l-u-xwrites

[l-u-xwrites]

Without You, Without Me

A/N : I hope you guys enjoy this. More to come on this!😌

W A R N I N G S : Angst, Slow Burn, Mentions of Depression, Curse Words, Emotional Tension

W O R D C O U N T: 5,320

The clock on the wall ticked too loudly for a room that was supposed to feel safe. Ezra sat with her fingers twisted in her lap, staring at the rug. The therapist didn’t speak right away. She just waited, pen balanced between her fingers like she was measuring the weight of Ezra’s silence.

Finally, she leaned forward. "If Terry never came back," she said, voice steady but not unkind, "Would you still fight to become the person you’re trying to be?"

Ezra balanced her phone against a stack of books on the dresser. She angled the camera so her therapist wouldn’t see the laundry in the chair behind her. The apartment felt too quiet without cartoons humming in the background. Rowan was still sleep. She’d used the pocket of silence to tidy and then ruined the illusion with a spill of half-folded clothes across the bed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dr. Salgado said, gentle as ever.

“I keep packing and then unpacking,” Ezra admitted. “Like if I put the little socks in the wrong pocket, we won’t make the flight.”

“What would it mean, to not make the flight?”

“It would mean I don’t have to see him and find out whether I’m ready.” Ezra’s laugh was small and crooked.

“Ready for what?”

“For being in the same room for more than an hour without… without the history dragging its chair up to the table.” She sat on the edge of the bed and dug her thumb into the seam of the comforter. “We’re going for Rowan’s birthday. That should be simple. Balloons and cake and grandparents who spoil him. But I keep thinking Terry will look at me the way he used to. Like I’m home…and I’ll have to decide if I’m brave enough to walk through that door.”

Dr. Salgado nodded. “You’ve been married how long now?”

“Six years,” Ezra murmured, voice dipping low, “but… separated for almost a year. Not divorced. Just… living apart. Co-parenting. He comes to Texas every few weeks to pick up Rowan, spends time with him, brings him back. But we haven’t really been in the same house together for longer than a drop-off in months. And when we talk… it’s usually about Rowan, school, doctor appointments.. Nothing about us.”

“You still love him.”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate. “I could never see myself with anyone but Terry. He’s….he’s such an amazing father. Patient with Rowan in a way I never have to ask for. The love is still there, on both ends. I feel it every time I see him hold our son. I still… miss him. I miss the way he made me coffee every morning without asking how I wanted it, because he just knew. I miss his stupid habit of singing the wrong lyrics in the shower. I miss the way he used to wrap his whole body around me at night, like he could shield me from everything.” Her eyes burned. “But it’s like… we broke something. And I don’t know if just loving each other was enough to fix it.”

They unpacked bravery, anxiety, and hope in careful layers, like the layers Ezra laid in Rowan’s suitcase after the call. Tiny jeans. Soft joggers. The galaxy pajamas with smiling planets that he wishes he could wear everyday. In another bag she added his favorite coloring books, snacks for the plane, and his small blanket that still smelled faintly of baby lotion. Every folded piece felt like a promise to show up, even messy. Ezra paused, palm on the suitcase, and breathed through the knot in her chest. In twenty-four hours, she’d be in North Carolina. She didn’t know if she was ready, but she knew she was going.

That evening, Rowan was full of chatter. Ezra made him grilled cheese cut into stars and french fries, and they sat together at the table. That was his thing at the moment. Anytime she asked him what he wanted to eat, that was always the answer. She didn’t want to fuss with him tonight. While he ate dinner, she set up the tablet for FaceTime.

“Daddy!” Rowan squealed when Terry’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey, buddy!” Terry’s whole face lit up. “Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! I’m eating stars for dinner!” Rowan proudly held up the remnants of his grilled cheese.

Terry laughed. “Stars? That’s awesome, buddy. Can daddy have some?

Rowan laughed as he held his food up for Terry to take a pretend bite.

“Hmmm! Thats so good! Guess what Ro? I’m gonna see you tomorrow.”

Rowan bounced on the chair. “Me and mommy are gonna go on the airplane!”

“That’s right. We’re gonna have cake, and Gammy and PopPop are gonna spoil you rotten.”

Ezra watched from the side, the way Terry’s smile softened when Rowan talked, the warmth in his voice. Her chest ached. Part longing, part fear, because she still wanted that smile turned toward her, too.

 Rowan laughed, “Daddy’s happy,” in the simple certainty only a child could have.

Ezra kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s happy.”

After Rowan’s bath, the apartment smelled faintly of lavender shampoo and the clean laundry. He was tucked into bed, sprawled on his side like he’d been poured there, his blanket clutched in one small hand. Ezra lingered in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall before retreating to the half-zipped suitcase on the bed. Her phone lit up again with Terry’s name. She hesitated, thumb hovering for half a second longer than it should, then swiped to answer.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, warm. “You’re packed?”

“Almost.” She wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear while rolling another pair of Rowan’s socks into a tiny ball. “Flight lands tomorrow at three.

“I’ll be there,” Terry replied, no hesitation, like it was a given fact and not a choice. “Do you want coffee when you land? Or something for Rowan?”

“Coffee’s fine,” she said, smiling despite herself. “But you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut in, gentle but certain.

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he said finally. “I know it’s for Rowan, but… I’m still glad.”

Ezra closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

They went through Ezra’s packing checklist, Rowan’s bedtime routine, and the plan for their first night. But under every logistical note was the unspoken truth of what this week could mean. Neither of them named it. Neither of them had to.

The airport was all bright glass and noise, the hum of rolling suitcases and distant boarding calls. Rowan clung to her hand with one small fist, the other gripping his stuffed dinosaur like a lifeline. His eyes darted from the moving walkway to the towering windows where planes taxied slowly into place.

“Mommy, is that ours?” he asked for the fourth time, pointing at a plane that had just parked.

“Not yet, baby” Ezra said, crouching to zip his little hoodie against the chill from the air vents. “Ours is still getting ready.”

They settled into a corner of the gate area, Ezra digging in her tote for snacks while Rowan sat quietly watching videos on his iPad.

“Mommy?” he asked, tone small but curious.

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think we can all live in the same house?”

The question hit her like turbulence, sudden, stomach in her throat. She blinked, hoping he didn’t notice the split-second delay before she answered.

“What makes you ask that?” she said, keeping her voice light, steady.

He shrugged, staring at the carpet. “I don’t like it when Daddy’s far away.”

Ezra felt it in her ribs, that sharp ache of knowing he understood more than they’d ever explained. Kids weren’t blind to distance; they felt it too.

She ran her hands over the top of his head and kissed the spot gently. “I know, baby. I wish we could be in the same place all the time, too.”

“Then why don’t we?” he asked, the kind of honest, impossible question that didn’t know it was breaking her heart.

Her throat burned. “Sometimes grown-ups have to figure some things out first. But Daddy and I both love you more than anything. That’s never going to change.”

He seemed to accept that, leaning into her side with the easy trust only children had. She wrapped her arm around him, holding him closer than maybe necessary, breathing him in.

When their boarding group was called, Rowan gripped her hand tighter. His small body tensed as they stepped into the narrow tunnel leading to the plane.

“Is it gonna be loud?” he asked.

“A little,” she said, bending down so she could talk to him at his level. “But I’m right here the whole time. We can watch the clouds together, okay?”

Once seated, he pressed himself against her side, blanket draped over his lap. She let him keep his dinosaur on her tray table during takeoff, his fingers gripping its tiny arm while her own hand rubbed slow circles on his back.

As the plane rose, the city shrinking beneath them, she caught their reflection faintly in the window: her face pressed to his curls, his eyes wide but trusting. And beneath the hum of the engines, she felt the weight of his earlier question settling deep into her chest.

Ezra kept Rowan close as they made their way through the arrival gate. The noise of the airport swelled around her, but her heartbeat was louder, thudding against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

When the panic rises, don’t fight it. Name five things you see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste. Dr. Salgado’s voice came back to her, as if she were right there beside guiding her along the way.

Five things she saw: a man in a wrinkled business suit checking his watch, a little girl dragging a pink unicorn suitcase, the worn carpet patterned in blue swirls, the flicker of a departure board, the faded “Welcome to Charlotte” sign.

Four things she could touch: Rowan’s hand in hers, the strap of her bag digging into her shoulder, the smooth plastic handle of Rowan's cup, the crumpled boarding pass in her palm.

Three things she could hear: the sharp squeak of rubber wheels on tile, a baby fussing somewhere behind her, the echo of her own shallow breath.

Two things she could smell: coffee, floor polish.

One thing she could taste: the metallic tang of nerves on her tongue.

She spotted him before he saw her. Broad shoulders in a gray hoodie, head scanning the crowd. Even from here, she could see the slight twitch in his jaw, the restless shift of weight from one foot to the other. Was he nervous? She’d memorized those small tells years ago.

For a second, she let herself stand still, hidden in the river of people flowing past. It was the luxury of a heartbeat to study him without being seen. He looked both exactly the same and like someone she’d have to learn all over again. And then his eyes found hers...

Rowan spotted him too. “Dada!” The little boy wiggled until Ezra let go of his hand, and he tore across the polished floor. Terry bent and caught him mid-run, lifting him high, laughing in a way Ezra hadn’t heard in months. When he looked up, over Rowan’s shoulder, his eyes found hers and stayed there. Not a smile, not yet. Just that steady, claiming gaze that said, I'm happy you’re here. Truthfully, she felt the same way.

Ezra adjusted the strap of her bag and walked the last few feet to reach them. The hug they shared was careful, polite for Rowan’s sake, but her skin still knew the map of him. Wishing it lasted just a little bit longer.

“Flight okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. He did great.” She glanced at Rowan, who was babbling about airplanes and pretzels. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” His hand brushed hers as he took their suitcases, the touch electric and fleeting. They walked out into the Carolina air together, their son between them.

The drive from the airport was about thirty minutes, but it felt longer in the way moments do when you’re trying to memorize them.

Ezra sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the edge of her seatbelt. She kept stealing glances at Terry. The sharp line of his jaw, the way the gray hoodie stretched over his shoulders, how his hair had grown just a little bit. He smelled faintly of a cologne she remembered buying him one year, a scent she’d once buried her face in every night. The rhythm of his hands on the steering wheel was steady. She’d missed this. Missed him, more than she could put in words. And maybe that was the dangerous part. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward her. Once, he caught her looking. She didn’t look away quickly enough, and the corner of his mouth tilted, not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment, like yeah, I see you too. He didn’t comment, but the air between them shifted just enough to make her throat tight.

In the back seat, Rowan chattered like he’d been saving up every word he learned since the last time he saw his dad.

“Dada, guess what? My birthday’s almost here. I’m gonna be four! And Gammy said she’s making me a chocolate cake and PopPop said he’s gonna build me a pirate ship. A real one!”

Terry laughed, deep and warm, glancing at Rowan in the rearview mirror. “A real pirate ship, huh? Think we can fit it in the backyard?”

“Yep,” Rowan said with absolute certainty. “And you can be the captain, Daddy. And Mommy can be the pirate queen.”

Ezra felt something twist in her chest at that. “Pirate queen? That’s a big job for mommy. You think I can do that?” She teased.

Rowan grinned. “Yup! We can all live in the ship together. Then daddy won’t be so far away.”

The words hit her like an unexpected wave. Kids didn’t always understand the why of things. She didn’t realize that Rowan thought about them not being together as much as he did. She swallowed against the sudden sting in her eyes. “That… would be nice, buddy.” Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the hum of the tires on the road.

Terry’s eyes flicked to her again, longer this time. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying filling the small space of the car.

Flashback

It had been raining hard. Heavy drops rattled the windows while she sat hunched at the table, a mug of untouched coffee getting cold in front of her. She just wanted energy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. The last time she’d laughed without faking it. Terry came in from work, smelling faintly of the night air. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door.

“You didn’t make dinner,” he said. Not accusing, but weary.

Ezra didn’t look up. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s… every night this week. Ez, you gotta eat.. Did Rowan eat?” His voice was tight, frustration threading through it. “I work twelve hours and come home to a dark house. You’re just… here. Not here.”

He moved closer, bracing his hands on the table. “You don’t even try anymore. Not with me. Not with Rowan. Not with yourself.”

Her jaw clenched. “Do you think I want to feel like this? You think I enjoy waking up every fucking day and feeling like I’m drowning?”

His voice cracked, just barely. “I think I miss my wife. I miss the person who looked at me like I was worth something. Now you barely look at me at all.”

Her eyes burned. “Because when I look at you, all I see is what I’m failing to be. And I can’t fix that overnight. I can’t fix me overnight.”

“You don’t even try to let me in anymore!” His voice rose, ragged. “I’m standing here knocking and you’re on the other side, building walls!”

Tears slid down her face before she could stop them. “Maybe I’m protecting you from me.”

“Ezra, I want all of you! What don’t you fucking understand! Even the ugly, messy parts. But you keep pushing me out. And I—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me here.”

Her breath hitched. “I don’t know what I want.”

He stepped back like she’d slapped him. “Then maybe I should go before you make it clearer.”

“You’re such a fucking coward,” she spat, anger flaring to cover the hollow ache inside her. “You’re just looking for an excuse to leave.”

“And you’re looking for an excuse to make me the bad guy,” he shot back. “You think I want to walk out? I’ve been trying to love you through this shit, but it’s like hugging a damn shadow.”

Something in him broke then, and she saw it. His eyes glassy, his chest heaving. He grabbed his jacket from the hook and walked out slamming the door.

