Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Childhood Best friend!Reader
Trouble brews once Mary walks into the twins’ juke joint, and you just wanna be the girl Elias likes. Part. 2
wc: 6,103
warnings: porn with lots of plot, jealous!dom!Elias, sub!reader, clit slapping, face-sitting, cunnilingus, unprotected p-in-v, dirty-talk, degradation (not tew much but it’s there), overstimulation (r receiving), rough sex, manhandling, slight tit sucking/licking, marking, creampie (gulp??), language, one klan mention, shitty southern writing
an: HEY GUYS!!! THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC EVER WOOHOO! (ignore how it took me a month to make it, i’ve been going thru it man) i’m literally obsessed w sinners so hopefully i did stack justice! do y’all even read these? anyways
feedback is always appreciated n welcomed <3
Your hair was starting to cling onto your forehead as if you were drenched in sticky molasses.
The air was humid and dry; of course, this was a Mississippi custom, but it doesn’t help that there’s dozens of bodies stomping and prancing around.
Though you can’t complain much, considering that you were right here with them—dancing as if you hadn’t in years.
In a way, you haven't. You haven’t felt a rush of autonomy and euphoria quite like this before.
With everyone being nothing but working busy-bodies, there’s been little to no time to plan big events such as tonight. The lack of excitement has been a major factor too.
Hence why as soon as the Moore twins came back into town with the intention to open up their very own juke joint, everyone was on board.
The pair hadn’t been seen here in seven years.
Seven long, cruel years without the twin you’ve grown to love.
Stack.
Well, he was Stack to everyone else. But to you? He was still Elias. Your ‘Lias.
Seven years without his lingering touches and pearly smiles.
You weren’t the only one that missed him, it seems.
Your sister told you that when she went down near the train station, she was right there waiting for your Elias.
Mary was waiting.
You don’t have a clue as to how she knew he was coming home before you did, considering that nobody from the Delta had heard from him except for you. And a letter from him was rather rare.
Mary had nearly thrown a fit once she saw him; it didn’t help that Elias had turned down her persistent advances.
The lack of contact obviously sent her over the edge.
Apparently she mentioned their former relations; their connection being a secret to none.
You were envious of this; never jealous, but overcome by a feeling of want.
Growing up with the twins meant that the three of you were as close as can be. That being said, though, they looked at you as if you were their little sister. It was fine when Elijah assumed the role of a family member, but Elias?
Just thinking about it makes your heart ache.
You longed for the flirtatious remarks that he’d give off to any and every woman, a night filled with intimacy plagued your mind constantly.
But you got over it.
You had to. Not only for the sake of your friendship with Elias, but also because of his prolonged absence from town.
That’s why tonight—right now, you had to pump the breaks and focus on celebrating the twins’ success.
Speaking of success?
You making your way over to the bar with your wobbly heeled-covered feet was a success. Surprisingly.
“Someone’s been dancin’ a lil too hard, huh?” Annie chortles, looking at you with nothing but sisterly-love, and a bit of amusement.
“Only dancin’ I was doing was during my cooking—nothin’ like this in a while,” you exclaim with bliss through a beaming smile. You huff as you sit down in front of the bar. “Y’got anythin’ good back here?” You motion to the bottles Annie has surrounding her.
“Better than good,” Annie replies before ducking down and searching below the counter.
You brace your hands on the counter and slightly peer over at the woman, but then she pops up quicker than you can plop back down onto your chair. She quirks a brow at you before placing a bottle down in front of you.
“What’s this?” You question; if Annie didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that it was Christmas morning with the way you were looking at the bottle.
“Authentic Irish beer; straight from the north side of Chicago. Different from the rest they’re sellin’.” She replies. “Your man brought it specifically for you—made me promise I wouldn’t give it to nobody else, no matter how much they was payin’.”
You bite back a smile at her words; you knew exactly who she was talking about.
“He fixin’ to be Mary’s.” Your lips straighten, it’s bittersweet.
“That so? ‘Cause that ain’t what I heard,” Annie muses, making you pause. You savor Annie’s words as if they were your holy grail. Was there a chance that Elias looked at you the same as you did him?
You crane your neck and your gaze is set over your shoulder—over at him.
He catches your eye and he gives you a cheeky smile, to which you return rather eagerly.
You hadn’t had a single nonchalant bone in your body it seems.
Your shared staring was cut short as Mary forced Elias’ attention back onto her, but it wasn’t exactly a hard task for her.
Something about her was just so easy and simple, despite the ring shining on her hand that matched another man’s being anything but simple. The way that they connected even after all these years made you feel as if you swallowed a jar of mud.
After a few sips of beer, you can’t help but let a smile rest on your face. Elias knew you’d love it, and it makes your heart dance.
Speaking of dancing, your dearest friend Pearline struts up to you with a grin that soared for miles.
“What’s got you cheesin’ all hard?” You raise your eyebrows at her, making her giggle.
“Y’know the Preacher’s boy? The one that was just singin’?” Pearline’s nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement.
“Lil’ Sammie Moore? Course I do, why? What’d you do Pearl?” You gape at her and hold her hands tightly in yours.
“Well…” She trails off. “Let’s just say, he showed me he ain’t a boy, but a real man.”
Your eyes nearly bulge out of the sockets as you exclaim a Pearline! that could probably be heard for miles.
Pearline gushes, “He made me feel things I ain’t never felt before.”
“Not even with your mister?” You gasp.
“Not even close. And that’s not all,” she pauses before looking around, then leaning in towards you.
“I wasn’t even able to freshen up. He didn’t want me to,” Pearline whispers.
You shout, then look around in embarrassment at your outburst; you shake Pearline vigorously by her shoulders and giggle some more.
You decide to look around the joint, and you coincidentally catch Sammie looking right at the back of Pearline’s frame in utter awe.
You nudge Pearline, and she looks over at him with you. The look that she throws his way is nothing short of flirtatious.
“He looked at ya like he wanted t’take a bite,” you snicker.
Pearline looks at you mischievously, “Funny, considerin’ he already did.” You can’t help but laugh.
“So, y’thinkin’ bout singin’ like he said?” You ask.
Pearline hums, “Maybe. ‘M thinkin’ you should too.”
“No, not happenin’. Not a chance,” You scoff playfully.
Pearline whines and grabs your wrists. “C’mon, sista! When’s the last time you got the chance to do this?” She pouts, and tries hardest to make puppy-dog eyes at you.
“Besides, this could be y’chance to make a move on Stack. Ain't that whatcha been waitin’ for?” She drags.
You falter at the question she poses.
“Tonight’s the night, sista.” Pearline murmurs softly.
It’s crazy how you always get in your head when it comes to him.
The thing is, you weren’t one to throw yourself out there just to entertain a man. No, that just wasn’t your style.
But God—tonight? His suit was fitting snug in all the right places, his grills glimmered dangerously in the dim lighting, and his eyes always found yours, recklessly.
You couldn’t resist Elias Moore.
And right now, you’re starting to wonder if you ever could.
“Y’better wrap that scarf on tight, Pearl,” you say as you grab her arm and start walking with her to the front. Pearline shrills and claps her hands with glee.
You saunter towards the stage with a pep in your step and your arm linked with a perky Pearline. Your heels clack on the wooden floors as you come face-to-face with the band and none other than Delta Slim, who’s now grinning at you.
“Been tryin’ to getcha to sing for years girl, what’s with the change o’ heart?” He questions with a smirk, as if he already knew the answer. You’re sure that he did with the way that his eyes looked past you and towards Elias.
“It’s a nice night, figured I’d try sum different,” you shrug, trying to mask your sudden embarrassment. Pearline intertwines her hand with yours and uses her other one to gesture to the band. You inhale deeply while looking at her; she gives you a look of reassurance.
The patrons of the juke joint grow silent at the sight of you two taking your stances and the band readying their instruments.
Pearline starts humming and you lightly stomp your feet on the stage, starting to form a beat as the band follows.
Elias feels as if his heart was being weighed down by a ton inside of him. He held his breath—scared that the rise and fall of his chest would make him miss the steady view of you: parading around as if everything outside the joint had come to a halt.
You looked completely, and utterly divine up there; moving swiftly and effortlessly, as if you owned the very ground you were stepping on.
You were absolutely ethereal in Elias’ eyes.
And he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t falling even harder for his sugar as of right now. He was the only man that could get away with calling you sugar; he knows it, so does everyone else in the Delta—and Elias can’t help but let his pride swell every time he thinks about it.
Your body sways carelessly as if you were one with the words that escaped your lips, but your eyes are grounded—powerful, even. Speaking of them: your glittering orbs meet his, your gaze nothing short of a vixen’s.
Though, the interlocking of your sights is interrupted when Mary makes her presence known yet again at Elias’ side. He can’t help but sigh at the intrusion.
Luckily, Elias’ ever-growing agitation fades when the patrons of the juke let out their elation around him. The band’s playing picks up, as well as you and Pearline’s voices.
Don’t let it shine, shine, shine once more
Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon
Everyone chants and stomps rhythmically.
“I wanna sing, like I hear the crickets do,” Pearline sings seductively while peering at Sammy as she struts.
Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon
“I wanna hoo,” you and Pearline sing simultaneously, harmonizing beautifully as your backs meet and you both slide to a crouching position.
Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon
“I wanna howl,” the two of you sound as if you were straight out of a folktale—like one of those myths of the sirens that Annie had explained to Elias once before. You and Pearline then reside in a crawl as you look at the crowd with a sense of hunger in your eyes.
Mary gets ahold of Elias’ tie, but he quickly removes her grip from him—without even breaking eye contact with you. He knows she’s interested in spending the rest of the night with him; maybe in hopes of rekindling an old flame.
But how could Elias be interested in another woman when his woman—his sugar—was looking at him so deliciously.
You grin slyly at him, biting your bottom lip before licking your teeth.
Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon
“I wanna scream,” Pearline sings, as you mouth the three words to Elias.
Three little words that have Elias fucking mesmerized, hypnotized even. You have him in a trance, right where you want him, and you both know it.
Elias wishfully thinks that the pick up in your breathing isn’t just from all the dancing you’ve been doing tonight. He bites his lip at the thoughts running through his mind.
Mary can’t even say that she recognizes the look that Elias gives you, for she has never been on the receiving end like you have been. Her frustration and jealousy boils over, and she eventually huffs before walking away from Elias, and out of the juke joint.
Elias doesn’t mind one bit, and he sure as hell doesn’t when the song finishes and you hug Pearline with excitement as the joint nearly turns upside down. You’re jumping up and down and Elias can’t help but smile til his cheeks hurt.
Elias feels a hand slap somewhat roughly on his shoulder. He knows good and well it’s his brother, with or without the wave of tobacco radiating.
“Came out here after the game finished, saw the way she was lookin’ at’cha, too.” Elijah grumbles.
“Breathtakin’, ain’t she?” Elias remarks breathily, not even turning to his brother—keeping his sights on you, as you hug Slim and the rest of the instrument players.
“Not ‘bout how I feel, ‘s ‘bout how you feel,” Elijah sighs. This makes Elias turn towards his brother.
“Don’t know what’chu waitin’ on, already been years,” Elijah then pauses before continuing, “Don’t be surprised when somebody see what’chu see.” Elijah trails off, almost ominously, and nods his head in your direction.
Elias follows his twin’s trail of sight and spots you: talking to a man he ain’t even seen before. You were beaming, your hair a little frizzed up by the humidity, your lipgloss smudged a little onto your shimmering skin.
Speaking of your lipgloss—whoever you’re talking to decided to rub his finger below your lip to wipe it away. Right now, Elias’ demeanor resembles the snake him and his brother killed earlier: cold and unmoving.
You glance around the sea of bodies, and Elias takes this as a sign. He starts to walk up to you, but not before having to mumble several ‘excuse me’s while side-stepping quite a few people—who seem to not be able to hold their liquor.
He finally reaches you, and he gets a glimpse of you over the guy’s shoulder, who has no idea he’s even there.
“We got a problem?” Elias murmurs, making the stranger nearly jump out of his skin.
“N-nah man,” the man chuckles awkwardly as he faces Elias.
“I reckon we do, since y’talkin’ to my lady,” Elias replies, sizing him up as he takes a step closer to him. The man takes a step back in return.
“I ain’t know, I-I’m sorry, Stack,” the man trembles meekly. Elias only hums. The man glances between the two of you before making himself scarce.
Elias stays in the same spot for a beat, before turning and giving you a look that says let’s go, before walking towards one of the back rooms of the joint. You hesitate, before inching behind him.
“So I’m y’lady now?” You don’t bother to tone down the sass in your voice.
“‘S what I said, ain’t it?” he mumbles, not even looking at you.
You scoff, “Yeah, well, y’got a funny way a’ showin’ it.”
Elias pulls you into a dimly lit room and finally faces you as you stand before him. “What’s that s’possed to mean?”
You narrow your eyes at him before speaking. “Means I saw you messin’ with ole Mary.”
“She don’t mean nun to me,” Elias guaffs. “Why d’ya think she left already?”
You roll your eyes and begin to head out the door you just came from. You’re not sure where this attitude just came from, in all honesty. The moment your eyes met him while you were on stage, it felt as if everything else had faded away, and it was just the two of you.
Maybe it was the irritation caused by Mary that left you in a sour mood now, you’re not sure. You know it won’t be beneficial to you nor Elias in this moment, but you can’t help it.
Elias grabs your wrist before you can get too far away from him.
“She ain’t nun, y’hear?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he almost sounded desperate. You stay quiet.
“Asked you a question, sugar. ‘N with that attitude of yours, I ain’t fixin’ to repeat myself.” His lips ghost the shell of your ear as he speaks, and heat twinges through your stomach. Elias seems to take notice of the subtle switch in your demeanor; he smirks and his chocolate brown irises darken even further.
“I…I don’t believe you,” You almost whisper, but still meet his gaze.
Almost immediately, he responds with, “What I got to do to convince you, baby?” Elias matches your tone, but there’s still a hint of assertiveness conveyed through his words.
You don’t speak—it’s almost like you couldn’t, but you release your wrist from his grasp gently.
Elias’ jaw clenched slightly, but you still spot it. He looks as if he’s pondering his next words.
“‘S not makin’ sense, darlin’. I mean, you were acting like a whore on stage, now you don’t want me to touch you?” He cocks his head at you and your lips part—like it was reflex, and maybe it was. Elias clicks his tongue.
Your breath picks up, and if your mind weren’t turning fuzzy, you would’ve chided yourself for making a fool out of yourself in front of a man—Elias at that.
The man you’ve yearned for longer than you can even remember.
“I ain’t no whore,” you speak, finally regaining your senses.
“That right, sugar?” You can feel Elias’ breath on your heated face, and all you can do is nod in return.
“Y’wanna know what I think?” Before you can answer the question Elias poses, he murmurs lowly, “I think that deep down….You are a whore—and you needa be fucked like one.”
Despite the vulgarity of his words, the way that Elias places his palm across your cheek is soft—loving, even.
You press your thighs together through your dress unconsciously, desperately seeking even an ounce of friction to cool the impending heat between your legs.
