erikftglitter

[erikftglitter]

Prior to being bit he just gives vintage vampire 🫦

ELIAS STACK MOORE

[erikftglitter]

Coming Down - Stack Moore (1)

Vampire! Stack x Human! Reader (mostly). I couldn’t sleep and ended up falling in love with this concept. I hope you love it as much as I do 🧡

_________________________________

All alone.

That’s what you were — or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Alone in the dark. Heartbeat in your ears.

But deep down, you knew better.

You could feel him in the air, in the way the shadows pressed in. Watching. Waiting. Whispering your name like he always did when you were too far gone.

He was real. You knew it. You’d felt him for so long — in the static between songs, in the silence after a laugh, in the way the night sometimes stared back at you. He called you here, and in your drunken courage you followed.

Now that courage was fading.

You stood in a pitch-black, abandoned mansion, chasing a feeling like it was a fix.

“I… I know you’re here.” Your voice didn’t even sound like yours, laced with both fear and hope. “You called for me.”

Your own words bounced back off the empty walls. You should’ve been scared — hell, maybe you were. But you were also too far gone. Talking to yourself in an abandoned house, in the woods, past midnight… maybe that’s what crazy looked like.

Despite your limited vision and common sense you walked further into the unknown.

“I’m not crazy,” you whispered in the darkness. “Just… say something. Tell me why you called me here.”

You turned — or thought you did — toward the way you came in. Hard to tell with your vision swimming, the black swallowing everything.

Then you felt it.

Not sound. Not movement.

Heat.

A slow burn in your chest. Your throat drying out. Fingers trembling. Skin waking up in goosebumps.

You weren’t alone anymore.

He was behind you. You could feel his stare pressing into your spine, making the hair on your arms stand. You didn’t dare look.

“You know,” His voice slid through you like a knife. “sane people don’t wander into the woods at night.”

Your breath hitched — regret flooding your veins like the high wearing off. He was definitely real.

“You can open your eyes.” He sounded amused now. “I won’t bite.” A low chuckle. “Unless you want me to.”

You opened your lids to meet with his eyes. And his? Electric blue, sharp enough to hypnotize, froze you in place.

You couldn’t scream. Couldn’t run. Your body was locked up, every nerve wired into him. You stayed that way until he finally looked away, releasing you.

Great. Not only was he real, he could paralyze you.

“What… what are you?”

“Whatever you need me to be, baby.” His voice dropped lower, and your heartbeat spiked without permission. You knew he felt it too.

“Why did you call me here?”

“Better question,” he said, scanning you like you were something he’d ordered and was deciding if he liked, “why did you come?”

“I—” You faltered. “I can’t take it anymore. You’re in my head. Day. Night. I’m going insane. This… this isn’t real.”

If it’s not real, why can you hear me, love? He smirked, stepping closer. Despite your own discomfort you noticed that his mouth hadn’t moved that time yet you still heard him.

“All those people you were with tonight? Nothing. Unchanged. But you…” His eyes shifted — from ice to deep, dark brown. Human again. Almost.

“You’re the only one who can hear me.” He circled you, slow, predatory. “So maybe I should be asking… what do you want from me?”

“I’m not the one in your head!” You say firmly, attempting to find your ground.

“Oh but you are.” He laughs stepping closer. “I been waiting on you baby. I’m happy you’re finally home.” He whispers in your ear. You expected yourself to push him away and to deny it, but it makes… sense?

You hear this same voice before bed and sometimes when you’re out drinking you feel like someone’s watching you, but they always are the usual suspects. Until a thought crosses your mind. A realization.

“The random people that buy me drinks and somehow always get me home…”

His eyes glistened. Now you were getting it.

“It’s all you.”

“Their vessels,” he said simply, “my actions.”

You breathe out in disbelief, a single tear falling from your face at your fate. Your stomach twisted, cruel knots pulling tighter with every heartbeat. It made you nauseous, like your own body was rejecting the truth.

You’d been drinking more these last few months. It was becoming too much. Life paired with the endless voices of someone you never seen but felt everyday. Drunk, far gone, you could almost convince yourself he was only a nightmare. Almost.

“Someone had to keep you safe.” He adds. “You wanted to forget me before you got the chance to accept me.” This time you don’t step back when he steps forward.

“What are you?” You repeat. This time slower, calmer. You’re not sure what you’re expecting but the sinister smile being reflected from the moonlight answers your question. A flash of his canines stop your thoughts.

“This isn’t real.” You conclude looking down. But when you glanced back up, the moonlight caught on teeth that didn’t belong to anything human.

Too many, too sharp, too patient.

“Oh but it is and I’ve been waiting for you.”

He moved before you could think, before you could remember how to breathe.

A hand — cold at first, then warming like it had been empty for too long — rested at the back of your neck. Not pulling. Not pushing. Just there.

Your body betrayed you. The shiver that crawled down your spine wasn’t fear, not entirely.

“I could’ve met you earlier,” he murmured, voice brushing your ear. “Every night when you felt watched… I was there and you knew it.”

His thumb traced a slow line along your jaw, tilting your face toward his. Your mind screamed to step back, but your feet stayed planted, rooted in the gravity between you.

The air thickened. You swore you could hear your pulse in his chest — or maybe it was his in yours.

“You’ve been mine longer than you know.”

The corners of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, not quite a threat. His other hand found your wrist, fingers curling around it just enough to feel the beat there.

“Fast,” he said, eyes glinting. “You’re afraid.” A pause. “But you’re not pulling away.”

He leaned closer, his forehead barely brushing yours. You could smell him — not cologne, not anything human, but something older, sharper.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Your breath caught. Because you didn’t know the answer.

Before you could decide, his palm slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him in one quick, deliberate movement.

The heat in your chest flared into something you couldn’t name — want tangled with dread, safety tangled with surrender.

“See?” he whispered. “You were never lost. You were finding your way back to me. It was always going to be tonight.”

You should’ve said no. You should’ve stepped back. But his mouth was on yours before either thought could take root. The kiss was deep, slow at first, then urgent — like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could touch the hunger.

The cold from his hand seeped into your skin, replaced in seconds by a heat that crawled over your body like wildfire. His fingers slid into your hair, tugging your head just enough for his lips to leave yours and travel lower — jaw, throat, collarbone.

By the time you felt the sting, you were already pulling him closer. The pain melted into something else — a rush so sharp it bordered on bliss. Your knees nearly gave out, but he held you there, every heartbeat flooding into him, every exhale tying you closer. Every memory of yours revealed to him.

The world narrowed to his breath, his hands, the press of his body against yours.

“Elias,” he whispered against your skin.

The name tore through you — because you’d heard it before. It was always been sitting in the back of your mind, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

He drew back just enough for you to see him — eyes brighter than before, mouth stained. Your own pulse was a drumbeat in your skull, but it was slowing, softening, giving way to something deeper.

“Say it,” he urged.

“Elias,” you breathed, and the sound of it felt like surrender.

The heat in your chest flared, then broke, spilling through every vein. You gasped, but it wasn’t air you were craving anymore. Your vision sharpened; the shadows breathed. The night outside the mansion sang with a thousand heartbeats you shouldn’t have been able to hear.

When he kissed you again, you realized he didn’t taste like blood — he tasted like the rest of your life.

[erikftglitter]

remmick… WHO SAID THAT? 😕

[og post from tiktok]

[erikftglitter]

Less twin! threesomes and more dom!smoke dicktooheavy!smoke

[erikftglitter]

♫ Have Ya Babies | Smoke Moore

(4) ..I just love to hear you say it

It makes a man feel good, baby..

Aspen was quiet this week. Joseph was on her mind lately and the rainy weather didn’t make her feel any better. She laid in bed longer than usual but she still decided to get up. Wasting time felt worse than grieving sometimes, especially when the fear of failing was greater than death in Aspen’s eyes.

Sighing — then moving very slowly from the bed, Aspen peeled away from the comforting sensation and headed to the bathroom.

The steam eased her muscles. She hadn’t felt the tension from her workout until she stood underneath the shower stream. With her eyes closed, Aspen worked the shampoo through her hair strands.

She washed her hair slowly, scrubbing her scalp rougher than necessary, swallowing the memories one rinse at a time. Flashbacks of Joseph’s hair bouncing as he ran flooded Aspen’s memory.

Maybe if she noticed sooner, been a little smarter, she could’ve held Joseph.

Maybe if she—

Aspen breathed. This was the opposite of what she learned in her courses. This was personal. Internal.

This wasn’t going to bring Joseph back to life. As much it hurts her to admit, Joseph is gone and she’ll never see him again. But she does see him.

She saw him the night that she came home from her date with Smoke.

His body hovered over the Illmatic vinyl, now hung above her record player. She imagined that he still wore his hair curly and unkept. It was his own brand of chaos. Getting Joseph to get his haircut was like trying to defuse a bomb wearing itching powder. Impossible.

Aspen smiled at the distant memory. Grief was such a weird sensation. Going weeks, sometimes months unchanged then being completely entangled with their memory.

Joseph was still here though. In her heart. In her studies. She rinsed the shampoo from her strands then cleaned her body. Cleaned the guilt that tried to stick onto her wet skin.

She sat in her robe for a little while. Miles, her grey tabby, sat at the end of her bed. That was the best thing about him. He was loving but always gave her reasonable distance. Aspen liked that.

_________________________________

“Miami.” Smoke repeated in an indifferent tone. He couldn’t describe what he was feeling. Discontent? Disgust? Either way Smoke was disinterested in being in Miami — especially not without his extroverted brother.

“It’s for the kids, Smoke.” Stack reasoned. “I’d go if I could. You know that.”

“I know.” Smoke sighed. Stack wouldn’t miss an opportunity to get to Miami, especially not a newly single Stack.

A thought crossed Smoke’s mind. It would’ve been a definite no if Smoke was in any other frame of mind, but he was sober and was feeling something.

He’d be back tonight, he thought. In the morning at the absolute latest. So Smoke sat in silence for a while and allowed his mind to wander. Spontaneity couldn’t be that bad.

It sat on his mind for seven long minutes before he used his fingers to dial her number, the number he had to earn even after their first date, and called her.

He didn’t know what he’d say but he was sure of himself. It was either yes or no. No need to complicate the outcome. Although something in him deep down did want an answer that definitely wasn’t “no.”

“Hello?” Her voice was light as she answered. Not as dainty as it had been before but still soft. Smoke paused.

“Hey.”

“What’s up? You calling for donuts and coffee.” Her voice was throwing out jokes, but Smoke still felt something different in the midst of her laugh. It reminded him of someone he knew very well.

Still he chuckled. “You busy t’night?”

“Not today. You already miss me?” Aspen swirled one of her wet curls around her finger.

Smoke breathed. Possibly.

