#bp fandom

“Miss Carter, I hope you don’t mind… but we all need your assistance tonight.”

Y/N stood frozen, every instinct screaming for her to turn and run, but her feet refused to move. Three men stepped closer—one who already had power over her, one who hungered for her, and one she secretly longed for. Their shadows stretched across the floor toward her, and with it came that familiar, uneasy twist in her stomach.

Her voice broke the silence, trembling. “Wh-what is this? Mr. Moore…?”

Smoke loomed above her, the other two lingering just behind, silent and watchful. His voice was low, heavy. “We’ve struck a deal with Bo. He’s got his eyes on you. Truth is… we all do.”

His hand reached forward, catching the tie of her robe—not pulling it open, just holding it, letting the implication hang between them like smoke in the air.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling as if the walls were closing in. The helplessness she felt was sharpened by one unbearable truth—that the man she wanted most, the one she thought wanted her, was standing among them, silent. She shut her eyes, shaking her head, refusing to let tears fall.

Bo’s gaze swept shamelessly down her frame. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping close enough for her to feel his breath. “We’ll treat you real nice. And you can treat us real nice, too. Might even throw in a little help for your family while we at it.” His finger traced slowly along her collarbone, deliberate, testing.

Y/N stiffened, her chin lifting despite the chill that crawled through her. Her eyes darted to Smoke, searching for some mercy, but his face was carved in stone.

Bo gripped her chin between his thumb and finger, tilting her face toward his. “See? You could make it easy, doll.”

Her voice cracked, but it carried steel. “So that’s it? You hold my family over me so I can be… used? Just so y’all can get your pleasure?” She shook her head, biting back the burn of tears. “No deal.”

Snatching her chin free, she yanked her robe tighter, spun toward the door—only for Stack’s hand to catch hers before she could reach it.

The room seemed to tilt. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. His eyes, though, were torn between the men behind him and the woman in front of him. “Hold on,” Stack said quietly, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Y’all wait. I’ll talk to her.”

Smoke and Bo exchanged a glance, their silence heavy as they backed toward the bed, watching.

Stack guided her a few steps away, his hand still around her wrist, but looser now. Y/N jerked her arm free and spun on him, her robe clutched tight at her chest.

“You gon’ just stand there and let them do that to me?” Her voice shook, but every word landed like a slap. “The same man who been sneakin’ looks at me, whisperin’ sweet nothings when no one else around—you? You was ready to sell me off like I ain’t nothin’ but… but a hand to play with.”

Stack’s jaw flexed, his eyes darting toward the bed where Smoke and Bo waited, then back to her. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like,” she snapped, her whisper fierce. “’Cause from where I’m standin’, you was ready to let them strip me down and call it a bargain.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, and dragged a hand down his face. “You don’t know the pressure I’m under, girl. Smoke—he don’t play when money and deals on the table. If I cross him in front of Chow, it ain’t just me who pays. It’s everybody.”

Her lip trembled, but her stare burned steady into him. “Don’t you dare use your brother as a shield. You had a choice, Stack. You—” She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “You was supposed to be the one person here I could trust.”

The silence between them was jagged, heavy with betrayal. For once, Stack didn’t have a slick answer, only a storm in his eyes that matched the storm in hers.

Stack stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Listen… I’m sorry, alright? I ain’t mean for it to come out like that. I wasn’t tryna just hand you over. But this ain’t just Chow wantin’ his way—this about me… and you.”

Her brows pulled tight. “Me?”

He nodded, his eyes softening as his hand hovered near her arm, not touching yet. “You think I ain’t tired of sneakin’ ‘round? Watchin’ you from across the room, wantin’ you so bad I can’t breathe? Chow just gave me a way to make it happen—where it don’t gotta be no secret no more. We could finally… finally be together, out in the open. You and me.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling as his words sank in. He leaned in closer, his voice rough. “If it mean I gotta share that moment, so be it. I’d take it, if it mean I get to lay claim to you for real. You hear me? Ain’t nobody else gon’ see you the way I do. Ain’t nobody else gon’ feel what I feel.”

Her heart twisted. He was wrong for it—she knew that—but the way he looked at her, the hunger and the ache in his eyes, made her stomach flutter all over again. She hated herself for it, hated him for saying it, but deep down she knew the truth: she still wanted him. No matter how mad she was, no matter how wrong it felt, that pull toward Stack had her rooted in place, breathless, her fingers tightening on her robe.

Y/N’s voice cracked as she glared up at him. “I wanted a man who’d fight for me, not trade me.”

Stack let the sting settle for a second, then stepped in closer, close enough she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “And I am fightin’ for you, Y/N. You just don’t see it yet. If I ain’t fightin’, then why the hell am I standin’ here stoppin’ them? Why ain’t I lettin’ Chow take what he wants?”

Her lips parted, ready to answer, but the words tangled.

Stack lowered his head, his voice rough. “I’ll share, if it means I get you. But don’t get it twisted—when I touch you, when I finally got you in my arms, there ain’t gon’ be no doubt who you belong to. That’s me, Y/N. Always been me.”

She clenched her robe tighter, chest heaving. She hated how the heat in her body betrayed her anger, how even with her pride burning, his words slipped under her skin like a match striking dry wood.

Her eyes narrowed, but her voice came out softer, trembling. “Damn you, Stack… ‘cause I still want you, even when I shouldn’t.”

His lips curved into that slow, dangerous grin he only saved for her. “Then stop fightin’ it, baby. Let me give you what we both been dyin’ for.”

Before Y/N could find another word, Stack’s hand slid up the side of her neck, tilting her chin just enough. His lips crushed against hers, hard at first, as if daring her to push him away.

But she didn’t.

Her robe loosened slightly under the pressure of his hand pulling her closer, and she felt her knees weaken. The kiss softened then, his mouth coaxing hers open, tasting her like he’d been starving. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath hot and uneven.

“See, baby? This right here… this been ours. Been waitin’ on us.” His thumb traced her lower lip, swollen from his kiss. “I ain’t lettin’ nobody take that away. Not Bo, not even my brother.”

Y/N stared up at him, her chest heaving, her body trembling not from fear but from everything she’d buried for too long. Her eyes searched his, looking for the lie, but all she found was the same hunger she carried for him.

Her voice broke on a whisper. “Alright… you win, Stack.”

And when his mouth claimed hers again, this time she kissed him back—no more hesitation, no more hiding.

Stack’s hand slid over the knot of her robe, slow, deliberate, tugging at the string until it loosened. His gaze never left hers, every pull asking for permission, every pause giving her space to stop him. Y/N’s breath caught, but she didn’t step away. She couldn’t—not when he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room.

The fabric gave way, parting just enough for her skin to glimmer in the lamplight. Behind them, the men shifted in their seats, their stares heavy and unashamed, waiting. She felt their hunger crawl over her, but it was Stack’s hands, Stack’s mouth brushing hers in a slow kiss, that rooted her.

