with sweat. He adjusted the reins and gave a shrug. “Maybe y’all just ain’t got the patience to teach.”

Sammie raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“Must be. She showed me once.”

Stack walked down the steps, Sammie trailin’ behind. “Once?” he echoed, laughing. “Damn, so she whispered it in your ear and you just got it?”

Smoke grinned. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Boy, if you don’t—” Sammie shook his head. “What she do, baptize you in that saddle?”

“Felt like it,” Smoke muttered, barely hidin’ a smirk.

They leaned up against the fence now, watchin’ him trot the horse along the perimeter.

Sammie narrowed his eyes. “You been out here since sun-up?”

Smoke gave a nod. “Before that.”

“Jesus,” Stack muttered. “She must got some spell on you.”

Smoke finally slowed, turned the horse back their way, sittin’ proud in that saddle.

“She taught me how to listen,” he said. “Y’all was too busy tryin’ to control it.”

“Oh he deep now,” Sammie said, laughing, “talkin’ like a cowboy poet.”

Stack clapped once. “Next thing he gon’ write a country album. ‘She Tamed My Heart and My Horse.’”

Smoke rode up to the fence and leaned forward, eyes flashin’ but amused. “Y’all done?”

“Not even close,” Stack said, grin wide. “But I’ll say this…”

He nodded, real slow, like he was respectin’ it for real now.

“You look like you know what you doin’ out there.”

Smoke held his gaze, then gave a small smile. “That’s ‘cause I finally do.”Sammie looked at Stack, then back at Smoke. “So what now, Mr. Wrangler?”

Smoke tugged on the reins just a bit. “Now?”

He turned the horse in a clean circle, confidence in every motion.

“Now I ride.”

Stack crossed his arms. “And what she teach you after the ridin’?”

Smoke smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Sammie burst out laughin’. “Oh he smug now.”

“I’m sayin’,” Stack added. “Got the horse, got the glow…”

They backed off, still chuckling as Smoke rode toward the far field, the morning wide and golden around him. He didn’t say nothin’ else. He didn’t have to. He was ridin’ like he’d been taught by the Lord’s own whisper.

And he knew damn well who’d been the angel.

WHO next?😏

[notapradagurl7]

SOON COME…

Shave ‘Em Dry

Antoinette ‘Annie’ Moore x Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

Warnings: Smut, Knife play, sensory deprivation kink, crime, dirty talk, spanking, cruel!Smoke, rough sex, sassy!Annie, NSFW 18+ CONTENT, mentions of Hoodoo. AU Sinners.

Summary: the Smoke–Stack Twins are rising to the heights of the southern gangway after murdering an OG they worked for in Clarksdale. The Twins decided to rob a known bank in Arkansas, and things turn bloody. Meanwhile, Smoke’s new wife, Annie, is left wondering when her husband will return home. She knows he’s safe, but his criminal behavior already put him in jail for seven years! She’s sick and tired of it! Ain’t no pearls and bags of money enough to make her happy.

“I don’t want your money and I don’t want your pearls, Elijah.” Annie spats.

“Why you so fuckin’ stubborn, woman? I’m tryna spoil my wife and come home to some warm pussy and this how you greet me?” Smoke argued with a snarl, “you gon’ take this shit and do as you told, Annie.”

The sound of a blade was sonorous.

Smoke dragged his bourbon–colored eyes down at his wife’s hand and the shine of a switch blade almost blinded him.

He forgot so easily that Annie loved sharp toys. She gifted Stack his brass knuckle short–sword.

“…it’s best you put that blade down, woman.” Smoke warned.

“Or what?” Annie press forward threateningly and with unwavering eyes.

[notapradagurl7]

chapter fourteen

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Alcohol. Smut. Squirting.

Summary: One night can change things, for better or for worse, Aaron and Iriye learn as they attend a charity event.

Notes: I lied... I'm probably ending this in the next chapter but never fear, part two of this series is expected to be juicy. The inspo has been pouring in and I'm excited to see it translate to page. Plus, the one shot I have coming up for them... it's gonna wreck ya heart.

MASTERLIST

“What do you think of this?” Iriye said, showing the dress to Nelly and Tamara as they perused their own racks in the upscale store. She had only a few hours to get herself together.

“Nah, too frilly,”  Nelly stated. 

“What about this?” Tamara showed the metallic cocktail dress.

“It's cute, but I feel like some weirdo is going to comment how I look like a cute piece of chocolate wrapped up, and I don’t want to sit through that tonight,” Iriye stated. 

“She’s trying to get unwrapped by her boyfriend,” Nelly teased, and Iriye rolled her eyes.

“Haha. No,” Iriye said. She looked through another rack, trying to find something. Tamara came up beside her. 

“You seem nervous,” Tamara stated.

“Well, when I’m being forced to go to a charity gala to turn down my dream job, you would be annoyed,” Iriye stated.

“You’re turning down working with Samuel Arenas?” Tamara asked. Nelly walked closer with another dress, and Iriye gave it a look with a tilt of her head.

“I am,” Iriye stated. “We’re going to be busy in England with Paradise Lost,” 

“So?” Tamara questioned. “TV writing has been your dream.”

“I know it has, but… things can change,” Iriye said, taking the dress from Nelly.

“And you’re throwing it away… for Aaron,” Tamara whispered. 

“I’m not throwing it away for him. I’m just… taking measured steps in our relationship,” Iriye put the dress up to her own body, and Tamara shook her head. She huffed. “It’s not like that,” Iriye said to Tamara. “With Aaron, I have never felt like this with anyone. We’ve had tough times and stuff but I just really want to be with him. See life from his world,” She explained. 

“And turning down a TV writing job with a legend you admire is what you’re willing to give up?” Tamara questioned. 

“For Aaron… yes,” Iriye stated with a shrug. Tamara was about to open her mouth when Nelly bumped her elbow into her.

“Tamara,” Nelly said with a shake of her head.

“I’m gonna see what the shoes section looks like,” Tamara walked off, and Iriye gave Nelly a small smile. 

“Thank you,” Iriye said, looking at another dress and taking it in.

