mean!smoke who keeps your hands behind your back whenever he has you on all fours. claiming his decision to do that is because you always run whenever you two are in doggy style but really he just enjoyed seeing how helpless and overstimulated you got when you had no choice but to take his dick. he’d angle his hips so he could go deeper into your essence and so he could find that g-spot, and speed his pace up so his mushroom tip could kiss it over and over again.
“nah, you gone take this dick. all of it, ain’t no motherfucking running.”
mean!smoke who’s idea of punishing you when you’ve been bratty is tying you up to a chair and holding a vibrator up to your clit. letting you get so overstimulated and overwhelmed that you can’t even think or talk straight. he does all of this while making you apologize , and manipulating you into thinking if you apologize he’ll stop. instead he ups the setting with every apology you give him.
“tell daddy you sorry, an’ then i’ll take it off mama.”
mean!smoke who when he feels as though you’re bratting on purpose just so he can give you a “funishment” he’ll let you act up for a little, let you think you’re going to get what you want before quickly bending you over his knee, riding up your skit and using his hand to forcefully spank your ass. after a few minutes your ass starts to hurt, which causes you to try and block his hand from your butt. but he uses his free hand to move it and hold your hand down. forcing you to take it.
“you had so much shit to say earlier. you better take this shit.”
guess who’s back yall.. mee! finally, and i’m actually serious this time.i got fics lined up for yall.. some of which im dropping teasers for this week! it was just so hard balancing this + updating my books on wattpad. it was exhausting, so i just took time to focus on wattpad for a little. but now im back on here and i honestly and genuinely plan on staying <3. can’t wait to write on here again 🥹.
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.
summary: no matter how hard he tries to reject your advances, smoke always gives in. after all, you know his body like no other.
pairing: smoke x reader, platonic stack x reader.
warnings: use of the n word, allusions to sex, making out.
notes: first time writing in a couple months !!! literally had no plot with this one i just went straight off the bag lmao. also this isn't proofread at all!
It wasn't uncommon for you to find your way to his arms. Usually it would all be under his control; he'd call on you, he'd tell you what to do and you'd happily oblige. It went on like that for some time.
Only, you never got used to Smoke's hard exterior.
You thought that with time, you'd be able to read him better, but it seems it only become more difficult as time went on.
You and Smoke had been messing around for some time now, ever since he first laid eyes on you at a neighbourhood event he and his brother were "just passing by". But when he and Stack left for Chicago, all that went away.
You didn't expect the invite to the twins' new juke joint to find you, but there you were at the train station with Pearline when Stack found you.
"I ain't seen you in hot minute," he grabbed at your hand and twirled you towards him, ever the flirt. Your light pink sundress spun with you, frilly and light with air.
"Alright, Stack, let me go," you laughed, pushing at his chest. You turned around to check on Pearline, seeing her smiling at the twins' cousin, Preacher Boy. "What brings you back? Chicago too hard for you?"
"Girl, ain't nothing too hard for us," Stack waved you off, kissing his teeth. "We jus' wanted something a lil' more... familiar."
You rolled your eyes at him, whatever that meant.
"Say, we're having us an opening party tonight. Smoke and I got ourselves a new joint," a smirk graced Stack's face as you held a more quizzical look.
"Oh really? And whose pockets did you pick to get that new joint?"
"You want an invite or not, 'cause the way you goin', you gon' get blacklisted before it even open," he tilted his head to look down at you, his hat shadowing his face a bit.
"Alright, alright," you laughed. "I'll be there."
"Damn right," he smiled. "Imma tell Smoke too, that nigga sure could loosen up a bit."
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes at the mention of his brothers' name, whom you haven't seen since the night he told you he was leaving for Chicago, more like the night you found out rather than got told.
*
It was around 10pm when you got to the joint, the sound of music and laughter drawing you in. You couldn't lie to yourselves, the boys had outdone themselves on this one. Cornbread was at the door when you arrived, a smile on his face as you walked closer.
"Well, if it ain't lil' missy herself!" He laughed aloud.
"Hey Cornbread," you smiled, wiping away a curl from your face.
"Go on in, Stack an 'em expecting you."
By 'them' you assumed he meant Preacher Boy, who was with Stack when he extended the invite to you.
Walking in, the smell of food hit you straight away. The lights shone on everyone, illuminating faces and figures, some that you knew, some you didn't. Your eyes were looking for a certain someone's, never seeming to find them.
"I knew you'd come," you heard Stack before you even saw him. He swung his arm over your shoulder, a drink in the same hand. "You look good."
"You don't clean up too bad yourself," you patted his chest, a bright smile on your face.
He smiled back at you, gold caps glinting when they caught the light. "Aight, let's get you a drink, hm?"
He didn't give you tike to respond, walking you towards the bae section of the joint. You saw Annie behind the counter and a few others behind her.
"Hey Annie," you greeted her with a civil smile, to which she returned. Things between you and Annie weren't the best, but they weren't bad either. You knew better than to blame Smoke's personality towards you on the other woman in his life, especially because she'd been with him longer than you had.
You pulled out a few crumpled notes from your bra, but before they could even hit the counter, Stack had snatched them.
"Man, get that pocket change outta here," he said, pointing the cash back at you.
"Huh— I'm buying myself a drink, Stack, give it back." You huffed when he held it away from you again.
"It's on the house," he nodded at Annie, who grabbed a cup and filled it, handing it back to you.
"I thought y'all ain't do charity?" you laughed, accepting the drink nevertheless.
"It's a special night, and plus, you one of the few I like," he kissed your cheek, leaving as quickly as he found you, not before he stuck your cash under the strap of your dress on your shoulder.
You shook your head, moving through the crowd with your drink, smiling back at those who greeted you.
You found yourself a little corner to watch the stage and everyone else, leaning against the thick wood as you let the drink flow through your body. As you tipped your head back to drink more, your eyes caught his.
Of course, he was upstairs, watching over everyone else. His eyes stared right back at you as he took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke he exhaled wafting through the joint. You didn't break the eye contact, staring back at him as you drank from your cup.
It felt like you were staring at each other for ages, but seconds later he tipped his head to the side, gesturing for you to come up. Then he disappeared into a room.
Your breath hitched, your hand taking to your collarbone to ease the burn of the alcohol. You didn't know what to expect, things with Smoke were almost always unpredictable.
Regardless, you put the cup down and made your way slowly up the stairs to where you last saw him, adjusting the silky navy blue dress that you wore as you went.
The music was quieter upstairs, slightly muffled by the foundations and thickness of the room's doors.
You stood outside the room before knocking twice on the door, opening it shortly after.
His back greeted you, toned arms begging to be relieved from the slightest tightness of his shirt and waistcoat. He still had the cigarette, though when he turned to you, you knew it was only a matter of time before he ashed it.
You didn't say anything, leaning on the back of the door as you watch him.
He studied you for a bit, and that's when you really saw him for the first time in what felt like forever. His chiseled face, sculpted with time and effort. Those eyes that never seemed to soften, only at times when you got him loose enough to let go, just for a bit.