“You don’t gotta be scared,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low, steady. “It’s me and you, like we always wanted. They just…watchin’. You still mine first.”

Her fingers gripped his shirt, and for a moment she closed her eyes, letting the truth of his words sink into her. The men’s eyes were there, yes, but it was him—his touch, his warmth, his claim—that mattered.

When she opened her eyes again, Stack smiled faintly, kissed her once more, and guided her gently forward. Step by step, he led her toward the waiting men, his hand brushing her robe wider as they moved, unveiling her inch by inch. Their stares burned, but Stack’s presence was the shield, the anchor, the reason she didn’t crumble.

By the time they reached the edge of the bed, her robe hung loose, her body almost bare, and the room was thick with desire. Y/N shivered—not from fear this time, but from the weight of being wanted, claimed, seen, as she sat on her knees in front of the first man.

Bo stood from the bed first, stripping out of his dress shirt and vest, throwing them behind her. He looked her in the face, unzipping his pants and revealing his seven-inch, pulsating erection. Smoke looked over at her and said, “Just like how I like it. Let him fuck that pretty mouth of yours, Miss Carter.” Y/N began to insert his erection in her mouth, Bo smirking at the warmth as the twins both stood looking down at her, watching her swallow Bo’s dick. 

Smoke unzipped his pants, beginning to stroke his while Stack placed her right hand on the crotch of his pants. Bo began to thrust her mouth, making her eyes water, and Stack couldn’t lie; the vision made him want her even more. Bo began to slam his dick in her mouth more, making her gag and drool on her breasts, making them glisten under the lights. “Look at you. Pretty little thing with a nice, pretty mouth too”, Bo asked, enjoying dominating her mouth. She used the hand that was on Stack to unzip his pants and pull his out, noticing that he and his brother were very… identical. 

Y/N began to face fuck herself, making Bo’s eyes cross in pleasure and her making an excessive amount of drool; she then gathered the drool in her hands and used them to masturbate the twins. “Ahhhh fuck”, Stack said, feeling as if it was her mouth with how much spit she was using. Smoke rolled his neck, face as stone, and chest moving deeply. Bo grabbed the back of her head and began to slowly thrust into her throat again before ripping her head off his dick. “I hope you boys don’t mind, but I wanna see how this pretty little thing pussy is. Let’s get her up”, Bo said before picking her up from under her arms and placing her on the bed. 

Bo tapped his dick on her wet clit before slowly entering her. The twins watched from each side of the bed, stroking themselves. Her breasts bounced as she was getting her precious puusy pounded, hearing Bo grunt at how tight she. “My Lord, who knew pretty girls like you got such good pussy. Good God. Help me”, Bo said as he slightly picked up the pace. Y/N looked over to see Stack getting on the bed, fully naked like Bo and Smoke and lying next to her. He kissed her forehead and told her “you look so pretty gettin’ fucked right now, Doll. You like bein’ used huh?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Tell me again”, Stack said as he choked her a bit.

“Yes, baby. I love bein’ used. Please, use me”.

“Oh, we gonna use you really good, Doll. You can take all our dicks, baby, hm?”

“Yes, baby. I want y’all to fuck me. Please”, she said, looking in his eyes and shared a nasty kiss before he tilted her head to his brother. Smoke began to face fuck her as Stack watched and used Y/N’s soft hands to masturbate him. Bo loved the sight of a pretty black woman being used but before he felt the urge to nut he pulled out and fingered her instead. “Smoke, you see this fool. He can’t even hang”, Stack said, teasing and Smoke looked over at Bo, holding in a laugh but distracted by his toy’s head skills. Stack nodded to his brother and said “Let’s show him how the Moores do it.” They shared a devious grin as Smoke took his dick out of Y/N’s mouth, Stack put in his instead, and Bo’s using Y/N’s hand.

Smoke shoved his dick into her wet pussy, it already gripping and him groaning. Her eyes began to cross, and Stack looked down at her, smiling and teasing. “Aw, look at that, brotha, you making her eyes cross. I think she likes your dick more than Bo’s there.” Smoke chuckled in his grunts as he picked up the pace, holding her legs back, and the men helping him, holding her ankles back. “And she's flexible too”, Bo said, thanking the Lord. Smoke began rubbing her clit as he kept fucking her, and Stack slowly stroked her throat as she looked in his eyes. 

“Look at my pretty doll, takin’ all these dicks like a champ. Are you a champ, baby?”, he asked as she tried to speak with his dick in her mouth; he smiled, saying, “music to my ears. Hey, twin, lemme get a little taste.”

“My pleasure, brotha”, Smoke said as he pulled out and smacked her pussy, not too hard, with his hand. Stack kept eye contact with his Doll, finally ready to show her how much he liked her. “Bo, I’m finna show you how to make a woman cum so hard her body would melt. Take ya pecka out of her mouth and take notes instead”, Stack said, watching Y/N's mouth finally be freed. He pulled her arms gently and said, “Hold on to me, Doll.” She did just that, and he instantly picked her up, and as she was in the air, he slid her right on his dick, her eyes crossing as soon as she felt the stretch. “See that. Doll already has her legs shakin’ and I ain’t do shit yet. I’m just in that pussy nice and slow. You like that, huh, baby? Go head and tell them for me now.”

“I love it”, she whispered as she moaned, softly riding his dick. “No, no”, he took his dick out, making her pout, and said, “Say it louder and beg for this dick back. Don’t make me upset, doll. Go ’head.”

“I love it. Can I please have it back, baby? Please? I want you to fuck me”, she said, and he smirked, “good girl, doll” as he slowly slid back in, but then fucking her a tad bit harder. “You see that, gotta make her beg for it. It ain’t about how big ya is, it’s about how you use it.” Then, he felt it. Her pussy began to cream down his dick, dripping on his thighs as the guys watched and stroked harder. “Hey, twin. Remember what we did with that one girl in Chicago?”, Stack asked, and Smoke nodded, making his way over. Stack looked into Y/N’s face before kissing her neck and whispered, “Take a deep breath,” and when she did, she felt. Smoke’s dick pushes itself in her second hole, making her eyes look into Stack’s. “It’s too much. Baby, please”, she cried in her moans, and Stack replied. “I know, baby. I got you. Just let go. I got you, baby.” 

