solastarr

[solastarr]

guys i kinda want to come out of retirement, i miss yall and i loved you horny pervs entertained 😼

[solastarr]

I LOVE IT! I LOVE ITTTTT!😩🩷

School Daze’

Sammie Moore x reader.

Modern 90s/2000s College AU!

Wrd count; 12,440

Warnings: come on yall know me by now 😏(smut) Sammie Moore……

——————————

Back in school, you wasn’t ever that girl folks looked twice at. Glasses too big, always ducked off somewhere, eyes to the floor like you was scared to be seen. You kept to yourself mostly. Not all the way solo—you had a lil crew. Two, maybe three homegirls, but y’all was all on the same wave. Quiet. Closed off. Real lowkey.

But your girls started poppin’ over time—glowin’ up for real. Got they first lil boyfriends. Started rockin’ with dance teams, joinin’ clubs, throwin’ on them cheer uniforms. Meanwhile, you stayed tucked in. No boyfriend, no flings, no nothin’. Head always in a book, studyin’ for some exam that wasn’t even on the radar yet. Two semesters ahead, tryna be grown before you had to be.You did have one lil crush though—if that’s what you could even call it that.

His name stayed floatin’ down them hallways like the beat of a marching band on game day. He had that kinda presence—loud without even sayin’ nothin’. You used to tag along to his games with your girls, sittin’ up in them bleachers pretendin’ like you was there for the team. But truth was, you barely even cheered. Just watched. Quiet. Nervous. Lowkey fascinated.

You liked Sammie in that way where just hearin’ his voice made your heart do flips. Couldn’t even look him in the eye. That country accent? Whew. Only ever caught it when he passed by, talkin’ to his boys or flirtin’ with some girl in 3rd period.

Then one day he was gone. Transferred schools—somethin’ about bigger chances, better shine. You ain’t ask too many questions.

And just like that, the crush faded. So did that version of you.

Your girls held you down, pulled you outta that shell. Got you dressin’ different. Walkin’ different. Laughin’ louder. You was still shy, yeah, but you had a lil swag now. Started feelin’ yourself. Steppin’ into that new vibe. That grown woman glow-up.

And for the first time… you was feelin’ real good. Like, damn, this might be my season.

Delta U had that feel to it. That’s why you chose it.

Like somethin’ out a Spike Lee joint or a Jill Scott song—Black, loud, full of soul. First week on campus was like a block party and a family reunion all wrapped in one. Greek orgs out on the yard strollin’, grills fired up on the lawn, somebody’s cousin tryna DJ off a Bluetooth speaker while the Ques already sweatin’ through they shirts. Whole campus smelled like shea butter and BBQ chicken. It was Welcome Day. And your dorm? A whole mess of chaos and lip gloss. You was posted up on the edge of your bed, half-dressed, heart racin’. “I don’t think I wanna go, y’all,” you mumbled, barely audible over the music comin’ from the hallway.

They all groaned in unison like a tired choir. “Here she go again, y’all,” one said, floppin’ down on the bed across from you.

“Girl, don’t piss me off tonight,” your other homegirl snapped, already halfway through her winged eyeliner.

Then the ringleader of the crew—the bold one with the rat tail comb always ready to check somebody—got dead in your face. Eye to eye. That comb damn near touched your nose.

“Look, bitch,” she said real calm, too calm. “It’s fine-ass niggas outside. The sun out. You thick as hell. And guess what? We in college now. Not high school. Not church. College. So guess what we doin’? We goin’ out.”

She spun away like she dropped the mic. You sighed, stood up, and turned to the mirror. Took yourself in.

Them little jean shorts was hangin’ on by faith and friction. Your thighs was thangin’. Your chest sittin’ real proper thanks to the double-bra combo your homegirl swore by. You turned side to side, let out a tiny smile.

You knew you looked good.

“Aight, y’all… I’m ready.”

You turned back to face the room, grinnin’ from ear to ear.

