lo-reads

[lo-reads]

Imagine a middle aged Smoke saying something like this https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8hnvrro/

He’s a family man, got a successful business, calmed down from the streets a bit, but every now and then someone tests his gangsta and he has to remind them that he hasn’t always been Mr. Moore who pulls out his reading glasses while he’s looking over paperwork. 😂

smoke would deffff say some shit like this omg!!! you neverrr said if you were requesting a fic buttt i got inspired so i wrote a little something!!!

Y’all were just out for groceries. Kids with their auntie for the afternoon, sun high and hot, your hand tucked sweetly into Smoke’s big one as you walked through the parking lot toward the local farmer’s market.

You wore a sundress—something light, hugging in the right places—and even though you weren’t trying to do the most, you were glowing. That kind of glow that comes from being loved right, taken care of, kissed every morning before the coffee brews.

You stopped by a stand to ask about the peaches. The man behind the table smiled a little too hard. Told you they were “as sweet as you lookin’ right now.” You gave a polite chuckle, barely thinking about it, asked if he could pick out a few ripe ones. He licked his lips.

“You got a man?” he asked, real low. And you felt it before you heard it.

That shift.

Smoke was already stepping up. You didn’t even get a full second to react. “She got more than that, she got a husband,” he said, voice cold as steel. “The fuck you whisperin’ for?” The man blinked, unsure. “Damn, I ain’t know, my bad—”

Smoke stepped so close, his chest bumped the table. “Don’t ever speak to her like that again. You see a woman like this, you don’t speak. You look at the ground and mind your fuckin’ business.”

You grabbed his arm—tight.

“Smoke. Baby. Please.”

He didn’t budge. “Go head, say somethin’ slick,” he told the man, licking his teeth. “See if I don’t break your jaw in front of all these people.” You pressed into his side, trying to turn him away. “C’mon. Let’s go. He ain’t worth it.” He let you tug him, finally—shoulders tight, that old heat rolling off him like asphalt in July.

Y’all walked in silence back to the car, his jaw still clenched, chest rising like he was steady fighting the urge to double back and finish it. Then you heard it—mumbled just under his breath, not meant for anyone but you and the air around him:

“Niggas keep playin’. My trigger finger itch all the time. I stay ready. Niggas must not know who the fuck I am.” You shook your head and kept walking with him. As much as you’d like to lie, and front — you did like seeing this side of smoke.

@cremeful for the use of dad!bf smoke/olderman!smoke.

@k1ssyoursister for the dividers!

tag list! @thickianaaaa , @vaultkween .

new chapter coming out for either one of my series is coming out soon — not saying which one yet though!!

[lo-reads]

Testing a Theory

Summary: After a rough night, Smoke finally gives in physically and emotionally, revealing his submissive, breeding-obsessed desires.

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black!Fem!Reader

Warnings: smutty smut, breeding!kink, sub!smoke, praise kink, slight daddy!kink and use of the n-word

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: Writer's block has been beating my ass, but I finally fought back!! I hope y’all enjoy the read 🫶🏾

Three times now.

Three times Smoke has come to you with bloodied fists and cracked knuckles, teeth clenched as if to swallow fire.

Three times, he’s taken you with that kind of trembling, unspoken longing that says I shouldn’t be doing this but I need you more than air.

And he has pulled out every time.

Even when his hands shook. Even when he groaned your name, like it was an apology and a prayer.

He wanted to finish inside you. He just…wouldn’t.

That’s when you start to wonder:

Maybe he’s scared of what it would mean.

Maybe he’s punishing himself.

Maybe he wants to take what you offer, surrender to you but not unless you make him.

You’ve also noticed something else.

Past the gruffer edges and biting teeth, there’s something tender. Something quivers.

When you praise him? He shudders.

When you say good boy in that low, honeyed tone? He grips the bed sheets as if he’s about to confess a war crime.

“Soldier in the streets,” you murmur to yourself, leaning against the window that bobs and fogs from your breath. “But a whole sub in the sheets…”

And tonight?

Tonight, you’re gonna put that theory to the test.

It’s Thursday and this is the night Capone usually has the twins doing unspeakably foul shit that Smoke has refused to talk about.

You hear him before seeing him.

Heavy boots pounding up the steps. A pause outside your door. A soft grunt as he exhales as if just being near you is undoing him.

Then two knocks, slow.

You leave the door unlocked. Just like you always do.

"Come on in, Eli."

He steps inside.

And damn.

He looks like sin on two legs. The kind of sin God warns you about but never rescues you from.

He is tall and broad, his frame soaked from the rain, shoulders rounded from exhaustion. His brown skin glistens coppery in the amber lamplight, and he smells like wet tobacco, gunpowder, and cheap motel soap. That sharp Mississippi drawl clings to him even in silence.

You watch his intense acorn brown eyes pull over you, bare legs, silk nightgown, the curve of your body softened by the candlelight. His gaze gets stuck on your lips, then your chest, then further south.

He is already breathing heavier.

"Rougher night than usual?" you ask softly, knowing the answer.

He nods. Drops his coat. Doesn't say anything.

He still has that damn shoulder holster strapped under his vest. Still has dirt underneath his nails. His mouth is set tight, jaw clenching like he is chewing gum with a bitter aftertaste.

You take a step toward him, slow.

"You need to come down, baby. Let me help."

He does not move.

So you gently cup his face, rough stubble and skin chilled from the rain and tilt it toward yours.

"You ever gonna let go with me, soldier? Or are you too scared of what it will mean?"

That is when his eyelids flutter just for a second.

Got you.

You back him up until the backs of his knees hit your bed.

"Take off your shirt, Eli."

He hesitates for a moment, but then he literally peels the shirt off.

You notice how his thick chest rises and falls as he breathes, muscles tight with tension. A faint scar crosses his right shoulder, and another, lower, covers his ribs. His arms flex as he pulls his shirt over his head, skin slick with sweat and moisture.

He sits on the bed like he is in trouble.

Good. Because he is.

You take that as your cue to straddle him, soft thighs settling over his lap, nightdress creeping up as you lean in close.

"You know I have been thinking 'bout you," you murmur, trailing your fingers over his bare chest. "Thinking 'bout how good you feel inside me. And about how every time, you pull out like a coward ass nigga."

His whole body tenses.

"I know you want to," you whisper, your lips brushing against his jaw. "I know you want to fill me and watch me walk away with your cum runnin’ down my thighs."

"D-don't," he breathes. "Don't say shit like that, Y/N."

You smirk.

"Why not? Cause you won't be able to hold it back?"

A deep growl escapes his throat.

