#starliis

Their lips felt like honey—so rich with delicate temptation, soft, but burnin’ with passion.

In the thick of the moment, their hands started roamin', greedy and sure—like they was tryna memorize every inch of you. They always had them big ol' hands, the kind that gripped your thighs like nothin', pushin' your body around like it weighed air. Feelin' their lips on your skin, slidin' over the silk, then findin' yours—it had you moanin' soft, breath catchin' in your throat. The feel of it all was too damn familiar.

"Hol' on," Smoke muttered, glancin' 'round like he was scannin' the treeline. "Not out here."

"Why? You scared, nigga?" Stack let out a low, rough chuckle, that devilish grin stretchin’ across his face as his mouth kept workin’ that sweet, sensitive spot on your neck—slow an’ sinful, like he knew just what he was doin’. He tugged you in closer, strong hands findin’ your waist as he leaned back against the hood of the car, real casual-like. The metal was warm from the engine, but it was nothin’ compared to the heat rollin’ off him—an’ Lord, you could feel that pressure buildin’ in his slacks, plain as day. Firm, thick, and waitin’.

“Don’t need nobody layin’ eyes on her. I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—an’ you damn well know that.”

"Nigga, we ain't playin' when it come to her—,” Stack shot back, smooth as whiskey, eyes never leavin' you. “I’d beat a muhfucka down, no talkin’. Easy.”

Lettin' out a low laugh, you start draggin' a finger slow down your thigh, eyes bouncin' between the two of 'em.

“Y’all talkin’ like I ain’t standin’ right here,” you purred, voice syrupy sweet as molasses. You slipped from their grip, slow and deliberate, pullin’ the shawl from your shoulders and lettin’ it fall to the dirt like it ain’t cost a damn thing. “If they dumb ‘nough to be out here watchin’, then we oughta’ give ’em a lil’ show.”

With a soft grin, you slid the straps of your silk dress down, lettin’ it fall around your ankles, leavin’ you standin’ there in nothin’ but your underthings. Both of ‘em froze. That look in their eyes? Pure trouble. Jaws tight, muscles flexin’, like they were fightin’ every urge not to tear into you right then and there.

“Damn,” Stack pushed off the car, his voice thick when he muttered, “Pretty lil’ thing.”

He swept you up without missin’ a beat, landin’ a sharp smack on your behind that made you let out a startled laugh. He set you down on the hood of the car, the metal still warm beneath your thighs. Then his lips found your skin—trailin’ slow and sure down your front. His mouth was hot, even through the thin fabric, makin’ you shiver where you sat, half-laid out on that shiny, elegant hood like a gift waitin’ to be unwrapped. He nuzzled lower, breath warm, lips pressin’ through the cloth restin’ over your chest. His tongue flicked just enough to pull a gasp from your lips, your hips jerkin’ up toward his mouth like you didn’t have no shame.

Smoke let out a low breath, tension easin’ from his broad shoulders. He stood close, watchin’—dark eyes locked on yours—as his hand reached for yours, thumb drawin’ slow, lazy circles over your skin while he licked his lips like he was starvin’.

Breathless, your head fell back, eyes on the rustin’ roof beams of that old sawmill, breath comin’ shallow and quick. The cicadas screeched louder now, like the world was tryin’ its damnedest to drown y’all out. But it couldn’t. Not over the sounds you were makin’. Not over the feel of their hands on you.

Stack glanced up, eyes dark and heavy, full of heat. “You want this, baby?”

‘Course you nodded—barely though. Couldn’t even find your voice. Your fingers cradled the back of his neck, tuggin’ gentle, but firm enough to tell him yes. That’s when Stack leaned down again, kissin’ a slow trail up your belly, toward your thighs.

“Ain’t no goin’ back now—,” he drawled against your skin, shootin’ one last grin up at you. He hooked the tips of his fingers ’round the edge of your panties, draggin’ ‘em down nice and slow, ‘fore settlin’ in like a man on a mission. “We gon’ ruin ya’ good.”

And Lord, you wanted 'em to.

His dark eyes glazed over at the sight of your glistenin’, pulsin’ little button, soaked and achin’ for attention. He slung one of your legs over his shoulder, then sank right in—tongue teasin’ them folds before slidin’ up to your clit, lickin’ like he’d been starvin’ for you. Every stroke was intense, unhurried, and filled with a kind of reverence that made your breath hitch and a moan slip loose from your lips.

Stack had them strong, calloused hands grippin’ your thighs firm, keepin’ you open for him. That brown skin of yours was soft as sin against his palms, and he groaned low in his throat, mouth still workin’ you like his favorite meal. Ever since the first time, he knew he was addicted—couldn’t get enough of your thighs, couldn’t stay away from bein’ buried between ’em.

A hum rumbled deep in his chest when he felt you rub on his head, your hips twitchin’ as he devoured you, slow and greedy. He loved watchin’ you fall apart—loved the way your pretty little moans echoed off the walls like a hymn. You tasted so damn sweet on his tongue, he was damn near dizzy with it.

“Fuck. Elias.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, refusin’ to come up for air. Didn’t mean he wasn’t watchin’ you though— both of ‘em watchin’ the way your face twisted up in pure pleasure. See, Stack was a student of your body, and he’d learned every little thing that made you melt. Smoke, grew impatient, he leaned against the hood and took a perked nipple in his mouth. Suckin’ and addin’ to your buildin’ pleasure.

Takin’ it like a prayer, chest risin’ with every shaky breath as he slid his middle and index fingers along your slick entrance. And when he worked ’em inside, it was like the world faded out—all that existed was sensation. You arched back, gaspin’ like you were drownin’ in him, beggin’ without words for more.

And Lord, he gave it.

He gave until your thighs were tremblin’, until his chin was glistenin’ with that holy nectar only you could give. He didn’t speak—just looked up at you with them deep eyes full of care and heat. Even with all that hunger, all that want, he still held you like you were precious.

But still, that sober mind of yours couldn’t help but feel a little shy, a little overwhelmed at how easy it was to come undone beneath him. Like he’d seen parts of you too tender, too raw. Like he was worshipin’ you—chastin’ you with every stroke of that tongue.

Smoke had moved in—quiet, steady, his eyes never leavin’ you.

“That’s ‘nough,” he said low, voice smooth like aged bourbon, but firm as steel. “Ya’ got her all warmed up. Now move on ‘long.”

Stack backed off with a smug little smirk, tongue runnin’ over his bottom lip. “Don’t take too long. She already tremblin’.”

And you were. Smug muthafucka. Your thighs, your hands, your breath—all of it flutterin’ like a moth to flame. He was a certified eater, somethin’ different.

Smoke stepped between your legs, thumb draggin’ across your cheek before his fingers slid into your hair, tiltin’ your head just how he wanted it. His gaze searched your face, slow and intense.

“I missed you, Silk.”

That sweetness caught you off guard.

He usually kept his feelin’s locked up tight, like he was scared to let too much show. Sure, he had his vulnerable moments—but this? The way he said it? It weren’t just words. It was low and honest, full of weight. Like it crawled straight outta his soul. You felt it in your chest, breath hitchin’, heart knockin’ hard against your ribs like it recognized somethin’ in him. Like it’d been waitin’ on that exact moment.