The whole squad paused for half a second—then exploded. Screamin', tongues out, feet stompin', hypin’ you like you just stepped on stage at Homecoming.

“OKAY MISS MA’AM!”

“YES THICKNESS!”

“We outside tonight!”

Y’all laughed, yellin' over each other, snatchin’ purses and keys, lip glosses flyin'.

Ready for whatever the night was gonna bring.

And in that moment? You wasn’t shy no more.

You was just her.

Y’all finally hit the yard, and it felt like the ground was vibrating beneath your feet. Bass thumpin’ so hard your chest caught the beat before your ears did. Speakers stacked on folding tables, Greek letters spray-painted on bedsheets hangin' off dorm windows.

Boys in jerseys sweatin’ and flexin’. Girls in sundresses glistening in the heat, edges laid, gold hoops swingin’. DJ shoutin’ over the mic, “WELCOME TO DELTA U, CLASS OF LEGENDS!” and the crowd goin’ stupid.

Y’all walked through like you owned the place, hips swayin’, laughs high-pitched, bodies glistening in that 5 p.m. sun. Somebody handed you a red cup—pink punch with that bite in it. You took a sip and coughed low, but didn’t let it show. Your girls was already two-steppin’ near the speakers, hips rollin’ to the beat. Dudes slid up behind ‘em, tryna catch a vibe.

“Ayo, ma, you got a man?” one dude tried, leanin' in a lil too close.

Your homegirl turned around slow, gave him a once-over. “I got three. All of 'em crazy.”

“Damn, you can’t just say no?”

“I did say no,” she said, turning right back to the beat like he ain’t exist.

Another boy tried your other friend: “You dance like that in church too?”

“Only if Jesus show up wearin’ grey sweatpants.”

He stood there stunned while she twirled away, drink in hand, and you laughed—finally loosening up.

You were buzzed just enough to stop overthinking, but not enough to stop squintin'. Your lashes too long for your glasses, so everything looked like it had that soft blur to it.

You kept glancing around the yard, eyes skimming faces. Not really lookin’ for nobody… just watchin’. Floatin’

Then—bump.

Hard shoulder to your arm. Your drink flew out your hand like it got snatched by the air.

“Shit—!”

Your cup hit the grass with a soft splat, pink liquid staining the blades.

Your girls turned fast.

“Damn! You can’t say ‘scuse me, nigga?” your girl barked, already turnin’ up.

His boys stepped forward like what’s up then, all arms folded and necks cocked.

“Man, y’all too loud for no reason. It was an accident.”

“Accident is trippin’ over a curb. He bodied her like she ain’t got bones!”

“Nah, y’all better back up ‘fore we get un-Christian out here.”

You stayed quiet, eyes still low, focused on that cup layin’ sideways in the grass. Lips pressed tight.

You didn’t like scenes.

Didn’t like heat that wasn’t from the sun.

Then you heard it.

“I’m sorry ma.”

“I ain’t mean to.”

That voice.

Soft drawl. Familiar rhythm. Sounded like old gum wrappers and middle school yearbooks. Like gym bleachers and hallway whispers.

You blinked.

A hand—big, warm, steady—came into view. Reached down, picked up your cup like it was glass instead of plastic. And as your eyes followed his fingers up to his wrist, to his arm, to his—

“...Sammie.”

You said it out loud before you could catch yourself.

All your girls paused mid-argument. Froze. One even blinked twice like she needed confirmation.

“Oh mf! Why didn’t you say it was you?” your homegirl shouted at him, pushing her lipgloss back into her purse.

He looked at her for a second, then back at you. Smiling like trouble you knew better than to want.

“I remember you,” he said, voice low, rich.

“Quiet lil thang.”

He stepped back just a bit, eyes dragging over you real slow. Licked his lips. That old

Sammie habit.

You tried to hold it in, but your smile betrayed you. It was comin’ anyway, soft and shiny like the gloss your girl put on you.

