#sammie moore x stack moore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twistedsistas-stuff · 3 months ago

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R&B Breakups

Sammie Moore x Reader Modern Au

Warnings :Makeup smex- uh angst cause it’s me. Reconciliation? (I’m bad at warnings yall please bear with me) messy stack

You’d heard Sammie’s name before — mostly ‘cause of his cousins, them wild-ass Moore twins and that baby record label they got. Folks said he was church-bred, sang in the choir ‘fore he dipped out with his cousins to chase the dream. That’s where that name came from. Preacher Boy. Fit a little too well, considering the way he sang like salvation and rapped like sin.

He had a voice, though. No doubt. Those old clips on his socials? Whew. He ain't sing like his cousins, and they damn sure ain’t rap like him. You remember thinkin’ it was wild — a PK talkin’ nasty on a track like that. But then again, he a Moore. So.

You was up first — body gliding across that stage like smoke on glass. That other dude was rappin’ next to you, but Sammie ain’t hear a word. He was watchin’ you. The way you moved. The way you smiled mid-note and locked eyes with him like, Yeah, I see you too. Left the stage with a little wave like it was just another Tuesday.

Headed to the back where the Moores were posted up like royalty in a hallway too tight for all that ego. And then one of the twins stepped dead in your path.

“Whoa there, pretty thing. Where you rushin’ off to?”

You blinked hard. Couldn’t tell which one it was — Stack or Smoke. Identical and your high ass wasn’t helpin’ either.

“Uhhh... Smo–Stack... which one are you?”

He laughed loud, hand hittin’ his chest like you told the funniest joke of the year. “This Stack, baby. The cute one.”

You smirked, eyes rollin’ like dice. “Well, Stack... I don’t think we got any business, do we?”

You tried to slide past but he eased in your way again.

“Nah, but I ain’t here for me.”

That made you pause. You tilted your head, brows up. “Tell Smoke the same thing.”

Stack gave you that look. That girl, come on now look.

“What do you want, Stack?” you asked, dead in his face.

His grin widened like he had a secret. “Sammie wanna talk to you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well, just like you found me, Sammie can too. Hmmm?”

You patted his cheek and kept walkin’, hips talkin’ louder than your mouth. But truth be told? You damn near sprinted to the dressing room. Checked your face, fixed your hair, heart doin’ a whole beat set in your chest.

Knock knock.

You froze, whispered “shit” to yourself, then pulled the door open.

There he was. Preacher Boy Moore.

Tall, golden-brown with them locs pulled back just enough to see that smooth-ass hairline. He had a guitar slung on his back, biceps flexin’ like he meant to remind you he could hold more than notes.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He chuckled low. “I said... you told me to come find you. So I did.”

Took a second to process that. Took longer to accept this man was real and talkin’ to you and not one of them thirsty lil girls he sang about.

“That’s ‘cause you sent a walkin’ STD to find me,” you said, turning back toward the couch.

Door shut behind him. He leaned on it like it was part of his act.

“My cousin clean,” he said, laughin’ through it. “Y’all just don’t like his lyrics.”

You smirked. “I don’t like that he got lyrics about every woman in three zip codes.”

He stepped closer. “I ain’t like them dudes, you know.”

You tilted your chin. “Coulda fooled me.”

Didn’t say nothin’ else — just stared like he was seein’ through your whole outfit. That made you shift in your seat.

“What, Preacher Boy?”

He grinned. “Come watch me perform, baby.”

“Boy, I ain’t your baby.”

“You could be.” He stepped in, hand hittin’ your waist real gentle. “I’d treat you reaaaall good... if you let me.”

His fingers rose to your chin, all slow and tender like he was tryna ease you into a spell.

You was already caught. He knew it. He planned it.

“Come on,” he said, slidin’ his fingers through yours.

You wasn’t gonna go, at first.

Was gon’ head home, roll up, forget the way he smelled. That clean-sweat cologne and old incense aura. The way his voice dipped when he called you baby like he meant it. But by the time you hit the sidewalk, you was already textin’ your homegirl like:

"bitch... I think I just met my husband lol"

She texted back:

"U BETTA GET HIS FINE CHOIR-BOY LOOKIN ASS PREGNANT THEN 💅🏾"

Fifteen minutes later, you was back inside, leanin’ in a booth near the stage, and Sammie was up there talkin’ ‘bout, “This next one’s for somebody real special.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly popped out.

Stack caught you doin’ it and laughed from across the room.

But when Sammie sang?

Shit.

You ain’t roll nothin’ after that. Just sat there quiet, chin in your hand like a teenager with a crush, watchin’ his mouth shape every damn word like it was yours to memorize.

He didn’t look at nobody else. Not once. Not the girls screamin’ his name. Not the aunties blowin’ kisses from the back. Just you. Like the whole room fell away.

That night, he ain’t ask for your number.

He gave you his. Told you to hit him when you was ready for the real thing.

You waited three days. On purpose. Then you hit him up with just a 👀 emoji.

His response?

“Bout damn time.”

When y’all linked up it wasn’t even supposed to happen.

You was on FaceTime. Choppin’ it up ‘bout old music, ghosts, exes, the church. He was on the road — some baby tour in Little Rock or Baton Rouge. You was laid across your bed in a tank top, bonnet half-on, half-slid to the side.

He was shirtless. Gold chain catchin’ the motel lamplight, locs loose around his shoulders. He started talkin’ low, voice scratchy, like he been smokin’ or singin’ all day.

“Whatchu wearin’?” he asked, already smirkin’.

You looked dead at the screen. “Boy, you see what I got on.”

“Yeah, but what’s under it?”

You tilted your phone just enough to give him somethin’.

Not everything. Just enough.

His eyes dropped. Lips parted like he was gon’ pray. Or sin. Maybe both.

“Come here,” he said.

You laughed. “I’m three states away.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

That man sent a Lyft, a Cash App, and his hotel room number within five minutes.

And you? Packed a weekend bag like your name wasn’t nowhere on that lease.

Yall got close REALLL close so after that night you thought maybe — just maybe — this could be it.

Sammie walked different after y’all hooked up. Spoke softer, texted quicker. You weren’t somebody he was entertaining. You were it. Least, that’s how it felt when he pulled you into his arms at baggage claim, when he posted you with no caption like he ain’t have to explain shit to nobody.

And you ain’t press him about the DMs. About the whispers, the girls with they side eyes and slick tweets. You let it go. 'Cause he looked at you like you mattered. 'Cause you wanted to believe he was different from his cousins.

Different from the Moore boys who treated love like a punchline in a verse.

Stack noticed it first.

“Damn,” he said, grinning, twisted blunt between his fingers. “You really cuffed, huh?”

Sammie just smirked, focused on tunin’ his guitar.

Stack laughed again. “You ain’t been out with us since Houston. You in love or somethin’?”

“I’m chillin’, bro.”

“You actin’ like you scared to slip up.”

“I don’t wanna slip up.”

Stack rolled his eyes. “You actin’ like we back in church.”

That got Sammie’s attention. He looked up. Eyes darker.

“I ain’t no saint,” he said, “but I ain’t stupid either. I know what I got.”

Stack shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Cool. Just don’t let her turn you soft. Bitches love soft n***as... until they don’t.”

Sammie ain’t respond. Just shook his head, focused back on his strings.

But the words stuck. That’s how Stack worked. He ain’t push hard — just enough to leave a crack.

You flew home two days later. Left him with that kiss that lingered, that “I love you” whispered half-sleep into his chest.

You went back to your place. Lit your sage. Put on some Erykah. Started back recording, hummin’ little verses into your phone like maybe this time, love was gon’ be the one to hold you.

He texted. He FaceTimed. Called you “mama” in that lazy, slow drawl that made your knees twitch. Sent you pics from soundcheck. Some nights he was too tired to talk, but he’d still text, "I miss you next to me.”

And for a moment, you felt safe.

Until Saturday.

You were laid up on your couch, bonnet on, roller on the floor, your comfort playlist goin’ when your phone buzzed so hard it slid off the armrest.

Dozens of notifications. Your homegirl texted:

“bitch get off the internet now 💔”

Then:

“I’m so sorry I ain’t wanna be the one”

Your stomach dropped. Cold spread slow.

You opened Instagram.

Right there. Big, bold letters:

@theshaderoom “Preacher Boy or Player? 👀 Sammie Moore seen in ATL last night gettin’ real cozy with someone who def ain’t his ‘main thang’ 👇🏾”

You clicked.

There he was.

In the club.

Sweat glistening on his neck. Lips at some girl’s ear. Hands on her hips. Rockin’ with her from behind like he was keepin’ rhythm with her heartbeat.

Her dress was red. Her smile smug.

You paused the video. Just stared.

Your whole body went still.

You ain’t call him. Not at first.

You waited. An hour. Then two. Then six.

He finally texted at 3:12 AM:

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

No explanation. No lie. No voice memo. Just those two damn words. Like sorry could wipe the image of his hands off another woman’s waist.

Like sorry could shut your DMs up, stop your mama from texting asking if “everything okay between y’all.”

You typed a long message. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that one too.

Finally you wrote:

“Don’t worry about it.”

And turned your phone over.

Two weeks passed. Fourteen whole days of silence — but not peace. Not when every app still knew his name. Not when every scroll felt like salt.

Sammie had been calling. Texting. Emailing even. Sent voice notes through people you ain’t even follow no more. You blocked him on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok. You turned off read receipts. You turned off your feelings.

You ain’t owe him a response, and he knew that. But he kept trying anyway. Then it happened again.

Not from TheShadeRoom this time. Nah — one of them side accounts. ShaderoomTeens. Petty, messy, loud as hell.

Your homegirl tagged you before you even saw the post.

@shaderoomteens Artist Sammie Moore spotted with mystery woman in new video 👀

Being a PK, gotta know that he sinning right now, right? Right? He’s known to be in a relationship, even have a few cute collabs. #DoBetter #CheatingRoomies #WhatSheGonDo

You just stared.

No way this was happening to you. Not again.

Hand trembling, you tapped the comments. Shouldn’t have. But you did.

They tore you up.

“What she expect messin’ with a Moore lol “His whole bloodline allergic to loyalty” “Girl just sing and move on 🙄” “He was too fine to keep anyway, sorry not sorry”

Some took pity. Said they felt for you. That made you angrier.

You weren’t a damn victim. You knew who you were dealing with. But you let your guard down. Let him kiss away the doubt. Let him hold your face and promise he wasn’t like them. Swipe.

Next slide?

A still from your first video together. You and Sammie, forehead to forehead, laughing between takes. He had you by the waist. You looked so happy.

Your chest cracked open.

Not a little.

Not manageable.

That deep, whole-body kind. The kind that live in your bones. The kind your mama warned you about when she said “don’t love no man more than you love your damn self.”

Your phone rang. Him.

That same picture flashing up as his contact photo — it made you sick now. You declined.

Then it was Stack. Then Smoke.

Like clockwork. Every hour. Every day.

You ignored them all.

You weren’t bitter. You were hurt. That was the thing. You weren’t even mad at first. You were just gutted. And when that hurt started to rot in your chest, it grew teeth. Turned to something mean.

You wanted him to hurt, too. Just like you did.

That’s when your group chat rang. FaceTime. The real ones.

You stared at the green button. Then pressed it.

Your face hit the screen.

Blank. Skin dull. Eye bags deep and designer.

“Hey girl... we just checkin’ on you, how are you?”

“Yeah, that nigga ain’t shit.”

“What you wanna do?”

They all talked at once, like they’d been waiting to catch you before you fell too far.

You swallowed. Voice small.

“I’m still hurt, y’all... I really wanna beat his ass but I can’t bring myself to fight over a man.”

“You better than me,” one said.

“HELLO?!” another yelled. “Ass woulda been BEAT.”

You cracked a smile. Then a laugh. Shook your head slow.

“I know, y’all. I know.” You looked down, then up.

“Right now... I just wanna be distracted. Not by a nigga. Just wanna have fun.”

They waited. Let you say it.

You leaned closer.

“Shots and studio time?” Head tilting.

“OH BITCH YESS.”

“We makin’ a diss. Yep. Let’s gooo!”

You laughed loud — loud enough to rattle the stillness in your chest.

This was why you answered. They knew how to scoop you off the floor without making it feel like rescue.

“Aight. I’m finna get cute and get ready. Y’all do the same. I’ll send the address.”

You hung up. Headed for the shower.

Steam filled the room slow, thick as your thoughts. You stood under the water long. Let it drip from your lashes. Let it drown the ache.

Music. That was your safe place. Your weapon. Your church.

You thought about him — not just the man but the moment. What he could’ve been thinking. What made him fold.

Was it the club? The women? The spotlight? Or was it just him?

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t naïve. You knew what came with fame. With fine niggas raised in families that never taught 'em how to love without hurting somebody first.

You dried off. Got dressed.

Sat at your vanity. Lip gloss, lashes, liner. Your armor.

Just as you were about to press play on your playlist—

Your phone lit up again.

No Caller ID.

It swirled around your screen like a warning.

Your breath caught. What if someone leaked your number? People were crazy these days. You froze for a beat. Then exhaled.

You answered.

You put the phone to your ear. Didn’t say nothin’ at first.

But then—his voice.

“…Hey.”

Quiet. Raspy. Like it hadn’t been used right in days. Like he ain’t slept either.

You closed your eyes. That tone—it didn’t make you feel bad for him. But it did make your chest tighten. ‘Cause no matter how mad you was, it still hurt to hear him sound like that.

You didn’t say nothin’, just waited.

“I ain’t even gon’ lie to you… I fucked up,” he breathed. “I know what it look like, I do. I just…”

His voice cracked just a little.

“I was drunk. Stack was hypin’ me up, talkin’ ‘bout ‘one dance ain’t gon’ kill nothin.’ Then Smoke started pushin it too, sayin’ I needed to ‘remind the crowd who I was’ or some dumb shit…”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Your stomach churned. “So you did all that... for them?”

He went quiet.

You leaned forward in your chair, voice cold and clipped. “You mean to tell me you disrespected me—embarrassed me—for some damn cousin validation?”

He exhaled, frustrated. “It ain’t like that—”

“Oh, it ain’t?” you snapped. “You the same man who had me scared to even post you ‘cause I didn’t want the internet in our business. Now you all up in the club tryna be seen, tongue damn near down some girl throat—for what? To look like Smoke?”

“She ain’t even kiss me—”

“Boy, don’t play with me,” you said, voice cracking. “You already played in my face enough.”

Sammie sighed heavy, like he didn’t even have the strength to fight. “I ain’t tryna argue. I just… I miss you, baby. I ain’t slept right since you stopped answerin’.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, makeup half-done, your gloss untouched. You shook your head.

“You wanna act like them niggas, go be with them niggas,” you muttered, trying to stay calm. “I loved you for you, Sammie. Not for who you was tryna impress.”

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered.

“But you did.”

Silence. The kind that says everything.

You checked the clock. “I gotta go.”

“Wait—”

Click.

You let the phone fall on the vanity and stared at your reflection.

This niggas really had you thinking he was different.

But a Moore gon’ Moore.

The studio was already buzzing by the time y’all got there—neon lights low, incense burning in the corner, and bass leaking out the booth like it had a mind of its own.

Your girls followed behind you, all heels and hair and ready-for-war energy.

Soon as y’all walked in, Dre, your producer, spun around in his chair, noddin’ like he already knew the vibe. “Got somethin’ dark cued up. I heard the rumors. Figured you’d want blood on the track tonight.”

You smirked. No lies detected.

Y’all got settled—liquor got poured, joints got lit—and the girls crowded around the couch while you kicked off your shoes and leaned back.

“So,” one of them asked, her eyes sharp, lashes thick. “Did he call?”

You nodded slow, licking your lips before answering. “Yeah.” They all leaned in.

“What he say?” “Chile what?” “I know he ain’t try play victim—”

You sighed nodding , pushing your hair back. “Said it was Stack and Smoke. That they got in his head. Said he was drunk and just tryna prove somethin’.”

They all looked at each other, then back at you, faces twisted like somebody farted.

“Nahhh, see, now I’m mad all over again,” your best friend snapped. “He risked all this—” she gestured at you like you were plated gold, “—for some cousin clout?”

Another girl scoffed, twisting the top off the Casamigos. “And that lil girl in the video? I know she know who you are. Y’all been hella public.”

“For real,” someone else chimed in.

“Y’all did that couple interview for Level Up, had folks screamin’ ‘#RelationshipGoals’ and all that. How she actin’ brand new?”

You shook your head, lips pressed tight.

Then the beat dropped.

It was dark. Angry. Heavy bass, low piano, something sinister underneath like a heartbeat turnin’ sour. You stopped talking.

“Dre…” you said, standing up slow. “Run that back.” He looped it, and the speakers trembled like they were mad too.

You walked toward the mic, paused with your hand on the booth door. “Y’all remember when I first said I loved him?”

They nodded, quiet now.

“Right here,” you said. “In this studio. he pulled me close, said, ‘Damn, I love you girl. I hope you know that.’ And I said it back. Just like that. Whole room smelled like weed him looking at me with them damn eyes.” “That was the first time.” Your voice cracked a little.

“I really thought…” You trailed off. Then shook your head. “Nah. Fuck that.”

You turned back around, picked up a shot glass from the console.

“To dumb bitches,” you said. “May we never be her again.” They all cheered. Glasses clinked. You threw it back. It burned, but not worse than this heartbreak.

Then you stepped into the booth, pulled the headphones on, and closed your eyes.

The beat kicked in again, your voice slid out raw.

All that hurt, rage, betrayal—it spilled into the mic like venom dressed in velvet.

And by the time the track ended… history was made.A hit. A warning. A reminder.

He played in the wrong girl’s face.

Sammie’s sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone with dead eyes and clenched teeth. That green bubble on your story stays glowing. Every loop of the video hits him harder.

Stack lounges nearby, dipping room service wings in ranch, TV humming low with a muted basketball game. Smoke’s in the corner on FaceTime with Annie, cracking up about something unrelated, but every so often his eyes slide back to Sammie, watching him stew.

Sammie spoke first voice laced with disbelief. “She made the whole damn thing about me.”

Stack laughed throwing his head back with a lil snort“She made a Billboard hit about your ass. Congrats, heartbreak muse of the year.”