That was the worst part.

End of Flashback

Stepping across the threshold, Ezra felt a strange tug in her chest. This was their house. The one they had shared before the distance grew between them. She could still see it as it had been. The sofa where they used to curl up after work, the little bookshelf by the stairs that had held Rowan’s baby books, the kitchen where they’d cook together and laugh in equal measure. Everything was mostly the same. The cushions had been fluffed, the hardwood gleamed under the late afternoon sun, and the smell, fresh linen, mixed with the lingering warmth of the house. It all hit her like a memory she’d been trying not to force away. A memory she both wanted and feared.

Rowan ran ahead straight to his room, clutching his dinosaur. Ezra followed slowly, her steps tentative as if the floorboards might remember her absence. Each room told a story. The framed pictures of birthdays, vacations, and small victories lined the walls; the rug in the living room that had seen spilled juice and baby Rowan’s “first’s.” It all belonged to them. And yet, for months, it had been just Terry’s. Her fingers ghosted along the banister of the staircase. She remembered arguing here once, voices rising. It wasn’t their worst one, but close to it. Rowan napping upstairs, unaware of the tension that would later tear them apart. Those memories still stung, a sharp pull in her chest, but she pushed it back gently. This week wasn’t about blame. It was about showing up, about fighting for what they both still wanted. Terry moved around the kitchen, checking on a small pile of mail, tossing his keys onto the counter, his movements casual. Every step, every glance he gave her, spoke volumes without words. The house had held them together once. Maybe it could hold them again. Ezra found herself pausing in the living room, letting the air settle around her. She sank onto the couch, Rowan climbing into her lap. She let herself inhale the familiarity, the faint trace of the life she’d left behind. She was happy to be back. Even if it was just for a week.

“I missed this house,” she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

“You mean… the place,” Terry said, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely, “or the people in it?”

She looked up and saw him watching her with that same steady, claiming gaze, the one that could make her knees weak even after all this time. She swallowed. “Both.”

Terry moved closer, crouching beside her. “I missed you,” he said softly, and she felt the words settle around her like a warm blanket. He didn’t reach for her, but the sincerity in his tone filled the room.

Rowan squealed, breaking the tension. “Mommy, Dada, look! My dinosaur can fly!” He flapped the plushy in his small hands, eyes wide.

Ezra laughed, the sound catching in her throat. Watching Terry scoop Rowan into his arms, seeing the gentle patience in his every movement, the way Rowan’s face lit up. Her heart ached and swelled all at once.

This is him. My husband. This is the man I still love.

 This house had been a home once, broken by circumstances neither could fully control. But being here now, watching them together, she realized something: it could be again. It had to be.

Terry moved into the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, pulling ingredients from the fridge like muscle memory. Ezra lingered at the counter stool, elbows on the cool granite, watching him without meaning to.

“You want water, tea, wine?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Water’s fine, thank you.” Her voice came out softer than intended.

He handed her a glass without looking, but she caught the small quirk of his mouth when their fingers brushed.

They talked while he worked, tomatoes chopped, chicken sizzling in the skillet, about the plan for tomorrow. “My mom and Dad are so excited,” he said. “They’ve been counting down to this birthday like it’s Christmas.”

Dinner came together quickly, the three of them gathering at the table like they used to. Conversation bounced from Rowan’s favorite toys to which balloons he wanted, to who might come to the party.

Halfway through his chicken, Rowan looked up, completely unprompted. “After my birthday… will I go to school with Mommy or Daddy?”

Ezra froze for half a second, fork in hand. She could feel Terry’s eyes on her, steady, waiting. Also wanting to know the answer to that question.

“Buddy,” she said carefully, “we’ll figure all that out. You don’t have to worry right now.”

“But why can’t we all just be in this house?” His voice wasn’t sad exactly, just curious, like he was asking why the sky was blue.

Ezra’s throat tightened. She reached across the table, covering his small hand with hers. “We’re still a family. Even if Mommy and Daddy live in different places.”

Terry’s hand slid over Rowan’s other one, closing the circle. “And we love you. That’s not ever gonna change.”

Rowan seemed satisfied, returning to his meal with the single-mindedness only a four-year-old could manage. But Ezra’s heart kept thudding in her chest. She caught Terry looking at her. Not just the polite, co-parent kind of glance, but the one that saw straight through her. She didn’t look away this time. This was going to be a long week.

By the time they unpacked the suitcases, mostly Rowan’s clothes and a few toys he managed to sneak into his suitcase, night had begun to settle over the house. The soft glow of the kitchen lights reflected off the floors, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator seemed unusually loud.

Rowan was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Mommy! Dada! Can we call Gammy and PopPop now? I wanna tell them I’m here!”

Terry crouched to meet him, voice warm. “You wanna call them now? Alright, let’s do it.”

Ezra followed, standing a little back, letting them have this moment. Her chest squeezed at the sight of them together. Terry’s fingers brushing Rowan’s hair back as he helped him navigate the video call. Rowan’s little voice bubbled over the screen, excited and high-pitched.

“Gammy! PopPop! Guess what! I’m here! And my birthday’s almost here! We’re gonna have cake and pirates and—”

“Ro!” Terry laughed, shaking his head. “Save some surprises for when we get there, buddy.”

Ezra couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her. It felt so normal, so ordinary, and yet it carried the weight of months apart. Watching Terry interact with their son in his element as a father, made her heart ache with longing and pride all at once.

Rowan jabbered on, and Ezra caught snippets of the conversation:

“…Mommy helped me pack… Dada, you’ll see!… Can we play pirates tonight?”

Rowan scampered over to Ezra. “Can we have cake tonight?” he asked, big brown eyes wide.

All Ezra could do was laugh. Rowan was so excited.

Mama Richmond’s voice floated through the speaker, warm and indulgent. “We’ll see yall tomorrow, babyboy. Get some rest so you can be ready for all the fun.”

Poppa Richmond added, “And give your mama and daddy a big hug and kiss from us.”

“I will!” Rowan promised.

“Love you guys,” Ezra said, leaning into frame.

“Love you,” Terry echoed.

“Love yall too!” came the reply, and then the call ended with a soft chime.

She laughed softly, ruffling his curls. “No cake tonight, baby boy. Soon, though. Very soon.”

For a moment, the quiet filled the living room, broken only by the patter of Rowan’s feet as he dashed toward the stairs. “Bath time!” he announced, as if it were a game.

“Bath time it is,” Terry said, giving Ezra a faint, amused smile before following their son upstairs.

Ezra trailed after them. In the bathroom, steam began to rise as Terry ran the water, Rowan already half undressed and chatting about some new show he found on his iPad.

They worked together without speaking much. Ezra kneeling to help Rowan out his shirt while Terry poured in a swirl of bubble bath. She caught herself watching the way his hands were so sure, so gentle with their son, like nothing in the world could shake his patience.

After the bath, Rowan padded into his room in fresh pajamas, smelling faintly of soap. They tucked him in together, Ezra smoothing the blanket over his legs while Terry adjusted the nightlight.

“Night, buddy,” Terry said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Night, Dada.” Rowan turned his face toward Ezra expectantly.

“Goodnight, lovebug.” She kissed the warm curve of his cheek.

Then, without thinking, she and Terry met over their son to kiss his forehead at the same time. Their eyes caught, just for a second, lingering, before they both straightened.

“Love you, Mommy. Love you, Dada,” Rowan mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Love you too,” they said together, the words overlapping in the soft glow of the room.

She followed Terry out, pulling the door closed behind them, and for a few steps down the hall, they walked in silence. But her skin still tingled from that accidental closeness, and she had a strange, almost reckless thought.

Ezra disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the quiet house. Terry stayed in the living room, pretending to scroll his phone but really just listening to the faint hum of her voice as she sang in the shower. He hadn’t realized how much he missed those tiny sounds, the everyday ones that used to fill their shared space without him thinking twice.

When the water shut off, his stomach did a little twist. A few minutes later, the door cracked open and she stepped out, wrapped in a towel. Damp curls clung to her shoulders, steam still curling from her skin.

They met halfway in the hallway, both pausing like they hadn’t done this dance a thousand times before.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, glancing to the side as if the beige carpet suddenly became fascinating.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Terry said, trying for casual, even though his brain was screaming, She’s my wife...why do we feel like strangers?

Ezra’s eyes flicked up to his for a second, then away again, like she wasn’t sure how much space she was allowed to take up here. She tightened the towel around herself, fingers worrying the edge. Terry wanted to reach out and just hook a finger under her chin, make her look at him, and remind her that they’d weathered worse than awkward hallways and too much unsaid. But his feet stayed planted. He didn’t know if the wrong move would send her retreating again.

You know her better than anyone, he told himself. And somehow she still feels far away.

Ezra’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Everything about this house was muscle memory, and yet she couldn’t shake the tension in her chest. She hated that part of her wanted to disappear back into the bathroom just so she could breathe.

“You good?” he asked, voice softer now, the edge of concern cutting through the casual.

“I’m fine,” she said, though it wasn’t the truth. “Just… tired.”

He nodded, like he didn’t quite believe her but wouldn’t press. They stood there for a beat too long, suspended between habit and hesitation. Then he stepped aside, giving her the hallway like a peace offering. They moved in opposite directions without a word. Terry toward the master bedroom, Ezra toward the guest room down the hall. The soft creak of the floorboards followed them like a reminder that the house remembered when they used to walk side by side instead of apart. Terry’s hand brushed the doorknob, and for a split second, he thought about calling her name, asking her to stay. Just for tonight. Just to see if it still felt like home when she was lying next to him. But the words caught in his throat, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Ezra’s fingers hovered over the guest room light switch. She could see him in her peripheral, the broad line of his shoulders as he disappeared into their…his….bedroom. The door stayed open for a moment, like it was waiting for her. She flicked on the guest room light instead.

“Night,” she said, her voice quiet enough that it almost got lost in the stretch of hallway between them.

“Night,” he answered, equally soft, and the sound of it lingered in the air long after both doors closed.

Terry laid in bed staring at the ceiling, one arm behind his head.  They’d slept in the same bed for years, through the best nights and the worst ones. He wanted to roll over, walk across the hall, and just pull her into him. But that wasn’t where they were right now. So he closed his eyes, listening for any sound from her room. A shift in the sheets. A sigh. Something. Anything. But the house stayed quiet, holding the space between them like it knew they weren’t ready to close it yet.

Ezra laid on her side in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the faint shadows on the wall. The sheets smelled faintly of detergent. She should’ve been able to sleep, but her body wouldn’t settle. It had been so long since she’d been here, and longer still since she’d fallen asleep with his arm draped over her, his breathing evening out against the back of her neck. She missed that warmth more than she would ever admit out loud. The steady, quiet proof that she wasn’t alone. Her chest ached with the want of it. Just… to be. To not tiptoe around the space between them or wonder if she was saying the wrong thing. To not have this ache where their life used to be. But fear still lingered like a shadow in the corners of her mind. The kind that whispered memories of nights when her own head felt like an enemy. When her depression convinced her she was too much, too broken, and not enough all at once. She hated the thought of pulling him back into that darkness, hated the thought of him looking at her the way he had back then, scared he couldn’t reach her. She rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and wondered if maybe someday soon they could share a bed again. If maybe his hand could find hers in the dark like it used to. It wasn’t impossible. Not yet..

L U X <3

Tags: @onherereading @naughtynolly @plan3tch1ld @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @fakxmbj @injerafiend @putitonhimmakehimwannamarryme

More to come on this! Let me know what you guys think! I love the feedback. Im not done with Terry and Ezra.

Also, I am thinking about scraping What Love Takes... :( I'm just not feeling that one anymore... I have also had a hard time even wanting to work on it. BUT THISSSS idea has taken over my mind. IDKKKK let me know..😭

[l-u-xwrites]

this app was being a hater because i was specifically trying to tag your writing page 🙄 but i am glad you got the love 🫶🏽

It’s no worries boo! I’m just happy you thought about me! 🫶🏾🥹

[l-u-xwrites]

Thank youuuu for tagging me boo! 🥹 @onherereading love love love your writing and you are so supportive! 🫶🏾

Let me add a few people! I can read their fics over and over and pretend like i never read it! Too good! @kumkaniudaku @artisticestheticreads @feral4youu @ruewritesoccasionally @writingsbytee and so many more! I will always tune in and support everything they write. PUHLEASEEE go check them out! 💗🤗👏🏾

y’all ever read a fanfic that you cannot believe an author just wrote for free?? what an honor it is to read a piece of someone’s soul they shared out of nothing but love for a piece of media. what a privilege it is to be allowed their talent because you share an interest!!

[l-u-xwrites]

Me when stack fed her that strawberry 😩 that was my favorite part 😂

Under Their Roof | Three

POV: You are a young lady in the 1930's who was hired by the Moore family to help around the house and be a nanny...but to your surprise, you may have to do more.

A/N: Okaaaaay, so this was gonna to be a small series that was inspired by a dream I had BUT this maybe a tad bit longer than planned.

Warning: Sexual Situations; Slow Burn; Angst

Word Count: 4245

Pairing: Elijah 'Smoke" Moore X Annie (feat. Elias "Stack" Moore and Black Female Reader)

Y/N sat in her room alone. She couldn’t believe she caught Annie and Smoke in the kitchen. Annie bent over the table, her breasts rubbing the counter. Smoke stood behind her, thrusting her with his shirt wide open. Sweat was running down their bodies. Y/N tried to get the images out of her head, but then she could hear the echoes of their voices. “Y/N, why did you stay for so long? Stupid, stupid”, she told herself as she sat on the bed. Her train of thought was cut short when she heard Angelina crying- she looked at the table in the room and grabbed the now-warm baby bottle. 