Your girls noticed. Of course they did.

They looked at each other eyebrows raised, hands covering grins, whisperin' fast.

You panicked. Had to say something.

You cleared your throat. “I remember you too… benchwarmer.”

“Oooooooohh!”

His boys hollered behind him, all hands to their mouths, jokin’ like they was on the schoolyard again. Sammie dropped his head, one hand rubbin' over his waves, that crooked smile sneakin’ back out.

“It’s like that, ma?” he said, eyes locked on you.

“Maybe,” you replied, real smooth. Then turned around like it was nothin’.

You walked off, hips steady, heart doin’ flips. Your girls followed close behind, mouths pressed shut just enough to stop screamin’. Y’all didn’t have to say it—but they knew.

You wasn’t just out here now.

You was in it.

The party was long gone, the music a ghost now, just bass memories still rattlin' in your chest.

Your dorm was dim, lit only by the soft blue TV glow and a phone light somebody forgot to turn off. One of your girls was already knocked out across her bed, one shoe still on. The other halfway under the covers, lashes askew, mouth wide open. They didn’t even bother changin’.

You laid there for a second, buzz finally faded, makeup itchin', body tired but restless.

So you got up. Showered slow. Let the heat wash over you until the bass left your bones.

Now you were in your real skin. No lashes, no gloss. Just you. Clean. Barefaced. Sports bra, cotton shorts, big t-shirt. Edges puffed up, bonnet tied loose. Slippers slid on, keycard in hand.

You went lookin' for a snack—first the mini fridge, then the cabinets. Nothin’ but dry-ass ramen, ketchup packets, and your roommate’s suspicious yogurt.

You sighed, tugged your t-shirt lower, and shuffled down the hall to the vending machines.

The hallway was quiet, just the hum of old AC and the click of your steps.

You stood there, starin' through the glass like it was gonna speak to you. Your finger hovered over the buttons. Hot Cheetos? Snickers? Twix?

“Damn, the machine got you stuck like that?”

You turned, slow.

Sammie.

Leanin' in the doorway like he belonged there, hoodie half-zipped, white tee underneath, chain glintin’ under the cheap fluorescent lights. Eyes real low. Smile even lower.

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you even in here?”

He stepped forward with a smirk.

“Co-ed, baby.”

You sighed and pressed B7. The machine groaned, then thunked out your Twix. You bent to grab it, not even thinkin’ about it.

Sammie thought about it though. Thought about it real hard.

His eyes trailed up from your calves, slow like honey. To the curve of your thighs. To the way them shorts barely held on. He bit the inside of his cheek.

Cornbread-fed. Just how he liked ‘em. He was from the South—he didn’t believe in women who couldn’t hold a plate or carry a man’s whole attention without even trying.

You stood back up, unbothered. Turned to him.

“Get a good look, pervert?”

You slid past him.

“I don’t know… let me see again,” he

grinned.

You smacked his arm lightly. “Horny lil’ boy.”

“I was jokin’, you know that, mama,” he said, stepping up close behind you. His arms slid over your shoulders like he done it before.

“Boy, if you don’t get off me—”

He laughed but held on tighter. “Why you bein’ like that?”

“I ain’t bein’ like nothing. Boy, you got all these girls on you already. Drama ain’t for me.”

He leaned back, blinked like you just told him the sky was purple. “And it’s for me?”

You gave him that be serious look. Chin tilted, eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low now. “Them girls just… girls. That’s it.”

You looked at him like he was wearin’ stupidity on his chest instead of that chain.

“Boy, you don’t even make sense.”

You didn’t wait for him to try again. You turned. Walked.

“Goodnight, Moore.”

Back in your dorm, you slipped into bed, pulled the blanket up, popped a DVD into your player— Brown Sugar—just somethin’ soft and familiar.

You watched the screen flicker, eyes growin’ heavy.

He wasn’t in the room.

But he was in your head now.

And you hated that.