Smoke leaned forward, FaceTime forgotten “What she say again? ‘You gone be with tupac when I come blow up that studio…’ somethin’ like that?”

Sammie shook his head muttering ‘Yeah. That’s about me fasho”

Smoke spoke through a laugh  “She in the booth talkin’ like she the Don, bro. That energy hit different when it’s personal.”

Stack spoke mouthfull with his greedy ass “She out-rappin’ you and outsellin’ you. How’s it feel to get dissed on beat and make her rich?”

Sammie looks at him fast as fuck  “You think this funny?”

 Stack shrugged “A lil’ bit. - “But nah. I get it. She got her lick back. You was in love and fumbled. Ain’t nothin’ new.”

Smoke nodded towards Stack “Like he can talk. Every time he catch feelings, he ghost like he doin’ a magic trick. That girl from Baton Rouge still lightin’ candles for him.

Stack pointed at his twin smirk on his face “Difference is, I ain’t lie to nobody face about bein’ solid. I told her I was no good.”

 “I didn’t lie. I just... I listened to y’all. Let myself get stupid. Tried to play it like I didn’t care when I did.” Sammie spoke looking between the two.

Stack just shrugged his shoulders “You grown, bro. Don’t blame us.”

Sammie swipes again. Next slide.

It’s a video. Your laugh, low and breathy. A flash of your legs, draped over someone else’s lap. A hand—light-skinned, casual, resting on your thigh like it belonged there.

Sammie sat up so fast he almost got vertigo.

“ Them ain’t my hands”

Stack grabbed the phone squinting “That’s not any of our hands.”

Smoke laughed “She out here living soft life. Passenger princess with a new driver.”

One thing sammie hated about these niggas they always had jokes for the wrong occasions. “Nah. That’s my -

Smoke spoke fast cutting him off “Was. She was your girl. Now you just the beat behind a Billboard single.”

Sammie stands, grabbing his keys off the side table. No hesitation.

He speaks low “Fuck this.”

This catches Stacks eye

“Where you goin’?”

Sammie snapped voice angry and sharp

“To my girl nigga”

He slams the door behind him. Silence.

Smoke pops a fry in his mouth, eyes still on the door. “Look what you did.”

Stack just shrugs, licking sauce off his fingers. “If every clover had four leaves they wouldn’t be lucky now would it”

You and your girls are splayed across couches, floor pillows, and a fuzzy throw rug—glasses half-full of rosé from brunch still sweating in your hands. Laughter fills the space, soft R&B spinning low from the speaker.

Someone’s talking about their sneaky link, someone else is scrolling through TikTok showing funny edits of your song. You’re halfway paying attention… until your phone buzzes again.

Your friends speak up hearing it too “Girl, who is blowin’ you up like that?”

You flip the screen toward them. “Sammie. Again. I been ignoring him all week and now he wanna be consistent?”

They lean in. Another buzz. A message pops up

Peekay : Answer or I’m comin’ right in that mf house.

You hold the phone up, jaw dropped. They scream.

 “Oh he real bold—he must really miss you.”

 “Or he real crazy. Ain’t nobody told him we deep in here?”

Just then, another call. FaceTime. His name lit up bold. Your thumb hesitates.

 “Y’all shut up.”

You answer. His face fills the screen—eyes red, jaw tight, lips pressed in that pout you used to kiss when he got like this.

He spoke serious, voice low “Sit the phone up.” 

“…Why?

He sat up readjusting in his seat. “Just sit it up. Let me see.”

You sigh, propping it on a candle jar. Your girls dip out of frame fast like trained soldiers.

He waited his eyes flicking around the background looking for something , you don’t know what “So… ain't no light-skin dude in there imma have to beat the fuck out of right?

You blinked hard

“What?”

He looked at you plainly “You heard me.”

You glance behind the phone—your girls looking shook, mouths open, frozen in place.

You spoke slow, annoyed “There’s nobody here. And even if there was, you don’t get to ask that. I don’t question the girls you been with, apparently.”

Sammie spoke instantly, eyes hard “I ain’t been with nobody but you. Don’t play with me.”

You tilted your head, voice sharp “Play with you? Oh you mean like how you played with me when you let Smoke and Stack gas your ego till you blew up everything we had?”

Silence. His throat works like he wants to say something but can’t.

You spoke final, icy “Don’t FaceTime me with that jealous boyfriend energy when you wasn’t You hang up.

The room’s quiet for a second, the air thick with disbelief soft  “…Did he say light-skin with tats?” “He remembered the hand! This man really clockin’ your stories like it’s his job.”

Sammie’s parked a few houses down, low in the seat, window cracked. His phone’s still glowing in his lap from where you hung up. His jaw ticks. His chest rises, falls. He don’t move at first. Just stares at your contact. Then his fingers move.

Leave it open.

He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, flips the radio up loud—some old Boosie track—and sparks the blunt he’d rolled on the drive over. Leaning back in the seat, smoke curling from his lips, he watches the house like it’s breathing.

You and your girls are still downstairs, hollering. “Nah, that nigga is unhinged. You really broke him!”

You laughed , mocking him “‘Ain’t no light-skin dude in there with no tats?’ Boy, worry about your own tattoos.”

Y’all fall out laughing again. Then ping. You glance down. It’s him

Leave it open.

Your friends all look at you eyes wide “Oh my God.” “He outside. I know that energy.”

 “Bitch, what do I say?!” You say looking back and forth between them

They all start talking at once, pure chaos: “Say your man just pulled up.” “Tell him the door already open—let him come see!” “Ooooh text something spicy! You know he hate that.”

You nod, fingers flying across the screen.

It’s unlocked anyway. My man will be here soon. Send.

You toss the phone on the couch and throw your head back. “Amen.” “Amen!!”

They scream and cheer, clutching their chests like it’s church.

 “You gon’ die. But you gon’ die legendary.” “Upstairs, now! We gotta get you ready. Just in case he come in here on demon time.”

They usher you up the stairs like you headed to war, grabbing gloss, edge control, and a fresh hoodie from your closet. Your heart beats wild behind your ribs—not

scared, just… alive.

Your bestie speaks smiling while doing your edges. “Smile if you bout to ruin a man’s whole ego tonight.”

You smirk in the mirror. Below the window, a familiar engine cuts.

He’s coming in. You can feel it in your bones.

You’re fresh, feeling like a whole mood with your girls beside you—hair laid, gloss popping, outfit on point. You unlock the door and swing it open.

Sammie is already there, standing firm, hands down by his sides. No anger in the way he raises them, just presence. His eyes lock on you first—hard, serious, and something else you can’t name right away. Then he shifts his gaze to your girls. 

“Wassup y’all.”

Your girls nod respectfully, eyes flicking back to you, silently saying, What now?

You just stand there, taking him in. Mad as hell, yeah. But damn… the way he looks—head to toe in black, gold chains catching the streetlight, that little flash of grill shining when he parts his lips—it’s hard not to soften.

You know he fucked up. But maybe… just maybe, there’s a fix here.

Suddenly, one of your friends clears her throat sharply. You blink, shaking off the moment, and glance at them. “Bye, y’all. Be safe.”

They nod and slip quietly down the steps, leaving you and Sammie alone.

He looks past you, eyes scanning the house like sizing it up “Come on.”

He nods toward the door.

You hesitate—then step inside before your brain can catch up.

He closes the door behind you with a soft click and locks it.

Your heart skips. 

Yo, man would be here soon ? Nah. His ass here now.

Sammie gestures toward the couch.

“Come sit with me.”

You walk over first, careful. He watches every step like he’s memorizing you. You settle on the edge of the couch, keeping space between you—safe distance.

He scoots closer, voice low but commanding. “Quit actin’ scary. Come here.”

You shift, inching your leg closer—now touching his. Your heart skips. It’s been a minute, and that tiny buzz starts crawling up your spine. He pulls his hood off, revealing that sharp, tired look in his eyes. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, eyes heavy-lidded but steady on you.

 “I know I messed up, baby. I did everything you told me not to.”

His hand moves slowly, settling on your leg. You tense for a second, then relax as he straightens his back a little. “I did that shit... bein’ childish. Tryna get approval from two lonely mfs.”

You let out a quiet laugh—half disbelief, half relief.

 “I won’t ever do no shit like that again, baby. I can promise you. I’m sorry.”

He opens his arms slightly, inviting but vulnerable

You meet his eyes, voice steady but serious. “I believe you... but don’t make me have to get outta character, Samuel.”

Your fingers twitch, lightly grabbing his gold chain hanging around his neck. The weight of it feels real—like a reminder. Sammie catches the movement, a flicker of both surprise and respect crossing his face.

He tightens his grip on your leg just a bit, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft. “I ain’t gonna make you do nothin’ you don’t want, baby. I’m here... real this time.”

You don’t pull your hand away from his chain. Instead, you let your fingers linger, a silent test — how much does he really mean it? The room feels smaller somehow, just the two of you and the hum of the city outside.

Sammie leans in a little, voice dropping even lower. “ I done been stupid, but I’m tryin’ to be better — for us, for me. Ain’t just words this time. I’m done lettin’ other people mess with what we had.”

You study him, the weight in his eyes pulling at something inside you. A soft part you’d been trying to guard. “That part of me? When I say ‘get outta character,’ I mean it. don’t want that.”

He smiles then — not the cocky grin, but the kind that reaches his eyes. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t tryin’ to fight you. Just wanna be right where I belong.”

You shuffle closer, legs brushing, breaths mingling.

You narrow your eyes, the tension thick now. “If you ever — and I mean ever — pull some dumb shit like that again? I’ma beat your ass, then Smoke’s, then Stack’s for hyping you up.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “Damn, all three of us? You on a mission.”

But that smile fades fast.

His eyes lock onto yours, voice low and solid now.”So who’s the nigga?”

Your breath catches. “What?”

He leans in slightly “Don’t play with me. Who. Is. The. Nigga?”

You hesitate. Your girls’ plan echoing in your mind. A distraction. A game. But the heat in his gaze ain’t playful — it’s boiling.

 “Just… some dude.”

He tilts his head slow, like he can see straight through you.”Some dude?”

You nod, swallowing.

He leans back now, arms stretched wide across the couch, legs open, looking fine as hell and dangerous with it. You wish he didn’t look that good — this would be easier.  “So how long you known this dude?”

You look away, nerves buzzing. You answer low, a whisper really. “A year.”

Before you can breathe again, his hand’s on your chin — not rough, but firm. He tilts your face to his, eyes burning through yours. “Say it like you mean it. All that muttering and guessing shit? Pissing me off.”

Your cheeks heat beneath his touch. Your heart races.

 “That girl in the club? A mistake. Drunk. Ain’t even mean nothin’. But you? You doing stupid shit with a clear head. And that’s different.”

You pull back a little, voice rising with your anger. “A mistake? Boy, fuck you. I was hurt! I ain’t no damn robot, Sammie.”

He lets go of your face, rubbing both hands down his own, exhaling like he’s trying not to snap.  “I know that, baby… but come on now. That dude been all up under your posts, sending you eyes, hearts… You ain’t say nothin’?”

You rolled your eyes “I don’t have to, Sammie. You not my daddy. Go worry about your mystery bitch. Don’t come in here tryna check me like you been loyal. I should beat your ass my damn self.”

You shoot to your feet, voice raised, hand on your hip, heat rolling off you in waves.

He stands up slow, towering, unbothered, staring at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

 “Come on then. You bad? Beat my ass.”

You was yellin' now, voice climbin’ with every breath.

“You think just ‘cause you showed up, I’m s’posed to forget all that shit? You think I don’t feel none of this? That I don’t dream 'bout you, cry 'bout you, bleed for you, Sammie?”

He took it. Standin’ there in all black like the funeral you never got to have for what y’all used to be. You stepped forward and pushed at his chest with an open palm. He ain’t move. You did it again—harder this time. Then again. His gold chain swayed with each shove.

“Fuck you, Sammie,” you spit, eyes full and wild.

He caught your wrist the moment your hand flew up toward his face. You watched his jaw lock, tongue pokin’ into his cheek, breath pullin’ heavy through his nose like he was tryna stop from blackin’ out. That look alone could’ve burned your clothes off, but you was too mad to care.

“Fuck me?” he said low, still holdin’ your wrist. His voice ain’t rise—but the heat in it made you pause.

“Yeah,” you said louder, chest heavin’. “Fuck you.”

He nodded slow, grip loosening as he let your arm fall.

“You better watch how you fuckin talkin’ to me,” he said, voice steel-hard. “And if you bold enough to say it, you better be bold enough to make good on it.”

You turned, walkin’ fast toward the bedroom. You ain’t know if you wanted to scream into a pillow or tear the sheets up. You ain’t even hear his footsteps, but you felt him right behind you—tall shadow heat pressin’ close.

“Sammie, fuck you. I hate you nigga deadass. You ain’t shit. Just like the rest of ‘em. Dirty. A liar. I don’t know why I thought you was different. Why I thought you’d love me for real.”

That stopped him cold in the hallway.

You could feel it—the shift.

Then you felt him.

A hand closin’ ‘round your wrist, pullin’ you back, pressin’ you up against the wall in one smooth motion. His palm came up, firm ‘round your throat—not squeezin’ too tight, just holdin’ you in place.

You looked up into eyes that was all storm and no light.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice rough. “I been sayin’ that like a broke damn record. But don’t you ever stand here and act like I ain’t never loved you.”

His grip tightened just a little. A soft gasp left your lips. Your smaller hand came up, fingers restin’ over his.

“I love you more than anybody ever could. But you think that give you the right to hit me, disrespect me, throw my name in the dirt like I ain’t bled for you too?”

You swallowed hard, breath catchin’.

“I’m gon’ show you,” he murmured, voice low but heavy. “By the time I’m done, you gon’ feel all the shit I been carryin’. All of it.”

Then he stepped back, hand slidin’ away slow, lettin’ you breathe again. You stayed there, chest risin’ and fallin’, vision blurry—but not from tears this time. From how hot the air between y’all had gotten.

He tilted his head toward the bedroom door.

You was still breathin’ hard when he locked that bedroom door, slow and sure. Always did that. Said it made his nerves settle knowin’ he was closed in with just you.

“Sit down,” he said again, voice low but thick now, dark like syrup.

You ain’t move right away. You just stood there, lips still tinglin’, chest tight, still hearin’ him say he loved you like it was a vow and a warning all at once.

“I said,” he took two steps forward, slow and solid, “sit down, baby.”

You ain’t know if it was the way his gold caught the low light, or the way his drawl wrapped around that word “baby” like he’d never stopped sayin’ it, but your knees moved on their own. You sank onto the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, eyes trackin’ him like prey.

He came closer, pulled his hoodie off, chain swingin’, his whole chest breathin’ deep like he was tryin’ to hold back somethin’ fierce. He stood in front of you, thumb and two fingers slid under your chin, tilted your face up.

“ you hate me,” he murmured, brows pullin’ together just a little. “Say it again.”

You opened your mouth, but nothin’ came. Your lips quivered, jaw tight. He looked down at you, real slow, takin’ you in. His hand moved—thumb draggin’ across your bottom lip, just enough pressure to make you tremble.

“That what we on now?” he asked, voice even. “Hatin’ each other?”

You shook your head slow, breath catchin’.

“Nah,” he said, lettin’ go and standin’ tall again, lookin’ down at you like he already knew. “You mad, yeah. Hurt. But hate? That ain’t in you, not for me.”

You couldn’t deny that. Didn’t want to. He leaned down, mouth close to your ear now, lips just brushin’.

“Gone lay back, baby. Let me make it right.”

You hesitated. He waited. Then you did it, breath shaky as your spine hit the sheets.

He peeled his shirt off slow, belt next, every movement deliberate. He wasn’t in no rush. You watched him like a storm was comin’. And it was.

He climbed over you, arms on either side of your head, breath fannin’ across your neck. His voice was lower now, Southern syrup and smoke.

“You gon’ feel me,” he whispered. “Feel every word I couldn’t say right. Feel every time I shoulda chose you louder.”

His hand slid under your shirt, and you gasped—‘cause this wasn’t soft. This wasn’t sorry. This was claimin’. This was a man tryna repent with his whole body.

And baby, you let him.

He slid down slow, mouth still on yours ‘til the last second. His hand pushed your thigh open again, wider this time, and he looked at you—dead in your eyes, like this wasn’t just lust. It was penance. Worship. He kissed the inside of your knee first, then lower, taking his time.

“You been actin’ like I forgot how to treat you,” he muttered, voice thick as molasses. “Let me remind you what it feel like to be taken care of.”

You barely had time to gasp when he pressed his mouth to you. That first pass of his tongue had you archin’ off the couch. He gripped your hips tight, keepin’ you down.

“Nah, don’t run now,” he said low, lips glistening. “You was talkin’ all that shit a minute ago. You gone take this.”

And you did.

He licked slow at first—broad, hungry strokes that made your breath catch. Then faster, tongue focused right where it needed to be, two fingers slid in easy, curling just right. You cried out, and he smiled against you, tongue never leavin’ you.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice damn near feral now. “Let me hear that shit. Don’t hold back, not with me.”

Your hands were in his hair, pullin’—not tryna stop him, just needin’ something to hold on to.

He brought you to the edge and over with no hesitation. He wanted you there. Needed to feel it. You shook under him, legs tremblin’, but he didn’t let up, even when you tried to push his head away.

“Sammie—baby I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he said, voice thick with hunger. “You gon’ come again. Open back up for me.”

He spread you with both hands, dove in again like he couldn’t breathe without you on his tongue. This time, he kept his eyes on yours the whole time.

“Don’t look away,” he said, breathin’ against you. “Wanna see your face when you fall apart.”

And you did—again, harder this time, back archin’, his name fallin’ from your lips in broken, breathless moans.

When he came back up, his mouth was wet, and so were his eyes—just a lil’ bit.

“Tell me right now,” he said, leanin’ in close, lips ghostin’ yours, “that you ain’t mine. Say it with a straight face.”

You didn’t say a word. You just pulled him in, kissin’ him deep like you ain’t need no damn words at all.

He lined himself up, slow and steady, slid in deep on the first stroke, and stayed there.

You gasped, grippin’ his shoulders.

He didn’t move at first. Just let you feel it. All of it.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your mouth. “That’s me. I been here. Ain’t never left you, baby. Not really.”

You nodded, eyes damn near rollin’ back.