“You wanna do an errand with me? Get your feet wet?” He reached for the metal tin of pre-rolls as he waited for her reply. He wouldn’t admit it but he did care about the outcome of this phone call.

“What type of errand?” Aspen asked becoming suddenly suspicious. What came with going on errands?

“I gotta do a little work. After that I take you out and you wear something real pretty.”

Although Aspen couldn’t see him she imagined just how he looked when stretched out the word “real.” She thought about his smile. Not something she got to see often but when she did she couldn’t ignore how her legs wobbled.

“How pretty?” Now standing up to rinse the deep conditioner out of her hair Aspen’s heartbeat quickened.

“Surprise me.”

_________________________________

Aspen didn’t expect to feel anything when the plane touched down — but her chest fluttered, just a little.

Not from the flight. Not from the turbulence.

From Him.

Smoke hadn’t said much the entire flight, but his presence was grounding. Like a hand on her lower back guiding her through a crowd of people. Secure.

She sat in bed for half an hour after Smoke’s call, debating the consequences under her hairdryer. An errand was quite vague and upon further questioning, Smoke finally admitted.

“I’m flying to Miami. Want to take you with me, get you on the beach. Relax a little bit.”

Her heart danced at that. He didn’t seem like the type to say what he didn’t mean. So here she was in a private jet with Smoke Moore, and again no one else knew about it.

She looked out the window as they rolled onto the tarmac. A thick fog clung to the glass. The Miami night air was humid and heavy, already fogging her skin before they even made it outside.

He looked over at her once the plane began to slow. Dark sweats matching his shirt. And that shirt. Aspen thought that it complemented every muscle on that man’s body. And the sweats just—

“Ya good?”

Southern as ever. Low. A private kind of concern. Aspen’s skin warmed.

Aspen nodded. “It’s hot here.”

“You’ll get used to it.” He chuckled slowly. As crazy as she thought it was, something in her understood that he wasn’t talking just about the weather.

You’ll get used to it. Used to what?

_________________________________

Inside of the hotel Aspen admired the large glass elevators, long marble hallways, and soft jazz humming through the lobby. A room key was already waiting at the desk. Two, actually.

Smoke held out both.

“You want your own room?” he asked.

No smirk. No undertone. Serious. Just cautious to keep her comfortable. She looked at him. Then the keys. Then back to him.

“How about I decide after dinner?”

Smoke gave a single nod. He liked that. He’d be satisfied either way. After placing both keys in his pocket Smoke led the way to one of the rooms.

“I wanna stop by the event first then it’s me and you.” Aspen nodded, barely looking at him or the way his joggers fell low as he carried her bag towards the chair she was sitting on.

_________________________________

♫ Now Playing: Lost Without U - Robin Thicke

The Miami skyline lit up behind them like a scene from a movie. Aspen sat at a rooftop table, wind brushing the back of her neck.

Her plane attire was long gone now, traded for a black silk dress with thin straps and a slit too dangerous to be unintentional.

Smoke hadn’t looked at anyone else since she stepped out of the hotel elevator. Aspen’s red lips infatuated his attention far more than anything else going on in front of them.

“You been out here before?” he asked, sipping dark liquor over ice. Aspen’s thoughts hovered over how the drink would change his behavior. She had heard about the stories, mostly from Adrienne.

“No. I never had a reason to.” She answered truthfully.

“And now?”

“I didn’t mind spending the day with you.”

That stopped him. Just for a second.

She didn’t take it back. Let the words fill in the space between them.

“Can I ask you something?” Aspen felt silly for even asking but needed the disclaimer before she started talking.

Smoke nodded his head towards her, patiently waiting for whatever she could ask.

“You always so intense when you’re working?” Aspen watch Smoke as he ordered his employees around the venue.

Smoke eyed her while she rubbed her lips together, melting the cherry color on her lips together.

“You always watching?” Humored with her flustered attempt to answer, Smoke finished the rest of his drink.

Aspen thought back to the word he’d said before.

“You said you brought me here for my leadership. So lead, or watch me do it.”

Aspen hadn’t meant to react. But her body betrayed her. Heat surged like a second heartbeat — behind her knees, in her stomach, between her thighs.

“I’m mostly nice.”

_________________________________

They didn’t go back right away. Smoke took her along the water instead. To walk around and feel the city breathing around them, heat rising off the pavement.

“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” Aspen said, her feet dragging lightly in the sand.

Smoke slightly adjusted his shirt. The humidity was making him itch.

“I was supposed to be a preacher,” he said after a pause.

Aspen blinked. “Stop.”

“I’m serious.”

“How do you know? Your parents mention it?”

Smoke chuckled. “Ma tried. Pops too. That’s how I ended up learning scripture before I could ride a bike.”

“So what happened? Why music instead?”

“They tried to beat the prophet into me.” Smoke answered after a while. “The Lord never left me, but the need to be ‘round that did.”

Aspen walked in silence beside him for a few seconds.

“That’s a lot Smoke.”

“It’s true.”

_________________________________

Back in the elevator, the air was tighter. Smoke stood next to her, close enough for her perfume to remind him of the car ride. Of the record store. Of her skin in yellow.

“You still want your own room?” he asked again. Slower this time.

Aspen looked up at him. His eyes held hers like they weren’t afraid of what she might say.

“No,” she said.

He didn’t move at first. Not immediately. He let her take her shoes off. Let her wander near the balcony. Let her stand in silence with the city behind her.

When he did walk over, he didn’t grab her. Just stood behind her, quiet. Observant.

“You sure?” Smoke asked, his voice lower now, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

Aspen turned to face him. She looked up at him — not with fear. Not with uncertainty.

With knowing.

“You think I’d be here if I wasn’t?”

That was the only answer that he needed.

Aspen stood quietly at the window, arms folded, phone long dead and forgotten on the nightstand. For once, she didn’t care. She wasn’t planning. Wasn’t sorting through tomorrow’s tasks. Wasn’t checking emails. The world could keep spinning without her for a night.

It felt unreal. One minute she was curled in her bed with Miles, wrapped in her routine. The next, she was here — in a Miami hotel room, lights low, music distant, and Smoke Moore behind her.

But it didn’t feel like what she’d imagined.

There was only one bed — a king — and he hadn’t so much as brushed past her. No hovering, no unnecessary contact. Just the same calm presence she’d met that first day. Somehow, that made it more dangerous. That restraint. That ease. Like he wasn’t trying to win something, only witness it.

She took her time in the shower. Washed slow, let the heat do what it needed to. Tried to let go of the hesitation that clung to her skin more stubbornly than the Miami humidity. When she stepped out and dressed, it wasn’t with seduction in mind. Just comfort.

A soft, matching pajama set — loose-fitting shorts and a ribbed tank — modest by most standards, but she knew how she looked. She knew what complemented her thighs, knew how her collarbone sat above the neckline. It wasn’t sexy. But it was enough. Enough for her to feel a little exposed and for Smoke to notice, if he chose to look.

And he did.

Smoke sat back against the headboard, eyes closed, arms relaxed behind his head, the faint scent of something herbal still clinging to the air. His phone was on the dresser, forgotten just like hers. He hadn’t said much when she stepped out — just opened his eyes, looked once, and offered the quiet of the room like it was a shared language.

“You tired?” Smoke asked finally, voice low.

“Not really,” Aspen said, pulling her legs under her. She didn’t face him yet, just stared at the TV screen that wasn’t even on.

“Cold?”

She hesitated. Then nodded. The AC had been relentless. The kind of chill that needed to match the heat outside.

Smoke didn’t say anything. He just shifted, arm reaching slowly behind her — not quite an invitation, more a quiet offering. A soft, solid warmth beneath her neck. Aspen’s breath caught. Her brain tried to reason through it first, but her body had already moved. Into him. Into the space he’d created.

She tucked into his side cautiously, shoulder against his chest, cheek against the inside of his arm. She expected him to shift, to reposition, to adjust. He didn’t.

So they stayed like that. Distant, but not distant. Close enough to feel the tension begin to build like low tide pulling in.

When she looked up, Smoke was already watching her.

“What?” she murmured. “Everything’s—”

“You worry a lot,” he said, cutting her off gently.

It took her a second to absorb it. No one had ever pointed it out like that. Not with observation instead of judgment. He hadn’t accused. He’d seen.

“Not a bad thing though,” he continued. “To care.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Mhm.” That sound again, like he knew something she didn’t need to know yet.

Her voice dropped. “Caring too much for you Smoke?”

She couldn’t look at him as she asked it. The words tasted like too much. But Smoke didn’t blink.

“Never said it was.” His eyes followed her avoidance. “Especially coming from someone like you.”

There was something electric in the air now — like the charge before a summer storm. Aspen felt her face being guided gently back toward him, his hand under her jaw, light as breath. She let him. Let herself be seen fully, the way he liked to look at her — straight, honest, soft.

She didn’t look at him with desperation. It was curiosity, not dependence. That’s what Smoke liked. That he didn’t have to fix her. Didn’t have to carry her. She came whole — the way most people didn’t.

He could just be here.

Smoke didn’t say anything else. Just leaned in and kissed her.

It started careful. He was still testing, still waiting. His lips were warm, deliberate. She followed his pace, a little eager, a little unsure. But then he slowed down even more — licking at the seam of her lips, coaxing something forward.

And that’s when he heard it.

A soft, breathless mew — involuntary and sweet.

Smoke smiled against her mouth. He kissed down her cheek, along the line of her jaw, and stopped beneath her ear. His voice was teasing now, but not cruel.

“You make that noise again,” he murmured near her ear, voice gravel-soft, “I’m not gonna be able to stop where we at.”

Aspen’s stomach dipped. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a push. It was a promise made in patience. That if she asked for more, he’d give it — carefully. Completely. But only if she asked.

She pulled back just slightly, their noses brushing.

“Who said I wanted you to stop?” she whispered.

He pulled away just enough to look at her. His eyes were half-lidded, lazy with want — but patient. Always patient.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight, I just wanna hold you. That alright?”

Aspen nodded. “Yeah. That’s alright.”

She shifted into him fully now, pressing her head beneath his chin, arm draped over his stomach. Smoke adjusted too, one arm around her shoulders, the other under the blanket. Nothing rushed. Nothing frantic. Just warmth.

“This don’t feel like how it’s supposed to,” she murmured after a while.

“That a bad thing?”

“No,” she whispered. “I was scared you’d expect more.”

“I told you what I wanted,” Smoke said, already sounding like sleep. “Day with you. That’s it.”

That was it.

She closed her eyes. Let herself settle into the space between what was expected and what actually was.

And that night, they both slept — not perfectly, not deeply, but held. In the quiet. In the trust.

_________________________________

@thefutureemmywinner

@coldeforprez

@rolemodelshit

[erikftglitter]

♫ Have Ya Babies - Smoke Moore

(3) Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long? Why has it been so long?