"I'm tryna be good now, Y/N," he mutters. "You know I can't—"

"You can. You just won't."

He doesn’t respond. He just helps you pull your gown over your head and tosses it to the floor. 

You grind down slowly and can feel the hard, pulsing length of him beneath the fabric of his trousers.

"You always tryna protect me. Protect yourself. But you ever think maybe I want you to lose control, Eli?"

He lets out a shaky breath. His hips jerk up instinctively, grinding against you. His hands hover over your thighs, shaking like he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch.

"You know what I think?" you ask, your tone light but darkening. "I think the man that kills for Capone every night, the man that breaks bones like glass, the man who shoots first and asks questions later is really just a messy little submissive when the lights go out."

His breath hitches in his throat.

Bingo.

"You like it when I ride you 'til your voice breaks, huh? You like when I tell you you're doing good. You cum harder when I tell you you're mine, don't you?"

"Fuck—" he gasps, biting his bottom lip.

You lean in, your lips grazing his.

"You like it when I call you daddy too, don't you?"

He groans. His head falls back like he can't take it. His thighs flex hard beneath you.

"Say it," you demand.

He clenches his jaw. Stubborn as per usual. You slap his chest.

"Say it, Eli."

"...Yes," he finally chokes. "I-I fuckin' love it, Y/N. Please—"

"Please what, daddy?"

He whimpers.

"Please let me cum in you."

"Are you gonna be a good soldier for me tonight?"

He nods like he's being drafted into a war.

He pulls his trousers down and you take his cock out of his boxers and stroke him a few times before lining yourself up, sliding down slow. So damn slow and his whole body goes rigid.

"Fuuuuck," he moans, already breathless. Your wetness and heat damn near sending him over the edge. 

“Shit,” you whimper as his grip on your hips tighten while he fills you with every inch. 

You ride him slow. Tortuous. Deep.

"You're so thick, Eli. Stretching me like you were made for it."

"Don't— don't say that—baby, I can't—”

You dig your nails into his chest, letting out breathless curses and moans as you bounce harder on his fat dick.

"You can. You'll stay right there and take it. You'll let me fuck you 'til you lose every bit of that control you hold on to so tightly."

He nods wildly, hips thrusting up mechanically in rhythm with your grind.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me. My perfect little soldier."

"I'm I-I... oh shit— I ain’t gon’ last," he gasps. "I swear to God—"

You grab his throat, not too tightly but enough to make him notice. He moans, a deep, breathless whimper.

"Quit talkin’ about it and do it, Elijah."

He gasps, eyes flying wide open. 

You squeeze a little more.

"Be a good soldier and cum inside me like you always wanted to."

That's it.

He lets out a whimper so filthy that it takes the air right from your lungs. His whole body jolts. He grabs your waist like he's drowning, and he just erupts inside of you with a guttural cry. You can feel hot thick pulses filling you deep, his hips twitching as he tries to ride the high.

"Shiiit—Y/N—fuck—fuck—"

You don't let up even when he starts twitching from overstimulation. You slowly shift your grip on his throat while leaning in close to him, lips against his ear.

"Look at that. You came so fast. So messy. You really are my little sub, huh?"

He nods, chest heaving, still hard inside you.

"Say it, Eli."

"…Y-you mine," he whispers. "I'm yours."

You're still straddling him, bare and full, hips flush to his as the rain patters against the window like a lullaby.

The room is soaked in sex, skin, and tobacco… the real stuff, earthy and weighty. His breath is slowing, but his arms are still around your waist, like he doesn't trust the air between you enough to let go. 

Your arms drape sweaty and lazy around his thick, muscly neck, fingers curling into the damp curls at the base of his skull. He trembles faintly still, the aftershocks rippling through him like he'd just survived a war. 

And you? 

You are calm. Soft, brown skin glowing. Pressing sweet, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of his cheeks, his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. Each time he flinches just a little, like he forgot how it felt to be loved on like that. It’s been a while. Years.

“Breathe, baby,” you murmur against his temple. “You're safe.”

His chest rises and falls under your arm, broad, solid, scarred, and beautiful. His arms are like steel cables wrapping around you, but the tension is finally bleeding out of them. He melts into you inch by inch, right there in your arms. 

Kissing his forehead. His dimple. That special spot behind his ear that always makes him groan when you suck on it.

“You did so good for me, Eli.”

A soft hum vibrates in his throat—less a sound, more a feeling that escaped.

You kiss the corner of his mouth and rock your hips just a little. He shivers. Still inside you, overstimulated and raw. 

“Sensitive?” you tease gently. 

“Hell, yeah,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, like wheels grinding on gravel. “You tryin' to kill me?” 

“Mm-mm. Just tryin' to bring you back to life, nigga.” 

He huffs a half-laugh, his voice loose now, lazy and southern, no longer clipped by stress. 

“Damn...I ain't even know how much I needed that,” he mutters without thinking. 

You still.

And so does he.

His eyes flick up, startled, like his words broke through his armor and he's afraid they'll cause irreversible damage. 

But you don’t tease him. You don’t flinch.

You just kiss his cheek again, more softly now, and whisper, “I did.”

He looks at you like he's not sure how to survive being seen this completely. His fingers trace up and down your spine now, slow, and reverent. 

"You always this sweet after you take a nigga soul?" He questions, smirking just a little, but there's that tiny ache in his voice again. That ghost. 

“Only for you,” you reply honestly. 

You stay like that for a while. Rocking slowly. Breathing together.

Eventually, you peel yourself off him with some effort and a giggle. 

“Damn,” you say, walking gingerly to the bathroom, his warm cum slowly seeping out of you and down your thigh, “you really did try to put a baby in me.” 

“Don't tempt me,” he calls after you, his voice hoarse, amused. 

But when you return with a warm rag, kneel between his knees, and start to clean him with slow, gentle thoroughness?

He goes quiet again.

He watches you with that same overwhelmed look like you are a hymn he doesn't understand how to sing.

You kiss his thigh.

Then his stomach. You feel it flutter.

You stand and lean down to kiss his lips.

“Next time,” you whisper as you knead one of the knots in his right shoulder, “I want you to beg before you fill me like that.”

“Yes, ma'am," he says without missing a beat then laughs at how quick it was to come out. "Goddamn. You really had me."

"Took your black ass long enough to figure that out."

Without warning he pulls you back into his lap, and you let out a small squeak as you giggle and settle back into his lap. He’s still rock hard, and you’re still a soaked mess.

Smoke grunts softly as you sink down on him again and admits, “I like the way you handle me. Do it again.”