Elias takes the hand that rested upon your cheek and moved it to the stiff rim lock that resided on the door’s surface.
Thank god—You’d hate for the likes of someone such as Sammie barging in and being witness to sin hotter than the Mississippi sun.
Elias then starts to walk you back to the table that remained bare in the dingy-lit room, removing his suit jacket and vest, followed by his tie. The backs of your knees meet the edge of the firm table, making you stumble just a bit. Elias takes it upon himself to lay you down onto the table.
You rest on your elbows as you look up at the six-foot-something man in front of you, and you can’t help but swoon. His beating eyes look down at you lustfully—almost as if he were a predator, and you his prey.
It made you weak.
Weak at the hands of a man you’d been waiting on while he had the time of his life in Chicago, with all sorts of Italian customs. Your actions are beyond halfwitted, but you make no effort to straighten yourself out anymore.
Elias takes his warm hands and spreads your knees with ease after unbuttoning his shirt, making you yelp involuntarily at the near-abrasiveness. He licks his grillz and lets out a short, deep chuckle; you feel it vibrate your bones, while he aligns himself so that almost he’s eye-level with your warm core.
“Elias, wait—“ You whimper meekly,
He hums disapprovingly, letting out a firm ‘mm-mmn’. He rips his gaze from your thighs to your eyes, “Been waitin’ for years, sugar, not sure if I can any longer.” He repositions his hands, lifting your dress and hitching it up to your upper thighs, nearly to your pelvic bone.
Elias massages your thighs with an iron grip, it’s not yet rough, but not exactly gentle either. His switch between the two is making your mind reel.
He kisses up from your knee almost to where your dress bunches up as he removes his button-up, leaving him in his undershirt. He then says, “…So, m’sorry if I lose m’manners,” he breathes hotly against your skin, “But I don’t think I can live without destroying this pussy for a minute longer.” He damn near groans.
His mouth hovers above your clothed cunt—he purposely breathes in a way that makes you squirm at the feeling you’re unable to run from. As you shudder and tilt your head back, you suddenly hear a rip and you feel a gust of air.
You gasp and look down, where you’re met with Elias looking up at you cheekily, with one half of your panties in his mouth, and the other in his hand.
“‘Lias!” You exclaim.
Elias feigns innocence, “Told ya I ain’t mean no harm.” He then averts his focus to your legs, and he leaves a kiss to your mound.
“Y’not gon let me freshen up, will ya?” You ask quietly, already knowing the answer.
Instead of answering, Elias takes his tongue and trails it from your hole to your clitoris, and you puff out the air you didn’t know you were holding in.
Elias seems to enjoy your reaction, for he then gives you another long lick.
And another,
and another,
and you guessed it, another.
You press your lips together, muting your sounds, and Elias ‘tsk’s at the sight.
He nips a bit of the skin next to your lips, making you choke on your own spit. “Don’t like how quiet you’re bein’.” Elias reprimands you.
“Stop t-teasin’ then,” You manage to huff.
Elias chuckles in disbelief, “Wanted to be gentle, but y’makin’ it hard,” he then lifts you up from the table, and places his back where you once laid. He hooks your legs over the sides of his head, your pussy now inches away from his plump, shining lips.
Elias’ typical, million-dollar smirk is back on his face, but there’s something more sinister behind it—your legs would’ve buckled if he weren’t holding them.
“You’re a whore, jus’ like I said y’were.” His southern drawl makes your stomach twist in knots, despite the familiarity. Before you could get a word out, Elias placed you onto his face.
You mewl at the feeling of his tongue swirling around anywhere, and everywhere.
Your clit, your lips—it was almost as if he were starving.
There was no rhythm, no harmony and contentment, just the actions of a man on a mission.
A mission to make you scream louder than the birds on your farm.
Then, abruptly, Elias leaves a small, yet firm slap to your clit. “Admit it,” he says between licks. “Admit that you’re a whore.” He leaves another slap.
You don’t respond, too caught up in both the pain and pleasure. Your head hangs back and your eyes are clenched shut, and Elias grows impatient.
He removes his mouth from you with a ‘pop’ and almost snarls at you, “Thought I told ya Ion like repeatin’ myself.” He slaps your clit again, this time with more force.
“Okay—Okay! I was bein’ a whore tonight, ‘m sorry!” You cry out as your back arches.
Elias starts to lower you towards his grinning face, and you shiver at the feeling of his cold grillz.
Instead of teasing kitten-licks, Elias sucks at your slit and lets his tongue roam freely, without a care in the world. You writhe and whine on top of him, your body bending back and creating a dull aching sensation.
His advances are relentless, and you have no chances of escaping his grasp; he readjusts his grip as soon as he feels you start to slip away from him. You don’t know whether to clench around his tongue as he fucks you with it, or to cry–you end up doing both, and this continues on for who knows how long.
You’ve stopped counting the number of orgasms you’ve had after the second one–you think–but you think Elias has been keeping track. He’s muttered ‘jus’ one more, sugar’ maybe three times now, and you don’t know how many you have left in you at this point.
After what feels like hours, Elias finally lifts your hips up, allowing you to slide down and straddle his hips with your head resting upon his chest.
The beating sound of his steady heart fills your ear, and you try to match your breathing with Elias’. You feel a vibration as he shakes with laughter. You slightly drag your head up just enough to peek at his face, and he looks down at you with amusement.
“We ain’t done, not yet, peach,” he chuckles breathily at the wave of surprise that washes over your face.
You fumble with your words, “What d’ya mean? ‘L-Lias, I-I’m spent!” You continue to tremble in his arms.
“Y’still talkin’, ain’t ya, sugar?” He scoffs, it’s antagonizing. And before you can utter anything else, Elias flips you around onto the table, so you now lay with your back on the wood once again. Your dress rides down a tad at the sudden movement, and Elias holds your back, lifting you so that he can push your dress up past your breasts.
Elias lowers your back, before leaning peck your nipples. You bite your lip, but quickly let out a moan once he blows air onto your nipples, watching almost menacingly as they harden. One hand tweaks one of your nipples, as the other drags down your rib cage.
His hot, glistening tongue swishes around your tits, as he leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.
He sucks harshly as you whimper beneath him. One of his hands leaves your body and goes down to his slacks, he unbuttons them with ease without even looking, as he continues to leave hickies on your chest.
He untucks himself from his underwear, and you can’t help but buck towards his cock in anticipation.
“Easy, girl. You’ll get it when ya prove y’deserve it,” Elias mocks, you whine in response.
“I deserve it, more than anybody else–y’know that, ‘Lias,” You plead in hopes of him giving you what you want.
“That right, baby? All this yours, nobody else's?” He challenges, starting to stroke his length.
You squeeze your eyelids together, almost as if you were personally pained by the question.
“Damn right,” You huff as you look at him with a sudden wave of fire blazing through your eyes. Elias scoffs with a mixture of incredulity and mirth.
“Yeah, baby–always been yours. Glad ya finally came to y’senses.” And with that, Elias pushes inside of you, and you let out a broken gasp.
Elias quickly finds his pace as he thrusts in and out of you rapidly. He nearly pulls entirely out of your dripping cunt–and you think he’s going to tease you again, but he then slams back into you roughly, making you cry out as your back arches into him.
You’re now chest-to-chest with Elias as he continues to pump into you with little regard to your overstimulation. The contact of skin makes your toes curl in your heels. Elias grunts at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock and bites forcibly at the flesh of your neck.
Elias groans–almost as if fucking you were the key to heaven’s gates. He takes his large palm and pushes it down onto your torso, making your sweating body meet the barely-covered, rumbling wood.
You weep helplessly and squirm as he keeps you pressed against the shaking table.
“Mmnf–”Lias! Please!” You cry yet again, but without knowing the reason behind it this time.
He doesn’t respond to your watery blabbering, instead putting your legs on either side of his shoulders. Elias slowly–and almost lovingly–kisses your ankle, before unclasping the latch of your heel and sliding it off of your foot, letting it hit the floor with a thump that neither of you seem to catch through the sounds of your bodies meeting.
You two damn-near become one.
He repeats his actions on your other leg, but this time he kisses from your calf to your ankle before removing your heel and letting it meet the ground with your matching one.
His hand grips at the ankle he just kissed, using it as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded; like an anchor. He then sucks and nips at your leg, quickly marking just above your ankle with a red bruise, which you know will be purple by the time the sun rises for morning.
You hiss when he bites a little too roughly, and he shows his sympathy by licking at the irritated skin, soothing the tender ache.
“That feel good, darlin’? Tell “Lias how much y’love it, peach, c’mon,” Elias coos, lifting his shirt up so he can get a proper view of your sex.
You babble through sobs intelligibly, mewling something along the lines of ‘so so good, ‘Lias!’—at least that’s what Elias makes of it.
“Can’t hear ya, baby. Ya gotta–fuck! Ya gotta speak a ‘lil louder f’me, hm?” Elias manages to speak through his panting and groaning. You bawl, hot tears dripping from your cheeks down to your chin.
“It feels so good–oh god—‘Lias!” You shriek, not caring about the volume of your crying. “Please don’t stop! Please, please, please–” You ramble with a slur.
If Elias ever felt guilty at the way he man-handling you, seeing your fucked-out expression made all his worries wash away at the sight of you: tongue hanging out, as your tears dribble into your open mouth.
Your panting grows more frantic, little ‘uh-uh-uh’s being let out more frequently as you feel another orgasm course through your veins. “‘Lias—cummin’! S-sh-it, I-I’m cummin’!”
Elias firmly plants his feet on the floor, repositioning the arm on your stomach onto your other leg so that he can fuck you even deeper–deep enough to create a slight bulge in your stomach with his throbbing tip. “Yeah, that’s it. Fall apart on this dick, y’know y’want to, sugar. Been dreamin’ ‘bout it f’years, huh?” He taunts.
You try to answer him, honestly! But he’s hitting your cervix just right and his abs rub against the backs of your thighs–it’s too much.
Elias thought you’ve learned by now that he doesn’t take silence for an answer, so to remind you, he gives your spent cunt a more forceful slap than before.
“Fuck—Yes! A-always been wantin’ you, ‘Lias,” you wail. “I-I never let nobody touch me! Nobody but you!” You exclaim without thinking.
This fuels Elias to quicken his pace; he almost fucking growls at your words, and he tightens your legs around himself–right now, as he feels himself getting closer and closer to climaxing, he has no plans on pulling out.
He continues to heave words of encouragement as fucks you ruthlessly through your orgasm.
You moan and blabber as your vision turns white, and your ears start to ring. Your toes curl and flex, and your nails scratch at the table, hands desperate for something to hold. Your voice then gives out, as your tongue lolls out of your mouth yet again.
Elias gives you a few more earth-stattering thrusts, before his seed fills your puffy, aching hole; the guttural groan that leaves his throat ups in pitch–nearly turning into a whimper.
He pumps his cum into you once more, before releasing your legs from his grip and laying down on top of you. As he half-lays-half-stands against the table, he feels as if a cold bucket of water was dumped onto him.
He can no longer focus on the tingling feeling that shoots from his skull to his toes, but now on the fact that he was the first man you’ve been with.
You spent your first time with him–in a rickety building he bought from a Klan member, on an even dingier table.
Elias then taps your face, just enough to get you to come back to your senses. You open your eyes with a lazy grin at the feeling of his seed mixed with yours, but when you’re met with his panicky expression, you quickly push yourself up–to the best of your ability.
“What? Wha’s wrong, ‘Lias?” You question worrisomely.
He allows himself to catch his breath before speaking, “Y’serious?” It’s all that he says.
You furrow your brows and tilt your head at him, “Bout what? Y’scarin’ me, Elias,” you chuckle awkwardly.
Had you said something you shouldn’t have?
A million thoughts run rampant throughout your mind.
“‘Bout all this,” he flails his hand, motioning to where your bodies had just met. “Was that really ya first time?” He speaks loudly, and you feel mortified.
Your breath catches in your throat. You confirm his worries, your voice softer than a freshly picked feather, “Yes.”
Elias takes a step back, and it takes everything in you not to reach out for him. Instead, you sit up fully and push your dress back down to your thighs. You twiddle your thumbs idly, seeking for even an ounce of comfort as Elias pushes his shirt back down and tucks himself back into his boxers after wiping himself off with a rag. Despite his glowering, he hands you a rag so that you can wipe away the slick from between your thighs.
Did he regret spending the night with you? Did he find the fact that you remained a virgin because of him embarrassing?
“Why you ain’t tell me, girl?” He exclaims, “I wouldn’t have said and done all that foolishness if I knew you ain't never been with a man before!”
You feel your soul come back into your body. “You would’ve been all sweet with me? That whatcha sayin’, ‘Lias?” You can’t help but giggle.
“Ain’t nothin’ funny, woman! I was all rough with you ‘n–” You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer to you. You fold your arms around his neck, and you feel his hands drift down to your waist and squeeze lightly. Your nose nudges his, his breath fans your face as yours does his.
You break the kiss when you feel yourself losing your breath, and you gaze at Elias lovingly.
“You were perfect, I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” you whisper.
“Well for starters, could've gotten you a bed in the house ‘stead of a table in this dark ass room,” Elias grumbles.
You grin, “I think the lightin’ was just fine. Added ambience ‘n all that.” Elias pouts, and you peck his lips.
“I don’t care ‘bout the details, “Lias. Long as it was with you.” Your tone is as sweet as the finest honey in Clarksdale, and it pulls on Elias’ heartstrings.
“Y’really waited all these years….For me?” He whispers.
“Course I did, couldn’t imagine bein’ with anybody else.” You speak just as softly. You recognize the guilt that crosses his face, despite his best efforts to mask it with his bravado. “Don’t feel guilty, please. I don’t blame you for nun.” You caress his hair. Silence fills the room as Elias deciphers what to say, you just hold him tenderly until he’s ready.
“I-I love ya, more than y’know, sugar…” He trails off before finishing his sentence, “I jus’ want ya to know that. I have since we was young.” He looks at you with adoration and love in his eyes.
“I love you too, Elias Moore. Have since you stood up to my daddy on his farm f’me when we was seven.”
He smiles, but it’s tight lipped, making you frown. “Jus’ wish I could’ve admitted it sooner. Then this would’ve went down differently—would’ve been better.” He sulks.
You take your thumb and index finger and pluck his lips, making him shout ‘hey!’ with a laugh.
“Stop beatin’ y’self up, Elias. I told you, I’m perfectly happy here, right now. Ain’t nun gon’ change that a bit.” You scold him.
“If ya stop all that moppin’, I’ll let ya try again tomorrow, however y’want,” you giggle mischievously. Elias’ eyes light up almost immediately, the way he perks up reminds you of a puppy that was just given a treat.
Elias roars with laughter and squeezes you, before lowering you back down onto the table, he presses nearly all of his weight onto you.
You squeal and cackle as he tickles your sides, “‘Lias!”
You lay wrapped up with Elias, you felt as if you could lay there forever, and honestly in this moment, you wanted to.
Clarity and revelations do the body good.
Everything was good.
Until you heard a commotion on the other side of the door.
Since I’ll be in the hospital for a while, I figured I’d post some my drafts for entertainment :)!