The dining hall was loud like always—linoleum floors, the smell of syrup and turkey bacon mixin' with cheap coffee and last night’s regrets. You sat at your usual table, bonnet still on, hoodie zipped, tray full of breakfast you barely picked at. Your girls were all around you, gigglin' between bites, still full off last night’s turn-up.

“I know you not gon’ sit there and act like that ain’t Sammie Moore had you stuck at the vending machine like a redbone deer in headlights,” one of your girls said, grinnin’ wide.

“I was not stuck. I was mindin’ my business.”

“Chile please,” another said, mouth full of biscuit, “you was starin’ like he had a scholarship between his lips.”

You rolled your eyes, sippin’ your orange juice. “I don’t even like what he stand for. He drama. I ain’t come to college for all that. I’m tryna keep it cute, keep it clean, get my degree.”

“Cute and clean, huh?” your friend teased.

“Is that what they call that ass you had out last night?”

You swatted her with a napkin, smilin’ despite yourself.

That’s when some boys walked over—three of them, tall and lookin’ like trouble dressed in varsity jackets and gold chains. One had dreads, the other two low fades. But it was the one in the black tank and Cuban link that caught your attention first.

He locked eyes with you like he already knew your name.

“’Scuse me,” he said, voice low and syrupy, “didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Smoke.”

You raised a brow, not budgin’. “I don’t do nicknames.”

He smiled slow, head tilt slight. “Then let’s get it right. Elias.”

That name sat nice on his lips.

You felt your spine react before your mouth even moved.

You cleared your throat, coolin’ the smile that wanted to creep. “Okay then, Elias.”

“Okay then,” he said back, eyes takin’ you in respectful—but not shy.

He turned a little so he wasn’t blockin’ your homegirls. “Y’all should come out tonight. We throwin’ somethin’ over on Palmer. Real easy. Just vibes.”

He looked back to you. “Be good to see you there.”

Then just like that, he turned and walked off, smooth like the song playin’ low from somebody’s speaker nearby. You blinked, caught off guard.

“Uhhh–HELLO?” your girls said in unison, smacking the table.

“You better get your ass in formation!”

“Girl, who was THAT?”

“Baby I’m wearin’ heels tonight—I don’t care if my ankles bleed.”

You laughed, tray forgotten, heart a lil' fluttery. “I mean… why not?”

And right on cue—like somebody summoned him with your thoughts—Sammie walked up, his boys trailing behind, chain swayin’ over his chest, durag tied down, eyes already scanning the table.

“What y’all so juiced about?” he asked, a lazy grin on his face.

You didn’t even flinch. “Elias invited us to his party.”

His smile dipped, just a second. He looked off to where Elias and his boys were posted up.

“Word?”

“Mhm. Said it’d be good to see me there.”

You said it calm. But your girls caught the shift—Sammie’s jaw tightenin’, the light in his eyes dimmin’ just a touch. He played it off though, noddin' once.

You tilted your head, leaned forward just a little.

“You jealous?”

He looked down at you, lips pressed but still smirkin’.

“Nah. Ain’t no reason to be.”

You stood up, the air thick now, the table quiet like the cafeteria just paused for y’all.

“You want me,” you said, eyes never leavin’ his.

He stepped up, close, eye to eye. He was taller, but you ain’t back down.

“I do,” he said, noddin’ once.

That heat was back—heavy like the Delta sun in July. You felt it, and you liked it.

You looked in each of his eyes slow, readin’ the want sittin' behind them lids.

“Drop the hoes then, Moore.”

You popped your gum, eyes draggin’ down his chest and back up like you were takin' inventory. Then you turned and walked off with your girls, hips swingin’, all of them whisper-screamin’ behind you like high school all over again.

Sammie and his boys were still there, stuck in place.

One of his boys leaned close, clapped his shoulder.

“Better get busy, my boy.”

He didn’t say nothin’, just smiled slow, hands in his pockets as he watched you leave.