You moan a giggle, teasing, “Mmm…you tellin’ me or askin’ me?”

He pauses.

Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on yours. Still buried deep.

Then he says, quiet, rough, but honest, “I’m askin’.”

Your breath catches.

He’s still strong. Still big and very dangerous.

But right now? He’s yours.

All pride stripped. All power offered. Not taken.

You lean in, kiss him much sweeter this time, and whisper against his lips, “Good, ‘Cause I wasn’t finished with you anyway.”

And then you move with intentional precision.

And boy does he let you.

He groans, head falling back, voice wrecked as you swirl in his lap, clenching around the tip of his dick when you bounce up, “Fuck… you gon’ break me tonight, huh?”

You push him down so his back is against the bed, your palms flat against his chest as you bounce harder and moan, “That’s what you want, right?”

He nods, smacking your ass as hard as he can, “Mhm, that’s what the fuck I need, baby. Don’t stop.”

And of course you don’t stop.

[lo-reads]

Could Be Me

Pair: CeeDee Lamb X Black Reader

Series: “Inspired By Spotify”

Context: Reader runs out of luck when it comes to one of her best longtime friends.

Warnings: 18+ | language, angst, unrequited love, pining, gaslighting, confessions, one sided friendships, ultimatums.

A/N: I'm also sorry, no happy endings today 😅 comment a redemption song for part two ♥︎

[lo-reads]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, chap one, chap two, chap three, chap four, chap five.

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you’re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

THERE WAS SOMETHING about Smoke’s silence that said everything louder than words. Not the kind of silence that made you second-guess things—but the kind that filled in blanks, settled the air around you, made you feel chosen without having to be convinced. It showed up in the way he leaned closer when you talked, how he texted “I’ll be there in five” instead of “what you doing tonight?”, how he knew your hair length when you walked through the door and noticed when you switched oils without saying it.

And that silence? It had been wrapped around your days lately. Every week, it deepened. The first time you went to his place, it wasn’t even supposed to be anything. Just a quick stop after he offered to “blend that new coconut oil mix for you since his hands were better with it.”

His house was clean but lived-in. Smelled like tobacco, cologne, and citrus cleaner. Records lined the shelf. A few jazz LPs leaned against the wall. He didn’t talk much—but he looked at you like he wanted to remember what you looked like sitting on his couch. Like he didn’t want to forget the way you hummed while scrolling your phone with your legs tucked up, comfortable like you’d been there before.

You’d gone back twice after that. The second time, you stayed late. Too late. He offered to let you crash, but you didn’t. You wanted to—but that felt like a next step. Something that meant more. So when he texted two days later and said:

“You tryna let me take you somewhere? For real?” You didn’t hesitate. You said yes. You wore a soft brown two-piece dress that hugged your waist, with gold hoops and a gloss that caught every bit of dim restaurant lighting. Smoke met you at the door of the restaurant in all black—button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows, chain around his neck, his watch catching the light when he placed a hand on your lower back and guided you inside.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking you up and down. “That how you look when you try?” “Don’t start,” you smirked. He didn’t say anything else. Just pulled out your chair. And sat across from you like he was settling in for something serious. But halfway through ordering drinks, your smile dropped just a little. Because there they were.

Stack and Mary.

Two booths over. Close enough to hear your laughter. Close enough to see Smoke’s hand graze yours when he laughed back. Stack’s jaw tightened the second he saw you. His body leaned forward, like he was trying to decide whether to pretend you didn’t exist—or walk over and ruin everything.

Mary noticed too. She was mid-sentence when her eyes followed Stack’s stare and caught sight of you. “Ignore them,” Smoke murmured, low. “They ain’t relevant tonight.” You swallowed your irritation, relaxed your shoulders.

“You right.”

“Let me ask you somethin’,” Smoke said, voice deep and calm. “What’s your goals with this? With us?” You blinked. “Like… relationship-wise?” He nodded. “I don’t like half-assin’ shit. I like you. I like talkin’ to you. I like bein’ around you. But before I get deeper in this, I need to know—do you want somethin’ real? Or am I just helpin’ you forget somebody?”

Your lips parted, surprised at how direct he was. Then, you answered without thinking. “Yes. I want somethin’ real with you.” Something changed in his posture—his shoulders eased, but his stare sharpened. He lifted a hand to flag the server and said, “Two drinks. And bring the appetizers.”

You both ordered food—steak for him, grilled chicken pasta for you—and over the meal, the conversation deepened. He told you about growing up quiet under Stack’s loud shadow, how people always assumed he didn’t want attention just because he didn’t chase it.

You told him about your childhood, how your mama taught you how to braid to keep you out of trouble, how your last relationship made you feel small. “You don’t seem small to me,” Smoke said, sipping his drink slow. “You take up space. You just been around men that tried to shrink you.”

You bit your lip. “And you different?”

“I see you. That’s the difference.”

As the drinks disappeared, the flirting thickened—smiles dragged slower, eyes lingered longer. You laughed with your hand over your mouth and he touched your knee when you teased him about being lowkey sensitive.

He drove you home in his car. The radio low. His hand never left your thigh. Not once. When he parked in front of your house, he walked you up to the porch. You turned to say goodnight, but before you could finish, he leaned in. And kissed you. Not soft either. Not tentative.

His lips captured yours like he’d been waiting weeks. His tongue slid over yours slow, sure, like he needed to feel how you tasted. You grabbed his shirt. He cupped your face. Your breath hitched, chest rising.

It almost escalated. Almost. But you both pulled back. Barely.

Your heart thudded. His eyes were still on your mouth. “Night, mama,” he whispered. “Night,” you murmured, stepping inside. That morning when you woke up you received a text,

Smoke: “Had a good time last night. Let me take you out again.”

You: “Say less.”

You texted all day. Memes. Voice notes. Music. Talked about everything and nothing. He sent a pic of his lunch. You sent one of you in bed with your bonnet on. He said you were still fine. By the end of the day, you had to run an errand—let Mrs Moore wash your hair, since she had gotten new stock from your favorite hair care brands.

You showed up that afternoon. And the second you walked in, you felt it. Smoke was there by the register, bottle of water in hand. But so was Stack. Leaning back in the chair, face already mean. Mugging you the second your foot crossed the threshold.

You didn’t flinch.

Smoke came up behind you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. “You good?” he asked low. “Better now.” Stack’s stare burned the back of your neck. You acted like you didn’t notice.

As you waited for Ms. Moore, Smoke stayed near—talking with you about haircare, new blends, laughing low when you mentioned switching to a new curl custard. “Let me know how it feel after a week,” he said. “If it don’t hold, I’ll make you somethin’ better.”