He started movin’ deep, slow strokes that filled you up and made your toes curl. One hand on your thigh, the other flat on the bed keepin’ him grounded. But his eyes never left your face.

“You still mad?” he asked, voice shaky with restraint.

You shook your head.

“You still hate me?”

“No,” you whispered.

He kissed you again, harder now, hips pickin’ up pace. The couch creaked under y’all but neither of you cared.

“Say you mine.”

“I’m yours, Sammie. Always was.”

“That’s right,” he said, buryin’ his face in your neck. “That’s right, baby.”

And when y’all finally came, it wasn’t just heat—it was every ounce of anger, pain, love, and regret burnin’ out at once. Both of y’all shakin’, holdin’ on like the world might end if you let go.

He didn’t move for a while. Just stayed there, buried deep, head on your chest, heart beatin’ fast against yours.

“I love you,” he said again, voice hoarse.

You kissed his temple, stroked his hair.

“I know, Sammie. You looked at him laughing a little. This made him look at you now “what”. He spoke laughing a little too. “Nothing you just barely made it out PK”. He ain’t say a word just say up looked at you real slow.

Your body was folded under him now—face in the pillow, back arched just right, his weight pressed firm and familiar behind you. Sammie’s hand gripped your hip like he owned it, other one flat on your lower back, steadyin’ you as he moved inside you slow… deep… like he meant every stroke.

“That shit you said…” he muttered, breath hot against your shoulder, “'bout me barely makin’ it out…”

You gasped when he pushed in harder, hittin’ that spot like he been rememberin’ where it was.

“Say some slick shit like that again,” he growled low, “and I’ma show you just how bad I can not make it out.”

He gave a rougher thrust that had you grabbing at the sheets, teeth bitin’ the pillow to keep from cryin’ out too loud. His hand slid up your back, fingers spread, keepin’ you grounded.

“This what you wanted, huh?” he grunted. “Actin’ like you ain’t need me, like you could just walk off and forget—nah. You mine, baby.”

You tried to speak but the rhythm—slow but mean—had you breathless, body trembling under him.

“I’m not gon’ leave you,” he said softer this time, voice thrummin’ deep in your ear. “Don’t care how mad you get, how loud you yell, how many times you hang up on me. I’m not leavin’. I’m here.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, teeth grazin’, breath hot.

“It’s just us. Always been just us. Can’t no clout, no bitch, no dumb shit change that.”

His strokes slowed down but sank in deeper, hips grindin’ like he was tryna leave pieces of himself inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissin’ your spine. “Sorry if I made you feel like it wasn’t you. Like you wasn’t enough. You everything to me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. The way he was movin’, talkin’, lovin’—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded into the pillow.

“That’s all me. And I’m yours too.”

He stayed buried deep, arms wrapping ‘round your waist, chest to your back now, lettin’ y’all melt into each other.

“I ain’t lettin’ go,” he whispered again. “So don’t run no more. Ain’t nowhere to go that I won’t follow.”

A month later, everything had shifted. You were back together—solid this time. Sammie had taken you on the most beautiful date, the Delta sky lit up behind him as he dropped to one knee with a band you damn near cried over.

Of course, the messy-ass Shaderoom posted it too, caught the whole moment in 4K, and while everybody had something to say… you could care less.

It was just you, your man, and music now.

You sat across from each other in the studio, separate mics, hearts synced.

Stack and Smoke were on the other side of the glass, watching like it was a damn movie. Smoke nudged Stack, a smirk on his face.

“See that? That’s how you get your woman back,” Smoke said.

Stack shook his head slow, arms crossed. “Nah, bruh. That’s how you stay soft.”

Smoke laughed, “Yeah, but they soft in love.”

Stack rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed the intercom.

“Aight,” he said, voice dry but eyes warm, “seein’ as this whole thing was kinda my fault… I figured y’all could take it out on the track, leave it in this booth.”

He let go of the button, nodding at Smoke to hit play.

The bass hit like it knew your name, low and dirty and full of space. You closed your eyes and let it pour through you, your voice slipping in smooth—raw, emotional, laced with love and pain. Smoke looked at Stack with a raised brow, Stack just nodded, lips curled up. Sammie watched you, head bobbing slow, admiring the way you moved with the beat, your sound—his favorite place.

Your eyes found his as you sang directly to him now. That verse hit different, full of everything you couldn’t say in the mess. He slid one headphone down, nodding with the beat, then walked up to his mic with that same locked-in look.

The beat dipped darker, slower. He didn’t even glance at the paper—just went in, voice low, controlled. That whole verse sounded like an apology without ever sayin’ the words. Just you and him, pain and promise, trading bars like vows. Music wrapped around y’all like smoke.

You joined in, harmonizing with him—two voices, one body of hurt, healing, and heat. It wasn’t just a song. It was y’all. A reckoning. A release. A hit.

Later that night, Shaderoom posted a snippet of the session:

🎤🔥 Y’ALL HEAR THIS??? That tension in the booth got me sweating. Sammie & his girl locked in again, for real this time. Engagement, a studio session, and now a collab? Whew 😮‍💨

Comments flooded in:

• “They arguing on the beat and I love it 😭”

• “You can HEAR the makeup sex in her vocals.”

• “He really said I’m sorry through a 16-bar verse 🥲”

• “Soft men winning 2025 fr.”

And somewhere under it all, a pinned comment from Sammie’s burner account:

“Only one mic I’m sharing like that. Forever.”

Hit. Made. Hearts mended.

—————————-

Hey yall omg this took a minute- so enjoy this from me on my way home from therapy😏 hopefully it’s all cohesive ngl Im a little high.

Thank yall for reading sexies😏🤞🏾🎀

#Spotify #sinners #black reader #elias moore #elijah moore #pearline #preacher boy #ryan coogler #smoke and stack #x reader #sammie moore #sammie sinners #x black fem reader #x black reader #smut

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cup1dedd · 3 months ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥-𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝’𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤:

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𝟒𝟎. 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲𝐤𝐢𝐚: Savoring You (Stack & Mary x reader)

𝟒𝟏. 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐳𝐳: More Than That (Sammie x reader)

𝟒𝟐. 𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐮𝟏: All Mine (Sammie x reader)

𝟒𝟑.𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: Two Step Trap ( Smoke & Stack x reader)

𝟒𝟒.𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐦𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐲: No Guidance (Stack x reader)

𝟒𝟓.𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐞: Preach It, Baby (Sammie x reader)

𝟒𝟔.𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤: Of Traits and Closets (Stack & Smoke x reader)

𝟒𝟕.𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐳𝐳: “Whole New World” (Smoke x reader)

𝟒𝟖.𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐥𝟕: His Woman (Stack x reader)

𝟒𝟗.𝐒𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬: Comfort Zone (Modern!au Smoke x reader)

𝟓𝟎 .𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐳𝐳: Baritone (Sammie x reader)

𝟓𝟏.𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐳𝐳: “Home” (Sammie x reader)

𝟓𝟐. 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐚𝟑𝟎𝟎𝟎: Devour You (Sammie x reader)

𝟓𝟑.𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞: Wings and Two-Steppin’ (Stack x reader)

𝟓𝟒 .𝐒𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬: Three’s Trouble (Stack & Mary x reader)

𝟓𝟓.𝐑𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐯𝐲: Lead Astray (Stack x Reader)

𝟓𝟔.𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬: Anastasia Antoinette (Smoke & Stack x reader)

𝟓𝟕 .𝐒𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬: Just a lil’ something, Smoke (Smoke x reader)

𝟓𝟖.𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬: Love bites (Stack x reader)

𝟓𝟗. 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬: Wait for me (Smoke x reader)

𝟔𝟎.𝐅𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤: I Never Told You ( Stack x reader)

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐆!!🩷🩷

#stack x reader #sinners 2025 #sinners #sammie sinners #smoke moore #sammie moore #smoke and stack #elias stack moore #stack #stack sinners #elias moore #elijah moore #sammie x reader #smoke x reader #preacher boy #preacher boy x reader

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thevelvetwhispers · 2 months ago

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Cast of Sinners:

…. must be nice 🙃

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realotaku1212 · 2 months ago

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2025 Remmick😂

전에 그렸던거랑 이어지는 그림

#fanart #sinners remmick #sinners sammie #sammie moore #sinners #remmick #sammick #sammie x remmick #sinners mary #sinners stack #sinners fanart

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ridingreeves · 2 months ago

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𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖲𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－Smoke Moore cheated on the kindest girl he ever had—with the one girl who hated her most. She left without a scene, healed quietly, and showed up to the block party glowing. Surrounded by love, she didn’t look his way once. And as Smoke watched her slip further from his reach, he realized too late—he’d lost something he’d never find again.

𝖠／𝖭－ 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾

You always knew Smoke Moore wasn’t the easiest man to love.

He had this heat to him—sharp and sudden, like summer pavement burning the soles of your feet if you stood still too long. He was cold, dangerous, maddening, and magnetic. But even with all that, he was your soft spot. Your once-in-a-lifetime. The kind of man you loved with your whole chest, knowing damn well he could set the whole thing on fire.

Smoke had that kind of presence that made a room feel too small when he walked in. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to have everyone’s attention—he just had that heat about him. Quiet. Smoldering. Dangerous. People stayed out of his way, except you.

Because you…

You were kind in a way the world had tried to beat out of you.

You stayed soft, even when people gave you every reason not to be.

And you loved Smoke with the kind of love that was steady.

Unconditional. Unselfish.

You loved him through his moods. You were the quiet one in his world. Sweet. Always kind. Never raised your voice, never tried to tame him. That was never your goal. You just wanted to love him. Fully. Patiently. And he let you. Let you in farther than he had ever let anyone.

He used to tell you you were “the nicest thing in his life.”

He said it like a confession, like it scared him.

You were loyal to a fault. The kind of girl who baked for his brother, remembered birthdays, smiled even when she was tired.

⸻

But nice girls like you never see it coming.

Not until it’s already too late.

⸻

It started with little things.

Shorter conversations. Longer nights out. Missed calls. Cold shoulders.

You knew something was off—you just didn’t want to believe it.

Eyes heavy, jaw tight. Smelling like perfume that wasn’t yours. Wearing guilt like it was stitched into the seams of his clothes. You asked him if everything was okay, and he barely looked at you when he said, “Yeah. Just tired.”

But you weren’t stupid.

You felt it. The shift. The absence.

His love started dripping instead of pouring. He wasn’t cruel—not at first. Just… distant. You’d kiss him and he wouldn’t kiss you back the same. You’d touch him and he’d flinch like he forgot what your hands felt like.

And then it happened.

Your best friend told you first. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stand watching you stay in the dark.

“She’s been posting about him. Nia.”

Nia.

Of all people.

The girl who always talked slick about you, who never liked you from the start. The one who’d smirk when you walked into a room, who used to mess with Stack and swore up and down, Smoke wasn’t “your type anyway.” She was petty and loud and bitter—and she hated how soft Smoke got when you were around.

And now she had him.

You didn’t believe it at first. You wanted to give him the chance to explain..

You sat across from him at the kitchen table, hands shaking, voice soft.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the table like it had the words he didn’t want to say.

“Smoke,” you whispered, “please don’t lie to me.”

He looked up, jaw tight.

“…Yeah. I did.”

And in that moment, your world cracked.

It wasn’t just that he cheated.

It was who he chose to betray you with.

It was the girl who hated you the most, now holding the heart you’d thought was yours.

“How long?”

He didn’t lie. Didn’t bother.

“Couple weeks.”

A couple weeks. While you were home making dinner, texting him reminders to stay safe, folding his damn laundry. While you were loving him the best way you knew how.

You blinked through the tears, heart beating in your ears.

“Do you love her?”

He shook his head too fast. “Nah. I was mad. I was drunk. It just happened—”

“You let it happen,” you cut in, your voice breaking. “You let her touch what was mine.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but there was nothing he could say that would unbreak you.

⸻

You left.

You didn’t pack much—just enough to get through the night. You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. That wasn’t your way. You cried in silence in the back of your friend’s car while the city blurred past you.

You told yourself it was just a mistake.

But mistakes don’t post pictures in his hoodie.

They don’t tag him under thirst traps.

They don’t smile in your face at parties like they didn’t help burn your home down.

⸻

Nia made it her mission to be seen. Loud and proud. Letting everybody know she had him now.

“She’s a good girl,” she said to you one night when y’all crossed paths in the club, fake laughing in front of her friends. “But he needed a real woman.”

You didn’t say a word. You just stared back, holding your drink with both hands so it wouldn’t slip.

You weren’t made for moments like that.

You were made for warmth. For quiet mornings. For soft love.

Not for games, not for drama, not for public humiliation.

But life didn’t care what you were made for.

It dragged you through it anyway.

You cried hard that night. Ugly, breathless sobs into your pillow, wondering what more you could’ve done. Wondering why being gentle wasn’t enough. Why loving someone so good didn’t keep them from hurting you.

⸻

Smoke didn’t reach out for weeks.

Not until you blocked him. Not until you started to disappear. That’s when he showed up.

At your door. Hoodie on. Eyes tired. Guilt all over his face.

“I messed up,” he said.

You just stared.

He stepped forward. “You were the only person who saw me—the real me. The one I don’t show nobody. You didn’t deserve that. I was scared. I felt like I was breaking and you were just… too good.”

You swallowed hard, voice quiet.

“So you broke me instead.”

Silence.

“I don’t want her,” he said. “I want—”

“You had me.”

You looked him in the eye, tears in your eyes. “And you threw me to the one person you knew would love watching me suffer.”

He exhaled, rubbing his face. “I can’t take it back—”

“No,” you cut him off, stepping back into your apartment. “But you can leave.”

You closed the door before he could say another word.

And then you sobbed. For all the good you gave. For all the quiet nights and small moments and homemade meals and unconditional love that went unappreciated.

⸻

You were the kindest girl Smoke Moore had ever known.

And he let a bitter, jealous girl touch what was meant to be yours.

One day, he’d feel the weight of that loss.

But by then, you’d be long gone.

And someone else—someone better—would hold your heart the way it always deserved to be held.

Soft. Gentle. Safe.

Because being nice was never your weakness.

It was your superpower.

He just never deserved it.

⸻

Summer came around again, just like it always did.

The block was loud. Kids ran through open hydrants. Grills were smoking. The block was alive—music blasting, people dancing, plates of food being passed around.

You didn’t even want to come.

But your friends convinced you. Said you deserved a day to be seen. Said healing looked good on you, and it did. The pain was still there, soft and tucked behind your ribs, but you were moving forward now. Smiling more. Laughing again. You had finally learned how to carry the ache without letting it consume you.

Sundress. Gold hoops. Braids done. You weren’t trying hard—you never had to. That smile alone made people look twice. You walked in with your friends, drink in hand, greeting people with hugs and soft laughs, and you didn’t look in his direction once.

And across the block, Smoke saw you.

He hadn’t seen you in months. Not since the night you closed the door on him. Not since he realized he could never undo what he did.

Now, there you were.

You didn’t look angry. Didn’t even look at him. You looked happy. Surrounded by people who were glad to see you, sipping your drink with lip gloss shining, smiling at something your friend whispered in your ear.

Smoke’s stomach twisted.

“She came?” he muttered, almost under his breath.

His cousin Sammie turned toward him with raised brows, sipping Hennessy in a cup. “Why wouldn’t she? She from the block too. You don’t own the whole street, Smoke.”

His brother Stack leaned back against a fence, eyes scanning the scene. “Damn,” he said with a low whistle. “She look good. Real good. That new glow hit different.”

Stack looked at smoke and snickered, “She thriving. And you over here with Nia the Gremlin attached to your damn hip.”

“Chill, Stack.”

“No, you chill. ’Cause I know you ain’t think she wasn’t gon’ show up. This her block too. She probably helped plan this whole sh*t. Ain’t nobody hiding from you.”

Smoke stayed quiet, jaw clenched.

Stack kept going.

“Nah, I love this for her. She out here shining while you stuck with this wanna be influencer.’ Look at you. Sad as hell under them damn shades.”

Sammie bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Smoke didn’t laugh.

Stack cut him a look. “You know Nia gon’ act up, right? She clocked her the second she stepped out that car.”

And sure enough—there she was.

Nia.

Clinging to Smoke’s arm like it was her full-time job, dressed too loud, eyes already burning holes through your dress. She whispered something in Smoke’s ear and kissed his cheek, hard and fast, all while staring at you from across the way.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn your head. Didn’t blink.

You just laughed at something your friend said, sipped your drink, and kept dancing like you were finally free.

Stack smirked and nudged Smoke. “Nigga. You see that? She ain’t even LOOK over here. You ain’t even a memory no more—you a ghost.”

Smoke didn’t respond. He was watching you now—completely. That ache in his chest spreading. You were everything soft he’d ever known, and now you were everything he couldn’t reach.

Sammie saw it too.

He shifted his drink. “She petty as hell for that. Ain’t nobody think that girl won, bro. She just loud.”

Smoke pulled his arm away gently, jaw tight. “Chill out.”

But Nia wasn’t letting go. Not with you glowing like that a few feet away.

You didn’t look over at them once. You didn’t need to. You felt her eyes. Felt the tension. But you kept laughing. Kept being you. Sweet, classy, untouchable. Unbothered on the outside, even if your chest still ached in places you didn’t talk about.

Stack leaned into Smoke, dropping his voice. Holding a laugh

“You gon’ keep lettin’ her play in your face like that? Like she proud of helpin’ you fumble, the only girl that ever really held you down?”

Smoke clenched his jaw, staring at you like you were a ghost.

Stack stepped back, still laughing. “You really let Nia fumble your whole legacy. You fumbled heaven. You was held like royalty and traded it for… that.”

Sammie spoke up. “Man, leave him alone.”

“No,” Stack grinned. “He need to sit in this. Look at him. Look at that sad little puppy face. Pitiful.”

Smoke muttered under his breath, “Stack, chill before I swing on you.”

Stack just laughed harder. “Swing on me for what? I ain’t the one who cheated on the nicest girl in the damn city with your ex’s biggest hater. You brought this clown parade to town.”

Sammie lifted his cup. “She really do look happy, though. That peace hit different when it ain’t with you no more.”

Smoke kept his eyes on you.

You were on a porch swing now, leaning into your friend, laughing again.

Stack shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You know what the truth is? She really loved you, bruh. And now she out here loving herself. You ain’t even a footnote in her story no more.”