“You know you could have both. Your career and your love life,” Nelly stated. “I don’t get why it’s even a question for us. A debate for Black women. We can have it all and balance it all,”

“Nelly, I get it, but this is different. I want to be with him because I want to. I have put my career first for the past nine years and want to take some time off. Watch my best friend shepherd the fruits of all our labor come to life. Watch a man I care about bring my work to life. Grow more with him. I want this little slice of happiness for however long I can get it,” Iriye explained.

“Okay,” Nelly stated. “I get it,” Iriye gave her a small mile. Iriye and her shopped through the racks for a little longer when Iriye found a little black dress with some jeweled embellishments.

“What do you think?” Iriye asked. Nelly turned to face Iriye before a small smile came upon her face.

“I think you’re going to be dressed to kill, not only Samuel but Aaron,” Iriye rolled her eyes at Nelly’s words before heading to the dressing room.

Iriye was happy she was on good terms with Tasha, her hairstylist, as she made a quick house call. Tasha helped her install a wig she had yet to take out for a spin. She also cut the hair to ensure it looked good, giving her more layers.

Once the final touches were made to her outfit and she had taken a sufficient number of acceptable pictures, she got into the complimentary luxury Uber that the charity event was providing for everyone.

Iriye tried to relax as she felt the nerves coming upon her, checking the last message she sent Aaron that day. She had been balancing her nerves about shutting down her dream job and possibly attending her first event with Aaron. And it seemed like her nerves were beating her ass. 

Possibly was a strong word for her, as she was sure she and Aaron weren’t sitting together. He had been invited courtesy of Lanterns, and she was one of Samuel Arenas’ guests.

She couldn’t bug Aaron as it seemed he was there for business and she was there for her displeasure.

Her Uber soon pulled into the Warner Brothers gates and dropped her off at the area where the charity event was being held. Her jacket was still around her, and her heels hit the pavement as her driver helped her out, and she thanked him. 

Iriye saw the red carpet and smiled as she realized whose name they were calling. 

“Aaron, one picture over here,”

“Aaron, look here.”

“Pose a little for us,” 

Iriye hadn’t seen Aaron like this often: the performer. She had seen the lover, devoted friend, brother, actor, and everything else. But this was new. He seemed stiff, trying to relax as the lights were blindingly in his face and photographers yelled for his attention.

Iriye began walking closer to the entrance, but she stopped when she saw Samuel Arenas approaching her.

“You were gonna try and skip the red carpet?” Samuel asked.

“Well, I wasn’t planning on getting dressed up tonight, but here I am,” Iriye said.

“You look amazing, if that helps,” Samuel stated.

“You haven’t even seen my whole outfit,” Iriye chuckled.

“Don’t need to. You’re a stylish young woman,” Samuel shot back.

“Samuel, if you’re trying to butter me up to take the contract, I've already made my mind up,”

“Iriye, I don’t need to butter you up. You’re going to make the choice you want. I respect that. But that doesn’t mean I like it, especially knowing how talented you are. The potential you have that is untapped,” Samuel explained. “You’re a good writer, but you can be a great writer.”

“You don’t think I’m a great writer?”

“No. But you can be. I invest in the writers I bring into my room. I want this crazy industry to continue to have new blood, and I believe you can be that,” Samuel stated, his assistant coming up to tell him it was time for him to walk the carpet. “You going to go inside or step out into the spotlight?”

Iriye raised an eyebrow at Samuel, thinking about his words. Then she took her jacket off, revealing her dress. She handed her coat and clutch to his assistant. Samuel held his hand out to help Iriye walk up, and she brushed past him, making it to the start of the red carpet. Aaron was in the middle, and she stepped forward to one of the marked spots. Samuel must have told one of the photographers her name because she heard them yelling for Iriye to look their way, wanting to get her shot. 

Iriye posed slightly, aware it was only for charity. She caught Aaron staring at her momentarily, his gaze fixed on her stocking-clad legs, which her short dress accentuated. She gave him a brief smirk, prompting a grin from him. As she noticed Samuel stepping onto the red carpet and the cameras shifting toward him, she moved a bit closer on the carpet toward where Aaron was.

Aaron had finally made it to the end, and Iriye was going to walk further down when Samuell came closer, following her down till they were away from the prying eyes of event photographers.

Iriye smiled brighter when she realized Aaron was waiting for her at the end. 

“Iriye, you look-“ Aaron paused as Samuel approached her.

“Are you ready to find our table, Iriye? I think the others are waiting,” Samuel stated before realizing Aaron was there. “Samuel Arenas,” He held his hand out to Aaron for him to shake.

“Aaron. Aaron Pierre,” Aaron and Samuel shook hands, Iriye hearing the smack from their hands colliding for a shake.

“Aaron is starring in Paradise Lost for the studio,” Iriye said, seeing them pull away from the shake.

“I’ve heard. Congratulations to you both,” Samuel stated.

“More so, her. I’m just along for the ride,” Aaron said. Iriye smiled at his words, trying her best not to be flustered.

“Well, hold on to her coat tails. She’s gonna have a very long and successful career,” Samuel complimented her.

“Samuel, is it okay if you go ahead inside without me? I need to talk to Aaron for a minute,” Iriye mentioned. Samuel nodded before walking inside.

“Can I say you look ravishing?” Aaron asked, a smile on his face as his eyes darted to the top of her cleavage.

“Yes, you can. I might even let you take it off me later tonight,” Iriye said, playfully batting her eyelashes at Aaron. “You look handsome as well.” She moved to pick a piece of lint off his jacket, letting her hand slide down his chest over his suit jacket.

“We don’t have to wait. We’re not far off from my trailer,” He teased, stepping towards her but keeping a respectable distance.

“Down boy,” Iriye joked. “Patience is a virtue, and we still have an event we must be at against our will. And besides, I spent way too much time and money to get all dolled up like this. I gotta get the most out of it,”

“Well, I will make sure whatever you spent on all this will be refunded with interest,” Aaron bit his lip.

“You’re a trip,” Iriye playfully rolled her eyes before looking into the doors to the charity event. “I guess this is where we go our separate ways. I will see you tonight afterwards.”

“Let me at least walk you to your seat,” He said, noticing that many cameras were only outside. 

“Yes, you can,” Iriye said, letting him lead the way inside. Aaron kept things polite, his hand on her back to help guide her to the table she was supposed to be seated at. 