“What, you tryna be my personal hair plug now?”

“I’m already more than that.”

Ms. Moore finally came out and washed your hair herself, fingers gentle, warm water running down your scalp like therapy. Afterward, as you dried off and thanked her, you turned to leave and felt Smoke’s hand gently press against your lower back.

He walked you out. And at your car?

He hugged you. Kissed you.

This time, it was slower. More private. His fingers gripped your waist. Your nails dug lightly into his wrist. You were melting into it when—You felt it. Eyes. Both of you turned slightly. And there he was. Stack.

Staring from the front window like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Like his name wasn’t the one you stopped saying weeks ago. You didn’t look away. You just got in your car. And Smoke? Smoke stayed standing there. Like a wall. Like a line you didn’t cross anymore.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers!

taglist! @thickianaaaa @gwenda-fav @spicypiscesssss @d1gitalb4rbie @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @queenofklonnie22 @gunznroses4life @mjustag1rl @maniifesto @nikkitheunpredict @yana3sworld @katezy2x @kqmbr1a @5starsirl @bl3ssyn @thefutureemmywinner @jackierose902109 @cardi-bre91

yall comments rlly do be motivating me to write faster.

[lo-reads]

Can you make a fic of toxic!stack based off of Marvin’s Room by drake? I feel like that would be so good ;)

elias’s room

✗ warnings: language, use of n-word (blk reader only), sfw , toxic!stack, petty!stack, wise!smoke (jk) , mentions of infidelity, drunk!stack, angst sorta wc: 900

synopsis: you were tired of feeling stupid, disrespected, and neglected. you broke the cycle. how long will that last?

a/n: this is not proofread yall sorryyyy! i don��t condone toxicity and if you are in an unhealthy relationship please try to escape.

it wasn’t a secret that you and stack had an on and off relationship. his brother often told you to “get some self respect”.

you never listened. until today.

the clock read 4:22 am as you walked in your apartment. you had a few drinks and ended up going home with this guy. the reason why you went home with the guy wasn’t because of the drinks, no.

it was because of stack. you had just got into an argument with elias about all the “bitches” as you called them, in his phone.

you went out hoping to forget him and have fun. you did a bit more than that, obviously.

anyway, you stumbled into the house and flicked on the living room light seeing elias on the couch. your face flashed a quick shocked expression before you started towards the bedroom.

“so you ain’ gon’ tell me why you walkin’ up in here at damn near five ina mornin’?” he spoke up as you continued walking to the room. in a few quick steps he was in front of you.

“where the fuck you been all night?” he pressed grabbing your chin roughly, not intending to hurt you. “stack st-“ you gasped hitting his forearm, “you call yo’self fuckin’ with somebody new?”.

you couldn’t even lie and say no. you just looked down before he chuckled in disbelief.

“he makin’ you happy? fillin’ yo head with all that bullshit ‘bout how he different? yeah i fuckin’ bet” he scoffed shaking his head. “he is different” you told which was a lie seeing as you dont know anything about the guy, “why he different? ‘cause he fuck you slow? ‘cause he gotta real job?” “because he loves me” you said without even thinking about the consequences of what you just said.

stack scoffed, “fuck that nigga, he don’t love you—‘nd you don’t love him.” “ he ‘on’t care about you, i do..that nigga ‘on’t know shit ‘bout you.” he told you as if he knew something you didn’t.

you looked down at the floor knowing that you were falling back into that seemingly never ending cycle of ‘ fight, fuck, and repeat’. his brother no, his twin told you; get some fucking self respect.

“i only did it because you keep texting them other bitches, stack” you told feeling tears welling in your eyes but they dared to fall, “you know i don’t care about them, [𝜗𝜚]” to which you scoffed.

“then stop fucking them, im sick of this shit, elias. everyday it’s a new girl or somebody telling me to leave.” you spoke with a sniffle “ you can’t listen to them, they don’t know what we got.” “i don’t even know what we got..im done elias—i can’t do this nomore” you shrugged looking stack in his eyes before seeing the serious expression settle on his face.

──── ୨୧ ────

it had been a month since you ended things with elias. you were more hurt than you thought you’d be but, you’d never admit it.

one night you were home scrolling through social media lazily. nothing interested you any more, you felt so bored with tv, social media, going out, everything.

you soon received a phone call from a private number. you hesitantly answered “hello?” you asked before hearing that familiar voice. “fuck that nigga, you all on instagram showing out talkin’ ‘bout you love him,” elias laughed too amused, you could tell he was crossed. “fuck that nigga that you ‘love so bad’” he quoted as you tensed up.

“you think you found the one?” that made him laugh even harder. “are you drunk?” you asked sitting up “doesn’t make it any less true.” .

“now, you ain’ gotta take my advice but, im just sayin’ you could do better” the man told letting his smugness shine through.

“you mean to tell me you ‘on’t think ‘bout the shit we did?” the line went quiet “thought so” he snorted. “i told smoke i wasn’t gon’ call you but since you answered i figured that nigga must not be ‘round..right?” “he’s sleep” you muttered, “yo homegirls stupid for lettin’ you run ‘round with that goofball,” he exhaled “i ain’ sayin’ come back to me but, you could do a whole lot better than that nigga in daisy dukes, ain’ nobody tell you that?”.

you sighed.

“i wasn’t even gon’ talk ‘bout dude but, you all on social media like you so in love..like that pussy ain’ mine”.

“it stopped being yours when you started disrespecting me, elias” you told as he huffed “here you go talkin’ ‘bout this shit, alrigh’ yeah i threw a party, it was bitches there but i didn’t f-“ “it doesn’t matter if you sleep with them or not, you still had them in my house dude” you stated trying to keep your voice steady as to not wake up elias—i mean emmanuel.

the back and further went on for about fifteen minutes before stack was back at himself. his flirty, smug, toxic ass self.

“so you really not gon’ come over, though?” he asked and you could practically hear the smile, “no im with someone, stack what part aren’t you getting?” “damn he ‘on’t let you have friends? we just gon’ chill”.

although you knew it was a lie, you were on your way in a heartbeat. you were never gonna learn, were you?

[lo-reads]

IG: bodybyanissa_

[lo-reads]

That woman who made the video filming with Michael during the sinners promo and said she got a lot of questions from friends asking what he smells like and he said go for it, so she smelled him and said he smells like Vanilla and he looks so happy 🤣 she asks if it is and he goes 'A little bit' with a head tilt 👀💖

[lo-reads]

OLD MONEY PRINCESS, SHE'S SOFT YET A VIXEN....

call her cici. twenty-four. black. the classy doe-eyed doll who is spoiled to the nines, courtesy of her fave gents, the usos n the smokestack twins.

click to enter the cabaret

p.s.: the cabaret is open 24/7. no requests are being taken at this time.

