#hotboxing

Wizardly hotboxing to keep spirits High 😉✨️

Modern!au Smoke X Annie

Word Count : 2.3K

Authors Note: I remember somebody said they wanted a hotboxing session with Smoke, so I decided to dusk on my pen and give the people what they wanted. Look y’all 😅, it’s be a while since I’ve written so bear with me. It’s some fluff with a pinch 🤏🏽 of smuts towards the end so enjoy. Also I added a lil music for your listening pleasure. Something to get yall in the vibes.

The car’s parked on a quiet hill above East Oakland, tucked beneath a row of eucalyptus trees that sway gently in the wind. The sun’s barely set; just enough pink in the sky to soften the edges of the day.

Inside the royal blue Cutlass, it smells like cherry soda and weed.

Smoke leans over, lighting the joint as Annie holds the lighter up. The first puff curls out of his mouth slowly, like he’s painting the air.

Though she hadn’t smoked yet, she was already giggling.

“Boy, you act like you in a commercial or something.”

“Nah. That’s just how legends smoke. You wouldn’t understand.” He shoots her a soft, playful grin before taking another pull. Leaning back against the headrest, Annie tilts her head slightly.

“Mmm. ‘Legend.’ Is that what you call yourself now?”

Smoke shrugs slightly, leaning back to meet her gaze. “In certain circles.”

He passes her the joint. She takes it with exaggerated elegance, pinky up like royalty, and strikes a pose like she’s holding fine wine.

“Oh, well then, excuse me, Your Highness,” he teases. She returns his smile.

“What? Let me smoke like a legend, too.”

They both laugh, easy & loose. Annie pulls and coughs immediately, dissolving into another giggle fit.

“Ugh! Why does it always hit different with you?”

Smoke chuckles, his head resting lazily against the headrest. “’Cause I roll with love, baby.”

She gags playfully, waving the smoke away as she laughs uncontrollably.

“Nigga, these are prerolls. You ain’t rolled shit.”

Smoke couldn’t hold his laughter as he met her gaze.

“You were supposed to let me have that one.”

“You should know me better than that.”

A beat of silence settles in, comfortable this time. The car fills slowly with smoke, turning the world soft and golden.

Annie readjusts in the seat, legs pulled up crisscross, hoodie sliding off one shoulder.

“This the part where we talk about our dreams or something?”

Smoke leans his head on her shoulder, his hand resting on a spot on her thigh that he had made its permanent residence a little while ago.

“Only if yours involves becoming my joint roller full-time.”

She gives him a lazy side-eye. “My dream right now is that you learn how to shut up for like… two minutes.”

“Ain’t no fun in that. You complain when I’m stone-cold. What more do you want from me?” He squints, looking up at her.

She laughs again, light and breathy. For a second, Smoke watches her. Admiring the way the light shimmered against Annie’s sable skin. With a sly smile, he speaks up after a while.

“I ever told you, you got a real cute laugh.”

Annie pauses, caught off guard. She doesn’t smile this time. Just holds his gaze for a moment too long. She bites her lip in a failed attempt to hide her blush.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not. I’m makin’ it real.” He licks his lips, gaze still fixed on her.

She nudges his leg with her foot gently. Just enough to regain her composure.

“Whatever. Pass that.”

He complies, and their fingers brush, neither of them pulls away immediately.

Outside, the wind whispers through the trees. Inside, it’s just warmth and weed and the kind of laughter that only comes when you forget the world is breaking.

Tonight, they let it all go, just for a while.

The Cutlass sits parked under a high tree canopy, shadows layered across the hood like spiderwebs. The air inside is hazy and warm, thick with weed smoke and something quieter, something waiting.

Annie changes positions, moving to rest her legs in Smoke’s lap. She watches the smoke swirl in front of her face, like she’s trying to read something in it.

“You ever think about who you’d be if you weren’t born into all this?”

Looking out the windshield, Smoke watches the clouds roll by.

“All what?”

She reaches up to stroke his goatee.

“The neighborhood. The noise. The stuff we don’t say.”

Smoke adjusts, eyes half-lidded. His body’s loose, but his mind’s alert, taking her in without looking too direct.

He takes the joint, pulling from it slowly, and hands it back without a word.

Unsatisfied with his newfound silence, Annie questions him again.

“You ever wanna be someone different?”

He bites his lip as her nails massage his chin.

“No point in that.”

“Why not?”

He looks at her now, still and calm. “‘Cause I’m me. That’s all I know how to be. Smoke Moore.”

She lets out a short laugh. Not mocking, just a little surprised.