He had a type, sure.

But you weren’t a type. You were a whole damn category.

And Sammie Moore wanted all of it.

Music knockin’ low from the speaker—some classic R&B remix with a new-school beat. Perfume in the air. Heat from flat irons and the smell of edge control mixin’ with laughter. You and your girls were in full formation, baddie-mode activated.

Legs out, arms oiled, bangles singin’ every time y’all moved. Lip gloss poppin’, shades sittin’ right on top of your brows. You had on a lil Baby Phat-style jean romper, hugging every curve like it got hands.

Pumps to the sky. Hair curled up with that midnight bounce—your mama would’ve smiled seein’ them braids had finally done what they was supposed to.

You posed in the mirror, tongue peeking between your teeth, adjusting your hoops.

“Damn, I love college,” one of your girls said, doing a slow turn in the mirror.

Another smacked her gum, tossing her curls. “Both them boy crews? Whew. It's like God dropped fine into the registration office.”

“Okay, but who you tryna lock in with?” they asked, looking right at you.

You smirked, sliding your shades down your nose.

“Let’s see who show up tonight.”

They screamed. Laughed loud. Even the shy one was gigglin’. You all looked too good to be humble.

You raised your arm up, gold bracelet catchin’ the light.

“TO COLLEGE!”

They all clinked their red cups with yours. “TO COLLEGE!”

The energy was different on this side—lower, smokier, but just as electric. Loud bass thumped from a Bluetooth speaker, weed smoke curling up to the ceiling fan.

Sammie was leaned back on the futon, durag hangin’ off, T-shirt stretched over his chest, black jeans crisp. One of his boys rollin’ a blunt, another lined himself up in the mirror with a phone flashlight.

“Bro…” one of them said, already crackin’ up.

Sammie looked up, raising a brow.

“You really gon’ act like we ain’t watch ole girl stiff-arm you in the caf this morning?”

The whole room broke out laughin’.

Sammie shook his head, grinnin'. He could take it.

“Aye, man…” he exhaled, takin’ the blunt slow. “Y’all wild. I ain’t even on that lil groupie run no more. I’m tryna make her mine. Real talk.”

One of his boys mugged up, snatching the blunt.

“Man, here you go with that soft shit again.”

He hit it, exhaled deep, voice cuttin' through the smoke.

“All I know is—her girls? Man... them girls look like they stepped out a Vibe magazine.”

The room lit up with head nods, somebody clappin’.

“They bad bad.”
“I’m talkin’ curated bad.”

“Shit,” another said, sittin’ up, “we could all lock in tonight.”

The whole room paused, lookin’ around.

“Oh nah, y’all niggas trippin’,” one laughed.

Sammie stood, brushing his shirt off, lookin’ in the mirror like he was about to sign a deal. Ran his hand over his waves, durag in one hand, gold watch glintin’ under the light.

He looked through the mirror at his boys, confidence written all over his face.

“Let’s roll.”

They stood like a unit—too loud, too good-lookin’ for their own good.

The four of you stepped out that car like destiny walkin’ on heels. Laughter on your lips, gloss shinin’ under the porch lights, hips swayin’ to the beat echoing out the open doors.

Elias was the first to greet y’all.

“Whewww—look at this,” he said, leanin’ against the porch post like he been waitin’ all night. “If y’all was any finer, I’d need a warning label just to breathe.”

You smiled without tryin’, lookin’ away as your girls giggled. His boys peeled off fast, gravitatin’ toward your crew like bees to fresh honey.

Elias took a step closer, hand brushing the small of your back.

“You came,” he said, voice low and smooth.

“I said I would,” you replied, tryin’ like hell not to let his cologne live rent-free in your chest.

“Come on, let’s grab a drink.”

He led you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, the house alive with bass and bodies. Somewhere between the kitchen and hallway, a Soul Train line was tryin’ to start.

Girls were twerkin’ like it paid the rent. Air hot. Thick with weed. Full of life.