Smoke and Stack began to kiss all over her sweaty skin, biting and nipping at it like it was forbidden candy. She found herself bouncing both dicks, enjoying the pain and stretch. “There you go, good girl.” She felt something happening that she couldn’t control. She tried to hold it in, but-

“Ahhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit”, she said as she not only creamed on the Moore brothers but she also squirted all over their thighs and the ground below them. Bo can feel himself about to come from the sight, and Stack looked at his brother. “Time for the grand finale, boys.” Smoke pulled his dick out, using Y/N’s cream to masturbate and watching Stack lie on his back with Y/N on top of him. “Go ahead and be a cowgirl, baby. Ride that dick like it's yours”, Stack said, watching her not only take his dick but also his orders. Stack groaned and moaned as he said, “Ugh, baby. I love this view. C’mere.” He began to pull her chest to his to tongue kiss her, but she had no idea what was going to happen next. She felt Smoke enter her from the back, in the wet hole he was just in and pushed her down to his twin’s chest. The brothers began to pound into her at the same time, making her beat on the bedsheets. She was moaning and crying from the amazing dick. The sensation of having both holes stretched made her come multiple times, back to back. Bo pulled her head closer to him and made her swallow his dick; all holes were being used. 

She couldn’t take it anymore, and neither could they. Right when she was about to come, they went faster and harder, not able to control themselves, and then all of a sudden, like clockwork.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!” The group all began to come in unison, and one by one, they all pulled out. First, Smoke, who stood back watching and breathing hard, then Bo, who almost fainted from the BIGGEST orgasm he ever had, and lastly, Stack, who gently lay her on her stomach before kissing her head and telling her, “You did a good job, baby”. He stood next to his brother and Bo saying “now, look at that” as they watched all their warm nut ooze out of her. “That’s a pretty sight”, Bo said, and that was the last thing Y/N heard.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, but instead of the Moore house bedroom, she was in her own room—fully clothed, hair still wrapped in a towel from her shower the night before. She glanced at the clock: nearly six a.m. Her stomach fluttered with confusion. What had just happened?

The sound of the front door opening drew her down the stairs. There was Stack, dressed casually, rifling through the couch cushions until he noticed her. “There’s my Doll. Good morning,” he said, but paused at the expression on her face. “You slept okay, doll?”

Y/N studied him for a long moment before asking, “Who won the game last night?”

Stack grinned. “Of course, I did. Cleaned up, too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, handing her a few bills. Her cheeks flushed instantly. “You did good last night, helpin’ us out. You were tired. I mean, you put in a lot of work, handled so much.” His eyes searched hers. “Everything okay?”

“What happened after the game?” she asked cautiously.

He chuckled. “Well… Bo was cryin’ like he’d lost his last dime, Slim was drunk as hell, so we had to carry him upstairs. Annie came home after, and she and my brother went on up. I just saw them a minute ago, actually.”

Y/N glanced at the money in her hand. “So… you left? And Bo?”

“Yeah.” Stack’s expression softened as he stepped closer. “And why I gave you this?”

She looked up, unsure.

“Because, doll,” he said, cupping her shoulders gently, “you’re mine. What’s mine is yours. And last night… you cooked, cleaned, helped… you deserve it.”

Before she could speak, he pressed a quick, tender kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you tonight, doll.” With a playful tip of his hat, he was gone.

Y/N stood frozen, the bills in her hand, her heart pounding. It had all been… a dream. She bolted upstairs, falling to her knees in prayer, begging the Lord above for guidance and forgiveness after a dream that felt far too real.

-Sweet Babies-

Tuesday afternoon came and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and brown sugar, the kind of sweetness that clung to the walls and settled in Y/N’s hair as she bent over the mixing bowl. The baby, little Angelina, sat plopped in the middle of the floor with a wooden spoon in her hand, smacking it against a pot like it was the grandest toy in the world. Her high-pitched giggles filled the room, light as music.

“Lord, Angel, you tryna kill us?” Slim’s voice boomed before he even made it through the door. “Smells like heaven up in here.”

Cornbread pushed past him with his big grin, sniffing dramatically. “Ain’t no smell like homecookin’, Slim. Don’t be greedy—let the lady finish before you start beggin’.”

Y/N shook her head with a laugh, brushing flour from her cheek. “I was bakin’ for the house, not for y’all. But I might let you have a taste if you mind your manners and be good boys.”

Stack followed in behind them, quieter, his hat tipped back and his eyes scanning the room until they found her. He didn’t say much, just leaned against the doorframe with that easy calm of his, but the way his gaze softened when it landed on her made her skin prickle warm.

Slim bent to tickle Angelina’s round belly, making her squeal and kick her chubby legs. Cornbread stole a bit of dough off the counter when he thought Y/N wasn’t looking, only to earn a playful swat of the spoon. The whole kitchen was laughter, clatter, and the sweet hum of life.

But underneath it, Y/N could feel it—the way Stack’s eyes kept finding her, lingering a little too long, like he was seeing past the flour on her hands and the apron tied crooked at her waist.

Stack slipped off his coat and hat, finally joining the group. His grin widened the moment his eyes landed on little Angelina, and he scooped her up into his strong arms, peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses.

“Bwoy, don’t be kissin’ on her,” Slim wrinkled his face in disgust. “She don’t know where ya damn lips been.”

Y/N caught herself smiling, quickly turning to the fridge to hide it. But not before Stack’s eyes flicked to her, catching the spark in her expression.

“Shut the hell up,” Stack fired back, chuckling as he bounced the baby in his arms. “My Angelina know her Uncle Stack is good, ain’t that right, sweet pea?”

Angelina beamed up at him and pressed her slobbery little hands against his face. Stack laughed loud, shaking his head. “Now why you gotta put them nasty hands all over me, gal?” His hands were full, so he tilted his head toward Y/N. “Doll, you mind givin’ me a hand?”

She glanced at the men, hesitated a beat, then stepped over with a towel. Gently, she wiped his face, her touch lingering a second too long as their eyes caught and held. The kitchen seemed to still for that one heartbeat.

And then—

“Aight, now,” Slim’s voice cut through, lazy and loud. “Is y’all fuckin’ or not?”

Both Y/N and Stack froze, blinking at him. “Huh?” they said in unison.

Slim leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. “I ain’t stupid. I might be a drunk, but I ain’t gyat dayum stupid. I see how y’all be starin’ at each other. Look like y’all wanna tear this place down every time your eyes meet.”

Y/N’s face burned hot. “I am a lady, Mr. Slim,” she snapped, straightening her apron.

Stack’s jaw flexed. “Mind ya damn business, fool. And quit runnin’ your mouth like that in front of my niece.”

As their bickering carried on, Cornbread reached casually across the counter, snatching up a cookie before anyone could stop him.

Slim chuckled, unfazed. “Mm-hmm, real touchy when I speak the truth.” He tipped back in his chair, nearly toppling, before Cornbread shoved him straight with a grunt.

“Man, hush. You gon’ get us kicked outta here.” Cornbread licked crumbs from his fingers, eyeing the cookie jar like it owed him money. “We came for a taste test, not to run our mouths.”

“Speak for yourself,” Slim muttered, already reaching for another drink.

Stack shot him a look sharp enough to slice. “Y’all got your taste, now get. Ain’t nobody told you to set up camp in here.”

Y/N smirked at the sight of Cornbread stuffing one last cookie in his pocket, like a thief caught red-handed. “You best leave some for the rest of the house,” she teased.