Aspen was adamant about wearing the color yellow. Ever since she agreed to go out with Smoke, the color of the sun was calling her name. Adrienne was also, quite literally, calling her name.

“So you’re ready to be back out there?” Adrienne asked sincerely. Aspen didn’t do casual. She didn’t like unpredictability. Everything about the Moore lifestyle screamed both. Even if Adrienne had no clue just who Aspen was easing towards.

“Yeah. I’m just agreeing to lunch.” She rushed out. She was grateful that they were talking traditionally rather than FaceTime, otherwise Adrienne would’ve clocked her hesitation.

“Okay.” Adrienne got quiet for a moment. “And I can’t see him again because of what?” She quizzed.

She wasn’t obsessed with Aspen’s love life, but if someone was taking her out, she deserved to know who — in case something went left.

“Adri.” Aspen sighed. “I’ll be fine. Promise. My location will be on.” She reassured.

A few more true crime stories later and Adrienne finally let it go.

“Just be safe.”

Aspen hung up, grateful. Her best friend, always full of concern, meant well but she was eager to pursue this independently.

The yellow dress matched the version of herself she wanted Smoke to see — confident, elegant, not trying too hard. It dipped low enough to draw the eye and stopped just short enough to let the imagination do its job. Appropriately dressed for lunch. A museum, maybe. Or anything else Smoke Moore might pull from his sleeve.

_________________________________

Stack eyed his brother in gentle curiosity. One thing missed about identical twins? They mirrored each other. Stack felt Smoke’s feelings and he wore them on his own face.

This time though, Stack was confused.

Smoke was expectantly blank all the time, but in times of celebration, worship, and praise he was a bit loose. Unguarded.

Stack felt that his brother looked off.

The lawsuit was dropped and they had the exclusive performer for the VS Fashion Show, two things that Smoke had been striving for. Smoke was quiet even for himself.

“You got better places to be?” Stack teased. Half jokingly, half concerned. Smoke never talked about his feelings. Not to Elias. Not to anyone.

In the past when his feelings were hurt he would just go mute. He’d toss his old trainers on and run for miles. Away from daddy. Away from responsibility.

“Elijah I done told you about being so hard on those shoes.” Disappointment in his eyes. “How you gone be a big brother and you doing the same stupid shit.”

“Yes sir.” Elijah replied, his head lowered in defeat.

He told Elias that they shouldn’t run in them but Elias was the only one who pushed his buttons.

“What you scared of? A challenge? Slow poke. Slow poke!” Elias taunted throwing little pebbles at his brother.

“Quit it.”

“Na slow poke. Slow poke smoke’s what we gone start calling you. Slow poke too scared of smoke.” Elias taunted repeatedly until Elijah planted his feet on ground and left Elias in a dusty, smoke-like, cloud.

“Man quit I wasn’t ready!”

The was the first time that Elijah clung to the name Smoke. The beginning of his resentment towards his father and guiltily — towards his brother.

“I’m satisfied Stack.” Smoke huffed out, still sounding grumpy, but aware of his brother’s observation.

Something was throwing him off. Was taking a woman out for lunch so foreign for him? That couldn’t be what broke his normal, blank expression. Not this early.

“You should be! Now I called Metro and they-“

“I got plans tonight.” Smoke cut him off. Smoke had no business being near Stack and Metro at the same time. Especially not today.

“Sammie said you’d say no anyway.” Stack sucked his teeth. “No fun.”

“Ay don’t be poisoning my cousin man.” Smoke looked up. Staring Elias in his eyes made his stomach churn sometimes.

“Whatever.” Stack’s eyes lowered. “What you doing that you so busy tonight?”

“Bye Stack.”

Stack sucked his teeth again. “Don’t go fatherin’ no kid and pin it on me!” Stack called out as he walked away.

That would definitely go the other way around if that ever happened. Luckily they didn’t have the same taste.

_________________________________

Smoke sat in her driveway in silence. He’d been there for a few minutes before he texted her. He scoped out the block. Made note of her car, cute. Texted her once his car was in park.

I’m here. Take ya time.

In no rush to speed up this evening, Smoke quietly sparked one up. Just a drag. Just to ease his mind. This was the first date in a while, his first of the year.

Aspen did her time. Enthralled by her own presence she hadn’t heard Smoke’s message come through. It was only five minutes though.

She sprayed a little bit of her favorite perfume, kissed her cat goodbye, and made her way downstairs to see Smoke.

To see Smoke.

That felt unreal. Smoke Moore was in her driveway. And only the two of them knew it.

How long could that last?

Smoke ashed the blunt as soon as Aspen’s front door opened. Got out of his own seat and walked around the passenger side to open her door.

His eyes swept over her like a slow draw. Yellow dress. Yellow heels. Yellow might be his favorite color.

“Ya look beautiful.” Smoke admitted once she was in earshot.

“Thank you.” Aspen smiled shyly. The warmth in his voice did more to her than the heat outside.

Smoke looked good too. Fitted white tee, tailored black bottoms, and a scent that made her thighs tense. He smelt like a man who needed to be taken care of. Handled carefully on hands and kn-

Aspen blinked away the haze. That was not where she wanted her mind. A man like Smoke had accessible sex. Would he really go through all of this if it was just for sex?

“Smells nice in here.” Aspen revealed, eager to break the tension. She felt like she could hear her own heartbeat.

“You smell nice. Look real nice too.” He complemented again. From the corner of his eye he could still see her eyes blink away what she was desperately trying to hide.

“You always this kind?” Aspen laughed, deflecting away from the fact that Smoke was sizing her.

“Only when I see a lady in a sundress.” He smirked as they approached the red light.

“Guess I should wear one more often then,” she said, biting back a grin.

“Absolutely.”

“So where we going?” Aspen asked. He said that he was taking her out but never specified where.

“I know a good spot. Good people.”

“I love good food.”

And Smoke knew how to use a highlight to make a decision.

He knew this could be trouble — but trouble rarely smelled this sweet.

_________________________________

♫ Now playing: Come Thru - Drake

“You still in school?” Smoke asked. He was trying to keep up with the titles being released from her mouth.

“One more semester to go.” Aspen smiled.

“Ya scared?” He asked genuinely. “For the weight of carrying other people’s burden?”

“You know what it feels like?”

It got quiet. Not awkward — just full.

The waitress appeared just in time, refilling their glasses before either of them had a chance to respond.

“On the house. Mr. Moore’s a good man.” The girl admitted looking admiringly at Smoke.

“So I hear.” Aspen’s eyes never left Smoke’s.

“Don’t flatter me Lis’.”

“Somebody has to. You sure won’t do it yourself!” She laughed walking away with the wine bottle.

“You don’t celebrate your wins?” Aspen asked once she walked away.

“Pay that no mind.”

“Mhmm that says no.” Aspen raised. “How come you not celebrating right now.”

Aspen heard about the lawsuit being dismissed. Some of her friends reposted the announcement on their pages. The lawsuit was effecting their efforts to headline Coachella, something every artist eventually wanted to do.

“I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Here’s to you Smoke. One of many accolades acknowledged.” Aspen smiled clinking her glass with an uncertain Smoke.

“Come on. Clink my glass or I’m calling the kid back out here.” She joked. Smoke sighed but he complied, lifting his glass to touch hers.

_________________________________

They stayed longer than expected. The plates were cleared, but neither of them made a move. Just two half-full glasses of wine, and a low instrumental playing in the background.

“I ain’t ready to drop you off yet.” Smoke admitted after enough silence had passed.

“I don’t have a curfew.” Rolling off her tongue with clear approval. She was having a better time than anticipated. This might’ve been the first time she felt seen as a grown woman and not just something pretty.

Smoke was a listener. He answered questions but rarely offered information unless asked. He listened to her words, imagined some of the places she’d been, and made mental notes of her interest.

Something about needing a pilates studio? He’ll figure that out later.

Smoke held the door open for her once they left the restaurant. Lunch was amazing and the owners had been good people just as Smoke said.

They didn’t drive far. Just a few blocks down. The sun had started to drop low enough to give everything that golden glaze. The light bounced off Aspen’s skin, almost if the sun was complementing her outfit.

Smoke slowed as they passed a faded blue storefront, easy to miss if you’re speeding. The windows were a bit worn, painted with various album covers.

“Thought that looked like a record shop,” he mumbled.

Aspen blinked. Then again.

“Wait.” Her voice high. “That’s— Jesus. That’s still open?”

“You been here?” Smoke eyed. He could hardly see the store being active based on the appearance alone.

“My brother and I used to come here all the time.” It rolled off her tongue so easily. She hadn’t meant to say the thoughts aloud. Not before she could dress it up.

“They had this back section just for underground hip-hop. He used to spend hours back there, trying his best to win Nas tickets.”

“Ya brother spit?” Smoke asked as he parked. Aspen couldn’t help but to watch as he turned his head to reverse into an empty parking spot. What a side profile.

Aspen didn’t answer right away. She just looked at the building like it would answer for her. Like it could wrap her in a tight hug and pull her back in time.

“No,” she said once Smoke looked over. “He just really loved music.”

Once they stepped inside a soft bell greeted them. Followed by the familiar crackle of something spinning from the back — Marvin Gaye filled the room just like did so many years ago.

Dust floated in the sunlight like memory particles. Aspen’s heels muffled against the old carpet. She spilt a coke here once on this very same carpet. Moving too fast, laughing too hard, enjoying the moments that she couldn’t get back now.

“Everything’s exactly the same,” she whispered. “Even the smell.”

Smoke watched her. Carefully. The way her fingers ghosted over the shelves. The way her eyes scanned the vinyl like they were searching for something that wasn’t even there. His eyes danced in precision as he walked behind her.

“Your brother,” Smoke started, walking closer to the vinyls that Aspen rummaged through.

“He the only family you mention,” he said. Not accusatory. Just observant. Just using the little knowledge that she revealed.

Aspen stopped. Just for a second. Her back still turned away from him.

“Yeah,” she said. That was it. She didn’t need to say anything else.

Smoke didn’t press. He didn’t need to.

He reached past her gently and picked up a worn copy of Illmatic. The one her finger had been silently brushing over.

“This his favorite?”

“The favorite,” Aspen said with a stiff laugh. “He used to say Nas taught him more than school ever did.”

Smoke studied the cover, flipping it over like it weighed more than it did. He knew this album. Knew some of the people on it too.

“Smart man.”

Aspen looked at him then, eyes just a little too shiny.

“He was.”

Smoke didn’t respond. He wasn’t too good at comforting people. Instead, he paid for the record and handed it to her without a word.

Aspen held it close during the entire car ride home. It was the first time in years she held a piece of Joseph outside of a memory.