As soon as she stepped into the room, Y/N scooped Miss Angelina into her arms, the baby’s cries fading to soft hiccups almost instantly. “Aw… you know what time it is, huh?” she murmured with a tender smile, settling into the rhythm of feeding her. A low hum slipped from Y/N’s lips, a lullaby meant for both of them, the rocking chair creaking softly beneath her.

For a while, the warmth of the moment eased away the sharp edges of what she’d witnessed earlier. That is, until a knock broke through the quiet. She glanced toward the window — was it Ann? Elijah?

Turning toward the door answered her question. Sammie stood there, framed in the doorway, his hat in hand.

“May I come in?” he asked, his voice carrying a careful respect.

Y/N only nodded, her arms still wrapped securely around the baby as she rocked gently, the room filled with nothing but the soft sway of the chair and the steady sound of Angelina’s breathing.

“How’s everything?” Sammie asked, and Y/N glanced up at him. Did she really want to admit she’d just walked in on the Moores fornicating in the kitchen?

“Everything’s fine. I’m… adjustin’.”

Sammie nodded, relieved at first, but his brow furrowed when he noticed she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Y/N… what happened?”

“What you mean?”

“As long as I’ve known you, you always look a person dead in the eye. You sure you’re okay?” he pressed.

Y/N took a slow breath, voice dropping to a whisper. “Are they here?”

“No, it’s just us.”

She glanced down at the now-empty bottle in her hand, slung the cloth over her shoulder, and started to burp the baby girl. inally, she looked up at him and said quietly, “I caught Annie and Mr. Moore… in the kitchen.”

Sammie’s eyes widened. “Doin’ what?”

She gave him a flat look. “Sammie, you know exactly what they was doin’. We not kids no mo’.”

Y/N laid Angelina gently in her crib while Sammie just stood there, still stunned. “They say anything?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Neitha did I.”

Moments ago

Y/N felt like her feet were cemented to the floor, every muscle frozen in place as Annie rose gracefully, smoothing the fabric of her dress with slow, deliberate movements. Smoke’s hands moved with quiet precision, tucking his shirt back in and buttoning each button one by one, like a slow countdown. Their eyes were locked—not on each other, but on her—and the weight of their gaze pressed down heavy enough to make her chest tighten.

Her breath hitched, and instinctively she turned toward the fridge, fingers trembling as she reached out and yanked open the door. The clang of the bottle against the glass shelf sounded impossibly loud in the stillness, and she silently begged it would shatter the thick silence suffocating the room.

But the moment didn’t break. Instead, a chill ran down her spine as she realized—they weren’t at the table anymore. They’d closed the distance behind her, their presence looming just a breath away.

Her grip tightened on the bottle, pressing it against her chest as if it could shield her. She forced herself not to meet their eyes, feeling the heat of their stares burning holes into her back. The air was electric, each second stretching taut with tension, her heart pounding so loud she feared it might betray her.

Annie’s mouth parted as if to speak, but before words could spill, a sharp, urgent cry shattered the silence—the baby’s wail cutting through the charged air like a lifeline.

It was all the escape Y/N needed. Without looking back, she darted toward the stairs, her footsteps quick and uneven as adrenaline surged through her veins. Her chest heaved with each breath, the echo of that heavy, silent moment chasing her up the steps.

Once safely out of sight, she pressed her back against the wall, closing her eyes and swallowing hard, fighting the tremble that threatened to unravel her completely.

_______________________________________________________________

Sammie stood beside Y/N as she gently rocked in the chair, her hands cradling the baby. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, shaking her head. “I should’ve never gone downstairs, Sammie. They’re gonna fire me for sure.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are.”

“It ain’t happening.” Sammie pressed his hands gently on the armrests to slow her rocking. “Since you got here, this house been cleaner, folks fed, and everyone’s stress-free. That baby over there’s already got you wrapped around her finger. Shoot, even folks in town heard about ya.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words.

“What you mean?”

Sammie smiled, settling down on the floor beside her. “Stack’s been talkin’ ‘bout you all over town. Slim wants to meet you, Bo Chow’s hopin’ you come back soon, and I don’t know what kinda spell you put on Stack, but that man won’t stop singin’ ‘bout how pretty the new nanny is.”

A soft blush crept across Y/N’s cheeks, and Sammie caught it. He gave her thigh a reassuring tap as he stood. “Everything’s gonna be just fine. You ain’t got a thing to worry about.”

Y/N rose from the chair and wrapped Sammie in a grateful hug. He admitted to himself he loved making his best friend feel a little lighter.

The moment was cut short by a clear throat—Smoke, sharp and composed in his usual mobster attire, standing in the doorway.

“Miss Carter, come on down. We need to have a word. Sammie, watch over my angel while I’m gone.”

Without another word, Elijah turned and made his way back downstairs, leaving the two friends exchanging glances. Sammie watched Y/N leave the room and took her place in the chair, his mind already turning.

Y/N took each step down the staircase as if her legs were made of lead, the wooden boards groaning under her weight. Her pulse was a slow, hard thud against her ribs, every beat carrying a fresh wave of heat up her neck. Halfway down, she heard Annie’s voice float up from below—warm, honeyed, and almost teasing.

“Miss Carter, we ain’t gonna bite.”

That broke something loose in her chest, though her grip on the banister stayed tight. She stepped off the last stair and into the warm glow of the sitting room. Annie and Smoke stood near the fireplace—he was a looming figure of pressed fabric and shadow, she a soft curve of warmth beside him.

“Miss, please have a seat,” Annie said, her face open, voice low as if coaxing a skittish bird.

Y/N obeyed, sinking into the armchair, eyes falling to her hands resting in her lap, thumbs fussing with one another.

Annie lingered in her place, her lips curved in a smile that felt both kind and knowing, but she didn’t speak. She waited. Smoke didn’t move either, didn’t blink—just fixed those eyes on her, heavy and unreadable.

“Elijah would like to say somethin’,” Annie said finally, swatting his arm.

His head snapped toward her, irritation flickering across his face, but she just arched a brow, and after a moment he gave a quiet sigh.

He straightened his shirt, folding his big hands in front of his belt. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and steady, each word measured.

“I need your eyes on mine when we speak, Miss Carter.”

Y/N hesitated, closing her eyes briefly like she was bracing against a wind. She looked first at Annie—who gave a soft, encouraging nod—then up to Elijah. His gaze was unflinching, pulling her in like the gravity of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to orbit.

“Now don’t be afraid to meet my eyes, darlin’,” Annie chimed in gently. “You’ve got eyes worth showin’, and I’d hate for you to hide ‘em.”

Smoke groaned low in his throat at her words.

“He agrees,” Annie teased, smiling at Y/N.

Then Smoke spoke again, blunt as a hammer.

“We are… sorry you caught us in the kitchen… fuckin’.”

“Elijah Moore,” Annie gasped, swatting him again.

They bickered in low voices until he stilled her with a finger pressed to her lips. The contact was fleeting but intimate, and the air seemed to shift before he withdrew and continued.

“I’m sorry you caught us… bein’ intimate,” he said, voice lowering on the word. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing, and we truly didn’t think you’d come downstairs—we thought you were still in the shower. We apologize.”

Annie’s brow ticked, waiting for him to elaborate, but she let it go.

“Yes, I am especially sorry. We promise to be more careful,” Annie added, turning back to Y/N. “Darlin’, is there anything you want to say?”

She moved toward the chair, each step soft on the rug, and settled beside Y/N, close enough for their knees to touch.

Y/N inhaled deeply, flashes from the kitchen scene igniting behind her eyes—the closeness, the heat, the way their bodies moved together. Her voice came out quieter than she expected.

“I am also sorry. I understand this is your house and you should do what you want. And… I’m sorry for standin’ there so long. I should’ve left sooner.”

Smoke had moved to lean against the fireplace, a cigarette tucked between his lips, watching her through the curl of smoke like he could read her mind.

“Aw, darlin’. Don’t be sorry at all. We aren’t mad.”

“Really?”

Annie laughed, her voice warm but laced with something else Y/N couldn’t name.

“Not at all. That’s why we hired you.”

Confusion flashed across Y/N’s face. Annie went on, her voice smoothing into explanation.

“Now, Miss Carter, you understand… from time to time, Elijah and I do cherish a bit of personal time together. But with our sweet baby needing so much care, and the juke joint busier than ever, we’re runnin’ from dawn ‘til dusk. So we thought it best to have a nanny—someone kind, capable—to help tend the house and mind our little one.”

Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the strange tension thrumming under Annie’s words.

“I understand, Annie. And I accept your apology,” she said, glancing at Smoke. “Both of y’all.”

Annie’s smile brightened as she rose, but then she leaned forward, wrapping Y/N in a hug. It was warm… but her palm slid low, settling in the small of Y/N’s back. Y/N’s arms circled her in return, their bodies pressing flush, chest to chest.

By the fireplace, Smoke’s gaze sharpened. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate force.

“Annie, sweetheart,” he said, voice a low rumble.

Annie pulled back, smoothing her dress, eyes flicking between her husband and Y/N.

“Well, duty calls,” she said brightly. “Do you mind leavin’ the house for a bit in about ten…?”

*Clears Throat*

“Five minutes”. Y/N looked between them and said “sure. I can head to the store in town. Maybe pick up some items for the house.” Annie nodded in agreement as Smoke pulled out a few dollars, handed the money to Y/N and grabbed his lady’s hand before they went upstairs. Y/N took a deep breath and hurried to her room to change.

Y/N descended the stairs carrying her mother’s woven bag, dressed in a bright yellow dress that swayed just below her knees. Her curls were pinned up neatly, and white gloves finished the look. She couldn’t help but giggle softly as the bed upstairs creaked beneath the shifting weight, the sound echoing through the quiet house.

She set out toward the store about fifteen minutes away, her steps light and confident in her heels. Just then, a car rolled up alongside her.

“Now, Miss Doll... what’s got you swayin’ like that, turning every head you pass?” Stack called from the driver’s seat, a taller man seated beside him.

Y/N slowed, turning her head with a polite smile. “Hello, Stack. How you doing today?”

“Better now that I see you, doll. But why you walking on a day like this?”

“Your brother and Annie are busy, and Sammie’s watching Angelina.”

Stack nodded thoughtfully. “Where you headed?”

“To the shopping center in town.”

Stack’s eyes softened, admiring her bright dress in the sunlight. “Miss Doll, you’re lookin’ mighty fine in that yellow. Got the sun jealous today.”

Y/N blushed slightly, returning his smile. The tall man beside Stack, Cornbread, smiled quietly between them.

“Cornbread, what you waitin’ for? Get your big-collared, green-neck-bone, ham hock, chitlin’ eatin’ self in the back! Where’s your manners at, boy?” Stack teased.

Cornbread hesitated but nodded in respect. “You got that right, Stack.”

He stepped out, opened the door, and offered Y/N his hand with a gentleman’s grace. She took it and stepped inside, settling beside Stack as Cornbread climbed into the back seat.

The car rolled on, the tires humming against the pavement.

“So, Miss Lady, where you from?” Cornbread asked, leaning forward.

“Call me Y/N. I’m from here, but my family moved to New York when I was young.”

Cornbread nodded knowingly. “Better money up there, ain’t it?”

“For the most part. I worked in a clothing store until the owner’s wife passed, and they had to close up shop.”

“That’s a tough break. You miss it?”

Y/N leaned back, eyes distant. “Sometimes. But mostly I miss my kin—they’re all up north.”

Stack glanced over. “And why ain’t they with you?”

“We only had enough money for one ticket. Plus, they needed the cash, and there was nothing left for me there.”

Cornbread’s tone softened. “I feel that. Just had my first kids—twins, like Stack and Smoke. Lord knows they don’t come cheap.”

The car fell quiet for a moment. Then Stack grinned, making Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“At that clothing store, did you happen to model for ’em?”

Y/N flushed, shaking her head. “No, why?”

“Well now, if you did, I’d’ve spent every hard-earned dime just to catch a glimpse of you.”

Cornbread caught the exchanged smiles but kept his eyes on the road, letting the warm tension settle between them like the gentle hum of the engine.

The trio pulled up to Bo’s Grocery, and just as Y/N reached for the door handle, Stack’s voice stopped her.

“While I’m around, you ain’t gotta lift a pretty finger,” he said, already sliding out of his seat. A moment later, he was at her door, holding it open like a gentleman from some old picture show. He extended his hand, eyes locking on hers. When she took it, she noticed the flash of two silver-capped teeth, a detail that made her grin—and her cheeks warm.

Cornbread climbed out behind them, but Stack was already striding ahead to open the store’s front door for her, watching her step inside before following. Cornbread, left to his own devices, pushed the door open himself.

Y/N reached for a hand cart, but Stack’s long arm beat her to it.

“You got a list, Doll?” he asked, biting his bottom lip. She swore, the longer they were around each other, the more his charm worked like slow honey.

Digging into her bag, she handed him the folded paper, but he shook his head with a little smirk.

“Nah… I want to hear you read it. Can you do that for me, Doll?”

His gaze stayed steady on her face, and hers flickered down to his full lips before she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Very good. And don’t miss a word, alright?”

“Okay.”

She began reading. Eggs. Sugar. Honey. Bread. Cheese. Potatoes. Steak. Lemons. Bananas. With each word, Stack plucked the item from the shelves without complaint, his attention fixed more on her voice than the groceries.