Smoke finally said, low, broken. “I ain’t never gonna find that again.”

Stack looked at him sideways. “Nope. And she ain’t lookin’ back neither.”

“She ain’t hiding from you, Smoke,” Sammie said. “You the one duckin’ her shadow.”

⸻

That night, when the block quieted and people started heading home, you walked past Smoke once. Just once.

Your perfume hit him like a memory.

But you didn’t even glance his way.

Stack clapped him on the back, grinning wide. “That’s the sound of a door slammin’. And you locked out forever, Nigga.”

Smoke didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because in the end, all he could do was stand there��

And watch the kindest girl he ever had keep walking.

Without him.

And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Stack sighed beside him. Lit a blunt. Took a long drag before speaking.

“You miss her, huh?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Sammie walked up, eyes serious. “You ever tell her you sorry? For real, not that shit you pulled on her doorstep?”

“She don’t wanna hear from me.”

Stack looked at him hard. “She shouldn’t. You broke the nicest girl I ever seen. You gave her away to that girl who been wantin’ to be her since high school.”

Smoke swallowed.

“I know.”

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because the way you looked now—the ease in your shoulders, the light in your eyes—told him everything he needed to know.

You weren’t his anymore.

And the worst part?

He still loved you with everything in him.

But his love came too late.

And no matter how many block parties he showed up to, how many times he watched you from a distance, he knew deep in his gut

You were gone.

And Nia? She could never make him forget you.

#sinners x black reader #elijah smoke moore #elijah x reader #sinners x reader #micheal b jordan sinners #smoke x black reader #micheal b jordan x reader #micheal b jordan smut #micheal b jordan #elias stack moore #sammie sinners

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dreamivyisla · 2 months ago

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ᯓ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 ᯓ

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Sammie Moore, Bo Chow, Elijah “Smoke” Moore, and Elias “Stack” Moore.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ a seductive streetwalker crosses paths with four troubled men from Sinners—each seeking release in their own way.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ before anyone says anything, i didn’t know how to include Remmick in this at all. if anyone has any suggestions, i’ll update this and put him in it. i really don’t just do smut, i do angst and fluff as well— these are just things i had in my notes. also, i love Annie and Mary, im sooo sorry to their fans! enjoy!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ sexual content, profanity, 1930s au, misogyny, implied social inequality, prostitution, hair pulling, praise, mirror voyeurism, light breath play, threesome (MFM), dirty talk, creampie, facial, spit roasting, slight sibling voyeurism (if you squint), unprotected sex (wrap it), mild infidelity (Smoke is married to Annie), reader is black (but anyone can imagine themselves), semi public settings (woods, shop, and car). 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓! 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈

ᯓ 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐄 ᯓ

the cicadas were loud that night.

sammie slammed the front door so hard the frame shook, jaw clenched and chest puffed out like he meant to carry all his hurt in it. his daddy had gone off on him again, red in the face and hot with shame over something sammie never got a say in. didn’t matter what the boy tried to do—wasn’t never enough. so he stormed out ‘round sundown, boots crunching dry leaves, hands balled in fists like he might hit something just to feel his own power.

he didn’t go far. didn’t need to. the trees just outside town were close enough, thick and dark enough to hide in. he liked the quiet, liked being alone with his thoughts. but he wasn’t alone tonight.

you were leaning up against a tree with one leg bent, cigarette glowing between two fingers, dark skin catching what little moonlight broke through the branches. you looked him over once, then again slower, like you could taste the anger still burning off him.

“ain’t safe out here, sugar,” you said, voice low and knowing.

he didn’t say nothing at first. just stared. you were pretty in a way he didn’t know how to name. face soft, mouth even softer. but it was your eyes that got him—eyes that saw through folks, picked apart whatever armor they thought they had on.

“ain’t safe nowhere,” he muttered, finally stepping close.

your brows lifted, and your lips curved. “you lost or just mad?”

“don’t matter,” he said. “just needed outta there.”

you took a drag, then reached up to pull the cigarette from your lips and hold it out to him. he hesitated, then took it, fingers brushing yours. you leaned in real slow, smelling like something sweet and strong—cheap perfume, maybe, or flowers from town. you were dressed for work, short skirt and a blouse with too many buttons undone, but you held yourself like a woman who didn’t owe no man anything.

“you wanna work some of that heat off?” you asked, voice thick and sultry. “i can help you forget.”

his breath caught. he glanced back toward home, then down at your hand, now trailing slow along his belt. he didn’t ask what you meant. didn’t ask your name. just nodded, voice low and hoarse: “yeah… yeah, i want that.”

you took his hand and led him deeper into the trees, heels barely making a sound. the woods swallowed you both up.

the clearing was narrow and quiet. moss underfoot, pine needles falling slow from above. you pushed him back against a tree, rough bark scratching at his shirt. you moved like water, smooth and certain, all hips and hands and heat. he let you kiss him first—eager, unpracticed—but full of hunger. his mouth chased yours, breath ragged, teeth grazing your lip like he didn’t mean to but liked how you gasped.

his hands found your thighs, then slid up your skirt. you didn’t stop him. just whispered, “slow down, baby. let me take care of you.”

he didn’t expect you to drop down like that, knees sinking into dirt. didn’t expect your mouth warm around him, tongue patient and filthy. he bit down a groan, one hand braced on the tree, the other fisting your hair like it was all that grounded him. when you looked up, eyes glossy and full of heat, he damn near lost himself.

“shit—keep goin’. don’t stop,” he begged, voice cracking like something inside him just snapped loose.

you didn’t. you worked him slow, teasing your tongue along the underside, letting your spit coat him all the way down. he was thick and twitching in your mouth, hips jerking forward despite himself.

when he pulled you up, it was clumsy and greedy, mouth crashing against yours as he walked you backward. he laid you down on your back over the moss, one knee between your legs, your skirt bunched up around your waist.

“tell me you want this,” he murmured against your throat, voice almost broken.

you cupped his jaw, dragging your nails against the stubble. “i do, baby. want it all.”

he slid inside you slow, shuddering at the way your walls pulled him in. it wasn’t rushed—it was messy and breathless, him holding onto you like a lifeline, like you were the first real thing he’d touched in weeks. the moon hung overhead, pale and distant, but down here on the forest floor, it was hot skin and gasps and sweat.

“feels good?” you whispered, biting his earlobe.

“yeah… yeah, you feel too damn good.”

his rhythm got rougher, hands gripping your hips, eyes half-lidded and wild. he muttered your name between curses, begged you to keep sayin’ his. you scratched down his back when he hit that spot just right, and he moaned—loud, unashamed. the boy was falling apart inside you.

you wrapped your legs around him tighter, rode each thrust like it meant something. and to him, it did.

he came with his face buried in your neck, hips stuttering, voice hoarse and needy. he didn’t pull away right after. just lay there, chest heaving, arms wrapped around you like the woods might take you away if he let go.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈

ᯓ 𝐁𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐖 ᯓ

the streets were quiet by the time you wandered up to the front of chow’s store. lantern light flickered dim behind the window, casting long shadows over the cans and jars still lined up neat on their shelves. you leaned against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, watching through the glass like you’d come to shop after hours.

but you weren’t there for dry goods.

bo chow was inside still, methodical as ever. sleeves rolled, eyes sharp. he didn’t rush—not even to close up. he moved with purpose, like a man who’d never known sloppiness, who found control in every motion. the silence around him was almost holy. you waited.

when he finally came to the front, key in hand, he noticed you right away. his gaze flicked up, settled on you for longer than polite. he didn’t open the door just yet.

you knocked once, slow. “evenin’, mister chow.”

he looked at you through the glass for a long moment. “store’s closed.”

“i figured,” you said. “but i ain’t here for bread.”

his eyes narrowed, but his mouth stayed soft. curious. you knew what you looked like—dark skin glowing against the lamp, lips painted, skirt short, the coat you wore not doing much to hide what you were. you watched the way his gaze dipped, then came back up to meet yours.

“you followin’ me?” he asked, finally unlocking the door.

you smiled and stepped inside as he held it open. “nah. i just know a man who needs unwindin’ when i see one.”

the shop smelled like dust and spice and something earthy. bo locked the door behind you. his footsteps were quiet against the floorboards, but you heard him coming close, stopping just inches away. the air was thick between you.

“you offer that to every man workin’ late?” he asked.

“just the ones who look like they never let themselves want somethin’.”

he didn’t answer right away. didn’t even touch you. he just looked—at your throat, your chest, your mouth. he smelled like tobacco and clean linen, the scent of someone who took care with how he carried himself. when he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“how much?”

you tilted your head. “depends on how long you want.”

he reached for his pocket, pulled out a few folded bills. “then don’t rush.”

you took the money and slid it into your coat, not breaking eye contact. “what do you want me to do, mister chow?”

he stepped forward, close enough for you to feel the heat off him. his hand rose, brushing the collar of your blouse. “take that off,” he said, quiet. “slow.”

the coat dropped first. then your fingers worked open the buttons of your blouse, one at a time, the soft fabric peeling back to show your bare chest. he watched like a man starved, eyes hooded but steady. he didn’t interrupt. didn’t speak. just let you give it to him slow, like he was studying something sacred.

“that all right?” you asked.

“it’s good,” he said, stepping behind you now. “but you’re overdressed.”

his hands came to your skirt, tugging it up inch by inch. you felt the rough callus of his thumb over the curve of your thigh, the warm breath against your neck. he didn’t kiss. not yet. just looked at you through the mirror behind the counter, hands sliding up your waist to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until you gasped.

he liked that sound. you could feel it in the way his hands lingered, in the way his belt clicked open behind you.

“don’t turn around,” he murmured. “keep lookin’.”

you did. your reflection stared back, dark and glowing under the store’s lone overhead light. you looked fucked before he even touched you proper. he knew what he was doing—slow, careful, but deliberate. he lifted your leg up onto the edge of the counter, one knee bent, and slid two fingers between your thighs.

“you’re wet already,” he murmured, his voice flatter than it should’ve been.

“wanted you soon as you opened that door,” you breathed.

he pressed into you slow, fingers curling just right. his other hand wrapped around your throat—not choking, just grounding. your mouth parted, a moan caught low in your chest. he leaned in, finally letting his lips brush your jaw.

“you make a lotta noise?” he asked.

“when i’m fucked right.”

he grunted, then pulled out his fingers and pushed his cock between your thighs. he was thick and warm, sliding in slow while you braced yourself against the wood. the stretch made your eyes flutter, but you didn’t look away. he held you open with one hand on your hip, the other gripping the back of your neck.

“watch yourself take it,” he growled. “watch how good you look.”

you did.

he fucked you like he had something to prove—slow, deep thrusts that made the jars on the counter rattle. he didn’t talk much, just groaned low when your walls squeezed him, when you pushed back against his hips and begged for more.

“you ever done this here before?” you panted.

“no,” he said. “only you.”

you smiled, even through the moans. “guess i’m lucky.”

he didn’t answer. just fucked you harder, both of you framed in that dusty mirror, skin slick, eyes burning. he wrapped your braid around his fist and tugged just enough to arch your back.

you came first, gasping out his name, your whole body shuddering. he kept going through it, let you ride the wave before he stiffened behind you and came with a grunt, hips jerking against your ass.

when it was over, he stayed close. his breath was warm at your nape.

“you need water?” he asked, voice quieter now.

you nodded. “and a seat.”

he helped you fix your blouse, even though it stayed wrinkled, and led you to the back where it was darker. he didn’t say much more. just gave you the drink and let the silence fill back in.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈

ᯓ 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊 ᯓ

the gravel kicked up soft under the tires as smoke turned off the main road. they weren’t far outta town—just where the streetlights started thinnin’ and trees lined both sides like shadows that kept quiet. it wasn’t late, but it felt it. the kind of quiet that came after a long night, the kind where everything settled except the things boilin’ up inside a man.

stack had his boots propped up on the dash, jaw tight, cigarette half-burned between his fingers. he hadn’t said a word since they got in the car.

smoke kept his eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel.

“mary said she ain’t waitin’ around,” stack muttered, finally. “she mean it this time.”

smoke didn’t answer right away. he never rushed his words. just drove a bit slower, head dipped like he was thinkin’.

“you love her?” he asked.

stack scoffed, took a drag. “i’m mad at her, not in love. she don’t listen. always talkin’, never hearin’ me.”

“so you pick fights to get her to feel you.”

stack turned to look at him. “you pickin’ sides now?”

smoke sighed through his nose. “i’m sayin’ you hurtin’. that’s all. figured drivin’ out here might cool your blood down.”

“ain’t nothin’ gonna cool me off tonight,” stack said, eyes low.

they pulled over by the edge of the trees, engine cutting out. smoke leaned back in the seat, rolled his shoulders, the air around them thick and humid. cicadas buzzed, same as they always did this time of year.

then came footsteps.

soft ones, but with a purpose. a shadow moved out from behind a bush up the road—a woman, hips swayin’, dark as night and wearin’ red like she meant for someone to stop. you had on heels, a skirt too short for decency, and lips painted like a sin.

stack leaned forward, grinning. “well, look at that.”

smoke frowned. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” stack asked, already half out the window. “evenin’, darlin’. you lost?”

you laughed, soft and low. “nah, baby. i found exactly where i need to be.”

“mm. that right?” stack stepped out the car, walked up with his usual attitude. “you workin’?”

“i ain’t standin’ here for fun.”

smoke stayed in the driver’s seat, watching you through the windshield. his jaw ticked. he was married. he didn’t play around. not like stack.

but you looked good. real good. skin like honey at dusk. lashes thick, hips round. you leaned over the passenger side, resting your arms on the open window.

“i can make you both feel better,” you said, eyes on stack first, then smoke. “you mad at your girl. and he—” you nodded at smoke, “—he look like he ain’t been touched in months.”

stack laughed. “she read you like a book, boy.”

smoke shook his head, but didn’t argue. “we don’t need all that tonight.”

“i do,” stack muttered.

you grinned, leaning in more. “i can start with him, if you wanna watch.”

stack looked to smoke, eyes lit with something cocky. “that alright, big brother?”

“man, you crazy.”

“you stay in the car. just lemme get a taste.”

smoke opened the door slow. stood up. the moon lit up half his face, serious as stone.

“she a stranger.”

“so? so was mary.”

smoke looked at you hard. you didn’t flinch. instead, you reached for stack’s belt, tugged it loose with a teasing smile.

“you want this?” you asked.

stack nodded, breath hot. “hell yeah.”

“then get in the back.”

you straddled stack in the backseat, legs spread over his lap, your hands braced on the window behind him. the car creaked under you, but you didn’t care. his cock was thick and twitching, and you took him slow, your slick heat swallowin’ him inch by inch. he grunted, head falling back, fingers bruising your hips.

“goddamn, girl… you tight.”

“you like that?” you breathed, rollin’ your hips deep.

“fuck yeah. bounce f’me.”

you moved with practiced rhythm—slow grind, fast drop, every motion makin’ stack grunt and curse. his head knocked the glass behind him, but he didn’t slow. his hands pulled your blouse down, mouth suckin’ hard on your nipple, groanin’ like a man finally let off his leash.

smoke stayed up front. for a while.

but he kept lookin’ back through the mirror. kept hearin’ the wet sound of your pussy takin’ stack’s cock, the slaps of skin, the little moans you made when stack whispered filth in your ear.

you caught his eye once—right in the mirror—and said, soft as sugar:

“you ain’t gotta just watch, baby. i got a mouth too.”

his hand clenched on the steering wheel.

“annie waitin’ for me.”

“so go home hard,” stack called, smirkin’. “or stay and get it wet like me.”

smoke opened the door.

he didn’t say nothin’. just walked around, opened the other back door, and slid in behind you. his hands went to your waist, grip firm.

“you sure?” he asked low against your neck.

“yeah,” you whispered. “i want both of you.”

stack didn’t stop fuckin’ up into you, even as you leaned forward to take smoke’s cock into your mouth. you opened wide, tongue out, eyes locked with his.

he hissed. ��fuck, you nasty.”

you moaned around him, the sound buzzin’ down his spine. he held your head with care at first, then firmer, guiding your rhythm as you sucked him deep. his cock hit the back of your throat, and you took it, droolin’ all over his length.

stack was close. he fucked up into you faster, sweat runnin’ down his temple.

“she squeezin’ me so good. damn.”

you moaned again, drool and spit runnin’ down your chin as you choked on smoke’s dick. both of them were pantin’—stack inside you, smoke in your mouth, both brothers losin’ their minds.

you were used, worshipped, fucked full on both ends.

stack came first, holdin’ your hips tight as he spilled inside you with a loud groan. he bit your shoulder, ridin’ it out. smoke pulled your head back, stroked his cock over your tongue until he came too, thick and hot, lips parted as he cursed your name.

they both sat back, breathless.

you wiped your mouth, smiling slow. “anybody feel better now?”

stack laughed, chest still heaving. “shit… i feel brand new.”

smoke stared at you for a beat, then nodded once. “don’t tell nobody.”

“your secret’s safe,” you whispered, pulling your blouse up slow.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

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enticingmelanin · 4 months ago

Text

Fire We Make: A Modern Smoke x Annie Fic

Fire We Make || Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie (modern au)

This is Part 2 of the Savor Series.

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, and Explicit Language. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 7k+

Summary: Smoke and Annie’s bond has only deepened since fate reunited them in the city. Their emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical chemistry keeps their love burning bright. But when they attend the grand opening of Pearline’s, the heat between them proves impossible to tame. Some flames flicker. Theirs? Blazes.

𝄞₊ ⊹₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ˚₊⊹ ₊𝄞━━⊱⋆⊰━━𝄞₊ ⊹₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ˚₊⊹ ₊𝄞

Melodic humming filled Smoke’s bathroom as Annie applied the finishing touches to her makeup. Soft and radiant, her look accentuated her natural beauty—subtle shimmer on her lids, feathery lashes, and a gentle highlight that kissed her cheekbones. Her hair, now an older perm rod set, was pinned back into a romantic bun, a couple of loose spiral curls framing her face like poetry.

It had been eight months since they’d rekindled what was once lost—and they were stronger than ever. Life didn’t slow down for love, but they adapted, carved out time, made each other a priority. Zariah’s was always buzzing, fully booked, while Smoke and his family had poured heart and soul into building their lounge from the ground up. And finally… tonight was the night Pearline’s would be born.