Cornbread raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with takin’ the road snack, Miss Y/N.”

Slim groaned, dragging himself up. “Fine, fine. We’ll leave you lovebirds be.” He winked exaggeratedly, earning himself a well-aimed dish towel thrown by Stack.

“Don’t come back,” Stack called after them as they shuffled toward the door, Slim still chuckling under his breath.

The door shut, and just like that, the noise fell away. The kitchen was warm and golden in the afternoon light, flour still dusted across the counter, the sweet smell of cake in the air. Angelina babbled happily in her uncle’s arms, smacking her little hands together.

Stack glanced over at Y/N, who was carefully piping frosting along the edge of the cake. His voice came quieter now, softer. “Reckon it’s just us again.”

Her hands stilled, but she didn’t look up right away. “Seems that way.”

And when she finally did lift her eyes, the weight of his gaze was already there—steady, patient, and burning slow.

Y/N steadied her piping bag, focusing hard on the swirl of frosting, though her hands weren’t as steady as she wanted. She could feel him watching her—could feel it like warmth against her skin.

“You gon’ stare a hole clean through me, Stack,” she murmured without lifting her head.

Stack grinned around Angelina’s soft coos. “Ain’t my fault you look prettier than the cake.” That earned him the tiniest twitch of her lips, though she shook her head like she meant to hide it. “Y’know, doll. I want this one day.”

“This life,” Stack said quietly, shifting Angelina against his chest. “Holding a chunky, cute baby in my hands… some more chunky ones runnin’ around actin’ a damn fool.”

He paused, letting the picture linger in the air before he lifted his gaze back to her. As he rose from leaning on the counter, his voice lowered, softer now, almost reverent.

“Watching my Doll in the kitchen, focused on cookin’ and bakin’, with her brows stitched together, her face all screwed up…”

Her hands slowed, the icing bag in her grip. She turned her head toward him, and their eyes locked.

Stack’s lips curved into the faintest grin. “Still lookin’ oh so fine and pretty.”

For a moment, neither of them moved—the kitchen gone still except for the quiet hum of the fridge and Angelina babbling to herself.

He walked closer, slow, his boots soft against the floorboards. Angelina squealed in his arms, reaching toward the frosting bag like she wanted in on the fun.

“She your helper?” Y/N asked, glancing at the baby.

“Mm-hm. Best one I got.” Stack shifted the baby to one arm and with his free hand, reached out—big fingers brushing lightly over Y/N’s flour-dusted wrist. “But maybe I need two helpers.”

The touch made her still. He gently pried the bag from her hand, his skin lingering against hers longer than it needed to.

“You mind?” he asked, though he was already leaning in closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with sugar and cinnamon.

Y/N swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “You don’t even know how to hold it.”

“Guess you’ll just have to show me.” His voice dropped low, the kind that slipped right under her ribs.

Together, they stood over the cake, his hand clumsy around the piping bag until her smaller hand slid over his to guide him. Angelina giggled at the sight, as if even she knew something was different in the air.

Stack’s gaze never left Y/N. He leaned just enough that she could feel the brush of his shoulder against hers, the heat of his breath grazing her temple.

“You always smell like this?” he asked softly. “Like sugar… and somethin’ sweeter.”

Her hand trembled under his, the frosting edging a little crooked. She laughed nervously, but her eyes flicked up to meet his—unguarded for once, and caught in the pull of his.

Neither moved right away, but the air between them was charged, heavy with something waiting to break.

Stack let out a soft laugh, the kind that rumbled low in his chest, and leaned back against the counter, still cradling little Angelina in one arm. The baby wiggled happily, clapping her hands, and for a moment, his focus shifted entirely to her, giving Y/N a small reprieve.

“You two are trouble,” Y/N said, trying to keep her tone light, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. She reached for the frosting bag again, finishing the swirl of the cake with a few deft flicks of her wrist.

Stack’s eyes stayed on her, warm and unblinking, but he kept a respectful distance, the counter between them a gentle barrier. “Nah,” he said, voice low, “I think we just… appreciate each other.” He smiled at Angelina, kissing the top of her head. “You happy, huh, little Angel?”

The baby cooed, resting her head against his shoulder. Y/N took a step back, giving them space, though the hum of energy between her and Stack didn’t diminish—it lingered in the air like a charged note.

“You’re too calm,” she teased, trying to hide the way her chest still fluttered from the nearness of him.

“Maybe I just know how to wait,” Stack murmured, eyes soft but steady, as if daring her to look away.

For a few quiet beats, they simply existed like that—close but not touching, connected but giving each other room, the kitchen filled with the scent of sugar and the gentle warmth of domestic life.

Stack carefully lifted Angelina and set her into her high chair, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. Then he leaned on the other side of the counter, arms crossed, watching Y/N work.

“How come y’all ain’t at the juke joint with Smoke?” Y/N asked, her voice light as she piped the last swirl of frosting.

Stack chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Told him I had to pick up a shipment for the club. He busy cookin’ up some more shit for it. Talkin’ ‘bout rooms for folks to… you know… fuck like dawgs. Say we can rent for an hour, make more money.” He shook his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Man, that nigga gettin’ greedy now.”

Y/N slid the finished cake into the fridge, brushing flour from her hands as she spoke. “He may be right. People like to drink, dance… and have sex. I understand that.”

Stack let his gaze linger on her, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Mm. You always gotta make it sound all… innocent.” His eyes softened. “Even when talkin’ ‘bout grown folks’ business.”

Y/N glanced up at him, catching the subtle heat in his gaze, and felt that familiar flutter in her chest. She kept cleaning, though her hands shook just slightly from the closeness, the warmth between them unspoken but heavy in the room.

"That's just how I am. I like to make sense of things," Y/N said, her hands moving over the counter as Stack watched her from behind, quiet but focused.

"Doll," he said, voice low, "I gotta know. Do you and Smoke… y’know… kiss like we do?"

Y/N looked up, catching the sharp weight of his gaze. She hesitated, then answered, "No. That's a rule of his and Annie's. No talking, no kissing, and no eye contact."

Stack’s face twisted in disbelief. "What the fuck? And he wants you to be his… y’know… for what exactly” before he noticed his niece fell asleep.

She drew a breath, reluctant but honest. "Well… it’s a need of his. If Annie isn’t around, he has to… release in some way." 

“And you okay with that?” Stack asked, his eyes steady on her face.

She didn’t answer right away, only gave the smallest nod, her hands fidgeting with the cloth on the counter.

Stack saw more than the nod—he read the tightness in her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together, how her chest rose just a little faster.

Stack leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder and letting it fall behind her ear. His voice dipped lower, almost a growl. "Y'know, Doll. If I was to have you, I would tell you how pretty you look with my dick in ya pussy, while I'm slowly strokin' it.”