[lo-reads]

what if…smoke has a submissive side? modern au! edition

warnings: 18+ (MDNI)

smoke was in heaven.

you were on top of him, riding him like the goddess you were. brown skin brushing against brown skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, breasts bouncing against his chest with dark swollen nipples that were a victim to his persistent mouth. the scent of your vanilla perfume mixing with your natural pheromones and your body heat was the cherry on top to heighten his senses of euphoria. 

he wasn’t the type to let you take the reigns often, not because of preference (you loved being taken care of during your deeds) but he just never…asked. never considered it. but him being so stressed out with the new club him and stack bought? you being oh so sweet and patient, rubbing his shoulders and kissing his temples delicately, he could not say no to your glossy pouted lips asking to take care of him.

but now he was mad. mad that he missed out on the warm, gummy walls of your tight pussy clinging onto his cock like a vice while you bounced to your own rhythm in his lap, coaxing every moan and groan out of his kiss swollen lips, gently holding your waist. if he knew how natural it was for you to take control, he would let you have your way with him in any way you wanted, sore dick be damned.

“feelin’ better ?” you murmured sweetly, teasing laced in your tone  as you slowed your movements, hips rolling against his pelvis, drawing out the pleasure. 

all smoke muster out was a chuckle that turned into a partial grunt when you purposely clenched around his length. “hell yeah…goddamn that pussy grippin’ me like she don’t want me to go nowhere..” he groaned, his hands gripping your ass with a firm squeeze making you mewl. 

“i just wanna make you feel good…” you purred against his lips then capturing them, picking up the pace you set before. the sweet muffled sound of his moans, the curve of his dick kissing your g spot and the occasional spanks he cracked onto your ass was pure motivation. 

you broke away from the kiss, peppering kisses along his jaw. “am I makin’ you feel good, ‘lijah?” you cooed into his ear, licking the tip of his lobe before gently biting down on it coaxing a delicious whimper out of him that almost made you cum on the spot. “f-fuck baby..yeah you doin’ so good.”

“that’s my good boy.”

those four words made him come undone, shooting his warm load inside you and burying his face in between your breasts as he sung his praises to you. 

sinners taglist: @cafeluvs @cremeful

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, sign up here to be the first to see my newest drops! 🫧 (I updated my taglist for the smokestack twins, if you'd like to be tagged in my smokestack drabbles/one shots/series and you are already on my taglist just let me know by commenting or messaging me🙂‍↕️🎀)

[lo-reads]

thinking about a dose of act right from stack rn….

warning: 18+ (minors stay away)

inspired by the mean!stack drabble I read from @cremeful (I love u babyyyy)

“uh uh, move that fuckin’ hand.” stack growls, thrusting deep into you from behind, removing your hand that desperately pressed on his stomach to pin against your lower back. “you was actin’ like you ain’t got no sense with your lil’ friends earlier, this is what the fuck happens.” the sound of his cock sliding in and out of your swollen, sensitive pussy was like porn to his ears. his length was coated with a thick creamy ring that was evidence of your previous orgasms. 

“p-please d-daddy ’s too m-much.” you sobbed, breathy pants and whimpers pouring out of your mouth as his cock kissed every spot inside the warm gummy walls of your cunt. “yeah? too much? daddy goin’ too hard?” he asked in a mocking tone, continuing to fuck you with the same pace but deeper this time relishing in your high pitched moans. 

“u-uh huh…n-eed a break,” you whined, head turning to the side to meet his hard gaze with your own teary lustful stare. brown eyes filled with tears of pleasure, plump lips forming a pout. “break? you so cute,” he chuckled sadistically which sent a throb to your core. “bratty ass ain’t even say sorry but you want a break.” he placed his hand on the back of your head, pressing you down into the mattress as he pounded into you furiously.

“okay! o-okay! ‘m sorry d-daddy..” you yelped as his heavy hand smacked her ass hard. “nah that ain’t good enough for me.” stack grunts, biting his lip. “you gon’ have to be real convincin’,” his hand reaches in between your legs to rub your engorged clit in small but fast circles with his fingers. 

“fuckfuckfuck! daddy w-wait!” you pleaded, feeling your 5th(? you honestly stopped counting after the second) orgasm crash over you. a smirk played at his lips as he continued to play with your throbbing pearl, moaning with your cries. warm, clear arousal squirts from your trembling hole, painting your thighs and his own. 

“mmhmm gimme that nut baby, let it go.” he cooed as he fucked you through the aftershocks. a few moments later, he pulled out of you slowly, your pussy fluttering as it clenched around nothing. 

you plop your body down into the bed, trying to catch your breath, sniffling as you met his face again. “‘m sorry..I didn’t mean it.” you tried again. stack reached over and pressed a kiss into your curls. “I know you are,” he hummed, trailing a hand over your trembling body. “but you wanna know what you can do to really make me forgive you?”

your eyes widen with the understanding that this punishment was not at a cool down…but a warm up.

“gimme that fuckin’ mouth and maybe daddy will forgive ya’.”

sinners taglist: @cafeluvs @cremeful @mirathebookworm @a4g3lstarfire @monstaxmomma0 @bl3ssyn @thecoloredpages @dumb-b4mbi @spiicii @wrestlingprincess80 @transparentphantomface

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, sign up here to be the first to see my newest drops! 🫧

[lo-reads]

he's such a cutie 😽

[lo-reads]

⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍’ ᝰ Smoke stops by your shop, coming to check on you and the baby. After he’s there for a while you realize he’s here for more than a welfare check, he interested in what’s between your thighs.

𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮… Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻… Explicit; smut + fluff, fem!reader, spiritual!reader [hoodoo], envisioned as black!reader while writing, half-canon & half non-canon, very similar to Annie x Smoke dynamic, established relationship [married couple], mom!reader & dad!smoke, pregnancy [second trimester], pregnancy sex, oral [fem!receiving], p in v, dirty talk. 1930’s time period. southern/country dialect used.

𝑫𝑼𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… 3.5k words

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹… This is my first ‘Sinners’ fic and I’m soooo excited to be posting it! I’m already obsessed with Micheal B. Jordan but this movie made me love him 1,000 times more! All my Smoke lovers lmk how you like this fic! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺… Sinners M.List ・Sinners Taglist ・Main M.list

It’s a slow day at the shop, the perfect time for you to catch up with creating some batches of fresh herbal teas and home remedies for your customers when they come by. You have your radio humming low in the corner, keeping you company as you sing along and work, grinding some dried yarrow in your mortar and pestle.