"Whatchu doin' here?" He said, startling you from your thoughts. You didn't expect that to be the first thing he said to you, but then again this was Smoke, he didn't care what he said to who.
"You told me to come up here, didn't you?" you smiled back sweetly, enjoying the feeling you got when you got under his skin.
"Stop sassing," he mumbled, ashing the cigarette at the end of the wooden desk.
He took a seat on the same desk, folding his arms across his chest.
"How you been, then? Didn't hear much from you these past days," you couldn't care less about how he was, and he knew that. You just wanted the truth and the honest truth.
He didn't answer you right away, simply allowed himself to eye you up and down. The way the dress hugger you perfectly, the navy blue on your melanin skin, the way it was cut low on your chest to expose just a little cleavage... he was enjoying it. Almost like it was just for him.
"You ain't got no where better to be?" He changed the topic again, much to your annoyance.
You let out a bitter scoff, already regretting following Smoke into the room. "You told me to meet you in here. Don't act like you didn't, Smoke," you kissed your teeth.
One thing about Smoke, he didn't do attitudes, regardless of whether or not he deserved it.
"Come here," he spoke to you softly, which should've alerted you if anything. Instead, you allowed your legs to take you to him standing right in front of his taller figure.
His hands rested on your waist, pulling you into him. Now, you stood between his legs as his eyes stared into yours.
"Why'd you leave, Smoke?"
He sighed but didn't act surprised, like he knew this was where the conversation would go. Your hands made their way to his broad shoulders, massaging gently.
"You already know why I had to go, business don't wait for no one."
You huffed at his answer, pulling back as much as you could whilst still in his hold.
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."
"What else you want me to say?"
You look at him then, really looked at him. "I want the truth. Why'd you leave me? When you was just saying all that stuff about wanting to be better for me an' all... It makes no sense."
Smoke looked away from you when you said that, but you still felt his fingers dragging up and down your waist, almost like he was making sure you were real, that you were still in his hold.
When a few moments of more silence passed, you pushed away from him, ready to go back down and pretend none of this even happened.
But Smoke didn't let you. He turned you back around in his hold, your chest against his back. His head dipped down to your bare neck, kissing along. His beard tickled, but you found yourself too busy almost melting into him to register it.
"You scare me sometimes," he mumbled, so quiet you almost missed it.
"What?" you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. "When was you scared of anything?"
"You're too... good. I'on know how to handle that." He was speaking honestly now, and it made sense why he turned you away from him to say this. Smoke never shower any vulnerability. You thought he was immune to it but it turns out he just never wanted anyone to see that side of him.
"Smoke..." you trailed off when he began to suck and bite at your neck, eliciting the faintest of moans from your lips. You pressed back into him, needing to feel more.
"I had to leave. Not because of you but you know I ain't good for you... I'on know why you can't understand that." He brought his left hand to your throat, tipping your head back into his shoulder as he spoke. Your eyes closed, suppressing the lewd sounds threatening to escape. He was barely touching you yet already had you like this? Insane.
"I don't care about that, Smoke." You managed to get out.
"Yeah, well you should." The way he said it sounded almost like a laugh. "You don't make no sense, baby."
He was right. Smoke wasn't the type of guy that a lady should keep chasing if she knew he didn't have what she wanted. Yet you, you kept trying. And that's what confused him.
He did everything to throw you off of him — use you when it pleased him, shut you out, literally everything he could think of. But it seemed to only make things between you stronger.
You forced yourself out of his grip and turned around, now looking him right in the eyes. He could see how hot and flustered he got you.
"I do make sense. I always tell you what I want, it's you who acts like he don't know what he wants." Your hands caressed his face bringing his forehead to rest on yours.
Smoke closed his eyes, his hands cupping your ass as he held you against him. He shook his head, seemingly about to say something before he pulled away.
"Stop," you frowned. "Stop forcing yourself away from me."
"I have to," he grunted, looking anywhere but at you.
Still, you pulled his face back to your, making him look back at you.
"You know you want to," you whispered, dropping a hand from his face and down to his pants, stroking over his clothes bulge. Smoke groaned lowly, throwing his head back. "Give me a lil' something, huh, baby?" you asked sweetly. How could he deny that?
He brought his hand back to your neck, pulling you in til your lips touched his. You moaned almost immediately, it had been way too long.
Smoke kissed you like he would never get the chance to do it again, pulling you impossibly closer to him whilst one of your hands held the nape of his neck, the other still palming him.
He lowly moaned into your mouth when you pulled away slowly, biting his lip. You left him do what he did best, take control.
He turned you around, lifting you up to sit on the desk, his hands roaming all over your body. "You're something else," he whispered against your lips as you fumbled at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt.
"Yeah, you love it, don't you?"
You felt him smile against your lips, just ever so slightly. If anything, that told you he wasn't ready to let you go. Not just yet. And that was enough for now.
He broke away from your lips to kiss along your neck, your head thrown back in pleasure as your legs wrapped around his body. "Smoke..." you whispered.
"Yeah, baby?" he kissed along your jaw, your hand wrapped around his throat as you pulled him closer to your face.
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.
synopsis : you think you love him more like this—bloodied, breathless, and jealous enough to kill. he thinks he loves you most when you’re face-down and begging. you’re both right. (check out hcs here !)
a/n : loved writing the small banter in this one 😼 is it crazy to say that i may write a longer one with more of a plot…
you’re standing at the stove when the door opens—no keys, no knock, just the sound of wood shifting on rusted hinges and the low drag of boots across the threshold.
you don’t flinch. the kettle’s warm under your hand and the smell of jasmine curls in the air between you like fog.
he doesn’t speak right away. just breathes heavy, like he’s been running on foot or chasing something that finally stopped. like his chest is still half-echoing with the sound of struggle. you hear him collapse into the couch the way only he can—like his bones are made of brick, like the whole night broke across his shoulders. the same way he always falls apart when you’re not around to stop him.
you keep stirring the tea, lazy and slow.
you tilt your head back toward the living room, just enough for your voice to carry. “which one was it?”
silence—thick, bristling. you wait for it.
he exhales through his nose, sharp. “the one in the white button-up. name started with a ‘j’.”
your lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile—too knowing, too pleased.
you knew exactly which one it was. he saw the way that man leaned too close to you last night, touched your back when he passed by the table. you did it on purpose. and you knew remmick would never say anything in the moment—not with all those eyes around—but you also knew he wouldn’t let it go.
“mm. he was annoying,” you hum softly.
you turn the stove off and leave the mug where it is. you’re not thirsty anymore.
you walk into the living room like the floor belongs to you. bare feet, loose shirt, eyes already locked on him—blood on his mouth, jaw tight, breathing uneven.
he doesn’t look up at first, head tilted back against the couch cushion, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to come back into himself. the veins in his forearm are swollen. you love when he looks like this. like he barely made it back in one piece.
you pick up your pace a little.
then—without warning, without ceremony—you jump.
you plop down onto his lap like you’re made of air and wickedness and sugar all at once, thighs spread wide around his hips as you land with a bounce that jostles his whole body back against the couch.
the thud in his chest tells you it startled him a little, but not enough to shove you off.