Summary: You and a troublesome man you like more than you let on…in the end it’s easy.
Contains: smut, a dash of degradation, established enough relationship, fat d!ck Stack because LOOK at him, country accents, rough s€x, manhandling, multiple ørgasms, overstimulation, he puts it zowwwwnnnn, gives you some of that “move yo hand”, mating press dirty talk, petnames, fucking filthy kissing, cuddles, and as per usual- this is for the ✋🏽 strictly for the ✊🏽
Stack purrs out against the bare leg that’s currently hiked over his broad shoulder, voice dripping with condescension that’s a lot sweeter than the way he’s fucking into you.
The question is mean but it has its intended effect.
Goosebumps break over the surface of your flushed skin, choking on a whiny moan, cunt pulsating so tightly around him that he can feel you in his bones. A flurry of hiccuping sobs pour from your mouth cause you’re close. Again. Ordinarily, you’d try to defend your good name since you really were in fact not easy…or at least not until you’d met Stack. You’d heard of him before but never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance until he came strolling through your moms shop one day and found you instead.
At first you were stunned just making eye contact with him. Lidded brown eyes, dimples, plump lips- the gold on his teeth glinting at you and damn he was tall. Strutting up to introduce himself to you, accent thick with charm. However, you’d already heard of him and his way of giving women the roundabout and you’d decided right then and there that you’d be damned 11 ways to Sunday before you ever caught yourself on your back or knees for him.
Unfortunately, he was as relentless as he was gorgeous. Steadily pursuing you with the devil in his eyes and a grin on those full lips. Always hanging around- then, he’d disappear. As indifferent as you tried to be, dancing around his advances with light giggles and playful hands, when he’d vanish, you’d find yourself missing his face- or rather- his way of being, more like. See, Stack had this carefree almost cavalier demeanor but he was firm too. To you, that was his most attractive quality.
And he’d picked up on it. That you liked when he was a little firm with you.
From there all it took was a kiss.
Just barely brushing your lips when he leaned down, whispering teasingly against your lips, finger underneath your chin and you couldn’t keep the want from dripping out your eyes if you tried.
“Stop playing with me.”
To your surprise but not his- you listened.
Funny how you were so determined not to fall into his gravity and now look at you; sweat out hairstyle, sheer stockings ripped to hell along with your bra and underwear, being manhandled every which way, stretched out and creaming around the fattest cock you’ve ever had in your life as you moan in bliss- loving it.
Stack’s thrusts are deliciously brutal, hips snapping into yours while your legs hang over his shoulders like some harlot and sounding just like one, mouth dropped open while you cry and whine real pretty for him. Hissing through his teeth at the sight you make, Stack wedges his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and grips tight- using your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper. If the heat of the room wasn’t making you delirious then the way the fat head of his was smushing rough kisses into that soft patch of nerves would definitely do the trick. If this is what playing hard to get gets you then you’re seriously considering becoming a professional.
It gets to the point where your pussy is almost as loud as you are, prompting Stack to look down. A loud whistle barely makes it through the fog in your head and you try to bring your vision to focus. Your heart is going at least 100 miles per minute and you squeak as your legs are pushed so far back that your knees are touching your ears, Stack moving directly on top of you. Where the sudden flexibility came from you had no clue- but your awe is almost immediately overtaken by how full the new position has you feeling.
“O-oooh!”
Stack bites his lip as he watches your pretty face melt in pleasure, your normally sleepy eyes pop wide open, brows drawn together like you’re about to cry, lips forming that sexy ‘o’ as he slows down his strokes- letting you feel every inch of him. You were so gorgeous. Naked curves and soft skin crashing and rolling back into him then wrapping around even though you initially wanted damn near nothing to do with him. The thought makes him smirk in satisfaction until he’s brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling hand just above where your bodies are connected. He pulls out halfway nice n slow, looking down to see what the fuss is and his heart almost pounds out of his chest.
Slathered all over his dick, is milky white. It streams out generously from your hole around where he’s stuffed in and Stack feels himself start to lose his mind a little bit as he moans out,
“Yeahhh mamas, she’s real easy f’me…”
He doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slams back in with a wet ‘plap’- throwing his head back with a deep groan. The sound is so primal it sends nasty shivers up your spine but you don’t move your hand and he’s folding you even deeper, lowering his upper body almost completely against yours, pelvis grinding against your clit and you gasp wetly. Stack is wild, sucking bruising kisses into your neck, tongue trailing hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It’s consuming. His big tongue flattening against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth making you lightheaded- blood rushing through your ears as he starts his hips up again, grinding away at that spot inside you but not quite as deep and he pulls away.
He watches you gasp desperately, moving not even an inch away from your face as he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed,
“Move that hand, baby.”
Your name might as well be Sunday morning cause that’s exactly how easy you are, body obeying him before you even tell it to. As soon as you do, he doesn’t waste a second, big hands hook underneath your knees- railing you stupid. He’s not even trying to think straight, caught up in in not just the heat but how tight- how creamy- you are. Letting out a string of swears, he captures your mouth in another overwhelming kiss, cock aching while he swallows your wails as you twitch and shake around him.
You can’t take anymore. Stack gives another harsh, slick roll of his pelvis into your swollen nub while battering that tender spot inside you and you’re coming. And Jesus Christ on a bike- you’re coming hard. Clawing at Stack’s beefy muscles, a swarm of stars completely eclipse your vision while you’re shocked with wave after wave of vicious pleasure. You’re so loud you struggle recognize your own voice but Stack’s is clear as the ecstasy pumping through your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.
“Thaaat’s it, dollface.. aalll over me…”
Tears spill from your eyes and you’re close to tapping out when Stack buries his head into your chest, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth, thrusts slowing as he shoots deep inside your heat with a muffled groan, stuffing your hole to the brim until he pops off your tit with a satisfied sigh.
You’re tired, your back is killing you, and your shaking like a baby deer but a grin makes its way onto your lips regardless as Stack kisses all over you, pulling out slowly, warm eyes checking over your form for any sign of discomfort while you bask in the coziness after, closing your eyes to enjoy a much needed break until he interrupts it. Kissing your cheek in that tender way he does when he’s fixing to look after you.
“You okay? Ain’t hurtin’ none?”
You shake you head, eyes closed even as he pats you dry gently with his shirt, tossing on the floor when he’s done. Less sweaty, it’s easier for you to nap but something was missing. Reaching up, your hand swipes though the air as you blindly reach for him, eventually catching his chain as you yank him down next to you with a soft pleased little hum. Yes, you’d sleep just fine now.
And when you wake up?
You’re face to face with a big rock on your finger.
Pairing: Elias 'Stack' Moore x Reader
Summary: You're just Stack's type — feisty, strong willed, and damn pretty. Only thing is.. You won't give Stack the time of day on account of your daddy.
Your upbringing was a lil' different than girls your age. It was 1932 — you were nineteen, having grown up on your daddy's ranch. Instead of white cotton dresses, neatly combed hair, and puppies, you were raised wearing stained skirts, your hair wild and curly, riding horses and rejecting every boy that dared come near you.
Mama died when you were real young — too young to remember her face without staring at a photograph. Daddy did his best, though. He didn’t much care for you doing "girl’s work" when there were fence posts to mend and cattle to brand. So he raised you like he would’ve raised a son: rough around the edges, stubborn as a mule, and twice as fast with a rifle. By thirteen, you were driving the wagon solo into town. By sixteen, you could outshoot most men at the fair. And by nineteen, most folks knew better than to speak to you sideways.
Still, no matter how tough you acted, there was something that always drew in men. It was a competition almost. Any time you walked home from the schoolhouse at age 16, you heard them talkin'. The boys. Betting on who could secure a kiss first, maybe a date.
"First one to kiss the farmer’s daughter gets braggin’ rights for life," one of ‘em would say, real cocky. Like you were a trophy instead of a person.
But you weren’t some daisy to be picked. You were wild thistle — sharp, stubborn, and grown in hard soil.
None of those boys ever made it past your front gate. One tried and ended up limping back home with a busted lip and a bruised ego. After that, they mostly kept their distance. Called you a spitfire. A man’s girl. Trouble wrapped in curls and sunburn.
And maybe they were right.
You didn’t care much for dresses, or dancing, or sitting pretty at socials. You cared about the land, about your daddy, about making it through the droughts and the hard winters. You were proud of the calluses on your hands and the dirt under your nails. You knew how to clean a gun, break a horse, and break a man’s nose if need be. You didn’t need anyone — and that scared the hell out of every suitor that came sniffin’.
Until Stack Moore.
He was the opposite of his brother, though they were both law breakers. They'd come back into town like a storm, claiming it back again when they got sick of being men of war or taking over Chicago. They brought money, they brought booze, and they regained the enemies they'd always had before.
Your daddy knew exactly what type the Smokestack twins were. That's why he was so put out the day Stack spoke to you.
It was hotter than hell that afternoon, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer off the dirt road. You were hitchin’ the mule to the wagon outside the general store, sweat rollin’ down your spine, dust clingin’ to your boots. Stack leaned against a post with a matchstick between his teeth, lookin’ like the devil dressed in Sunday black — suspenders off his shoulders, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your throat go dry.
"Need a hand, sweetheart?" he drawled.
You didn’t answer him. Just wiped your brow and kept workin’, jaw tight, heart louder than it oughta been. You felt his eyes on you like heat from a fire. That was the first time he spoke to you.
You grunted, finally getting it hitched, before glancing up at Stack with irritated (and curious, though you wouldn't admit it) eyes.
"I got it. Somethin' I can help you with, Stack?" You responded coldly. In a moment, your daddy would be coming out of the store. He wouldn't take kindly to Stack chatting you up.
Stack smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world and not a care who saw him spending it on you. That matchstick rolled between his teeth as he looked you over, not lewd, not disrespectful — but bold. Real bold.
"Nah, darlin’. Just figured I’d say howdy," he said, voice molasses-smooth with that slick edge he and his brother hadn’t lost, even after years in the city. "Hard not to, when you’re standin’ there lookin’ like trouble in a skirt."
You narrowed your eyes. "Keep talkin’ like that, and you’ll find yourself wearin’ that matchstick in your eye."
He laughed — a warm, low sound that made something flutter deep in your belly, though you kept your scowl firm. He liked that. You could tell. The way his head tilted slightly, his eyes sharpened like he was memorizing the way your mouth twitched when you were pissed.
"I like a woman who bites," he said.
You opened your mouth to fire back, but the screen door of the store slapped shut behind you. Daddy stepped out with his purchase — a sack of flour and a bottle of tonic. His boots hit the porch with that heavy rhythm that always said someone was about to get corrected.
Stack’s smirk didn’t fade, but he straightened up. He tipped his hat slow and easy, like he wasn’t worried one bit about the man standing between him and a shallow grave.
"Afternoon, Mr. L/N," Stack said, polite as a preacher.
Your daddy didn’t respond. Just stared Stack down, eyes like steel under the brim of his weather-beaten hat. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick and dangerous.
"You got business here?" your daddy asked, voice flat.
"Just admirin’ the view," Stack replied, not looking away from him — but the weight of his words sat heavy between you and your daddy. Like a line drawn in the dust.
You cleared your throat, loud enough to break the moment. "We done here, Daddy?"
Your father gave Stack one more look — the kind that could kill a lesser man — before nodding to you. "Yeah. Let’s get home. Storm’s comin’."
You climbed into the wagon without another word, trying not to think about how your skin still tingled from Stack’s gaze. As the mule started off, you glanced back once, just once — and saw him watching you, arms crossed, eyes lit up like he’d just spotted a gold vein in a rock.
It was the first time Stack Moore spoke to you. And the last time you knew peace for a long while.
When you got home, Daddy cleared his throat awkwardly, cleaning his gun in the common room of the house.
"Y/N." He called to you from where you stood in the kitchen.
You paused, hands deep in the dish basin, the soapy water stinging a nick on your finger you hadn’t noticed ‘til now. His voice was gruff, but there was something under it — something tight. Wary. Protective in that way only a father could be when he knew his daughter had just caught the eye of a wildfire in a man’s body.
"Yes, sir?" you called back, wiping your hands on a dish rag as you stepped through the archway into the common room.
He didn’t look up right away. Just kept running the cloth over the barrel of his Winchester with a quiet, deliberate focus. You could tell he was turning something over in his head, chewing on it like a dog with a bone.
"Stack Moore," he finally said, like the name tasted bad. "You stay away from him."
You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.
"Didn’t plan on inviting him for supper," you muttered, crossing your arms.
Daddy looked up then — sharp and dead serious. "I ain’t jokin’, girl. That boy’s got blood on his hands and more comin’. His kind don’t leave nothin’ but ruin behind."
You didn’t say anything. Mostly ‘cause you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. It was the first time a man had looked at you like you were a woman and not just the farmer’s wild daughter in scuffed boots. And maybe that was dangerous. Maybe Daddy was right. But maybe you didn’t give a damn.
"I know you think you’re grown,” he went on, his voice softening a bit, “but there’s men out there who take one look at a girl like you and see a challenge. Not a future. Stack Moore’s one of ‘em."
You swallowed, throat dry. "I’m not stupid."
"I didn’t say you were. I said he’s trouble. And I’ll be damned if I let him put you in harm’s way."
Silence hung between you. Thick as molasses. You could hear the wind picking up outside, dust scratching against the shutters. Storm was comin’, alright. But it wasn’t just in the sky.
You finally nodded. "I hear you."
He held your eyes for a long moment.
"You're better off with that Boone. If you really hafta marry. He's a nice boy and ain't gonna put you out when he has his fill."
Boone was a ranch hand your daddy had hired. He wasn't unattractive, no. He was tall, strong, worked with a smile and never complained. His parents were respectful and they were fans of how your daddy did business. Boone was who you should've been with, if you gave any man a chance.
He'd been pining after you since the two of you were sixteen.
You rolled your eyes, smirking in amusement.
"You like Boone so much, why ain't you marryin' him?"
Daddy’s face went dark, like you'd just knocked over a beehive.
"I’m your father. I make the calls ‘round here."
I folded my arms and leaned against the table, matching his glare. "Ain’t no law says I gotta marry the man you pick."
He set the gun down with a heavy thud. "It ain’t about law, girl. It’s about keepin’ you safe. Boone’s steady. He don’t bring trouble like those Moore boys."
You groaned.
"I ain’t sayin’ I’m takin’ up with Stack. But don’t reckon I’m gonna be Boone’s bride just ‘cause you want it."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re stubborn as a mule, just like your mama."
You knew that was the final word.
But that night, long after the lights were out and the crickets had taken over the silence, you found yourself sittin’ on the edge of your bed, fingers twitchin’, heart restless. Because even though you’d said you understood, and even though you knew what kind of man Stack Moore was…
You also knew you weren’t the kind of girl who turned her head away from fire.
Your friend Lizzie had to beg you to go out.
"I swear, Y/N, one night won’t kill you," she said, tugging at your arm as you rolled your eyes. "You need to dance. Laugh. Hell, even just drink something that ain’t water or dust."