He was lookin’ at you different now. Eyes a bit softer. Jaw relaxed. Like he’d finally dropped whatever wall he’d been hidin’ behind. You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinkin’ back a tear you didn’t even know was there.

“I missed ya’ too,” you whispered, pullin’ closer till your chest brushed his. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs grazin’ along his jaw, tender. “So fuckin’ much.”

His arms came around you then—strong, warm, familiar. And for a second, the whole world got quiet. None but him breathin’ into your neck, and you holdin’ him like he might slip away again if you didn’t.

“You trust me?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe.”

“Nah, baby—,” he murmured, leanin’ in so close you could feel the heat of his mouth brushin’ yours. “You gone have to say it.”

“I trust ya’,” you whispered, and that was all he needed.

He kissed you then—deep, claimin’, the kind that made your toes curl. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, the other slidin’ down your back to press you closer, chest to chest. His mouth moved like he knew every part of you already, like he’d dreamed it a hundred times over and now he was finally starvin’ no more.

When he pulled back, your lips felt swollen, dazed, and he just looked at you for a second, real quiet, like he was tryin’ to memorize this moment before he ruined it.“Lay back f’r me—,” he drawled, voice thick as sin and twice as temptin’.

With even hesitatin’, you leaned back, stretchin’ out across that car hood like you belonged there. Moonlight slid over your skin, kissin’ it like silver fire—makin’ you shine just for him.

And Smoke? He got to work quick, fingers unbucklin’ his belt with practiced ease.

“Told ya’, Silk,” he muttered, hand slidin’ down to free himself, his voice low and hungry. “I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—now lay real still and let me show ya’ just what that means.”

Lawd, it was a sight. Both them men. Built like sin dipped in honey. Shoulders broad, arms carved from hard work, and bodies that knew nothin’ but sweat and fight. Ain’t no fluff on ’em—just muscle, power, and pure heat. But it was what sat between his hips that had you strugglin’ to breathe. Long, thick, and pretty—veins standin’ proud like they was waitin’ for your touch. It pulsed like it remembered you, just as much as your body remembered him.

It’d been a minute since you laid eyes on it, let alone felt it. But your body didn’t care nothin’ ’bout time. Nah, it answered him loud and clear—heat rushin’ through you, thighs shiftin’, breath catchin’. You was embarrassed by how fast your want rose up, but damn if you could help it. You wanted him.

Eager. Desperate. Drenched in need.

And the worst part? He knew. They knew.

Stack was watchin’, strokin’ himself to the sight of you.

He was leaned back against the car, one hand workin’ slow, eyes locked on where Smoke had you laid out like a feast. Lips parted, breath shallow, dick heavy in his grip—he looked damn near feral, but patient. Like he was savorin’ every second before it was his turn.

His eyes traced every curve of you, glintin’ like heat lightning in the dark. “Look at our girl—,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse with want. “Laid out like a blessin’.”

Smoke, then stepped in between your legs, slow and sure, like a man approachin’ his altar. He gripped your thighs, thumbs pressin’ soft circles into your skin, and leaned down—mouth ghostin’ over your lips before he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d missed it. Like he’d been thinkin’ ’bout nothin’ but you since the last time you let him in.

“Ain’t nothin’ else in this world I need more than this right here,” he murmured against your mouth, voice all thick molasses and heat.

Then he slid in—slow, deep, heavy. A groan rumbled out his chest, rollin’ over your skin like thunder as your body stretched around him, pullin’ him in tight. He moved with that Southern patience, like he had all night. Every stroke hit deep, tender and steady, makin’ you whimper, makin’ your eyes roll back.

“Elijah,” you whine softly.

“Mmm-hmm,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, filled with that soft fire. “There she go,” one hand came up to cradle your jaw as he rocked into you. “Look at me, [Name]. Let me see ya’ fall ‘part.”

And you did.

Bitin’ your lip, body tremblin’, you let go beneath him. Let him love you how only Smoke could—full of control, full of reverence. When you clenched ‘round him, cryin’ his name like a prayer, he dipped his forehead to yours, ridin’ it out with you, stayin’ buried deep until every bit of his need poured into you slow and warm.

He pulled back, breathin’ hard, eyes heavy-lidded with affection and heat. But before the sweat even cooled on your skin—

“Move over, nigga,” came Stack’s voice, low and wild with a grin on his lips and sin in his eyes.

Barely catchin’ your breath, this crazy-ass boy went and hooked your leg up high, steppin’ between them thighs like he owned the whole damn place. Stack didn’t ask—he never did. He just took, like the firecracker he was. Picked you up like you weighed nothin’, holdin’ you flush against him, muscles flexin’ under your hands.

He’d always been the wild one—reckless, hungry for life, always lookin’ for the next thrill. And this? This position he had you in? Had you clingin’ to him like a lifeline. Arms wrapped tight ‘round his shoulders, legs locked at his waist, breath hitchin’ as his mouth got busy on your neck—kissin’, suckin’, bitin’ like he was claimin’ you all over again.

His hand slid down, rough and eager, guidin’ that thick wood into your heat—feelin’ every bit of what Smoke had left behind. And Lord, he growled, deep in his throat.

“Damn, ya’ messy,” he laughed, but there was nothin’ but hunger in his voice. “Been thinkin’ ’bout this all damn day.”

He didn’t ease in like Smoke. Nah—Stack hit like fire.

He filled you up with one smooth, greedy thrust, and you damn near lost your mind right then and there.

“Shit,” Stack hissed, head droppin’ to your shoulder as he held you up like nothin’. “You so tight ‘round me—clenchin’ like you missed it.”

And truth be told, you did.

His hands gripped under your thighs, holdin’ you steady while he started movin’—hips rollin’ like waves, not just slammin’ into you, but grindin’, hittin’ deep, hittin’ home. He wasn’t just tryin’ to fuck—he was tryin’ to make you feel it in your bones.

“Shit. Yes,” you moan ‘loud.

“Look at ya’,” he drawled, kissin’ your jaw, your ear, voice thick with pride. “Already shakin’ f’r me, baby. Damn. I ain’t even got started yet.”

He walked you to the side of the car, settin’ your back flat on the hood while his body hovered over yours—all heat and hunger. The stars above flickered like they was watchin’ in awe. Stack ran his tongue down your chest, takin’ his time, suckin’ at every dip of skin like he was memorizing it all over again.

“You know I love ya’, right?” he murmured against your breast, voice crackin’ soft like a secret. “Love how ya’ moan, how ya’ take me, how ya’ let me go wild wit’ it.”

Then he buried himself again, this time rougher—hips smackin’ against you as he let go of all that restraint. His hand reached down to circle your clit, thumb movin’ in perfect rhythm with each thrust, and your back arched clean off the car.

Cryin’ out his name, and he laughed—boyish and breathless.

“That’s right, baby. Say my name, say it loud. Let Smoke hear it too.”