“hi,” you say sweetly, already grabbing fistfuls of his shirt like you’re settling into a favorite seat. “you look tired.”
he exhales hard, head still tilted back against the cushion, eyes shut like he’s trying to find god behind his eyelids.
your knees dig into the couch cushions on either side of his hips, your weight heavy in his lap, and you can feel the mess of blood and sweat soaked into his clothes already starting to cling to your bare skin.
he still doesn’t look at you. you reach for his face anyway.
your fingertip starts just below his eye, dragging softly along the edge of his cheekbone, down the hollow of his cheek, tracing the smudge of blood near his lip. you don’t know if it’s his or not. you don’t care.
“looks like he got a good hit in,” you murmur, thumb brushing just under his jaw. “did it hurt?”
his hand shoots up fast—grabs your wrist tight enough to make your breath hitch. he finally looks at you, eyes red and raw and rimmed in something that isn’t quite anger but isn’t far from it either.
“stop makin’ shit worse,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. “you hear me?”
you stare back at him, eyes wide, pulse skipping under your skin.
you know he doesn’t mean just now. he means all of it.
the way you dress when you go out. the way you smile at people when he’s two feet away. the way you pull your hair to the side and leave your neck bare. the way you whisper his name too softly when someone else is around just to watch how he reacts.
you know exactly what he means.
you wrench your wrist out of his grip and slap both hands down against his chest, hard enough to jolt him back against the couch. your voice comes out sharp.
“i only do it because i love when you protect me.”
you lean back and he doesn’t stop you.
your back hits the rug with a low thud that knocks the air out of your lungs—half from the fall, half from the way he follows you down like gravity gave him no other choice.
he doesn’t give you time to reposition or speak or ask what the hell he’s doing—he just pulls at your thighs until they spread wider, until he’s kneeling between them and tugging your shorts halfway down in one rough, wet movement.
his breath is all over your face, warm and uneven, his mouth close enough to bite. “you don’t love it when i protect you,” he mutters, teeth clenched like it hurts to say it out loud. “you love it when i lose my fuckin’ mind.”
you gasp—half a moan, half a soundless laugh—your arms reaching up to push at his chest, only to grab onto his shirt and yank him lower.
“yeah,” you whisper, mouth grazing his, “i do.”
his mouth crashes into yours. not sweet. not soft. it’s teeth and spit and the taste of someone else’s blood still on his tongue, and you kiss him like you’d die if you didn’t, like you’ve been starving for him all night. his hand slides up your thigh and grips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the muscle as if he’s staking his claim right then and there.
you cry out against his lips, breath catching in the back of your throat as his palm pushes up until it’s pressed between your legs.
he doesn’t ease in. he doesn’t ask. he presses two fingers against the heat of your cunt over your underwear, feels the way it’s already soaked through, and he lets out a low groan—somewhere between a curse and a prayer.
“you’re already dripping,” he growls, nosing along your jaw now, licking a stripe up your throat. “is this what gets you off, huh? me comin’ back with blood on my hands, thinkin’ about you the whole time? thinkin’ about what i was gonna do to you?”
you whimper as his fingers push the fabric to the side and slide through the slick mess underneath.
he doesn’t go slow. he rubs you open like he owns you—messy and loud and cruel in the way only he can be, because he knows exactly where to press, how to circle your clit until your hips buck and your eyes roll back.
“say it,” he snaps. “say it—what gets you off?”
you choke on a moan, legs kicking out slightly under him as he bullies your cunt with his fingers.
“you,” you gasp, panting against his cheek. “you, like this—rough—mean—jealous—”
he cuts you off with another kiss, messier than the first, dragging his tongue across your teeth as he slips two fingers inside you and curls them deep.
your thighs tremble instantly, hands flying up to grab at his arms, nails digging into his sleeves.
“yeah,” he breathes, fucking his fingers into you hard, knuckles deep, the wet sound obscene in the quiet of the room. “you like it when i lose control. when i fuck you like you’re mine.”
“i am yours,” you sob against his jaw, already fucked out and he hasn’t even taken his pants off. “all yours—just yours—”
he groans low, pulling his fingers out slow just to watch you twitch and clench around nothing, then brings them up to your mouth.
“open.”
you do—wide, eager, eyes glassy as your tongue lolls out for him. he presses his slick fingers to your lips and you suck them in without hesitation, moaning at the taste of yourself, the thickness of his fingers, the way he keeps his eyes on your face like he’s trying to brand the image into his skull.
his voice is low now—raspy, wrecked. “that’s it—look at you—filthy thing. don’t know what you’d do without me, do you?”
you hum around his fingers and shake your head. you wouldn’t. you never would.
he pulls them from your mouth with a wet pop and kneels up, reaching for his belt.
“turn over.”
your heart stutters. your thighs press together. you nod like a woman under spell and roll onto your stomach, pushing up onto your elbows, ass arching into the air as your ruined underwear slides halfway down your thighs.
you hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt behind you—slow metal, slow leather, slow enough to make your whole body tense like you’re bracing for a storm. you keep your cheek pressed to the rug, your arms trembling under you, hips tilted as high as you can manage because you know what he wants to see when he looks down.
you’re breathing hard into the rug, fingers curled in the fibers as he pushes your thighs open with one rough hand, dragging them farther apart until your knees slide outward.
your underwear is still bunched halfway down, clinging uselessly to your thighs as he leans over you and tugs the fabric lower with a sharp yank.
you feel cool air hit your cunt, the mix of your slick and the heat from his fingers still lingering there, and you whimper into the floor, arching your back even more, presenting yourself like instinct.
behind you, there’s the sound of him undoing the button of his jeans, then the slow rasp of the zipper coming down. you can hear how strained his breathing is now. how deep. how uneven.
you turn your head just enough for your voice to carry.
“remmick,” you whisper, needy and raw, “please…”
he lets out a low grunt at the sound of your voice—the kind that vibrates all the way through your spine.
“don’t rush me,” he mutters, but the words sound like they’re said through clenched teeth, thick with want. “you know what you do to me when you talk like that, huh?”
you feel him push his pants down just far enough to free himself, hear the creak of the floorboard under his knee, then the weight of his cock settling heavy against the curve of your ass.
you forget how to breathe for a second.
he adjusts his grip on your hips, sliding one thumb along the top of your spine, applying pressure that pushes your chest down and your ass higher. his other hand wraps around the base of his cock—you can hear the slick sound of him stroking himself once, spreading the precum along the tip.
and then you feel him.
the thick, warm blunt head nudging against your folds, dragging up your slit, gathering the mess he made of you with just his fingers.
you moan, hips jerking back instinctively, trying to catch him, trying to take more than he’s giving
he doesn’t let you.
he pulls back and taps your clit with the head of his cock, just hard enough to make you cry out.
“look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and ruined. “already so fuckin’ wet—just from me walkin’ through the door. you’re sick for me”
you gasp into the rug, fingers clawing without finding anything to hold.