Iriye could see the eyes of other industry folks on them, but more importantly, on Aaron. He was magnetic, and she could understand why. His smile could range from calm to joyful. His tall stature was significant in the room, but not overpowering, and his joy radiated. She is happy to be basking in his light. 

“Iriye, I’m glad you didn’t get lost,” Samuel said as Iriye and Aaron made it over to the table. Of course, the other writers at the table gave their smiles and polite looks as they saw Aaron. One jumped up to introduce themselves quickly to Aaron, and she stepped out of the way. Samuel moved to pull her seat out, allowing her to sit down.

Iriye caught Aaron's small smile on his face from the gesture, but quickly fixed it with a smile towards her.

“Thank you, Aaron, for walking me over,” Iriye said, giving him an appreciative smile.

“Who are you sitting with?” Samuel asked Aaron, and he gave a slight shrug. 

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I think a few other actors and actresses, though I’m sure it won’t be as fun as you all will probably have,” Aaron stated politely. A few chuckled, Iriye smiling at Aaron.

“Let us know and we’ll pull up a chair for you,” Samuel said. “We gotta get a chance to meet. Discuss some TV opportunities in your future.”

“Will do. Have a great night, everyone,” Aaron said before giving one last look at Iriye. She tried her best not to get bashful, sipping her water.

As the night went on, dinner was served and champagne poured as Iriye talked to some of the other writers at the table: some industry veterans, others new, and everything in between. Different people came together to share their experiences and excitement for the TV show and the writer’s room to start. 

Iriye was trying to stay locked in, but she kept glancing over at Aaron’s table. She saw him smiling and laughing occasionally with the other actors and actresses, who were flocking over to him.

“Enjoying yourself?” Samuel asked Iriye.

“I am. You assembled a great group of writers,” Iriye admitted. “I’m kind of mad I won’t be a part of it,”

Samuel raised an eyebrow at her before taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re not going to take the job?” Samuel asked.

“Sadly, no,” Iriye stated.

Samuel remained silent until a few people got up from the table.

“So, who is stopping you from taking the job?” Samuel asked.

“Excuse me,” Iriye stated with a raised eyebrow.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend? I know how this generation is,” Samuel raised his shoulders. 

“Men. I’m into men,” Iriye said. 

“What man are you sticking beside?”

“You need to get off of TikTok,” Iriye rolled her eyes. 

“My teen daughter says I need to stay in the know,” Samuel chuckled. “But seriously, you’re going to produce Paradise Lost in London, right?”

“I am,” Iriye said.

“I’m guessing your boyfriend will be there too?” Samuel asked.

“I’m not saying no to your offer because of my partner. And a woman doesn’t have to shape her life around love,” Iriye pointed out.

“But you shouldn’t give up your career for it either,” Samuel stated. “Take it from someone who has firsthand experience with that. I wasn’t always the breadwinner that I am now.”

Iriye took a sip of her champagne glass, listening intently.

“My first ex-wife is a cinematographer, and when we first got together, she supported us as much as possible. I was grateful and supportive of her as best as I could be. We had our daughter, and I stayed home. But when things started to pop off for my writing career, we had to choose whose work was the priority. And the arguments began. Resentment grew at times for both of us. By seven years old, my daughter was being handed off between households, and divorce papers were being drawn up,”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Iriye reached out her hand to touch his to offer sympathy.

“Sometimes, you have to learn lessons the hard way. You can’t make the same mistake twice.” Samuel offered. “I’m not trying to convince you. I don’t want to see your talent wasted. It's not that you would be wasting it, but you should stand firm in your beliefs. And make sure you’re making the best decision for yourself,”

Iriye thought about his words, nodding to herself.

“I appreciate the advice,” Iriye said, finishing her glass of champagne. “I’ll be back,” 

Iriye headed outside, needing to ground herself with some fresh air. She walked further into the light, the moonlight bouncing off the soundstages serving as the light for the area.

Her mind was racing about which was best for her: her career or Aaron. She wanted a moment of peace and needed to think.

“Iriye,” She heard Aaron’s voice, opening her eyes to look at him. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is better now,” Iriye said, walking closer to him. He pulled her closer to him, and she held onto him.

“You know where we are at, right?” Aaron asked her. Iriye looked up at him, seeing the soft smile on his features. “The soundstage where we met,”

Iriye looked towards where the number was for the studio and recognized it easily.

“It is,” Iriye stated. “First time I ever gave you grief,”

“It was good grief to me,” Aaron began moving them in a circle, Iriye following his lead. “Made me want to know more about this little lady who was quick to boss me around,”

“You know there is nothing little about me,” Iriye stated. Aaron chuckled, feeling his hands move to her backside.

“Good thing I can handle all of it,” Aaron stated. “Not just the beautiful body but the heart, the mind, and the creativity. You’re everything, Iriye,”

Iriye felt tears come to her eyes, and she leaned up, kissing him softly.  Aaron’s hand came up to her cheek and stroked it.

“I love you…” Iriye said softly, looking up into his eyes as she pulled away.

“I love you, too,” Aaron said, his eyes darting between hers. 

Iriye kissed Aaron before taking his hand and leading him back to where she knew his trailer was. They walked hand in hand, not fearing if someone saw them.

Aaron unlocked the trailer door and helped her up the steps before following after her. Iriye set the lights low, Aaron watching her as she turned her back to him. 

“You mind helping me get out of this?” Iriye asked. Aaron pushed himself off the counter and went behind her. He pulled her back into him, and she whimpered as she felt how hard Aaron was behind her. He moved her hair to kiss her neck, Iriye moaning softly.

“You smell so good. Bet you even taste good too,” He whispered roughly against her skin. His hand trailed to the zipper of her dress and he pulled it down.

Iriye helped him slip the dress down, the corset bra she wore underneath coming into view, the matching panties, and her garter belt keeping her thigh-high stockings up. She kicked it away, turning so Aaron could see her.

“You like what you see?” Iriye said, a newfound emotion catching in her throat. For once, she felt vulnerable in a different way.

“I love what I see,” Aaron moved closer to Iriye, pulling her in for a deep kiss. His hands slide to her ass and squeezed, Iriye’s hands moving to the front of his pants and grasping at his length through his slacks. “Shit,” he muttered against her lips. 