She was halfway down the list when Bo emerged from the back, his smile wide. “Miss Carter! Sure is nice seein’ you again. Hey, Cornbread. Hey, Stack.”

The men nodded, and Bo’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s dress. “My, that’s a beautiful dress. Makes you look like royalty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chow.”

“No, no—call me Bo.” He grinned. “Now, that dress… I gotta see the whole thing. Mind givin’ us a spin? Model it for us.”

Y/N glanced toward Stack, who only grinned wider. So, she gave a slow turn, the fabric of her dress whispering around her legs.

Bo took his time looking—at every curve, every line. Back home, women hadn’t been built like her. That skin, that shape, that face—he couldn’t stop staring.

Stack watched too, though his gaze carried something softer, hungrier. She was already a vision to him, but the way she moved—elegant, unhurried, sweet—was the final touch.

When she finished, Bo clapped slowly. “Beautiful dress. You have more like it?”

“I believe I do.”

“Tell you what,” Bo said, “whenever you shop here, I’ll give you twenty-five percent off.”

Y/N blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. And I’ll throw in something free. Follow me.”

At the counter, he motioned toward a display. “Fresh strawberries. Just washed. Wanna try one? Careful—they’re real juicy.”

Bo reached for one, but Stack’s hand moved quicker. He held the berry by its leafy stem, his other hand cupped under it to catch any drip.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low. “I got you, Doll.”

She hesitated for a moment, the weight of every pair of eyes in the room settling heavily on her. But then she leaned in, and Stack’s heart stuttered—strawberries were her weakness, and watching her take that first delicate bite was almost too much to bear.

Her lips parted softly as she wrapped them around the plump berry, the sweet juice escaping and tracing a thin line down Stack’s hand. His breath hitched, the toothpick slipping from between his teeth without him even noticing, forgotten in the intensity of the moment.

Stack’s eyes followed every subtle movement—the way her cheeks rounded slightly as she bit down, how her lashes fluttered against her skin—and a slow fire kindled in his chest. This wasn’t just about the fruit; it was about her, every little gesture pulling him in deeper.

She stepped back then, hands instinctively pressed to her chest as she chewed, and Stack’s hand still held the berry’s stem, frozen for a beat. Finally, he reached for his handkerchief, voice barely a whisper as he stepped closer.

“Let me,” he said, gently dabbing the corner of her mouth, his fingers brushing her skin. The contact sent a thrill through him—quiet, electric, and entirely too much.

In that moment, all the noise around them faded away. It was just the two of them—him, caught between admiration and desire, and her, unaware of the storm she’d already stirred in his soul.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Stack swallowed the dry lump in his throat, then shot a look toward Bo —who looked about ready to drool.

“We’ll take three pounds,” Stack said.

Soon, the trio made their way toward the exit. Stack stepped ahead, catching the door and holding it open for Y/N and Cornbread, the faint chime of the shop bell trailing after them. Just as they stepped onto the sidewalk, a slow, bluesy drawl of a harmonica cut through the air.

Stack’s head turned toward the sound, his expression shifting into something like recognition. Across the way, a small crowd had gathered in a loose circle, clapping and swaying to the tune. He already knew exactly who Y/N was about to meet.

“Cornbread,” Stack said, his tone low but decisive, “watch the car for me. We’ll be right back.”

He gently guided Y/N forward, his palm warm and steady against her upper arm, steering her through the cluster of bodies. The smell of tobacco smoke, faint beer, and summer sweat mingled in the air as they inched closer.

When they finally broke through, the song was ending. The crowd erupted in applause as the player—a towering 6’4" man with skin dark as polished ebony, dressed head to toe in black with a bowler hat tipped low—took a dramatic bow. Then, with a grin, he dropped into his seat and began packing away his harmonica.

“Delta,” Stack called out, his voice carrying with easy familiarity. “How ya doin’?”

“I’m good,” the man replied, his deep voice rumbling like gravel smoothed over time. “Just holdin’ down the day till tonight.” Delta Slim glanced up briefly, but Stack’s next words drew his full attention.

“Slim,” Stack said, a faint pride curling his mouth, “I want you to meet someone. This is the young lady I told you about—Sammie’s friend.”

Slim’s head lifted fully now. He removed his hat in one smooth motion, his gaze settling on Y/N with a look that was almost reverent.

“My, my,” he drawled with a slow shake of his head. “I must’ve died and the good Lord’s callin’ my black ass home. She’s beautiful, Stack boy.”

“I told you,” Stack replied, glancing sideways at Y/N with a smirk. “Y/N, this here’s my good friend, Delta Slim. He plays a lot with Sammie and the band at the juke joint.”

“In the flesh,” Slim said, flashing her a smile before leaning back against his seat. “So, gal… I hear you’re the new nanny and housekeeper for the Moores. They treatin’ you right?”

“Yes, sir, they are,” Y/N replied politely, her hands folded in front of her. “They’re very nice. I love cooking and cleaning… plus I love children, so I love it.”

“Good… mighty good,” Slim said with a nod. Then his grin returned, sly this time. “Maybe I’ll catch a sight of you at the juke joint sometime, angel?”

“I don’t think I have any off days,” Y/N admitted. “The Moores need me to handle everything so they can take care of business.”

That made both men pause. Slim’s brows rose before he let out a low chuckle. “Now, let me get this straight—you doin’ all the house work, raisin’ a baby that ain’t yours, and they don’t give you a single day for yourself?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing toward Stack. “They never mentioned it, but… I don’t think they’d make me work back to back. Right?”

Stack’s gaze held hers, firm and certain. “Right. I’ll make sure you get at least one day off a week.”

Then he tipped his chin toward Slim. “See you tonight.”

With that, he steered Y/N away, her wave to Delta lingering in the warm afternoon air as they headed back toward the car.

Cornbread was the first to be dropped off before the couple rolled up to the Moore house. Stack climbed out and rounded the hood, offering his hand to help Y/N down from the automobile.

Sammie came out to greet them, Smoke trailing behind.

“Brotha, where’s Ann?” Stack asked.

“Sleepin’,” Smoke replied.

“We need a talk.”

The brothers stepped away from the porch as Y/N and Sammie disappeared inside with the groceries.

“Smoke, does Y/N get any days off?” Stack asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

Smoke’s eyes flicked past him—watching Y/N take the stairs, her dress hugging every curve—until Stack shifted to block his view. Smoke kissed his teeth and shrugged. “We never discussed that.”

“The fuck you mean y’all never talked about it?”

“Look, she just got here a few days ago. We need her right now.”

“Y’all… or you, Smoke?”

Smoke glanced away, jaw tight. “We all need her.”

Stack studied him, knowing that was bullshit, before letting a slow grin creep in. “Maybe we can work something out, brotha.”

“I’m listenin’.”

“She could work Saturdays at the Juke Joint with us, then take Sundays off if she wants. That way she helps all of us, gets to have some fun, and don’t get burned out.”

Smoke side-eyed him, looking for the catch. “If she’s at the Juke Joint, who’s watchin’ the house?”

“Cornbread’s wife. She and Ann had kids the same time—Angelina can keep ‘em busy. She only wants five dollars to watch ‘em.”

“Who’s payin’ her—”

“Me. Already talked to Corn before we came here, made her an offer. Boys got manners, she’s a good momma—it’s a piece of sweet strawberry cake.”

Smoke’s brow ticked up. He didn’t like the idea of overworking Y/N, but having her in their sight every Saturday… that had its advantages.

“Fine. We got a deal,” he said, pointing at his brother. “But don’t be pushin’ up on her all damn night. She starts next Saturday.”

“Deal.” Stack’s grin widened. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

As Smoke headed for the porch, Stack leaned back against the railing, smile deepening. He’d just found himself the perfect excuse to be around Miss Doll a whole lot more.

-SWEET BABIES-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface

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Immediately. I gotta take breaks while I’m reading to gather myself! Smooth talking MFs. I’m so glad I came across this!😮‍💨 TOO GOOD.

Me, at work, working on the new part for "Under Their Roof":

Ooooooo, prepare to be sick of me!

Catch Up Here: Under Their Roof Masterlist

-SWEET BABIES-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface @cchampangemammii @brownskincheyenne @zunibugsiren @mimi2618 @amor33 @swatson06 @lovesbysblog

[l-u-xwrites]

CHADWICK BOSEMAN & NICOLE BEHARIE 42 (2013), dir. Brian Helgeland

[l-u-xwrites]

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Are yall gonna whoop my ass if I say I’m sick of the durags??? Let me know.

Now post a video smoking it aaron!

[l-u-xwrites]

social media is fake. enjoy your real life.

[l-u-xwrites]

Ugh! The way I had to keep stopping to scream and kick my feet. LMFAO. I cantttttt 😭 PATRICE please don’t rush that man. 😂

ooooooo I need a Terry reaction to Patrice tryna rush him….I smell a Terrance Richmond tantrum 👀🤭✨

By Patrice’s calculation, she and Terry had been at it far too long.

A breakfast date featuring three too many glasses of champagne masquerading as mimosas turned giggles and flirting into a meeting of bodies they both knew was coming but still allowed to knock the wind from their lungs as they fumbled through the front door and to the living room couch, landing clumsily on top of one another.

Patrice thought their theatrics were hot. Whimsical. Something a romantic drama lead might do if she met a cute man in the city and decided to test her luck.

Their deep dive into passionate fucking was supposed to be quick. After all, she had a mountain of baby clothes to clean, fold, and sort before their bundle of joy returned from a weekend at Maman’s. Then there was that stack of mail. It was starting to clutter up her dining table and Patrice despised a cluttered dining table. How else would she show off those chargers she bartered over at an estate sale? If she chose to skip the mail, she at least needed to knock out grading a round of pop quizzes. She knew the grades would come back unsatisfactory, but it was better to confront the failings of a subpar week of instruction than delay the inevitable.

All those thoughts and more rattle around a brain meant to be consumed with her lover. Terry, however, gave himself fully to the moment.

When the morning began, he found himself worried about signing day and spring training. Sure, they were a ways off with the first bite of fall requiring a light jacket in the morning and short sleeves by the afternoon, but it didn’t hurt to prepare. At the restaurant, he tried to stave off desires to text his mom about Nyla’s well-being and fought to remain focused on the conversation until alcohol dissolved tomorrow’s problems and reminding him of the treasure sitting across the table.

At the first squeeze of her walls around the part of him that required immediate relief, Terry knew he could stay like this with Patrice all day. And he intended to make it so.

With hips rolling in a precise yet languid rhythm, Terry pressed his lips to the pumping vein on Patrice’s neck and muttered high praise against her slick, hot skin.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” A prayer and offering to the goddess beneath him fell from Terry’s lips as he felt their bodies become one over and over.

Patrice closed her eyes and sighed out a response. “I know, baby. Come on. Let me feel you. I need it.”

“Slow down, Piggy,” Terry cautioned. His wife was prone to mentally wandering, sliding further and further away from present circumstances until she could no longer stand the notion of experiencing each second as they came. He lifted his head to make eye contact. Pleading. “Let me take my time.”

“Come on, Pooh. Do it for me?”

What Patrice meant as a sensual plea to feel her lover come to release inside her reached Terry as a slight – a selfish request to neglect something special and return to shit that would still exist later.

Miffed but undeterred, Terry buried himself deeper, drawing a long moan from Patrice’s beautiful lips. Rarely had he allowed his full capacity to fill her in that way for fear of injury. But rules were made for breaking. Especially on a Saturday evening when the luxury of time provided space to learn a new lesson from the Book of Terrence.

Terry’s strong hands and long fingers slowly pulled Patrice’s arms away from their position around his neck to pin both limbs above her head. He nipped at her bottom lip in a light show of dominance before touching her forehead with his.

“You need to be somewhere I don’t know about?” Terry watched Patrice’s thoughts go blank as her pupils changed size and she bit back a snarky response. “Do not rush me. Forget all that other shit keeping your head in the clouds and be here with me. Right here. Right now. I’m not gonna ask again.”

Even Terry’s stern redirection felt gentle to Patrice as she stared up at him with renewed fervor. The nearly unbearable heat of desire returned to warm her body from the inside, erasing worries about stupid tasks with arbitrary deadlines.

“Okay,” Patrice responded, her voice low and dreamy. “Take your time, baby. You have me all day.”

The mention of early afternoon transitioning into the hours just before dusk with them still in the clutches of lovemaking excited Terry into slow kisses growing hungrier by the second.

If he had all day, he intended to make use of every minute.

[l-u-xwrites]

Kindle

Very cutesyyyyy! Enjoy my loves! 🎀

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x Black Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

You were halfway through typing an email to your boss when your phone lit up on the desk beside you.

Mike 🤎

Hey beautiful, what are you doing after work?

Your stomach did that weird little swoop it had been doing every time his name popped up for the last few weeks ever since you met him at that charity mixer and somehow, against all odds and with all your awkwardness, he’d asked for your number.

You waited a few seconds before opening the message, not because you were playing hard to get, but because your palms were suddenly sweaty, and you didn’t want your thumbs to betray your anxiety with the wrong response.

Another ping came in before you could reply.

I was thinking you could come over. I’ll cook for you.

Your heart stopped. Come over.. His place. His kitchen. His… couch? You stared at the screen until your coworker/bestie/occasional life coach, Yasmine, walked into your office.

“Girl. You look like somebody just told you Beyoncé’s on line one.”

You shoved your phone toward her like it was evidence in a murder case. “Look.”

She read the texts, her eyebrows climbing higher with each line. Then she smirked. “Oh.. Oh! This is great! What's wrong?”