The first time she felt physical comfort from something that reminded her of him. The first time that she felt seen in the eyes of grief. Smoke Moore was the one who did that for her.

_________________________________

@thefutureemmywinner

@coldeforprez

@rolemodelshit

[erikftglitter]

It’s like when you type “black/dark skin” at the end of your search and white skin still have the top results.

There needs to be a trigger warning for Remnick if I’m looking for Smoke fics 🫩

[erikftglitter]

There needs to be a trigger warning for Remnick if I’m looking for Smoke fics 🫩

[erikftglitter]

Stack and crybaby reader who just wants to be coddled by her man and left alone

𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Pairing-Elias*Stack*Moore x BlackReader

A/N- Idk which version you wanted so I did both modern and when sinners take place but it doesn’t follow the storyline hope you like it

You were soft. That was the first thing folks noticed about you. Soft voice, soft hands, soft little heart that bruised easy.

And Stack Moore? He wasn’t soft. Not by a long shot.

Six-foot-something and mean-looking even when he smiled, all gold teeth and sharp eyes. Folks whispered about him in juke joints and on porches, called him and his brother trouble dressed in good shoes and tailored vests. A bootlegger, a gambler, a killer, depending on who you asked.

But none of that mattered when it was just you and him.

Not when you were curled up on his bed, in one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled three times past your wrists, tear tracks fresh on your cheeks. The night was hot, even with the windows cracked. The fan clinked every now and then, useless and slow. Outside, somewhere down the road, a blues record spilled out from someone’s front porch, crackling like fire.

And you? You just wanted to be left alone—except not really. You wanted Stack.

He’d walked in not even ten minutes ago, smellin’ like smoke and gin. He had a cigarette behind his ear and a slick little grin that vanished the moment he saw your face.

“Aww, baby… What’s all this now?”

You sniffed, lip trembling. “Nothin’.”

“That don’t look like nothin’. You cryin’ again?”

“I said I’m fine, Stack.”

“Mmhmm. You fine, but you in my bed lookin’ like the world ended.”

He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. His fingers found your ankle, rubbed slow over the bone.

“I ain’t mean to get on you earlier,” he said, voice low and rough. “I know I said I’d be back before supper.”

“It ain’t that,” you mumbled, staring at your hands. “You just… you always go and don’t tell me nothin’. And then I sit here waitin’ all night, wonderin’ if somethin’ happened. Wonderin’ if I’m gon’ get that knock on the door sayin’ you ain’t comin’ back.”

Your voice cracked, and Stack’s jaw tensed.

You hated that you cried so easy. Like a faucet that didn’t know how to shut off. But you were raised gentle. Raised to worry, raised to love hard.

And Stack, well… Stack wasn’t raised much at all.

He sighed, leaned down and kissed your bare knee. “You know I ain’t got no plans on leavin’ you like that.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll try.” He tugged you closer by your legs, gentle but firm. “C’mere. Let me hold you.”

“I don’t wanna talk right now.”

“Didn’t say nothin’ about talkin’. I said hold you.”

So you let him pull you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist like you were somethin’ precious. Like you were breakable, and he was finally learnin’ how to handle you right.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and sure. “You always do this,” he said, voice half amused, half fond. “Start cryin’ and then tell me to go away like you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Stack laughed, deep and sweet. “Lyin’-ass girl. You want me here so bad you damn near cried me home.”

You smacked his chest with your palm—soft, not real—but he caught your wrist and kissed your fingers.

“Ain’t no shame in wantin’ to be loved on,” he murmured, rubbing circles on your back. “Not with me. You wanna cry, cry. You wanna be babied, I’ll baby you. I don’t care who sees. You mine.”

You sniffled again, trying to bury your face in his neck. “You ain’t mad I’m always like this?”

“Nah. I like my girl sweet. Soft. The world too hard for both of us to be like me.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. “But I swear to God, next time you get to cryin’, don’t sit up here by yourself. You call for me, you hear?”

You nodded. And this time when the tears came, they didn’t burn as much.

They fell easy.

And so did you—right into the arms of the only man who ever made you feel like bein’ soft wasn’t a weakness.

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

You weren’t even mad for real. Not mad-mad. Just in your little feelings.

It had started over something dumb—like it always did. You couldn’t even remember what you were pouting about now. All you knew was that Stack hadn’t kissed you goodbye before stepping out earlier, and now everything felt wrong.

So you curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands, and your pout growing bigger by the minute. You scrolled aimlessly on your phone, sniffled once or twice just loud enough to make sure he’d hear it if he was near—and you left your do-not-disturb on anyway.

When the front door opened and Stack walked in, the scent of weed and that clean soap he liked hit the air. His keys dropped in the bowl, his slides shuffled across the floor, and then it got quiet. Too quiet.

“…You good?”

You didn’t answer. Just let out a long, very dramatic sigh as you turned your back to him and tucked yourself deeper under the blanket.

Stack exhaled through his nose. “Here we go,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just the usual amused kind of tired that came out when you were being extra.

He came around to your side of the couch, leaned over, and tapped your thigh. “Why you actin’ like I don’t always come back home to you?”

You stayed silent.

He crouched down so you were eye level. “You mad at me?”

“…No.”

“You cryin’?”

“…No.”

Stack sucked his teeth and ran a hand down his face. “Girl. What happened now?”

You sniffed again and shrugged, voice all quiet and pitiful. “You ain’t kiss me goodbye.”

His lips parted like he was about to say something smart, but then he caught your face—your real face, not the bratty one you used when you wanted to argue. Your eyes were shiny and your nose a little pink. You looked fragile. Real soft. All he could do was shake his head.

“Come here, crybaby.”

“No.”

“I said come here.”

You let him pull the blanket down just enough for him to scoop you up like a little kid. He sat back on the couch with you in his lap, arms wrapping around your waist like muscle memory. His hands were warm, rings cold against your skin, and that was all it took to make the tears start for real—for no reason at all.

“I hate you,” you mumbled into his neck, sniffling again.

Stack chuckled, rubbing your back. “I know, baby. I hate me too.”

You hit his chest softly, all useless and pouty. He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You want me to coddle you, huh?”

You nodded.

“You want me to baby you.”

Another nod.

“Even when you bein’ dramatic.”

You gave a teary little “mhm.”

“Alright then.” He pulled the blanket around both of you, tucked your head under his chin. “Go ‘head. Cry it out. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You clung to him like a teddy bear, hiccuping once or twice as your mood started to melt just being close to him. He didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t ask you to explain. Just let you sit there on his chest while he rubbed your back, soft and slow, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You done?” he asked after a while.

“No.”

“Aight,” he said, grinning to himself. “Take your time, princess.”

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫- @cursed-carmine

[erikftglitter]

♫ Have Ya Babies - Smoke Moore

(2)..'Cause I see you tryin', subliminally tryin' to see if I'm gon' be the one that's in your arms I admit it's exciting, parts of me kinda like it..

Now Playing: Motive by Ariana Grande

Smoke is a simple man. Black coffee, mint gum, keys and a wallet are the only necessities he needed. Especially for a morning like this. Production management, consultation with legal, and contract extensions are the most essential part of this season.

This is where Smoke curated a budget. This is how he determined how they would proceed with their current projects. This is how Stack made magic happen. Smoke did the business and Stack handled the artistry.

Smoke got to live a quieter life while Stack lived just as loud as their artists. It was fitting for the both of them.

“Mr. Moore,” Nicole fumbled, careful of her words. “We were curious about your position on the collaboration.”

“The projection suggested ain’t accurate.” Smoke answered bluntly. These projections were based on the best case scenario. He didn’t like that.

“Yes but-“

“Nicole I don’t pay you for buts. Give me a realistic proposal. I’ll think about it.”

He wasn’t pessimistic. He was never a negative person. He lived through truth. Smoke hated nothing more than a lie. Little white ones, huge ones, and of course the biggest one all

They were dressed in purple

Ma had said that Daddy wore a fly, royal suit the day that he picked her up. She kept it locked in the attic after his passing.

Elijah found it one day, puzzled by his discovery. The sequin vest had tarnished a deep burnt orangey like color. Much like the dried blood found on daddy the day he was discovered.

“Yo? Slow poke.” Elijah looked up at his brother from his kneeled position, struggling to tie his laces with his shaky hands.

“What really happened to daddy?”

“Yes Mr. Moore.” Bringing Smoke back to present time, Nicole quickly gathered her binders and left the table abruptly.

Smoke didn’t find the purpose of anyone finishing the meeting after he’s given them a task. They’d learned that the first time.

“Amazon is willing to pay the fees regarding the lawsuit.”

“What they want for it?” Smoke breathed out adjusting his tie.

“An exclusive performance for the runway show.”

“Which one?”

“Victoria’s Secret sir. It’d make sense to consider the next face of Moore Entertainment.”

“Get Stack on board and I’ll sign it.”

“R-right away sir.”

This is the way things went when Smoke was in the building. The air was suddenly drier and the most confident employee stumbled over their words.

The conversations got heavier as Smoke considered the outcome of several time consuming decisions. He needed to run things by his legal team before they faced another lawsuit.

The sun was setting by the time his meetings concluded. And just on time, always on schedule, his brother called him

“Stack.”

“Smoke.”

“What you got?”

“I need you to say yes ‘fore I finish.”

“The hell you did now?”

“Nothing. Always so inquisitive. Nigga loosen up.”

“Then what you need my yes for?”

“Come to the MTV Awards with me.”

“Stack.”

“They wanna see you stupid.”

“….Fine.”

“Brenda’s gonna drop your outfit off.”

Smoke shook his head, aware that his spoiled, Mr. always get his way had already customized and tailored their clothes. This was Stack’s way of showing his love. Getting Smoke the latest clothes, altering his vehicles to have the cleanest interior, and Smoke just allowed it.

Since their twelfth birthday Elias dressed Smoke. Ma had been late on the rent and couldn’t afford to get both of their heads cut and to buy a cake. But with some rugged clippers and a makeshift cape, Stack lined both of them up. He cut Smoke’s hair first then repeated the actions on himself.

Stack got them the newest clothes from that point forward, not always paying for them, but nonetheless they were fresh. Fresh enough to eventually buy their mama a house and start a legitimate business. Moore Entertainment. More life.

_________________________________

“Adrienne.” Aspen groaned, walking away from her beloved best friend.

“Aspen it’s one night come on.” Adrienne begged, following Aspen around the room.

“What would I even wear to an award show?”

“To be fair, Aspe, we do have the limited, obstructed view.” Adrienne giggled. “We could probably put on anything.”

Aspen couldn’t hide the smile creeping up on her lips. The thought of them wearing cheap bodycon dresses made both women laugh out loud.

“So will you come?” Adrienne pleaded.

Aspen was supposed to be in Phoenix, but her grades weren’t as great as they ought to be so she wasn’t selected. Adrienne knew that stung her bestie’s heart so she was dragging her to the MTV Awards regardless.