Y’all stopped at the drink table—red cups stacked, Jungle Juice swirling in a Gatorade cooler.

“You want sweet or strong?” Elias asked, already pourin’.

“Strong,” you said, takin’ the cup from him—fingers brushing, eyes meeting.

Leanin’ against the counter, y’all fell into that low talk. He told you about his major, his plans, how he liked how you carried yourself. Quiet confidence, he called it.

You were just startin’ to let your smile relax when—

He walked in.

Sammie Moore.

Black tee clingin’ to his chest, pants sittin’ grown-man low, chain swayin’ like a whisper.

That smirk already cocked on his lips like he knew the script before the scene started. His eyes scanned the room once—twice—

Then locked on you.

You. And Elias.

You felt it in your neck, your spine, the base of your stomach.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Just dipped his chin, gave you that look, and walked deeper into the crowd—dap-tappin’, noddin’ to the beat like it was just another Friday night.

But it wasn’t.

Elias leaned close, voice soft in your ear.

“That your man or somethin’?”

You shook your head, steadyin’ yourself.

“No.”

He grinned. “Good. Come dance with me then.”

You followed him to the living room-turned-dancefloor, Jungle Juice in hand. The song shifted—Aaliyah’s “One in a Million” remix slid in low and sensual.

Y’all moved close. That slow grind—just enough to spark heat but not burn. Elias knew how to move. Hand on your waist. Breath near your ear.

But your eyes kept driftin’.

Across the room—Sammie, posted on the wall. Watchin’. Not hiding it. Jaw tight. Eyes hard.

He wasn’t sayin’ a word, but his body was yelling loud.

That look? That look said you had no damn business lookin’ that good with somebody else.

The song faded. Elias leaned back just a little, like he might say something deeper.

But then—

You felt it.

A hand on your wrist.

“Lemme borrow her real quick,” Sammie said, low and gravelly, eyes never leavin’ yours.

Elias raised his brows, but you already knew. You nodded at Elias, heart thumpin', and let Sammie guide you away.

He pulled you down a short hallway, the noise behind y’all fading into a hum.

“Boy, what the hell is wrong with you?” you said, tryin’ to snatch your arm back—but not really.

Sammie turned, steppin’ close ‘til the wall kissed your back.

“You was lookin’ too good to be up on him like that,” he muttered, voice thick.

You blinked at him, lips parted, chest tight.

“Elias don’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

He smirked, leanin’ in, his breath all up in your space.

“Then why you keep lookin’ at me like he do?”

No answer. Not with his hand braced beside your head, not with that fire in his eyes like he was daring you to lie.

Your breath caught. His face inched closer.

“You know I want you.”

You swallowed, eyes lockin’ with his.

“I told you,” you whispered. “Drop the hoes, Sammie.”

He paused.

Then smiled.

“Watch me.”

Next day, class hit—but your mind was somewhere else. Still buzzin’ from the party, from the hallway, from the way Sammie looked at you like you was the only thing in that room.


You slid into your usual seat in the back of the lecture hall. Hoodie on, lips glossed, eyes low. Tryna stay out the way.

Then the door opened—and the whispers started before you even turned around.
It was him. Sammie Moore.


Steppin’ in like the whole classroom was his stage.

Girls straightened in their chairs.
You could hear the lil, “Hey Sammie,” “Oh my God he in this class?” floatin’ through the air like perfume.


He didn’t give none of ’em no play. Just scanned the room, eyes movin’—’til they locked on you like a bullseye.
Then he grinned.

Next thing you know, he joggin’ up the stairs—loud, on purpose—then flopped down next to you like he’d been doin’ it all semester.
His arm slid over the back of your chair, all casual, like it belonged there.

You ain’t say nothin’ at first. Just stared straight ahead, pretendin’ like your heart wasn’t thumpin’ out your chest.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and lazy—like y’all just rolled outta bed together. “You miss me?”