You’re about to reach for the peppermint to add into the blend when a quiet shift in the air makes your skin prickle. You feel a presence come behind you before it can even make its way into your line of sight.

Your hand slips to the straight razor beside your tray and you spin around, steel flashing in the light, holding it right under their chin. “Elijah…” you say slowly, drawing out the vowels as if you’re warning him. “How many times I done told you ‘bout sneakin’ up on me while I’m workin’?”

“Put that blade up, woman, ‘fore you nick me.” Smoke replies with his gold tooth gleaming in the sunlight, unfazed by the weapon at his throat, knowing you would never actually harm him, plus it’s not the first time you’ve had a razor blade to his neck. “I jus’ came to love on you a lil’ bit.”

You stare at him a second longer, eyes narrowed, then you huff through your nose and lower the blade onto the table. You set it down with a little clatter and let him gather you up in his arms. His hands cradle your small belly bump, lips pressing gently against yours. “You always sneakin’ around. One day I’ma really cut your ass.” You mumble in between kisses while still embracing his love, spewing out out a threat you know will just end up being empty.

“And you still gon' love me, jus’ like I love you with that fire in yo’ mouth.” He replies, referring to your slick tongue and the feistiness within you that’s always making an appearance. Before you know it he’s kissing you slow and tender, like he don't plan on leaving anytime soon.

You lean into it, breathing in his scent: woodsmoke, Irish beer, and gunpowder. You rest your hand on his chest, right over his heart, giving him one last kiss before pulling back. “What you doin’ here in the middle of the day? Thought you and Stack was gettin’ the juke ready for tonight.”

“We are. I just… wanted to check on you. And the baby.”

“We alright.” You say with a smile, loving how he’s become even more attentive since you told him you were in the family way. “She movin’ more lately. Likes when I sing to her in the mornin’.”

“She? You still holdin’ onto that?” Despite you having all the hoodoo abilities to tap into the spiritual and supernatural realm, your husband swears he knows the gender of the baby. “I’m tellin’ you, it’s a boy. Gon’ be just like his old man.”

“Lord, I pray that ain’t true.” You tease, laughing while walking over to where your candles are, grabbing a match and lighting the wick. Having to deal with Smoke and Stack everyday, trying to keep them safe, and make sure they stay out of trouble is enough to worry about, you can’t imagine having to deal with that times three.

While your husband watches you light a candle, his eyes wander to all the things surrounding you; herbs, mojo bags prepped like the one he has around his neck, and other things you use as a hoodoo practitioner, makes a frown appear on his lips. “I don’t like you doin’ all this magic shit while you carryin’. You don’t know what kinda spirits you callin’.”

Smoke’s never been able to grasp the in and outs of hoodoo, he’s never been the type of man to believe in things like that but it doesn’t stop him from supporting you and taking your word on everything because he believes in you. He’s always been fine with it and never interfered with your work but now that you’re carrying his child he’s concerned.

“I been doin’ this since before you even knew my name.” you calmly reply, understanding his point of view but wanting to reassure him everything is fine and the baby isn’t in harm's way. “I was born into this. My momma did it carryin’ me, and her momma ‘fore her. You know I don’t call nothin’ dark in here.”

“I know. But still, it makes me nervous.” He finds his way behind you again, wrapping his arms around your mid section, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. “You my whole heart and this lil’ baby too. I don’t want nun bad happenin’ to y’all.”

You lean into his embrace, letting his warmth wash over you like a river. You close your eyes a moment, feeling a sense of peace settle in your bones from his presence. “I’ll be alright. We both will.” You place your hand over his, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin. “I promise.”

Smoke turns you in his arms, kissing you deeper than he did earlier, this interaction feeling more fueled by lust than love. You feel the pull of him, the same pull that causes you to gravitate towards him when his body is calling for you.

Things with Smoke are always easy, you and him have the type of chemistry where certain things don’t have to be explained, like you and him don’t have to discuss how he yearns for you, how just you touching him makes him feel like he’s about to crumble. You’ve always been his safe place so when he comes to you needing comfort, to blow off steam, or some sweet lovin’, you’re always happily ready to provide.

Without breaking the kiss he takes off his jacket, throwing it somewhere on the floor before gently lifting you onto your work table, sweeping some of your jars to the side so they won’t get damaged. Your hands are already at the buttons of his shirt, and his mouth trails down your throat, his tongue swirling over the place where your pulse beats strong.

The ceiling fan above spins lazy circles above the two of you but it doesn’t cut down on the Mississippi heat or the fire burning between you and him. Smoke’s palms slide up your thighs, rough and warm, pushing your flowly dress up bunch by bunch ‘til he’s gets you exposed, your panties already damp from the way he's been touching you.

“You wet f’me already, mama?” he hums low, his thick fingers pressing against the wet cotton, a smug expression comes across his face that’s filled with pride. You bite your lip, nodding as he hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them down your legs, letting them fall to your ankles before taking them off.

“Always wet for you, ‘lijah,” you whisper, voice breathy and thick with need for what lies beneath his waist. “You know that.” He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, the only person on Earth who’s allowed to say his birth name, the only one who says it so sweetly it makes him want to hear it again and again.

He drops to his knees, kissing the inside of your thighs like he’s praying at an altar. The farther he moves up your body, slowly making his way to your sweet sweet center, you can feel your heart pounding with anticipation. Once he’s done teasing, his mouth meets your core, warm and wet, tongue parting your slit nice and slow, allowing your delicious taste to settle on his tongue before he starts to really ravish you.

You gasp when the warmth from his mouth comes in contact with your pussy, trying to control yourself before shoving his head deeper between your legs. His tongue gives your folds the most attention in the beginning, repeatedly moving up and down, giving you a nice warm up before he turns things up a notch.

Smoke’s starts giving your clit some love, the tip of his tongue gently grazing over it before applying pressure, causing your hips buck instantly and him to groan into your heat, making you moan from the vibrations. The more he eats your pussy, smearing your slick across his face, and him angling his mouth and sucking your clit so well it feels like your spirit is levitating, edges you closer and closer to releasing all over his face. “Mhm! Smoke, right there!”

If you could see the look on this man’s face there would definitely be a smirk across his lips, hearing those words from you, spoken in that needy tone you use when he’s hitting all those right spots, makes his dick rock solid. Of course with him being a gentleman ‘n all, his first priority is making sure his wife is taking care of, so he’s gonna make sure you get one off before he does… but not without making you work for it first.