Then you came hard, legs lockin’ around him, body shudderin’ while he kept drivin’ into you like a storm rollin’ through the bayou. Voice gone, body wrecked from one man and bein’ broken in by the next—but you loved it. Loved them. The way they touched you different, but held you the same. Like you were somethin’ precious. Somethin’ theirs.

And Stack? He didn’t stop ‘til he gave you every last drop he had—spillin’ into you like it was his God-given right. Chest to chest, skin sticky with sweat, he collapsed on top of you with a low groan.

“Damn near saw the Lord just now,” he muttered against your collarbone, laughin’ breathlessly.

Smoke came up behind y’all, kissin’ your temple, that slow smile on his lips.

“You good, baby?” he asked, hand slidin’ over your stomach, down to where the mess of love and sweat clung between your thighs.

All you could do was nod, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, heart poundin’.

Because between the two of them—you ain’t never known a love so wild, so deep, so Southern. Your body was still tremblin’, nerves hummin’ from bein’ stretched and filled by the both of ‘em. Sweat clung to your skin, coolin’ in the soft night breeze, and your breath came out in shaky little puffs like you’d just outrun a storm.

Stack was the first to move—he always was. Still catchin’ his breath, he lifted off you careful-like, like he didn’t wanna let go but knew you needed space to come back to yourself. His palm slid over your side, reverent, his touch whisper-light.

“Aight now, c’mon baby,” he said softly, voice deep and syrupy. “Let’s get ya’ cleaned up, yeah?”

He reached into the backseat, grabbin’ one of them soft flannel shirts he always kept around, and gently wiped between your thighs—tender, like you were made of glass. You winced a little, and he stilled.

“I got ya’,” he whispered, kissin’ your knee, your hip, your stomach like he was sayin’ sorry without the words. “I ain’t mean to go so rough—just… damn, I missed ya’.”

Reachin’ down, your hand tanglin’ in his beard, thumb brushin’ his skin.

“I know, baby. Me too,” you murmured.

Smoke came round next, eyes darker now, but soft. He crouched beside the car hood, layin’ a gentle hand on your cheek. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, then your jaw, eyes studyin’ you like you were his favorite book.

“You good, Silk?” he asked, voice quiet, almost boyish. “Need some water? Somethin’ sweet?”

Shakin’ your head slow, still dazed, eyes glossy with love, you answer him softly. “I don’t need nothin’ else. Just y’all. I love y’all.”

Stack came back, slidin’ his strong arms under you like he’d done it a thousand times. Lifted you like you didn’t weigh more’n a breeze, settin’ you gentle in his lap on the old blanket stretched out in the back of the car seats. Your back rested warm against his chest, his heartbeat steady behind you.

Smoke slid in close beside you, stretchin’ out with a little grunt as he curled up at your side. His palm found your thigh, drawin’ slow, soothing circles like he was tryin’ to anchor you right there with him.

Above y’all, the stars were shinin’ like spilled sugar across black velvet—bright, scattered, holy. The cicadas had gone quiet, leavin’ behind nothin’ but the hush of wind and the thump of three hearts beatin’ close.

“We love you too,” Smoke said low, his voice thick like molasses on a warm biscuit. “An’ we gon’ keep on lovin’ you like this… ‘til lonely ain’t nothin’ but a memory.”

Stack leaned down, pressin’ a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, arms still wrapped tight ‘round your waist.

“Our girl,” he murmured against your skin. “Always have been. Always will be.”

And you—tired, full, wrapped in their warmth like a lullaby—just smiled. Sunk deeper into the cradle of their bodies, heart settled, soul quiet. Let yourself drift, safe and loved, right there in the arms of two men who’d burn the whole damn South down for you.

Trouble don't always come loud and stompin'.

Sometimes it just smiles— real slow, tips its hat, and waits. That's how it felt the first time you ever laid eyes on 'em.

The twins—

Smoke and Stack.

Standin' there in the swelterin' heat like bad omens dressed in bruises and Sunday shoes. Grinnin' from ear to ear, like they knew all your secrets—and were fixin' to ruin you for 'em. Whenever you looked at 'em, it was like starin' straight into the faces of killers— past lovers, present heartbreak, and future mistakes; all bottled into two walkin’ contradictions, with fists that still bleed from the night before.

And yet, even standin’ side by side—one made of fire, the other of ice—they’re bound by a brilliance that’s all their own. A beauty so sharp, it hurt to look at for too long. ‘Cause, as your momma once said, a sin can't be undone, only forgiven. And for some reason, they were much more than just that. They were a glance held a little too long, a touch that lingered, and sometimes even a thought that should've been buried, but got watered instead. By the time you’d realize what's been done, it was already bloomin' wild inside you.

Too far gone to pull up by the root.

Until they left, that is.

Leavin’ without so much as a warning or a goodbye. Leavin’ after memorizin’ your body the way they always did—strong hands, gentle kisses, intimate but passionate love makin’—all for you. And for a moment, you thought only for you. But that? That was the greatest lie. Years had come and gone, and you ain’t received so much as a letter. Not even a word that they was still breathin’. At some point, you grieved ’em like they was dead—ghosts from a past you still, ’til this very day, fought to forget.

‘Cause even the rootworkers say, ghosts only come ’round when you call ’em. But you reckon that’s a lie too. This time, they came lookin’ for you first.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

Southern Mississippi had few, to none, hidden juke joints for just colored folk— there had only been 'bout one that made good profit; a sin-soaked buildin' where all the hard-workin' men spent the last of their well-earned dollars on drinks, while women sang to the blues all night long. That’s where you danced for a livin', outside of bein' a sharecropper. It was a side gig— non’ special. Just a lil’ somethin’ to put a few extra coins in your purse, keepin’ you afloat for whenever you fell behind on your quota.

Though this ain't the life you truly dreamt of, it was the closest you ever got to it.

For just a few hours every night, you'd listen to Delta Slim perform the blues—his tunes pourin' out slow, like molasses, a river of achin' guitars and wailin' brass, where every note dragged its feet through the dust of lost dreams. It was a sound born of broken backs and stubborn hope, of hearts too heavy to fly, yet too proud to bow. Each chord cracked open the air, lettin' sorrow breathe, lettin' joy slip through its fingers like a prayer whispered into the twilight.

And from there, you danced— with fire in your hips and storms in your eyes, movin' through the thick, breathin' heat. The only silk dress you owned clinging to you like a second skin, damp with sweat and sweet with the smell of tobacco, gin, and longin'. The floorboards shivered under the stomp of your heeled feet, the hem of your skirt twirlin' like smoke from a dyin' cigarette. You danced like the world had wronged you— and you forgave it, one sway, one roll, one wild, laughin' spin at a time. The music wrapped itself 'round you like a lover's arm, pullin' you deeper into the pulse of somethin' too old, too sacred, to name.

When the night ended, you were coverin' yourself in a shawl and walkin' out the front doors with a smile on your face—pleased with the earnings, and filled with a sense of somethin' close to enlightenment.

As all you ever wanted to do was dance.

"Do make sho' to bring your fine ass back here next week, Miss [Name],” hollered a drunk regular from the doorway, tippin' his hat and raisin' a metal goblet high.

