ridingreeves

[ridingreeves]

18+ mdni, blk reader only!

you had gotten into an argument with elias before you left to go to the club.

it was some petty shit really, something about him feeling like your friends are trying to turn you against having him around.

you were currently getting ready to go out with your girls after a longgg stressful week. hair did, outfit on, now you were doing your make up. “hey mama me and smoke finna g-“ you heard stack say as he made his way down the hall. once he reached the bathroom though, he scoffed.

“where you think you finna go?” leaning against the doorframe before you snorted “aisha and kayla wanna go to some hookah lounge real quick.”.

the man’s face soon scrunched, “kayla? the one who always shakin’ her ass in tha’ club ‘nd shit?” rhetorical of course. “why you say it like that, make her sound like a hoe” “she ain’?” in a faux shocked tone. you were so focused on doing your makeup, you forgot to answer—“that’s what you wearin’?” once again, no verbal answer. “mhm” you’d hummed “a’igh’ lemme go get dressed”.

you responded then.

“nah baby, im just gonna be gone for a minute” with a shrug “okay then so im’a go with you” stack turned around going towards the dresser, “mmcht elias c’mon” he turned to face you “what you mean, im just sayin’—you all dressed up and everythin’ i ‘on’t want no niggas lookin’ at you ‘nd shit”.

you were done with your makeup now and stepped back to look at yourself.

“see you thinkin’ you cute and shit, hell naw..im’a go with you” you laughed walking over to him “baby i’m good, i promise” that was before your phone rung with a facetime call.

kayla.

“girl where you at? the club jumpin’ with niggas right now” and your face paled. your gaze meet elias’ and he looked as if he was finna slap the fuck out of kayla through the phone.

damnit kayla.

“hell naw you can’t go!” he exclaimed “hang up on tha’ hoe bae” “wait elias!” ahead of you sighing “kayla im’a call you back”.

“you want me to let you go out with her ass and she talkin’ ‘bout niggas? that’s all that hoe think about” in that low deep growl. “she just sayin’ though bro, you doin’ too much” he laughed like something was funny “you gotta stop hangin’ with them hoes if they gon’ make you talk to me crazy” “they ain’t makin’ me do shit, yo jealous ass be trippin’ on small shit.

sis shut yo mouthhh.

11:54 pm and your phone was long forgotten as-well as the thought of goin’ out. hell, all your thoughts were gone right now.

“wanna be disrespectful and shit” stack told groaned shoving your head deeper into the mattress making your back arch deeper “talk that shit now though, why you so quiet now?” in your ear while thrusting slowly and deeply into you.

your sounds were muffled against the duvet “okay! im sorry daddy!” you cried out as he lifted your face off the mattress, bringing your head to his chest.

elias grunted wrapping a hand around your throat “whatchu say mama?” “im sorry daddy” you sobbed as he pounded harder into you “show me how sorry you are..let me nut in you”. you couldn’t even respond in your cock drunk state.

his hips bucked wildly hitting the spot you wanted him most. “you gon’ let daddy nut in this pussy baby?” before kissing your mouth sloppily. you whimpered at the feeling of an impending orgasm. your walls clenched around his dick making him growl “that’s right, nut on this dick mama” as if he wasn’t on the brink of combusting.

“nut in me daddy”. (girl after what happened last time, why would you want that?)

and he did just that “mmhm” the man hummed as your orgasm followed—“ngh fuck!”.

he fucked you through the aftershocks.

then had the audacity to say, “bet you won’t try that shit again, huh?”

🏷️: @tnychellee , @groovytidalwavevoid , @heartgirllover , @tatelangdonsweater , @lovey-3 , @headslutincharge , @imqueenmelanin , @nanamiismine , @thecoloredpages , @gabbysbl0gg !

[ridingreeves]

hi boo!

could we maybe get stack calling for “closure” after the break up??

𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗌*𝖲𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖱𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽－ could we maybe get stack calling for “closure” after the break up??

𝖠／𝖭－❀❀

It had been a while since you heard his voice. Too long, but not long enough for the memory to fade.