Your fingers thread through his coarse hair, hips rolling up into his face to create more friction and help you chase your high faster. The moans that fall from your lips aren’t as soft as they were earlier. They’re raw, hungry, each one more whiny than the next. You can feel that pressure in your stomach beginning to build up and when you feel his fingers protruding the entrance of your pussy, you already know you’ll be cumming in a couple minutes or less.

When that feeling starts growing stronger and intense, about to take over your body and allow you that sweet release, Smoke pulls back making you glare at him as if he has two heads. “I know you ain’t gonna jus’—”

Smoke give you the smallest smirk as he stands up, licking your juices off his lips, already knowing how you’re about to finish that sentence. “I ain’t, baby. I jus’ wanna feel you wrapped ‘round me when I make you cum.” He undoes his belt, slow and deliberate, his predatory gaze looking at your body. You watch as he frees himself from his slacks, thick and undeniably hard, the sight alone making your mouth fill with saliva, wanting him to just fill you up already.

He helps you get off the table, lifting you by your waist and gently placing you on the ground. Once your feet hit the wooden floor he’s barking out orders. “Turn ‘round and put them hands on the table.” You obey without question, leaning forward and angling your ass in the air.

Once you're in position Smoke comes up behind you, pushing your dress up until it’s past your hips, giving him a full view of your ass that he’s practically obsessed with. He takes a moment to take in the sight in front of him, your pretty ass on display, your juices slowly dripping down your thighs, and your hole clenching around nothing, begging to be stuffed.

Your husband bites his lip, his dick twitching against his thigh in anticipation of what’s to come once he wrapped around your velvety walls. He gives himself a few strokes before gliding his dick across your folds, allowing your slick to gather on his tip and mix with his precum, using the fluids as a lubricant. He grounds himself in his stance and places himself at your entrance, slowly pressing himself inside you, stretching you wide open with his girth.

When he enters your wetness, a groan slips through his bared teeth, his hands wrapping around your full hips as he lowers his eyes and watches his dick begin to disappear into your heat. Even though you’ve had sex with Smoke a million times, every time he fucks you it somehow feels the first time. A sound flies out your mouth, something that’s a mixture of moan and cry when you feel him stretching you out every time he pushes another inch of himself inside you.

You’re not in pain, it’s just the delicious burn that comes with being with a man that’s well endowed. Your hands begin to grip the end of the table, needing to balance the pressure you’re feeling in your lower region. “I got you, baby. Jus’ relax.” Smoke whispers while placing a few soft kisses on your back, reassuring that he has everything under control.

Feeling his lips press against your skin makes you clench around him, so tight that he lets out sharp breath, trying to keep himself from busting on the spot. He's not even fully inside you yet and he’s already teetering on the edge of having his own orgasm. He allows both of your bodies to adjust, for both of you to become one flesh, slowly nudging his dick further and further into your pussy until he bottoms out.

After a few moments his pelvis is flush with your ass and he just holds there, waiting until you’re ready. Once you relax and he feels your body loosen up, he takes that as a green light to continue and start applying some real pressure. He slowly slides out, pulling out almost halfway before rolling his hips and pressing back into you, beginning a series of long strokes into your pussy.

Your mouth flies open, moans filling your small shop as Smoke thrusts into you with no plan on stopping anytime soon. He angles himself slightly upward, giving himself the perfect position to continually hit your g-spot until you cum around him. At this point you and him are both dripping in sweat, droplets traveling down your face and towards the spillage of your breasts and his trickling down his chest and torso.

You decide to not let your husband have all the fun and start throwing it back against him, meeting him in the middle of each thrust, creating an echo of your skin slapping together. Smoke groans, loving the sound of your skin colliding each time he pushes himself deeper inside you. “Pussy feels so good, baby. Makes me wanna get yo' ass pregnant all over again.” He mutters before throwing his head back.

Ever since you’ve become pregnant Smoke swears your pussy has become even better, which he didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know if it’s because you’re more sensitive now, that you’ve been able to become so wet to the point he sometimes slips out, or your body is just preparing for the baby but either way he loves it.

“You talkin’ like I ain’t already carryin’ your baby.” you manage to pant between moans, lips curling up into a soft grin. “Lemme get this baby out first before we talk about another one.”

Smoke chuckles low, a sound that doesn’t come from him too often but when he’s around you it easily emerges. “Can’t help it.” he murmurs, breath hot on your skin. “You so damn good to me. Make me wanna keep you knocked up, full a’me all the time.”

He punctuates his words with a deep roll of his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, knuckles white as you brace yourself against the slow, deliberate strokes that are unraveling you, thread by aching thread.

The scent of yarrow, rose, and the musk of your joined bodies hangs heavy in the air, brewing in the humid Mississippi heat. You feel like a woman possessed, bent and spread in the middle of your sacred space, lost in the kind of pleasure that only Smoke can provide.

It doesn’t take long before Smoke starts going harder and faster, his thrusts becoming relentless as tears of pleasure stream down your face. His pelvis slams against your backside with every stroke, the table rocking from your tight grip and his rough movements, causing a few jars of herbs to fall on the floor but you’re too fucked out to care. You cry out each time he hits the spot that makes your knees weak, your nails scratching at the wood while his balls slap against you.

“Say my name, baby.” he pants, giving your ass a nice hard love tap before his hand return to your hips. “Tell the whole Delta who fuckin’ you this good.”

Your breath catches, your body trembling with the raw fire he’s stroking inside you. You bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut as the waves of pleasure crash over you. “You fuckin’ me so good, Elijah.” Your voice trembling as the words spew out your mouth. “Can’t nobody fuck me like you can.”

He growls your name back, deep and full of hunger, sends a shiver straight down your spine. His hands dig into your hips harder, pulling you flush against him, every thrust driving deeper, more urgent. “You my woman.” he snarls low, voice rough like thunder, his possessive ways making an appearance. “Ain’t no woman on this earth meant for me but you.”

His words break through all your control and with a cry, your body collapses against his, your muscles convulsing in waves as you fall apart, every nerve ending going up in flames, breathes coming in sharp gasps as you let go. His name spills from your lips again and again, one of Smoke’s many weaknesses when it comes to you.

Smoke grunts as he continues to thrust inside you, repeatedly brushing against your g-spot until you quiver tightly around him again, your walls rapidly pulsing around his shaft. Your orgasm rips through you and a loud whine fills the air, your legs beginning to shake and your balance falter, causing your husband to tighten his grip around you so you won’t collapse on the hard wooden floor.