“i am,” you choke, the words spilling out of you like a confession ripped open.
he groans and slides the head of his cock down through your folds again, slower this time, coating himself in your slick. he rubs against your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling back, teasing you with the promise of the stretch, the burn, the fullness.
you can hear him smiling in that dark, breathless way he gets when he’s losing control.
“say it again,” he mutters, grinding against your hole so lightly it feels like torture. “tell me how fucked up you are for me.”
you push back against him, desperate, your voice breaking.
“i love you,” you sob, panting hard now. “i want you all the time—i want your hands on me—your teeth—all of it—give me all of it—”
he lets out a shaky breath like you’ve knocked something loose in his chest.
“goddamn,” he mutters, voice trembling as he drags the head of his cock up through your mess again, pressing it right against your entrance without giving in. “you’re gonna make me lose it.”
your hips tremble, your breath coming in frantic bursts, your thighs soaked and shaking as he keeps rubbing against you without sinking in.
“remmick,” you cry, voice high and thin, “please— please don’t tease—i need you—”
he laughs softly, mean in that way that makes your stomach flip.
“you need me, huh,” he murmurs, pressing the head in just a tiny bit, then pulling out again so wetness strings between you. “good. because you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
he grips your hips harder—bruising hard—and pulls you back so your ass is tilted even higher, your cunt open for him, pulsing, clenching around nothing.
his hand drags up your spine, fingers splayed across your back like he’s reading your bones, steadying himself with a deep breath that shudders out of him slow. you can feel his cock twitch right at your entrance, still slick with your wetness, still swollen, still not inside.
he leans in close again, lips brushing your ear.
“you ready for it?”
you nod, frantic. you don’t speak because your throat’s too tight, mouth open and breath hitching as you try not to beg again—because if he hears the way your voice would shake, he’ll tease you longer just to see you cry.
so you just stay there—arched, trembling, soaked and stretched and open—and wait for the first thrust like it’s god coming down to punish you.
and then he gives it to you.
he presses his cock inside inch by inch, not fast, not rough—deliberate. like he wants you to feel everything. your slick parts around him with no resistance, so wet it makes a sound that punches a filthy little whine out of you, your fingers clawing at the rug like it might save you.
“f-fuck,” you gasp, voice caught in your chest. “remmick—oh my god—”
he keeps pushing—grinding in until his hips are flush against your ass and his cock is buried deep, stretching you wide, pulsing hot inside you like it hurts to hold back.
you can barely breathe. you want to cry.
you whisper his name again, voice warbled. “i feel so full…”
he groans into your shoulder, hips twitching.
“you’re tight as hell,” he mutters, breathing rough. “like you were waitin’ for me this whole time—missin’ me. tell me you were missin’ me, baby.”
you nod, whimpering. “i always miss you.”
he pulls back slow—his cock dragging out with a thick, obscene sound—and then slams back in hard enough to slap your ass loud, loud enough to echo in the room, loud enough to make you gasp so sharply you choke on it.
“good,” he grits out. “you better.”
he does it again.
and again.
until the rhythm forms—fast, brutal, punishing. each thrust punches a moan out of you like you’re a toy made to be ruined, like your body was designed for the weight of him hammering into you with no restraint.
skin slapping skin. your ass bouncing with each thrust. the sound of your wet cunt squelching around his cock, soaking him down to the base.
“so fuckin’ loud,” he growls, fingers digging into your hips. “listen to that—jesus, you’re fuckin’ soaked. all this mess just for me?”
you sob through your moans, nodding hard, hips trying to meet his thrusts even though your legs are shaking.
“yes—yes—just you—no one else gets this—only you, remmick—”
he groans loud at that, and slaps your ass hard enough to sting.
“say it again.”
“you’re the only one,” you cry, voice cracking. “only one who gets to fuck me—only one who gets to ruin me like this—please don’t stop—”
he leans over your back, breathing like an animal, mouth right at your ear.
“i’m not stoppin’ til i’ve fucked it so deep inside you that you’ll still feel it tomorrow. you want that? want to be sore? want to leak all night?”
you moan—loud, broken, soaked with need.
“yes—want all of it—”
his hand grabs your jaw and tilts your face just enough for him to shove two fingers past your lips again. you suck them down immediately, moaning around them like it’s the only thing keeping you sane, like sucking his fingers is your way of saying thank you for breaking me.
your body jerks forward from the next thrust—harder than the others—and you feel yourself getting closer, your whole core tight and fluttering, walls squeezing around him as your legs give out under the pressure.
“you feel that?” he pants. “your pussy’s tryin’ to keep me—like she fuckin’ knows i belong here.”
his pace is already brutal—slapping into you with wet, aching rhythm—but something shifts in him when your moans go high-pitched, when your body shakes underneath his weight like it’s trying to give out completely.
his hand flies up, quick and rough, and grips the back of your neck—fingers curling over the nape, thumb pressing into your spine—then he shoves your face down.
not cruel, not violent. just final—like a claim.
your cheek presses flat to the rug, mouth falling open, hands scrambling for something to grab as he leans over your back and sinks his full weight into the next thrust.
it knocks the air out of your lungs.
he groans right into your ear.
“stay down,” he grits out, voice ragged, broken up by the sound of his own panting. “don’t move. i’ve got you—let me have you—”
you try to nod but he’s pressing too hard, fucking into you too fast, each snap of his hips hitting that sweet, sore place inside you that makes you cry out every single time. your thighs are shaking. your eyes are watering. your cunt’s so wet and swollen it makes a slick, obscene clap each time he slams in.
his moans are right at your ear now—sharp, guttural, strained.
your mouth is open as you sob out sounds that barely count as words.
“feels so good—please—don’t stop—don’t fuckin’ stop—”
his hand slides from your neck to your jaw, yanking your face up just enough so he can breathe you in, forehead pressed to yours, his chest sliding across your back slick with sweat. you feel his thighs shaking against the backs of yours, feel his cock twitch deep inside you as he loses rhythm for just a second.
you whine, high and needy. “you’re close—i can feel it—don’t hold back—please—”
his hips stutter, his breathing goes ragged, and then—he growls into your mouth.
“gonna fill you up,” he pants. “gonna stay inside.”
you moan so loud you think your throat’s going raw. your back arches, cunt clenching down around him, and his grip on your jaw tightens just as his thrusts speed up, frantic now, no rhythm left—just need.
his moans are shameless now—loud, wet, deep. he sounds wrecked, like you’re draining the life from him with every drag of your cunt around him, every sob you give him, every wet slap echoing in the room.
you cry his name like it’s salvation.
“remmick—”
he groans in response—right in your mouth, right against your teeth—before his body locks up behind you, every muscle tensing.
you feel it before he says anything.
his cock buries deep.
he thrusts once. twice. holds.
then he comes—hot and heavy and messy—right against your cervix, thick and possessive, moaning your name through clenched teeth as your cunt milks him for all of it.
you both shake. you both stop breathing.
your fingers curl into the rug like claws, his arms tremble as they cage you in. the only sound left is the slick drip of his cum starting to slide out around where you’re still stretched wide around him.
you don’t say anything at first, and neither does he.
the only sound is your heartbeat in your ears and his rough breathing above you—chest rising and falling against your back, skin sticking to skin. his cock still pulses inside you, twitching once, twice, like he doesn’t want to give up even a drop.
he shifts slowly, like his limbs are too heavy to move, one hand trailing from your jaw to your throat to your shoulder, thumb dragging sweat and spit across your skin. he’s still inside. still deep.
you groan softly, cheek still pressed to the rug.