Months since the shouting matches, the slammed doors, the nights you cried into your pillow because he was too proud, too stubborn, too afraid to give you the truth.

You thought you were done. You told yourself you were done.

Stack Moore had been your first real mistake and your first real love, all wrapped in one. Older, sharper, carved out of hard lessons you hadn’t lived through yet. Being with him always felt like standing too close to a fire—comforting until it burned.

So when your phone lit up past midnight, his name glowing across the screen, you froze.

Your thumb hovered. You told yourself to ignore it. But when it rang again, something inside you caved. You answered.

“Stack?”

There’s a pause, his breath thick through the receiver. Then that deep, steady voice, softened by something you can’t name.

“Yeah. It’s me. You busy?”

The question’s ridiculous—it’s after midnight—but you don’t say that. Instead, you let silence speak for you. He takes it as permission.

“I ain’t callin’ to start no drama,” he says slowly, like he’s measuring each word. “I just… needed to hear you. One last time.”

Your chest tightens. One last time. You should hang up. But you don’t.

“You said we were done,” you remind him, your tone sharper than you intend.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. You waited, your thumb hovering over the red button, your heart betraying you. He took the pause as permission to keep going.

“I know.” His sigh cracks through the phone. “And I meant it. But I been carryin’ it wrong, baby. Thought maybe if I said what I shoulda said then, I could finally let you go right.”

Something in his voice makes your eyes sting. He was never the type to give speeches, never the type to explain himself.

“Then say it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, low and rough:

“You were good to me. Better than I deserved. And I ain’t know how to handle that. You wanted me—all of me—and I was too busy fightin’ myself. Too busy tryna be the man everybody else expected, instead of the man you needed.”

“And I hate that I let you carry all that by yourself. But listen to me—it wasn’t ‘cause you weren’t enough. You were more than enough. Too much, maybe. My peace, my problem, my anchor… and I was too damn scared I’d ruin it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

The honesty slices you open.

“You hurt me,” you whisper. “You shut me out, Stack. Made me feel like I was the only one fightin’ for us.”

“I know.” His voice cracks, just barely. “And that’s on me. Always gon’ be. But it wasn’t never ‘cause you weren’t enough. You were it. My peace. My problem. My everything. I just wasn’t ready to hold somethin’ that good without breakin’ it.”

Your throat tightens. You want to hate him for saying it now, when it’s too late. But some part of you needed to hear it.

“So what now?” you ask, hating how small your voice sounds.

There’s a stretch of silence. Then, quietly:

“Now… you move on. You find somebody who ain’t afraid to give you the whole thing. And me?” He exhales, long and tired. “I just live with losin’ you.”

The words sit heavy. He doesn’t ask for another chance. He doesn’t beg. He just leaves it there—his truth, your closure.

“…Goodbye, Stack,” you whisper.

There’s a pause, and you can almost feel him hesitate, like he wants to drag it out. But then you hear it—soft, final:

“Goodbye, baby.”

The line goes dead, and for the first time since the breakup, the silence feels real.

You sat in the darkness, staring at the screen. And for the first time since the breakup, you felt the weight of his absence settle for real. Not cleaner, not easier, but final.

[ridingreeves]

a man who's intimate.

a man who adjusts to your every need. who kisses you every morning. who never lets you go to sleep angry with him. a man who knows every inch of you, every scar, mole, bump.

a man who never raises his voice at you. who lets his body language talk when he's angry. whose skin bubbles with heat as he crosses his arms and tilts his head, listening to your rant before nodding. "you're right, sugar. im sorry."

a man who practically begs you to let him make it better, kissing from your toetips all the way up to where your night shorts stop, barely covering any of your brown skin. who takes them down with his teeth because even though he's sorry, he's still got his pride.

a man who doesn't let up on your pleasure. who stays nursing on your clit like he's a baby. who makes you cum three times before even thinking about fucking you, your thighs sticky with sweat as he settles between them.

a man who fucks you in heavy, slooooww strokes that drag every vein through your walls. whose groans are low and sensual, driving fire to your clit and ovaries as he sweats, his body hot against yours. he notices how your stomach twitches softly as he lays his hand over it, how your walls suddenly close tight enough for him to halt his movements.