“I’ll go Adrienne.” Aspen sighed. Her heart still stung from the rejection letter but maybe it just wasn’t her turn. Maybe she still had unfinished business with what’s right in front of her.

“And I’m really sorry about Phoenix babe. I know how bad you wanted to be in this clinical study.”

Aspen nodded. Adrienne was a great friend to her. Always had the right words for every occasion, always knew Aspen well enough to get her back on track.

“Thanks Adri. You always know just what to say.”

_________________________________

The next few days were slow. Aspen felt a little less busy now that she was finished with her accelerated courses for the semester. The extended course in Phoenix would’ve taken all of her time.

Aspen Powell.

B.A. in Psychology.

Clinical Psychology Graduate Student.

That’s what she knew herself as. That’s who she resonated with when she looked in the mirror. But underneath the degree? Underneath the academic validation?

There was a little girl scared to fail. Scared to become complacent. Scared that she’d suffer the same fate of the women around her. Old, mean, under-accomplished, bitter of the progress of anyone else.

Aspen wanted more than that. She knew that Adrienne was right when she told her last week,

“Aspen, every knocked point isn’t the end of the world. I know you’re striving for perfection, but are you not granted room for growth? Imagine if you told one of the kids that you interviewed half of the things you said to yourself.”

She deserved to have fun. She deserved a night out with her best friend. She could still be happy with her life even if it didn’t move at the pace of her expected timeline.

This dress symbolized that to her. Vintage Spring Versace - 1995. A small gift but a big promise to herself. A-lined mini dress with a sharply cinched waist, flaring just slightly, and structured bust — designed to enhance a figure like hers.

It was worth the hassle, Aspen thought.

It’d been a huge deal when she first got it. She swore the listing had described the dress to be black but it was clearly navy blue. The color of authority. The color of calmness.

“Whoo Aspe! You look good!” Adrienne beamed from the doorframe.

Aspen’s dress paired perfectly with the monochromatic theme of her heels and her purse. You only get one time to make a first impression.

“Adrienne stop…. You literally look like you belong on the stage.” Aspen admired.

Adrienne wore a black blazer-like dress. Length stopping just past her upper thigh. Her natural hair crimped down her back. Gold accessories covered her brown skin.

“I figure we dress up like we belong and they might put the Moore twins right in front of us.”

Aspen brushed it off — forcing a dry laugh from her throat, until she realized that it really wasn’t funny.

_________________________________

“You know I always wondered which blush they used on her.” Adrienne admitted after Sabrina Carpenter’s performance.

“Has to be Juvia’s place.” Aspen laughed.

“You know you’re probably right. I’m gonna find her MUA before the night ends.” Adrienne declared.

The best part was that Adrienne was one hundred percent serious. She had a dangerously charismatic personality. The same personality that made her Wale’s ex and scored them MTV Awards passes.

“Maybe you can figure out how to get us some ozempic too.” Aspen joked. “I been eating apple fritters everyday.”

“Apsen that’s nasty.” Adrienne laughed out. “Even for you.”

Their laughter was stilled by the dimming lights. The next act was going to be on soon, but despite the dimness Aspen felt like the spotlight had been on her.

She was very confident in her outfit, saving the vintage piece for a moment such as this one. But this feeling didn’t come from an external perspective. She felt something in her shift internally. Something that warmed her skin and tainted her thoughts.

Despite the warmness Aspen still leaned into her best friend and posed for a boomerang. Reposting it as soon as it was posted.

@ItsAdriiAgain:

“Moments like these with my girl @asperfect4u 💓”

They looked real good in their boomerang, earning likes by the second. It was subtle. It wasn’t hey look at us around celebrities. Very mindful. Very intentional. Very Adrienne.

The show was beautiful. Tributes to the deceased, live music, comedic jokes in between commercial breaks, and of course the never ending jokes between Aspen and Adrienne.

“Girlll look he looks just like Lil Wayne.”

“Before or after the fried catfish hair?”

Aspen muffled the scream that threatened to rip through their section. Giggling just like they had been doing since middle school.

After the show Adrienne kept her promise to stalk down Sabrina Carpenter’s makeup artist, leaving Aspen to look busy while she waited.

Living a similar fate, Smoke waited patiently for Stack to finish networking. Smoke spoke. Talked real well when it mattered, but rarely used many words. Stack was doing the right thing. Mingling, inviting people to their after party, offering smiles to the camera, just being exactly who he needed to be.

The urge to smoke was intense when Elijah felt off. He couldn’t call it anxiety. Wouldn’t call it fear. And he knew better than to label it crazy. Daddy was crazy. Smoke was just…. fervid.

Passionate.

He doesn’t remember when he opened the multicolored application, but soon he found himself enamored by Aspen’s face on his cellphone. He really hadn’t meant to open the app. Nor did he mean to watch her story.

But how would he know that she was -

in front of him?

Aspen felt that warmth again. The feeling that she felt when the lights dimmed earlier that night. When she felt the spotlight on her without the light. She rubbed her velvety lip gloss together, a habit when’s she anxious, and once she looked up she found the source of the light.

Her eyes met his before her brain processed his existence. Warm. Fiery. Enchanting.

Smoke Moore was much taller than she imagined him to be. But she hadn’t seen much of him. He was made up exactly like Stack, who everyone has seen, but she never did imagine them to be the same. Smoke was unreadable. Incomprehensive. Smoke was

Smoke was starring directly at her and she had no idea what she should do.

No crowd. No flashes. No Stack.

Just an empty hall. Her. And him.

He didn’t move right away. His tongue just slid alongside the back of his teeth. He would approach this like he did everything. Calm. Deliberate.

“You always post your location when you’re out?“

Aspen smiled slower than she meant to. His voice. That sweet, southern tone covered every syllable. It touched every vowel. His voice was deeper than Stack’s and he spoke much slower in pace.

“Only when I care to be seen.”

That landed much smoother than she expected.

“Then I’m glad I saw it.”

Aspen bit her lip. Smoke’s eyes followed her every move and she suddenly felt parched. His cologne lingered in front of her despite the amicable distance between them. The faint scent of mint hovered as well.

He looked so clean. So pristine yet his eyes carried something deeper. Something jagged, something vulnerable. And he was allowing her a small glimpse of it right now.

“What you getting into tonight?” Smoke inquired, noting that she was currently all alone.

“I actually don’t know yet.” Aspen admitted. Adrienne would be providing those details any moment now.

“You tell me your availability and I take ya out next week.”

Aspen’s a bit taken back by the forwardness. No liking her stories for weeks. No suggestive direct messages. No direct messages at all. Just real life and real pressure.

“Who says that I’m free?” Her voice was light, but there was weight behind it. Even Smoke Moore didn’t get to fast-track through the layers. She remained guarded.

“Weeks repeat. Don’t they?” He’d clocked her flutter — the quick giveaway in her lashes.

“You that used to women saying yes to that?” She appeared calm on the surface but her skin was volcanic. Her head was tilted just slightly, not combative — just curious. Dissecting him in real time. Testing the depth of his water.

“‘M just hoping you say yes.” Smoke reached his hand out to grab hers, placing an excruciatingly slow kiss to her wrist. He didn’t entertain much bickering, just applied delicate pressure and women usually melted. Too swooned by his certainty.

“It was nice to meet you Aspen.”

“You too Smoke.”

Part 2 of HYB.

_________________________________

[erikftglitter]

My first Sinners fic go check it out!

♫ Have Ya Babies - Smoke Moore

Modern!AU - @erikftglitter’s first work on the main blog. New works are here & works in progress will finish there.

This writing is a little different than my others and the inconsistent way of referring to the twins are intentional. I want Elias/Elijah to feel human, real, vulnerable but Smoke/Stack are guarded, intense, intriguing. So if that name changes so does the atmosphere/environment. Make sense? :)

Aspen ❤️‍🔥

@Asperfect4U

Life’s a movie; here lies the best scenes.

Followed by no one you know.

Elijah started at his iPhone screen for several moments. He touched the screen, just barely enough pressure to commit to a decision, but enough to keep his screen from locking.

One moment he was opening a direct message from his brother, Elias, and now he was stumped by the beauty in the round icon.

Aspen. He liked that. He wondered what made her choose the fiery heart. What made her fierce? Who made her fierce?

He knew that he shouldn’t, especially not publicly, but that intrigued him more. To be attracted to something that he couldn’t have was not usually his style.

Elias was more of that guy. He loved pursuing challenges, he loved easy-mode, skipping the plot and going straight to action, but his favorite was women obsessed with him. Elijah shuddered at the thought of Stack’s current girlfriend. If Stack told her to set herself on fire then she would drink the gasoline and buy a heart shaped lighter. He had it like that.

But Smoke? His preference in women was completely different than his brother’s taste. Smoke was his name to just about everyone. With the exception of Stack, everyone who knew him as Elijah was long gone and he didn’t see that changing.

Despite the identical traits they just weren’t attracted to the same things. This made life easier. More consistent for the both of them.

If Stack chose salty then Smoke chose sweet. If Stack wore red then Smoke wore blue. It’s just how they were. Smoke could brush it off as a difference of opinion, but Elijah knew that there was a legitimate reason for the decisions that they made, but he liked to smoke away that reminder.

Daddy never chose Elias. Maybe because raising twins was too much. Maybe because Elias was born last. Either way, the resentment showed — and Elijah saw it long before Elias could name it. He could only take so much.

His brother, his other half, was no mistake. The creation of twins weren’t a curse and he’d be damned before anyone let his brother feel that way. He assumed responsibility for him by the age of eleven after daddy died. That’s just the way it’s been.

Elias got first call at everything. Sometimes Smoke would even let him win. He tried his best to erase the brutality that only they knew about when Ma did shifts overnight.

But he knew that Stack harbored that resentment in the back of his mind. He knew that his preference in obsessive women filled a void. He knew that his baby brother just wanted to feel…. wanted. He also knew that he was partially responsible for Stack being as reckless as he had been.

Smoke was always there to protect him from whatever he had done. Always overcompensating for the pain that daddy inflicted onto them. They play oblivious but Stack respected his brother’s actions. His protection. Someone wouldn’t mind talking crazy to Stack, but thought of taking on Smoke always made them take the high road.

So as sure as Smoke sounds, something in Elijah was hesitant deep down. This was not his lane. He didn’t flirt via social media. He didn’t watch women on the internet. He’s a real man and met women in real life.

But in a matter of seconds he couldn’t stop himself from viewing her stories from his personal account. The worst part is that he didn’t care. She had his attention. In a world of too much access that was rare.