You weren’t exactly the type for blues clubs or lipstick-stained whiskey glasses, but Lizzie had that kind of persistence that wore you down like river water over stone. So by the time the sun dipped low and the sky bled pink, you were dressed — not dolled up like the city girls, but enough to turn a few heads in town: a dark skirt that hugged your hips, boots polished cleaner than usual, and your wild curls pinned just enough to look like you tried.
Club Juke was loud, smoky, and packed to the rafters. Lights glowed like sin on velvet, blues players' moaned from the corner stage, and the air buzzed with liquor and secrets. You followed Lizzie in, your fingers hooked into the belt loop of her dress, and tried not to flinch when a man brushed too close or looked too long.
You made it to the bar and ordered something you didn’t even hear over the noise — some whiskey drink served in a chipped glass. Lizzie had already pulled a fella onto the dance floor, leaving you with a half-sip of burn down your throat and the sudden awareness that someone was watching you.
You didn’t have to look far.
There he was. Stack.
Sitting in a corner booth like he owned the place (because he did), sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, smoke from a lit cigar curling around his jaw. His eyes were on you, unmoving. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just looked like he’d found exactly what he came here for.
Your pulse jumped. Damn it all.
You turned back to the bar, heart thudding. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d —
A warm voice slid in behind your ear like a sin on Sunday morning.
"Well now," Stack drawled, low and slow, "ain’t you a sight. Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this."
You didn’t turn around. Just took another sip of your drink, ignoring the heat rolling off him in waves.
"Didn’t come for you," you said coolly.
He chuckled. "Maybe not. But I figure fate don’t give a damn."
He moved beside you, close enough that your elbows brushed. You could smell leather, smoke, and something sharper — danger, maybe. He rested his forearms on the bar and nodded to the bartender.
"Two of whatever she’s drinkin’."
You shot him a glare. "What’re you doin’, Stack?"
He looked at you then — really looked — and for a moment, the noise of the club faded under his steady gaze.
"Tryin’ to figure out why a girl raised to fear me keeps lookin’ like she’s itchin’ to find out what makes me so damn interesting."
You swallowed.
Then, you fixed the usual glare back onto your face.
"Well, what the hell makes me so interesting? Everyone with a dick in this town can't look away."
Stack barked a quiet laugh, low and raspy, like he wasn’t expecting you to come back that sharp — but damn if he didn’t like it. He leaned in just a hair closer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again, that grin of his growing just a little wider, a little darker.
"What makes you interesting?" he echoed, voice like smoke. "You walk into a room like you own the land under everyone’s feet. You don’t smile unless you mean it, and you don’t flinch at a man like me." He tilted his head, still watching you. "That kinda thing makes folks look. Makes ‘em wonder."
You crossed your arms, hip cocked, not letting him get the upper hand. "You mean it makes ‘em bet. Run their mouths. Act like they got a chance."
Stack shrugged. "Let ‘em. Boys bet. Men watch. I’m just here enjoyin’ the view."
You scoffed. "You’re all the same."
His expression shifted then — just a flicker of something deeper beneath the charm. He leaned in again, but this time his voice dropped lower, real low, just for you.
"No, darlin’. If I were like them, I’d already be braggin’ about what I could do to you. Not sittin’ here waitin’ to see what you’ll let me do."
That shut you up for a second. Long enough for the air between you to grow thick and heavy.
Before you could fire back, the music kicked into a new number — a slow, sultry blues rhythm that rolled across the club like honey.
Stack held out a hand. "Dance with me."
You looked at his hand like it might bite you.
"I don’t dance."
He smirked. "Then just stand close and sway. I promise I bite softer than I look."
You stared at him, heart thudding somewhere stupid.
And then, without knowing why, you placed your hand in his.
His palm was warm. His grip was gentle. And your daddy’s voice was nowhere in your head when Stack pulled you onto the floor like he’d been waitin’ his whole damn life for this.
The floor didn’t feel real under your boots.
Stack's hand rested firm against the small of your back, pulling you close — but not too close. Just enough to feel the heat rollin' off him in waves, enough to smell the faint scent of whiskey and smoke on his collar. Your fingers hovered just barely on his shoulder, stiff at first, like you were afraid of giving in.
"You’re stiff as a fence post," he murmured against your temple, voice rough and warm. "Ain’t nobody lookin’ to bite."
"You just told me you were," you shot back, eyes narrowing even as you swayed to the rhythm.
That earned a quiet chuckle from him — one that rumbled in his chest and traveled straight through you.
The music curled around the two of you like a fog, blues guitar crooning through the haze of cigar smoke and perfume. Other dancers swayed nearby, but none quite like you and Stack. You moved like magnets pulling in, fighting it, pulling in again. A war with no guns — just glances, breath, and the occasional accidental brush of leg against leg.
His thumb stroked a small, deliberate circle at the back of your waist. You stiffened — just slightly — and he caught it.
"You alright, spitfire?" he asked, voice a low purr. "Ain’t used to men touchin’ you, or just not used to likin’ it?"
You glared up at him, lips parting to throw fire — but the words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the warmth blooming beneath your ribs.
"…You think just ‘cause you talk smooth, I’m gonna fall at your feet?" you finally snapped.
Stack leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed the edge of your jaw.
"No," he said. "I think you’ll fight me every inch of the way. And I like a fight."
The tension snapped taut between you, so tight it hummed. His hand slid just a breath lower on your back. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t pulling away, either.
"I ain’t your conquest," you muttered.
"No," Stack said, eyes locked to yours like a vow. "You’re the kind of woman a man earns. Or dies tryin’."
The music slowed to a crawl. The last long note of a saxophone kissed the silence.
Neither of you moved.
You didn’t know who leaned in first — but suddenly your face was inches from his. Lips barely apart. Breath tangled.
"Lord.. If you ain't the devil."
His mouth curved just slightly — not a smile, not quite — something darker. Hungrier.
"Then what’s that make you, sweetheart?" he murmured, breath brushing your lips. "The lamb wanderin’ into the fire… or the flame that keeps draggin’ me back to hell?"
You blinked up at him, your heart thudding so loud you swore the whole club could hear it.
Everything inside you screamed to pull away — to do what you’d always done when boys got too close, when their hands wandered and their eyes lingered too long. But Stack wasn’t like those boys. He didn’t leer. He didn’t plead.
He waited.
Like a man sure of the storm and patient enough to let it come to him.
Your voice came low. Dangerous.
"I ain’t no lamb. And I sure as hell ain’t chasin’ you."
He laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that rolled through his chest.
"No," he said again, like he was committing it to memory. "I'm chasin' you, baby."
Then his hand slid up — not low, not greedy — just firm and reverent, fingers skimming the side of your jaw like he was feeling the edges of something sacred.
"And I’m tellin’ you now," he added, voice dropping like molasses in your ear. "You keep lookin’ at me like that… I will find out what you taste like when you stop pretending you hate me."
Before you could bite back, before you could even think, the club doors burst open again —
And Boone’s voice came, loud and panicked:
"Y/N! What the hell are you doin’?!"
The spell shattered.
You jerked back like burned, your spine stiffening, eyes snapping toward the entrance.
Boone’s chest heaved, face red and soaked in sweat. Eyes darted from you to Stack, and the rage built fast — like a match tossed in dry brush.
Stack turned lazily toward him, jaw twitching. The charming smirk faded into something else. Something sharp.
"You know," he said, stepping just slightly in front of you, “if he was any kinda gentleman, he wouldn't swear at a lady."
Boone didn’t flinch. Just pointed a finger, shaking with fury.
"Your daddy’s gonna hear ‘bout this. And when he does, he’ll bury that bastard himself."
Your breath caught.
"Boone, it's—"
"Oh hell no. This ends now."
You stiffened, pulling away from Stack slightly. A glare rose to your face.
"You think you control anything I do? You're daddy's ranch hand, you ain't his informant, and you definitely ain't my husband, so I don't reckon you should be telling me what ends now."
Boone's jaw dropped.
"You know this is against his damn wishes. He wants you with me, not with Stack Moore."
Stack smiled, his gold grill glinting in the light of the juke.
"She don't want you, Boone Jones. Hell," he snorted, stepping forward. "She don't even really want me. I suggest you get to movin' before my brother and I toss you out this juke."
Boone’s eyes flashed, muscles tightening like coiled steel.
"You got a real mouth on you, Stack. But don’t think for a second I’m scared of you or your brother."
He stepped forward, the heat between them crackling like a storm about to break.
You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The tension was thick enough to slice through, and neither man was backing down.
Stack’s grin twisted, teeth flashing like daggers.
"Well then, looks like we got ourselves a showdown. You ready to back that up, Boone?"
Boone faltered for a moment. He spotted the gun on Stack's hip, glinting under his jacket. He was torn. But eventually, he turned away from the two of you.
"Get home, Y/N. I'm warnin' you. Your daddy'll be out lookin' for you soon as I tell him this shit."
With that, Boone spat on the floor and walked out.
The jukebox sputtered a slow country tune as Boone’s heavy footsteps faded into the night. Stack turned to you, smirking like he’d just won a war without firing a shot.
"Well, looks like the ranch hand knows when to fold ‘em."
You stood frozen, the weight of Boone’s warning settling deep in your chest.
Stack’s voice softened, almost mockingly gentle. "Now, tell me… what’re you gonna do with all this heat you’re sittin’ on?"
Your eyes burned with quiet defiance, but inside, a storm was brewing — one that wouldn’t be settled so easily.
Without another word, the defiance and want burning in your chest boiled over. You pulled Elias Moore into a crushing kiss, ruffling his suit jacket.
Stack’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of surprise flashing behind his gold teeth. His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing the side of your jaw with a teasing, deliberate lightness that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, like a velvet promise edged with steel.
"Careful, baby. You’re playin’ with fire."
But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your breath hitched, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears like a wild stallion breaking free. The air between you thickened, charged with a heat that wasn’t just from the summer night or the sticky tension in the jukebox’s flickering neon glow. It was raw, electric, and impossible to ignore.
Your fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer, hungry for the heat that radiated off his body. The scent of leather, musk, and something uniquely Stack invaded your senses. Your lips pressed harder against his, demanding more, needing more. His hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left — only the desperate dance of two bodies claiming their own wild territory.
His mouth moved over yours with fierce intention, teasing and tasting, trailing a path of fire down your neck. You arched against him, breath mingling, every nerve alight. The weight of Boone’s warning dissolved somewhere in the back of your mind, drowned out by the thunderous storm between you and Stack.
Stack’s voice, rough and low, was a whisper against your skin.
"You gonna be my woman. One way or another."
His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding you even as your pulse raced with reckless abandon. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, exposing the warm skin beneath, your nails grazing, marking. Every touch was a challenge, every breath a promise.
Your lips parted in a silent plea, and Stack answered, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw, down to the swell of your collarbone. The heat in your chest ignited into a blaze, scorching and sweet. It wasn’t just passion — it was war, desire, defiance, and something dangerously close to surrender.
The air thickened, charged and heavy with all the words neither of you dared say. His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wanted to press you into him and make sure you couldn’t slip away. Your hands trembled slightly, caught between the urge to push him away and the desperate craving to keep this fire alive.
Stack’s breath hitched as his mouth dipped lower, kissing the hollow at your throat, leaving a trail of heat that seared through your skin. Your fingers tangled in the coarse fabric of his shirt, dragging it open just enough to feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your touch. Every beat was a promise, wild and relentless.
That night, you thought you'd be in wicked trouble with your daddy.
You got home and he was sitting in his chair, rifle by his side. There was no glare. No anger. No fight. Just disappointment.
His eyes met yours — quiet, heavy, like the weight of every unspoken word between you.
"Boone stopped by. Said you was almost kissin' Stack in the back of his juke joint. That the truth?"
You froze in the doorway, the screen creaking shut behind you. Your boots felt heavy against the floorboards.
"Is that the truth? I won't ask again." he asked again, voice like gravel and smoke, worn down from years of silence that meant more than shouting ever could.
You swallowed, but your throat was dry.
"Yes, sir."
Your daddy looked away then, toward the window. The moonlight spilled across the hardwood like spilled milk, cold and pale. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even shift in his chair.
“Didn’t raise you to chase heat just ‘cause it burns bright.”
You stepped further inside, your heart thudding in your chest.
“It ain’t just heat.”
He turned back to you, slow and steady, the way storms roll in without hurry.
"That boy’s trouble, Y/N. His people bring it like flies bring rot. You think Stack Moore gives a damn about you come winter? When the crops are dry and the nights are long?"
“I ain’t askin’ for your blessing,” you said, quietly. “But I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness, either.”
His jaw worked, clenched and tight. The rifle stayed at his side, but his hands curled on the armrests like he was gripping the weight of every fear a father could carry.
"You know I’d ride to hell for you, girl."
"I know."
A beat. A breath. The porch creaked under the weight of the wind.
"Then don’t make me bury you for someone who wouldn’t ride back. If you think Stack Moore is worth it, I can't stop ya," he asserted wisely. "But he better be. Because if a single tear drops to this floor and he's responsible for it, I'm buryin' him. And his brother."
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show.
He wasn’t threatening. He was promising.
That old chair creaked as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, eyes pinning you like a hawk pins its prey.
"You understand me, girl?"
His voice was low, but there was thunder in it — a quiet kind of rage built on love and fear and the kind of heartbreak only a father can carry.
You nodded, chin up even though your chest was tight.
"I understand."
He let out a long breath through his nose, like he’d been holding it for years.
"Then go on to bed. And think real hard ‘bout the kind of man you’re givin’ your name to. 'Cause once you do… you don't get to take it back."
You stood there for a moment longer — the screen door groaning open behind you again, the wind pushing against your back like even the night was trying to warn you.
But you didn’t look back.
The next day, Stack stopped by the ranch, as if he was askin' for a gun to go off towards his head. You were out back, tending to the horses, brushing your favorite tenderly.
The horse, Annie was her name, blew air out of her nose, as if she knew trouble was approaching. You cooed at her.
"Settle down, pretty girl. Ain't nothin' comin' to get you."
But even as you said it, your eyes flicked toward the dust trail creeping down the long dirt drive — slow and deliberate. A dark car. Stack’s.
Annie shifted under your hand, hooves stamping once against the earth. You didn’t blame her. You felt the same tight pull in your chest. That mix of anger and ache, nerves and want, all tangled together like barbed wire.
Stack stepped out like he owned the goddamn world. Boots still dirty from whatever hellhole he'd walked through last, and that cocky tilt to his mouth like he'd slept just fine while the storm he stirred brewed all night long.
He spotted you in the paddock, and his smirk deepened like he’d expected a bullet and got a welcome mat instead.
You didn’t wave. Didn’t call out.
Just kept brushing Annie’s side like you weren’t burning from the inside out.
Stack leaned on the fence, one arm slung over the top rail, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that ever moved slow in his world.
"You didn’t call," he said, voice low and teasing. "Thought maybe Boone talked you outta me."
You looked up then, slow and measured.
"No one talks me outta anything, Stack. Least of all a man who runs when daddy’s rifle’s on the porch."
That knocked the smirk clean off his face for a second. Then he chuckled — slow, deep.