You whispered like the FBI was listening, “Is this too fast? We’ve only been on, like, three... maybe four dates.”

Yas gave you the "are you seriously like this" face. “So? It’s dinner. He’s making you dinner. What’s the problem?”

“What if,” you swallowed, “he’s inviting me over because he thinks I’m… easy?”

Yasmine snorted so hard you thought she might choke. “First of all, you are not easy. Second, You make people go through obstacles before you even give out your middle name. And second again... girl, maybe you do need to get some D!!”

You slapped her arm. “Be serious!”

“I am serious. Look at you! You’re over here spiraling while a fine man who looks like a Greek Statute is trying to cook for you. Do you know what women would do to get that invitation?”

You bit your lip, glancing at your phone again. “I don’t know…”

Yas rolled her eyes, grabbed your phone, and started typing.

“What are you doing??”

She handed it back. “You’re going. I said ‘yes’ for you. You’re welcome.”

You stared at the screen.

Sounds perfect. What time should I come by?

A second later, his reply popped up.

How about 7? Gives me time to get things ready. Can’t wait to see you.

Your brain short-circuited.

6:15 PM found you standing in front of your mirror, every single outfit you owned scattered across your bed. You’d settled on a soft, matching lounge set. Cream-colored, long-sleeve top with the yoga pants that flared at the bottom. Something that said casual but still fine. Your curls framed your face just right, bouncing every time you turned your head, and you’d gone for no makeup tonight but still, you were glowing. You spritzed your favorite perfume, not too heavy, just enough that if he hugged you he’d catch it. Your stomach twisted the whole drive over. Part of you still wondered if Yas was wrong, if you were walking into something you weren’t ready for. But when you pulled up and saw Michael’s front door framed by warm light spilling out from inside, your nerves tangled with something softer excitement.

He opened the door before you could even knock. He stepped forward, arms warm and solid, wrapping you up like he’d been waiting all day for this moment. And yes, he smelled divine.

“Hey, you smell so good” he murmured, low and warm in your ear, before pulling back with that smile that had been haunting your Instagram feed.

“Hi, thank you,” you smiled, your voice a little breathless.

“Come in. I’ve got everything started already.”

His kitchen was warm and smelled incredible. Something savory, with rosemary and butter. On the counter, a bottle of red wine was already open. He poured you a glass and handed it over.

“I hope you like short ribs,” he said. “Braised them low and slow since this morning. Thought we could do mashed sweet potatoes and roasted brussels sprouts with balsamic glaze.”

He moved around the kitchen with this quiet confidence, sleeves pushed up, muscles flexing in just the right way every time he reached for something. He stirred a pot, checked the oven, chopped fresh herbs all in this smooth rhythm, like he was composing a song only he knew the melody to.

“You really cook,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Michael chuckled. “What, you thought I was gonna have DoorDash in the kitchen and pretend?”

“…Maybe.” you said laughing.

He laughed again, shaking his head. “Nah. I like cooking. My mom made sure I knew how to take care of myself.”

You watched him, trying not to stare too hard, but every move he made, the way he leaned on the counter to talk to you, the little smile he’d throw over his shoulder. He was making it harder to remember why you were nervous in the first place. Still, the thought sat there.

He glanced over his shoulder. “So, how was your day?”

“Very busy. I have a new project that I am working on for a few celebrities. Yours?”

“Good. Lots of meetings, workouts… nothing too exciting.” He plated the sprouts, then looked at you again. “What about your week? Anything you’re looking forward to?”

You sipped your wine, stalling, trying to hide your smile. “I guess… this, honestly.”

“That’s a good answer,” he said, smiling like it landed somewhere deep. “You know, I'm really glad you came tonight.”

You hesitated, tracing your finger along the stem of your glass. “Can I be honest?”

“Always.” He said noticing the slight change in your tone.

He paused mid-movement, setting down the spoon. “Why?

You exhaled. “I just... we’re still getting to know each other, and when you said to come over, I guess I worried maybe you were… expecting something... more.”

It was his turn to set things down and step closer. “Hey,” he said softly, “the only thing I’m expecting tonight is that you eat good food and let me enjoy your company. That’s it. No pressure, no hidden agenda. I like you. That’s why I asked for you to come.”

The knot in your chest loosened so suddenly you almost laughed. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed with a smile, brushing his fingers over yours before going back to the stove.

Dinner was perfect. Tender short ribs that fell apart with your fork, sweet potatoes creamy with just a touch of cinnamon, and sprouts roasted until crispy, the balsamic tang balancing it all. You laughed until your cheeks hurt, wine making you warm and relaxed.

After you helped him clear the plates, he nodded toward the living room. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit.”

You settled into the couch, and he dropped down beside you, close enough that your knees touched. The TV played something low in the background, but neither of you really looked at it.

You stared at the floor for a second. “I… didn’t want you to think I was easy.”

One corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t laugh. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“Yeah.” You lifted your eyes to meet his. “Like maybe you were inviting me here for...” You gestured vaguely, cheeks heating. “You know.”

His brows pulled together slightly, but his tone stayed soft. “I mean, you’re gorgeous, so yeah, I notice that part of you. But that’s not why I asked you here.”

“Then why?” you asked. Just hoping for that bit of reassurance to calm your mind.

“Because I wanted to cook for you. Because I like the way you laugh, and I’ve had a long week and spending a couple hours with you sounded like the best possible way to end it.” He shrugged, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Something in your chest loosened. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

“Maybe I did,” he countered, his voice dropping just a little. “So next time you don’t waste energy worrying about something that’s not true.”

At one point, your head found his shoulder. His arm slipped easily around you, palm warm on your side.

“This is nice,” you murmured.

“Thanks for trusting me enough to come over,” he said.

“Thanks for proving my best friend right.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

“That maybe I needed to get some D and to stop being so scary.”

Michael burst out laughing, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And before you could retreat into embarrassment you tilted your head to look at him, and his eyes caught yours, soft, like he was memorizing the moment. The kiss that followed was unhurried, gentle. His hand cupping your jaw like you might slip away if he didn’t hold you just right. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Told you. No rush. I’m here for the long game.”

LUX <3

Give me some feedback and fic ideas in the comments!! 🫶🏾

[l-u-xwrites]

Ugh you ain’t wrong queen 😭 I’m over here like “where yalll at???” And I got my own stuff to do! Lmfao

Me, waiting for my favorite writers to update fanfics when I could be writing and updating my own:

[l-u-xwrites]

Very much smoke and stack energy 😂 HELL they might light that bitch up just for the flirting, knowing them! Patience is THIN LMAO

[l-u-xwrites]

I need a smoke in my life !!!!!!! 10/10 😭😭😭 I would’ve had 10 babies by now…..

Strike a Pose, Royal Blue

A/N: FREAKS 🫵🏽🫵🏽🫵🏽. Here is the winner of the Post WTS poll, the freak nasty Smut sequel to Stay Awake, Strike a Pose. I had to take out the songs I linked at first lol. Just look em up y'all..

Smut warnings: Semi-public, fingering, stripping, rough sex, hair pulling, Sugar Daddy Smoke! Sugar Baby Annie! Breeding kink

---

Since Smoke's been so tired out from work at home, Annie decides to bring her fashion show to him.

The 369 is Smoke’s newest endeavor, a bar and cigar rooftop lounge on top of the new event/venue building the twins and Bo had put in together. Aimed at those who want a slower paced kind of party, only slow jams and live instruments were allowed to play. Smoke insisted on it when they bought the building, he loved his brother’s energy and appreciated the release of a proper party scene but truly he wanted to offer something more laid back. Something that was easier for him to stay in when his nerves would fray and didn’t get blood boiling. 

Annie likes it. Now when Smoke comes home from managing at 369 he is less stung than when he was called into the Juke Joints. He also smoked less at home now. Annie likes the slower pace of the lounge, it means less issues arose. It means that even with him on the clock Smoke had more time on his hands. It means that when Annie walks in his establishment, she is promptly addressed by him.

Like tonight, a warm but breezy evening, the moon is high in midnight and a soul singer with a sultry cover band is playing live. Annie opens the door and sways into the lounge as the singer’s velvet alto pours out the devilish lyrics to Satisfaction by SiR from her wine colored lips.

Annie’s hair is in french curl braids that frame her face in playful layers as it cascades down to her waist. Her make up is light, dewy skin with big lashes and eyeliner, a glossy chocolate lip to tie it together.  Annie smells just as delicious, Shea butter vanilla tuberose with a hint of musk that always sends Smoke into a tizzy. The only jewelry she wears is Smoke’s gold chain, diamond studs, and her wedding ring. 

What was most important, Annie currently wore nothing but a Knee-length trench coat dress and navy leather, red bottom heels.  

The full-figured woman takes the long way around the venue towards the bar. Pausing to greet the hostess and regulars, swaying and switching her hips enough to draw curiosity as to just why she was concealing those sinful curves of hers. She gives an innocent look towards the one-way glass wall that walled the part of the venue where Smoke’s office and watch point laid. 

Annie makes sure to blow a kiss towards there before finishing her round and ending up at the bar. 

“Hey Toni, let me get that bottle of Ceretto off you.” Annie says, the curly headed bartenders raises both her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Do you mean a glass Mrs. Moore?” Toni squeaks but gasp when Annie sends her a cheeky grin and pulls a roll of 100 dollar bills from her pocket. 

“No baby, I mean the whole bottle. A fresh one.”

“Mrs. Moore, that’s a 300 dollar bottle.”

“And here’s 400. Keep the change.” Annie offers, leaning in over the bar top to place the money in Toni’s apron pocket and accepting the elegant black bottle from her. 

“Quiet night?” Annie asks once she sits back on her stool, opening the bottle and taking a deep drink.

“Uhh, yes. Everyone's behaved.” Before Toni can say anything more, Annie’s phone goes off with a soft bell sound. 

Smoke’s text notification, she’s been spotted. 

Good.

“Have a fantastic night!” Annie says before getting off her stool and sauntering towards Smoke’s office. Her heels tapping steady and dangerously as she climbs the short stairway, turns the corner and finds herself in the open doorway. Annie leans on the frame, crossing her legs, she takes in the sight of herself in the mirrored wall first, before dragging her eyes over to her man. 

Smoke is temptingly handsome as usual. In a nice-fitting gray dress shirt, a blue with a tasteful pinstripe tie and black slacks. Smoke sits in the leather lounge chair that usually faces the window wall that stares down at the lounge below. Instead it was turned to watch the doorway. 

Turned so that Smoke sees just Annie through the haze of his cigar smoke. Annie smiles at him, then tilts her head back as she takes another deep drink off the expensive bottle. Smoke can’t help but drag on the cigar as he watches Annie’s throat bob and neck stretch, ever her tiddies tease with a slight bounce that is half-hidden by her dress.

“Mrs. Moore.”

“Mr. Moore.” Annie purrs as she finally struts in, hand brushing behind her to close the door. Annie locks Smoke in a stare akin to that of a pantheress spotting prey, that smoke matches with a gaze that promises to devour. Annie’s free hand loosens the knot at front of her dress, enough slack so she now gives her man a peek-a-boo of cleavage. The only thing that allows the fabric to cling to her body is a dangerously loose tie and two buttons.

“What's the meaning of this visit tonight?” Smoke asks as he settles back, legs spread wide and his free hand tapping his knee. Annie stands between his legs, she eyes his cigar and Smoke smoothly gives it up to her soft hand. He licks his lips to see her wrap those luscious lips around the thick end, cheeks hollowing to pull a drag on it that roasts the lit end. Annie moans a little in her chest at the hint of black coffee off the wrap of tobacco before pulling the cigar back and slowly blowing the smoke out her mouth and over him. 

“Just a woman who wants some Smoke.” Annie says and Smoke lets out a deep sound that half chuckle half growl, all full of amused arousal. 

“I can offer that.” He tells her. Annie smiles before snuffing the cigar in the ashtray next to them. Her blue french-tipped fingers tip Smoke’s chin up then rubs his bottom lip, “I think you needa drink,” she whispers. Smoke obeys, opening his mouth and letting her pour a hefty swallow in his mouth. He gulps when she pulls back, his tongue pokes out to taste the smear of Annie’s lipgloss that transferred from the bottle to his lips. 

“You know ‘Lijah. I think I’m a little jealous.” Annie tells him . Instantly Smoke’s hands land on her wide hips and pull her impossibly closer before giving the top of her left breast a kiss. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Annie says, poking her lip out with a pout.

‘Imma fix that. Whatcha want, it’s already got.” He promises before start to suck a hickey on top her right breast. Annie gives a breathy moan at the action. Her head leans down and she licks the side of his ear then whispers into it.

“I bought such a pretty outfit the other day, but Poppa fell asleep before he could see my fashion show.” She whispers huskily. Smoke hums in intrigue.

“That’s a damn shame. C’mon then, show poppa what you spent his money on momma. Let me see that pretty.” Smoke asks of her, smacking her ass in encouragement and slyly taking her bottle of wine. The smack makes Annie groan. She takes a few strides back from the man, then gasps to find that Smoke has fully loosened the belt from around her as it drops to the floor. The only thing giving her decency were two buttons. 

“Play my music, Dj?” Annie asks. Smoke does as such, grabbing the remote to the office's entertainment system and pressing play on the last song Annie had queued on her phone earlier that afternoon behind his back. Leak It by Ari Lennox and Chloe starts to play, Smoke takes his own deep drink off the bottle as his eyes lock in on his woman. 