Iriye pulled back from the kiss, her hands moving to push his jacket off.

“How badly do you want me?” Iriye asked. 

“So fucking bad,” Aaron groaned as she brushed against him. She pulled back before he could get his hands on her.

“Then strip and show me,” Iriye demanded. Aaron looked at her with a curious smirk. Iriye moved to sit on the couch built into his trailer, leaning back and licking her lips.

Aaron kicked his shoes off, moving to pick up her dress and suit jacket. His hands moved to take his turtleneck and chain around his neck. She bit her lip, took in his arm tattoo and chest, and saw the sparse hair.

“You’re gorgeous,” Iriye said aloud. A shy smile took over Aaron’s face. “I mean that. You have to be the most handsome man I have ever seen, and because you want me, I’m so lucky.”

Aaron felt a sense of safety with Iriye. He felt bold enough to be in the moment with her and take her compliments. His eyes devoured her breast as some spilled from the top of her bra. He moved to pull his belt out and dropped it to the counter before unzipping his pants, all while watching Iriye’s hand trail over her breast.

“Who said you could touch?” Aaron asked her, shimmying his pants off

“I’m in charge tonight,” Iriye said. Aaron moved to her, and she looked up at him, perching until she was kneeling. “Keep your eyes on me,” She kissed his abs and treasure trail, her nails dragging lightly against his thighs.

“Iriye, someone is going to notice we’re missing,” Aaron said, moaning as he felt her nails move to the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“Let them notice. All I want is you right now,” Iriye said, pulling down his briefs. She was met with his hardening length, and she licked the tip playfully. She teased the head slowly before sucking it into her mouth, her eyes connecting with his.

Aaron’s hand came to her cheek, grasping it but letting Iriye remain in control. It was what she wanted. 

“Oh my god,” Aaron groaned, and she smiled around it before holding it at the base and letting him go deeper in her mouth. She could hear him trying to catch his breath, every groan and moan along with curse words intermingling as she bobbed her mouth on his length.

Iriye’s hand joined the mix as she went to his balls, rolling them softly in her hand, tasting his precum on her tongue.

“Iriye, baby,” His hand was trying to pull her off of him, but she worked her mouth to keep up. 

Iriye looked up to see his brows knitted together, the vein in his neck straining, and his hand holding her cheek, trying to control himself.

“I’m c-close,” He groaned. With that, Iriye pulled away. 

“We don’t have much time, remember,” Iriye teased. She licked her lips, and Aaron looked down at her. He lifted her face to his lips and kissed her deeply. 

“I need you out of these, now,” He said, his hand moving to the back of her bra, trying to unclip it. Iriye swatted his hands away and unclipped the front of the corset, letting her breast spill out. He helped her get it off before kissing her deeply again. He crawled over her, his hands moving to unclip the garters on her thigh highs. She was just about to kick her heels off when he stopped her. “Nah, leave them on.”

“Yes, sir,” Iriye teased, helping him pull her panties down. He kissed each of her ankles after he pulled them off, throwing them to the side. Aaron got up to shuffle his briefs off before grabbing a condom from his wallet.

Once Aaron had the condom on, he moved back between her legs, looking down at Iriye.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said, and Iriye felt her cheeks warming. He leaned down to kiss her again, their tongues tangling as Iriye wrapped her arms around her neck. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” She said, rolling her hips towards him. “I need you,”

Aaron pulled back, placing her legs over his shoulders as he leaned on his knees. Iriye took a deep breath as he pushed his length into her, still feeling him stretching her out.

“Iriye,” Aaron breathed as he allowed himself to get settled over her. Even when he was above her and inside of her, she needed him closer. She moved to pull his shoulder down, and he folded her until her knees were on his shoulders, and he was going deeper.

“Oh god,” She cried as he was so deep inside of her. Aaron pulled his hips back and slid inside of her again, Iriye’s hands moving to find purchase on his shoulders.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Aaron groaned, trying to remain in control, but the way she felt warm through the condom was messing his head up.

“No, you’re so good. So deep,” Iriye whined, her walls fluttering around as she relaxed into him being deep inside of her. He began a pace that had Iriye moaning out with every thrust inside of her.

“Shit Iriye,” Aaron rolled into her, his hips coldding with her backside as he had her folded up. His body was over hers, and Iriye was in heaven as Aaron wrecked her.

Wet slaps of skin colliding echoed through the trailer as Iriye lets out pathetic little moans. It was different. She was in love with Aaron, imagining the rest of their days together. They were making love, and she was excited that they would be together in London.

“You feel so good baby,” Iriye cried out, her nails dragging against Aaron’s skin as he would thrust forward and catch her clit against his pelvis.

“You too. So fucking warm and wet,” Aaron thrust harder for good measure, the sound of his condom covered cock sliding deeper in her. “You get this wet for me?”

“Oh fuck I do,” Iriye moaned. He began thrusting harder into her, having no where to go as he held her by the back of her knees and plowed her pussy.

“Good. Fucking love you for that,” He groaned. Aaron leaned down to kiss her, Iriye whimpering against his lips. He lost his rhythm for a second as their tongues collided, Iriye’s pussy clenching around him. “Shit Iriye,”

Iriye giggled as she clenched her walls around Aaron again.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” He said, pulling her roughly by her ass into him.  She was allgiggles until she felt him lean down with her ankles on her shoulders and Aaron began fucking her for dear life.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” Iriye gasped, her hands trying to find purchase against the couch. She felt the stretch of being folded over, having to take every thrust from Aaron and his cock. “A-Aaron! Fuck,” Her hands went to grasp his biceps, every last brain cell leaving her head.

“Nah, take it. I know you can,” Aaron demanded. And he was right, she could. But it was so intense, and she could see his eyes so bright with lust.

“You’re fucking m-me too good,” Iriye cried, her hands moving down his back, nails digging and grasping where they could. “W-Why you fucking me like this?”

Iriye was desperate, tears coming to the corner of her eyes as she looked at Aaron, seeing a little bit of wickedness in them. It was the same look he had given her when he told her she needed him.

“Because you let me. Because you want me to,” Aaron said, his hips speeding up and finding her g-spot. He focused on hitting that fleshy spot inside of her, and Iriye’s moans turned to sobs as he didn’t let up. “You want me to. Right, Iriye?”