"Figured I’d come back ‘round today. Let your old man know I ain’t runnin’. I’m standin’."
You shook your head, a bitter little smile tugging at your lips.
"He already knows. Question is… do you?"
Stack’s jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to your hands on the horse — the way they moved, firm but gentle. Like you could break things and fix them all the same.
He straightened off the fence.
"I ain’t scared of your daddy," he said. "And I ain't here for a quick trip to the sheets. You're the typa woman worth marryin'."
You froze.
Annie huffed beside you, but you barely heard her over the rush of blood in your ears. Stack’s words hit you like a hammer to the ribs — not because you didn’t believe him, but because deep down… maybe you did.
Still, you kept your hands busy, brushing through Annie’s mane like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.
"You don’t even know what marryin’ me means, Stack Moore," you said quietly. "It ain’t just Sunday dresses and kissin’ under porch lights. It’s long winters and hard land and family that don’t forget where you came from."
He stepped into the paddock without asking, boots crunching over the straw and dirt. That alone told you something — Stack had never waited for an invitation in his life.
"I know it won’t be easy," he said, stopping just a few feet from you. "I know your daddy don’t think I’m good enough. Hell, maybe I ain’t. But I know this — I’d rather fight every damn day for your heart than spend a single one without it."
Your hand paused on Annie’s shoulder. For the first time, you looked at him — really looked.
There was no grin now. No sharp teeth. Just a man, standing there with his scars and swagger stripped down to something real.
"You’re serious," you said, more to yourself than him.
"I’ve been in fights I ain’t walked away from. I’ve stared down the barrel more times than I can count. But you?" He stepped closer, voice low and steady. "You’re the first thing that’s ever made me scared to lose."
Your chest tightened.
Goddamn him.
Because you wanted to believe it. Wanted to throw your arms around him, take him in the barn, and kiss the past right off his mouth. But you’d learned too young that want didn’t make a man stay. Promises were easy when the sun was out — it was the nights that told the truth.
So you swallowed hard and said the only thing you could.
"Then don’t say you want me, Stack. Show me."
His eyes flickered, something fierce and warm lighting in them.
"I intend to, darlin’," he said. "Every damn day. Starting now."
And when he reached for your hand, you let him take it. Just for a moment.
Just long enough to remember how it felt.
He raised it to his mouth. Kissed it gently, if Stack Moore was even capable of being gentle.
"Now.. Take me inside to see your daddy. I'm sure we can find somethin' to agree on. Gotta get along before I ask for the blessin'."
You snorted, tying Annie up and kicking his boot with your own.
"It ain't that easy. You've got to court me before you marry me, and even then, you gotta impress daddy."
Stack chuckled low in his chest, the sound rich like molasses and twice as thick with trouble.
"Darlin’, I didn’t think anything about you would be easy," he said, falling in step beside you as you started toward the house. "Hell, if you were, I wouldn’t be out here riskin’ a shotgun sermon and a boot up my ass."
You cut him a sideways glance, amused despite yourself. "You’ll get more than a boot if you don’t stop runnin’ that mouth."
He grinned, flashing that infamous gold tooth like a warning sign. "That mouth’s gonna be the reason you marry me, just you wait."
You stopped at the bottom of the steps, boots crunching in the dirt. Stack did too, waiting for your lead. Waiting, you realized, for your say-so — and that was rare.
"You serious about this?" you asked, voice lower now. No teasing. No fire. Just the honest question of a woman who knew how easily hearts cracked under pressure.
He nodded once. No swagger this time. Just steel and heat.
"I want a wife. I want babies. I wanna hang my guns up until I need 'em. And I want you. So, little lady, let's go."
You held in a tear, the only tear that had ever developed in your cold e/c eyes since mama died. Then, you willingly threaded your fingers into Stack's and tugged him towards the house.
Elias “Stack” Moore x black reader; + surprise ending.
Summary: You love Elias. Your Elias. When you catch him in the act of betraying you, you decide to move on. Only…Stack isn’t so ready to let you go, but someone else already has their sights set on you.
Warning(s): cheating, violence (not towards reader), smut (18+ only, mdni)
(Author’s note: My first time writing a complete smut scene—go easy on me lol. I’ve had this idea on my mind for ages, so I was like let me go ahead and write while inspiration is here. Let me know what y’all think!🫶🏽)
You loved Stack.
You really did. You loved him more than you’ve loved any man walking on this Earth. He made you feel things—excitement, danger, adventure. Each day with him was like discovering some new hidden gem, and you were addicted to the feeling.
He was charming. Granted, that was one of the first things that set off alarm bells for you. Your grandmama had always told you to watch out for those charming, sly mouth men.
“They’ll talk you right on out ya’ panties if you ain’t too careful. Next thing you know, you sitting there with a baby while he’s warmin’ the next woman’s bed.”
Unfortunately, you hadn’t heeded your grandmama’s warnings and you ended right up in bed with the same man that she warned you about. But you loved Elias. That was another thing, you never called him Stack. He was so insistent on people calling him Stack, but you never would.
You remember the first time that he introduced himself, all dressed in swagger and sin. “Name’s Stack, sugar. And what might I call you?”
You remembering frowning at him in displeasure, “Your mama named you Stack?”
Stack had smiled at you that day. That gold grill glimmering in the sunlight and practically begging you to give in. “Naw, my mama named me Elias, but everyone else ‘round here calls me Stack.”
“Well I’m not everybody else, so I’ll call you Elias, just like God and ya mama intended.”
From that day forward, he was Elias. Your Elias. You had allowed yourself to be sucked in more when it came to Stack’s world. You were completely and utterly entranced by him. The crazy thing was, Stack seemed to have that effect on lots of people. You would watch as women swooned at his feet, hoping for a chance to get with it. Hell, even men wanted a piece of your man.
Which was another thing. You and Stack had never actually put a title on things. It was just kind of an unspoken agreement that he was yours and you were his. He’d always hold you close whenever you were in public, which automatically let people know that you were with him, but he had never gone as far as calling you “his lady.”
You loved Stack.
You really did.
But he liked to play games. It was an annoyance to yourself and his twin brother, Smoke. You had met Smoke a month into your little situationship with Stack. With Smoke….he scared you a little. His quiet disposition was enough to throw anybody off, but the more you were able to spend time around him, the more you grew to like him.
On the other hand, Smoke liked you too. He thought you were a smart woman with a good head on your shoulders, which is why he couldn’t understand why you were wasting your time on his brother.
He knew that Stack didn’t have any serious plans of settling down with you, and he also knew that Stack didn’t have any plans of telling you that. His twin could often be so careless when it came to women.
Apart of you suspected that Elias wasn’t as serious about your relationship like you were. You wanted to believe that he was being faithful, but without that title and reassurance, it was all just smoke and mirrors.
You should’ve known that something was going on. Your intuition practically screamed at you to wake up. The late nights. The phone being flipped over. Coming home late smellin’ of perfume that you knew that you didn’t wear.
Your man had been creepin’ but you didn’t have any solid evidence to back it up.
Well not at first….not until recently.
It was a hot, humid day in the Mississippi Delta. You had just got off from a long day at work and you decided to surprise Elias with a home cooked meal and maybe….dessert after. Arriving at the house that he and Smoke shared, you had gotten out of your own car and walked to the porch. You saw Elias’s car parked in the yard, so you knew he was home. Plus, you were often privy to the details of his schedule.
You used the spare key that was under the potted plant that Smoke was keeping alive. Letting yourself into the house, you were greeted with a wave of cold air from the air conditioner. You set the bags of groceries on the counter and walked through the house.
Walking down the hallway, you passed by Smoke’s closed bedroom door. You had never seen the inside of his room, but you always imagined that it was very minimalist and sterile. Smoke was the strict twin, and you figured that he held that same rigid regimen in all other areas of his life, including his bedroom.
You walked further down the hallway until you were standing in front of Elias’s bedroom door. You were about to knock and call out his name until you heard the sounds of his bed creaking and subtly slamming against the wall.
That sound was ingrained in your head from the numerous times when you and Elias would make love here.
You heard the pleasured moans of a woman combined with Stack’s own groans of pleasure.
Slowly, your hand moved to the doorknob and twisted. You opened the door and felt a rise of bile in your throat. It burned like fresh acid. The sight you were greeted with was Elias thrusting away in between the legs of a pale woman.
You recognized her as Mary.
The same Mary that you knew was a married woman. The same woman that Stack had told you not to worry about.
Both of their bodies were drenched in sweat, which let you know that their copulation had been going on for a while. Mary, who’s head was thrown back in pleasure, suddenly looked towards your direction and gasped.
“Stack.” She said, worry filling her voice.
Stack stopped his movements and looked back and locked eyes with you. He even had the nerve to look guilty. You were the tears stinging at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Red hot anger consumed your being and for a second, you thought that you might snap.
However, your body moved and you turned on your heel to exit the room. Walking quickly up the hallway, you grabbed your keys and made your way out the door. You heard Stack’s rushed footsteps behind you, but you were hellbent on leaving.
You were greeted with the Mississippi sun beating down on your skin again.
“Baby wait.” You heard Stack saying, but your footsteps never faltered. Another car pulled up in the driveway, which you knew was Smoke’s. He quickly exited his car upon seeing Stack running behind you.
As you reached your car door, you felt Stack grasp your wrist in an attempt to stop you. You don’t remember exactly how it happened, but it all happened so quickly. One minute, you were facing your car and the next, your fist was meeting Stack’s nose.
The man let out a yelp of pain as your knuckles met the bridge of his nose. Blood quickly shot out of the orifice, and you felt pain radiate through your hand.
You didn’t even realize that tears had began streaming down your face. You weren’t sure if it was from the cheating or punching Stack—but you were leaning heavily to the former.
A pair of gentle hands grabbed your wounded hand and you looked into Smoke’s eyes. The other man’s eyes held a lot of sadness and empathy for you.
Your rage overcame you again and you snatched your hand away from him. Getting into your car, you quickly reversed and maneuvered out of the yard. Before you could speed off, you gripped tightly at the necklace, which had been a gift from Stack, and roughly ripped it from around your neck.
Letting down the passenger window, you chucked the necklace back into the yard before speeding off. You didn’t care about getting a ticket for speeding, you just needed to get far away from the Moore twins.
__________________
In the South, your business is never really private or sacred. Oh no, word gets around faster than a preacher giving a sermon on Easter Sunday.
Word travelled fast throughout your town about Stack’s infidelity with a married woman, nonetheless. My Lord, the older women in town clutched at their pearls upon hearing the news.
At work, many of your coworkers gave you looks of sympathy.
“Bless her heart. Po’girl. She know better than goin’ and gettin’ with that Moore boy. He always been trouble.”
“Girl, I heard she found him with that white girl. You know her, Carol Johnson’s daughter….that’s the one!!”
“Mmm..mmm…mm! That’s a crying shame! I heard they had to call the police cause Mary’s husband was acting up somethin’ awful. You know him and his daddy own that general sto’ down by Mill Creek. I heard them boys was clowin’ him, and they had to stop him from goin’ to beat the girl!”
“My boy, Bobby Lee, said he saw Stack walkin’ round with his nose all bandaged. You don’t reckon Mary’s husband paid him a visit?”
“No girl! That lil’ girl in there whacked him somethin’ awful. That’s why her hands all bruised up.”
“Mmm mmm mmm…..Bless her heart.”
Despite the fact that you heard everyone whispering and muttering around you, you never said a word. You kept things going, business as usual. In fact, on the outside, it appeared like nothing had ever happened. But on the inside, you were an absolute wreck.
When you had got home that day, you had broken down, harder than you ever have before. Sobs tore through your body and you swore that you experienced a moment of hysteria.
You had tore through everything in your house that had Stack’s signature on it. His clothes that he left were torn up and ripped to shreds. Those gifts and teddy bears won at carnivals had met your sudden female rage. Pictures of you together were ripped apart.
You didn’t know what had overcome you, but you found yourself throwing all of the things–his things–in a pile and setting fire to it. As you watched the fire consume the remnants of your relationship, you found one of his cigars that he liked to smoke. Cuban blend.
Lighting the cigar with a match, you placed it to your mouth and took a drag. Bitter smoke filled your lungs and you welcomed the pain. You sat back in your lawn chair and watched it all burn. If anybody were to find you, they would absolutely believe that you had lost your mind.
And maybe you did.
But for now, you’d smoke this cigar and pick up the ashes later.
_____________________
Two weeks later, you waltzed your pretty self into the office like nothing that happened. It was almost scary to your coworkers how good you looked.
You were pristine, like a carefully crafted china doll. Still everyone maneuvered around you like they were scared of you breaking.
During your lunch break, you had decided to take a walk and go pick up lunch from Annie’s Cafe. The woman greeted you and looked you up and down.
“My..my…you sho’ll look good sugar.” Annie said. She made you do a little turn for her, “You even still got some booty back there.”
The two of you laughed, as she packed your lunch. The doorbell jingled and the air shifted around you. You knew that it meant that Stack was here. You saw Smoke walking next to him and both men passed by you. You could tell the other patrons were waiting with held breaths to see if you would acknowledge Stack.
As Stack passed by you, a part of him longed to reach out and talk to you. Smoke grabbed him before he could approach you and subtly shook his head. Now was definitely not the time, especially with all these eyes watching.
You grabbed your plate from Annie and thanked her. You waltzed out the door without sparing a single glance at Stack.
That was the part that hurt him the most.
___________________
It started off small, and increased in grandiose. With Stack, he never knew how to do things small.
He was sending small gifts to your office. Bouquets of your favorite flowers. Your favorite candy. Teddy bears. Next, it was jewelry. Cartier bracelets. Tennis necklaces. Expensive heels and purses.
All which ended up right back on his and Smoke’s front porch. Even the small cards that he had wrote notes on went unopened.
He had started calling your office, only to be met with your receptionist, “I’m sorry Mr. Moore, she can’t come to the phone now, but I can take a message.”
Even with him popping up at your job, he was being denied entrance. He had tried his luck at calling you, only to find out that you had blocked his number and all of his social media.
He had tried the ole method of just popping up at your house, but you always left him knocking at the door.
You had gone complete ghost.
Your presence had become so scarce that Stack would’ve believed that you were gone had it not been for the numerous whispers of people seeing you around town.
He just wanted to talk to you. To make it all better. To tell you that he was sorry and that he loved you. That the sex with Mary meant nothing.
But you had cut the man out of your life. Even Smoke was refusing to help him.
“Now why would I help you after the mess you pulled? Her breaking your nose wasn’t answer enough that she don’t wanna talk to you?”
But still, Stack was insistent on winning you back.
_________________
A month later, people around town noticed a change in you. They couldn’t quite put a finger on it, bug they chalked it up to you being healed from the mess with Stack.
You were like a brand new woman. If it was possible, it looked like you had gotten even more beautiful. Maybe you had gotten some of that hoodoo from Annie.
Looking good was an understatement.
You walked with a new swagger in your step. You had gotten thicker and curvier in all the areas that mattered. Skin was glowing. Word spread through the town like a wildfire.