As the music comes alive, Annie sways her body to the bump of the guitar beats. Her rolling curves and swinging ass are akin to an anaconda descending down a tree to prey. Annie plays her hands into her hair, stretching her body so Smoke can witness every stretch mark and swell of thickness move for him as she tightly wraps her braids around until they're in a high ponytail with curls dripping around her face. 

Annie’s hands fall back to her waist, over those pesky buttons as her legs spread. She pops the top button open first and Smoke grunts as her tiddies spill free from behind the dark fabric. 

With another roll of her body to a pitchy note in the song, she pops the last button and tosses all the fabric to the floor. 

Just like that, Annie is displayed. 

Up top Annie wears a royal blue corset that’s all dainty lace between sheer boning on dark skin. The pull of the corset has her curves taunt in presentation. Her heavy breasts and plump cleavage enhanced by a deep v cut down the front of the corset, rose shaped applique barely concealing her dark nipples. The garter straps dive down her front, framing her lap then end mid-thigh, little gold and crystals on the end twinkle in the low light of Smoke’s office.

What excites Smoke the most is the thin royal blue stingy straps the bite into her plush sides, all leading down to a lacy rose over top of her fat pussy in the sheer panties. Annie slowly turns around, her flirty eyes still peering at Smoke over her shoulder.

“Oh, my coat.” she purrs.

Smoke groans, as all he sees is wispy blue bows down her back and Annie’s juicy, round ass. The g string a bold stripe between her cheeks when she slowly bends down to pick up that damn coat. Smoke even sees a peek of that pussy from the back already wet and teary.

Annie trails her hand down the smooth skin of her thick leg until she grabs it and playfully presses it to her front and stands back up straight. Annie teases Smoke by hooking a finger under the first string of her panties and starts to pull it down to expose herself.

She stops with a wink, “Imma let you do that.” Annie tells him as she slowly turns back around to face him. Annie struts up to Smoke and places the coat over his knee before sitting down sideways on his strong leg.

Smoke hums his approval at her choice of clothing while his hand runs down her back. Thick and hard-worked fingers brushing through the silky and tight-tied ribbons of the corset then resting on her lower back. Annie arches it, crossing her legs as she does so, the back meat of her thigh brushing over Smoke’s crotch. Annie nods down at the half drained bottle of wine and Smoke brings it to her lips this time. Smoke watches closely as the pink tip of Annie’s tongue follows around the glass rim before taking a noisy gulp of wine akin to how she chokes on his shaft. 

Smoke jerks the bottle away, jealous that it now knows how heavenly Annie’s lips are and carelessly Smoke lets it clatter then tip over upon his desk. Wine dribbles down Annie’s chest as she gasps at his sudden action. 

Annie giggles and Smoke grunts when the man swiftly adjusts them both Annie rests fully in his lap now, straddling his hips. All the while Smoke takes in a deep pull of her sexy scent. 

“How much it cost, momma?” He practically growls in her ear before kissing into her neck. Annie hums out a moan at the pressure of his eager lips and wet tongue on suck on the soft column on her throat.

“Six Hundred on the Louboutin's. Eight hundred on the coat, it’s Santinni.” Annie purrs as she wraps her arms around Smoke’s neck, pressing his head down from her throat to her chest. Smoke starts licking clean her cleavage of the careless spills of wine down her skin before it can stain the fabric of her lingerie. 

“Uhmm.” Smoke rumbles. 

“Three seventy on the corset, custom.”

“Yeah? I can feel it.” Smoke compliments into her skin as he starts to pull at the ties, one at a time the ribbons unloop and fall to the floor. Annie shivers at the release of tension mixes with her bassy voice echoing over her sternum. 

“Yeah, saved ya money on the panties.” Annie pants once the corset was fully untied she yanks it out the way. Tiddies spilling forward and pressing into the front of Smoke’s chest. “One ninety, Kiki de Montparnasse. Caughta sale.”

“You shoulda bought two pairs.” Smoke reprimands, giving her a few gentle slaps that send waves across the thickness of her ass. Annie’s breath hitches as Smoke grips the left side of the G string af with one strong yank that her rips clean through the lace. Cool air hits the back of her sensitive pussy. 

Smoke brings his hand down between them and Annie gasps as he yanks the rest of the sheer fabric out of his way so he can curl two fingers through her wetness there.  Once-twice-thrice until his whole hand is made slick before his thumb circles her clit. 

“You know I did poppa. I’m good like that.” Annie moans. Smoke nods the affirmative before Annie latches their lips together, pouring her moans of pleasure down his throat as Smoke fingers her properly. Annie grinds on his fingers, the pressure of her movements making his dick harden in his pants. 

“Ya fuckin’ floodin me, Ann! Dammit!” Smoke grunts out as the squeeze of her thick thighs and the barrier of wetting fabric strain against his dick. 

“You made me.” Annie pants.

“So damn pretty.” Smoke swears as he coaxes more and more of Annie’s taste upon his hand, grunting when Annie’s shivering thighs press together and lock his digits in her pussy. Annie powers through to keep grinding down on her lap through the press of her legs, Smoke groans at the pressure building on his shaft from her actions. The need to get in her aching him into madness.

“No getting shy now Pretty Woman. You betta show ‘er to me.” Smoke commands through gritted teeth.

“Make me.” Annie hiss back as she fights to hold herself out just a moment longer, aching for the edge. 

Smoke reaches back with his free hand and sweeps everything off it; papers, a cigar box, a full ashtray, and the empty bottle of wine. Annie chuckles at the clatter of things and it pitches to excited giggles as Smoke swiftly picks her up with in stand then plops her face down on the desk, her face landing in the puddle of wine. The chair is kicked over next to give Smoke plenty of  room work. 

Annie lets out a long moaning whine as Smoke’s fingers curl into a new place inside her while his palm slaps down on her puffy pussy, finally Annie’s legs unclench and spread for him.. 

“Fuckin’ freak.” Smoke groans when Annie looks back up at him with lusty eyes and licks her pink tongue through the peachy puddle of wine on the desk.

“Do something about it.” Annie taunts.  

And that Smoke does.

 Annie grips the chain around her neck as the jingle of Smoke belt unbuckling echoes in the space, she giggles again when Smoke hand grabs the end of her ponytail and slowly wraps her bundle of braids around his wide hand.

“How much this cost me?” Smoke asks as he starts with a gentle tug on that ponytail that starts to tilt Annie's head back.

“Four hundred dollars, gotta full service.”

“It’s good work,” Smoke says as he wraps another twist, and Annie’s head is completely cocked back. “What you tip her?”

“Two hundred.”

“Hummm… let me test this shit.”

“Elijah” Annie yells as Smoke yanks her up, back up and arched, her head on his shoulders. Smoke lets go of the braids in favor of snaking his hand around the front of her throat just as he thrusts into her leaking pussy from behind. Annie’s velvet walls tighten around his hard dick instinctively to the cold metal of Smoke’s chain now pressed to her bobbing throat. 

Skin slaps, the desk creaks, the music turns up in pitch as Anointed By Miguel starts to play.

Both of them grunting and panting in unison when a moan puffs off Annie’s lips, "Wreck my shit baby.”

One of Annie’s hands wraps around his wrist to move Smoke’s hand down to her sternum. The other hand slaps down harshly on Smoke’s outer thigh. Smoke’s dick jumps inside her making both groans before it finds the bottom of his shirt by his hip and tugs him in deeper. Smoke’s hands grips into the meat of Annie’s hip so hard it promises to bruise as he drills deeper in passion. 

“Feel that dick in ya belly Pretty Woman? It’s gotta put another baby in ya,” Smoke growls out as he bucks in and Annie whines out.

Smoke can’t help but suck, then bite into the shea butter soft flesh of her shoulder. Annie cries out then bites into him as well when Smoke tries to silence her pleasure with a hand over her pretty mouth.

 Smoke thrusts in quicker, Annie’s grinds back match perfectly. Thrust for Thrust. Milking one another in chasing sexual highs.

“ ‘Lijah!” Annie cries out as Smoke thrust becomes wild forcing her ass to clap back on him. Both of Annie’s arms go slack and force Smoke to hold her down onto his dick as she cums. Hard. Fucking boneless and tight on his pulsing shaft.

“Ann, shit!” Smoke hisses out before grunting and they both go slack against the desk and into one another.

Smoke cums into Annie, that pretty flutter of her pussy making him lose himself as well. Heavy rope after heavy rope of cum loading Annie’s creaming pussy.

He shot the fucking club up. 

Annie’s pants as she shakes. Smoke takes a deep breath, kissing the bite mark he lefts on her skin before sitting up and pulling out. Annie moans and nearly cums again at the loss of contact, she claws up the desk until she’s on it enough to properly turn and sit on it. 

Annie takes in the sights of her man, pants and drawls around his ankles and wet with the mix of both of their fluids, his shirt rumpled and damp with sweat and his eyes blow out in lust. Annie places a hand on his chest, right on the button line.

“This the Thom Browne?” Annie whispers hoarsely. Smoke swallows but wordless nods, Annie smirks as she grabs into the seam and rips his shirt open, two buttons popping off at her pressure. Annie runs a hand down his front, feeling every ridge of his torso and licking her lips. 

“Annie, please.” Smoke pleads, “I gotta get you home before this club closes.” the man asks for, but his feet obey as Annie drags him back between her legs with a pull on the shirt. 

“So, you the only one allowed to, rip off clothes, and toss three hundred dollar wine bottles on the ground, huh? There’s over sixteen hundred on the floor Elijiah. Wasteful” Annie rasps while she licks up his collar bone, then sucks on his neck. Smoke hums low in his throat at that, he goes to hold her but Annie forces his hands to her thighs.

“You gonna have to pay up.” Annie commands, Smoke nods. Her hand wrap around his hardening dick, thumb circling the wet head of it and her pinky taps on the side vein. 

“You know where my wallet is.” Smoke grunts. Annie smirks devilishly and pumps on his shaft..

“I don’t want yo money today. You gonna put another baby in me Poppa. ” Annie tells him. 

Smoke matches Annie’s smirk, watching as she lines his dick back up with her pussy slit. Both man and woman gasp as Smoke slips in, Annie moans as he gets back to work. 

---

It’s two am. Both the concert in the venue and the cigar lounge have cleared out of patrons and most of the workers. The only one left is Toni cashing out her register. She perks up as suddenly the door to Smoke office slams open, then heavy steps down the stairwell and finally the people exit. 

Toni shakes her head as Smoke saunters by with Annie perched on his back and hugging around her husband’s shoulders. Annie’s edges and curls fucked out, make up half smudged off, skin stanking of sex and cigars, her eyes dumb and insdead of Annie’s sexy but prim trench dress she wears a wrinkled black maxi dress and Smoke’s blazer. 

“Have a good night Mr. and Mrs. Moore.” Toni says politely. Smoke grins so hard his gold tooth gleams, he slips another one hundred dollar bill.

“Night Toni. When you see Stack tomorrow, tell ‘em the lounge closes for the rest of the weekend.”

-- -- -- --

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[l-u-xwrites]

This has me CACKLING 😂

He was the baddest. He was the realest.

[l-u-xwrites]

"Maintenance Required"

Hi guysssssssss! I will gratefully welcome any criticism and comments. I love when you all interact. Help a girl out :) Don't forget to send asks if you have a request or fic idea.

Pairing: Terry Richmond (Rebel Ridge) x Black Female Reader

Summary: Listen… you was minding your business. This man was just fixin’ stuff around the house, shirt off, muscles poppin... you tried to act normal. He wasn’t buyin’ it. Now you on the kitchen table rethinking every decision you made before 10 a.m...

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content / Smut (18+MINORS DNI), Praise Kink, Mild Degradation (light teasing only), Oral (male and female receiving), Teasing / Begging. please let me know if i missed any.

Word Count: 2,900+

The day started innocent enough.

You’d both slept in, tangled under the fan, legs warm, his durag slightly off-center from all the tossing and cuddling. The sun had barely peeked through the blinds when Terry had kissed your shoulder, groggy and sweet, mumbling something about fixing a few things in the kitchen that he had been meaning to get to all week.

You groaned, snuggled deeper into him. Eyes still closed. “You said that last weekend.”

“And I meant it last weekend too,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep. “Today I’m actually gon’ do it.”

And he did. After a shower and breakfast, he went shirtless, durag tied back, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and pulled out the toolbox from under the hallway closet. That should’ve been your first warning because watching Terry work with his hands did things to you. Hormonal, unholy things.

He didn’t even do much. Just started moving through the house like the walking thirst trap he was. Tightening the hinges on the cabinets. Adjusting a crooked shelf near the pantry. At one point he bent over to check the outlet near the floor and grunted and you had to leave the room.

You tried to hide in the laundry, thinking if you busied your hands, your hormones would back down. No luck. Your whole body was running hot. Like clockwork, ovulation was doing its thing, and you were spiraling. Every breath he took felt louder. Every brush of his hand felt like a tease. When he reached around you to grab something from the top shelf, you damn near stopped breathing. Chest to your back. Big, warm hand braced lightly on your waist for balance.

“‘Scuse me, baby,” he mumbled, not even trying to be seductive. But your body reacted like he’d moaned your name.

You pressed your lips together and went back to folding towels and adding more things to the washing machine.

But then Terry had to go and be… that man.. A little sweat at the dip of his back. He was crouched under the kitchen sink. Every time he leaned forward, muscles flexed across his back. His chain swung when he moved, catching the light. His hands busy, tightening the pipe with a wrench.

And you? You were staring. Hard.