"You's foolish," you laughed, wavin' him off. "I'll see y'all."

Walkin' down the dirt pathway, you ain't pay no mind to the low rumblin' of an engine, figurin' it belonged to some motor car. It rang out soft and lazy into the night.

That's when you saw 'em.

Two big, strong men. Leaned up against a big black Packard like they owned the night itself. Cigarettes burnin' slow between their fingers, suits pressed finer than any preacher's Sunday best. You knew who they was. But standin' there starin' at 'em felt like lookin' dead into the eyes of ghosts—skeletons dug up from a past you done already tried to bury. And truth be told, if they was gon' stay gone that long, they shoulda stayed buried.

"Miss [Name]," Smoke greets—deep voice, slow like syrup, always the calm, collected one. "It's a bit late for you to be walkin' home. Why don'tcha hop in the car, let us give ya' a ride?"

Smoke was dressed in deep blue—a color so rich, it looked like the midnight sky had been stitched right into his suit. He stood with his shoulders squared, eyes half-lidded, draggin' on his cigarette like he had all the time in the world, his whole body hummin' with a stillness that made your skin itch somethin' fierce.

"I'm good," you said, curt. "Thanks."

"Now that wasn't no suggestion, swee’heart."

Beside him, Stack stood in a suit bold as sin—deep red, reckless, alive. His coat flashed under the moonlight as he tipped his hat to you, grinnin' like he could split the Mississippi clean in two. Stack was all flash and fire; even standin' still, he was movin', talkin' with his hands, his shoulders, that damn devil's smile.

"It still don't change the fact I said no—," you shot back, cold.

Stack pushed off the car, swaggerin' toward you like a man ain't never been told no and sure as hell wasn't gonna start tonight. "Mind who you talkin' to—," he said, voice low but sharp. "We came all the way out here for ya'. Show some damn respect."

"Respect?" you scoffed, feelin' the old anger rise up in your chest like a bad storm. "Tell that bullshit to all them letters y'all never answered."

Smoke didn't say a word—just watched you from under the heavy brim of his hat, cigarette smoke curlin' up slow between you like a bug he ain't in no hurry to chase off.

"C'mon baby," Stack drawled, flickin' the stub of his cigarette into the dirt. "Let that shit go. Ain't no use holdin' on to it."

Tightening the shawl 'round your shoulders, your jaw was set hard as stone. With a sharp nod, you turned your back on both of 'em and started walkin'. "I did—," you said over your shoulder, voice calm, cold, and sure. "And I buried it right next to y'all."

Smoke, always so calculated and quick on his feet, found his way in front of you, "Stop playin' wit' me, Silk. You ain't walkin' home in the dark by yourself."

He sure did love callin’ you by that damned nickname—it stuck with ya’ ever since you was just a lil’ thing. Reckon it’s ‘cause he always went soft when you wore one’a them silk dresses.

"Why? You scared somethin' gone happen to me?"

He ain't say nothin'. Just stood there, them eyes of his shinin' in the dark. Reminded you of the way he always looked when some other fella stared at you too long. Always been so damn protective, like it was his God-given duty to keep you safe. But him standin' there quiet, not sayin' a word, not showin' no feelin' — that's what made you start thinkin' maybe he ain't care near as much as he used to.

"Thought so. Least out there, if somethin' did happen, it'll save y'all a funeral to go to."

"Aight, 'nough of that sad-ass shit you talkin' 'bout. Let somethin' happen to ya', let a nigga touch ya', and they gone get buried in that cotton field out back," Stack spoke, voice low and serious. "That's the way it always been. So go sit ya' pretty ass in that damn car and don't make me say the shit twice."

"Then we can talk 'bout what you really mad 'bout," Smoke added, watchin' you with them heavy-lidded eyes. He knew what you needed; hell, he always did.

Exhaling loud enough to shake the trees, you stomped to the car. It was somethin' real pretty, like nothin' you'd seen 'fore. Brand spankin' new, all dressed up with them fancy interiors. Made you wonder what kinda deal they had to cut to get their hands on a babe like this. Then again, you ain't have to wonder too hard. Folks 'round here knew better than to ask questions. Smoke gave you a hand up and you slid into the back seat. He took the driver's spot, leanin' back like he owned the night. Instead of sittin' shotgun, Stack brought his black ass to the back too, ploppin' down beside you. He got close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne—dark, smoky, expensive.

"Y'all takin' me straight home?" You asked, eyein' both of 'em suspiciously. These some pre-meditatin’ ass liars, sho’ ‘nough. You knew that for damn sure. Both of ‘em could talk a woman clean outta her drawls, make a brotha do they dirty work too—and all of it’d be for the sake of business. No strings attached.

"Yeah. 'Course we is," Stack smirked. But it didn't sound too convincin'. He kept inchin' closer, like you was somethin' sweet he couldn't resist.

“Then why yo’ black ass keep scootin’ so damn close to me? M’not gone disappear,” you snapped, cuttin’ your pretty eyes up and down him, full of fire. You was gettin’ real tired of him crowdin’ you, his whole presence gettin’ under your skin somethin’ awful.

"You might."

There was a bite in his words that only stoked the fire burnin’ in your chest. Hard to stay calm when they struttin’ ‘round like they ain’t done nothin’ wrong, like you wasn’t left behind to pick up all the pieces. You clenched your jaw, words spillin’ out low under your breath. “It ain’t me you oughta be worried ’bout—,” you muttered, barely louder than the hum of the tires on the dirt road.

Stack caught it, though. He let out a low chuckle, deep and dry like gravel, “Nah, baby. You grown. Speak up.”

Snappin’ your head toward him, your eyes flashed, “I said it ain’t me you oughta be worried ‘bout.”

Smoke’s hand tightened ‘round the wheel. He cut his eyes at you through the rearview, a slow, sharp glance that made the tension crackle.

“What the hell that ‘posed to mean?” He asked, voice low and dangerous.

Leanin’ back in the seat, you fold your arms tight across your chest, heart hammerin’. “Means I’m sittin’ here starin’ at two strangers. I don’t even know who ya’ll are no more.”

The car got real quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than any yellin’ ever could.

“[Name], you knew we was headin’ off to the war,” Smoke finally said, like that explained every damn thing.

“Yeah, I knew—,” you snapped back, voice tremblin’ with all the hurt you tried to swallow. “But I ain’t know leavin’ meant disappearin’. I ain’t know I was never gone hear from y’all again.”

"We had business to handle," Smoke said.

"Right. M’bad, Elijah— you was always 'bout yo' business. No matter who it hurt in the process—," you scoffed, your words hittin' hard enough to bruise all three of you.

"What you want us to say, baby? We sorry?" Stack asked, voice dry.

“Not if you don’t mean the shit,” you muttered, a bitter little laugh scratchin’ its way up your throat. Wasn’t nothin’ funny ‘bout it, but hell—sometimes you had to laugh just to keep from breakin’. Bein’ here with them, after all this time, hurt you in ways you couldn’t even name no more. Pain boiled up inside you, hot and heavy, like thick molasses turned sour; all them nights you laid awake, cryin’ into your pillow, feelin’ like a damn fool for lovin’ two devils who knew how to kiss like angels and lie like snakes.