“She been looking good girl! I’m talkin’ booty and titties been sittin’ nice. You don’t think she got them done?”
“Naw girl! That’s all homegrown right there!”
“I heard that she may be seeing a new man. Cheryl said that some mystery man been sending her flowers and lunch.”
“You don’t think it’s Stack, do you?”
“Can’t be Stack. Word is, he been still trynna get back with her.”
“Well whoever it is, they got her glowing.”
Stack wasn’t a fool. He knew that women tended to glow up after a breakup. However, he couldn’t help but get a little bitter upon hearing rumors of you having a new nigga. How had you moved on so fast from him?
Sure, he messed up and he was fully owning up to it, but he wasn’t expecting another man to swoop in and steal you. He tried to get info from the neighborhood gossips, but nobody had seen sight of your new mystery beau.
Stack started to doubt that the mystery man was real, but his suspicions were confirmed. It happened on a random Wednesday when he saw you walking into a clothing store. He followed you into the store, figuring that this was finally his chance to talk to you.
He found you browsing in the lingerie section. He saw you admiring a midnight blue lace two piece with garters.
“That’d look real nice on your skin.” He said.
You looked over to him, blankly. You turned and continued to browse through the pieces. He opened his mouth to try to make another joke, “Stack, I don’t have time for your jokes. I’d rather you not talk to me at all.”
He stopped and stared at you. You never called him Stack. He was always Elias to you. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat.
He leaned forward and caught sight of a purple bruise on your collarbone. He quickly turned you to him and examined the mark closer. He felt fury enter his chest, “It ain’t been nothin’ but a month, and you already openin’ yo’ legs for another nigga?!”
A sharp sting crossed his cheek until his brain processed that you had slapped him. You stepped closer to him and lowered your voice, “You think you get to question who I’m spreading my legs for? You lost that right when I caught you with your dick in another woman’s snatch! You wanna play the jealous boyfriend? Miss me with that, Stack. You lost that right when you betrayed me. And I’ll make sure that I let my new man break my back in a little harder tonight, so you can get it through your head that you and I are no longer an item.”
With one last cold look, you turned and made your way to the counter—with that midnight blue set in your hand.
Stack was left standing there, heartbroken and humiliated.
__________________
Stack needed to get out of town for the weekend. He had packed an overnight bag and let his brother know that he’d be gone for the weekend.
Smoke regarded him simply and told him to stay safe. On the drive away, Stack reflected.
Really sat and reflected. On everything.
He thought about you. How you were always there to hold him down. He thought on the tender moments shared between the two of you. He loves you. He really does. He just had a habit of sabotaging good things in his life. He was always the more impulsive one between himself and Smoke.
Even growing up, he was always the one getting in trouble. Smoke would often take a lot of the punishment meant for Stack to keep him safe. He knew how their father’s temper could get.
He thought about the scars that littered his body from their father’s anger. He remembered the moments where you would be laying beside him, and you would take special care to kiss each and every scar.
You’d make sure that none of them were neglected. You would whisper affirmations of love to Stack, and remind him that he was worthy of love.
God, you were so patient with him. And how did he repay you? By cheating with the one woman that he always told you not to worry about.
He would use this time to reflect.
Maybe he could try again to win you back.
__________________
A day later, Stack was traveling back to his and Smoke’s house. He had done his reflecting and he decided to cut his little weekend getaway short.
Pulling up into the yard, he parked behind Smoke’s car. All of the lights were off in the house so he assumed that Smoke was sleeping.
The illumination from the moon was the only source of light.
Stack unlocked the door and dropped his bag on the floor. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and sipped on it. He made the journey back to his room, until he noticed that Smoke’s door was slightly open.
Stack would’ve kept walking, but the sounds of moans and feminine gasps caught his attention. Tentatively, he crept closer to the closer, making sure to keep his footsteps lights. He peered through the door. He wasn’t able to see clearly through the door, but the moonlight assisted in seeing the outline of Smoke’s body.
Truthfully, there was a slightly curious and perverted part of Stack that wanted to know what Smoke looked like when he was having sex. He and Smoke were mirrors of each other, so in a way, it was like he would be watching himself.
He and Smoke often didn’t talk about their sexual exploits. Even when Smoke lost his virginity, he wouldn’t give any details to Stack. Whereas, Stack, was like a leaking faucet with sharing his story with Smoke.
Even as they grew, Smoke wouldn’t share that information with him. Smoke rarely brought women to the house, so for him to have a woman in there now, meant that he really liked her.
Stack had to hear second-hand accounts from women in town about what an amazing lover that Smoke was. He remembered being in the club and passing by two women. The beautiful dark skinned woman was talking to her friend, “Girl yes. I’m telling you, I know Smoke is the quiet one, but that quiet act is all a front. That man had me seeing stars. I was crying through at one point from all that pleasure and he talked me through it. I’m sure my toes was in there doing gang signs.”
The other woman laughed loudly.
Stack peered closer and was able to see Smoke’s head between the mystery woman’s legs. The woman had her back arched off the bed and she rolling her hips against Smoke’s mouth. Stack could see her hands clasping tightly at Smoke’s head. In return, Smoke threw his arm across her waist to hold her still. His head moved deeper in her core and her moans pitched higher.
“Right there baby..” she moaned before she let out a high pitched squeal. Smoke continued to move his head and helped her ride her high out.
Moving his head from her core, he moved his head up until him and the women were kissing.
“You taste how you sweet you are.” Smoke’s voice rang out in the room.
Smoke rose and picked the woman up in his arms. Immediately, the woman wrapped her limbs around him. Stack could see her kissing and biting at Smoke’s neck. Smoke set the dresser across the room and moved her body closer to the edge.
Stack could see Smoke start to stroke his length and heard a sharp gasp in the room. He assumed that Smoke was now entering her. The woman looped her arms around Smoke’s neck as the man began to thrust between her thighs. Loud pleasured cries filled the room along with smacking of skin against skin.
“Harder baby,” the woman pleaded to Smoke.
Smoke, ever the soldier, obeyed the woman’s request and placed her legs in the crook of his arms. The items on the dresser clattered loudly as Smoke delivered harsh thrusts to the woman. The woman’s moans intensified and she appeared to be matching Smoke in his movements. The woman’s nails raked roughly down Smoke’s back, which seemed to spur him on.
Smoke’s groans echoed through the room.
Stack felt his throat drying and swallowed deeply at free show that he was witnessing.
There was something that unsettled him, the moans and cries sounded vaguely familiar to him.
He looked back at Smoke and the mystery women, who had her forehead placed on Smoke’s. The two lovers appeared to be holding eye contact while their bodies bounced against each other. Wet squelches added to the ambiance of the room.
Suddenly the woman spoke, “I want you to cum inside of me, Elijah.”
Stack froze.
He knew that voice. He peered at the mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman’s reflection. He pushed the door open slightly and the sliver of moonlight finally shone on the woman’s face.
Stack felt his whole world crash down as he saw your face. Your pleasured and ruined face.
Suddenly, you let out a long moan, which Stack was familiar with. It was that same moan that always told him that you were cumming. Smoke followed behind you and let out a long groan. He held your body closer to his, no doubt spilling his release inside of you as you had asked for.
You moved your head to Smoke’s ear, “It’s all yours, daddy.”
You lifted your head and locked eyes directly with Stack.
𝑺𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── it’s stack’s first real father’s day and he’s been waiting to spend it with you and his lil man. just like old times. he told you a week ago his momma was throwin a cookout back home in mississippi, a special day for all the fathers in his family. he even cleaned up his act a lil bit, tryna show he still that man you fell for. instead of showing up with just his son, you bring your new nigga…on his day. you knew better, and now he gotta remind you. remind both y’all.
꒰ babydaddy elias “stack” moore x black!fem reader. established relationship, second chance. strong use of profanity, lots of n-word usage, drama, jealous!stack, toxic arguments, emotional tension, hurt feelings, possessive!stack, threats made, violence, reminiscence, sexual content, sexual tension, angry sex, degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, oral sex, creampie, light breeding kink, overstimulation and lots of other things so scroll now if you don’t want to read about people fucking. ꒱
the ride from atlanta to mississippi was long, too long for how quiet the car had gotten. even with the air conditioner running, the air felt heavy. your baby boy was asleep in the backseat, pacifier slack in his mouth, and his black curls stuck to his forehead from the heat. you had one hand on the steering wheel, fingers tapping in a rhythm to calm your nerves.
the road stretched on forever in front of you, with the GPS voice muted after the fifth "continue straight". your man, dominique sat in the passenger seat mindlessly scrolling through his phone, thumb moving fast like he was tryna distract himself. he had been feeling a type of way since you told him about today’s plans. you caught the look he gave you ten minutes ago, fake mean mugging you with his whole face turned up. full of questions he ain’t bold enough to ask outright.
the tension was cut when he asked, “why couldn’t we just stay in atlanta?” voice laced with too much attitude. “could’ve saved us this whole damn trip.” you sighed, you knew this was coming and could feel yourself getting irritated because he already knew the answer. “because his momma throwing a father’s day cookout. it’s his first one and it’s good for my baby to be round family.”
dominque rolled his eyes while shaking his head. “family? tuh. ain’t none of them came around since he was born, but now they wanna go all out. throwin cookouts ‘n shit.” he tried to mutter under his breath, but you still heard him.
you gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes still focusing on the rode. “this ain’t about you dominque. i told you that before we even left.” out of your peripheral vision you could see him put the phone down and turn his body in the seat to focus in on you. “you right, it’s not about me.” his voice raised, “but let’s keep it a buck cause its damn sure ain’t just about your son either. you could’ve dropped him off and turned around.” you shot him a look, because now he was doing too much. “don’t start.”
his voice came out sharp, bitter. feeling like he could finally get everything off his chest, like your son wasn’t sleep, but he didn’t care. the words had been sittin on his tongue too long, and now they were spillin whether you liked it or not. “i’m not starting shit”, he snapped. “i’m just saying, look how you dressed. that thin ass sundress, hair done up, wearing jewelry i fasho ain’t get you.” his lip curled as he looked you up and down, voice dropping low, more insult than question now. “this all for me or him?”
his fingers tapped against his fake amiri jeans, eyes still on you, waiting for an answer he assumed he knew. you cut your eyes at him. the way he was acting? like he ain’t realize who he was talking to. like he forgot you had a whole baby in the backseat. “stop raising your voice like you ain’t got no sense”, you snapped. “my son is sleep, and i’m not about to keep going back and forth with you over bullshit.”
he tried to open his mouth, to defend himself, but you kept going. “i’m the mother of elias’ child. i’m gon show up put together regardless. you expect me to pull up lookin like some bag lady in front of his entire family?” the silence was evident after that. you heard him huffing and puffing clearly bothered by what you said.
then came his bitter laugh. he shook his head, staring out the window like he couldn’t believe what he was hearin, “you still call that nigga elias.” he was quiet for good after that, but the disrespect was loud. voice full of resentment and something else y’all both didn’t want to admit to.
this was one of those times you were lucky your baby couldn’t talk yet. if he did, he would of been running to his daddy about what dominique said and you were trying to get them to have a cordial relationship. unfortunately it wasn’t working.
the silence felt suffocating and pushed against your temple like a headache. with dominque’s resentment weighing heavily on you, each mile seemed to go on forever. you decided to pull over when you noticed a faded green symbol for a gas station up ahead. you flicked the turn signal, “i’m pulling over.” your voice was low, you hated arguing because it always drained you mentally. “tank low and i need a minute.” dominque didn’t say nothing, giving you the silent treatment.
you shifted into park, pulled up next to the pump, and released a breath you weren't even aware you were holding. the long drive caused your sundress to stick slightly to the back of your thighs as you climbed out slowly. you went to the rear of your car, swiped your card, and began filling up the tank.
the voice in the back of your head criticized dominque for not getting out to pump your gas. “elias would of did it, argument or not”, you thought. you shook them thoughts away because it was nothing you could do, ya’ll weren’t together anymore. you peaked into the back seat, as the gas nozzle stayed where it was at. inside the car, your son was still sleeping peacefully. completely unbothered by the mess unfolding around him. which he got from his daddy, they both could sleep through anything.
you glanced at your reflection in the car window — lips still glossy, no smudge in your makeup, hoops glinting, and your ass looked fat in this sundress. you fixed the placement of some of the bracelets around your wrist, the ones elias got you, by the way. you looked good and that’s what had him pressed.
from the passenger seat, dominique finally stepped out. stretching like the whole ride wore him out and he wasn’t behind the drivers seat once. he leaned against the car, arms folded across his chest, watching you. “you always gotta make shit harder than it gotta be, don’t you?” he mumbled. you didn’t even glance at him.
“and you always got somethin to say when you feel like you ain’t bein prioritized. ain’t nobody tryin to make you feel small, dominque. but today ain’t about you.” he sucked his teeth, pushed off the car and came stalking towards you. “nah it’s never about me. it’s always elias this, elias that. like he somebody for real. whole time he couldn’t even keep his family together.”
“you got it dominique.” and it was left at that. you weren’t gonna argue in public with a man who couldn’t handle you doin right by your child. you just needed to hurry up and get this over with. drop of your son, play cordial, make you a few plates, and leave before elias reminded you why he was the hardest man to walk away from in the first place.