You shifted your thighs, heat pooling lower than you wanted to admit. Your tank top was suddenly too thin. Your shorts too tight. This was the third time today you’d caught yourself eyeing him like he was dinner, and ovulation had you on the ropes.

You cleared your throat. Terry didn’t look up. You tried again. “That pipe still givin’ you trouble?”

He finally slid out from under the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he looked up at you. The way he was laid back about it should’ve been illegal. That smirk. Slow and knowing, stretched across his face like he’d caught you stealing.

“You askin’ about the pipe or you tryna distract yourself?”

You blinked. “From what?”

Terry chuckled, standing up. “I dunno. You tell me.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. You watched him toss the towel over his shoulder casually, like he didn’t just walk in here looking like every fantasy you ever had.

You tried to keep it together. “Can’t I just check on my man?”

He leaned against the counter, eyes dragging down your body like he owned it. “You could.”

You raised a brow, pretending like you didn’t feel the heat of his stare crawling over your skin. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.

Say what you want,” he murmured “But if you keep watching me like imma start thinkin’ you want something.”

You swallowed hard. Your hormones screamed "WE DO! WE DO!"

Instead you huffed, “I just like seeing my man handle tools. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

He nodded. “Ok. I’m just gon’ finish fixing the cabinet. Let me know if you need me." he said patiently.

For the next hour, he did exactly what he said, worked around the house. Quiet and calm. He brushed past you again when he went to grab something from the junk drawer. This time he didn’t even say anything, just let his hand rest at the small of your back for half a second longer than necessary. You clenched your jaw. Your thighs. Everything.

You folded your arms, trying not to pout. “You bein’ real extra today.”

Terry leaned in. His lips brushed your cheek. “Nah, I’m bein’ patient.”

His breath lingered there. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. He was so close, you could see the curve of his smile even though your eyes refused to meet his. One of his hands drifted past your hip, like he might walk away and he didn’t. Instead, he let his fingers graze the hem of your shirt, just barely, knuckles running along the skin beneath.

Your pulse jumped.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You always do this,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. You two have been together forever yet, he still makes you so nervous in all the best ways.

“Do what?” He asked innocently.

“Walk around here bein’ all…” you waved your hand toward him, ...like that. Messin’ with me.”

Terry raised a brow. “Like what?”

You looked away. “All fine…..and sweaty... And helpful.” You bit your lip. “It’s rude, honestly.”

Silence.

You didn’t dare look up. But you felt it. The weight of his stare. The way his body didn’t move, didn’t even breathe too loud, like he was giving you all the time in the world to realize what you just confessed. Finally, you peeked up at him. Terry was just watching you. Head tilted slightly. That little smirk playing on his lips like he was already ten steps ahead. He chuckled low under his breath, stepping back in just a little closer, voice dropping.

“Mmhmm.” His other hand curled under your chin, lifting it gently. “Like you want somethin’ but don’t wanna say it.”

“I don’t want anything,” you whispered.

He chuckled. “You lie so pretty.”

Your thighs clenched on instinct, and he felt it.

“See?” he said, voice low, teasing. “Body don’t lie. You gon’ tell me or you want me to keep guessin’?”

You pouted, leaning back against the table, biting your lip like it would help. It didn’t.

Terry boxed you in without touching. His hands braced on either side of you. Trapping you against the counter. You could feel the tension buzzing between you like static.

“You not gon’ talk to me?” he asked softly.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just watching you fix stuff. That’s all.”

He laughed, deep in his chest. “Nah. You watchin’ me like you the one that need fixin’.”

Oh. God.

“You gon’ keep playin’ with me?” he asked.

You blinked up at him, trying to hold onto your last shred of control. “I’m not playi—”

He cut you off with his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “You sure?”

You nodded, lips parting on instinct.

Then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a low growl. “Use your words for me, baby.”

Your knees buckled.

His mouth found yours before you could breathe. It started slow, just lips and tongue and his hands gently cradling you. One went to your jaw, tilting your head just right; the other gripped your waist, dragging you closer. You moaned into his mouth, gasping as his tongue claimed yours. When he pulled back, your head was spinning.

“Up,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

He patted the table. “Get up here.”

You scrambled onto the edge of the kitchen table, breath coming in short bursts. Terry stepped between your thighs, dragging them open with his hands, slow, like he was taking his time unwrapping a gift.

“You this worked up from watchin’ me fix cabinets?” he asked, low and rough.

You nodded. You reached for him, but he stepped back just a bit, dragging a single finger along the inside of your thigh.

“Let me take my time with you, baby. You owe me for all that lyin’ earlier.”

You whimpered, hips bucking into his hand.

“Oh, now you wanna move,” he teased. “Now you wanna beg.”

“Terry,” you gasped, “please….please touch me, I can’t..”

“Yes you can,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your thigh. “You gon’ take what I give you, and you gon’ thank me for it, yeah?”

You moaned. “Y-yes, I’ll be good, I swear.”

He smirked, slid your shorts off with one hand, and kissed right at the crease of your thigh.

“That’s my girl.” Then his mouth was on you.

Hot, slow strokes of his tongue that sent you spiraling. You fell back on your elbows, legs trembling, thighs already threatening to close around his head. But his grip was firm, holding you open like he owned every inch of you.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he growled between licks.

You sobbed out a moan. “Terry….oh my gosh”

“Mmm. Say it again.” Coming up to leave a sloppy kiss on your lips before getting back to work.

“I....I need you.”

He slid a thick finger inside you while his mouth kept working. Your whole body jerked. “Shit, baby. All that pretending, look at you now.”

“Terry, please,” you gasped, voice cracking.

“Please what?”

“I need you inside me...please, I need you so bad.”

“I know , baby.” He stood up, eyes filled with want, and tugged his sweats down, freeing himself. Your eyes locked on him, thick, heavy, already leaking. You damn near lost it.

“Lay back all the way,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, heart hammering. He lined himself up, dragged his tip through your slick folds, and paused. “You ready, baby?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. Please.”

Then he pushed in. Slow, deep, and devastating. You cried out, back arching and closing your eyes. "oh my gosh..."

“Fuuuck,” he hissed. “You feel so good, baby.”

Your hands scrambled for his shoulders, nails digging in.

“Look at me,” he said, cupping your cheek.

You did.

“Good girl,” he whispered. He started moving, long, slow strokes that filled you to the brim, grinding just right at the end of every thrust. Your moans turned shameless.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “So fuckin’ good for me. Look at you. Tell me who’s it is”

You sobbed. “It’s yours...oh God, Terry, I’m yours.” All the praises he uttered really did it for you. He wrapped your legs around his waist, leaning forward to send kisses down your neck and chest. He shifted just enough to hit your spot dead on, and you wanted to scream but nothing came out. You laid there trying to focus on everything that was building up in the bottom of your stomach. “Terry—Baby, I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead,” he growled, hips slamming into yours. “Cum on this dick. Let me feel you.”

You shattered. Body clenching around him so hard he cursed through gritted teeth. He chased his own high fast after that, fucking you through the aftershocks until he growled your name and came deep inside, panting against your skin.

You lay flat on the kitchen table, chest rising and falling, sweat cooling on your skin. The ceiling light above you buzzed faintly, but everything else felt muffled. Quiet. Like the world had tilted slightly on its axis.

Terry laid on top of you, still inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His breathing was heavy, arms braced on either side of you as if he was afraid you might float away. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then he kissed your collarbone. Soft. Lingering.

You shivered, blinking up at the ceiling, smiling tiredly. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes meeting yours. “I did,” he said seriously. “You don’t even know how good you look when you beg.”

You flushed, swatting at his shoulder, but he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, lips dragging along your fingers. “You was up here talkin’ ‘bout please, Terry, I need you. Damn near cryin’ for it.” Laughing and mocking you.

“Stopppp,” you whined, covering your face.

“Nah, you gon’ hear this,” he grinned, nipping at your wrist. “Had me ready to lose my whole mind.”

You peeked through your fingers and saw it, that look in his eyes again. Hungry. Focused. Still not done with you. Your breath caught.

“Terry…”

He leaned in, voice low and rough. “Get up, baby.”

You blinked. “What?”

He slowly slid out of you, biting back a groan at the sight of your body twitching from the loss.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling you upright gently, guiding your shaky legs to the floor.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you murmured.

“That’s alright.” He kissed your temple. “I got you.”

He scooped you into his arms effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs and around your back like you weighed nothing. You squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, voice still breathy.

“Living room,” he said simply. “That one was for you."

He looked down at you with that same fire from earlier low and possessive. "This one for me." He sat you down on the couch gently.

You sat up, eyes locked on him, and licked your lips slowly.

“Sit down,” you said.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You patted the couch. “Let me return the favor.” You moved between his legs, settling on your knees with a grin.

He groaned. Deep and low and leaned back against the cushions, spreading his legs wider as you dragged your fingers over his thighs.“ Look at you,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base, watching his abs tense. You smiled, kissing the inside of his thigh then looking up at him. Your hand started stroking him slow, long and lazy, letting your thumb circle the tip as his hips twitched. “You deserve this,” you whispered. “My man. All patient. All perfect.”

Terry hissed. “Fuck…”

You leaned in and licked up the length of him, then pressed your lips to the tip. Slow and soft, letting him feel every second.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, hand resting gently on your head.

You took him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, moaning around him as your lips stretched to take him deeper. You didn’t rush. You didn’t look away. You wanted him to feel it, every stroke of your tongue, every swirl, every soft suck as your hand worked the base.

“Baby,” he grunted. “Shit… you feel so fuckin’ good.”

You pulled back just enough to speak. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you.” Then you went back down on him, deeper this time, hand working in sync with your mouth. He let out a raw sound, hips jerking slightly.

“Ohh.....fuck, that mouth,” he groaned. “What you trynna do to me, huh?”

You smiled with your eyes, still full and focused, then hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder.

Terry’s head fell back. “Shit. Shit. Don’t stop. Just like that, baby.” He growled, hand gripping your hair tighter now.

“Look at you,” you whispered between strokes, eyes locked on his. “You so fuckin fine, baby.”

He growled, hand gripping your hair tighter now.

“You keep goin’, I’m not gon’ last…”

“That’s the point,” you murmured, stroking him faster, licking him slower. “Let me taste it.”

He cursed loud and that was it. His whole body jerked, hips stuttering as he came with a low, broken moan, spilling into your mouth. You swallowed it all, licking him clean, still stroking slow as he twitched beneath you. When you looked up again, he was wrecked. Legs wide, head tilted back, chest heaving like he just ran a mile. The sight made your thighs clench all over again.

You climbed up into his lap, kissing his shoulder then leaving three soft kisses on his lips. “You alright, baby?”

He laughed softly, voice raspy, eyes still closed. “You just tried to kill me?”

Laughing, you kissed his jaw.

He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck, still catching his breath.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ much.”

You smiled against his skin. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

The room was still now. The TV played something neither of you were watching, just soft background noise filling the silence. Terry laid back on the couch, legs stretched arms wrapped around you. You were still laying on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest, fingers lazily tracing little circles into his skin. The throw blanket barely covered you both, but neither of you cared. His warmth, his scent, the beat of his heart, this was the real comfort.

“…You know,” you said, voice slow and dreamy, “I really was tryna be good today.”

“You failed,” he teased.

You nudged him playfully. “It’s your fault.. walkin’ around here all quiet. Shirt off. Muscles out. Just fixin’ shit. Like some fine ass handyman husband. What did you expect me to do? Ignore that?”

“Nah,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “I liked you squirming. Bein’ stubborn. Tryna play it off.”

You smiled against his skin. “You ain’t right.” You curled in closer, pulling the blanket up around both of you. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing his jaw. “You still got stuff to fix tomorrow?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

L-U-X <3

For some reason I get motivated at 2am lmao. Ngl I think I want to post Ch.3 of What Love Takes and a MBJ or Trevante Rhodes fic. Y’all let me know what yall want in the comments. I’ve also been trying to see if I want to get in on the Sinners action but idk if I’m confident enough yet lmfao. I love all the feedback I have been receiving. Y’all my besties 🫶🏾

And as always my requests are open if you all have any ideas! :) THANK YAAAAA. 💋

[l-u-xwrites]

Cutest shit EVER🥹💛 I love Smoke and Annie !

Stay Awake, Strike a Pose

A/N: Y'all remember my post about Modern Girldad! Smoke? Welp! When i had writers block on WTS, this oneshot flew out instead 🙂‍↔️😁 Enjoy!

After too long of a day, running on too little of sleep, Smoke finally makes it back home to rest. However when a man has three little ladies with a passion for fashion, Smoke has to lock in for just a bit more longer.

Smoke pulls his jet blue ‘64 DeVille into the garage, not one note of music on, just the silence of a long day bleeding into a long evening. He puts it in park, yet remains sitting in the dim lit garage, only letting out a sigh before sinking back in the seat.

Smoke looks at his phone, relieved to see that Annie and the girls were still driving back home from whatever summer adventure they were on for the day. He pulls out the pre-rolls Stack made for him from a little wood box and lights one up, slowly he pulls the nicotine with a billow of smoke down his throat, to his lungs, then lets out through his nose. 

It had been a long day for Smoke. Too damn long.

First, he was woke out of his sleep at 2 in the morning to get to Eastside Juke Joint to bust the knees on some petty little pill dealers with the gall to try and do business in a SmokeStack twin property. 

Then barely got back home to sleep at 4 am, when he was back up again to meet Bo at his warehouse for an inventory meeting at 6 am. 

Then Smoke was called to race over and saved Stack from some crazy lover tossing him out her house naked at 10 am. 