I know what you're thinkin'

(I know what you're thinkin')

It's alright (can you feel me? Yeah)

It's alright, yes (ooh, baby)

♫ Now Playing: Read Your Mind - Avant ♫

The song was paired with a photo of who he assumes to be Aspen. She looked beautiful, stunning actually. Dressed in a fitted black top that revealed a small amount of cleavage. She had appeal that wasn’t inherently sexual. She looked like she didn’t need to try. The red lipstick intrigued him more.

He had a thing for the signature look.

He would have missed the subtle “v-day archives,” if it wasn’t for his finger holding the story down, pausing it to observe every inch of the frame. He knew what he was looking for. He didn’t use the platform often but he knew how women insinuated relationships. A shoe, a watch, a finger even, but the picture gave nothing.

She the type to have a man, he thought to himself. That was until the next story contradicted it all.

“Yes traditional women still exist & yes we want a traditional man.”

It was reposted, not her words, but it hit like they were. Against better judgment, he liked the story. Then followed the account.

To want what he couldn’t have.

“I need to smoke.” He grumbled.

He slid his phone into his pocket. He scanned his room for the tin that his brother dropped off earlier. A tin full of pre-rolls - rolled by the master himself.

Smoke couldn’t roll for himself. His hand had a small tremor despite his heavy efforts to diminish it. It didn’t attract attention, but years of training allowed him to be a little more controlled, a little bit more protected.

If you were intimidated by him, when would you have the courage to stare at him long enough to notice it? You wouldn’t and he knew that. Stack knew it too. He’d iron his brother’s clothes, cut his hair, and of course roll up when he knew that he couldn’t. All unspoken. That’s just how they were.

Stack asked him about it once. Smoke said that he was born with it. Stack didn’t ask again. He just noted that this was probably the only lie that Smoke told him and he was okay with it. It was easier to accept Smoke’s reality than to admit that he knew that Smoke had only developed that tremor in sixth grade when they were 11 and when daddy died.

The familiar feeling eased Smoke’s mind. He wasn’t thinking about daddy anymore and that’s all he wanted to do; forget about him and his treatment towards him. His tremor intensified but he closed his eyes and dropped his head, thinking of no one but the most high.

"The LORD examines the righteous, but the wicked, those who love violence, he hates with a passion."

He repeated it, just as he did in Sunday school many moons ago, and his body lost some of its ambition to keep him trembling. With a couple more drags he ashed the joint out.

The vibration of cell phone reminded him of his previous actions.

@Aspen ❤️‍🔥

@Asperfect4U followed you back!

The small satisfactory smile was the closest thing he’d do to celebrate. This was just the beginning.

_______

Aspen stared at her reflection. Her face was slightly swollen from crying. Another situationship. Another heartache. Another waste of time.

She was at war with her mind and her biological clock. She longed for a genuine connection but was receptive to the fact that it just wasn’t her time. She carried her boundaries well. That strictness got dudes gone the first time that they messed up.

She didn’t post while she was emotional. She didn’t tweet for his attention. She didn’t post songs that aligned with their situation. She was better than that. She simply moved on and lived as if they never existed and that hurt the most. Especially when they did exist and they caused real damage.

She cried in private, expressed discontent with her closest friends, but she would never let a man get a reaction out of her. Not when she built herself up when she was broken. Not when she had accomplished so much.

She was still fine as fuck though. The world deserved to see her again. It was the digital camera that reminded her of the Valentine’s Day photos. Mr. Disappointment played ghost that night, sending her flowers and chocolate in the morning, but failing to come through with a dinner.

So she went to dinner with Adrienne and forgot all about him. Two months later and he still rang her line, hoping for just one more chance. One that he had and fucked up.

Aspen thought about which song matched the vibe of her picture. Something seductive but not vulgar. Something spicy but not super suggestive. R&B was the way to go.

As she scrolled through the list, lyrics of Read Your Mind looped in her head. That was the one. She giggled to herself once she found the perfect part.

“I look good.” She smiled. And it wasn’t for him.

That was a few hours ago. She’d got trapped in a binge watching session of one of her favorite shows. She’d forgotten all about the Instagram story.

She was about to open the app but received a text message at the same time, unintentionally clicking the message open.

+ (223)-412-2541

Guess you moved on huh?

A new number, the same man. Aspen sighed. D1 athletes were now on her shit list.

She was curious about this particular message though. Usually he was trying to sell her a dream. Headstrong about not giving up. So what was with this declaration? Had she finally ignored him enough? Thank Goodness.

She saw the notification but she still ignored it. That hadn’t said what she thought it did so she ignored it. There was no way. It had to be a spam account posing in someone else’s place.

She scrolled through her explore page. Wellness accounts, university students, beauty tutorials, and countless advertisements. She was ready to exit the app but a post caught her attention.

“Yes traditional women still exist & yes we want a traditional man.”

A monogamous relationship was a scarcity in today’s society. She liked the quote and reposted it. This time she didn’t ignore the notification.

@smok3yvision liked your story!

@smok3yvision followed you!

The blue verification check followed the username. Smoke Moore just liked her post. Smoke Moore AKA @smok3yvision, co-founder of Moore Entertainment is checking for her.

Yeah D1 athletes are so over. She followed Smoke back but not before throwing a celebratory twerk in bed.

..I can your mind babe.

I can tell what you’re thinking..

What are we thinking? Yay? Nay?

[erikftglitter]

I would never cheat on you Smoke 😔

♱ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 ♱

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Elias “Stack” Moore.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you’re a complicated woman caught between your current boyfriend, Elijah “Smoke” Moore, and your ex, Elias “Stack” Moore.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ sooo.. im just posting this for filler because genuinely my Negan oneshot is taking sooooo long because i cant stop typing. i made this like a month ago, or more. also, i apologize in advance! if you guys want, i can make a part two to this because i was just going to leave it at a oneshot. enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 3.0k

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ➤ part 1, part 2, part 3???

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ cheating (reader is in a relationship with Smoke), sexual content, oral sex (reader receiving), spit kink, choking kink, biting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), emotional distress, unplanned pregnancy, modern au, black!reader (but anyone can imagine themselves), toxic relationship history (with Stack), emotional manipulation, lying/deception, and sibling betrayal.

═══════ ═══════ ═══════

you were the kind of girl that made a mess wherever you went—always soft in the way you spoke, but wild in the way you lived. loud in energy, but quiet in pain. black girl pretty, but hard to hold down. and everybody knew it.

everybody but smoke.

elijah loved you in that deep, patient way men only give to women they think they can fix. the type of love that doesn’t ask for chaos, just peace. he was gentle hands and sharp eyes. slow to speak, but always watching. he wasn’t the kind of man you were used to—but he felt safe. and safety, for you, was a hard thing to ignore.

you’d been with stack for two years before smoke came around. stack was everything you weren’t supposed to want, but couldn’t stop chasing—hood pretty, smooth talking, mean in the mouth and meaner in the bedroom. y’all cheated, fought, made up, broke up, and did it all over again like clockwork. you weren’t healed. he wasn’t either. but love lived in the in-between, and y’all stayed tangled in it.

when you and stack finally cut it off for real, you ain’t cry. you just texted smoke back that night when he asked if you still needed help putting your dresser together. that was six months ago.

now you were living in smoke’s apartment—his space, his rules, his love. he worked long hours and came home with shoulders tense, always with one hand on his gun and the other on your waist. he didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was always with weight.

“you been good today?” he’d ask, voice low, already knowing the answer just from how you moved when he walked in. you’d nod, kiss him on the cheek, try to play domestic even though it felt foreign. he never said it, but you could feel it on him—he didn’t believe you’d stay.

and you weren’t sure if he was wrong.

you still missed the way stack used to pull your hair and call you out your name in bed, the way y’all used to get dressed to fight, then end up fucking on the floor like animals. you missed being bad. but smoke didn’t allow bad. smoke was a man of order.

you couldn’t wear short skirts no more. couldn’t go out without him asking where, with who, and when you were getting back. and while he never raised his voice, the silence he gave you when he was upset cut deeper than any yell. smoke didn’t tolerate disrespect.

and you? you were built on it.

still, you stayed. told yourself you loved him—and maybe you did. maybe it wasn’t the same kind of love you had with stack, but it was quieter, safer. maybe that was enough.

maybe.

the day everything cracked open didn’t feel special. it was quiet, like most days in smoke’s apartment. the sun spilled soft over the hardwood floors, and you were cleaning the kitchen in a silk robe he didn’t like you wearing around the house.

“too short,” he said once, tugging it down over your thighs, his jaw tight. “that’s for me, not for walking ‘round.”

but he was gone that day—just ran to the store, said he’d be back in twenty. kissed your forehead like he always did, left his scent all over your collarbone. bergamot, tobacco, musk. that man always smelled expensive, like he ain’t belong anywhere but the top.

you were barefoot, sipping water with the fridge still open, when the front door creaked.

your heart hiccuped, but it wasn’t smoke.

it was stack.

and that silence between you two, thick like humidity in july, almost swallowed the both of you whole.

“smoke home?” stack asked, stepping in like he still had the right.

you stared at him, blinking slow. “do it look like he home?”

his lips tugged up—god, that cocky smirk. same one he gave you back when he’d pick you up from your mama’s house and tell you to lie about where you were going. he walked in like he owned the walls, like the memory of him still lived in them. and truth be told, maybe it did.

you crossed your arms over your chest, not because you were shy—but because stack’s eyes had already started dragging down the silk, pulling the robe off with just a look.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, but your voice didn’t hold no conviction. it sounded soft. almost like you wanted him there.

“you let him tame you?” he asked, nodding to the way your robe was tied tight, how your hair was up and your lip was glossed. “that’s crazy. you used to be loud, wild. now look at you. quiet in somebody else’s house.”

“shut the fuck up, stack.”

he laughed, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

“i ain’t say that to hurt you. i just… i miss you, that’s all.”

that was the problem—he meant it. stack didn’t love easy, but when he did, it clung like smoke in a room with no windows.

you swallowed hard. “you gotta go. smoke gon’ be back.”

“then we don’t got much time, huh?”

you didn’t move. didn’t tell him no, didn’t push him away when he stepped close enough to make your breath catch. his hand ghosted your waist. and you hated how your body remembered him. how your hips shifted just right, like no time had passed.

“don’t do this,” you whispered.

but he was already leaning in, lips brushing your ear.

“you gon’ stop me?”

and you didn’t.

you weren’t supposed to let him touch you.

but you didn’t stop him when he did.

stack had always known where to put his hands—how to pull soft gasps from you like he was reading sheet music. his palm grazed the curve of your ass, fingers curling slow, then sliding up your spine like he had a right to every part of you.

you told yourself you didn’t mean to lean into it.

told yourself this wasn’t going to happen.

but it was already happening.