"like it when i lay my hand here, honey? when i feel my cock inside you? you like that?" his voice is taunting. he knows you like it. he knows because your moans suddenly pick up in volume, and your feet next to either of his ears nearly fall from his shoulders. he doesn't let you run from him, though. he wraps one of his arms around your knees, keeping your feet hopelessly in the air as he thrusts into you with debaucherous vigor.

a man who overstimulates every nerve in your body at once, sending you floating off as you come. who holds you through it, watching as your eyes roll like you're possessed. he can't get enough of it, not until you're practically choking, stumbling over how good it feels, how you can't take it anymore. the screams of his name into the heavy air of your bedroom just egging him on to make you cum again. to push your limit. to watch your soul wander from your body for a moment.

a man whose job and life purpose is to please you, a man who's intimate.

[ridingreeves]

I find it real funny that people criticize fanfics but haven't written a damn thing in their life.

It's like criticizing a homemade cooked meal meanwhile you burn every kitchen you enter.

[ridingreeves]

Trouble

Pairing-Elijah*Smoke*Moore x SweetBkackReader

Summary-Despite the age gap and warnings, Smoke’s relentless desire and your mutual attraction pull you together, turning a forbidden connection into an undeniable, all-consuming love.

A/N-this is lowkey bad it’s been awhile also school is great

“𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 )𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞). 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫.”

You weren’t supposed to be his. Everyone knew it, and everyone told him so. Smoke first saw you at a party you didn’t wanna go to —standing off to the side, shy, quiet, trying to disappear into the wall. He didn’t know your name, but he knew from the way you avoided eyes and clutched your cup like a shield that you weren’t made for his kind of world. He should’ve let it be. But from that night, he couldn’t stop watching you. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.

⸻

“𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.”

People laughed when he let slip that he had his eyes on you. “She not your type, Smoke. She too good for you.” He just smirk and shake his head, like he knew something they didn’t. You weren’t out of his league—you were exactly what he wanted. Not the loud, showy kind of woman everyone expected him to run through. You were different. And once Smoke decided he wanted something, he never let up until it was his.

⸻

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐠𝐨?”

Still, doubt ate at him in the quiet moments. He knew you looked at him differently than others did—but maybe it was pity. Maybe it was fear. What if you told him he was too much? What if you laughed at the idea of him fitting into your quiet little life? That thought bothered him more than anything—the chance that you’d dismiss him with a soft smile, call him “too old,” and walk away without ever giving him a shot.

⸻

“𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐝, 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥.”

It made him second-guess himself in ways nothing else ever did. Smoke had power, money, respect in the streets—grown-man things. But with you, sometimes he felt like a teenage boy again, trying to impress the girl who never noticed him. He hated it, but he couldn’t stop. Every time you pulled away or brushed him off with polite silence, it left him restless, chasing you harder.

⸻

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐚.”

The age gap hung heavy between you, like an unspoken wall. You thought about it, worried about what people would say. He didn’t. One night, sitting close in his car, his voice dropped into that low, rumbling tone that made your chest ache. “You ain’t gon’ get in trouble for wanting me back, baby. Don’t matter how young you are—you love me, don’t you?” His thumb stroked along your wrist, waiting. You couldn’t find words, but the look in your eyes was enough.

⸻

“𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈𝐃 )𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈𝐃), 𝐈’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 )𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚). 𝐖𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐧𝐨.”

You laughed, trying to break the tension, but he only leaned closer. “If I gotta pull my ID out to prove to you I’m grown, I will,” he teased, brushing his lips against your ear. “Don’t trip over numbers. I know what I want. And I want you.” The weight of his confession settled heavy in your stomach, heat rushing through you.

⸻

“𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐩, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨.”