“fuck… still in me…”
his hand squeezes your hip. “yeah. you keepin’ it warm for me.”
you hum. “leaking already…”
“good.”
you feel his mouth brush your spine—lazy, absent, like he isn’t even thinking about it. then his weight shifts again, and he props himself up just enough to look down at where your bodies are still connected.
his voice is quieter now, but lower somehow. wrecked.
“look at that mess,” he mutters, dragging his fingers along your inner thigh where his cum is starting to spill out around his cock.
you shudder.
you want to stay like this forever—too sore to move, too full to think, his chest against your back and his hands heavy on your hips like he’s trying to keep you from slipping through the floor.
you swallow. then whisper, “you’re not gonna leave, right?”
he stiffens just slightly—then presses his face against your shoulder blade.
“hell no,” he mutters. “not after this.”
you reach back blindly and grab at his arm until he takes your hand in his. his fingers lace through yours—clumsy and sticky and still trembling—and he squeezes once. hard.
“you drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, still catching his breath. “make me kill for you. make me wanna break shit.”
you smile against the rug. “but i’m yours.”
“yeah,” he says. “you fuckin’ are.”
you stay like that for a while—him still inside, both of you raw and shaking and quiet. his hand stays at your waist. yours doesn’t let go of his. the rug’s a mess, the tea’s cold, your thighs are sticky and you’re both too far gone to care.
and when he finally pulls out, slow and messy, you both groan from the loss.
he watches it drip out of you.
he doesn’t wipe it up.
he just presses a kiss to your lower back and says, “leave it.”
tags (if you have filled out the taglist form but you aren't tagged, the blog is not showing up ! try refilling it out) : @scannainscanrula @madkingcrowley @skankhvnt42 @bleedingsunlight @theabhartachsbride @cherryxhaze @ceobuggy @iceemochaa @avidreader73 @valvalvalval-val @nlnny @croccy-hoes @h3r3t1c @mysticvi @sonnensche1n @saaficat0311-blog @heyylolitaheyy @saintlucretia
Summary: Modern AU — Smoke has been cold and tense for the last two days, leaving Kimora hurt and restless. When he comes home late from work one night and spots her alone in the hot tub, he joins her and genuinely apologizes.
Pairing: Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Black Fem OC
Warnings: 18+, smutty smut, explicit language, use of the n-word, soft!smoke, semi-public sex, makeup sex, daddy!kink, unprotected sex, creampie.
Word count: 3.2k (sorry, got carried away again lol)
For fanfic contest winner @dashhoney25 🥰🥰🥰
Smoke came home later than usual, shoulders tight, jaw set, carrying the kind of exhaustion he never bothered to complain about. Two days of clipped conversations and cold silence weighed heavy on him. A distance he didn’t intend to create with a woman he didn’t mean to hurt. The house was spotless and too quiet, and the scent of cardboard boxes in the trash told him she hadn’t cooked and had ordered pizza.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his bearded face. He knew he fucked up this time. When work got stressful, he would shut down instead and push her away. He promised her he’d work on his communication skills the last time he did this, and he failed miserably.
He took the stairs two at a time, dropping the bouquet of long-stemmed pink and red roses, teddy bear, and small gift bags onto their bed, setting everything up exactly the way he planned. He glanced out the window to the backyard and finally saw her.
Kimora, curled in the steaming hot tub under the patio lights, lavender bikini straps glinting against her soft caramel skin under the glow of the moon. Her back was turned, and a half-empty glass of wine teetered on the edge beside her. He could tell by the tension in her shoulders that she was still upset and hurt.
Smoke let out a long breath and stripped off his work clothes. It didn’t take long for him to slip on swim trunks and head downstairs.
If he was going to fix this, it had to start right there in the water, under the twinkling stars, with the only woman his nervous system relaxed completely for.
“Alright, pretty girl,” he murmured to himself as he slid open the patio door. “Let Daddy make this right.”
The steam curled around Kimora like a curtain when he stepped outside, bare-chested and quiet. She didn’t look up even though she felt him staring a hole through the back of her head. She took a slow sip from her wine glass, eyes fixed on the water like she didn’t feel his presence.
He walked down the steps into the hot tub without saying a word, lowering himself into the far corner. The steaming water lapped over his skin, instantly easing the tightness in his shoulders, the glow from the patio lights catching the ink on his chest.
She finally flicked her eyes toward him, dry and cutting. “Hey.”
He huffed out a breath through his nose, a mix of amusement and regret. “Damn. That all I get?”
“That’s all I’ve gotten from you for two days,” she shot back, swirling her wine.
Smoke rested his arms along the edge of the tub, gaze steady on her. “Come here, sugar.”
“Nah.” She leaned back, chin tilted in defiance. “You can talk from over there.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Aight. I deserve that.”
She didn’t respond; she just raised a perfectly arched brow.
He inhaled slowly, chest rising under the steam. “A nigga been stressed. Work been kickin’ my ass…and instead of communicating like I promised, I been brushin’ you off.”
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just waited for the rest.
He continued, voice deepening with sincerity. “I shut down. I got cold. I ain’t mean to…but I did, and it hurt you. I know that.”
Her jaw tightened, but the coldness in her eyes eased the tiniest bit. Smoke shifted closer in the water, not touching her yet, but close enough that she could feel his warmth under the surface. “I apologize, pretty girl.” He tipped his head. “For real. That ain’t how I treat the woman I can’t breathe without.”
Her breath hitched, but she held her poker face. “You dismissed me,” she hissed quietly. “Made me feel invisible and then got mad when I stopped trying.”
He closed his eyes for a second because she was right. More often than he liked to admit, she was always right.
“I know, baby.” He acknowledged, his hushed tone heavy with regret. “But you…you the last person I should ever ignore. I love you. There ain’t a damn person or thing I need more than you.”
She swallowed, her throat tightening as hot tears pricked her eyes. He reached forward, gently taking her wine glass from her fingers and setting it on the ledge. Then his hands slid to her waist under the water, holding her in place. She let him, and he exhaled sharply in relief, his forehead dipping to her shoulder.
“Don’t shut me out, baby,” he pleaded against her skin. “A nigga can handle your attitude. I can even take you snapping at me. I can take all of that shit. Just don’t…pull away from me.”
Her voice softened as she accused. “I was just mirroring you.”
“I know,” he relented, lifting his head to look at her. “And we gotta stop doing that. I lead wrong, you follow wrong. That dysfunctional shit is on me.”
His thumbs stroked her waist under the surface in soothing patterns.
“I miss you,” he said.
Three simple words that shouldn’t have affected her as much as they did. She missed him so much, so the sentence landed heavier than expected.