Soon after you Smoke’s body succumbs to its own pleasures, his orgasm washing over him as he releases his hot seed deep inside your walls, the thick sticky fluid reaching the depths of your womb, his body shuddering until his high levels out.

Smoke exhales a deep, satisfied groan as he gently pulls out of you, careful not to move too fast, not wanting to overstimulate you. Your body jerks slightly, a soft whimper slipping from your lips at the sudden emptiness. He leans down immediately, pressing a line of kisses along your spine like an apology, his strong hands gliding up your sides with a gentleness that replaces how rough he was just being.

“You okay, baby? I ain’t hurt you, did I?” he murmurs, voice low as always, but sweet, filled with a certain softness that only you are allowed to hear. He’s usually not rough with you, he hasn’t been since you’ve become pregnant but he’s been wound up, things with Club Juke and business deals, he needed this as an outlet for his issues but now that his brain fog has cleared he wants to make sure you’re alright because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever hurt you.

You shake your head, resting your forehead against the table, lips parting with a small, breathless laugh, still trying to regulate your breathing. “You ain’t hurt me, ‘lijah. I’m doing good, real good.” you whisper, eyelids heavy, wanting to just go home and soak in the tub. “But I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk right for a while.”

He chuckles at that, one that’s filled with satisfaction of his previous actions, that he once again fucked you ‘till you can barely walk. “Lemme help you out then.” Smoke easing you up into his arms, bridal style, like you don’t weigh a thing and placing you into the chair in the corner of your shop. He grabs a clean towel from the hook near the window and dampens it with some fresh water before he starts cleaning you up, making sure he's as gentle as possible.

When he finishes, he presses a kiss to the curve of your belly, whispering something low to the baby that makes you melt all over again. Smoke pulls up a stool and sits beside you, pulling you close until your head rests against his chest. “Think we scared off the spirits in here.” you mumble, giggling softly, knowing that your ancestors probably wouldn’t approve of you having relations on sacred ground.

Smoke chuckles at that, his hand stroking lazily over your thigh. “Well, they need to let grown folks do what they s’pose to do. Don’t need them watchin’ us no way.”

You hum softly, nuzzling closer, feeling his lips press against your temple and his hand making its way to your belly for the millionth time today, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your warm skin. “Gon’ be a good daddy to this baby.” he adds after a beat, his voice steady now, that rare, open affection in his tone. “Better than mine ever was.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his brown orbs, looking up at him with pure love in your eyes. “I know you will. You already are.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind brushing against the shutters, the faint creak of the old ceiling fan above, and the gentle rhythm of your breathing syncing with his. “I love you, Elijah.”

“Love you too, mama. Always.”

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg

— all rights reserved ©𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐙𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost repost on other platforms (ex. AO3 or Wattpad) nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[lo-reads]

when i think about stack, i think of him being real vocal during sex. no matter the position, if he can he’s kissing anywhere he can reach. “feels so fuckin’ good” he grunts kissing your neck as you ride him—chasing your own orgasm.

as if it wasn’t bad enough, stack’s burying himself deep into you.

“oh fuck” you moan out as he presses his forearm against your lower back bringing your breast close to his mouth ‘fore sucking on the nipple. along with him literally latching on your tit like a baby, he’s bucking his hips like crazy.

“mm—ride that dick, [𝜗𝜚]” he grumbled as his hand found its way to your ass, gripping and slapping. you bounce faster as he huffs. “take that shit” he speaks slapping your ass not hard enough to bruise but, hard enough to sting.

you keep riding as he groans gripping your hips, stack taps your hip signaling position change. he swiftly picks you up and flips you on your back, with him between your legs.

“i love bein’ in here” he says smugly before kissing your mouth, a sloppy kiss. soon enough the thrusting starts. he’s attacking your sweet spot repeatedly in hopes of you reaching your climax first.

because he’s sweet like that.

“you takin’ this shit good for me baby” he praises in your ear as he bottoms you out. “ngh fuck” you whine aloud as elias kisses your cheeks “cum on this dick, [𝜗𝜚]” he encourages as he buries his load deep in your womb.

your walls clench around his throbbing dick causing your body to stutter as you reach your climax. “there it go” he says deeply with a throaty chuckle before pulling out after a minute or two and holding you.

“i can clean it up if you want” stack says already making his way down between your legs.

oh lord.

[lo-reads]

plug!smoke x nerdy!black!fem!reader

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose for the fifth time, heart jackhammering like it always did when he came through the door. Elijah “Smoke” Moore — with the thick chains, the matching attitude, the scent of tobacco and Dior — moved through her tidy little apartment like he owned the place.

Hell, he probably did — rent was always mysteriously “taken care of” before the first.

She sat cross-legged on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, highlighter-pink fuzzy socks peeking out. A textbook lay open in her lap, filled with notes so neat they could be printed. She looked like the embodiment of academic anxiety and innocent routines.

And he… didn’t.

Gold teeth flashed when he smirked at her, shutting the door behind him with his usual casual weight. Gun still tucked in his waistband, designer jacket draped off one shoulder, cigar pressed between his lips. She didn’t understand it — him. Not really.

“I just… I mean, I don’t get it,” she blurted, looking up at him from behind thick glasses. Her voice came out small, nervous. “Why are you even here, Smoke? You could be with— I don’t know, someone cooler. I’m just… me.”

He raised a brow, pulling the cigar from his mouth and letting the smoke curl lazy through the air. “What, ‘cause you like comic books and color-code your flashcards?” he said, voice a low drawl as he moved to stand over her. “That’s why I’m here, mama.”

She blinked, confused.

“‘Cause you soft. You sweet. You mine.”

He kneeled down, bringing his rough, ring-clad fingers to her calf, brushing those pink socks like they were silk. “All them girls out there wanna be seen. Loud. All that extra. But you? You don’t even know how pretty you are. That shit drive me crazy.”

Her face burned.

“You come in here smellin’ like books and vanilla lotion, mouth runnin’ ‘bout your midterms—meanwhile I just came from movin’ weight, and all I can think about is gettin’ back to you.” He tapped her textbook, voice softer now. “You don’t gotta understand it. Just let it happen.”

And she did. She soaked it in like sunlight on skin — the way he kissed her temple before kissing her mouth, the way he picked her up like nothing and sat her in his lap even when she squirmed shyly. The way he called her his princess when he tucked a stack of bills into her pencil case without a word.

She was still soft-spoken. Still unsure. Still didn’t feel like she fit in his world.

But when he curled his arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her throat, whispering “my lil genius,”

She didn’t question it anymore.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers.

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random gifs of my favorite people 3/?

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