Annie practically glowed as she moved through his space, excitement in every graceful step. As she reached for her MAC Ruby Woo lipstick to match her dress, a giddy hum vibrated from her lips.

“Ready, baby doll?” came that gravel-smooth voice from the bedroom.

“Yep, just puttin’ my lipstick on,” she replied, gliding the bold red pigment across her plush lips in one fluid stroke.

From the corner of her eye, she caught his silhouette in the doorway—leaned against the frame, watching her like she was art. His eyes roamed her slowly, appreciating how she mirrored his sharp red suit with that stunning dress.

The dress—a vintage-inspired scarlet gown that clung to her voluptuous frame. The satin hugged her curves, dipping low at the bust to reveal some cleavage, then cinched at her waist before flaring softly over her hips. A thigh-high slit flashed glimpses of smooth brown skin and hinted at the strappy red heels she wore underneath. Her body looked sculpted by the ancestors, and the way she moved in it? Like she knew she was unforgettable.

Suddenly, he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing himself flush against her back. His lips found her neck, placing slow, reverent kisses on her skin. A soft giggle escaped her as she leaned into his warmth.

“You look so damn good, we might not make it out the door,” he murmured against her ear, their gazes locking in the mirror.

Annie hummed, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. She turned to face him, arms draping around his neck, her breasts pressing against his solid chest. “As do you, but you can’t miss the grand opening, Mr. Owner. This is the night we’ve all been waitin’ for.”

Smoke let out a low sigh, trying to pull himself back from the edge. “True… I’d never hear the end of it, especially from Stack. But...” His voice dipped, rich with promise. “Just know I’m puttin’ these pretty lips to work later.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but she pressed a finger to his mouth, stopping him with a glint in her eye.

“Mm-mm. Not messin’ up my lipstick,” she whispered. “Plus… it'll give you somethin' to look forward to.”

She leaned in and slowly ran her tongue across his lips—teasing, taunting—before slipping away with a playful strut toward the doorway.

Smack!

His hand landed firmly on her ass, making her gasp mid-step.

“Elijah!” she scolded, breath catching in her throat.

He just grinned. “Better pray I behave tonight or you'll be screamin' that all night long.”

The fire between them crackled and Annie silently hoped she could tame the heat long enough to get through Pearline’s grand opening.

Slowly, the black Escalade rolled to a stop in front of the entrance, its paint gleaming under the moonlight and glowing building lights. Annie smiled at the long line of guests wrapped around the corner, all dressed in their finest. Their childhood friend, Cornbread, stood tall at the head of the line in a black tux as the bouncer of the evening. A bold neon sign in soft red script read “Pearline’s,” its light casting a sultry blush across the rich brick exterior. A red carpet trailed from the doorway like an enticing welcome.

She was lost in admiration when her car door swung open.

“Thank you, ba—” she started, then stopped, blinking as the face staring back at her wasn't Smoke's, though it was identical.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can admit you always liked me more,” Stack teased, grinning wide with those infamous gold-capped pearly whites, a toothpick dancing at the corner of his mouth. He wore the same tailored red suit as Smoke, but his button-down was black—sleek and sharp in contrast.

Annie shook her head, laughter already bubbling up. “Boy, you’re a menace,” she said, taking his hand as he helped her out of the truck. She pulled him into a warm hug.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, placing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Nigga, you wish my woman liked your ol’ country bumpkin ass,” Smoke called out, rounding the front of the truck, that signature smirk playing on his lips.

Stack raised both hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. “Sounds like the pot callin’ the kettle, big brother.”

“Stop terrorizing them, Elias,” came a soft, amused voice from behind him. Mary stepped up, all grace and calm. Her hair was styled in loose waves that framed her heart-shaped face, eyes bright and lips painted a subtle rose. The slinky rose gold dress she wore clung to her figure, shimmering with every step, the open back catching the warm glow from the lights behind her.

She pulled Annie into a hug with an easy elegance. “You look beautiful, love.”

Annie smiled. “So do you.”

The twins greeted each other with a dap and a tight hug before ushering their women inside.

Annie’s chocolate eyes widened the moment they stepped through the doors.

“Babe…” she breathed, rooted in wonder.

“Ain’t she a beauty?” Smoke replied, his voice laced with quiet pride.

Pearline’s was opulence made intimate. Deep ruby velvet chairs hugged black marble tables, each topped with crystal glassware and lush centerpieces of red roses. The walls were a glossy black laced with gold detailing, reflecting the soft, amber glow from the grand chandeliers that hung like golden galaxies above.

The stage was commanding—elevated, dramatic, framed by heavy crimson curtains that spilled like wine to the floor. A spotlight illuminated the center, while plush banquettes circled the space, giving every guest a perfect view.

Just then, a six-piece live band stepped onto the stage, dressed in crisp, classic black. The pianist flexed his fingers, the upright bassist plucked a note that hummed through the velvet-draped air, and the horns tuned in harmony. The rhythm promised something sultry, something smooth, something alive.

“Y’all got a hit on your hands,” Annie exclaimed, her eyes still soaking in every plush detail. “That line is gonna be wrapped around the city with people desperate to get in here after tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” Smoke replied, his smile slow and warm as his hand found the small of her back. The pride in his eyes wasn’t just for the lounge—it was for her. For everything they’d built together, in their own way.

“And once Pearline and Sammie hit the stage,” Mary added, her voice dipping into that sweet Southern twang as she glanced toward the velvet-draped platform, “they just might burn the roof down.” She let out a low whistle, the excitement dancing in her tone.

Stack smirked and nodded toward the back left corner with a casual flick of his chin. “Speak of the devil.”

Annie followed his gaze—and there they were.

Pearline stood poised in the corner, a tall glass of champagne in hand, dressed in floor-length black satin that shimmered like oil under the low lights. Her deep brown skin glowed under the chandeliers, and her natural hair was sculpted into a soft, elegant updo that showed off her high cheekbones and expressive eyes. She looked like every jazz song ever written about heartbreak and romance.

Beside her was Sammie wearing a charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fit like it was made just for him—shirt open at the collar, no tie. A soft gold chain peeked beneath the fabric. His guitar case rested against the corner of the booth like it had its own seat, and the way he leaned into Pearline, eyes low and easy, made it clear the stage wasn’t the only place they made music.

They were magnetic, undeniably so.

Mary squealed in excitement, eyes lit up like stage lights, and grabbed Annie’s hand without warning. “Come on!” she laughed, tugging her toward Pearline and Sammie.

Smoke shook his head, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Every damn time,” he muttered fondly as Stack chuckled, hands in his pockets, following behind them to join the growing group hug.

“I can’t wait to hear y’all’s new music,” Annie said, pulling back from the embrace, her eyes warm with admiration. She turned to shoot Smoke a teasing scowl. “He wouldn’t say a peep about it. Been keepin’ secrets.”

“Confidentiality clause,” he said with a smirk. “Artist privilege.”

The double doors opened behind them, and the low hum of conversation began to grow as guests trickled in—heels clicking against the marble floor, silk and perfume trailing through the air. Waiters dressed in black-on-black uniforms glided between tables, ushering people to their seats with ease.

“Looks like you won’t be waitin' too much longer,” Pearline said, giving Annie a playful wink. “It’s showtime. We’ll see y’all in a bit.” Her smile lingered as she looped her arm through Sammie’s, and together they slipped backstage.

The two couples made their way to a table positioned front and center—the table, with an unobstructed view of the grand stage. The plush crimson chairs hugged them in comfort as they settled in, the golden glow from the chandeliers bathing them in a warm, flattering light.

Classic jazz poured from the band now set up onstage—the kind of melodies that made you close your eyes and sway slow without realizing. The saxophone crooned like it had a heart of its own, mixing perfectly with the clink of glassware and soft laughter around the room.

Their table was a feast of elegance and indulgence. Thanks to Annie—who Smoke proudly insisted be listed as a partner—Pearline’s menu had soul and sophistication. Small plates filled the table like a love letter to flavor—oysters Rockefeller resting in gleaming shells, crab-stuffed mushrooms steaming beside golden catfish fritters, sliders layered with Wagyu beef and caramelized onions, honey roasted carrots, and baskets of parmesan truffle fries still hot to the touch.

The twins nursed their negronis, dark and bitter with just enough bite, while the ladies sipped lemon drops—tart, sweet, and chilled nicely.

“This is what luxury tastes like,” Stack said, popping a fry into his mouth and leaning back with a satisfied hum.

Mary raised her glass toward Annie. “That’s ‘cause our girl knows what she’s doing.”

Annie just smiled, letting her fingers trail over the base of her glass. “Only the best for y'all.”

After a moment of savoring their food and enjoying each other's company, the band’s saxophonist stepped forward, mic in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, the soul of Pearline’s—Miss Pearline herself!”

The lights shifted, casting a warm spotlight on the stage just as Pearline emerged from backstage. She strutted toward the mic stand with slow, sultry confidence. Her presence alone commanded the room. She grasped the microphone with intention, her fingers adorned with delicate gold rings, while Sammie joined the band—his foot stomping to start the beat of the song. The rest of the band followed suit, feet thundering in unison like a summoning drum, ushering her into the music.

Then, her voice—rich, raw, and velvet-smooth—cut through the air.

"Ooh, ooh Mm-hm, mm-hm Mm-hm, mm-hm Oh, pale moon rising over the pines, come Lawd away until the sun does rise Leave the day by the, by the door, I don't Care if sun don't shine once more, that's what I said"

A current surged through the lounge. Even Smoke, usually the embodiment of cool restraint, found his fingers tapping against his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. The crowd came alive—feet stomping, hands clapping, the rhythm infecting every corner of the space.

As Pearline’s hips swayed and her voice soared, she stepped down from the stage gracefully, weaving through the crowd. She didn’t just perform—she shared the song. Women stood to join her, drawn into the spell she cast. Mary was on her feet first, dragging Annie with her as laughter bubbled from both of them.

“Y’all better move!” Mary yelled over the music, her curls bouncing as she hyped Pearline up.

Annie laughed, joining in the stomps and claps, her red dress hugging her curves with every twist and sway. Pearline moved between them, harmonizing with two background singers as the lyrics rang out.

"Ain't no love in the heat of the sun Keep on workin' 'til the dollar's won From the crow of the rooster to the morning dove Sing my song when the day is done"

The final note lingered in the air, followed by an eruption of applause, whistles, and the low hum of delighted conversation.

“Girl, you did that!” Annie praised breathlessly, grabbing Pearline’s hand in a high five, her eyes shining with pride. She felt like a proud big sister watching her shine.

Pearline beamed, her smile radiant as she glided back up to the stage and gently returned the mic to its stand. Sammie stepped forward, looping an arm around her waist.

“Give it up again for my baby y’all!” His voice boomed with pride, deep and smooth. The room answered in cheers as the couple shared a soft, lingering kiss, earning more whistles and playful teasing from the crowd.

Pearline swayed back toward the girls, her energy still electric, while Sammie stayed center stage.

“So clearly,” he said with a chuckle, “this place is named after the woman I love.” He looked across the room at Pearline, his eyes softening. “Seems only right, considerin’ the only thing I love almost as much as her is music.”

More “awws” and whistles followed, and he winked before continuing. “I gotta thank her, Annie, and Mary for their unwavering encouragement and partnership. And last but certainly not least—my cousins Smoke and Stack. They more like my brothers, and I wouldn’t wanna build this place with anybody else.” His gaze landed on each of them, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t know where I’d be without their guidance, love, and support.”

The ladies blew him kisses while the twins lifted their glasses in salute, proud and still grinning.

Sammie chuckled. “Ya see, we come from a lil ol' town in Mississippi named Clarksdale. Back home they call me Preacher Boy, on account of my daddy bein’ a man of the cloth.”

Laughter rippled through the audience.

“He used to say if I kept dancin’ with the devil, meanin’ the blues, one day he’d follow me home.” He paused, eyes glinting with mischief. “But far as I can tell, all blues ever brought me was freedom.”

He slung his guitar over his torso, adjusting the strap as the room grew still with anticipation.

“So this one’s for my daddy. Hope y’all like it.”

He plucked the strings with soulful ease, the guitar crying out in rich, aching notes.

“Somethin' I been wantin’ to tell ya for a long time... It might hurt you, hope you don’t lose your mind..."

The band joined him, stomping their feet once more, pulling everyone into the rhythm of his truth.

"Well, I was just a boy, ‘bout eight years old You threw me a Bible on that Mississippi road See, I love ya, Papa, you did all you could do They say the truth hurts, so I lie to you Yes, I lied to you I love the blues…”

Sammie’s voice poured out like honey over gravel—rich, aching, and smooth. It wrapped around the room and didn’t let go. The men nodded in quiet agreement with the beat, their expressions solemn and knowing. The women, drawn in by the slow pull of the music, swayed their hips seductively to the beat.

Annie felt Smoke’s stare heavy on her backside, his gaze smoldering. She didn’t need to turn to know Stack was doing the same to Mary, who twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and grinned to herself.

“Mm-mm Ohohoh, mm-mm Hey! Somebody take me in your arms tonight, well alright”

The crowd whooped and clapped as Sammie hit a powerful high note with effortless control. An older gentleman, known to most as Delta Slim, took his place at the keys. With fingers smooth as silk and sharp as razors, he played like the piano owed him money. He was family—more uncle than friend to the twins—and his presence alone raised the soul of the room.

“Sang, baby!” Pearline called out proudly from the sidelines, hands cupped around her mouth.

"Somebody take me in your arms tonight”

“Wheeew, boy! We ’bout to make us some money!” Stack hollered, his deep laugh booming as Smoke shook his head, chuckling low beside him.

“I hope you can stand it, stand it all ‘Cause what I’m out here doin’, you didn’t preach at all See, I’m full of the blues, holy water too I know the truth hurts, so I lie to you So preach on, speak your words I know the truth hurts Yes, I lied to you I love the blues I love the blues...”

As the song moved into its final stretch, Sammie stepped closer to the edge of the stage, lifting his hand to direct the audience.

“Sing with me now…”

The crowd followed eagerly, humming and swaying, the entire room moving like one being.

“Mm-hmm Mm-hmm Mm-hmm Yeah, yeah, yeah Hey, hey, oh Mm-hmm I know the truth hurts Hey Lied to you Somebody take me in your arms!”

The crescendo hit like a wave, his voice crashing through the air with such force it felt as if the very windows would burst. Plates vibrated, silverware tingled, and hearts pounded in unison with the beat. Applause exploded before the final note had even fully landed.

Annie blinked back tears that welled in her eyes as chills ran up her spine—not of sadness, not even pride. It felt ancestral. Like spirits of their kin had gathered in joy, hands clapping and feet stomping with them. She quickly dabbed her eyes and clapped, joining in the thunderous standing ovation as Pearline’s heels clicked fast across the floor, arms flung wide to embrace her man.

“I knew Lil Sammie could sing,” Mary hollered over the music as the band struck up a light, jazzy number. “But I ain’t never heard nothin’ like that before.”

“Me neither,” Annie laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Now I see why Smoke kept his mouth shut. That was the best-kept secret, that’s for sure.”

They giggled and clasped hands, spinning each other on the dancefloor like carefree girls in love with life. Laughter spilled between them, joined by the warmth of good company and good food.

But just as they slowed their pace, Mary’s smile dropped, her eyes narrowing at a figure near their table.

“Now I know she sees that ring on his finger,” she said, annoyance evident in her tone.

Annie followed her gaze. A woman with legs too long and a dress too short stood much too close to the twins. Stack was leaning back, twirling a toothpick at the corner of his mouth with a smirk. Smoke, stoic as ever, puffed slowly on a cigar, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Annie’s brow arched. “Mmm,” she hummed before strutting toward them, Mary on her heels.

“You boys twins?” the woman asked, her voice syrupy and too sweet. Smoke nearly rolled his eyes while Stack let out a soft chuckle, amused.

“Nah,” Stack answered dryly, his smile slow and sly. “We cousins.”

The woman giggled, clearly unfazed. “That was silly of me. Of course y’all twins. Fine ones at that.”

Annie nearly scoffed aloud but caught herself.

Girl, you tried it.

“They sure are,” Annie chimed in smoothly, stepping in with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Mary cozied up to Stack, his arm slipping naturally around her shoulders. Annie’s eyes locked with Smoke’s. He raised the cigar to his lips again, but she took his hand, guiding it—and the cigar—toward her mouth. Her crimson lips wrapped around the tip briefly, pulling a slow drag before blowing a stream of smoke in soft rings toward the ceiling.

His eyes darkened, the tension between them crackling like static.

“Hi, baby doll,” he murmured, enthralled. His gold open-face caps glistened under the warm lighting against his teeth.

“Hi, daddy,” she purred back, voice velvet and warm. “Who’s this?”

Smoke barely glanced at the woman. “Oh... uh. What was your name again?” he asked absently, like someone trying to remember what they had for breakfast.

“It’s April,” she snapped, her smile faltering with the realization that she was now completely ignored.

At that moment, Sammie and Pearline reappeared near the front of the stage, preparing to begin a duet.

“Well, April,” Smoke said casually, still not looking at her, “if you’ll excuse us, we’re gonna go dance with our beautiful wives. Have a good night.”

And just like that, he guided Annie toward the dancefloor, Stack following suit with Mary, leaving April dumbfounded in their wake.

Annie’s heart swelled as she rested against him, her heart full.

Wife.

The word echoed sweetly in her ears. She gazed up at his face, lost in him, eyes wide and full of love, the way a woman looks at a man who makes her feel like she’s the only thing that matters in the world. That's exactly how he made her feel everyday.

She never placed marriage on a pedestal—refused to, really, in defiance of the conditioning women had been fed since birth. But with a man like Smoke—a man who respected her, saw her, and always moved with her best interests in mind—marriage didn’t feel like some risky fairytale. With him, it felt natural. Like breathing.

Pearline and Sammie began singing a cover of Fire We Make by Alicia Keys and Maxwell—sultry, smooth, and perfectly tailored to their voices. The chandeliers above dimmed and shifted into a seductive crimson hue, bathing the room in heat and longing. The air felt thick with it.

Smoke pulled Annie flush against him in the center of the dancefloor, his arms wrapped tight and possessive around her waist as they began to sway in sync with the rhythm.