“Y-Yes,” Iriye whimpered, her hand trying to slip between them to slow him down.

“Fucking move that hand away,” Aaron groaned. Iriye tried catching her breath and pulled the hand away, hearing the slaps of this cock inside of her growing wetter, the pressure building more.

“A-Aaron,” The feeling of being fucked this way was beginning to be too Intense for Iriye and she was losing her mind.

“Just breathe. I go you,” Aaron reminded her, kissing her again before biting her lip. “Give in to it. Don’t hold back. Okay?”

“O-Okay,” Iriye nodded before Aaron began moving his hips faster, his cock hitting her g spot and the pressure intensifying. Words became a struggle, and Iriye could only moan and whimper out.

Iriye was going to cum and shatter hard, not even caring if she was getting louder. She was focused on the feeling of Aaron fucking her, her cries and the length inside of her. Her eyes shut tightly as she felt it; her orgasm shattered over her to a point that she squirted. Her vision spotted as she was still folded up and Aaron was still fucking her. It was intense, each stream of wet cum gushing out to the point Aaron’s length couldn’t stay in fully. Iriye felt like she couldn’t even say anything, just grasping onto him.

Aaron pulled back to let her legs go beside him, brushing his length against her clit.

“Don’t stop,” Iriye breathed out, and she cried out as Aaron slipped his length back inside of her, rolling his hips. Iriye kissed him deeply, rocking her hips against him. 

“God, Iriye,” Aaron could feel how needy she was for him. And he wasn’t afraid to show that to her as well. His hands trailed to hers and intertwined with them as he rolled his hips harder into her. 

“You feel so good. I wanna make you feel good,” Iriye whined, rolling her hips against him. “I love you,”

Aaron moved to kiss her deeply, his hips thrusting into her with a quickness as he chased his high. He groaned into her mouth, having to pull away and bury his face into her neck as he cried out, his orgasm shooting into the condom.

Iriye stroked his back, the sweat pooling on their bodies as they came down. Her lips found his neck and shoulders, leaving sweet kisses on them. Aaron turned to kiss her, and she hummed softly against his lips.

“I love you,” He whispered to her.

“I know,” Iriye chuckled. “I love you, too.” 

After a while, Aaron and Iriye fixed themselves up, hating that they had to return to the event. 

“We could just hide in here,” Iriye reasoned as Aaron helped her zip her dress.

“We could. But I’m sure my manager would be mad if I didn’t at least try to ham it up with a few more people,” Aaron rolled his eyes.

“That’s my bit,” Iriye said as she looked at him through the mirror they stood in front of.

“You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one,” He reasoned.

“I know I am,” She chuckled before gasoing as she felt a sharp slap to her ass. Iriye moved to turn his head so they could share a kiss over her shoulder.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” Aaron joked, even if he pecked her lips again.

“I’ll write you a get-out-of-jail email. Say we needed to discuss the script,” Iriye turned in his arms and kissed him properly. “You’ll stay over tonight?”

“Of course I will,” Aaron said. He leaned in for another kiss when he felt his phone buzz. “Cue the mood killer,”

Iriye captured his lips again before he pulled away. He handed her the key to the trailer. 

“Lock up when you’re done,” He said. He kissed her hand after she took the key. “I love you,”

“I love you, too,” Iriye watched as he pulled away, leaving the trailer. She saw how much of a mess she looked, trying to fix her makeup as best as possible.

Aaron had returned to the charity event, trying to text his manager that he was on his way inside. Just as he was about to enter the party, he saw Samuel Arenas step outside, jacket on and phone in his hand. He nearly ran into Aaron before he caught himself.

“My bad,” Samuel stated to Aaron.

“No problem at all,” Aaron stated, sending off one final text.

“I am a fan of your work. I wish I had gotten you on this TV show before you got Paradise Lost. I’m losing out big time this year—a great actor. A great writer,” Samuel shrugged.

“A great writer?” Aaron asked.

“Paradise Lost. Iriye turned us down for the film. The studio was willing to let her work on both, with the film getting priority. I even heard they were considering offering her a first look deal, depending on the work she did for the show,” Samuel mentioned. “I probably said too much.”

“No, I’m glad to hear how much others value her work,” Aaron said, feeling like water had been dumped on his head. I’m lucky, I suppose,” Aaron said as he caught Iriye walking up towards the event.

“That you are,” Samuel said, seeing Iriye as well. “It was nice meeting you. If you ever want to talk, here’s my number,” Samuel handed Aaron a business card. “There’s good money in TV,”

Aaron took the card and shook Samuel’s hand before he left. Iriye had stopped to mingle with a producer who had caught her, and Aaron watched on. She looked perfect and right where she belonged, mingling with the powers that be. And somehow, Aaron felt like he was still in the way, even from afar.

@wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

[notapradagurl7]

Piece of me

Summary: Smoke’s back in town with a new woman and plans to settle. It’s been seven years since he left you behind, and he doesn’t know what he really walked away from. But you do—every single day.

Pairing: Dad! Protective! Lover! Smoke x Mother of his child! Guarded! Black! reader

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: swearing, secret child, ruined engagement, emotional cheating (if you squint), SMUT. MDNI

@rolemodelshit here’s your request!

Smoke comes into town, ready to settle down. He bought a house in a quaint, rural area of the delta. A three bedroom house fit for him and his old lady, the two of them were as happy as could be. He met her in Chicago and she came with him back down to the delta, arm in arm.

You hadn’t seen smoke in years, seven approximately. The only reason you kept track was because of the daily reminder that he left behind—Layla. You found out you were pregnant shortly after smoke ended things. The last argument between you two still rings in your ears. You yelling, him cussing, the tears falling and your heart breaking a way it never had before.

You two had a complicated relationship, always making your way back to eachother— but not that time. He slammed the door and didn’t look back. You accepted it, no matter how hard it broke you— even after you found out you were pregnant. You made everyone swear to keep it a secret, even Annie and Mary. They knew how things were and understood your reasoning.

Once he left, you fought to keep him out of your mind. He didn’t deserve a space there, you had more important things to worry about and if he ever cared then he would come back to you— at least that’s what you thought.