Even a strong woman like you—hard-headed, proud, tougher than leather—got cracks in her armor. Always did. Tears pricked at your eyes before you could blink ’em back, and you scooted over, puttin’ as much distance between you and them as the seat would allow.

Stack let out a low chuckle, dry as a corn husk. “Careful, girl. Any further and you gon’ roll right out the damn car.”

“Don’t act like you care now,” you snapped, voice low and sharp, cuttin’ through the thick silence that settled. You stared out the window, jaw tight. “Just—,” you breathe. “Just get me the hell home. Please.”

Smoke sighed, shiftin’ in his seat like the weight of what you said sat heavy on his chest. “You mad—,” he started, his voice rough but steady. “We get it, Silk. But what you ain’t gon’ do is sit here and act like we ain’t give a damn ’bout you. ’Cause we did. Still do.”

"I hear you.”

“But you don’t believe me,” Smoke said, his voice low, almost tired.

“Sho’ don’t,” you shot back without missin’ a lick. “If you gave one damn ’bout me, y’all wouldn’t’ve laid with me, then left me sittin’ all by my lonesome like yesterday’s newspaper.”

The car rumbled to a stop, kickin’ up dirt and hushin’ the crickets for just a second.

“You right,” Smoke admitted, his hand grippin’ the wheel like it hurt to say it. “We ain’t stand by you the way we was s’posed to. For that, we apologize. But we here now, ain’t we? Let that mean somethin’, girl.”

‘Course you didn’t answer. Ain’t even look at him. Your stomach twisted up tight as you stared out the window. This wasn’t your little white cottage with the porch swing and the climbin’ roses. This was the old saw mill—deep in the woods, where the trees grew thick and the night air smelled like damp earth and old memories.

“Y’all said y’all was takin’ me home,” you said, brows knittin’ together, voice low and brittle.

“This don’t remind you of home?” Stack asked from the back, his tone half-playful, half-hopin’. Like maybe he could pull at somethin’ you buried long ago. Hell, he knew you remembered. Could see it all over your face—the weight of it, heavy and hurtin’.

Stack helped you out the car, and you looked around, a ghost of a smile flickerin' across your face. Back then, when y'all was a bit younger, this was the spot. The old abandoned mill by the pond—the first place y'all ever met. The memory was 'bout as clear as day. Just you, sittin' under an old pecan tree, a book too heavy for your little hands. Dreamin' about places you'd never seen, with your Sunday dress hitched up 'round your knees, dirt smudgin' your bare ankles. Readin' like it could save you. Like it might carry you somewhere better.

They spotted you 'fore you even knew they was there — struttin' over with easy smiles and slick mouths, smellin' like sweat, gunpowder, and cheap whiskey. You was shy back then, a little soft 'round the edges, but never dumb. You ain't take neither one too serious. Not yet. Not 'til they made you fall in love. Not 'til they touched you like you was made of glass, fucked you like breathin', kissed you like every day might be the last. They made you feel untouchable. Made the whole damn town know you wasn't a girl to mess with. 'Cause you belonged to them.

And they belonged to you.

They taught you how to fight. Hardened you up. 'Til no bitch — not Mary, not Annie — could look at you wrong without catchin' a beatdown. Those boys that once made you laugh 'til you cried, danced barefoot behind the mill, were the same ones who left you bawlin' alone, spillin' tears into the dirt.

And now, they was tryin’ to drag you back to it.

"Why's we here?" you asked, voice crackin' under the weight of memory.

“Business,” Smoke said low, like it oughta explain everything.

Stack struck a match, lit up another cigarette, and took a long, slow drag ‘fore passin’ it off to his twin. “See that ol’ mill? We buyin’ it from a cracker first thing in the mornin’. Gonna turn it into a Juke Joint — a real one, for our folks. A place they can dance, drink, breathe easy without worryin’ ‘bout no white folks breathin’ down they necks.”

Once again you stared at ‘em hard, suspicion risin’ up heavy in your chest like a summer storm. How they got the money for somethin’ like that, you didn’t know. Truth be told, you wasn’t sure you wanted to know. Ain’t nothin’ in this world free, especially not for men like them. Especially not down here.

“And what the hell that got to do with me?” you asked, voice steady, even though your hands itched to fold over your chest.

Smoke leaned back, one hand fidgetin’ with the silver ring on his index finger — a tell he had since y’all was kids. He only did it when somethin’ was sittin’ heavy on his mind. “We need the finest dancer in town to bring that floor alive—,” he said. “Need somebody who make folks spend they last damn dollar just to watch ‘em move. And we payin’, make no mistake.”

Lookin’ between ‘em, you met each of they dark, familiar eyes, and made damn sure your words came out clear. “I don’t want money wit’ blood on it.”

They didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

That was one thing ‘bout Stack and Smoke—they could take you at your hardest, your meanest. Could stand up to the fire you threw without backin’ down. But you knew deep in your bones, no matter how tough they acted, those boys was always weak when it came to you; to them big, pretty eyes they swore could bring a man to his knees.

Stack’s patience snapped first, just like always. He shifted, tossin’ the burnt-out cigarette down and crushin’ it under his bootheel.

“Well, what the fuck do you want, then?” he barked, voice sharp with frustration. Always the hothead, always the one to talk ‘fore thinkin’. Never the type to hold his tongue or watch his own damn back.

"To go home, Elias. Care to indulge me?"

"Nah, baby. I don't, actually—," he said without missin' a beat. He was a smart-mouthed fool too, flashin’ that grin full’a them shiny-ass gems every time he opened his mouth.

“What y’all want with me? What y’all really drag me all the way out here for?” you demanded, voice tight like a stretched-out clothesline.

“Done told ya already, girl—,” Smoke said, cool as a winter creek. “Ain’t gone say it again.”

“This a town full’a dancers, Elijah. Ya’ll don’t need me.”

Stack, leanin’ back against the car like he had all the time in the world, just shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But we want you.”

Smoke stepped in closer, his voice a low rumble under the heavy night air, "We told you we was gone give you a stage'a your own. Make you a star like you always dreamed ‘bout. 'Member?"

Damn them. You remembered every bit of it. You done tried buryin’ it deep, stuffin’ it down like old letters in a dusty chest — but all it ever did was ache. Your throat burned up like a bad fever, your eyes startin’ to sting, chest tight enough you thought it might split clean open.

“Y’all full of shit,” you muttered, but it come out softer than you meant, breakin’ right down the middle.

“We ain’t,” Smoke said, steppin’ even closer now, til you could smell the tobacco on his breath, the heat rollin’ off his skin. He reached out, catchin’ your chin between two fingers, touchin’ you like you might break if he held too hard. “We bled for that dream, same as you, Silk. Fought for it ‘til we damn near lost ourselves.”

With your hands curlin’ into fists at your sides, you was fightin’ the tremble workin’ its way through you.