"Hey baby how you doing tonight I wanna let you know, I wanna tell just how I feel Don't wanna love you baby and it's going so right I wanna burn a candle, turn the darkness to the light With the fire we make, it's getting hotter and hotter"

Their eyes stayed locked, unblinking. The lyrics weren’t just music—they were confessions they both had yet to communicate. Annie’s stare was full of hunger and heat, but also anchored in something deeper. Love. Safety. Want. It stirred something primal in him.

Smoke’s brow quirked, and he leaned in, his voice low, rough velvet against her ear. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, cousin and Pearl won’t be the only ones givin’ a show.”

Annie bit her lip, pelvis tightening at the wicked thought of the kind of show he meant. “Just thinkin’.”

"Hi baby, wont you tell me the truth You wanna be the one, you can't stay away Hey darling, don't you mean no excuse We can chase this on, and burn the hole inside you From the fire we make it's getting hotter and hotter Like a moth to a flame, I can't stay away With the fire we make it's getting higher and higher Like the night to the day I can't stay, I can't stay away"

“’Bout what?” he asked, eyes scanning her face like he already knew.

He reached up and gently untangled the gold earring dancing against her jaw, his fingers trailing the delicate curve of her neck. She shivered.

“Wife,” Annie said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

His own smile mirrored hers as he smoothed a tendril of hair back behind her ear, then traced her cheekbone with his thumb like a man memorizing scripture.

"This abyss of the world and it takes us to the stars It's getting higher and higher It's the fire we make it's the fire we make Getting sweeter and sweeter Like a night to a day I can't stay away, say is, no no"

“I’m not takin’ this second chance with you for granted,” he said, voice low but steady. His eyes locked onto hers with devotion. “Those years without you? They felt hollow. Nobody’s ever seen me the way you do. And I’ve never tried to understand anybody the way I try to understand you. I spent that time fuckin’ up, learnin’ from it, becomin' the man I always wanted to be... the man I wish my father had been.”

His grip on her waist tightened slightly, grounding himself in her. “It all led me back to you. I ain’t sayin’ we gotta rush... but I know what I want and that's to be your husband.”

Her breath hitched, tears gathering in her eyes. Every word burrowed into her soul and settled there. “I want that too,” she said, barely above a whisper. “On one condition.”

He smirked. “What’s that?”

“I’m hyphenating my last name. It’s a piece of Mama I’m never giving up.”

Smoke nodded without hesitation. “Of course. But don’t think I’m proposin’ to you in the middle of this lounge,” he said with a grin, brushing his lips across her forehead. “When I do, you’ll know it. And you won’t be sharin’ that day with anyone or anything but me.”

He turned her in his arms, pressing her back against his chest. She relaxed into him, eyes fluttering shut as his lips found the crook of her neck and shoulder. The brush of his beard against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

"I wanna tell you, I wanna love you, I just wanna stay with you I can't be done, just can't stay away, I wanna make so much fire with you Baby I wanna go, gonna go, to you darlin' Yeah yeah"

The crowd erupted into applause as the song ended, but Annie and Smoke didn’t even notice. They were still moving, still caught in each other’s pull like gravity.

Smoke gently cupped her jaw, guiding her gaze up to meet his. “I love you... so much.”

“I love you too,” she said, eyes dropping to his lips. And before either of them could say another word, she kissed him—deep and hungry, lipstick be damned.

A low grunt rumbled from Smoke’s lips as he kissed her back with just as much fire. His arousal pressed hard against her ass, thick and undeniable, making her moan softly into his mouth. It felt like they were the only two people in the room—like time had slowed and spun around just them. But as much as he wanted to take her right then and there, the thought of anyone else laying eyes on her in that state made his jaw tighten.

He slowly pulled back from her, reluctant but determined. Before she could even ask, he was already taking her hand, leading her upstairs with purposeful strides into a sleek, modern office space. She barely had time to admire the clean lines and dark wood finish before his strong hands cupped her breasts through her dress, massaging them with hunger. The seat of her thong was soaked with need, her arousal only heightening under his touch.

There was no more saving it for later. Later was now—and the urgency of it, the risk of being heard or even caught, sent a fresh thrill down her spine. The music from the band downstairs would likely cover any sounds, but the chance someone might hear? That alone made her wetter.

She gasped when her breasts were suddenly bare, cool air kissing her sensitive skin. Smoke had undone the bow at the nape of her neck without her even noticing. Her back arched involuntarily as his fingers worked her nipples, rubbing and twirling them until they stood firm, aching for more.

“Can daddy have his pussy now, sweetheart?” he murmured low and thick in her ear, voice coated in lust. “You been temptin’ me all night.”

A breathy moan escaped her. “Yes,” she answered, voice laced with anticipation. Then, with a teasing smirk, “But I thought you said you were puttin’ these pretty lips to work. Had a change of heart?”

That made him pause. A glint sparked in his eyes.

Without a word, he stepped away, walking toward the glossy black office desk. Still holding her gaze, he peeled off his suit jacket and draped it neatly over the back of the leather chair. Then, without breaking eye contact, he undid the buttons of his shirt with quick, precise flicks, metal clinking as he unfastened his belt next. A swift unzip of his slacks and shift of his boxers later, his thick, long dick was in his hand, slowly being stroked with deliberate rhythm.

Annie’s mouth parted slightly, damn near drooling at the sight.

“Thank you for remindin’ me,” he said, voice low and smooth like molasses. He curled his finger at her, beckoning. “Now… come over here so I can do just that.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Annie strutted toward him, eyes locked on his thick length. As she stepped between his legs, his hand reached up, fingers wrapping gently around the front of her neck to pull her into a ravenous kiss. Their mouths moved together in feverish hunger, moans exchanged as their tongues danced and tangled. Her left hand braced against his thigh while the right traveled up to his dick, fingers wrapping around it and stroking with slow, twisting motions.

Smoke grunted at the contact, eyes fluttering shut briefly before he released her neck to let her work. She loved this—pleasing him, taking care of him. The act was intimate, powerful, grounding. Just like him, she’d go to the ends of the earth to make the other smile, to bring peace, pleasure, joy. It was always mutual—physical, emotional, soul-deep.

Red lipstick prints marked a sensual trail down his muscular torso as she lowered herself to her knees. The layers of her dress fanned out around her, giving her just enough cushion. Her hand kept stroking his shaft while her lips wrapped around the swollen head, delivering slow, savoring sucks. His head fell back, bottom lip caught between his teeth, breath short and sharp.

Annie moaned as she sucked him deeper, her hands now splayed against his strong thighs. Smoke’s hand slid to the back of her head, fingers splayed as their eyes met once more.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, voice hoarse, hips subtly rocking in rhythm with the sultry number the band played downstairs. He began thrusting into her mouth, slow but deliberate. Pleased with the praise, Annie moaned again, the sound vibrating down his shaft. She relaxed her throat, letting him hit the back as she matched his pace, one hand sliding to gently cup and massage his balls.

Smoke let out a low, guttural groan. “Fuck… mmm. You want daddy to cum in that pretty mouth? Hm, baby doll?”

“Mhm,” she purred, his length muffling her voice.

Wet smacks and slick suction sounds filled the office as she devoured him like a woman on a mission. Her saliva spilled down her chin, dripping between her breasts. An idea sparked in her head.

His shaft throbbed against her tongue as his climax neared, and just before it hit, Annie pulled back with a sultry gleam in her eye. Rising onto her knees, she cupped her full breasts and sandwiched his slick shaft between them. Pressing them tightly around him, she glided them up and down his length.

Smoke hissed through his teeth. “Shit…”

She knew how much he adored her breasts—touching them, sucking them, burying his face in them—but this? This was new. And her boldness wrapped around his restraint and yanked.

“Fuck, girl…” he muttered, jaw tight as his hips began to thrust, titty-fucking her with increasing urgency. He slipped his thumb between her lips and she sucked it without hesitation, eyes locked on his like a challenge.

Then with a groan, his release hit—warm ropes of cum coating her chest as he growled, “Oooh, such a good fuckin’ girl.”

His thumb slipped from her lips with a soft pop, then wiped the spit trailing down her chin. He cupped her jaw, pulling her into a deep, possessive kiss. Their mouths melded in a passionate exchange before his hands dropped to her waist, gripping firmly as he maneuvered their bodies to switch places with practiced ease.

Now with Annie’s back to him, Smoke didn’t waste a second. He yanked her thong down with urgency, bunching her dress around her waist. Her breath hitched as cool air kissed her exposed skin, followed by the warm press of his fingers against her slick folds. Her moans spilled out instantly.

Meanwhile, Annie swiped two fingers through his cum on her chest, trailing it to her nipples and circling them teasingly, adding another layer of stimulation.

“Mmm... wet ass pussy,” he murmured against her ear, voice low and raspy as his hand slid up to gently grip her throat. “She needs me, doesn’t she, baby?” he asked before slipping two fingers inside her, deep and deliberate.

She whimpered, her knees nearly buckling as her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh fuck... yes, daddy. Please,” she begged, voice trembling.

Smoke pressed soft, adoring kisses to her cheek, her jaw, the length of her neck—watching her every expression. He was under her spell. Watching her unravel was his favorite part of making love to her. It never lost its thrill, and he knew he wanted to watch her come undone like this for the rest of his life.

“There’s somethin’ I need from you first,” he said with a smirk in his voice.

Before she could ask, his fingers began pumping her harder, faster—precise strokes against her spongy g-spot while his palm repeatedly brushed against her clit. The sudden intensity ripped a high-pitched squeal from her.

She knew exactly what he wanted.

And she didn’t fight it.

Because what daddy wants, he gets.

Her orgasm tore through her like lightning, thighs shaking as her release splashed onto his hand and down her legs, wetting the hardwood beneath them in a small puddle. Her hands slammed onto the desk to keep her balance. Had it not been for the band playing below, their guests would’ve easily heard the symphony of moans and cries raining down from the second floor.

Annie whimpered and shuddered as the aftershocks seized her body. “Hmmmm, shit!”

Smoke’s low, satisfied chuckle rumbled against her ear. “Good girl,” he praised, gently stroking her sensitive pussy, helping her glide back down from the high he'd so expertly pulled from her.

Once she had calmed down, delicate kisses trailed up the top of her back to the base of her neck. A shiver rolled through her as she felt the thick, bulbous head of Smoke’s dick gliding teasingly through her slick folds, gathering her wetness but not yet entering her.

Before she could beg him to fuck her, his grip tightened—right hand clamping down on her shoulder while the left took hold of her waist. With one powerful pull, he guided her back onto his shaft as she bent forward.

She hissed through her teeth in pleasure. “Oooh, yes, baby,” she moaned, long and needy, her eyes rolling back before fluttering shut. Every girthy inch of him filled her slowly, every ridge of his shaft dragging against her aching walls with maddening precision.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, watching as his dick disappeared into her, coated in her arousal. The wet clap of their bodies meeting echoed off the walls as his pace quickened. Their moans wove together, rising and falling like a sensual melody, each thrust drawing them deeper into a euphoric haze. But it still wasn’t enough. No amount of her ever was. Annie always left Smoke hungry for more—starving even.

He gripped her right leg and lifted it, bracing her knee on the edge of the desk. The position made her spread wider, fully open, utterly his. He drove into her harder, deeper, fucking her like he couldn’t get close enough.

The sound of her moans, the rhythm of their breathing, the heat between them—it all built into something wild and consuming.

“Mhm, that’s it. Gimme this pussy,” he grunted, landing a sharp smack on her ass. Her walls pulsed around him, gripping him tight as creamy white arousal gathered at the base of his dick.

“Yessss, cream on it,” he groaned with another slap. “Show me how much you love this dick, baby.”

Annie whined, her breath catching with each relentless thrust. His deep strokes and filthy praise had her unraveling, the ache between her thighs twisting tighter and tighter.

“Da-Daddy… uunh!” she whimpered.

“I got you, baby. Give it to me,” he urged, voice low and commanding. She couldn’t deny him if she tried.

“Elijah…” she gasped, her nudey pink nails clawing at the desk for leverage, trying to ground herself.

He leaned down, tongue dragging up the sheen of sweat along her spine to the nape of her neck before planting a kiss there.

“That’s right,” he growled against her skin. “Tell them who you belong to.”

His name poured from her lips like a prayer as she shattered—body trembling, pussy quivering around him in a tight, uncontrollable climax. Her orgasm consumed her, every nerve lit and raw, her voice caught between sobbing moans and broken cries.

Smoke’s restraint crumbled. He bit his bottom lip hard, fighting his own release as he continued to pound into her. But he needed more.

Suddenly, he pulled out and swiftly turned her over, laying her flat on her back. His hands pushed her thighs up and back, opening her wide again.

“Just one more, baby,” he murmured, slipping back inside her like he never left.

Her cries floated up to the ceiling—soft, wrecked, overwhelmed. She hadn’t even started to recover, and already he was digging for that spot that made her scream. One hand clutched the back of her thigh, the other gripped his forearm like an anchor.

Her eyes clamped shut just as his fingers found her clit, strumming it in time with his strokes.

That was it. The fire between them exploded into an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Fuck, Annie,” he groaned with one final, powerful thrust as he emptied himself deep inside her. Their moans tangled together in a raw, perfect duet.

Breathless, he collapsed forward, capturing her mouth in a slow, loving kiss. His fingers brushed the damp tendrils of hair from her flushed face, reverent even in the afterglow.

After a few more kisses, Annie felt the absence of his warmth. The soft click of the office bathroom door let her know where he’d gone, but she hadn’t yet summoned the strength to lift even one eyelid. Her body still hummed, boneless and spent.

Minutes passed, then her hips jerked slightly at the sudden warm pressure between her thighs.

“Shhh, baby,” Smoke soothed, crouched between her legs with a damp cloth. She whimpered quietly, still tender, still sensitive. He moved with care, wiping her down with featherlight precision.

A second cloth followed, warm and wet, this time dabbing the sticky mess from her chest with the same patience. She swore she could feel the pride in his touch—like he was handling something sacred.

When he finished, his hands enveloped hers and gently pulled her upright. He kissed her—slow, soft, and lingering.

“I promise I’ll put you to sleep when we get home,” he murmured against her lips. “Now, go pee. I’ll grab your bag.”

And with that, he turned and slipped out, quietly closing the door behind him. Somewhere in the haze, she realized he’d already redressed.

She sighed deeply, letting the moment sink in, before finally peeling her eyes open and rising to her feet. Moving gingerly, she made her way to the bathroom.

After flushing the toilet, she washed her hands and paused to study her reflection.

Messy lipstick? Check.

Tousled hair? Check.

Thoroughly fucked and utterly in love?

Check. And check.

A giggle bubbled up from her chest. Smoke made her feel so damn free—unapologetically herself. She used to think she could never do something this bold, this wild, in public. But with him? She felt protected. Cherished. Unleashed.

As she reached for the straps of her dress, the door opened. Smoke reappeared with her purse in hand, setting it gently on the marble counter.

“Let me,” he offered, stepping behind her.

She let go of the fabric and he took over, retying the straps into a secure bow at the back of her neck, adjusting it until her breasts sat right. Then his arms wrapped around her middle and his chin rested on her shoulder, eyes locked on her reflection while she touched up her makeup.

She giggled, tossing him a playful kiss in the mirror. He smiled, slow and genuine, his thumb brushing across her hip absentmindedly.

A few moments later, she gave herself one final once-over and turned to him. “Good?”

“Perfect,” he replied without hesitation.

He took her hand, fingers laced, and led her back downstairs.

As they reached their table, Sammie and Pearline were seated, happily indulging in a new round of small plates. Across from them sat Stack and Mary, looking equally satisfied.

“Y’all make me an uncle while y’all were gone?” Stack asked with his signature slick smirk.

A round of muffled laughter and exchanged glances swept through the table.

Smoke turned to his twin, one brow arched high. “Aye, Mary,” he called, eyes still on Stack.

“Yes, brother?” she answered cautiously, already sensing the trap as she glanced between them.

“How’s that storage closet ceilin' holdin’ up?” he asked, wearing a near-identical smirk.

"Oop," Pearline squeaked under her breath.

Mary gasped, hand flying to her mouth as the memory of her recent midday quickie with Stack hit her like a runaway train.

“Oh, you playin’ dirty now,” Stack said, chuckling and shaking his head.

“Checkmate, lil’ brother,” Smoke replied coolly, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

The night flowed on in easy rhythm—full of laughter, good conversation, and the low hum of live music. Annie and Smoke stayed close, attached at the hip. He kept his promise when they returned home, rocking her to sleep in every way he knew how.

And just before sleep claimed him, his thoughts drifted to the little black velvet box hidden in the back corner of his walk-in closet.

To be continued...

𝄞₊ ⊹₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ˚₊⊹ ₊𝄞━━⊱⋆⊰━━𝄞₊ ⊹₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ˚₊⊹ ₊𝄞

Is that wedding bells I hear? I hope y'all loved this as much as I loved writing it. I had the Sinners soundtrack playing as I got lost in this. I HAVE to go see it again. Glad I saw it in IMAX first. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys. xoxo

𝄞₊ ⊹₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ˚₊⊹ ₊𝄞━━⊱⋆⊰━━𝄞₊ ⊹₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ˚₊⊹ ₊𝄞

Taglist:

@slvt4her @wanderingreigns @avoidthings @xjjawsomex @that-one-anxious-mango @wabi-sabi1090 @nubiawrites @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kianaleani @slutsareteacherstoo @slyy-foxx @dxddykenn @moujg @naughtynolly @wildcardmelaninfreak @pocketsizedpanther @wabi-sabi1090 @styleismyaddiction @novahreign @transparentphantomface @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @babymelaninn @jasmynn05 @notapradagurl7 @starcrossedxwriter @irefusetobeacasualty @bigjh @syko-jpg @akjonthebeat @margepimpson @diamondsinterlude @brownsugarcoffy @shamansha @samiecemonet-blog @nebulamilkyway

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brownskincheyenne · 3 months ago

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Honestly I am not a writer but was thinking about the paternal side of smoke when he taught the little girl about negotiating! It was an epic part of the film that I think shows so much of his character as a father figure.. so what if his baby girl would’ve lived. I think that scene showed parallels to if she would’ve lived, how he would have been in a way. Idk my first ever anything !