Both brothers then had a late lunch and real estate meetings from 1 pm to 6 pm with too many fucking honkies to stay sane. 

Now here it was, 7pm and he was finally back home. He takes a whole ten minutes savoring that cigarette smoked ‘inside’ the house before spraying himself down in sandalwood cologne and heading inside. Smoke fixes himself a big roast beef sandwich, pops open a cold beer and settles into his recliner. He turns on the tv, letting it stay on random cartoon reruns his girls were watching before they left, not really paying attention, just thankful some noise was accompanying him. 

Smoke only gets through two thirds of his beer and just over half of the sandwich before leaning back and dozing off. 

He’s only out for 12 minutes before the keys jiggling in the door and the chaos of excited sandaled feet hitting the wooden floor rouses him. Smoke only gets a moment to blink before instinctively catching the first of his girls to reach him.

“Poppa!” Smoke hums through a tired smile at the little sweet rasp of his youngest girl, 4 year old Analise. A chubby little thang with cedar skin and Annie’s big doe eyes. She is still firmly in the bobbles and barretts on twists phase, Smoke’s neck becoming casualty to them when she snuggles her head under his chin.

“We went skating! Then we was shopping an-and we got the fancy pasta at Olive’s house an-and snowcones! I gotta big ole mango one!” Analise babbles about the day they had all had. 

“We got a passion for fashion!” sings twin melodies. Smoke chuckles through kissing Analise's head as his nine year old twins, Eliza and Aaliyah dance down the hall with their arms loaded with shopping bags. Just like Smoke and Stack, the two were identical, deeply brown skinned cuties with mismatch gap tooth smiles and coffee colored eyes. Annie often called them two vanilla beans with the ability to sass.

Once the two girls surrounded either side of Smoke they bent in to kiss either of his cheeks in greeting. Smoke braces back with a smile as now his nose and forehead are casualty to their beads (Eliza in pink, Aaliyah in orange) bapping him before they run off towards the hallway bathroom.

“C’mon Lili we gotta do our fashion show!” Eliza cheerily commands, before she ducks into the bathroom first. 

“Hurry up so we can pick our songs AnaBabe!” Aaliyah instructs next before ducking in. 

“Fashion show?” Smoke asks sleepily and Analise nods frantically as she holds her father’s face.

“Yeah poppa, ya gotta watch out show ‘cus ya invited! We gots little brother a part too! Stay right ‘ere!” Analise instructs sternly before hopping off his lap and running to join her older sisters in the bathroom.

Smoke sits there stuck, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes and his hands still open from where Analise once was. It’s prime real estate for Annie to plop their youngest into his father’s arms to release the weight off her chest. Ethan squeals in excitement, his chubby hands grabbing the edge of Smoke’s plate. Smoke is quick to move, but not quick enough as the 10 month old now has a handful of roast beef and mustard splatters on Smoke hand and Ethan’s face. 

“Boy!” Smoke scolds playfully, Smoke is barely able to wrestle the meat out his Ethan’s strong little fist. Only being able to grab it once Ethan brought it to his mouth, the little boy is only able to steal a small bite before letting his father have it back. 

“Annie, can ya-oh.” Smoke pauses to see he was alone with his son. He heaves a grumpy sigh, “Look at ya boy! Justa mess.” Smoke tells Ethan. The baby lets off a trill of laughter, kicking his little legs at his father’s words. Smoke brings Ethan in close then licks the mustard off his fat cheeks, making Ethan squeal again and twists his head to kiss back. Smoke chuckles at the slobbery kiss Ethan plants on Smoke’s chin before pulling back, using the end of Ethan’s bid to wipe both of their faces. 

“Yeah, a bath finna be critical for you son.” Smoke tells him, tapping Ethan’s wide button nose, making Ethan blink in surprise. 

“The music!” Aaliyah hollars, Smoke grins to see her wrapped in a giant towel to hide her outfit as she grabs the roku remote and goes to Youtube. 

“You gotta do the playlist we made in the car, Sister!” Eliza yells from the bathroom.

Aaliyah nods firmly and pulls up the playlist. She then turns back to her father and hands him the remote.

“Okay poppa, you the Dj and ya gotta play our music when we come out. Okay?” Smoke nods with an affirmative grunt and Aaliyah races back to the bathroom. 

“Wait! Bubba’s ‘fit!” Analise says. She too was wrapped in a large towel, nearly tripping over it as she places a beanie on Ethan then scurrying back to the bathroom and closing the door.

“Bapa?” Ethan says in confusion, he turns his head and Smoke snickers to see that Analise had pulled the beanie down so much it covered the poor boy's eyes. It is cute, lined with beige satin on the inside and a fluffy black exterior with little teddy bear ears on top. Smoke pulls it back until Ethan can see again and the baby burps.

Annie appears, moomoo on and face clean of make up. She smiles at the pair of them, taking a moment to pull out her phone and take a picture of her two favorite boys in the recliner before taking the baby. Annie pauses, and take a smell of Ethan before raising an eyebrow at Smoke. 

“Why my baby smell like mustard?” She chuckles and Smoke groans but it morphs into a big yawn. 

“Cus the little nigga greedy. He tore up the other half of my sandwich and only got seven teeth.” Smoke says, ducking when Annie flicks his ear before kissing Smoke’s temple. 

“You ready for the fashion show?” Annie hums and Smoke leans up to kiss her back. 

“Almost.” Smoke says. Annie giggles when he pulls her close, making Annie sit on his lap and Ethan cheers again. Smoke scoots back, letting the footrest of the chair up so they all had more room. He wraps his arms around Annie middle then rests his chin on her shoulder so he could peer around his woman. 

“How much this show cost?” Smoke asks and Annie smirks. 

“Only 300. Eliza kept us on budget.” Annie relays and Smoke hums sleepily.

“That’s my lil banker. I’m gonna have her play the stocks for me, next.” he jokes.

“Dj! We ready for the music!” Eliza hollers from the bathroom. Annie pats Smoke cheek before pulling out her phone and readying to record. The clean version of Umbrella by Rihanna starts to play and Annie bites in a giggle.

“First on the runway! Analise Baby Moore!” Aaliyah introduces. Ethan claps and giggles when his big sister stomps around the corner, her hands on her hips, head held high as daisy shaped sunglasses block her eyes.

Analise struts forward into the living room with strong steps, she wears hot pink rainboots with white leggings under a pink overall dress covered in white embroidered spirals. She wears a white shirt under it all covered in a pale pink raincoat. Analise does a dramatic spin with her arms out to show off the glittery lining of the raincoat prompting Smoke to hum in interest. Analise sharply turns to the side she gives her parents and the camera a wink before tossing her hood up, revealing the pink bunny ears attached to the hood.

“Oh wow AnaBabe! Ain’t you a pink princess.” Smoke awes. Warmth blooming in his chest with Analise grins proudly, hands back to her hips with a little peppy step.

“Babygirl don’ found her color, Elijah!” Annie warns, both grinning over Analise.

“I found my shoes and my rain jacket first poppa, all by myself in the mall! Then me and Sissy found my dress at Kohl's and momma made me get the leggings and stuff to go unders it. And Sister helps me find the sunglasses and I gotta umbrella that match too! But momma said I can’t open it in the house. So tomorrow we gotta go to the park and I can show you!” Analise explains as her shoulder shimmy and she stomps in her new boots. 

“Yes ma’am.” Smoke promises causing Analise to preen and giggle at the promise of a daddy daughter date of just the two of them. Analise continues to strut and pose, promoting her parents to ohh and ahh while Ethan screeches in delight. Soon Analise’s song ends and the pink girl bows then races back to the bathroom before Smoke and Annie can applaud.  

Once she is gone, Smoke groans tiredly, letting the full weight of his sleepy head rest upon Annie’s shoulder. She hums as while patting his head. 

“Want me to pause your fashion show?” Annie asks, Smoke grunts and shakes his head no. 

“Nah, I can hang. The girls are gonna be too excited to go to bed themselves if we cut they show short.” He rationalizes and Annie nods in agreement.

“Dj!” Aaliyah yells next and Smoke hits play on the next song.  Law & Order By BigXthaPlug booms through the speakers. 

“Next on the runway! Sheriff Aaliyah Moore!” Eliza announces. Smoke can’t help but snicker into Annie's neck at the sight of Aaliyah strutting around the corner on beat in teal cowgirl boots, tipping and tapping so you could hear the echo of wooden bootheels on the floor.

Aaliyah wears a pair of light denim jeans with a dramatic ruffle flare at the bottom and the side seams detailed with black cross stitching. A black belt with a big buckle with the letter A bold in silver and turquoise. Her top is a white bandana patterned long sleeve under a long distressed denim vest. Annie pinches Smoke's thigh as he shakes to hold in his laughter at the big ass tan cowgirl hat on his baby’s head. 

“Why ain’t you-”

“She hid it until check out, then whipped out her own money to buy it. Said Uncle Stack told her to always have a statement piece.” Annie whispers sharply. 

“Go ahead baby, Poppa’s Rodeo Queen!” Smoke cheers as Aaliyah tips her hat, starting to cross her legs and sway dramatically to the beat. In a slo mo turn she makes sure to show off the fact that a cursive letter A was bedazzled on the back of the hat in white crystals.

“Okay, hat!” Annie hollers. Aaliyah looks over her shoulder and gives them a big wink and shoots off a finger gun. 

“And all I need now, daddy… is to find us a rodeo and ride us some ponies.” Aaliyah requests, Smoke gives her a resigned look that makes her smirk. “Catcha at the stables!” Aaliyah struts back as the music fades to the soft applause of her parents and Ethan, 

Smoke lets out a big yawn again, enough to press against Annie, forcing himself to stretch back so he’d get enough air to huff out. Annie half-turns giving him a look concern, that he waves off by kissing her cheek. 

“Sandman, ain’t gonna snag me yet.” he assures her, despite the soft click of his jaw as he hides the next yawn. He rests his eyes for a second, flinching when Analise hollers for the Dj again. 

Smoke clicks next, Brown Skin Girl by Beyonce streams out the speakers. 

“Last on the runway, Empa-ress E-lie-za Mo’!” Analise announces. Eliza turns the corner, holding a dramatic pause to undo her bathrobe and let it fall to the floor to reveal her outfit. It is a baby blue dress with a milkmaid top framed with long sheer sleeves that feathered out at the end. The top merged into flowy layers of tulling cascading down to Eliza’s ankles, glittering flowers dotting all over it. Eliza accessories with a pair of dainty silver sandals and jewelry all over.

A diamond heart necklace, matching silver bracelets, dainty band rings on every finger of her right hand, small diamond studs in her ears, and even a tiara sitting prim and proper on her head. 

Smoke’s jaw drops at the sight of his eldest as she walks down the hall with grateful strides, she looks right into his eyes, beaming with excitement for her daddy to see her. Eliza can’t help but sway to the music, once she was properly in the room she starts to twirl, letting all the tulle layers flow and fly around her like a flower bloom. 

“Oh my goodness, Za! You’re so pretty!” Annie coos. 

“We in the presence of royalty Annie, Beautiful!” Smoke says, his tiredness pushed aside in favor of awing his favorite girls. Eliza spins against the other way before curtsying like she saw Brandy do in Cinderella. She shines him with another huge smile and Smoke quickly wipes his eyes. 

‘Thank you!” Eliza says, “Now if we getta go to the Fairy Faire on my birthday, we can meet more empresses!” Eliza offers. Smoke smiles, shaking his head in disbelief as each one of his girls had wrapped their looks in a request to take their daddy for an outing. Smoke hums, rubbing his chin in fake contemplation.

“Perhaps.” Smoke gives to her, already calculating ticket prices, giving her a little wink confirming their plans. Eliza flounces up with a grin and sways away back to the bathroom. Annie stops recording and stands with a shake of her head. 

“And you wonder why they spoiled. Blessed the boy that can attempt to impress them one day.” Annie comments.

“Good! You jealous I got three dates in a row Annie?” Smoke argues back, any teasing tone crumbling as he yawns against his will once more. Annie grins as he starts to bounce Ethan when he fusses at being moved.

“Nah, just feeling pity for that wallet of yours. I ain’t worry aboutcha too much, more excuse for me and E-Man to sit pretty in the pool. Ain’t that right handsome?” Annie offers, kissing his cheek and making Ethan giggle. Smoke settles back as he watches the two of them. Warmth filling his chest at the sight. What was the point of being a rich man if he ain’t spending it? 

“Hol’ on, I gotta get a wipe. I forgot you let my baby season himself with mustard.” Annie chides and Smoke gives a weak chuckle.

“He’s head chef.” 

Annie goes off to the nursery. Only gone 10 minutes to wipe Ethan's face, change his diaper and place him in pj’s. She comes back to find the all three girls back in their night gowns and gathered around their father. Annie hid her snicker behind her hand, flushing when all three girls shush her. Annie is quick to take another picture. 

Smoke was knocked the fuck out. Absolutely gone, with his head thrown back, body completely loose as he snores away. Annie quietly shoos her girls out, herding them upstairs to their rooms. Eliza paues in ehr doorway, a slight frown on her face. 

“But momma, you ain’t get to show daddy the outfit ya got at your secret store!” Eliza says in concern. Annie swallows as the look of herself in that royal blue lacy corset and sheet thong combo she bought at Adore crosses her mind. 

Annie pats Eliza’s head, kisses her forehead goodnight before coaxing Eliza into her bedroom.

“Dontcha worry baby, once poppa gets some rest, Momma’s gonna make sure he gets a fashion show from me too.”

-- -- -- -- --

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