“You say that like it’s easy. And last time I checked, your first name was Elijah.”

“It is and it ain’t,” he says, answering both questions simultaneously. “But frontin’s harder.”

His eyebrows raise slightly, eyes still low and glossy red. She nods, quiet for a beat.

In an attempt to break the tense silence, Annie speaks up again.

“You think you’ve always been like this?”

Smoke leans closer, never breaking his gaze. “Like what?”

“Still. Like the world spins and you just… don’t move.” He gives a small smirk, shrugging again.

“I watch first. Then I move,” he says matter-of-factly.

Annie studies him. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward. The light from outside streaks through the windshield, hitting just enough of her face to catch the curve of her mouth.

“What you looking at?”

“You.” He says frankly.

Her breath hitches softly, caught off guard by his swift and direct response.

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lets the question linger for a bit. Then—

“’Cause I want to.”

She blinks, unsure if he’s playing or dead serious. And with Smoke, it’s usually the latter.

“You gonna always say the bare minimum, huh?”

He shoots her the faintest grin.

“Only gotta say what matters.”

Annie leans in curiously, testing the waters. She holds the joint between them, the smoke curling towards his face.

“So what matters right now?”

Smoke regards her slow and steady. The stillness sets in again. The kind that makes everything around you seem so loud. He leans in just enough, his gentle, earthy scent invading her nostrils. It drives her almost to the brink of obsession.

“This.” He growls softly before kissing her.

It’s not rushed. His hand slides up the back of her neck, grounding her. She melts into it before she realizes she’s even moved. It’s soft, but weighted, like he’s been holding back for a long time.

Annie breaks first, pulling back with her eyes still closed. Her chest rises and falls in tandem with Smoke’s. She smirks briefly before licking her lips.

“Took you long enough,” she purrs.

He’s watching her again, still and quiet, before he speaks again.

“You can’t rush stuff. I don’t rush nothin’ worth doing right.”

Annie’s smile stretches across her entire face, making her eyes twinkle in the streetlights. She takes one more pull before passing him the joint. The air in the car is different now, statically charged from the kiss they’d shared. She sits back, breath still caught somewhere behind her smile.

She studies Smoke’s face, how calm he looks, and how his hand never left its place on her thigh. She stretches her hands overhead, the hoodie riding up just enough for Smoke to catch a glimpse of the smooth skin of her belly. Her eyes drift to him, lashes low.

“I forgot how quiet you are sometimes.”

“You talk enough for both of us,” he retorts.

“Boy fuck you!” she scoffs, grinning. Her fingers reach out to lazily drag down the center of his chest, just enough pressure to trace the logo of his tee. She flattens her palm, taking in the heat of him.

Smoke bites his lip, shifting his body closer to hers. She catches the hint, slowly sliding her hand down lower. She stops just above his lap, fingers tapping absently as though her mind is elsewhere. She studies his face.

“You good just sitting out here all night?”

His eyes dart between her hand and her piercing gaze.

“Don’t gotta be nowhere else.”

She smirks. “Maybe you could be.”

Her hand shifts slightly, barely moving, but the intention clear. She’s close enough for him to feel her. Tempting. Testing. His gaze sharpens a little, jaw tight now.

“You tryna say somethin’ beloved?”

Annie tilts her head, all softness and fire. She leans in, close enough for her lips to brush against his ear as she speaks.

“I’m sayin’ it’s warmer inside. All you have to do is come find out.”

She pauses, fingers resting boldly close to his third leg.

“Plus, I don’t feel like sleeping alone tonight.”

Smoke regards her carefully. There’s no game in her eyes, only truth. He doesn’t move right away, still caught in her gaze.

“Fuck it,” he says finally, killing the engine.

–

The door clicks shut behind them.

Annie tosses her keys onto the counter without looking, with Smoke trailing behind. His jacket is slung over one shoulder now, face still calm, but his eyes locked on their prize.

She doesn’t turn on the lights, instead, she lets the warm street glow spill in through the window blinds, casting faint stripes across the hardwood.

It’s quiet.

Her space smells like coconut oil and incense. A blanket is tossed over the couch. A couple of worn sneakers by the door. Lived-in. Real.

Smoke lingers near the door a second longer than he needs to. Annie notices.

“You actin’ like you ain’t been here before.”

“I ain’t been here in a while.”

She gives him a knowing look before turning to walk backward slowly, drawing him further inside with nothing but her eyes.

“You coming or you just gonna study the furniture?”

He steps forward. Still slow. Still quiet. But closer now.