His hand ghosted to her throat, gentle but possessive, standing behind her and slipping his other hand under her uniform. "I would tell you that you deserve to be made love to every time you wanted, makin' ya cooz cream multiple times, and you beggin' for more. I would look into your eyes and watch the faces you make, now that I found that special button in ya tummy”, he said as he slipped his middle and ring finger into her tight hole. He began stroking her slowly, pulling her head back and kissing her lips, tongues intertwining. She held onto his wrist for support as she bit her lip.

He pressed a soft kiss to the shell of her ear and released her neck, letting the tension linger in the air.“This pussy is so tight baby. She grippin’ my fingers. Mmmm. And she super wet too? I wanna be deep in you so bad. You look so beautiful when I make you cum. Fuuckkkk, I wish I can bend you over and eat the pussy until you cream in my mouth again. I wanna slip my dick in you bad. I know your pussy fits like a glove too. Are you gonna come for daddy, doll?”

“Yes, baby. I’m gonna come.”

He quickened the pace and right when she was about to come, he gently slid his fingers out of her and sucked his fingers clean as she watched. “Thank you for the test taste, doll,” he said before kissing her and backing away. He made his way to grab his coat and hat before saying. “I’ll see you later, Doll. The boys are waiting”, tilting his hat and leaving Y/N wanting to come just thinking about him. Once Stack stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air hit him. Slim and Cornbread were waiting there, leaning lazy against the rail.

“So, that’s where ya lips been at,” Slim muttered with a quiet chuckle, a crooked grin tugging his mouth.

Stack swatted at him, half playful, half warning, before brushing past. Cornbread only smirked, falling in step as they made their way toward the car.

The air between the three was easy, but Stack’s mind still lingered on the warmth of the kitchen, on her eyes meeting his, and the way that nod hadn’t told the whole story.

That night, Y/N lingered in Angelina’s room. The baby lay curled in her crib, eyes closed, one tiny hand tucked into her mouth. Y/N smiled softly, brushing her fingers against the blanket before gazing down at her sweet face.

A thought settled heavy in her chest—her own family, one day.

After hearing Stack speak so openly about wanting children, about the life he dreamed of, she couldn’t shake the picture of it. The warmth of a home, the laughter of little ones running wild, a man’s arms steady at her back. She felt, deep down, that she could be an amazing mother. A good wife.

What she didn’t want was to stay a nanny forever. And she damn sure didn’t want to spend her life as anyone’s possession, bound up in rules of silence and use.

So what did she want? What could she do?

The questions turned over in her head as she crouched beside the crib, pressing a soft kiss to Angelina’s forehead. With one last look at the baby’s peaceful face, Y/N straightened and slipped quietly out of the room.

Wednesday morning came, and the Moore house was alive with the easy rhythm of breakfast. The table held toast, eggs, bacon, and steaming coffee. Angelina sat in her high chair, smearing cream of wheat more than eating it, her happy coos filling the air as Y/N gently guided the spoon to her mouth. The baby’s giggles bubbled each time Y/N pulled a silly face, the two of them sharing a private joy at the table.

Annie, dabbing at her lips with a cloth napkin, watched them for a long moment before speaking. “Darlin’,” she said softly, “have you ever thought about havin’ a family of your own one day?”

Y/N glanced up, caught off guard, though not just by Annie’s question. From behind his newspaper, Smoke had lowered it just enough to peer over at her too.

Y/N’s smile returned, light and earnest. “I do. I want to have my own children one day. I would like to.”

“How many?” Annie pressed.

“Annie, sweetheart, why you—” Smoke started, his tone sharp with warning.

“Oh hush,” Annie waved him off. “I’m just askin’ questions.”

Her eyes returned to Y/N, expectant.

“Maybe three or four,” Y/N answered after a beat. Her voice carried a hint of a dreamer’s softness. “I always imagined havin’ that many.”

Annie’s lips curved warmly. “You’d make a fine mother. And a wife too. But tell me—when you’re done here in a couple months, what will you be doin’?”

Y/N paused, spoon still in hand. She shook her head faintly before smiling again. “I ain’t too sure… but whatever it is, I just know I’ll be happy.” Her optimism was plain, even as she turned her attention back to Angelina, who eagerly leaned forward for another spoonful of oatmeal.

Smoke peeked fully around his newspaper this time, his eyes fixed on Y/N and the baby. The sight pulled something low and heavy in his gut—something he couldn’t quite name, but it pressed there, stubborn, refusing to be ignored.

Y/N had already cleaned the kitchen and slipped into her gardening clothes. Angelina, in a soft little sundress, sat snug in her stroller as Y/N worked among the flowers. She hummed a tune—something different than her usual—losing herself in it, until the faint burn of cigar smoke drifted into the garden.

“Hello, Mr. Moore,” she said, her back still turned.

Smoke’s eyes went to his daughter first, his hands sliding into his pockets before he answered. “You ain’t heard my bell, Miss Carter?”

Her eyes shut, lips moving in a quick, silent prayer. “No, sir. I did not hear. Do you need me now?”

“Not in the way you think.”

She finally lifted her gaze. Smoke’s face gave nothing away, only the slight gesture of his head. “Come to the porch for a moment, please.”

Without waiting for her reply, he turned, leaving her and the baby behind.

Y/N swallowed hard, then pushed the stroller toward the porch. Smoke was waiting on the steps. She bent instinctively to scoop Angelina into her arms, but he stopped her with a quiet word. Putting out his cigar and slipping it into his coat pocket, he gathered the baby himself. His voice, for the first time, slipped into Louisiana Creole as he smiled down at his daughter, soft and strange, a side of him Y/N had never seen.

When he finally looked back up, his eyes settled on Y/N. “Miss Carter, I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

She nodded once, guarded, and waited.

“When you and ya family move down here for good—where will y’all be stayin’?”

Her gloves came off slowly, one finger at a time. “Not sure. I never thought about it.”

“And work? What do you wanna do?” he asked, letting his daughter nibble on his finger.

“Mr. Moore… I thought I would be at the juke joint.”

He studied her, saw the flicker of overwhelm cloud her features. He took a long breath, letting it fill the silence. “You really haven’t thought about it, have you?”

Her eyes dropped to her shoes. “No. No, I haven’t.”

“’Cause you been distracted,” he said, almost casual, though his gaze never left her. “You should start now, before two months come and you not here no mo’.”

Angelina yawned in his arms, tiny and unknowing. Smoke shifted her gently, then looked back at Y/N. “I’ll put Angelina down for her nap. And in ten minutes, come to my room. I need… assistance.”

With that, he turned and walked inside, leaving the porch heavy with smoke and silence.

Y/N stood there, her chest tight. She thought only one thing—she couldn’t keep doing this.

The next morning, Y/N had asked Sammie to drive her—she needed to pick up her dresses and a few things for Mr. Moore’s poker night. She came down the steps in a mint-colored sundress, her hair tucked neatly into a low bun beneath a wide sun hat. Miss Angelina was perched on her hip, since Annie and Smoke were off at the juke joint.