“ Papa!! Papa look what I got “ the young girl shrilled excitedly as she ran into the front yard. Smoke had turned to quickly see his baby girl barreling towards him. He snatched her up before she could run face front into his lower half.

“ whoa slow down baby girl, you nearly knocked papa off his feet” he said with a chuckle. “ awe papa nobody can knock YOU down, not even uncle stack!“ his little girls faced twisted in a sly grin that mirrored his twin as she looked at him & said “cept mama.” she beamed at her papa and he looked at her bashfully knowing she was telling the truth.

“ what’s got you so in a hurry ? “ he asked his beautiful little girl. She slowly opened her tiny hand to show him the nickel that lay upon it. Smoke raised his eyebrows and scrunched his face in mild confusion. Not that he didn’t know what a nickel was, but because he didn’t understand the cats meow about a nickel. He had always given his baby girl the world. She never knew what it felt like to wake up before God to go and pick cotton, she never had to feel the burn of the Mississippi sun beating down on her back and she didn’t have to feel the blood drip from her hands because of the hard dried pericarp of cotton. And as long as he lived and breathed she would never know that life, sharecropper was another word for slave, and she would never know the feeling of being either. She was down right spoiled, let her mama tell it. “ she’ont know the meaning of the word no when it comes to you Elijah” he could hear Annie telling him when he brought her home a new doll or teddy. This was his purpose though, when he found out Annie was pregnant it grounded him.

She and the baby stabilized him. He realized he could no longer be the man who cared about nothing except protecting his brother, he had to protect himself so he could be there to protect his wife & little one. He had decided he was done with robbing and scheming and the money he had saved up he opened a shop, a shop by day servicing the black folk of the community and a juke joint by night, giving freedom to hard day and week they put in. It was so successful stack even had to invest in the business. So it puzzled him because his baby girl had plenty of nickels in the jar her mama gave her as a piggy bank, what was so special about this one?

“You got a nickel from ya bank ?” Smoke asked his little girl. She shook her head and said “ no papa, I got it from cousin Sammie” “Sammie ?” Smoke question raising his right eyebrow, what Sammie give you a nickel for ? “

“ he tried to give me a wooden nickel, said he needed me to watch out for uncle Jed while he go walk a lady down the road.” Smokes brows raised high to meet the lining of his hair he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “ he wanted you to do what now ?” “ but I told him I’m not watchin less he give me a real nickel, then he said he give me two wooden nickels.” She raised her index and her middle fingers to emphasize the number two. Smoke stared in disbelief as his daughter recounted the story. “I said 1 nickel or I’m not watching for you. He aint want too but he gave me the nickel see papa” Alisha ( Ali for short) held the nickel in between her and her papa eyeing it with pride. He couldn’t help but smile a big wide grin. Both of their deep dimples showing while he held her as she looked at the nickel and he looked at her. His heart burst with love. Ever since she could talk, which was the age of 3 , he started teaching her the ways to negotiate and stand up for herself. He would always be there, but he knew he carried a lot of sins from his past and one day that might catch up. So he wanted to teach her everything he knew so she wouldn’t be vulnerable to the ways of man. Negotiating was the first lesson. Knowing your worth and what you have to offer. He beamed with pride as he kissed her little dimple and held her close and said “ that’s papas baby girl”

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woodle-isbae · 4 months ago

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Having to say this is so weird..but

Sammie won't ever Date Remmick.

I get it's fiction and stuff, but there's a point where we need to think whole heartedly...Remmick talks about a WIFE, Sammie ate out pearline AND named a bar after her.

AND

Remmick becomes Sammie's oppressor towards the end of the movie. There's dark romance, and then there's just forcing unnecessary plots to feel included.

Unfortunately Sinners was not a movie for queer people, it was a movie for BLACK people.

There is 0 reason why Bo Chow, Remmick and fucking BERT!?!? of all people...have more fanfics than the main characters, the focus of the movie, the drivers of the plot🤦🏾‍♀️.

I'm an open person, I'll accept anyone for nearly anything, but it gets to a point where we can't enjoy anything because a certain...group comes in and washes out the whole point of a show/movie/book ect.

Sinners is not the media you can find queer or white representation at all. If you're looking for that, this is NOT the place for you

- Aza

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twistedsistas-stuff · 2 months ago

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Private Show

Club Owners SmokeStack X Reader

Pt 2 Here

The club smelled like sweat, perfume, and cheap ambition. Laser lights cut through the haze while some no-name track off a scratched Ginuwine CD tried to make the moment sexy.

Stack sat back in that wide leather chair like a man bored at church, one arm draped lazy over the side, the other nursin’ a glass of brown. His gold watch caught the light every time he shifted. Smoke leaned on the arm beside him, a half-smirk tucked beneath that toothpick he never took out his mouth.

Another girl was up. She spun half-hearted on the pole, heels clackin’ off beat, body rollin’ like her bones didn’t quite agree with the music.

Stack let out a quiet breath. “She movin’ like somebody mama at the family reunion after two daiquiris.”

Smoke grinned without lookin’. “Mmm. And not the cute mama either. The one who made that dry-ass macaroni salad.”

Stack sipped his drink. “Shame, too. She fine. But that rhythm? Tragic.”

“She dancin’ like her knees owe child support,” Smoke muttered, crossing one ankle over the other.

Stack chuckled low. “That spin was a hate crime.”

They weren’t unkind—not out loud to her—but the judgments between ‘em cracked like knuckles.

They’d seen talent. Real heat. Girls that could make a whole room hold its breath.

This? This wasn’t that.

Stack leaned forward just a bit, shadows carving deep under his jaw.

“She got one more spin ‘fore I cut the track.”

Smoke took the toothpick out his mouth just to say, “If she fall, I’m takin’ my drink back.”

The girl slipped. Right on cue.

Stack hit the remote.

Music died. Lights stayed hot.

She blinked down at ‘em, sweat on her brow, chest heaving.

Stack didn’t raise his voice. Just tilted his chin.

“Next.”

Smoke shook his head. “Lawd. Can’t even lie, I felt bad for the pole.”

Stack didn’t smile, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed him. “We ain’t here for charity. I need somebody who can own that floor.”

“We need a star, Stack. Not a stumbler.”

“You need somebody who make the room shut up and pay attention.”

Stack downed the rest of his drink and leaned back again, settling into the shadows like a king waitin’ on a better contender.

“Send the next one.”

The hallway outside the main room lit up with the slam of a door.

That girl—tan tights ripped at the thigh, lip gloss smudged—stormed out fast, mutterin’ something about “they don’t know real talent.”

But ain’t nobody chased after her.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, one hip cocked like you didn’t care—but your stomach was knotted tight.

You’d been listenin’ through the walls. The bassline. The mutters. The music cuttin’ off sudden.

They was in there takin’ names and crushin’ dreams like empty beer cans.

Mary popped her gum beside you, cool as ever, like she wasn’t up next.

Skinny, pale thing. No ass to speak of, just a little apple swingin’ in a room full of peaches and plums.

But she moved like she had somethin’ to prove. Sharp little walk. Collarbones cuttin’. And attitude to match.

She fixed the strap on her heel, then stood like she was on a runway. “Aight,” she said, snapping her waistband, “Watch how it’s done.”

You almost laughed.

Not ‘cause you ain’t respect her hustle—but because that was confidence you couldn’t fake.

Truth was—you ain’t never wanted this. Not the stage. Not the lights. Not the eyes. But if men was gon’ stare anyway… might as well make ‘em pay for it.

You needed money. Real money. And fast.

Mary ain’t need this the same way. Not like you. You were the kind of girl who had to survive every night.

She was the kind that could leave and be fine.

Still, you watched her walk toward the door, spine straight, heels clickin’. Watched her vanish into the smoke of that main room, where the music lived and died on Stack’s say-so.

The girls in the back room fell quiet.

And you?

You leaned against the wall and waited your turn.

The lights had settled low again, casting long shadows across the velvet floor.

Stack swirled the last of his drink in the glass, the ice clickin’ soft. Smoke had taken to lightin’ a Black & Mild, though it hung mostly unbothered from his lips, ash crooked and long.

“You think the next one gon’ have some sense?” Smoke asked, voice dry.

Stack didn’t answer. Just watched the stage, that same slow lean in his spine, like a man waitin’ for the earth to shift.

Then—heels.

Sharp clicks on the hardwood. A silhouette in the fog.

Mary.

Skinny little thing with that slick ponytail and walk like a mean girl in study hall. She stepped out onto the stage like she belonged there, not even glancin’ at the pole yet.

She grabbed the mic by the DJ booth—somethin’ none of the others dared do.

“Name’s Mary,” she said, chin up, voice loud. “Y’all can call me Duce.”

Smoke leaned forward, brow raised. “Duce? What that even mean?”

“Probably some white girl sh*t,” Stack muttered, but his eyes didn’t leave the stage.

Then the music hit.

Not trap. Not soul. Not slow.

It was No Doubt—“Just a Girl”—that sharp drum kick and Gwen’s voice blarin’ through the club like a dare.

Stack blinked once.

Mary—Duce—hit that stage like she ain’t got nothin’ to prove but everything to sell. She didn’t swing her hips low, didn’t crawl like the others. She bounced, spun, popped her little apple like it had weight. Arms up, hair whippin’, attitude electric.

She hit that pole with precision—not sensual, but controlled. Like a gymnast raised in chaos.

Smoke made a face. “Mmm. I ain’t feelin’ this. She bouncin’ like a wind-up doll.”

Stack tilted his head. “She workin’ it, though.”

“For who?” Smoke asked, side-eye hard. “That’s for the frat boys and trailer park bar tabs. We tryin’ to sell champagne and sin, not Monster energy.”

Stack didn’t laugh. Just kept his gaze steady. “Don’t matter. Room quiet.”

And it was. For the first time all night, the club hushed.

She flipped over, legs up the pole, upside down with her back arched like a drawn bow. Hit the floor and slid into a split like she didn’t weigh nothin’. Stood up again and winked directly at Stack.

Smoke groaned. “Aight, hell nah. She winked at you? That’s why you entertainin’ this?”

Stack smirked. Just barely. “She bold. I like bold.”

“She white,” Smoke said flat. “You got all these peaches in here and you lookin’ at that lil green apple like it’s forbidden fruit.”

Stack finally chuckled, deep and slow. “Ain’t about color. It’s about command. And she got the room.”

Mary twirled once more, breath comin’ hard now, sweat glintin’ on her collarbones, and ended with a sharp bow. No smile. Just the walk-off—cool, collected, heels clickin’ into the silence she owned.

The music cut.

Stack leaned forward. “Keep her name. I want her on Friday rotation.”

Smoke sucked his teeth. “She ain’t even shake nothin’ proper.”

“She ain’t have to,” Stack said, standin’ now, shadows stretchin’ behind him. “She made folks shut up. That’s the first rule.”

He handed Smoke his empty glass. “Next.”

Mary pushed through the door, ponytail swayin’, heels clackin’ loud with her exit. Still buzzin’ off her own performance.

But you were already standin’ there—leaned on the wall, arms folded, weight on one leg like you owned gravity.

She saw you. You saw her.

Didn’t say a damn word.

Just looked her dead in the face. Cold. Clean.

That kind of look that said: Cute show, bitch. Now let me show you how a woman moves.

Mary hesitated. Just for a second. Then kept walkin’.

You turned, stepped through the door slow, your breath deep and full—like you were breathin’ in the stage. The lights. The weight of the floor.

Stack and Smoke looked up.

No heels echo yet. No music. Just you.

You ain’t announce yourself with a mic. You walked right into the center of that room like you’d been here before, voice cool and full when you finally said:

“Evenin’.”

That voice—smooth like syrup but with a low edge, like trouble sweetened just enough to taste.

Stack sat up straight first. Eyes narrowed. That lazy sprawl he kept all night? Gone. His elbows hit his knees. Chin lifted.

Smoke leaned forward, blinked once. Even the toothpick came out his mouth.

“And you are?” Stack asked, voice low.

You looked at him. Then looked at Smoke.

“I’m the reason y’all about to stop lookin’ for who you need.”

Smoke let out a low “mmm.”

Then the music hit.

“Back to Life” by Soul II Soul. That slow bounce. That bassline smooth like hips in silk. That beat with breath built in.

You ain’t rush it.

Didn’t hit that pole right away. You started with your back turned. One hand slid down your thigh, the other in your hair, hips movin’ like smoke off a match tip.

You didn’t dance fast like Mary. You didn’t crawl slow like molasses either.

You moved like you knew exactly what every man in the room wanted—before they did.

That balance of tease and confidence. Power and grace. You rolled your hips and dipped low, flipped your hair like a question with no answer, and when you finally touched that pole?

Stack whispered, “God damn.”

You swung out clean, legs long, back arched just enough, never sloppy, never out of control. You used the music like it was made for your body.

Smoke let out a breath like he’d been holdin’ it. “That’s it.”

Stack didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“She don’t need the pole,” Smoke said. “She is the pole.”

You turned, caught their eyes mid-spin, and that look? Direct. Unapologetic. You didn’t flirt. You dared.

Smoke sat back. Then leaned forward again. “Club ain’t just quiet, Stack. They froze. Like she Medusa or somethin’.”

Stack nodded, eyes still on you. “Nah. Worse. She the prayer and the punishment.”

You dropped low. Split. Slow drag up the pole with your back to them. Then turned and strutted straight up to the edge of their platform, sweat gleamin’ down your chest.

No smile. Just breathin’. Just eyes.

Just silence thick enough to swallow the room whole.

Music faded. Still nobody moved.

Neither said a word for a moment.

Then Stack cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “You hired.”

You were still breathin’ hard, sweat clingin’ light to your collarbones, chest risin’ slow as the music died out behind you.

No one spoke for a second.

Then Smoke raised one hand—lazy but deliberate—and the waiter snapped to attention like he’d been waitin’ on that cue all night.

“Bring another round,” Smoke said, eyes still on you.

Stack didn’t move. Just studied you—jaw locked, throat shiftin’ like he just swallowed somethin’ that burned on the way down.

“You drink?” he asked, voice low, like he already knew the answer.

You tilted your head. “If it’s good.”

Smoke chuckled. “Everything here good. ‘Specially tonight.”

Stack nodded slow, eyes draggin’ over you one more time. “Have a seat.”

You didn’t hesitate. Just turned and dropped right there—on the stage edge in front of them. Legs hangin’ down casual, like you was born up high.

Your knee brushed Stack’s.

He looked down fast—like the contact caught him off guard, like his whole train of thought skipped a rail. His fingers twitched on his thigh.

But when he looked back up?

You were already lookin’ at him.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Just… watched.

Smoke leaned back in his chair, grinnin’ like the devil in silk. “Well, damn.”

The waiter returned with the tray—dark liquor in low glasses. Smoke reached out, grabbed one, then passed it straight to you.

You took it, fingers grazin’ his just enough to feel the heat.

Stack picked up his own, but didn’t drink yet.

“So what you lookin’ for?” Smoke asked. “You want night shifts? Feature sets? Talk to us.”

You swirled the liquor in your glass, eyes not leavin’ Stack. “I want top billing. A cut of my pull. And I want the good music—not that tired sh*t y’all keep runnin’ for the other girls.”

Stack raised an eyebrow.

Smoke let out a low whistle. “She negotiatin’ already.”

“I ain’t here to crawl,” you said, voice calm. “I came to work. I came to earn.”

Stack finally took a sip. Then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. That gold chain around his neck caught the light—so did the heat behind his stare.

“You came to build somethin’?”

“I came to make money,” you corrected. “And you look like the kind of man who don’t mind sharin’ when he see return on investment.”

Smoke nodded. “Sh*t, I like her.”

Stack nodded once. “Two weeks. Feature nights. We’ll see your pull.”

You raised your glass. “You gon’ see more than that.”

Stack clinked his glass against yours—sharp. Final.

Smoke lifted his next. “Welcome to Elysian. Where heaven’s earned.”

You smirked. “I ain’t lookin’ for heaven, baby. Just a good stage and a fatter envelope.”

Stack and Smoke were still talkin’ numbers, percentages, music rotation—big boss talk—but you already knew you had it in the bag. Ain’t need to keep sellin’ yourself.

You slid off the stage smooth, heels kissin’ the floor soft as satin. Your glass still in your hand, your body humming with leftover heat, that slow kind you don’t rush off.

You’d just slipped past the curtain when you heard Stack murmur, “Call one more.”

The DJ’s voice crackled overhead:

“Next up… Annie.”

Your head whipped around before you could think.

”Annie?”

And there she was—steppin’ out that back hallway, all hips and honey, skin kissed deep by the Delta sun, big curls piled on top her head like a crown she never took off.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

“Annie?” you called, stepping forward.

She looked up—and the second she saw you, her whole face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Bitch, shut up!” she half-laughed, already movin’ toward you.

Y’all met in the middle of that hallway like homegirls who’d been through some things—tight hug, arms locked, hips swayin’ with joy.

“I thought you was gone,” she said, eyes wide, voice thick with surprise. “I ain’t seen you since—what, Club Magnolias?”

“Girl,” you breathed, smiling. “Since forever. You still dancin’?”

Annie rolled her eyes playful. “Makin’ just enough to stay in trouble.”

You laughed, clinking your glass lightly against her nail-tapped hand.

“They treatin’ you good in there?” she asked, chin noddin’ toward the stage.

You shrugged. “Just made ‘em sit up straight. Might’ve made Stack blush.”

Annie’s brows rose. “Stack? Blush?”

“Swear to God.”

She laughed, deep and rich, then the DJ’s voice buzzed again, calling her name soft.

She sighed, pulling her straps up.

“I gotta go shake it for the bosses now. You stickin’ around?”

“I might,” you said. “Ain’t seen you spin in a minute.”

Annie grinned over her shoulder as she stepped onto the stage, hips already rollin’ light.

“Then get comfy, baby. I’m ‘bout to remind ‘em what sin really look like.”

And just like that, she vanished into the light and smoke.

You stayed just behind the curtain, glass loose in your hand, leanin’ on the wall now with a smile curled at the corners of your mouth.

Annie was up.

They ain’t ready.

She stepped out into that low golden light with a slow roll of her shoulders, her body carved like Sunday blessing and summer heat. Thighs thick, stomach soft, arms strong like she carried love and hurt both in ‘em.

Stack was still seated when she walked out, but Smoke? He straightened up a little. That lazy lean gone.