“you gon’ let me remind you?” he whispered, lips barely touching your jaw, hot breath dragging goosebumps out your skin. “or you gon’ keep pretending you happy over here playing house?”

your fingers clutched the marble countertop behind you like it could ground you. like it could hold you down from floating into this mess you swore you wouldn’t get back into.

you looked him dead in the eye, trying to call his bluff. “you think you still got that hold on me?”

he tilted his head, smirking. “i know i do.”

and the worst part? he wasn’t wrong.

he kissed you like he was starving. no hesitation. tongue deep, rough, messy. your robe slipped loose like it wanted to fall for him too. and before you could blink, you were bent over the counter, silk sliding off your shoulder and your pride crumbling beneath the weight of your want.

his hand gripped your throat, not tight, just enough for you to feel it. for you to remember exactly who he was. stack didn’t ask for space—he took it. claimed it. filled it with words you weren’t supposed to let touch you anymore.

“open them legs, baby,” he growled against your ear. “i missed this pussy. missed how she cry for me.”

you moaned before you even realized it left your lips.

“stack, we can’t—”

“you already let me in. might as well let me finish.”

he sank to his knees like it was muscle memory. like your body still belonged to him. mouth hot, wet, soft in all the ways his voice wasn’t. your head rolled back, fingers clawing the edge of the counter while he devoured you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. like this was his last meal.

you gasped, loud, eyes wide as the silk robe dropped completely. stack’s mouth worked like he was tryna make you forget your own name. spit dripping down his chin, tongue circling your clit like he’d never been away.

you were trembling by the time he stood up, dick hard against your thigh. you knew what came next, and still, your breath caught when he slid inside, deep and slow.

“you still tight as hell,” he groaned, gripping your hips, thick fingers digging in. “damn, baby. you tryna make me lose my mind?”

you couldn’t answer. your mouth hung open, no words. just moans and wet slaps echoing off the tile. he pulled your hair, arching your back more, watching your ass ripple every time he hit the spot that made your knees buckle.

“say it,” he growled, choking you gently again, eyes locked on yours. “say this still mine.”

you whimpered, eyes glossy. “it’s yours…”

“louder.”

“it’s yours, stack—fuck—it’s still yours.”

his laugh was low and sharp. “yeah. i know.”

and then he nutted deep, thick and warm, biting your shoulder as he did it—marking you. you cried out, legs trembling, tears sliding down your cheeks not from pain, but from the shame curled tight in your chest.

when he pulled out, he slapped your ass once, soft. then zipped his pants like nothing happened.

“tell smoke i said what’s up,” he muttered, walking out the door.

and you were still bent over the counter, thighs wet and shaking, heart pounding like it was trying to escape you.

twenty minutes later, smoke came home.

you were back on the couch when smoke walked through the door.

robe retied. face wiped. body washed clean.

but guilt? guilt don’t wash off easy.

he set the bags down with a heavy sigh and locked the door behind him like always, slow and deliberate. like routine. like safety.

“you good?” he asked, eyes flicking up from the bags to your face. he always looked at you like he could see past the skin. like he knew when something was outta place even if you ain’t say it.

you smiled too quick. “yeah. just tired.”

he didn’t smile back.

smoke walked over, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. his lips lingered there, warm and still. when he pulled back, he studied you again—closer this time. and you swore, for a second, he smelled something on your skin. something that wasn’t his.

but he didn’t say nothing.

he sat on the couch beside you and pulled you in without asking, hand resting on your thigh like he always did when he missed you. he was always touching you, not in ways that screamed sex—but in ways that meant something deeper. his touch said i’m watching, i’m waiting, i’m yours even if you ain’t all mine.

“you ain’t been yourself,” he said finally, voice low. “you quiet. more than usual.”

your throat tightened. “i’m just tired, elijah. i promise.”

he nodded once, jaw tight. his hand slid up your thigh, then stopped mid-way.

“you take a shower?”

you froze for just half a second. “yeah. felt sticky.”

he nodded again. “you smell different.”

your heart jumped.

“like soap?” you offered, trying to laugh it off.

he didn’t laugh. he just stared, long and hard, and then leaned in and kissed your collarbone.

“don’t lie to me,” he whispered. “you don’t ever gotta lie to me.”

you blinked fast, lips parting—but nothing came out. and instead of pressing, smoke just pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like he was tryna protect you from something he couldn’t name yet.

and you melted into it, into him.

he kissed your temple, then rested his cheek against your belly, lips brushing your skin through the thin robe.

“i love you,” he murmured.

and that made your chest hurt worse than anything else had all day.

you didn’t deserve that kind of love—not now, not after what you’d done.

but you nodded anyway. “i love you too.”

even if your body still remembered someone else’s hands.

the days that followed were quiet.

not the peaceful kind, but the kind that felt like pressure in your chest.

you cleaned. cooked. folded laundry. smiled when he came home. rode his dick like you loved him. and maybe you did—at least part of you still clung to the version of yourself that wanted to be his, fully.

but your mind? your mind stayed stuck back on that counter.

on stack.

you told yourself it was a one-time thing. a heat-of-the-moment mistake. a body craving something you hadn’t felt in months. but that lie wasn’t sticking the way you needed it to. not with how your stomach had started twisting every morning.

first it was the nausea.

then the back pain.

then the missed period.

you kept track—always had, always careful. you weren’t new to this.

but this… this felt different.

you sat in the bathroom, eyes locked on the pregnancy test blinking slow on the counter. the clock on the wall ticked too loud. every second felt like a scream. you hadn’t told nobody yet. not even your sister, who usually heard everything before it left your mouth.

not even smoke.

especially not smoke.

you stared at that test until the screen went solid.

and your heart damn near dropped out your chest.

pregnant.

you covered your mouth, tears pricking your eyes—not from joy. not yet. maybe not ever. it wasn’t the pregnancy that scared you.

it was the question.

the possibility.

the timeline.

two weeks. that’s how long it had been since stack bent you over smoke’s kitchen counter and filled you like he owned you.

you couldn’t breathe.

you threw the test in the trash, then pulled it back out again. stared at it like it owed you more than a single word. like it was supposed to tell you who.

but it didn’t.

that night, you didn’t eat dinner. just laid in bed, back turned to smoke, your hand protectively curled over your stomach.

he didn’t say anything. just reached for you like always, warm hand pressing against your belly, thumb rubbing circles like he knew. like something in him felt the shift before you even spoke it aloud.

“you cold?” he murmured into your hair.

you shook your head, whispering back, “no. just tired.”

another lie. another weight.

and his arm just wrapped tighter around you.

it was raining that morning. soft, steady. the kind of rain that made the world feel still, like time pressed pause.

you stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of tea with shaking hands. you’d been up since before the sun, sitting in silence, staring out the window. the nausea had hit hard today—your second time throwing up before seven a.m.

and smoke wasn’t stupid. he wasn’t oblivious. he was quiet, sure. but he noticed everything.

he stepped out the bedroom shirtless, sweatpants hanging low, gold chain glinting even in the dim light. his eyes found you immediately. sharp, alert.

“you straight?”

you didn’t answer at first. you just nodded like you always did, but it wasn’t enough this time.

he walked over, slow but steady, like he already knew he wasn’t gonna like what he heard.

“baby,” he said, voice low but firm, “what’s going on with you?”

you swallowed hard, setting the mug down before you could drop it.

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

his hand came to rest on your lower back, thumb brushing soft. “you ain’t been eatin’. you ain’t been sleepin’. you ain’t even been lookin’ me in the eye.”

you looked up then.

that was your mistake.

because his eyes were already full of worry. already searching for the truth you hadn’t said yet. already ready to carry something heavy for you if he had to.

you blinked slow, heart thudding in your chest.

“i’m pregnant.”

the words dropped between you like thunder.

his face didn’t change at first. he just blinked once, the way he always did when he was trying to process something without reacting. his jaw flexed. throat bobbed.

and then—

“what?”

you breathed in deep, forced yourself to keep going. “i found out two days ago. i took three tests. all positive.”

he stepped back, arms folding. the distance hit harder than any yell.

“and you wasn’t gon’ tell me?”

“i didn’t know how.”

“when did you find out?”

“i just said—two days ago.”

“and it’s mine?”

your stomach turned. he hadn’t even asked that outta suspicion. he asked it out of calculation. timeline. logic. trying to make sense of how his girl was standing in front of him with something that might be his but also… might not.

you hesitated.

and that was the second mistake.

“yo,” he said, voice dropping lower now, dangerous low. “who else would it be?”

you looked away. your chest burned.

he stepped closer. “nah—look at me. who else would it be?”

“elias.”

his breath hitched like you’d punched the air out of him.

for the first time since you’d met him, smoke didn’t look calm. didn’t look composed.

his whole face changed.

“you fucked my brother?”

you blinked fast, tears stinging your eyes.

“it was a mistake—i didn’t mean—”

“don’t do that,” he snapped, voice cracking. “don’t play it like it just happened. when?”

“the day you went to the store.”

“in my house?”

you cried now. couldn’t help it.

he stared at you for a long time. no words. no movement. just that steady, angry breath through his nose. then he turned, grabbed his keys from the counter, and walked to the door.

“where are you going?” you asked through your tears.

he didn’t look back.

“to get some air before i do something i regret.”

then he was gone.

and you were left in the kitchen, holding your stomach, heart broken in too many pieces to count.

═══════ ═══════ ═══════

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

[erikftglitter]

Where the line is

A continuation of “in his quiet”

Smoke (elijah) x black!reader

Synopsis: after that night Elijah’s words stuck with her so she wonders how far she can go and see what he does.

It started with something small.

She came home later than usual, her phone dead.

No call. No text.

The doorman let her in with an apologetic smile. “Mr. Moore is in the kitchen.”

Marie smiled, shook the chill from her shoulders, and took the elevator up. When she stepped into the condo, she found Elijah in the kitchen.Plain white tee, dinner still warm on the stove.

He didn’t ask where she’d been.

Didn’t raise his voice.

Just looked her over once, poured her a glass of wine, and set a plate in front of her.

“Eat.”

She didn’t speak.

He didn’t either.

But when she slid into bed later that night and curled against him, his arm wrapped around her waist like a lock.

Not too tight.

Just enough to let her know this was not something he wanted her to do again.

⸻

A week later, she didn’t answer when he called.

Twice.

She saw the name on the screen. She was out shopping, loud music in the background, joking with Camryn about shoes that cost more than her rent.

She waited until she was back in her car to call him back.

“Hey, sorry, I was with Cam—”

“Learn how to use your phone or you won’t have one at all.”

She paused. “What?”

“Elijah—”

“You wanna keep this light?” His voice was calm. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Later that night, she found her phone face down on her nightstand, screen cracked. Elijah handed her a new one at dinner.

“Yours was glitchin’.”

The new one had all her contacts. Same background. Same apps.

She didn’t ask how he transferred everything. She didn’t have to.