Sammie reached for the baby first, careful with her weight against his chest, before offering Y/N his hand into the car. Once everyone was settled, the engine rumbled to life.

The ride started off quiet, the only sound coming from Angelina’s happy babbling in the back seat. Sammie noticed it, the silence—felt it tug at him heavier than the summer heat.

The engine hummed low as they rolled down the dirt road, windows cracked, hot air moving through the car. Y/N sat quiet, her chin propped in her hand, eyes chasing the horizon.

Sammie glanced over, then back at the road. “You awful quiet, lil’ bit. Ain’t used to ridin’ without you chatterin’ in my ear.”

She let out a breathy laugh but didn’t quite smile. “Just thinkin’, Sam.”

“Thinkin’ got you all tied up like that?” His voice was calm, coaxing.

Her shoulders lifted. “Future, I guess. Tryin’ to picture where I’ll land. What I’m gonna do when I ain’t here no more. I keep tellin’ myself I’ll figure it out, but… I don’t know. Feels like I’m just driftin’.”

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, slow and steady. “Ain’t no harm in driftin’ for a while. Life got a way of settin’ you where you need to be. But you—” he cut his eyes at her briefly, a softness there, “you ain’t made for driftin’ forever. You got too much light in you.”

Her lips pressed together, her chest heavy. “I don’t wanna waste it, Sam. I want my own home. My own babies runnin’ around. Somethin’ that’s mine. Not just takin’ care of everybody else’s life while forgettin’ my own.”

Sammie’s throat worked before he answered, voice low. “Ain’t a doubt in my mind you’d make a fine mother, fine wife. But don’t you ever forget—” his hand tightened on the wheel, “—you more than what folks want from you. You somethin’ all your own, Y/N. World gon’ see that one way or another.”

She finally turned to him, eyes soft, glimmering. “You really believe that?”

His jaw shifted, and for a heartbeat too long, he looked at her instead of the road. “I don’t just believe it. I know it.”

Her breath caught, but she only nodded, looking away again, tucking the moment into her chest like something too fragile to touch. Sammie’s hands gripped the wheel a little tighter, the silence between them warm, heavy, full of all the things neither of them said.

As they stepped into the dress shop, Pearline had all of Y/N’s altered dresses lined up and ready. “So, I fired that woman who sold Mary that dress,” Pearline announced, straightening a hanger with a snap. “Apparently, she gave her a discount without tellin’ me. Anywho, that pasty heffa ain’t allowed in my store no mo’.”

Sammie, with Angelina perched on his lap, raised his hands in mock surrender as he bounced the baby. “Lord, I love it when my woman gets like that. Makes me wanna give her a few little Sammies of her own.” He puckered his lips, making kissy faces at Pearline until she rolled her eyes.

“My Lord, my ears,” Y/N groaned, turning away and covering them with her hands in mock protest.

Sammie only grinned. “Yeah, but at least we wasn’t in the stock room the other night.”

Y/N’s head whipped toward Pearline, eyes wide. “You told him?”

Pearline shook her head quickly. “Nope. He told me.”

“Pearline!” Sammie teased, and Pearline threw her hands up. “Don’t look at me! I ain’t takin’ the blame for no more mess.” 

Y/N smacked her thighs and asked “who else know?” Sammie shook his head and said “no one. Just us. We saw him pullin’ y’all into the room and we knew he was lickin’-”. 

“Okay, okay. Not in front of Angelina. But… Slim asked yesterday if we… you know, were intimate,” Y/N admitted.

“Sammie, how’s your cousin? Is Elias a good guy?” she asked, settling on the ground near his legs.

Sammie looked at her thoughtfully. “Yeah, he is. Always helpin’ folks. And before you came back, he stayed with Angelina whenever he could.”

“Really?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Sammie said. “I remember when Angel was real small—born early, too. Everyone was worried, upset even. But Stack… he stayed in the house with her, asked my pa to pray, walked her around, nursed her. That’s why he named her Angelina.”

Pearline, sitting next to him, blinked. “I never knew he named the baby.”

“Yeah,” Sammie nodded, smiling softly. “He said she was his angel… begged them to name her that.”

“Y/N, how do you feel about him?” Sammie asked, watching her closely.

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. Finally, she whispered, “He… makes me feel safe. He’s so sweet, a gentleman… a good kisser. When he’s around, I can be myself. He makes me feel seen. He makes me feel warm.” She paused, biting her lip. “I hate to admit it, but I see myself with him. I think… I like Pearline reached over, giving Y/N’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay to be scared, sugar. Feeling like that… it means you’re human. But don’t let fear hide what your heart already knows. Stack… he’s a good man. You can feel it in how he looks at you, how he cares for you. And I can tell—he really wants you too.”

Y/N’s eyes glossed over, a small smile tugging at her lips. She looked down at her hands, then back at Pearline. “I just… I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You won’t,” Pearline said firmly, her smile softening. “Sometimes love’s about trust. And you… you’re allowed to feel this. Allowed to want him, just like he wants you.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, her chest loosening a little. For the first time in a while, the fear felt a little lighter.

Since then, day after day, Y/N found herself thinking about how she felt. Her fingers pressed against the counter as she chopped vegetables, pretending to focus, but her mind kept drifting back to him. Stack… there was something about him that made the chaos of the world fade into background noise, like the hum of the refrigerator could drown out every worry. He made her feel safe in a way that didn’t feel suffocating—like she could finally breathe, even if the air around her was thick with things she didn’t yet understand.

She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away, yet a small smile tugged at her lips. She couldn’t deny it—she liked him. Liked the way he carried Angelina without fuss, the playful teasing in his voice, the way he looked at her as though she were something delicate he never wanted to break.

But could she let herself want him? Could she trust that kind of feeling without losing herself? She had dreamed of a life like this—quiet, warm, full of laughter and family—but dreams were easier than reality, and reality had weight.

Still, whenever she caught him watching her—just watching—her chest would tighten, and her heart would flutter in a way she’d never quite gotten used to. Maybe, just maybe, she could imagine a life with him in it.

In her pressed nanny uniform, Y/N busied herself in the kitchen for poker night—“men only,” as Pearline had said, which meant she was there to cook, not mingle. Friday nights were for the women, Stack’s idea, so the men had their turn on Thursdays at the Moore house. She’d laid out a full spread already: trays of mixed nuts, homemade potato chips, and a chest packed with ice-cold bottles. In the kitchen, the skillet hissed as she fried spam for sandwiches, while cookies, brownies, and catfish with fries waited nearby. A complete feast for hungry, heavy-talking men.

One by one, they filed in. Sammie was first, already laughing, followed by one of the bartenders and Cornbread’s other guard. Next came Bo Chow, his eyes lingering on Y/N as she greeted him politely. “Evenin’, darlin’,” he said with a lip bite. Y/N only nodded, keeping her distance.