Kimora’s lips parted, her defenses cracking like thin glass. “You’ve been so cold,” she whispered. “So I didn’t know if you even wanted me touching you.”
His eyes darkened with remorse. She had every right to feel that way. Going from having sex sometimes twice a day to absolutely nothing had him spiraling internally on the daily, so he could only imagine how she must’ve felt this past week.
“Pretty girl…if you only knew how bad I wanted that pussy these past two days.”
Her breath stuttered, so he leaned in, nose brushing hers, voice dropping into that gravel-soft tone that always melted her.
“Let me make it right,” he whispered. “Let me show you how much I missed you.”
She didn’t answer with words. She moved into his lap. His arms wrapped around her instantly, tightly, like his body had been waiting for hers. Their foreheads pressed together, her hands resting on his muscled shoulders, his thumbs stroking slow circles at the dip of her back.
“There she is…” he murmured against her lips. “My pretty girl.”
Kimora’s breath trembled in relief as he softly kissed her cheek first, then her jaw. Then finally her lips, slow and apologetic.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper. “You forgive me?”
“That depends…”
“On what?”
“How good you fuck me in this hot tub.”
Smoke’s dick twitched under his trunks, and a soft groan escaped him, not only at her words but also at how warm she felt against him.
“Imma give you every inch,” Smoke grunted before kissing her again, grinding his erection into her, the barrier of the wet fabric barely helping the anticipation.
Kimora whined into the kiss, almost as if Smoke had stolen the breath right out of her lungs, her thoughts hazy with lust. It didn’t take much from her to rile him up. The kiss was steaming and wet; his tongue licked into her mouth as if she might disappear, and his fingers dug into her thighs harder in shameless desperation. He moaned when she sucked on his tongue, returning his desperation as she rocked down onto him.
Smoke's head tilted back, his gaze darting between her lips, neck, and breasts. His soft lips swept against her neck as his facial hair tickled down her throat, and she gasped with pleasure as he worked her skin between his soft full lips, sucking hard as she rocked faster against him. His tongue stroked along the sensitive area by her pulse, and she felt more wetness seep out of her entrance, the jets of water tickling against her spine.
Smoke’s mouth drifted lower, and he undid her bikini top in one smooth motion, tossing it alongside her forgotten wine glass. His warm tongue swiped across Kimora's hardened nipples, nibbling on one of them. Kimora emitted a desperate moan as an instant spike of desire pierced all the way down to her aching pussy.
“Smoke, please.”
His eyes flickered up to her, nipple still between his lips. “Please, what?”
“Please fuck me,” Kimora begged; the anticipation was driving her insane. “I miss feelin’ you inside me.”
He released her nipple from his mouth, still cupping the flesh in his hand. With his free hand he pulled her bikini bottoms to the side, gathering some of the slick at her entrance with his middle finger, sliding the digit up her slit and circling her clit.
“Stop teasin’ me, nigga. Don’t make me wait another second.”
“Okay, Ki.” he chuckled softly as he released her breast to reach down and pull his dick out of his trunks. He was hard as a rock, throbbing for her.
He gripped his erection and tapped his swollen tip against her clit and down her slit, coating his dick with her wetness. She leaned forward a little and watched as he finally eased inside, her walls stretching to make room for his girth.
“Pussy almost closed up on a nigga, huh?”
“Keep going.”
"Damn."
"Shit..."
"Mmhmm."
He pushed deeper, muttering to himself about how tight and warm she was and how much he missed being inside her. Her lips parted in a breathy moan, and her hold tightened on his shoulders as he filled her to the brim, all eight and a half inches back where they belonged.
“Oh…fuuuckkk—Smoke.”
“Open up for Daddy,” he hissed as he pulled halfway out and plunged back in, fucking her deep and hard. “Give me that pussy.”
"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, her moans scratchy, her breasts bouncing and her legs tightening behind him as his hands locked across her lower back, holding her in place.
“Say you forgive Daddy.” He grunted, hips snapping forward with sharp precision, water rippling with each thrust.
“I forgive you, Daddy.” she managed to squeak out in between breathy moans. “But don’t do that shit again, Smoke. Don’t freeze me out.”
“Never again, sugar.” He nodded, thumb brushing her bottom lip like he was making a vow with touch alone. “Daddy promise.”
He captured her lips again, the kiss hungrier and deeper, full of everything they’d been holding back. The water continued to ripple around them, steam rising between their bodies as the apology turned into something sweeter and inevitable.
“You feel so good—so good, Smoke.”
“You feel amazing.”
“Don’t stop.”
“What’s my name?” he asked as he thrust harder, thick tip brushing against her g-spot.
“Smoke—Elijah—Daddy—all of the above!”
“Good. Fuckin’. Girl,” Smoke growled out each word as he smacked the inside of her thigh. “You know who you belong to.”
“I belong to you, Daddy.”
“Mmm, look at that pretty pussy,” he cooed as he watched her wetness coat his length. “Go ahead and cum on this dick. I know you want to. Give me that nut.”
“Oh shit! I’m gonna cum!” she whined as she held his biceps tighter. His words of praise and the way he stared down into her eyes pushed her over the edge. Kimora released a loud moan, and her eyes fluttered closed in immense pleasure. He fucked her through it, muttering obscene praises as the hot water jetted across her back.
“Goddamn, baby. That pussy gushin’ for Daddy,” he praised, letting out a sharp grunt as she contracted and pulsed around him, creaming down his length.
"Turn around for me, Ki." he instructed as he drew back, stroking his slick dick while his other hand gripped her shoulder and turned her body away from him. She leaned over the edge and rested her forearms on the concrete. His massive hands came down on her ass cheeks, and she yelped in surprise as pleasure rushed through her body. He yanked the string of her bottoms and chucked them aside before realigning his tip with her dripping hole.
Kimora and Smoke moaned in unison when he pushed back inside her, stroking nice and slow until he found the perfect rhythm. Her blissful whimpers, water sloshing and the wet sound of skin slapping skin filled the backyard once again. She took every inch he gave her, arms stretched out in front of her, fingers gripping the edge of the hot tub as she rocked back against him.
“Mmhmm,” he grunted as he lifted one hand to grip her shoulder. “Fuck Daddy back just like that.” His other hand gripped her waist so tight that she knew her hips would be sore in the morning. She missed the marks he left on her. The thought alone made her wetter, so she threw her ass back even harder.
“Imma cum with you this time.” Smoke rasped as he smacked both her ass cheeks with his right hand, “You want this nut?”
“Yesssss! Cum—ohfuckohfuck—nut inside me!”
“You feel so good, Smoke.” she whimpered as he slowed his thrusts, but he still rocked into her sharp and deep, water splashing over onto the concrete. She turned around and peered at him, meeting the needy gaze in his kobicha-colored eyes.
He bit his lip. “I love you, pretty girl.”
“I love you so much, Daddy.”
“Yeah? Prove it then.” he leaned down to peck her lips a few times before turning her face back around and gripping her neck, rutting into her like a crazy man. “Prove it by cumming one last time on Daddy’s dick.”