You’d tried to argue with him, tried to tell him it was a bad idea, that you weren’t ready for what being with him meant. Every time, he just looked at you, smirking, shaking his head like he couldn’t take your excuses seriously. “You playing with me, lil’ quiet thing. You don’t believe half the shit you saying.” And the truth was—he was right.

⸻

“𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

He caught you more times than you could count—eyes lingering on his jawline when he talked, watching the way his hands flexed when he counted money, your breath hitching when he leaned too close. You swore you didn’t see him that way, but Smoke wasn’t stupid. He saw right through you. “Don’t lie,” he murmured once, titling your chin up until your eyes met his. “I know you look at me like I’m yours already.”

⸻

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈’𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐧, �� 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭.”

You’d told him you weren’t the type for casual. That you weren’t looking for someone like him. “I’m trying to settle down,” you whispered, eyes dropping to your hands. He chuckled, low and rough. “And you think I’m not?” His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking slow. “I know I’m handsome. I could play around forever if I wanted to. But I don’t. I want you. You’re the one got me moving fast.”

⸻

“𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐚.”

That was the night he stopped holding back. No more careful distance, no more polite restraint. He kissed you hard, hand gripping the back of your head, pulling you against him like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could feed him. “Ain’t no fun without you,” he whispered against your mouth. And you kissed him back, your quiet breaking under the force of him.

⸻

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞…” )𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞)

By the time his forehead rested against yours, breath hot and uneven, you knew there was no fighting it anymore. Smoke wasn’t a mistake you stumbled into—he was a choice you made, again and again, no matter what anyone else said. “Don’t worry about the rest of it,” he whispered, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “You mine now. That’s all that matters.”

And you believed him.

⸻

“𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐩, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨.”

Every time you tried to push him away, you ended up tangled deeper. He’d corner you with that calm patience, those eyes that made it impossible to lie. You’d tell him no, list off reasons it could never work—age, his life, your innocence—and he’d just tilt his head, lips curling like you’d told a joke. “I don’t believe you,” Smoke said, voice low, steady, the kind that left no room for argument. “You too scared to admit you want me bad as I want you.”

⸻

“𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

And he was right. He’d caught you staring too many times—at the parties, when he leaned against the wall just to tease you. He always knew when your eyes followed him, when your chest fluttered at the way his chain caught the light or how he licked his lips mid-laugh.

“You keep looking at me like that, baby,” he murmured one night, the crowd forgotten, “and I’ma have to take you home, pretty girl.”

⸻

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈’𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐧, 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭.”

You clung to that excuse—settling down, finding someone safe, steady. “I don’t want… complications.” The words sounded weak even to you. Smoke leaned back, laughing under his breath. “Complications?” He shook his head, eyes dark as they held yours. “Baby, I could’ve had fun forever. But then I saw you. Now I ain’t got no patience left.” His thumb brushed your knee, sending heat crawling up your skin. “You talking ‘bout slowing down, and all I want is you right now.”

⸻

“𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐚.”

And he did. Whatever careful line he’d been holding, he crossed it. He pulled you into his lap one night when you tried to leave, he kissed you slowly . His hands were firm, steady, tracing your waist, your back, holding you so close there was no space to breathe. “Ain’t no fun without you,” he whispered between kisses, voice thick with want. “I waited long enough. You mine now.”

⸻

[𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐮𝐬: “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞…”]

“You ain’t gon’ get in trouble. Don’t matter what anybody says.” His mouth ghosted along your jaw, every word like a vow. “If I gotta prove it, I will. Don’t care how young you are, don’t care what they say—you love me, and I ain’t letting you go.”

⸻

you weren’t thinking about age, about leagues, about who said it wasn’t possible. All you could think about was him—the way his presence filled the room, the way his touch made you weak, the way his voice wrapped around you like a spell.

Smoke wasn’t supposed to be yours. You weren’t supposed to be his.

But you were.

[𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞: “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧’ 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞…”]

Every time you tried to retreat, he reeled you back in with that steady gaze and a low voice.You ain’t gon’ get in trouble. Don’t matter what they say. Don’t matter how young you are. You love me. I love you.