Annie didn’t speak—just let her eyes find theirs, one by one, then settle on Smoke like she already had a plan for him.

He blinked.

“Say Yes” by Floetry came in slow. Real slow. That moan of a bassline, that whisper-smooth vocal.

Stack took a sip of his drink. “Ain’t that your song?” he muttered to Smoke, real low.

But Smoke didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Annie stepped to the beat like she was dancin’ in honey, every move full and deliberate. She ain’t speed it up—she let the music hold her, like a slow grind prayer.

And the thing was—everybody always underestimated Annie.

Too thick. Too quiet.

But you’d seen it.

You knew when Annie danced, the damn clouds paused to watch.

She dropped low, thighs spread wide and slow, rolled her hips like a tide just starting to pull—and looked dead at Smoke while she did it.

No smile.

Just that look.

Smoke exhaled deeply

Stack laughed soft. “She got you stuck, huh?”

“She real graceful for somebody so…” Smoke paused, caught himself.

Stack raised a brow.

“Thick?” he offered.

Smoke shook his head. “Nah. That ain’t the word. She… full. Like she got her own gravity.”

Stack watched as Annie climbed the pole just a little—just enough to flip slow and come down with a bounce that had the whole damn room leanin’ forward.

“She floatin’,” Smoke muttered.

Stack nodded. “She choosin’ you.”

“Huh?”

“Look at her. She ain’t flirtin’ with the crowd. She flirtin’ with you.”

And she was.

Every swivel of her hips lined up to where Smoke sat. Every arch of her back gave him a front-row seat. She licked her lips once—once—then slid a hand down the inside of her thigh like an invitation he wasn’t ready for.

Smoke didn’t even try to play cool.

You watched from behind the curtain, smilin’ like you already knew how this scene was gon’ end.

Annie was castin’ spells.

Stack leaned back in his chair, grinning now. “Look at you. Tryna play hard. That girl got your whole spine at attention.”

Smoke didn’t argue.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t look away.

And Annie?

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t rush.

She let the end of “Say Yes” stretch like taffy, slow and warm, every note a thread she was wrappin’ tight ‘round Smoke’s neck.

She turned on her knees, still on the stage, and ran both hands down her own sides, hips rollin’ soft, slow. Then, without a sound, without askin’ permission—she crawled.

Right off the edge of that stage.

Low. Smooth.

Eyes never leavin’ Smoke’s.

He leaned back on instinct, eyes wide but not movin’. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

Stack just sat there watchin’, amused like he knew how this was gon’ play out. Like a man watchin’ his brother get baptized in fire.

Annie reached Smoke, slid her hands up the arms of his chair, her thick thighs nestled right between his legs like she belonged there.

Didn’t sit. Didn’t rush.

She danced on him. No lap grind—this wasn’t desperation. This was control.

She leaned in just close enough for Smoke to feel her breath. Ran a fingertip along the line of his collar.

Let her chest brush his—barely.

Her hips still moved with the music, slow like syrup. Her eyes locked on his.

Smoke’s hands didn’t move. But his breathing did.

He swallowed. Hard.

Stack smirked. “You good?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Annie? She smiled then—just a little. Just enough.

She turned with one final roll of her hips, walked off the same way she came—owned.

And left Smoke sittin’ there like the damn chair was holdin’ him up.

You and Annie were already back in the waiting room, still breathin’ hard from laughin’, flopped down like queens after the war.

“Glued, girl,” you wheezed, “you had that man like his soul left his body.”

Annie wiped her brow, grinnin’ wide. “He was sittin’ so still, I thought he was tryin’ not to pass out.”

Y’all both cracked up again, heads tossed back, no shame in the joy.

Then came the high click of heels.

Mary.

She strolled in like she was the one headlinin’ tonight, arms crossed, ponytail swingin’, lookin’ the both of y’all up and down like you tracked mud in her mama’s kitchen.

“Well ain’t y’all havin’ a moment,” she muttered, eyes narrow.

Annie didn’t even blink. She just looked at you sideways, one brow raised.

You smiled back.

Then together—without even plannin’ it—y’all turned and looked Mary dead in the face.

Silent.

Flat.

Mary rolled her eyes with a huff. “Whatever.”

She flipped her hair and flounced her little apple out the room.

Annie leaned in close. “She don’t know how we get down.”

You smirked. “Not a damn clue.”

“She ain’t never fought barefoot on river mud,” Annie said.

“She don’t know nothin’ about Delta dirt,” you said, voice low now. “Or what it made.”

Annie nodded. “Girls like us? We don’t learn how to dance. We born with it.

Y’all bumped shoulders, breath finally slowin’, still wearin’ that quiet grin that come from knowin’ you run the room even after you leave it.

Stack clapped Smoke on the back, the grin on his face damn near permanent.

“Boy, she climbed down and you turned to stone. I ain’t never seen you fold like that.”

Smoke was still starin’ at nothin’, jaw tight.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

Stack raised a brow. “Uh huh.”

Smoke ran a hand down his face, then looked Stack dead in the eye. “I felt… hypnotized.”

Stack paused.

“She got my vote,” Smoke added, quiet but sure.

Stack let out a low whistle, then nodded. “Well… if she got yours, she got mine too.”

He grinned wide. “Ain’t no point pretendin’ we both wasn’t starin’.”

Smoke didn’t answer. Just shook his head, like he still ain’t believe what just happened.

You and Annie were still loungin’ in the waiting room, settled deep in the aftermath of the show you both just gave. The other girls were scattered—nervous, tryin’ to fake confidence, side-eyein’ y’all like they knew they didn’t measure up but didn’t wanna admit it.

Then the door opened.

Stack walked in first. That slow, easy stride, cigar still tucked behind his ear now, like he forgot it was there.

Smoke followed—less relaxed, jaw tight, brows low.

Stack clapped his hands together once, loud.

“Alright,” he said, voice smooth but cuttin’. “Let’s not drag it out.”

He glanced around, let his eyes pass over a few of the girls near the wall. “If I ain’t call your name, better luck next time.”

Couple girls shifted in their seats. One stood up too fast and had to sit back down, pretendin’ like her heel was twisted.

Stack’s voice rang clean:

“Babygirl and Annie.”

Your head lifted. Annie already had her arms crossed, a knowing look playin’ at her lips.

“You two—come back Friday. Featured spots.”

The room got quiet. Long and awkward.

Stack glanced around, eyes skippin’ past all the other hopefuls, brows drawin’ a little as he squinted. “…Oh. Right.”

He nodded toward the far side of the room. “You too.”

Didn’t even say the girl’s name.

Just “You too.”

That silence came again. One girl let out a shaky exhale, another grabbed her purse fast like she knew her name wasn’t ever gon’ be called.

Stack dusted off his hands like the matter was settled. “Welcome to the team. Don’t be late.”

Smoke was quiet.

Real quiet.

And Annie?

She ain’t said a word either—but she ain’t need to.

She was lookin’ at him.

Eyes steady. Still. Heat behind ‘em like a slow fire set for cookin’ somethin’ tender. She didn’t blink when his gaze slid past hers—just waited.

You saw the shift.

The bob of his Adam’s apple.

The way his stance changed—just a little. Like he needed more room in his own skin.

Stack paused mid-sentence, glancin’ over at his brother. Brow raised.

Smoke cleared his throat.

“Mm,” Stack said low, like it was nothin’. But his eyes flicked between the two of ‘em again.

And then it happened again.

Annie didn’t move, but she pressed, without touchin’ a thing.

Smoke’s jaw clenched, breathin’ deeper now, like the air was too heavy.

Stack caught it this time.

He looked at her, then back at Smoke. Then just huffed out a breath and shook his head.

“Lawd,” he muttered, chucklin’ under his breath.

He turned toward the door. “Alright ladies, that’s it. Be sharp, be early, and bring what you brought tonight.”

He tipped his head as he passed you.

“Good night, baby.”

Then winked.

Quick. Smooth. Like it was nothin’.

But Annie saw it. You felt her clock it.

Her head turned just enough to catch the corner of your grin.

FRIDAY NIGHT.

The dressing room smelled like glitter, cocoa butter, and new money.

Lashes on mirrors, lip gloss tubes open like bullets. Somebody’s baby oil spilled across the counter, mixin’ with the bass thumpin’ from the main room. The crowd out there was already loud—louder than usual.

Because they knew who was on the bill tonight. Top of the flyer in hot red cursive:

FEATURE NIGHT — PEACH & HONEY

Annie sat across from you in front of the mirror, smokin’ a clove with one hand and tightenin’ her garter with the other. Her thighs shimmered in gold body oil, her hair piled wild like a lioness that dared the jungle to try her.

“You ready?” she asked, voice low like a dare.

You smirked. “I been ready.”

Your fit was black and plum, skin peepin’ out from all the right cuts. You ain’t even need a full beat—just liner, gloss, and attitude. The rest? Carried in your walk.

The other girls moved quieter than usual. Some tried not to stare. Some did. Mary was there, still tryin’ to find the rhythm between jealousy and admiration.

“Y’all got the good slots, huh,” she said, applying lip liner crooked in the corner.

Annie didn’t even look over. “We ain’t get ‘em, baby. We earned ‘em.”

You raised your drink, smilin’ just enough. “Cheers to that.”

Behind y’all, the manager cracked the door open halfway. “Ten minutes, Peach. Honey after that.”

Annie winked at you in the mirror. “Go on and warm ‘em up.”

You stood slow, smooth, every inch deliberate. You weren’t just dancin’ tonight.

You were opening nirvana.

You stepped out under that spotlight like you were born to own it.

The first low moan of “Any Time, Any Place” crept through the speakers, and the crowd fell silent—like they felt the heat before they saw it.

Bass deep. Keys soft. Janet whisperin’ sin through velvet.

You moved slow. Deliberate. Every heel-click like punctuation. Each hip roll an invitation. Body oil gleamed under the lights—your shoulders, your thighs, your belly catching glints like gold.

A chair waited center stage. You circled it once, let your fingertips trail over the back. Then you climbed it. Straddled it. Dropped slow, real slow, hips winding like smoke before sliding back down the legs, smooth as honey.

The crowd? They didn’t cheer—they worshipped. Bills flew up like praise. Fifties. Hundreds. It rained.

You didn’t even touch the pole yet.

Up on the balcony, Stack and Smoke leaned over the railing, drinks half-drunk, attention full.

Smoke’s eyes tracked your silhouette against the soft amber glow. His voice low:

“Lord… she ain’t just earnin’ money—she crowning this whole stage.”

Stack grinned, lips twitchin’. “Them boys down there givin’ up rent checks like she the landlord.”

Smoke tilted his head. “That ain’t no dance. That’s a sermon.”

They both watched as you finally took the pole—walked toward it like you had all night. Grabbed it. Arched. Spun once, slow, before dropping into a split that had the whole front row gasp.

“Goddamn,” Stack murmured.

“She’s control,” Smoke said, his tone lower now. “Pure control.”

Stack laughed soft. “That’s what we bought into, huh?”

“Nah,” Smoke corrected. “That’s what bought into us.”

Down below, you eased into your last roll. Took your time standing. Made a slow turn toward the crowd—toward the balcony. You didn’t look up just yet, but you knew they were watching.

Then finally—you met their eyes.

Smoke stood still.

Stack tipped his glass.

And you? You just smiled, and walked off slow while Janet’s last note faded like sweat drying on hot skin.

The DJ caught his breath before speaking. “Give it up for Peach.”

Thunder. Applause. More money hit the floor even after you left.

Up top, Stack flicked his cigar.

“That’s our girl,” he murmured.

Smoke tapped the ashtray. “She made it look easy.

And down below, the stage still buzzed with you.

Back in the dressing room, sweat still cooling on your skin, you sat fannin’ yourself with a stack of fresh bills.

Annie strolled over, heels still on, lips glossy, hair wild.

“Girl,” she said, mouth open like she couldn’t believe it, “they was throwin’ money like you was a damn hurricane.”

You laughed, a low, easy sound. “That stage owe me a thank you.”

She sat beside you, tossed her leg over your knee. “I bet we could make double that.”

You blinked. “How?”

She smiled. Lazy. Intentional. That same smile she gave Smoke that night. The kind that ain’t askin’—it’s tellin’.

“Come on stage with me,” she said. “Tonight.”

You paused, brows lifting. “What? You want me to intro you or—?”

“No,” she cut in. “With me. Together.”

You leaned back a little. “Annie…”

She leaned closer.

Close enough you could smell her perfume and cocoa butter. Her thigh slid further across yours. Her voice dropped to a hush.

“Come on,” she said. “We work it together. You already know how I move… Now match it.”

And suddenly you felt what Smoke did. That pull. That lure. She wasn’t just pretty—she was magnetic. Her gaze slid down your neck like fingers.

You swallowed.

Then smiled.

“Alright.”

The DJ’s voice cracked through the speakers.

“Next up, our feature—give it up for Honey—”

He paused.

“—and Peach.”

The crowd rumbled. Confused.

Up in the balcony, Stack frowned, leaned over the railing. “both?”

Smoke’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t just Annie scheduled?”

Stack shrugged. “Change of plans.”

Smoke sat forward slow. His eyes cut to the curtain. “They doin’ somethin’.”

The beat dropped.

“Feenin’” by Jodeci.

Low and deep. The kind of bass that made knees weak and hearts stupid.

Then y’all walked out.

Together.

Annie in crimson. You in black. Y’all ain’t touch—but you didn’t have to.

You circled each other first. Like rivals. Like sisters. Like flames dancin’ just close enough to warm but not burn.

The crowd got quiet.

The money didn’t even fly yet. They just watched.

Waited.

You grabbed the pole first, hands high, thighs flexed. Annie stepped behind, slow drag of her fingers across your hip—not nasty, not sweet, just… heat.

Stack leaned over the balcony, grippin’ the rail. “What the hell…”

Smoke didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

You dropped. Smooth split.

Annie rolled under you, back arched, chest lifted, her thighs grazing yours without contact. The lights hit the oil on your skin like stars shimmerin’.

And the crowd?

Exploded.

The money came in waves now.

Fifties. Hundreds.

Smoke’s jaw clenched.

His eyes locked on Annie—but every time she turned toward you, bent for you, looked at you, his breath caught.

Stack watched you wind slow up the pole, twist and drop into Annie’s arms like she was waitin’ for you.

He muttered, “You see this?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Annie flipped you slow—real slow—and climbed over your thigh with a grin like she had secrets written across her chest.

Your hand slid behind her neck—guiding, not takin’.

It was art.

It was fire.

It was damn near holy.

Neither of you stripped much. Didn’t need to.

Just sweat, muscle, and unspoken understanding. Backbends, pole spins, body rolls together. You in front now, Annie mirrored behind—hands above both your heads, arching the same, dipping like you was water in two glasses.

From above, the boys watched.

Stack shook his head, laughed under his breath. “They gon’ bankrupt the whole damn club.”

Smoke didn’t blink.

He just swallowed hard—watchin’ Annie watch you.

The way her eyes drank you in.

The way your body answered her.

And when y’all finally closed it out—cheeks glowing, eyes locked, bills piled like thrones around your feet—you reached for her hand.

She took it.

Y’all bowed together.

And left the stage like two storms rollin’ back into the night.

Backstage was loud with celebration—but only between y’all two

You and Annie tumbled through the curtain breathless and shining, cheeks glowing, bills stuck to your thighs like gold leaf.

“Bitch!” she yelled, smacking your hip with her wad of cash. “We did that!”

You doubled over laughing, high off the moment, that whole stage still vibrating in your chest. “Girl, we burned it down!”

You flopped into the chair, still panting, still tingling. Annie paced, pulling her hair tie out, shaking those curls loose like a lioness unwindin’.

She looked at you, slow.

Still smilin’.

Still that same heat in her eyes from the stage—but heavier now.

She came over, real close, crouched next to your chair.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” she said, voice low, husky. “But when we up there? I feel a buzz”

“You feel it too?”

You blinked, mouth open to speak, but—

The door slammed open.

Stack walked in first, jaw tight.

Smoke behind him, hands on his hips, chest still rising like he’d jogged the whole damn building.

You and Annie didn’t flinch.

You just watched.

“Y’all lost your damn minds?” Stack asked, lookin’ straight at you. “What the hell was that?”

Annie leaned back on her heels, still crouched by your side, head tilted.

Smoke stepped forward, eyes cuttin’ toward her. “That wasn’t what we agreed to. You was supposed to go solo.”

“Oh, my bad,” Annie said, standing slow. “Didn’t know we needed permission to elevate the brand.”

Stack scoffed. “That ain’t the point—”

You stood too, brushing your leg against Annie’s as you rose, all slow-like, lazy with defiance.

“You mad ‘cause we made y’all feel somethin’ you wasn’t ready for?”

Stack blinked at you, lips parting. “Ain’t nobody say all that—”

“No,” you said, stepping closer. “But your mouth hangin’ open like it wanna.”

Smoke folded his arms. “It was too much. That crowd ain’t know what to do with all that… heat.”

Annie stepped right up to him, head high, smile soft but sharp. “Did you?”

Smoke’s jaw twitched.

Annie leaned just close enough for him to feel her breath again. “’Cause you looked frozen. Again.”

Stack’s eyes shifted between them, then locked back on you. “You supposed to dance, not—start somethin’.”

You moved into his space, slow, deliberate, voice all honey and smoke. “And yet here you are. Lookin’ like somethin’ I started.”

He blinked.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t step forward either.

You could see it—all of it. His pulse in his neck. The way his fingers flexed like he wanted to grab somethin’. Or you.

Annie grinned, watching Smoke.

“Next time,” she whispered, “maybe I’ll call you up there with us.”

Smoke’s breath hitched.

Stack huffed, ran a hand down his face like he was tryin’ to stay professional.

Then his eyes met yours again—long. Low.

He smirked.

“I see what this is,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, still too close.

“Mmhm.” His voice dipped. “Y’all dangerous.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t have to.

Annie brushed past Smoke, slow and deliberate. “We’ll be on time next week,” she tossed back.

Smoke just watched her walk, jaw clenched, hands useless at his sides.

You followed, but not before dragging your eyes over Stack one more time.

“Tip better next time,” you said, winkin’.

Then you and Annie disappeared down the hall, hips swingin’ like the stage never ended.

-—————————

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