“Fuuuck,” Kimora cried out, eyes shutting tightly, “I’m about to cum again.”
“Oh shit—me too, baby.” Smoke warned, panting as his pistoning hips lost their rhythm and became more erratic. “Cum with me, Ki.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Come on, pretty girl.”
“Smoke, pleaseeee!”
“Goddamn, you squeezin’ the fuck out of a nigga.”
“Oh my go—“ Kimora cried out as she came again, thighs quivering and knees buckling.
She would’ve sunk under the water if Smoke wasn’t holding her in place. He yanked her back against his soaked chest, and his entire body jolted as he spilled his come inside her, letting out curses in between guttural groans. She whimpered as she felt hot, thick pulses filling her, her grip on the edge easing as her breathing normalized. He trailed sloppy kisses down her back, lapping at the sweat and water droplets before pulling out and turning her to face him, crushing his lips against hers.
Their kiss faded into delicate tiny breaths against each other's lips, her forehead resting on his and his hands still warm on her waist beneath the water. Whatever had been twisting between them for the last few days appeared to be loosened. She exhaled against his mouth, and Smoke smiled boyishly with relief.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he whispered sweetly, brushing a thumb down her cheek. “Let me take care of you the rest of the night.”
Before she could respond, he slid his arms beneath her thighs and lifted her out of the hot tub like she weighed nothing at all.
She squeaked, arms flying around his neck. “Smoke! I can walk!”
“Mmhmm,” he grunted, pulling her closer. “And I said I got you.”
Her giggle was like music to his ears. He carried her across the patio, through the glass doors, and up the stairs. Drops of water trailed behind them, and her damp curls brushed against his collarbone. Every so often, he would bury his head in the crook of her neck or nuzzle her jaw to reassure her that the storm had passed.
When they reached the bedroom, he nudged the door open with his shoulder, and her breath caught.
A giant bouquet of roses sat on the nightstand, an ash-brown teddy bear sat propped up on the pillows, and a bracelet and a ring glinted on its wrist like they were waiting just for her.
Smoke set her down gently at the edge of the bed. Her eyes widened, lips parting in the softest little gasp. “Smoke…what is all this?”
He shrugged in that quiet, matter-of-fact way he always did when he was being his most sentimental.
“Something small for my girl.” He grinned as he brushed a curl behind her ear. “Figured I owe you more than an apology speech in the hot tub.”
She picked up the teddy bear, hugging it to her chest. “It smells like you,” she whispered, emotional in the way she tried not to show too often.
“That’s the point,” he explained with a grin. “Mini-me. For when I’m stuck at work and you missin’ me.”
She looked at the bracelet next. It was sleek, gold, simple but expensive and matched the ring beside it.
Her breath hitched again. “You got these for me?”
Smoke stepped closer, lifting her chin so she’d meet his eyes. “Pretty girl deserves to match her man,” he said softly. “I wanted you to have something that reminds you I’m here and I need you always, even when I’m too stupid to show it right.”
Her throat tightened, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Smoke…”
He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry, Kimora,” he exhaled against her mouth. “Won’t ever make you feel alone like that again.”
She rested her forehead on his, a smile that matched her softened heart. “I love you.”
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest like she belonged there. “I love you too, sugar.”
The gifts gleamed underneath the dimmed bedroom lights, and the tub’s leftover steam still on their skin, they settled into the warmth of each other's arms, forgiven and wrapped in the kind of love that sometimes bends but never breaks.
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, maybe a little dubcon vibes, reader is religious on account of her dad being the town preacher and all, masturbation, multiple orgasms, religious speak & imagery, vampirism, vampire/human, somewhat of an established relationship, but like i’m using the term relationship very loosely, biting, slight pain kink, vaginal fingering, mentions of god, low-key, but kind of high-key corruption kink, porn without plot, implied virgin reader, unhealthy relationship dynamic, location change, probable historical language inaccuracies, a slight varying interpretation of the vampires in the movie, ie., they can spawn anywhere if you let them, manipulation, & no use of y/n.
author’s note: everybody cheer! everybody clap! i’m finally on my sinners writing shit. @sceletaflores’s amazing fic shed your knuckle velvet torn, on my teeth inspired me to write for sinners! that fic changed lives and altered my brain chemistry. go give her some love, she deserves it! anywho, i hope you enjoy this horny mess!
divider by @strangergraphics !
A monster lurks where the divine dwells…
Perspiration is gathering on your forehead, as your hands move quickly, willing it to fall down your cheek.
Your moans come out as small whisper as your fingers plunge in and out of your dripping cunt that is covered by a mere cotton sheet.
The cross that hangs around your neck sways with each desperate swirl, each attempting to chase a high you can feel down to your toes.
Your Bible by your side, serving as a vessel of guilt that you swallow as you feel warmth blooming in your lower stomach.
You know that eyes are watching you, not just the picture frames that hold the judging gazes of your kin, including your father, the town pastor down here in Tuscaloosa.
These are different, peering at you just beyond your window.
These were much more carnivorous.
Sinful.
They had lost their humanity, a trapped soul caught between Hell and Earth.
“Remmick…I beg of you to come in,” you beg, fingers plunging into your soaked cunt, fingers grasping at the thin sheet beneath you.
You could feel the unholy presence wash over the divinity of your room. The creaking of your wooden floor makes your eyes snap up to see him, with maroon eyes and a hung smile.
“Making a mess of yourself, aren’t ya?” he comments, eyes closing momentarily, taking in your scent. Your sweet arousal is rushing his system, sending his brain into overdrive.
“It feels incredible,” you whisper, trying to hush your enjoyment. Even with guilt clawing up your throat, your fingers coax around your clit, unwilling to stop. “I cannot stop.”
“Greed is liberating,” he adds, paying no real attention to his words. Drool leaks from the corner of his lips down his chin, watching you pleasure yourself. “Your greed is…a sweet temptation.”
Your eyes are hazy, hanging lazily as you stare at him. He is baring his teeth, sharp fangs gleaming. His tongue drags across the edges before licking away the spit on his lips.
You come with a small whimper, your arousal now leaking onto your sheets where you lie. Your body shakes with relief, chest heaving, attempting to collect more oxygen.
His eyes shut roughly, nostrils flaring as he takes in your scent, before they snap open, glowing red. “I need to taste ya,” he says, moving over to where you lay, still coming down from your high before ripping off your thin sheet and sinking to his knees to swipe his tongue across your glistening cunt.
“Dear, God…” you murmur, body twitching from sensitivity as your fingers grip the sheets tightly.
He lifts his head slightly, his glowing eyes boring into yours as his lips gleam with your arousal. “There ain't no God here, babydoll,” his lip quips. “Just me.”
Your body heaves forward, as his tongue swirls around your clit. “It’s too much,” you choke out, your hypersensitivity catching up with you.
He brings his head up. “It’s never too much, dear,” he says. Though, he does maneuver away from your cunt. His hand reaches out for your ankle, pulling it towards him.
You let out a yelp, body sitting upright, before he stands. He hovers over you ominously before his hand brushes against your cheek. “Sweet girl, you will learn to take what is given to ya,” he rasps as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm.