“Why now, huh?” you snapped, voice crackin’ like a whip. “Why the hell now? After y’all acted like I ain’t mean nothin’? I want the truth this time. None of that sweet-talkin’ bullshit you good for.”

Stack, who usually had a smart mouth ready for anything, went real still. Real quiet. He pulled his hat clean off his head, runnin’ a hand over his hair, lookin’ like he ain’t had a single slick thing left to say. Chicago did ‘em good, cut a line in the side real fresh.

“Why else? We love you,” he finally said, voice rough like gravel. “Always did. Ain’t never stopped.”

Smoke leaned in real slow, close enough you could feel the heat of his breath brushin’ across your face. His presence wrapped ‘round you like a heavy blanket in the dead heat of July. You braced a hand against his chest, feelin’ the steady thud of his heart — and under that, a tremble, like he was holdin’ back somethin’ deep, somethin’ old and wounded, tryin’ its damnedest not to break wide open.

“But one thing for sure, two things for certain,” Smoke said, his voice low and rough as gravel, catchin’ on every word like it hurt to say ’em. “We wasn’t bred to be with a woman as good as you.”

Stack, leanin’ nearby with that bitter smirk of his, let out a humorless chuckle, “Still ain’t.”

The words hit you harder than a blow. Your throat tightened up, and you shoved at Smoke’s chest, hard, but it was like pushin’ against a brick wall—he didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, lettin’ you take out all that hurt and anger without sayin’ a damn word.

“So you thought leavin’ me was better?” you choked out, voice crackin’, the betrayal sharp in every syllable.

"Nah," he said. "We thought it was the only way to keep you clean. Safe. Smilin', even if we had to stay gone for a while."

"But as it turns out—," Stack added, steppin' in behind you, his chest brushing your back, caging you between 'em. "We can't stay away for too long."

Their hands found you at the same time — Smoke's rough fingers liftin' your jaw, Stack's palms slidin' down your arms, steadin' you even as your knees wobbled.

“You ours,” Smoke murmured, voice low and rough, his lips ghostin’ right over yours, not quite kissin’, just teasin’ — like he wanted to savor the moment you gave in. “Always been.”

“That wasn’t ever gon’ change,” Stack rumbled against your ear, mouth grazin’ your neck in slow, temptin’ bites that made your knees damn near buckle again.

The anger, the pain — all that hurt you been bottlin’ up for six long, lonely years — it started boilin’ over, hot and wild, mixin’ with a hunger you tried so hard to kill. It cracked you wide open now, floodin’ every inch of you like a busted dam, no holdin’ it back.

“Don’t put me through this again,” you begged, voice tremblin’, breathless, your body already betrayin’ you, rememberin’ the way they touched you, the way they loved you, like it never forgot. “Don’t come back just to leave me worse off than ‘fore.”

Smoke’s hand slid around your waist, pullin’ you flush against him, his chest hard and hot under your palms.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere this time, baby,” Stack growled low, a promise buried in every word. “And we gone make damn sho’ this sweet lil’ pussy remembers exactly who it belongs to.”

“It knows,” you whispered back, your hand driftin’ down without thinkin’, findin’ the thick heat straining against the front of Smoke’s slacks. He shuddered under your touch, deep and real, like he was barely holdin’ on. “Just like y’all know ya’ll belong here, with me.”

Smoke's mouth crushed yours before the last word even finished leavin' your lips, kissin' you like he was starvin', like he needed you to breathe.

Stack's hands roamed lower, greedy, sure, gatherin' your dress up in his fists as he pressed hot kisses to the side of your neck, beard scratchin’ soft as his lips dragged over your skin, teeth sinkin’ in just enough to make you gasp.

Their hands—rough, calloused—claimed you in the sticky heat of the Mississippi night, under the shadow of that old mill, with the hum of crickets and the whisper of the river nearby. They kissed and touched like they was tryin' to make up for all the empty years in one night, and Lord, you let 'em.

‘Cause no matter how bad it hurt, you still wanted ‘em. Needed ‘em, somethin’ fierce.

Silk draped across skin like a secret, catchin’ the honeyed light of dusk—as if it, too, was in love with the way it moved. There was music playin’, smooth like buttermilk biscuits but still so delicate, a sound so tender that it made the soul sway without askin’, like it’d been waitin’ a lifetime for that one tune. This feeling was something only the blues could give, as it gathered folks to the old saw mill soon as the sun kissed the lake— rakin’ the sky in colors not quite of this world.

It was an end to over a thousand beginnin’s.

One of which started tonight.

From the very moment you stepped into openings of that juke joint, oozin’ confidence, glowin’ with an innocence that reminded folks of honeysuckle berries—pretty as a picture, sweet to the scent, but not meant for just any mouth to taste. People whispered, wonderin’ how someone like you was still walkin’ this world unclaimed— unmarried, yet untouchable in a way that didn’t ask for walls, just carried its own hush of reverence. It wasn’t ‘cause you wanted to be alone, but ‘cause your heart hadn’t found the right hands to open for. It’d take a certain kind of man— the kind who could hold fire without flinchin’, who’d see the softness in your strength and know not to take it for granted.

And that man lingered just past the doorway, deep in the hum of the ‘mill, waitin’, watchin’— without even knowin’ what for.

Adjustin’ the shawl sittin’ just right ‘cross the slope of your shoulders, you stepped through the threshold with blessings straight from Cornbread himself. That man—Lord, he was a trip. Let out a holler of a laugh, deep and rich from his belly, soon as he laid eyes on you. Tipped his hat gentle-like, as if his sweet wife ain’t just hosted you for supper the night before. Still, he stepped aside all proud and beamin’, holdin’ that door open wide like he ain’t seen you step out in years.

The lights was low, castin’ a soft, golden hush ‘cross the room like honey poured slow. Folks was gathered tight—dancin’, playin’ cards, laughin’ loud, flirtin’ louder. The air smelt of battered fish and temptation, fried crisp in old grease and sweet talk. It was a sight, no doubt. A joint made just for y’all—your kinfolk, your people; brothers, sisters, cousins by blood or by bond.

Since this mornin’, there had been rumors running ‘round town— just some hush talk ‘bout how the Smokestack Twins rolled back into Southern Mississippi, pockets heavy, strings pulled tight like fiddle wire. They’d been spewing something ‘bout bringing a place like this to life. Them boys brought it to life, alright. Though, it hurt havin’ to find out from a friend instead of them, themselves. But that’s just the lay of the land, ain’t it? Smoke probably ran off to scoop up Annie first chance he got, and Stack—well, who even knew where that man drifted off to.

But it was never Smoke you itched to see.

It was always Elias Moore—though the whole neighborhood knew him in the streets as Stack—that your heart leaned toward.

That man was born for trouble, carved from it, even. And you’d known him near half your life. Him and his twin, both wild as a brushfire with a bottle of moonshine. And you? You were the still water they never could settle on. Didn’t make sense to folks, but y’all fit like dusk slippin’ over a quiet lake. Still, truth be told—your feelin’s for the feistier twin ran deeper than any friendship had a right to. He was all fire and fury, that one. All restless hands and reckless love. And Lord help you, you loved every damn flicker of it. The way he burned for life, for loyalty, for his people—it pulled at somethin’ deep in you. Made your chest ache in a way that felt more like a hymn than hurt. But he was untouchable. And if we bein’ honest? So were you.