⸻

By the end of it, there was no denying him anymore. Not when his lips pressed against your ear, His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “That’s all this is, baby. Love. Ain’t nobody’s business but ours.”

Smoke wasn’t just a forbidden want anymore. He was yours, and you were his.

[ridingreeves]

I'll drop something tonight for you😛

I miss my favorite mutuals

@pyraomen @ridingreeves @strangerexee

[ridingreeves]

damn ur straight??😔😔💔💔

Yes sadly

[ridingreeves]

your blog looks beautiful!!!🤍

Thank you baby :)

[ridingreeves]

new theme eats down boo

Thank you honeybun🤍🤍

[ridingreeves]

𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗉𝖺𝖽??

𝖶𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗉𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾－𝖥𝗑𝗂𝗋𝗒𝗅𝗈𝗑𝖾𝗋

[ridingreeves]

𝖥𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖬𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖢𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈 𝗑 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－It’s the chaotic first week back at Abbott, and just when you think you’ve dodged all distractions, District golden boy Manny Rivera shows up—looking good, talking smooth, and leaving behind a flirty little care package in the teacher’s lounge. You try to play it cool, but the staff (especially Ava) catches on fast.

𝖠／𝖭－𝖨 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝖽𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗎𝗆 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾

First week back at Abbott and the chaos is already in full swing.

You’ve already chased down a kindergartener who somehow got into the supply closet, comforted a third grader who “accidentally” glued their hand to the desk, and fielded two emails from Janine trying to organize a “Back to School Positivity Parade.” It’s not even lunch yet.

So when Ava strolls down the hallway, heels clicking, phone in hand’, and announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, tighten up—District’s in the building,” you sigh.

Of course they are.

And of course he’s with them.

Manny Castillo.

District golden boy.

That same cool, composed energy in a freshly tailored suit, shirt crisp, smile charming but calculated. He’s walking down the hall like he’s in a campaign ad, shaking hands, nodding at teachers, asking the occasional well-timed question like he actually cares.

You try to slip into your classroom before he sees you. You don’t need the distraction—not this week, not with a new class full of wide-eyed kids who still think you’re some kind of superhero.

But luck’s never really on your side.

“Ms. [Last Name],” comes that smooth voice, right behind you. “Still holding Abbott together?”

You stop, hand still on your classroom door, and turn. “Only with duct tape and prayer.”

He grins. “Still works though, doesn’t it?”

He looks good. Too good.

“You checking on us or micromanaging?” you ask, brow raised.

“Depends,” he says, stepping a little closer. “You behaving?”

You scoff. “I’m a teacher in Philly. I don’t have time to misbehave.”

His eyes flick over you—your worn ID badge, your dry-erase marker-stained fingers, the coffee stain you tried (and failed) to hide on your blouse—and still, he gives you that look. That one that used to unravel you when y’all were sneaking around after hours at that conference last spring.

“You look good,” he says low.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flirt with me in front of my kids’ crayon portraits, Castillo.”

He laughs, then glances over your shoulder and sobers up quick when he sees Ava watching from down the hall.

“Come by the teacher’s lounge during your prep,” he says, already backing away. “I left something for you.”

“Like what?” you call after him.

He just smiles over his shoulder. “You’ll see.”

⸻

You try not to go.

You really do. But curiosity is a stronger force than professionalism.

When you finally sneak down to the lounge during prep, it’s empty—except for a little white box with your name on it sitting on the table.

Inside? A brand-new pack of your favorite pens, a small bottle of ibuprofen, a $25 Starbucks card… and a sticky note in his handwriting:

For the teacher holding this place together. Sorry I disappeared. Coffee soon?

You stare at it for a second, lips twitching.

That man is still a distraction. But damn if he doesn’t know you too well.

⸻

You’re still in the lounge, staring down at that sticky note like it’s got the answer to every adult decision you’re trying not to make. He wants coffee? After not seeing you all summer? After showing up with his little district clipboard and those brown eyes that act like they didn’t break your no-men-from-work rule?

Please.