⸻

Then came the party.

Not a test. Not at first.

Just a friend’s rooftop birthday — Marie showed up alone. Elijah had a meeting downtown, said he’d come later if it ran short.

He didn’t.

So Marie danced.

Just a song or two, nothing wild. She laughed, held a drink in one hand,and laughed her night away.

It was a man she didn’t know well. Brandon “Damn, you glowing. Ya man better be treating you right.”

She smiled. “He is.”

“You sure? Ain’t here, is he?”

Marie tilted her head. “He doesn’t have to be everywhere.”

Brandon chuckled. “You right. But if you ever need a backup plan—”

“I don’t” she turned her body walking away

her phone buzzed.

1 new message from: Elijah 🥰

“Come home.”

She froze.

She hadn’t told him where the party was.

⸻

Making her way in the penthouse, she walked into the kitchen and found him cooking.

“Who told you where I was?”

Elijah didn’t look up.

“The dress would’ve looked better in white,” he said, sliding the pasta onto her plate.

Marie blinked. “That wasn’t my question”

“I’m always where you are.”

⸻

The last time?

It was on purpose.

She caught attitude. Over shoes “I wanted these in red bottoms elijah” she snarled “store closed you’ll get it when they open” he responded taking his watch off, putting it back in his collection in the walk in closet.

“How did you even forget, red bottoms are not everyday shoes like these that’s why I like to do shit my fucking self.

You turned around to him right there staring down at you.

“I don’t know what soft ass nigga you been dating?” he said. “Men who let you talk to them any kind of way and roll your eyes like a child, not over here fix it before I fix it for you.”

“And you’re my father now?”

“No.” His voice dropped lower. “But I’m the only man in your life and it’s gon stay that way for a long time.”

Marie swallowed.

Hard.

Because it wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, with that look in his eyes like he already had the outcome in hand. Like her rebellion was cute, but not real.

She pushed past him, sat on the edge of the bed, towel clutched tighter.

“Fine,” she muttered.

But he wasn’t done.

He sat beside her, hands resting loosely on his knees.

“You get one warning,” he said. “You catch an attitude with me again, I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

Her breath caught.

She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he didn’t own her, that she wasn’t some little girl who needed disciplining — but part of her liked the way he said it.

Liked the weight of it.

Liked knowing there was someone who wouldn’t bend.

She shifted. Didn’t meet his gaze.

“You forget sometimes,” he said, voice quiet now. “How I handle you with care. But don’t confuse what I do for you for weakness.”

Marie looked at him, finally.

Her eyes weren’t angry. Just vulnerable. Like she wasn’t sure if she’d crossed a line.

He saw it.

“Fix your attitude and go get dressed Marie ”

She nodded walking into the closet.

—————

“Feet up.”

She obeyed.

And when she tucked her legs under his arm, leaned into his shoulder, he finally spoke again.

“You keep testing me ‘cause you wanna know where the line is. But there ain’t one. Not with you.”

He leaned in, kissed her cheek.

Then her neck.

Then her mouth.

“Take your panties,” he said, calm as ever. “Before I tear em.”

Marie didn’t argue.

Didn’t roll her eyes.

Because deep down, she knew something she hadn’t wanted to admit:

She needed a man like Elijah.

Not because he was rich. Or protective. Or because he made her feel wanted.

When she caught a attitude.

He stopped her.

Put her back where she belonged, safe, seen, and his.

[erikftglitter]

Smoke shut her rant down quickly in Don’t Get Cute, Baby. The second she could even say she was about to dip out of the relationship he was like “Oh hell no!” 😂

“The Break She Thought She Wanted”

Smoke (elijah) x black!reader

Marie stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, robe tied loose around her waist. Her curls were still wild from sleep. She watched him.

Elijah stood by the stove, back broad and bare beneath his undershirt, two mugs sitting out, the kettle warming behind him.

He was always like this in the morning. Still. Methodical. Like peace itself had hands and wore a gold chain.

Marie’s heart beat too loud for a morning like this.

“I think,” she started, voice small, “we should take a break.”

The clink of ceramic was soft. The mug he was holding touched the counter just a little too hard.

He didn’t turn.

Didn’t speak right away either.

She continued, too fast.”Just a little bit. Space. Just to get my head right and breathe—”

“You already breathin’, ain’t you?” His voice cut low across the quiet.

He finally turned then.

And it was like the room shifted shape.

His eyes were calm, but dangerous. Not angry.

That still, heavy quiet that only comes from men who don’t threaten. They promise.

“You wanna take a break from me… while sleepin’ in the house I built for you?”

Marie’s throat tightened.

“You wanna run back to that little apartment with the busted heater and creaky floorboards, like I ain’t gave you better than that? Like I don’t pour into you—day in, day out?”

“Elijah—”

“You gon’ say my name soft and still ask to leave me?” He took a step forward.

She took a step back.

That was a mistake.

He noticed.

And his jaw ticked.

“You askin’ me to let go of what’s mine, Marie. Like I ain’t spent every damn day since I met you holding you. Feeding you.And fixing every problem that come your way.”

Her hands were trembling now, even though she didn’t mean to show it.

“I just thought maybe if I got a little distance, I’d—”

“No.”

His voice cut through her like a blade wrapped in velvet.

“See, that’s where you got me twisted. I ain’t no halfway man. I don’t do temporary. And I don’t do—” his mouth twitched slightly—“breaks.”

She opened her mouth, and his hand was already up, hand under her chin, tilting her face gently.

“Look at me.”

She did. Eyes swimming, bottom lip trembling.

“You mine.”

Soft.

Steady.

He said it Like she’d forgotten.

Her lips parted. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did,” he interrupted, thumb brushing across her lower lip, slow and possessive. “You meant to hit me where it hurts. Make me feel what you feel.”

“I just needed something,” she breathed.

“You need correction,” he murmured.

His hand slid behind her neck, thick fingers threading through her curls, gripping, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind.

“You think I let you into my life to watch you backpedal the first time you feel pressure? You think I give up easy?”

Tears slipped from her lashes, and she shook her head.

“I’m sorry.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“You will be.”

⸻

She barely had time to gasp before he was in her walls. Not rough, but deliberate.

One large hand pinned her hip, the other at her jaw, tilting her face to his like she was his to move.

Bouncing her up and down deliberately,

Marie whimpered, and that sound—that softness returning to her voice.

“You think you want space, but what you need right here.”

She nodded, a sob catching in her throat.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was claiming.

The kind of kiss that tells you where home is. That drags every piece of you back where it belongs.

When he pulled away, her body was trembling her orgasm hitting her hard.

“Elijah,” she whispered.

“Say it again.”

“Elijah…”

But this time it sounded different.

Needier. Rooted.

“You don’t get to leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

And somewhere in her soft, stubborn chest,she stopped fighting.

Because deep down, she didn’t want space.

She wanted to be known. Held tight. Owned, even.

And Elijah? Elijah didn’t just love her.

He kept her.

Tag list: @chrisevansmentee @queenofklonnie22 @christinabae

[erikftglitter]

HEY. Not that I’m looking but if I was looking 👀where the sub! Stack fics at???

[erikftglitter]

You all have convinced me that Smoke does indeed have a mildly submissive side

[erikftglitter]

A smutty Stack blurb for you all. I hope you enjoy

MDNI

Warnings: AFAB reader, edging, lots of dirty talk, medium dom/sub, P in V, riding, Oral(F receiving), fingering, he makes you beg (just a little), very very slight choking, AFAB reader

NSFW under the cut

You shouldn’t have teased him.

You knew better. Wearing that damn silk slip under your coat, brushing past him all evening like your hips didn’t know what they were doing. Eyes full of heat and lips full of secrets every time you said, “Need anything, Stack?”

You meant to get under his skin. But now, you're spread out in his office chair, legs parted, lips parted, and his mouth right between your thighs—breath hot and heavy, his tongue unforgiving.

Only he hasn't let you come.

Not yet.

His fingers are slick with your arousal, dragging slow and precise between your folds. His breath ghosts up your belly as he chuckles low and rough, cocky like he’s the one holding the cards. Which he is.

“You been drippin’ for me all damn day, baby,” he mutters, biting into the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to make your legs twitch. “Thought I ain't notice? That little act you pulled? Teasin’ me with that mouth and then walkin’ ‘round like a prize I ain’t already won?”

You try to grind down on his fingers, but he pulls back—hand gripping your hip to still you.

“Nope. Not like that.”

“Stack—” you gasp, voice cracked and desperate.

“You gonna ask,” he says smoothly, dragging a single finger over your clit, featherlight, like it’s nothing. “Real pretty. Real polite. You wanna come, you beg for it.”

Your stomach coils tight, aching for more friction, more anything.

“Yes,” you breathe, “please, I wanna come, I—”

He’s already moving.

Stack pushes back from the chair, standing over you, belt undone, slacks already open. His cock is hard and thick, flushed and leaking—and you whimper.

He grabs you and pulls you up, paying no mind to the tremble in your knees. He sinks back into the chair. The air smells like leather, sex, and the remnants of his whiskey.

“Then come sit on it, sweetheart,” he purrs, voice like velvet soaked in bourbon. “Y’wanna come so bad, ride it. Lemme see you work for it.”

Your breath catches.

The moment you sink down on him, you feel everything. Stretching. Burning. Perfect.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, gripping your waist like he owns you. “Takin’ all of me like that? This pussy was made for me. Squeezin’ like she knows it.”

You grind your hips slowly, and he throws his head back with a growl.

“Oh, you gon' work for it now, dollface?” He catches your chin in his hand, eyes sharp and wolfish. “Make me proud. Show me how much you want it.”

You ride him like it’s salvation. Like your whole body is made to give him this—the wet slap of your skin against his echoing against the office walls, your moans tangled with his praises and filth.

“That’s it… that’s my girl. So needy, so damn good for me. Drippin’ all over my cock—look at this mess you makin’. That pussy got no shame, huh?”

You sob out something close to Stack’s name, but it’s broken. Ruined.

“You gonna come now, sugar?” he taunts, voice dropping to a gravel-dragging growl. “Gonna soak me while you cry for it?”

You nod, trembling. His hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just enough to make sure you feel it.

“Do it, babygirl. Come for me. Let me feel that sweet lil' cunt milk me like she means it.”

Your orgasm hits like lightening—sharp and shattering. You cry out as your body locks up around him, your thighs quaking, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Stack rides it out, hips thrusting up slow and deep, chasing his own end.

When he comes, he growls your name—low and primal—his hands pulling you down onto him, burying himself to the hilt.

After, there’s just the sound of your ragged breaths, your body draped against his chest, his thumb lazily stroking your bare spine.

“Y’keep teasin' me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your temple, voice like a promise and a threat, “and I’m never lettin’ you outta this chair again.”