Then came Slim and Cornbread, voices booming, ready for drink and cards. Slim gave her a side hug and dropped a kiss on top of her head, already piling his coat and hat into her arms. Another coat followed. Then another. Before long, Y/N’s arms were stacked high, her balance tipping under the weight.

And then came the man she wanted to see.

Stack stepped through the door, eyes landing on her, his chuckle low and easy. “Need help, doll?” he teased, but he didn’t wait for her to answer. With one arm, he scooped the heap of coats and hats from her, lifted them high enough to shield their faces, and stole a few quick kisses—warm, secret, enough to make her knees flutter. By the time he tossed the pile onto a chair in the living room, he was winking at her, that knowing grin tugging at his lips.

Butterflies. Always butterflies with him. Y/N turned to lock the door, her heartbeat racing, and followed behind him into the din of laughter and cards.

The living room filled fast—smoke curling from cigars, the clatter of poker chips, men’s voices overlapping like a brass band. Cards snapped against the table while whiskey poured heavy, loosening tongues and laughter.

Slim slapped the table. “Hell, Sammie, I told you last week you ain’t got the nerve to bluff me! You look like a man who owes rent every time you hold a bad hand.”

The men roared, Sammie holding his cards close with a grin. “Don’t worry ‘bout my rent, Slim. Worry ‘bout your wife findin’ out where you hide your money.”

“Ooooh!” Bo Chow hollered, tossing a peanut at Slim. “Better sleep with one eye open, Slim.”

Laughter shook the table, glasses clinking. Y/N floated in and out of the room with trays, setting down fresh sandwiches and catfish. Each time she passed, the noise dimmed in Stack’s head. He watched her like a man watching sunlight slip through blinds—quiet, steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second.

“Stack!” Cornbread called across the table. “You playin’ or starin’?”

The table erupted again. Y/N’s face warmed, but she kept her eyes down, smoothing the tray on the table. Stack just smirked, taking a slow sip of whiskey before laying down his hand. “Don’t need to stare, Corn. Already know I’m sittin’ pretty.” He spread his cards. “Read ‘em and weep, boys.”

Groans and curses filled the room, Slim tossing his hand down. “Man got all the luck tonight!”

“Luck?” Stack drawled, leaning back. “Ain’t luck when you’re born with the gift.”

Bo Chow grinned wicked. “That what all the ladies call it too?”

The room howled, men pounding the table. Y/N nearly dropped the serving spoon in her hand, her eyes shooting wide as her cheeks flushed hot.

Stack cut the noise with one sharp look, that smile still tugging but his eyes warning. “Best watch that mouth, Chow, or you’ll be eatin’ your cards for supper.”

The laughter thinned but the energy stayed, men ribbing each other and dealing the next hand. Y/N slipped back toward the kitchen, her heart thudding, and just before she crossed the threshold, she felt Stack’s eyes on her again. He didn’t say a word, but that grin—the one meant only for her—said plenty.\

The living room was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of fried fish. Cards slapped the table, whiskey bottles clinked, and laughter bounced off the walls like dice in a cup.

Cornbread leaned back in his chair, waving his glass. “Now that juke joint been jumpin’ lately. Friday nights sound like a hen house from the outside—women cacklin’, dancin’, spendin’ up all they men’s money.”

Slim chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth. Walk in Saturday mornin’ and the floor so sticky from gin spills, you damn near lose your shoes.”

Bo Chow smirked, tossing a peanut in his mouth. “Yeah, but worth it when you see them skirts twirlin’. Heard Millie Mae almost fell out her dress last week. She still askin’ for you, Stack.”

Stack didn’t even look up from his cards. “She ask, she don’t get.”

“Ooooh!” Sammie barked, slapping his knee. “Hear that? Man said she don’t get!”

The table howled. Chow leaned forward, eyes glittering. “C’mon now, Stack, you mean to tell me all them women throwin’ themselves at you, and you sittin’ here actin’ like a saint? Don’t tell me you ain’t takin’ nothin’ home.”

Slim wagged a finger. “Yeah, ‘cause last time I seen, half them gals woulda fought each other in the dirt for you.”

The men roared, but Stack stayed cool, turning a card over with steady fingers. “Let ‘em fight, I ain’t losin’ sleep.”

The room was loud with hollers, cards snapping against the table, and coins clinking as pots grew fatter. Cigars smoked up the ceiling while glasses of whiskey sweated onto coasters.

Cornbread leaned back, squinting at Stack through the haze. “So what’s the secret then? What woman got you sittin’ here smug like you already won?”

The men chuckled, leaning in for Stack’s answer, but Smoke’s eyes narrowed, already studying his brother. He knew that look—that quiet ease Stack carried like he was holding somethin’ close to his chest.

Stack didn’t flinch. Instead, he set down his cards with a sharp snap. Four queens spread wide across the table. The men groaned and cursed, some throwing down their hands, others slapping the table in frustration.

“Hell naw, again?” Slim barked, pushing back his chair.

“Man, you cheatin’!” Cornbread hollered, though he was half-grinning.

But Stack only leaned back, that deep belly laugh rolling out of him, rattling glasses on the table. “Ain’t no cheat—just good at the game,” he said, voice rich with amusement. Then, calmer, almost too casual, he added, “Already won in life anyhow.”

The table jeered, calling him cocky, but while they were distracted, Stack’s eyes slid across the room. Found Y/N as she bent over the sideboard, setting down another plate of food. He caught her, winked, just quick enough for her heart to stutter—

—and just slow enough for Smoke to see it.

Smoke’s jaw tightened around his cigar, eyes flicking between his brother and the girl. The laughter of the men thundered around the table, but under it, there was a quiet weight only Stack and Smoke seemed to notice.

Cornbread tapped his empty plate with two fingers. “Miss Y/N, can I trouble you for another spam sandwich and some catfish? I sure would appreciate you.”

Y/N came out of the kitchen with a fresh plate in hand, swapping the empty one with a practiced ease. “Of course you can, Mr. Cornbread,” she said warmly, setting the food down in front of him.

Slim leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with a grin. “Angel face, tell me somethin’—who taught you to cook like you some old church mother? ‘Cause I swear, women ‘round here don’t throw down like this ‘cept my ol’ lady and Ann.”

Laughter circled the table, but all eyes lingered on her. Y/N smoothed her apron and shrugged lightly. “My momma and my grandma. They had me learnin’ pretty early.”

Slim pointed his fork at her with a nod. “Now I’m an honest man, Miss Y/N, so hear me when I say this—if you ever opened up a little spot of your own, you’d make a fortune. Cookin’, bakin’—folks would line up ‘round the block.” He punctuated the thought with a bite of catfish.

The compliment warmed her chest, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Stack caught it too, that flicker of hope, and his own grin pulled wider, quiet but full of pride.