─────────
after another thirty minutes, you finally made it to elias’ momma house. it took you a minute to find parking since cars was packed in the front of the house and the neighbors. you eased your car into a tight spot across the street from them. “come on”, you muttered hopping out the car.
the air smelt like smoke ribs, burnt ends, and sweet bbq sauce — a classic mississippi summer. your baby started to stir as you lifted him gently from his car seat, resting him against your hip. you didn’t pay dominque any mind, as you made your way to the back of the house. the moore house was vibrant — music loudly playing, uncles loud off liquor while playing spades, elijah was on the grill, kids ran through the grass barefoot with melting popsicles. elias’ momma was setting out foil pans on a fold-up table with her hands on her hips.
as you walked closer, your feet became slightly heavier. every step felt loud and all eyes on you, like everybody at the damn cookout paused just to see who the hell you brought with you. relatives of stack approached you, saying their hellos and cooed at your son. all you could do was give them half smiles in return.
because your attention was focused on him, your babydaddy. he hadn’t noticed you yet, which was a relief at the moment. lazily leaned back in a folding chair with his legs spread wide and elbows rested on his knees. he looked good, too good. stack had his go-to black durag tied tight around his head, white tank clinging to his muscles, gold chain glinting in the sun, and his grills lightly shined when he smirked at something his cousin said. he was having a good time, sipping on his favorite drink — hennessy in a red cup.
all that shifted when one of his messy ass aunties pointed you out in the crowd. “there go your baby mama, eli,” she said, smirkin over her plate of ribs. “ain’t that her right there in that lil pink dress?” he glanced up and just like that, all the playfulness dropped clean off his face.
his shoulders squared up and the relax lean he had in the chair turned into a full sit-up. flexed jaw. eyes narrowed. mean mugging. the moment he clocked the man next to you, his smile vanished, and the gold on his tooth stopped flashing. his eyes moved very slowly, taking you all in, from the bouncing curls on your shoulder to your glossy lips to his little man on your hip.
and the lame ass nigga next to you.
elias’ lips parted just slightly, but he ain’t say nothing. not yet. he just stared.
you felt it, that familiar look he gave you. the one he gave you back when you used to test his patience just to see how far he’d go. heat began to crawl up your neck, not from embarrassment, but knowing you fucked up. he was trying to keep it cute in front of his people, but stack wasn’t a level headed nigga. no, that was smoke. smoke was the calmer twin, the one you could reason with. and when he looked over at his brother across the yard and gave him that sharp nod. saying all the words he needed with his eyes —“if something pop off, be ready”. you already knew what it meant. you and dominique was beyond saving.
you gripped your son tighter, adjusting him on your hip and forced a smile towards elias’ momma who pulled you into a one-armed hug. “hey baby”, she greeted. “look at my grand baby, ain’t he getting big?” you nodded, voice light. “yes ma’am. growing too fast for my liking.”
she gave dominique a simple “hi”, but didn’t say his name. just looked him up and down real quick, then turned her attention back to the food table like she was tryna keep the peace.
peace was thrown out the window when you showed up with another man. stack was looking at you like you personally betrayed him. he rose slowly, as though tension tightened every bone in his body. the red cup hung loose in his fingers, but his whole frame said anything but relaxed.
one of his cousins who already peeped game, leaned over to try and stop him. “aye stack, chill.” but he wasn’t hearing none of that. nobody understood how he was feeling, that was his woman at the end of the day.
not just some random bitch he used to mess with. you were his, his headache, his soft spot, his unfinished business. and he would do anything to get his family back. he was already walking toward y’all, straight through the crowd, eyes locked on you. nothing about his body language gave soft or calm.
he made his way across the yard, cutting through chairs and coolers like the crowd wasn’t even there. like his whole family wasn’t lowkey staring, forks frozen mid-air, watching how this was about to play out.
dominque was right next to you, standing tall like he had something to prove. arms crossed over his chest, chin up like he was ready for whatever. stack’s eyes didn’t leave yours once. not even when he got close enough for you to smell the henny and versace cologne on him.
when he finally spoke, it was low and grumbled, like he was trying real hard not to raise his voice “this what we on now?” you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. because in reality, this was a terrible idea. there was a familiar sting in the back of your throat. the one you got whenever stack looked at you like this, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. as if he was waiting on you to say something dumb so he could call your bluff.
you shifted your son on your hip and shaked your head. "let’s not do this here, elias." he licked his bottom lip, head tilted slightly. still looking at you, taking you in like you owed him something. “nah we gon do this right here, in front of everybody.” he turned slightly towards dominique, just enough to size him up. “you the new nigga?”, stack asked straight up, grill flashing just a little — a crazed smile forming on his face.
dominque puffed his chest out, “yeah i’m with her. problem?” stack laughed, a serious laugh like what he said was funny to him. “you with her. that’s cute.” and like a switch he turned back towards you, looking dead in your face, expression wiped of every bit of playfulness. “you really brought this clown to my mama house? on father's day? with my son?"
your heart sank, because now whatever jealousy you were trying to get him to feel was biting you in the ass. “elias please—”, he snapped cutting you off. “you knew what you was doing. came all this way looking good and smelling sweet. ‘n had the nerve this bring this lame ass nigga, like i wasn’t gon say something.”
dominque stepped forward a little, trying to come to your defense. “she not doing shit. you mad emotional because she chose me, nigga get over it.” and had the nerve to laugh in his face. it was silent for a moment, stack had to process the straight bullshit he fixed him mouth to say. he stale faced him, voice oddly calm. “nah, she settlin. you the in-between. the lil nigga holding her bag while she waitin for me to remind her who the fuck she belong to.”
you bit your lip hard, head turned away as you gently patted your baby’s back — trying to soothe him, and yourself. you unfortunately knew what was coming next. dominique stepped towards stack, clearly not used to somebody pushing back. “man, i’m not scared of you. you just mad she don’t want your toxic ass no more-”. before he could finish his sentence, stack’s fist came up fast, clean, and cracked him dead in the mouth.
dominique stumbled back hard, hand flying to his lip that was already pouring blood in his hand. stack ain’t even flinch. just stood over him, eyes dark, jaw clenched, chest rising slow. “talk that shit again nigga,” he growled. “i dare you.” you stepped between them fast, voice loud. “alright that’s enough! both of yall need to stop.”
stack’s eyes flickered towards yours, and his gaze softened. he looked at your son, now whimpering soft against your shoulder and his whole face shifted. the anger inside him subsided at that moment. for a second, it was just you, him, and the baby.
and then, of course dominque had to ruin it. “you really gon let him disrespect me like that? you gon stand there and let this nigga think he can put hands on me?” you turned your head slowly. looked at him with nothing but exhaustion in your face. “you shouldn’t’ve said shit,” you muttered.
then you looked at stack again. he was still breathing heavy, still tense, but his eyes were on you now. not dominique. just you. “you comin with me,” he said, voice low, thick in a way that made your knees feel weak. “wait—” he stepped in close, barely touching you but still taking up all your space. “let me word it differently for you, bring yo ass inside.”
you looked back at dominque. his lip was busted. and he was scared to even look stack’s way. you couldn’t even feel bad. not really. you gently handed your baby over to stack’s mama, and she just took him with a sigh and shake of her head.
with your son safely out your hands, he reached and grabbed your wrist. and you let him, didn’t even fight it. he pulled you into his momma house like he paid mortgage himself. the screen door slammed behind y’all, and the second y’all hit the hallway, his hand was on your ass, gripping hard.
“you out your fuckin mind”, he snarled against your neck, lips dragging over your skin. “comin here looking pretty as fuck, smelling good. knowing i ain’t touched you in months.” you gasped, moaning softly when he bit your shoulder, rough teeth dragging over the dip of it before he licked the sting away. the grip he had on your hip got even tighter. you could feel how mad he was. his dick was pressed up against your ass, already hard and heavy through his jeans.
he tugged your sundress up, hand palming your panty covered ass like it was his again. “take yo ass up stairs.” he didn’t have to tell you twice, you practically ran up the stairs, flip flops almost sliding off your feet. you hit the top stair and turned to the first room on the left, his old room — your back hit the edge of the bed right as he stepped through the door.
he slammed the door shut with one hand, not bothering to lock it. stack pounced on you, gripping your throat slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. he kissed you like he was punishing you for making him wait. tongue in your mouth, lips rough, teeth nipping at yours. his golds cold against your lips, his hands greedy, yanking at your dress like he didn’t care if it ripped. and he didn’t, he’ll buy you a new one.
he slowly peeled the straps of your dress down. you were already bare underneath, no bra, your breasts spilling out and brown nipples already hard. stack’s lips never left yours as he pushed the dress to your waist, palms rough against your back, until he finally pulled away to look.
“god damn”, he muttered, biting the corner of his lip as his thumb brushed across one peaked nipple. “i ain’t seen these titties since you was pregnant. they still mine?” you nodded too fast, chest rising with every breath. his hand came up and slapped your tittie once, not hard, just enough to sting and make your knees buckle a little.
“i said talk, not nod.” “yes—yes, they yours,” you breathed, mouth parted. “always been.” he let out a low chuckle, “i know.” his lips wrapped around one nipple and sucked hard, before doing the same to the other one. now both coated in saliva, he took his two thumbs to brush over your nipples. rolling and tugging on them, just to feel you squirm, to hear the way your moan cracked when it got to be too much.
“fuck i missed the way you sound”, he said while inching toward your neck leaving soft kisses. “you ain’t moan like this for that other nigga huh?”, his voice tickled your ear while one hand was still on your nipples.
“no, fuck no,” you gasped, thighs already rubbing together for friction. “bet he ain’t even know how to suck on these right.” he latched on again, sucking until your back arched, your body begging.
he slid down to his knees, “lay back”, he muttered. “legs up.” you followed quickly. he planted soft kisses on the inside of your thighs. “look at you”, knuckles grazing over your panties. “i can already tell this pussy wet.” you let out a low whine, wishing we would do something, “stack please.”
“i know, i know baby.” he let out a low, knowing grin. his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, yanking them down your trembling thighs with no patience. slow enough to watch the strings of slick cling to them, but fast enough to remind you he wasn’t in the mood to be soft.
“fuck, look at this pussy”, he murmured, eyes locked between your legs like he was witnessing something sacred. “all this mess? you that fuckin wet for me, huh?” your thighs trembled as the cool air hit your soaked folds, and he held the ruined panties up with a smirk, index finger running through the sticky wetness clinging to the lace. “so sticky, baby. you must’ve missed me real bad.”
you whined when his fingers spread you open. clit on full display and wetness spilling out of your slit. the moment he slid his tongue between your folds, you cried. tongue flat, wide, dragging through your folds with no mercy. he sucked on your clit like he was mad at it. you jerked forward, but he grabbed your hips and pulled you back, eating like a man starved, nose buried, tongue fucking you.
“mmm,” he groaned into your pussy, beard soaked. “you missed this nasty shit, huh?” you could only let out a nod, hands gripping the sheets while your thighs trembled. “missed me suckin on this clit, fuckin you open with my tongue…makin you cum without even puttin dick in you.” “f-fuck, elias—oh my god,” you cried out, back arching.
that tongue was still disrespectful. sloppy, greedy, licking from clit to slit and back again like he missed the taste. he pulled you forward, buried his face deeper, eating like he was trying to drown in it. “i’m about to cum”, you screamed.
he smirked against your pussy, spit and slick dripping down his chin. “there she go.” your orgasm hit hard, too hard, and he didn’t even stop, not while you twitched and cried and begged. when he finally pulled back, you were soaked, thighs sticky, your pussy fluttering around nothing, empty and aching.
he stood, unbuckling his belt with quick hands, pulling his jeans and boxers in one swift motion to free his dick. that familiar fat dick slapped against his stomach, veins thick, tip angry red and leaking. you moaned at the sight. “gimme that dick,” you begged finally, your voice gone, eyes glossy. “elias—baby, please, fuck me.”
“now you remember how to act.” you looked down to see him stroking his dick slow, watching you squirm. “look at you. laid out like a slut. that nigga ever make you beg like this?” you shook your head no. “didn’t fuckin think so.”
“turn around”, he said voice hoarse. you did, planting your palms on the bed, back arched just the way he liked it. he stood behind you, taking a second just to admire. “she so pretty,” he muttered under his breath, rough knuckles brushing over the swell of your ass. “don’t make no sense…”you gasped when you felt him drag his tip through your folds, slow and steady, coating himself with your slick.
the low grunt he let out told you just how good it felt. his tip circled your entrance, teasing. “this my pussy?” he asked, voice a low rasp that scraped down your spine. you nodded your head, trying to push back into him, but he held your hips in place. “nah i need you to say it.” a frustrated, needy whine slipped from your lips. your voice trembled, breath catching in your throat. “yes, eli—”
you couldn’t even finish. he slammed into you with no warning, deep and rough, knocking the air straight out your lungs. your mouth dropped open but no sound came out for a second, just the echo of skin slapping skin and the high-pitched moan that followed once you caught your breath.
“say it again,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, dragging his hips back only to slam forward again. “tell me who this pussy belong to.” “y-you!” you cried out, eyes rolling back as he hit your sweet spot over and over again. “it’s yours elias, it’s yours. i promise.”
your knees were already starting to buckle, the way he gripped the fat of your waist, the stretch of him, it was all too much. your hand reached back instinctively, pushing weakly at his stomach. “eli—slow down,” you whimpered, voice barely a breath. “it’s too much.”
he wasn’t hearing none of that. he caught your wrists and twisted them roughly behind your back, pinning them in one strong hand. “you gon take whatever the fuck i give you.” without breaking rhythm, he lifted one leg up, planting his foot on the edge of the bed. the shift in angle had your spine arching, eyes flying open as the next thrust punched a cry straight from your chest.
he was deeper now, way deeper. dick punching at your g-spot. your face dropped to the mattress, fingers clawing at the sheets. you could barely breathe, and he didn’t let up. just kept digging deeper, rough and steady, the grip he had on your hips making sure you stayed right where he needed you.
“yeah,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple. “keep runnin that mouth, now look at you. can’t even talk.” broken moans spilled from you uncontrollably. you was sounding like you were possessed by the dick. repeating his name like a broken record. “sound real obedient now, huh?” his voice turned low, mocking, the gold on his tooth flashing with each groan behind you. “lil mouthy ass always actin like you don’t remember who you belong to.”
he leaned forward then, chest pressing into your back, lips right by your ear. “you do now, though, don’t you?” you nodded desperately, voice gone, body limp except for the way your thighs trembled from being split open and stuffed full.
you started shaking, vision blurry, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. heat bloomed from your core, spreading through your belly and straight up your spine. your mouth fell open, a soft string of moans tumbling out, breath hitching every time his hips slammed into yours.
your pussy clenched around him on instinct, thighs trembling as you tried to hold yourself up. but you were so close, you could feel it coming. his grip tightened on your waist, pulling you back harder into him. “you about to cum, baby?” he rasped, breath hot on your spine.
you barely managed a nod, a broken, desperate “yes” escaped your throat as he drove into you deeper. “that’s it. cream on my dick”, he growled. “i feel you mama.” your legs gave out completely, collapsing at the weight of your release. the orgasm that hit you was blinding, hips jerking, thighs twitching, body rocking with wave after wave of pleasure as your cries filled the room. you were sure anyone that came into the house would here you, but you didn’t care.
he kept going, fucking you through the aftershocks, letting you ride it all out. “damn, you soaking my shit.” he then flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing. your legs fell open, lower half completely soaked and mind in the clouds. his body hovered over yours, his face twisted in that look he always got when he was about to nut, jaw clenched and eyes wild.
he lined up again, quick and calculated. one deep thrust and he was buried inside you, both hands sliding beneath your knees, pushing your legs up to your chest. “look at me,” he grunted. “eyes on me while i cum in this pussy.” you could barely breathe, let alone think, but you did, eyes locked on him, lips parted, whispering his name.
“take it”, he snarled. “take all this nut. i’m about to put another baby in you. you want that mama?” you nodded your head fast. “i wanna be a momma again,” you sobbed out, voice breathy and broken, thighs trembling where they clung around his waist. “gimme another baby, elias.” your nails clawed at his back, desperate to hold on to something, anything, while your body shook beneath his. “make me yours again,” you whispered against his lips, eyes glossy, lips swollen. “put one in me so i never forget.”
his strokes got meaner, like he wanted to carve himself into you. like he needed you to feel him even when he wasn’t around. his mouth dropped open, head tilted back, gold glinting as he groaned through his teeth, “okay, mama. i got you.”
his rhythm turned ragged, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep one last time. you felt the pulse of him inside you, warm, thick ropes filling you up, spilling out around his dick. you felt the weight of him collapse onto you, chest pressed to yours, his breath ragged and warm against your collarbone. he whispered low, sweet praise into your ear, words only meant for you. he then eased off you slow, dragging himself out like he hated to leave, his body already missing yours.
he didn’t go far though. just to the other side of the bed, where he leaned against the headboard, chest rising and falling to catch his breath, and dick still standing at attention. his chain rested crooked on his collarbone, catching the light as he reached over on the nightstand to grab one of his pre-rolled blunts, lighting it with a flick of his lighter.
you were curled into the bed, trying to catch your breath. trembling from overstimulation, thighs slick and warm, breath coming in uneven puffs. but when your eyes met his — dark and hooded, full of lust and love, you felt your heart skip a beat. "cmere," he murmured, voice dragging low and thick, smoke slipping between his lips as he stared you down. “we not done girl, come ride this dick.”
you blinked, eyes widened, lips parted in disbelief, and body already reacting before your brain could catch up. his legs were spread, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other held his pre-roll near his lips. that smug smirk crept up slow as he mockingly patted his thigh, like it was your permanent seat. “i’m nuttin all in that pussy. ain’t stopping till im shooting blanks”
his dick jumped with the promise of more, still thick and hard, despite busting a nut, slick from both of yall juices. he was making it hard to say no. and you didn’t have the energy to resist him.