Two souls built up like fortresses, darlin’. And nobody ever figured how to climb ‘em. Not that it mattered, in the end. On a summer so hot the air felt like molasses, they up and vanished. Gone. Just like that. It’s been six, maybe seven years now. Not a letter. Not a whisper. Just silence and longing because of course you missed him. But you understood. And now—he’s back.

Glancing ‘round the room slow, you take it all in, then make your way to the bar. A smile pulls at your lips soon as you see Annie behind it, servin’ up drinks with that sweet-as-peach-pie grin.

“Care to tell me why your fine ass is slavin’ behind that counter ‘stead of two-steppin’ with me out on the floor?” Your voice cut through the music, teasing warm and easy, as you leaned your elbow on the bar.

The lights caught the gloss of Annie’s smile before she let out a laugh—rich, familiar, and just what your heart needed. She wiped her hands on a towel, tossin’ it to the side before steppin’ ‘round the counter and pullin’ you into a long, bone-deep hug. Now this woman right here—was the perfect picture of beauty, grace, sugar and strength wrapped up in soft curves and a quiet fire. Y’all had history, marked by years of walks that lasted through different points in life. She was family, at this point, in every way that mattered.

She sighed against your shoulder, voice tinged with affection and just a lil’ irritation.

“Mm. You know how Smoke is—,” she drawled, rollin’ her eyes as she stepped back. “That man could talk me into doin’ just ‘bout anything.”

“Well, he’d better find someone to cover your shift in the next hour or so. I need my dance partner—,” you give her a subtle wink, that was playful and bright.

She gave you a look then—one of those deep, sister-to-sister kind of looks that went right past the surface.

“Now you know damn well you ain’t here for me.”

Lifting a brow, your lips part into a real lazy grin. It was a habit you’d had since forever—an innocent lil’ signal, sugar-slick and practiced, that let her know you were ‘bout to steer the ship elsewhere. You’d lean in just so, flash that warm smile, and ask somethin’ simple with just enough charm to muddy the waters.

It was your tell.

Annie knew it well.

And bless it, you’d perfected it over the years—not with malice, no—but in that sweet, syrupy way of yours. A master manipulator dressed in Sunday best, all honeyed tone and doe eyes. You never lied, not outright; just tucked the truth beneath pretty words and well-timed distractions.

“And who am I here for, then?”

That’s when she gave you the look. The kind that went diggin’ deep, tryin’ to pull the truth right up outta your chest ‘fore you even had the chance to swallow it back down. A look that didn’t ask—it told. Told you to quit runnin’, quit pretendin’, quit actin’ like your heart wasn’t sittin’ up in flames every time his name floated through the air. She knew your tricks ‘cause she had a few of her own. Annie wasn’t the type to stir a pot unless it needed stirrin’, but when she did, it was hot.

“Elijah’s crazy-ass brother—,” she said, voice soft but firm, steady like gospel. “You can’t run from him in his own damn joint. So you must be plannin’ to see ‘em.”

Turnin’ your gaze away, your jaw tightenin’ just a little like it always did when the truth tried to edge past your teeth. “I’m not actively checkin’ for him, if that’s what you’re sayin’.”

“[Name]—,” her voice dipped low, heavy with the weight of things that never quite made it out loud.

She knew.

Knew how your heart beat different for Elias “Stack” Moore. Knew how you’d kept yourself still while he moved like a storm—takin’ what he needed from the world and from women who weren’t you. She saw how you carried that ache quiet-like, like it was holy. Savin’ yourself for a man who ain’t never been good at sittin’ still long enough to love right. Maskin’ the whole damn thing behind a false comfort of companionship—safe, easy, pretendin’. And she hated it. Hated seein’ the tension live in your bones.

But maybe—just maybe—you weren’t ready yet.

So you cleared your throat, choked back the ache that clawed at your chest, and threw on that sweet-as-sugar smile like armor.

“Now—,” you said, leanin’ in with that familiar sparkle, the one that always meant a subject was slippin’ away, “Which one of these beers you recommend for a girl like me? Somethin’ cold, somethin’ sweet. Maybe even a little somethin’ bold.”

Before Annie could answer, a voice smooth as bourbon and twice as dangerous curled into your ear from just behind.

“Ain’t a beer in this world bold ‘nough for you, baby,” came that deep, smirkin’ drawl, warm with amusement. It was a voice you’d know from anywhere. “But an Irish whiskey—” he added, with a chuckle so hot it near scorched skin. “Oughta do.”

Emergin’ from behind the counter was a dangerously charmin’ man, drippin’ with the kind of presence that could melt the buttons off a blouse. He walked like he owned every inch of the path beneath him—bold, unbothered, and burnin’ with that slow, magnetic energy women whispered about behind hand fans.

His skin, rich as dark honey, caught the light just right—chocolate brown with a warm glow that made his sharp eyes look even sweeter. Those eyes, same shade, cut clean through the hush of the room. His lips were soft lookin’, full and kissable, sittin’ beneath a foxy grin that flashed gold with every sly smile. Dressed in a fitted black and maroon suit that barely held back the muscle stretchin’ underneath, he looked like he belonged in this juke joint or in someone’s wicked dreams. With a smooth flick of his wrist, he tugged his fedora off and dipped his head toward you in quiet respect, though the look on his face was somethin’ you couldn’t quite place—teasin’, maybe. Or yearnin’. And Lord, was he achin’ to be closer.

Quickly, you looked toward Annie, eyes wide and beggin’—screamin’ help me, please without sayin’ a word. But that woman? She just smiled, real slow and real pretty, like she’d been waitin’ on this moment all night. She didn’t say nothin’. Just slid that open Irish Whiskey across the counter with a grace that almost felt cruel, the glass catchin’ the light like it knew somethin’ you didn’t. Then she turned, hips swayin’, and went on to tend to the next group with that same sweet charm—leavin’ you sittin’ there, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and that fire-burnin’ voice still lingerin’ behind you.

“Stack.”

The name fell from your lips like a stone in still water—sharp, sudden, and heavy with meaning. It rolled up from the back of your throat, hangin’ somewhere between heartache, heat, and pure anger. Just layin’ eyes on the curve of his mouth made the air shift—like time hadn’t moved at all since he left. Like he hadn’t just set fire to your peace by walkin’ in and breathin’ easy. This man definitely holds weight with women.

“Darlin’,” he drawled low, eyes trailin’ the curve of your body, takin’ in how the silk of your dress clung to the swell of your hips, your breast. He looked at you like he was entitled to every inch—and maybe he was.

“Thought ya’ll be gone for good.”

Stack let out a low chuckle, one of them deep rumbles that started somewhere in his chest and rolled up like thunder on a warm night. The toothpick in his mouth tilted with the movement, slow ‘nd steady, like he had all the time in the damn world.

“Yeah. Well—,” he let his eyes narrow. “We back now.”