She stops in the middle of the living room, toes barely touching the rug. She pulls her hoodie off in a clean motion and tosses it onto the couch. She stands before him in a tank top with no bra underneath, her collarbone catching a sliver of moonlight.

Smoke’s jaw flexes.

Annie steps toward him, closing the final inches. Her hands slide up his chest again, slower and more certain. She tugs lightly at the hem of his shirt.

“You don’t have to be all soft.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“Just you and me tonight.”

He nods, eyes fixed on her juicy lips.

“I know what it is. It’s gone always be that way.”

Her hand slips under his shirt, lifting it over his head. He lets her without objection. Her palms linger on his chest a second longer than necessary, tracing lines she already knows by heart.

She leans in, pressing her mouth to his, firm and deliberate. This one isn’t teasing. It’s deeper. Hungrier. Her hands slide to the back of his neck as his grip finds her waist.

He walks her backward without a word, moving like they’ve done this dance repeatedly in his dreams.

Because they had.

The bedroom door swings open on its hinges, their silhouettes gliding in with it. Their shadows dance against the golden hue of her bedside lamp. They say nothing. Don’t need to.

The blanket falls, and the rest of the world fades.

Smoke’s grip tightens against Annie’s waist as he guides her backward toward the bed. His fingers drag up her tank top with slow intention, knuckles brushing ribs, stomach, curve of her back. When he pulls the shirt over her head, she doesn’t look away.

“You always move like this?”

“Move like what, beloved?”

“Like you already know what I want,” she sings, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

He kisses her again, this time on her shoulder. Then her collarbone. Then lower. Every kiss lands like it’s been waiting its turn.

“You keep tellin’ me without talkin’. So I’m just listenin’.. Like a good boy.”

Her hands slip to his waistband, thumbs hooking slowly under the fabric. She pulls him in closer, skin to skin now, breath warm between them.

The backs of her knees hit the mattress, and she lets herself fall back, pulling him with her. The bed creaks beneath them, soft and low, like it’s holding its breath.

He doesn’t rush.

His hands move over her like he’s mapping her out. Her hipbone. Her thigh. The hollow between her neck and shoulder where her pulse kicks a little faster.

Annie’s fingers find the back of his neck again, tugging him down. Their mouths meet again. This time deeper, fuller. Her legs wrap around him instinctively, anchoring him in place.

As his pants hit the floor, their flesh collides in the soft sounds of pleasure. His length sinking into her slowly, allowing her juices to coat him before pushing in as far as he could.

Her eyes flutter closed as she exhales into his mouth.

“Y-You feel… so goood.”

Caging her body in, he rocks his waist into hers. The squelching sounds of her pussy becoming more audible as their hips met repeatedly. Smoke would never admit it to her, but it was his new favorite sound. He pushes harder and faster, loving the way she sang his name like a prayer.

“You feel like mine,” he growls.

That catches her. She moans loudly as her eyes meet his. He doesn’t flinch or take it back. His gaze holds steady and sure. Not possessive. Just real.

Annie brushes her thumb across his cheekbone. Soft, featherlike, and gentle to the touch.

“You make me feel soo good, I don’t wanna stop.”

He leans down again, pressing his forehead to hers. Their breaths sync—slow, heavy, open.

“Then we don't have to.”

The rest happens slowly.

Not completely silent, but close.

A hum of breath, the rustle of sheets, her gasp as his mouth finds her again. His hand on her thigh. Her nails against his back. The kind of intimacy that doesn’t shout—but claims.

And for once, Annie doesn’t think about the past. Doesn’t wait for the ache or the exit.

Just this.

Just now.

.

.

.

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As soon as he turned 18, he got his driver's license. His favorite thing to do when he's in his new car is to smoke. Every time he gets in, he lights up a cigarette, and then continues to smoke during the entire trip. Of course, he checks that all the windows are closed, so as not to let out even a whiff of that delicious smoke. He likes to smoke in the car precisely because in the small passenger compartment all the smoke accumulates and does not disperse like in the open air, so that he can breathe it all in and not waste even a bit. The smoke and particulate that settles on the seats and fabrics, together with the full ashtray, perfume the car with its smell. When his friends get in, he tests the preparation of their lungs, and if they are not smokers, he smokes them. Sometimes he parks and chain-smokes until there is a tar fog: for him it is not a problem to breathe in thick smoke instead of air, he loves hotboxing. He has fun and gets a lot of pleasure in all these ways. For this reason he nourishes his young lungs to the maximum and trains them more and more to achieve new results.