Layla seldom asks about her daddy and if she did, you were always stumped on what to tell her. She looks just like him, he couldn’t deny her— even if he wanted to.

You and Layla have a simple life, nothing too fancy— just something fit for both of you. Your routine consisted of the same thing— wake up, eat, clean, work on things you had to do, play with Layla, dinner and bedtime. The only time it changed was if you went to the store or to someone’s house. Other than that, it is very mundane and considered boring to most.

Today, was like any ordinary day. You sat outside on the porch, shucking corn and Layla running around the yard.

“Layla, please be careful!” You yell as she gets the edge of the yard.

“Yes, mama” Layla laughs, running around in the yard chasing butterflies.

While shucking you realize that you need a few last minute things from the store, so you grab Layla and make your way to Bo’s store.

Layla stands outside the store playing with some kids, while you go inside. You push the door open and the bell jingles above you, you grab a basket and start your shopping. Bo sees you and waves, he doesn’t speak like he usually does and he has a funny look on his face. You wave back not putting much thought into it.

You bend down near one of the shelves looking for pickled garlic and can’t seem to find it. You read over everything on the shelf multiple times and just as you’re about to give up, you see a hand in your face holding the garlic— a deep voice to go along with it.

“Is this what you looking for?”

You take the jar and turn around smiling.

“Thank yo—“

You stop in your tracks, almost forgetting what you were even saying. Smoke is standing behind you, eyeing you. You’re unsure of what to say, a million things racing through your mind. Your hand shakes while holding the jar, your nerves completely wrecked from seeing him. Before you can say anything, a woman walks over to smoke— wrapping her arm around him.

“Honey, you ready to go?” She asks.

He taps her hand, not looking at her— still keeping his focus on you.

“Just give me, one minute. I’ll meet you at the car.”

She smiles and walks out of the door to car, glancing back to see what was going on.

“How are—“

“Who’s she?” You point, interrupting smoke.

He stands there, almost like he’s debating on how to answer you.

“She’s my fiancé, Robyn”

You feel a piece of your heart die off when he uttered those words.

“Congratulations—“

“I have to go, it was nice seeing you.” You say in a rush.

Smoke grabs your arm.

“Wait, now just hold on.”

But before the conversation can continue Layla runs in wrapping her arms around your waist.

“It’s hot outside mama.”

Smoke lets go of you and just stares.

You don’t even bother buying your items, you just sit the basket on the ground and rush out of the door. You grab Layla’s hand and start walking down the sidewalk, hoping that this wouldn’t turn into something.

Smoke is chasing behind you.

“Woman, stop right now.” He demanded with a southern drawl.

Smoke approaches both of you and you bend down talking to Layla.

“Cover your ears and sing your song for mama, okay?”

She nods and starts loudly singing a blues song she heard.

Smoke points at Layla with a pissed look on his face.

“Is she mine?”

Your lip quivers and you let out a sigh, not responding.

“Is that little girl mine!?”

You shake your head yes.

Smoke steps back from you, covering his mouth. You feel awful when you see the look on his face, you hurt him.

You hold back tears.

“I’m sorry..”

“Sorry? I have a baby girl and you don’t even tell me. All you can say is sorry?”

Robyn starts approaching the two of you.

“Is everything okay?”

He nods, grabbing her hand to walk away.

You grab Layla’s hand and continue to walk home, you feel like you’ve messed up big time.

You get home, feed Layla, clean her up and get her to bed. You could’ve never imagined that your day would go like this, that smoke would be back in your life. Opening up a chapter that you worked so hard to seal and keep closed.

More than anything you were worried for Layla, not that smoke wouldn’t be a good father— but a father and step-mother all in a day? It’s a lot to take in. She also has auntie Mary and her uncle stack. You won’t keep her from his side of the family, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t worried about splitting time with smoke.

You lit a candle and sit down in a chair, sipping on some of the corn liquor you had stashed. You never knew when you would drink it, but now was the perfect time. You gulp down most of it, just to take the edge off.

You hear footsteps on the porch, you don’t even bother getting up to check— you know it’s Elijah.

You open the door and see him leaning against the wooden railing.

“So, why didn’t you say anything?” He immediately questions you.

You pick at your nails, looking down.

“You left, Elijah. You were done and I couldn’t change that. I didn’t want to ruin things for you.” You stammered.

He lets out a huge sigh.

“My child could never ruin things for me.”

His statement gives you a slither of comfort, knowing that Layla will always be in good hands.

He starts to pace the porch, smoking on a cigarette.

“Who does she think her father is?” He hissed.

You shrug, feeling ashamed.

“She doesn’t ask often, but if she did then we would change topics.” You reply.

“Does she know any of our family?” He questions.

“Yes, of course. She knows her Aunt Annie and her Aunt Mary, she’s met Sammie, Cornbread and Slim gave her a harmonica.”

His brows furrow, he did not like what you said.

“The fuck!— they knew about her?!?” He shouts, exhaling on the cigarette.

You put your hand out, trying to calm him down.

“Before you start getting in everybody’s ass over this, it was my decision. I told them and they respected it, be mad at me.”

He hesitates to ask, worried about your response.

“Did stack know?”

You immediately shake your head, reassuring him.

“No. I never told him, I wouldn’t do that to you and Mary swore to me that she wouldn’t say anything.”

He stomps out his cigarette and looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

“You should’ve told me.” He mumbled as he walks off the porch, getting into his car and driving off.

You wake up bright and early the next morning, getting Layla ready for the day. She hates when she has to get her hair done, so you normally bribe her and say that you’ll make pancakes. She doesn’t know that it’s an excuse, because you also want pancakes.

Today, she has on a yellow dress— with a white ribbon around the waist, two pigtails and white sandals. You can’t help but smile at her, she’s the best part of you. Mary bought the dress for her a while ago, but she had to grow some more before it fit properly.

She squirms in her seat, humming as she eats her pancakes, sausage and eggs. You pour her another glass of orange juice and set it down on the table. She hasn’t even met smoke and she has mannerisms like him, you gave birth to her— but she’s every part of him.

There’s a faint knock at the door, Layla paying no attention to it and devouring her food. You get up and make your way to the door, opening it. Smoke is standing there with a bouquet of daisies in his hand. You wipe your hands on your apron, taking in how good he still looks.