You tuck the note back in the box, about to leave, when you hear footsteps.

“Mmm-hmm.”

You turn. And immediately regret it.

Barbara. Melissa. Janine. And Ava. All standing in the doorway like a panel of judgmental aunties on a commercial break.

Barbara’s arms are folded. Melissa’s chewing gum with a knowing smirk. Janine looks like she’s about to explode from sheer nosy energy. And Ava?

Ava’s already recording.

“Delete that,” you say automatically.

“Oh I will,” Ava hums, not moving her thumb, “right after I find out what got you cheesin’ like that over office supplies. That a love letter in there? A lil’ administrative booty call?”

Barbara steps forward with that motherly authority. “Is that from Mr. Rivera? From the District?”

You freeze. Janine lets out a little squeal.

“Oh my gosh, do you know him like know know him?” she asks. “Because when he walked in earlier, you were definitely looking at him like he was a slice of school pizza with the good crust.”

Melissa cackles. “That girl was looking at him like she forgot how to pray.”

You groan, covering your face.

“I wasn’t looking at him.”

“Yes, you were,” Barbara says firmly, like she’s calling out a student for lying about eating glue.

“He left her a lil’ gift box,” Ava adds, leaning down to peer in. “Oop—Starbucks gift card. That’s a man who knows how to apologize.”

Barbara shakes her head. “I don’t like it. District men always show up with charm and policy, then leave with less funding and more headaches.”

Janine perks up. “But what if he’s different? Like a reformer? Like the Freedom Writers but in a suit?”

“Girl, what?” Melissa side-eyes her.

You finally speak. “Y’all—it’s nothing. I’m not getting into anything with Manny.”

Ava raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what your eyes said when he walked in all tall and fine, smelling like district benefits.”

You snatch the box off the table. “I hate all of you.”

“Love you too, boo!” Ava calls after you. “Wear that black dress next time he visits! You know the one!”

As you hurry out, you can hear them behind you—laughing, whispering, plotting.

But the worst part?

You’re still smiling.

Because Manny Rivera might be a walking headache,

…but he still makes your heart skip.

[ridingreeves]

whoever this was

she thought i was playing when i said i would fight her if she put her with mr. lame nigga. i was so serious.. 🙂‍↕️. we WILL jump you! love you diva <3

𝖠𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀

[ridingreeves]

𝖳𝖺𝗀 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾

𝖯𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀－ @decayingearf @cchampangemamii @bxunyx @summergirljay

[ridingreeves]

Hey queen I love your stories they're so good😛 you're really talented, thank you so much for feeding us girl 🙏🏽🧎🏽‍♀️okay pleasantries over IF YOU HAVE HER WITH A NEW NIGGA,HER OLD NIGGA, OR ANY NIGGA THATS NOT SMOKE IN 'WHAT HE GON DO' ITS UP‼️ im not playin with you😒😐 be smart about this😑 okay byee :)

𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒

[ridingreeves]

𝖲𝗈 𝖨𝗆 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗍 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗍

[ridingreeves]

𝖣𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗒

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖣𝗋𝗎𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－She’s a prosecutor. He’s a plug. She’s supposed to bury men like him—but Elijah “Smoke” Moore doesn’t play by the rules. One look, one late-night call, and now she’s breaking every oath she ever took.

𝖠／𝖭－𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌

You met him on a Wednesday.

Black suit. Red bottoms. Mouth sharp enough to draw blood.

You were wrapping up a plea deal for a dumbass corner boy caught with two bricks and a loaded Glock. The judge was bored. The defense attorney was sweating. And he was in the back of the courtroom—leaned back, legs spread, chewing gum like the whole system was a joke.

You knew exactly who he was.

Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

Ex-trapper. Current plug. Twin brother to Stack. Connected. Protected. Never caught, never charged, never even pressed .Kept his hands too clean to catch a charge, but you knew better. He wasn’t untouchable. Not yet.

You’d heard his name in whispers.

Seen his case files sealed.

He was the ghost behind half the crime you prosecuted.

And yet, there he was. Watching you. Like you were the one on trial.