“Was you ever plannin’ on tellin’ me ’bout all this?”

“Didn’t figure you’d care t’know,” he drawled, eyes half-lidded, voice slick as river mud. Ain’t a man alive could talk slicker than him. That mouth of his? Sharp as a whip—smart-assed and silver-tongued, made damn near perfect for dealin’ with women who had fire in their chest and bite in their words.

With a scoff, you looked away, jaw twitchin’ hard enough to crack.

“Why is you playin’ with me right now, Stack? Actin’ like you ain’t just leave me hangin’, missin’ you like a damn fool.”

He stepped in closer—slow, sure. He is a man who ain’t never needed permission. Close enough for his scent to catch you off guard—cedarwood, salt, and straight-up sin. That same smell used to haunt your sheets, when he spent the night, long after he was gone. Those days were different—felt slower, softer somehow. Y’all spent so much time together, just time. Nothin’ more than that. No sex, no touchin’ in ways that meant somethin’. Just a couple kisses here and there, and one damn near breath-stealin’ make-out that almost had him takin’ your virginity… ‘til he pulled back, jaw tight like it hurt him to stop.

The both of you knew what it was—what it coulda’ been. But y’all were too damn stubborn to call it by its name.

“Lower your fuckin’ voice,” he said, slow and flat, a warning dressed in velvet.

“M’not lowerin’ shit,” you snapped, breath catchin’, your voice tremblin’ beneath all that salt you been carryin’. “I waited. I cried. You ain’t write. Ain’t call. One day you here, the next you gone. And now you show up like nothin’ happened.“

Stack tilted his head just a hair, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You done?” he asked, voice slick as oil and warm as hellfire.

The audacity of this nigga.

“Fuck you—,” your hand flew for the bottle sittin’ right on the edge of the counter, glass catchin’ that soft kitchen light. Then you turned, ready to walk.

But Stack wasn’t lettin’ you.

He pulled you back with one hand—quick but careful, like he’d done it before in a dream he hadn’t told nobody about. His gaze dropped to your lips, slow, draggin’ down the shape of them like he was memorizing every word you’d ever dared throw at him. Then his hand moved—fingers curlin’ ’round your neck, not harsh, but firm enough to shut the whole damn world up. His other hand slid down your back, palm pressin’ to your spine, bringin’ you up against him ’til nothin’ stood between you but heat, history, and a tension that could knock the wind outta’ the devil himself.

“You gon’ watch how the fuck you talk to me, swee’heart,” he said low, breath fannin’ your cheek. “I ain’t one of these soft-ass niggas lettin’ you bark and bite just ‘cause you miss me.”

“You talkin’—,” you swallowed hard, chest tight, tears burnin’ the back of your throat. “But at least them ‘soft-ass niggas’ give me what I want.”

His jaw locked.

“The fuck is you—,” he paused, grip tightenin’ just enough to make your breath catch again, not from pain but from pressure; power. Then it hit him, and his whole body stilled. “You went ’n gave this pussy to some other nigga?”

“What would it matter to you?”

“I step out the picture for one damn minute—,” he growled, voice low and rough as gravel, “and you go ’n let some other man take what was ‘posed to be mine… in the bed I built for you?”

Your thighs pressed together without meanin’ to.

He saw. Of course he fuckin’ saw.

“You know I didn’t—,” you whispered, finally. “But I’m tired, Elias. I’m tired of actin’ like I’m cool with you layin’ with whoever, while I’m sittin’ here waitin’. I ain’t touched nobody—not one man. But I feel it. This… want in me. And I don’t know what to do with it. I just wanna know what it feels like to be held. Touched. Loved like I mean somethin’.”

Stack just stared at you, jaw tight, breath shallow.

“M’tryin’ to be patient,” he finally said, voice low, edged in steel. “But don’t play yourself, baby. You mine. Always been. I just ain’t touched you yet.”

“I don’t want you to be patient,” you said, voice quiverin’. “I want you to stop runnin’ and be with me.”

His eyes flared. The air went still. It’s been seven years. Seven long, quiet years. And still, your heart’s been reachin’ for him—soft and stubborn, never quite have learned how to let go. You done loved that man from a distance, like he was somethin’ sacred you couldn’t touch no more… only feel when the nights got too still and your chest got too full.

“You don’t know what you askin’ for,” he rasped, jaw clenched like it was the only thing keepin’ him from doin’ somethin’ reckless.

“I do know,” you shot back, eyes gleamin’ wit’ fire; attitude coming back. “I wouldn’t’ve said it if I ain’t know.”

His fingers twitched. His thumb brushed under your jaw, tender, but heavy with the weight of every look he’d ever thrown your way. His other hand didn’t leave your back—it pressed in harder, pullin’ you tighter, like he could make you part of him if he just held you close enough.

“That mouth gon’ get you in trouble,” he whispered, voice honeyed with heat. “’Cause I swear ‘fore God, I’ll fuck the attitude straight outta’ you.”

“Take too long and M’gone find someone else.”

His eyes darkened, nostrils flarin’.

“Don’t go gettin’ a nigga killed bein’ petty,” he warned, voice low, almost lazy—but there was heat in it, simmerin’ just beneath. Then he leaned in—as if he had all the time in the world. His lips hovered over yours, not kissin’, just breathin’ you in—a promise and a threat wrapped up in one shaky breath.

“But that day’s comin’,” he murmured, deep and sure. His hand slid down to your waist, firm and possessive. “And when it do—,” he paused—eyes locked on yours, jaw tight. “You gon’ take every inch of me.”

 other account(s):

starliis is my main tumblr account, inspired by bridgerton and my advocacy of poc! + black! readers, writers, voices, and fanfics. this one, simillia, is my secondary, general tumblr for neutral audiences and anime, manga, webtoon, video games, fanfics, etc.

 request(s):

are now open. fill free to send in some ideas you’re looking to see written. be aware of the ground rules and understand that topics that make me uncomfortable (e.g., incest, rape, etc.) will be declined.

• will write for anime, movies, and television series.

 keynote(s)

(m); mature, (s); smut, (f); fluff, (a); angst.

MOVIES 🍿

 sinners

(m) milk & honey — elias "stack" moore & elijah "smoke" moore x black! reader.

one | two (s)

(m) honeysuckle — elias "stack" moore x black! virgin! reader.

 creed

TV SERIES 📺

 good girls

 snowfall

 stranger things

 bridgerton

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 respect boundaries

please respect personal boundaries, both mine and those of other followers. refrain from prying into personal details or making inappropriate comments.

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 constructive feedback only:

constructive feedback is always welcome! however, please keep criticism respectful. this is a safe space for creativity and growth.

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 credit & reblogs:

feel free to reblog any original content, but please do not repost my work elsewhere without permission. crediting is essential to protect and respect the effort that goes into each piece.

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 no hate or harassment:

negativity, harassment, and discrimination will not be tolerated here. keep interactions positive and respectful. this includes refraining from unnecessary drama or ‘callouts.’

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 requests

requests are currently open; when opened, feel free to send them in! check here, my bio, or pinned post for current status. please be respectful and patient, as not all requests may be fulfilled.