“Goodmornin.” He nods.

“Mornin.”

You stand there in the doorway, fidgeting with your cross necklace.

“Can I meet her?”

You nod yes. You would’ve liked a warning, but you knew smoke would just show up and ask.

“Just give me a minute.”

You walk over to the table and get Laylas attention, wiping the syrup from around her mouth.

“I want you meet someone.”

Layla grabs your hand as you lead her to the door.

Smoke’s face lights up when he sees her, he bends down— handing her the flowers.

“These are for you.”

Layla grabs them and giggles, still holding your hand.

“This is your father” you say to Layla, feeling weird that those words even came out of your mouth.

You’re worried about Layla’s reaction or if she’ll understand.

Layla drops your hand and runs to hug smoke, wrapping her arms around him.

“Papa!”

He picks her up and holds her close, tears in his eyes. You feel so awful for denying him this for years, you should’ve told him. He is meant to be a father.

You watch as smoke walks around the yard with her, already a pro at it. It was like Layla knew he was her dad all along, she doesn’t question it at all. Normally, getting her to talk to someone she doesn’t know is like pulling teeth— but she’s immediately talking his ear off.

Smoke is outside with Layla all day. He’s given her multiple piggy- back rides, she’s had him singing her favorite song, she’s asked him a million different questions and they’ve played hide and seek. You made dinner while they played outside— smothered pork chops, rice, green beans and bread. When smoke finally comes in with Layla, she’s passed out. The girl is exhausted, sleeping in his arms and drooling on his shirt.

“Where’s her room?” He asks.

You point to the bedroom on the left as you set a plate for him on the table.

He takes her into her room and tucks her in, leaving her door cracked open.

“I made you a plate, in case you were hungry.” You suggest.

“Thank you.” He replies, as he sits at the table with you.

“It smells good and looks even better.”

You were too busy eating, not paying attention.

“What?”

Smoke stares at you, looking you up and down. Almost like he wants to say something else.

“The food.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s nothing special, really.” You grin.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You question him, drinking your lemonade.

“Don’t put yourself down, even if it’s just your cooking.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that it would ruffle your feathers. It’s just how I talk.” You acknowledge.

Smoke gets up taking his plate to the sink.

“You’re just too good of a woman to be talking like that. I don’t like it.”

A silence lingers after he says that. A silence on both sides. Your heart flutters in your chest like it did the day you met him, he’s the only man you’ve ever truly loved— but that ship has sailed.

Smoke sits back down at the table.

“So, what will you tell Robyn?” You ask, fidgeting with your fork.

He stares at you blankly.

“I’ll tell her that I have a daughter. Nothing else to say.”

“Elijah, how well do you think that’s going to go?—“

“I don’t know her, but I figure that she didn’t accept your proposal thinking that you would have a child pop up.” You remind him.

“Hm.” He replies back, more of a grunt than a reply.

“You seeing anybody?” He pries, changing the subject.

You let out a chuckle.

“No, there wasn’t anyone around here that I wanted.” You respond.

“There still isn’t?”

You grin and walk your plate over to the sink, trying not to let what he’s saying take root in you.

“I want stack to meet her.” He announces, leaning back in the chair.

You clean your plate in the sink, your back turned to smoke.

“That’s fine.”

“Tomorrow? Maybe we can have dinner again.” He suggests.

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine with me.”

You set the plate down in the sink and wipe your hands with a rag.

Smoke approaches you and gives you a hug, which you didn’t expect at all. You hug him back.

“Thank you for letting me meet her.”

“You don’t have to thank me. She’s your daughter too.”

The hug lasts too long, like he doesn’t want to let you go.

You pull away, trying not to make it more obvious what’s going on. You walk smoke to the door and watch him get in his car and back out of the driveway.

You lay in your bed and all you can think about is him, wondering if he felt the same way about you. You’re no longer angry about him leaving, but sad at what things could’ve been— what he missed out on.

All day, Layla has asked about “papa”— she’s only been away from him several hours and misses him tremendously. You tried to keep her busy as you prepare dinner, letting her know that papa was coming back— but she wasn’t having it. Just as you finish cooking, there was a knock at the door.

Layla screams, face soaking wet from tears and following right behind you.

“I want papa.”

You open the door and without paying hesitation, she runs right into stacks arms.

“Papa..” she sobs.

“Oh, my.” Stack laughs

We all laugh, she pays no attention to smoke for the first few minutes. Smoke hands you the flowers he brought and shakes his head.

They get inside and stack is still holding her, she’s calmed down now. She plays with his mustache and you can tell that’s he’s not used to this. She notices smoke standing to the side and looks at stack, then looks at smoke again— she’s completely confused.

Stack grins, fixing her dress.

“I’m your uncle stack.”

She starts pouting and the tears start coming, she holds her hands out for smoke and goes into his arms.

“Papa’s here.” Smoke reassures Layla, rubbing her back.

You shake your head.

They sit down at the table, you fix everyone’s plates then sit down yourself.

Layla hums while eating, completely in her own world.

“So, that’s my niece?” Stack asks, chuckling like he can’t believe it.

“In the flesh.” You respond.

“She’s adorable.”

“That she is.” Smoke responds, leaning over and wiping Layla’s mouth.

You hesitate, but decide to ask anyway.

“Did you tell Robyn?”

Stack and smoke glance at each other, stack sips his lemonade.

“No, I ended things with her.” Smoke answers.

You look up from your plate, shocked.

“You what?” You gasp.

“It wasn’t gonna work.”

You sit there, not sure what to make of that.

Layla finishes some of her food and starts rubbing her eyes.

“Papa, I’m tired.”

Smoke moves her plate and scoots back in his chair.

There’s car headlights beaming through the window and someone laying on the horn, all of you look at each other concerned. Smoke waves you over to grab Layla, they both jump up— hands on their guns and open the door to see what’s going on.

They open the door and it’s Robyn, she’s hysterical. Stack sucks his teeth and glances at smoke.

“I followed you—“

“Wondering what’s got you acting so funny and what do I know, you end up at some whores house.”

Stack chimes in.

“Robyn, sweetheart you need to leave.”

“Shut the fuck up Stack!” She rages.