A/N: omg who wrote this?!?);&:& anyways this was my FIRST time writing smut so tell me how i did😏. moral of the story don’t bring your new nigga around your baby daddy, unless you wanna get put through the mattress! i proofread this a few times, but if you see any mistakes ignore or you’re anti black LMFAOOOO. i hope yall enjoyed, feedback is welcome <3!!!! (im definitely dropping more bd!stack)
stack having a son inspo
LAYOUT INSPO: @dollerin
TAGS: @zomqiez @n3atjok3r246 , idk why it’s not letting me tag the rest sigh.
small confession … im a smoke girly so next up is smoke fics! what yall want next modern!plug smoke orrrr 30s!smoke.
Warnings: Descriptions of overstimulation, spanking, face-fucking, and rough sex. As always, everything is consensual
Notes: I didn't include the part about sending the text and turning your phone off for them because I feel like you wouldn't even need to go that far. Just hanging up and not answering it when he calls you back is enough. Also, I couldn't write John for this one🥲 My man definitely has PTSD and I feel like it would just be cruel to hang up on him because his mind would immediately go to the worst.
Inspired by this post by @nayys-world 💖 Thank you allowing me to use it as inspo!!
Main Masterlist
Michael & Characters Masterlist
Marvel Masterlist
Sinners Masterlist
Mike
✨He’s admitted he went to therapy after playing Erik, so I feel like he would just communicate that he hates it when people hang up on him the first time you do it.
✨Every time after that?
✨You’re not walking the next day
✨Tbh I see there being enough ways for you to be a brat with him that you never feel the need to purposefully get him irritated like that, so when you do it, it’s during an argument.
✨He’d play it off like he was fine at first, showing up at your place to talk out whatever argument you were having that led to emotions getting so intense you hung up on him.
✨After you talk it out, he’d just look you up and down, not letting a single emotion show on his face.
✨“So do you think it’s cute to hang up on someone? Or did you just do it because I told you how much it pisses me off and you wanted to be petty?”
✨If you genuinely forgot and he could tell that you were sorry, he’ll accept your apology
✨But if he has the slightest doubt?
✨He’s fucking you halfway through the mattress and making you understand exactly why it’s called having your back “blown out”
✨He isn’t going to stop you from cumming, but he’s not stopping just because you came
✨Just go ahead and call out of work the next day
✨You wake up and your back is sore and it feels like you lost your virginity all over again
✨He’d give you a massage the next day and make sure to pamper you, but he also tells you he isn’t afraid to do it again if you ever do it again
Adonis
✨He’s leaving the gym when he calls you and you’re telling him about how your pet peeve is when someone doesn’t give you the little ‘wave’ in traffic when you let them merge when he mentions that he hates being hung up on
✨“So what would you do if I did hang up on you?”
✨“Why?”
✨“Maybe I’m curious.”
✨“Do it and find out.”
✨“Bet.” Click
✨When he shows up, all you hear is that voice in your head playing that one “It was at this moment, he knew, he fucked up” meme.
✨He doesn’t even get you to the bedroom
✨He’s bending you over the nearest flat surface
✨‘Fucking’ isn’t a strong enough word to describe what he does to you
✨Definitely got a noise complaint from your neighbors bc of the noise
✨He could not care less
✨Your legs are useless for the next two days
✨He spoils you those two days, but he’s also got a shit eating grin because he knows you loved it
✨Now you do it any time you want to make sure he doesn’t hold back
Erik
✨Are you dumb? Stupid? Both?
✨You gotta be
✨Because WHY did you play in this man’s face like that
✨This man has a kill count higher than the lead singer of an 80s band’s body count
✨*high pitch voice* And you hung up on him?
✨Your funeral, bestie
✨Fucks you in front of the mirror
✨“Since you wanna act stupid, you can watch yourself get fucked stupid”
✨No matter what position he puts you in, he makes sure you can see yourself.
✨On your back? Your head is hanging off the bed
✨On your hands and knees? His hand is in your hair forcing you to keep your head up and watch yourself
✨Doesn’t stop until the only thing you’re capable of saying is his name
✨Has to be up early the next morning and is gone before you’re up, but you wake up to a text
✨“You ever try that shit again, and you won’t be walking for a week”
Smoke
✨You think he’s fucking you after that?
✨He’s laughing in your face
✨“Since you don’t wanna use your words, get on your knees and use that mouth for something else.”
✨He fucks your mouth like he’s got something to prove
✨He’s getting off on the way you look as he forces as much of his cock down your throat as you can take
✨When you start crying and gagging, he’ll pull you off of him
✨“You ever gon’ do some stupid shit like that again?”
✨You shake your head, not trusting your voice at all
✨“Good. Now back to work.”
✨You’re convinced he’s doing everything he can to last as long as he physically can
✨Your jaw is sore, your tongue is numb, and there’s drool and tears running down your face
✨When he finally cums, he forces you to swallow it all
✨He helps clean you up, but you’re lying to yourself if you think you get to cum that night
✨Fucks you the next morning though to make up for it
Stack
✨After you hang up, you get a single text
✨“I got you”
✨Your heart is on the ground
✨You try to apologize to him when he gets home, but he just laughs
✨Your bent over his lap in record time with your pants and underwear pulled down
✨Thighs, ass, and pussy are getting spanked
✨He just laughs when you start crying, and laughs even harder when he feels how wet you are
✨Ends up fingering you in his lap so you can’t squirm away from him as he makes you cum again and again
✨Doesn’t care that you’re overstimulated
✨Still fucks you through at least two more orgasms
a/n: okay so i finally got around to writing a sinners fic…took me almost a year but i finally wrote it chile. also i’m ngl, whenever i see mbj, i get a lil irritated bc he’s fine asf and i know i can’t have him lmao. anyways, i had this idea during my nightly scenario before bed, hope y’all like it!! i just had to add some more loverboy!Stack into the mix! Just a fluffy little fic, before i get into the weeds of a smut piece…enjoyyyy😗🫶🏾
wc: 1.8k
There could be a lot said about Elias “Stack” Moore. He was hardheaded, a slick talker, and dangerous. Keen on having all his suits tailored to perfection, he nevver stepped out without the matching tie and pocket square, tie clip, hat—every element meticulously chosen.
Some nights you’d finish your entire night routine, nestling yourself right into the covers ready to finally get some sleep after a long day, just for your husband—who’d probably had an even longer day—to keep you up with his antics.
“How you feel about this one baby?” He asks, stepping out of your shared closet with a silky red tie in his hands.
“Looks like the ten other ties you’ve shown me, Elias,” you huff, trying to keep your smirk down, knowing that’d get him a little frustrated. He took the little details very seriously. And right on schedule, he kisses his teeth and sends a pointed glare in your direction before retreating back into the closet.
“No vision,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
“I should lock you and that vision of yours in the damn closet so I can get some sleep,” you grumble, just wishing he’d just get in the bed already.
“You know you can’t just lock all this pimpin’ in the closet, pretty girl,” sending a sly grin with a wink in your direction, he turns out all of the lights, finally putting his outfit planning antics to bed for the night.
Stack even made sure his brother, Smoke—who couldn’t care less about what he was wearing unless the job got done—was put together. Because in Stack’s words, “I have a reputation to uphold,” and “If you got my face you gotta look the part.” He practically considered it his “duty” to stay fly. So naturally, when you two got together, he did the same with you. Despite your countless objections, he was insistent on having some of your dresses custom made, making sure he had the best seamstress in town—who just so happened to be your mother—have a nice pocket square and tie made out of the extra fabric. In fact, Stack was your mama’s best customer—always insisting on damn near doubling whatever she asked for, which was already too low in his opinion. He was never one to turn down an opportunity to remind everyone that you were his, and most importantly, that he was all yours.
You had one more fitting for the dress Elias commissioned your mother to make over Sunday dinner a few weeks back, and he was more than willing to take you. Already heading into town to handle some business with Smoke, your husband brings you along to drop you off at your mother’s shop. But that plan was on the verge of falling apart since he practically held you hostage in the car. Trapping you with “just one more kiss baby” after every kiss. And even then, if you so much as thought about touching a door in his presence, he’d throw a fit. It wasn’t until you reminded your oh so affectionate husband that all the ladies in the shop, including your mother, along with everyone walking down the street could see you two and that his brother would come looking for him if he was late, that he stopped coming in for more kisses. And not to anyone’s surprise, only the threat of his brother got him moving right along.
You blissfully spent the next two hours in your mother’s shop. You’d gotten all the best gossip, taking a mental note of all the details and questions you’d bring back to Stack, who to his credit, always patiently listened and indulged in whatever gossip fell into your lap. You went back and forth with your mama, insisting she could bring the neckline down just a little, huffing and puffing that you were grown and married, until she begrudgingly gave in. You got to recount bits and pieces of your married bliss, the two younger girls in the room hanging onto your every word as if you were reciting the best fairytale ever written. And you even managed to successfully dodge any questions related to why you’d been married for a little over a year now with no baby Moore on the way. You’d consider the day a success.
“And I don’t know why I need a new dress. Elias said it’s for when he takes me dancin’, but we just went out last weekend,” you reason, trying to figure out what he was up to.
“You know that boy love to spoil you Y/n,” one woman pipes up, stopping her work on the garment in front of her to give you a knowing look.
“Maybe he wanna—,“ but before the young girl could even finish her starry-eyed guess the small bell above the front door rings, forcing everyone’s attention in that direction. And speaking of the devil, in walks your husband with a toothpick between his teeth and a smile brighter than all the stars combined.
“Well ain’t you just prettiest thing the Delta done ever seen,” Stack muses, pulling the toothpick from between his teeth and taking in your red clothed form. Your cheeks immediately warm up at the grandeur of his compliments. It didn’t help that you were front and center in the room, standing right on the small platform with the threefold mirror staring right back at you.
Walking further inside, he takes the structured hat off of his head and greets all the women, stopping to properly greet your mother with a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Ain’t she so pretty,” he adds, stepping right up to your side, taking in the dress that was in his signature crimson, it hugged your body perfectly, the delicate pattern catching the light just right. The unanimous hum of approval from all the ladies only makes your cheeks hotter.
He then lifts your left hand in his and plants a delicate kiss to your jeweled ring finger as he admires you through the mirror in front of you.
“Hell, all of Mississippi ain’t got shit on you,” he breathes out, taking all of you in one more time.
“You better watch that mouth Elias,” Mrs. Bea grumbles from your right side, causing your mother to snicker behind you—already being somewhat used to his potty mouth.
“Now how you doin’ Ms. Bea,” Stack beams sweetly, peeking out from your side to flash the golds in his mouth to the older woman across from him.
“Doin’ fine. Would be better if you stopped all that cussin’,” she shoots back, causing you and everyone in the shop to erupt into laughter.
“Now I can’t make no promises ‘bout that ma’am,” Stack truthfully confesses.
“Plus ya girl right here love it when I cuss real good,” his eyes are locked squarely on yours, a sinful glint blooming behind them. By now, your husband is grinning from ear to ear, the dimple on his left cheek on full display. You were just itching to poke it if that meant he’d stop.
“Boy you better stop, you know this girl gon’ burst into flames,” your mother snickers, placing the last pin in place for alterations. Was everyone out to get you right now?!
“Alright baby, you can go take this off, should be done by the end of the week,” she adds, helping you down from the platform alongside Elias.
“Thanks mama,” you softly breathe out, the corners of your mouth curling up into a gracious smile as you squeeze her hand. She reciprocates with a soft smile and sends you off on your way to go change.
“Need some help Mrs. Moore?” He offers, his voice laced with nothing but sin and a smirk plastered across his face to match. Your head immediately whips in his direction, eyes screaming, begging for him to stop. You step in closer to him, palms planted on his chest, eyes searching his for any hint of sense.
“Can you wait outside for me, I’ll be right out. I promise,” you whisper sweetly, gripping onto his suit lapels, smoothing out the crisp edges. While you were trying to be firm, you couldn’t stop yourself from your senses being pleasantly overwhelmed with the scent of his cologne mixing with the tobacco from his cigarettes.
“Nah, I’m good right here babygirl,” Elias pokes back, enjoying the way he was making you blush.
“If you go wait in the car, I’ll be real sweet to ya when we get home,” you lean up to whisper right in his ear, softly and ever so slightly pressing your body against his, knowing his ultimate weakness was you.
“That’s all you had to say, woman,” your husband beams, lightly wrapping a hand around your forearm and planting a small kiss to your lips before stepping away from you. You send a wink his way before turning towards the changing rooms, Ms. Bea following behind you, giving Stack a pointed look—almost daring him to watch you walk away. And he still did anyway.
“And before you even ask, I already set aside some extra fabric for that tie and pocket square of yours,” your mother informs, cleaning up her workspace.
“You know you my favorite mother-in-law right?” He proudly asks, earning a couple laughs from some of the women in the room and earning an eye roll from your mother.
“Gotta be able to match my favorite lady,” he proudly states, his smile softening at the thought.
“I’m gon’ get out y’all’s way now. The missus wants me gone I suppose,” Stack continues, feigning hurt as he carefully places the hat back on his head.
“I’ll see you on Sunday,” he finishes, giving your mom one final hug and kiss to the cheek and making his way to the door, sending a small wave to the other women in the room.
“That mean I’ll see you at church too, right?” Your mom quips, already knowing the answer.
“I don’t know about all that now,” your husband laughs, shaking his head as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hot Mississippi air.
You can hear the ladies chatting back and forth as you carefully take off the dress in progress and put your original outfit back on.
“He sure is some trouble, that Elias Moore,” one woman grumbles, eyes looking towards your mother as she gets her own alterations done.
“But ain’t he just so sweet to her?” A much younger seamstress sighs, completely entranced with yours and Elias’ love story.
“That he is,” your mom replies to them both.
“But they a perfect match, that’s for sure,” she continues, looking out of the window to see Stack leaning against the car puffing at a cigarette and a bright image of your smile whenever you’re with him etched into her mind.
And you in the dressing room, hearing all the chatter, were fighting back the widest smile—the kind that hurt a little if you smiled for too long. Because it was true—you and Elias were a perfect match.