“You really think so?” Y/N asked, her voice carrying a touch of wonder. “My grandma always sold plates out her home, so… I can see it.” She leaned down, giving Slim a quick side hug as he stayed seated. “Thank you, Slim.”

Then she slipped back toward the archway, her place at the edge of the room—but her eyes brushed over Stack for just a second, catching his look before she turned away.Bo pushed his chair back just enough to catch Y/N as she came around with another tray of sandwiches. He gave her a slow once-over before grinning. “Miss Y/N, you keep servin’ food this good, I might just have to divorce my wife and move in here. What you think about that?”

Y/N blinked, her polite smile never faltering. “Well, Mr. Chow, I don’t think your wife would take too kindly to that. And neither would I,” she said sweetly, setting the tray down right in front of him. “But I’ll be sure to keep your plate full so you don’t get any crazy ideas.”

The men around the table hollered and cackled, some slapping the table. Slim nearly spilled his drink, wheezing, “Lord have mercy, Bo, she read you like scripture!”

Bo chuckled, leaning an elbow on the table. “Sharp tongue on that one. I like it.”

As the laughter rolled, Stack’s eyes found Smoke’s across the table. A look passed between them—brief, sharp, heavy with things unspoken. Stack leaned back, unfazed, but his jaw ticked once. Smoke’s gaze lingered longer, dark and measuring, before dropping back to his cards.

Sammie shook his head, cutting through the noise. “Bo, why you always so fresh with Miss Y/N, anyhow? Ain’t you got a whole wife waitin’ on you at home?”

The table quieted just a hair, waiting for Bo’s comeback.

Bo smirked, shrugging like it was nothing. “Ain’t no harm in payin’ a compliment, Sammie. Miss Y/N know I’m just playin’.”

“Mm-hmm,” Sammie muttered, unconvinced, his eyes flicking toward Stack for half a beat before returning to his cards.

Y/N, tray in hand, excused herself back toward the kitchen, heart beating a little faster than she wanted to admit.

Slim leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table. “Boy, I swear, if Cornbread don’t quit laughin’ at my hand, I’m gon’ slap the fool.”

Cornbread snorted, shaking his head. “You got two pair, Slim. You act like you got nothin’. You talk a big game, but you fold at the wrong time every time.”

Bo took a sip of his whiskey, eyeing his cards. “Y’all worry too much ‘bout Slim. I been playin’ poker since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Ain’t nobody bluffin’ me tonight.”

Sammie laughed, rubbing his chin. “Boy, that’s what you think. I been studyin’ Bo Chow for weeks. I know his tells better than I know my own mama. That man can’t hide nothin’.”

Bo leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink, and watching Y/N the kitchen. “Say, Smoke… Miss Y/N,” he said, smirking, “she still ain’t married? Ain’t got a man to keep her busy?”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “Bo, you gon’ focus on the damn game or keep running your mouth?”

Bo waved him off, leaning closer, a mischievous grin on his face. “I’m just curious. She’s fine, she’s young… tell me, Stack, why she still sittin’ here workin’ instead of bein’ tied down? Got any… past business we should know about?”

Y/N’s hands paused on the edge of the archway, gripping it lightly, as she hid behind the wall, listening. She had come to bring a fresh plate of snacks, but the words caught her ear. Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t expected this line of questioning.

“Bo,” Slim said, his voice low and dangerous, “you best check yaself. That’s none of your damn business.”

Sammie leaned forward, placing a steady hand on Bo’s arm. “Back up, man. Cut it out.”

Cornbread didn’t even look up from his plate, still munching on a sandwich, but muttered, “Heard that, Bo.”

Bo chuckled, trying to appear harmless, though his eyes glittered. “I’m just askin’ some questions, fellas. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with curiosity.”

Stack slammed his cards down, standing abruptly, his chair scraping loudly. “Curiosity don’t give you the right to be disrespectful. She’s not up for discussion, Bo. You cross that line again and I swear on my daddy’s grave…” His voice dropped low, deadly.

Smoke shifted in his seat, placing his hand near his pistol on the table, letting Bo see without reaching fully. “One more word, and you gon’ regret it.”

Bo raised his hands, still smirking but now a little wary. “Alright, alright… didn’t mean to rile y’all.”

Y/N stayed frozen against the archway, her heart pounding. She had never felt so exposed and uncomfortable, listening to a man discuss her like she was a curiosity on display. The protective stares from Stack, Smoke, and the others made her chest tighten in both fear and reassurance.

Slim leaned over toward Bo, voice sharp, “You heard me. Keep your questions to yourself. Ain’t no one here talkin’ about her like that.”

Sammie nodded firmly, “I’m serious, man. That line is crossed. Respect her, or you can be with ya wife.”

Bo laughed lightly, trying to shake off the tension, but even he knew he’d pushed too far. The room hummed with the quiet menace of men who would not let anyone talk about Y/N that way. 

She took a deep breath, forcing a smile to mask her fluttering feelings. “I brought some more salmon and catfish for y’all,” she said, carefully placing plates in front of everyone—starting with Cornbread, then Slim, then Chow. When she reached Stack, he let his left hand brush ever so gently against the back of her thigh, unnoticed by anyone else.

She finished distributing the food and stopped at Smoke’s plate, topping it off with a little extra. He looked up from his cards, nodding. “Alright, Miss Carter. Thank you for all your help tonight. Now you can relax—I know you’re probably tired.”

Y/N nodded, murmuring her thanks, and began to step away. Just as she reached the archway, a low voice called after her. “I may ring the bell tonight… if I need your help.”

Her eyes closed, a shiver running through her. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, and headed upstairs, trying to steady her racing heart.

As Y/N finished her shower, some of the men had already left, leaving Slim, Cornbread, and Sammie sprawled on the couch, dozing. Stack leaned in the archway, hands in his pockets, quietly observing them, while Smoke counted bills and placed them into Bo’s hand.

“Man, how the fuck did Chow win?” Stack asked, folding his arms.

Smoke shook his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Annie’s gonna kill me when she finds out how much he won.” Stack held back a laugh.

Chow glanced toward the stairs, hearing the faint rush of water, then back at the twins. “Maybe we can make a deal,” he said. “I’ll give y’all the money… for an exchange we can all enjoy together.”

“I’m listenin’,” Smoke replied, both brothers folding their arms, eyes fixed on Chow as he straightened.

Upstairs, Y/N had just finished drying her hair and slipped into her robe after moisturizing. She moved toward her room, preparing to unwind for the night, when the sound of the bell echoed down the hall. She took a deep breath, silently praying it would be quick so she could get to bed.

She approached the door, tapping lightly. It creaked open, and as she stepped closer, still focused on her robe, her heart skipped a beat. Smoke, Bo Chow, and Stack stood in a line, advancing toward her. Smoke’s deep voice cut through the quiet.

“Miss Carter, I hope you don’t mind… but we all need your assistance tonight.”

-Sweet Babies-