You hold Layla in your arms hoping that she would be still and fall asleep, but all the commotion keeps her awake. She starts squirming out of your arms, running to smoke.

She wraps her arms around smokes leg, hiding.

Robyn sees her and sees you approach behind him. She clutches her chest.

“You had a bastard child, is that why you left?” She laughs.

“Excuse me?” You respond, pissed off at that comment.

Stack grabs Layla, picking her up and walking back into the house.

Smoke points his finger, running off the porch towards Robyn. He’s angry.

“Don’t you ever speak about a child of mine that way.” He corrects her with an extremely southern drawl.

Smoke grabs Robyn’s arm, bringing her to the drivers side of the car and they have a heated conversation. You couldn’t hear what was said, but she was leaving crying harder than when she came.

Stack walks beside you.

“She fell asleep, I tucked her in.”

You turn and hug him.

“Thank you.”

He nods, with a grin as usual.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll do anything for my niece and for you.”

Smoke comes back on the porch, looking at you and looking for Layla. You point inside the house, whispering.

“She’s asleep.”

Y’all walk in the house and you wrap their plates for them to take with them. Stack hugs you again, before heading out to the car.

You hand Elijah his plate as he stares at you.

“Please bring my plate back.” You giggle.

“I will.”

He hugs you, kissing you on the forehead. You pull back and your eyes meet each others, staring for too long. He leans in kissing you, the kiss was something you had craved for so long. He sets his plate on the table and wraps his arm around your waist. The kiss is long, passionate and well overdue.

You pull away, before things get too far. You just aren’t sure that you two are meant to be together.

You stand there not sure what to say and he doesn’t say anything. He grabs his plate, nods and leaves out the door.

Dinner didn’t go the way you planned, but it ended on a better note than you could’ve expected.

You lay in bed, tossing and turning. Mind going millions of miles per hour, memories flooding back, old feelings rising up. Elijah ended his engagement for you, he’d do anything for you. Maybe some part of you is still struggling to accept that things can work.

In the middle of you thinking about that, you hear a tap at your window. You jump up, startled. It’s the middle of the night, who could be showing up? You see Elijah standing there in the rain, you run to the front door—opening it.

“Elijah, what—“

He walks past you into the house, interrupting your question.

“I can’t stop thinking about ya. I love you and I can’t stand here pretending that I don’t. I never did stop loving you. We started a family and I want us to do this together. I don’t want you to move on or find someone else.”

You stare at him, your heart beating fast. This was all you needed to hear.

You kiss him, like you’re scared you would lose him again.

He looks into your eyes, holding your face.

“I can’t go through life without you. I can’t.”

You melt all over again, tears in your eyes.

He kisses your neck, slow and passionate. Your hand on the back of his head, leaning against the kitchen table.

You move from the table and guide him to your bedroom, he slams the door behind him as y’all stumble in.

“Sorry.” He grins.

Y’all fall on the bed, trying not to laugh.

He pulls down the sleeves of your nightgown. Staring at you, completely topless and nipples hard. A sight he always loved.

He sucks on your neck and moves his hand, swirling his finger around your nipple. Moving his head downwards, leaving kisses.

He licks your nipples teasing you, then putting it in his mouth on one as his fingers swirl the other.

You loosen his belt, completely pulling it off. Trying hard to stay focused, but what he’s doing feels so good.

He stops focusing on you and unbuttons his pants, you pull your nightgown off.

His dick hard, harder than you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip, ready for him to take you. He rubs his hands over your body, taking in a sight that he hadn’t seen in years.

“You know what to do.” He groans

You move into the center of the bed, bending over and completely arching your back. He comes behind you, smacks your ass and lines himself up. He runs his tip along your entrance, making you bury your head into your pillow to hide your moans.

He pushes the tip in and slowly pushes the rest in, inch by inch.

“Elijah.” You gasp.

“Shit.” Smoke mutters.

He grabs your hips and starts slowly thrusting in and out of you with long and slow strokes, making you remember every inch of him. You can feel your pussy stretching, trying to get used to him again.

Once you’re used to it after the first few strokes, he starts fucking you the way like.

He slaps your ass, watching it bounce back on his dick.

“Oh, I missed you.” He groans.

“Don’t stop.” You moan.

His fingers rub your shoulder.

“Can I?” He asks.

You nod your head.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and starts fucking the shit out of you. He loves pulling your hair and fucking you like this.

“Smoke, fuck.” You moan, barely able to form a sentence.

You start clenching around him, he’s hitting the right spot.

“That’s it sweetheart, you cum for me.” He demanded, the southern accent coming out during this.

“Fuck yes!”

“Oh.”

You do exactly as he demanded and cum all over his dick, the orgasm feels never ending. His breaths become short and quick.

“Shit, mama.”

“I’m gonna—“

He thrusts one last time into you, ropes of his cum fill you. He lets go of your hair and you both stay in that position, trying to catch your breath.

He slowly pulls out of you and collapses on the bed beside you, pulling you closer to him.

He looks at you, pushing your hair out of your face.

“I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you like that again. I already know that you’re going to ask.” He reassures you.

A smile comes across your face, because that is exactly what you were thinking.

You lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and hearing him breathe. You don’t have to look after a few minutes because you can tell he’s asleep.

You close your eyes to get some sleep as well before Layla wakes up.

6 months later..

Your relationship with Elijah has continued to blossom ever since that night he came to you. He said he wouldn’t leave and he didn’t, he moved you into his house and put your name on the deed.

You two made the jump and got married two months after you rekindled things. You can’t imagine your life without him, now that he’s back in it.

All of your friends and family were there at the wedding. Slim was the officiant for the wedding, stack bribed him with some beer from Chicago. Cornbread and Therise, with their son Jacob. Mary and stack were there— Mary helped you get dressed despite being exhausted due to the pregnancy. Sammie and Unlce Jed, who lectured stack on his scheming ways. Bo and Grace chow, helping with the food. Annie, being your maid of honor. Layla being spoiled by the family and being a flower girl, she had to be convinced by Mary to do it . It was truly one of the best days of your life.

Layla is a full on daddies girl, practically attached to smoke. He is wrapped around her finger and just seeing him with her, makes you want to give him more babies.

This was the life you dreamed of. Your heart is full beyond words and you are happy.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