He beckons you to stand before he bends down, his nose moving against your neck to smell your skin. His lips press a kiss to your flesh, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips.
Without warning, his curious fingers find your cunt, easing in and out of it with ease. You grip your thigh for stability, as his lips suck on the skin of your neck.
“What would your savior have to say about this?” he mutters into your neck, fingers moving fervently. “Me suckin’ on the same very flesh he created?” he tacks on, as his other hand moves to grip the fat of your hips. “Fingers swirlin’ in this drippin’ pussy that your dear ole’ daddy has condemned,” he spits with agitation.
You grip your thigh tighter, your nails digging into the flesh. You’re rocking yourself against his fingers, mind whirling. “God…will take you…he’ll—he’ll heal you,” you mumble.
He laughs into the crook of his neck where his teeth are bared, mere inches from skimming your skin. “I’m not God’s to take.”
Your toes curl against the cold floor, and you can feel yourself edging closer to another sweet release.
His fangs hover over your neck. “Life could better for ya…for us,” he reasons softly, fingertips looming across your aching clit. “Let me take ya, sweet girl. I will let ya be whomever ya want,” he promises, his teeth prodding against your flesh.
Your teeth press into your bottom lip. “I cannot be—ah—led into temptation,” you say with a moan, though he can see the break in your resolve.
“Ya already have,” his tongue comes out to lick a stripe up your neck. “Ya ain’t like the others. I could smell your hunger through these very walls,” his finger gives your clit a slight pinch. “You’re sin wrapped up in one of them pretty bows, but I see right through ya, babydoll. No one will understand you. Not like I do,” he growls into your neck. “You’re all mine.”
“Take me! Please, take me with you!” you plead, feeling your climax overtake you.
You feel his fangs pierce your flesh, only adding to the erotic sensation. His hands move to grab and hold up your body as it slumps from exhaustion, and he feeds on your blood.
He pulls away, your blood staining his teeth, lips, and chin. “You will find this life is…simpler,” he whispers, easing you onto the bed.
You suddenly fall onto the sheets, unconscious for only a moment before you rise, feeling rejuvenated. Your eyes wander to Remmick, whose tongue darts across his lower lip to collect more of your blood, before you feel an urge to look at the framed picture frames.
You softly close your eyes, grasping the cross around your neck before whispering a silent prayer. “I am sorry, Father, for I have fallen into temptation,” you pray.
Remmick's hand reaches out, beckoning for yours. You grab his hand and walk out of the sanctity of your home to wander through the night, not bothering to bid your father goodbye.
And, although yes, your father may have lost his obedient sheep, a subservient follower, the night roared with delight, for it had captured a creature overflowing with unfulfilled desires and unpacified greed.
mini author’s note: me, personally, i would let him take me too. unfortunately, i have no shame.
WARNINGS: smut (18+ ONLY), p in v, rough sex/pure porn with no plot, dom/sub vibes, slight size kink, dirty talk, creampie
A/N: anddddd my seat is wet thank you anon! thinking about this concept all day everyday cus remmick is a filthy little freak and i need him so bad
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this post is 18+ only. minors do not interact.
YOUR HEAD LEANS back against the wall as your eyes squeeze shut, lips falling open just enough for him to see the point of your teeth.
“Just like that, darlin’,” Remmick cooes, holding back a moan. He moves his eyes down to where the two of you connected. About half of his length was hidden inside of you. “Christ, that’s good.” The other half was the only thing keeping his hips from fully pressing against yours.
When you were a little girl, you’d been told to never speak the Lord’s name in vain; the preacher hadn’t said anything about speaking it in pleasure.
For as long as you’d known Remmick, pleasure was all he seemed to know. You’d miss him for a month or so—a time during which your life was ever so drab—until he came lurking around your cottage again. All it took was one “Come inside” and Remmick knew you were his.
That and the way you managed to grip him the same every time he fucked you. “Miss me, honey?” He asks while maintaining the merciless speed of his hips.
You nod rapidly, nose crinkled and hands gripping the table below you. He couldn’t have even waited to get you into the bedroom to have his way with you. Remmick was a man who got what he wanted, and you were the girl who gave it to him.
“M-missed you so bad,” you stutter out. He was stronger than you—a lot—to the point where if you tried to move yourself or switch positions, he’d press your hips down, leaving bruises on the skin.
“I bet so, baby.” It’s unfair, really. Here you are, a trembling, sobbing mess with him between your legs, and he manages to pound into you like it’s nothing. Don’t be fooled—it’s one of the most heavenly things Remmick has felt. He grabs your face by your cheeks and leans in half way, pulling you to him. “Tell you what,” he whispers. “What if you don’t have to miss me no more?”
You peek your eyes open and look at him through heavy eyelids. “W-,” You’re cut off by a moan. “What?”
He angles his hips a certain way so you can feel the tip of him hitting a new spot inside you. As your toes curled, Remmick grinned. “I’ll leave a little piece of me with you. That way,” he caresses your chin with his thumb. His other hand acts as a weight on your stomach. “You won’t miss me when I’m gone. How’s that sound, darlin’?”
It only takes your foggy mind a second to process what he says, and you immediately nod your head. “Please,” you gripped onto his arms.
“I think you need it, honey,” he almost chuckles, and if you weren’t distracted by the warmth building up between your legs, you would’ve scolded him. You could feel every inch of him that drew in and out of you, kissing your cervix so gently but enough that your legs wrapped around him.
A devilish glare overcame your eyes. “I need it,” you confirm, taking his thumb from your chin in between your lips. Remmick’s jaw drops slack as he lets out a soft groan. His pace somehow quickens, leaving you whimpering around his digit.
“Oh, I knew you’d let me fuck you like this,” he says while his movements turn rougher. They’re ragged and sharp, and (from experience) you know he’s just as close as you are. “A sweet girl like you needs someone to take care of her like this. I know you can handle yourself…wasn’t sure if you could handle me.”
Your lips part open and he drops his hand. “Now,” he says into your ear with a small smirk. “I’m wondering if you can handle more.”
His forehead presses against yours. Your body nearly bounces with every snap of hips. There’s still a glorious sensation of yourself stretching open for him. Letting him in. Your legs twist around his frame as if begging him to fill you up with his promise.
When you finish, you crash. It’s a series of both of yours’ high-pitched moans and throaty groans, the feeling of a warmth spurting into you. “That’s it, darlin’, take it all. Every drop of me.” Remmick cooes as your chest rises and falls with desperate breaths. He doesn’t move out of you. His length, still unbelievably hard, plugs you to keep any of his release from dripping out.
A sheer layer of sweat creates a glisten over your face. You smile in a tired pleasure. “Gonna have a piece of you with me forever.” You say, taking his hand and placing it back over your lower stomach.
Remmick nods, rubbing the skin like he’s never felt something so soft. And as he moves forward to place a kiss on your lips—a perfect mixture of gentle and rough—he accidentally pushes himself even deeper into you.
A small moan escapes your throat…and he smirks into the kiss.