⸻

After court, he caught you outside, leaning against a matte black Maybach like it was part of his flex.

“You be lookin’ real cute up there, counselor,” he said, voice low and thick like honey poured over gravel.

You barely gave him a glance. “You always sit in the back of courtrooms watching your little runners get chewed up?”

He grinned, slow and lazy. “Only when the lawyer got legs like yours and a mouth slick enough to cut glass.”

You scoffed. “Try that line on a bottle girl, not me.”

“Mm. Nah. Bottle girls don’t wear Dior and argue the law like they got somethin’ to prove.”

He stepped closer. “I know your type. Smart. Mouthy. Thinkin’ you too good for the world you came from.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And I know yours. Overconfident. Untouchable. Thinkin’ your money makes you above the law.”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then your heels. “Nah, mamat. My mind makes me above the law. My money just makes it easier.”

⸻

Weeks passed.

You saw him again at your cousin’s birthday dinner. He walked in with his twin, Stack, throwing jokes and daps, like the Moore boys hadn’t been feeding half the Eastside.

You tried to ignore him.

Didn’t work.

Smoke stayed posted at the bar, watching you every time you laughed. Every time you looked too good for the man you came with. Every time your voice got low and smart—he leaned in, like he wanted to taste your next thought.

Later that night, you ended up in the kitchen. Alone.

He came in behind you.

“You look good in that dress,” he said casually, like y’all had been talking all night. “Bet you look better out of it.”

You didn’t even flinch. Just turned around, arms folded. “You don’t get scared talking reckless to a lawyer?”

“You don’t get tired playin’ moral high ground when I know your hands dirty too?”

His voice was low. That gravelly, confident, made-for-late-night-trouble tone. You should’ve left. Should’ve pushed past him and gone back to your date. But you didn’t.

You let him crowd you. Let his chain brush your collarbone. Let his fingers graze your wrist when he reached for your glass of wine, took a sip, and set it back down slow.

Then he whispered, “You ever get tired of pretendin’ you don’t like the bad guy?”

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes did.

—

The next time he called you? It was late.

Said he needed “legal advice.”

You told yourself you hated him.

Too cocky. Too slick. Too dangerous.

But that didn’t stop you from answering his texts.

Or letting him take you out—lowkey, out-of-town, no pictures.

It didn’t stop you from showing up to his condo in a trench coat and red lace.

And it damn sure didn’t stop you from letting him bend you over his marble counter while he whispered,

“Tell me who pussy this is.”

⸻

Now?

You’re back at his place. Again.

Skirt pushed up, panties tossed somewhere near the front door, and your back pressed against cool glass windows with the city lights sparkling behind you.

His gold chain swings against your chest with every thrust.

His hand’s around your throat.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist like you’ll fall apart without him holding you together.

“You miss me?” he rasps, lips hot on your neck.

You try to shake your head, lie again, pretend you’re stronger than this—but then he rolls his hips just right and you gasp out,

“Y-yes… fuck, yes.”

He grins against your skin. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

You claw at his back, nails dragging over muscle. “You think this is ruined?”

“Nah,” he growls. “This—”

He lifts you higher, fucks you harder, your body rocking against the glass like a scene out a movie—

“—this is mine.”

⸻

Later, you’re in his shirt, sitting on the kitchen counter, eating mango..

He’s between your legs again, lazily kissing your neck, talking shit.

“You know you ain’t never leaving me, right?”

You pop a piece of fruit into your mouth. “You ain’t never getting me caught up, either.”

He grins. “We’ll see.”

⸻

You know it’s wrong.

You’re a prosecutor. He’s a drug dealer.

Your whole job is to bury men like him.

But when he’s inside you?

When he calls you counselor in that deep, taunting voice?

When he whispers “ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this, huh?” with his tongue on your clit?

Justice don’t feel like it used to.

⸻

And maybe that’s the real crime.

[ridingreeves]

We definitely need a part 2 & 3 to older bf Smoke because how did they get here lmao

𝖸𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗍 𝟤