You sucked your teeth, tryna hide your smile. “Boy, get on.”

He chuckled, leaned back, spread his legs wider like he paid rent in the seat.

That’s when they walked up—two girls in Fashion Nova fits, tryin’ to play it off like they needed help with the syllabus.


One leaned in too close, eyes skippin’ past you like you ain’t even there.

“You really not gon’ say hey to nobody now?” she said, twisting her mouth. “You actin’ brand new, Sammie.”

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t smile.


“Nah. I’m good.”

The other girl gave you the slow once-over, nose turned up. “You ain’t even all that. He gon’ treat you the same way he did the rest of us.”

This was exactly what you meant.
You wasn’t even gon’ say nothin’. You ain’t need to.

But Sammie turned—slow. Looked her dead in the face.


And when he spoke? His voice dropped into somethin’ you hadn’t heard before—deep, steady, real.

“I don’t talk to girls like this,” he said, jaw tight. “But for her? I will. So back the fuck up.”

Silence.

You blinked. Looked at him like… who is this?

He was still watchin’ them, unblinking. Daring one of ’em to say something.


They didn’t. Just rolled their eyes and stomped off, heels clackin’ down the stairs.

You turned back to him, still lowkey stunned.

“You don’t talk to girls like that?” you said quiet, voice almost teasing.

He leaned in, looked you dead in the eye.

“Nah. Never had a reason to.”

Your heart dipped, flipped, did all types of flips.

You looked at him like you wanted to be mad… but you wasn’t.
Not even close.

Class started. Professor talkin’ about somethin’ you couldn’t even pretend to care about.


‘Cause next to you? Sammie’s knee kept brushin’ yours. His arm still draped behind you. And that look on his face?

Like you was already his.

Professor Davis was old-school. Always came in wearin’ some too-tight slacks, cologne from the ‘70s, and vibes like he been waitin’ all year to catch somebody slippin’.


He clapped his hands once—loud—snappin’ everybody out they whisperin’ and giggling ’.

“Aight class, listen up. Time to separate the passers from the repeaters. First project of the semester starts today. Two-person teams. Full breakdown due in three weeks. I’m assigning partners—don’t come cryin’ to me.”

You sat up straight. That anxious flutter startin’ in your chest.


You always took school serious. GPA clean. Ain’t no way you was about to let some random boy mess that up.

Professor started callin’ names off his clipboard, pairin’ folks up one by one.
“Danielle and Marcus… Tiffany and Kayla…”

You tuned most of it out, until— he looked up pen pointing through the seats before his eyes landed on you.

“You… and Sammie Moore.”

The whole row went: “Ooooooooh.”

You closed your eyes, breathed deep. Lord, why me?

Sammie? Of all people?

You turned your head slow, like maybe you heard it wrong.

But there he was—grinnin’ like he just won a Grammy.


Mouth wide open. Gold flashin’.

He slapped the desk once and leaned into your space, breath smellin’ like spearmint and sin.

“Oh, this gone be fun,” he said, teeth gleamin’.

You sighed. Loud.

“I ain’t never even seen you with a syllabus, Sammie.”

He threw his head back laughin’. “Ayo chill on me! I’m tryna turn over a new leaf. Be a scholar n’ whatnot.”

You side-eyed him. “You ever even own a textbook?”

He pointed at your bag. “Nah… but you do.
And since we partners… closed mouths don’t get honor roll.”

You blinked, jaw tight. “Lord.”

He leaned closer, voice low, smooth. “What? You don’t trust me?”

You crossed your arms.

“I don’t even know you.”

He grinned wider, tapped the desk twice. “Well. Guess that’s what the project’s for.”

Sammie kept it one hundred.
He said he’d put in work—and he did.
Showin’ up every day like clockwork.
Sometimes early, posted up outside the library like he belonged there.

“Thought I’d get a head start,” he’d say, flashin’ that cocky half-smile.


“Or maybe I just like lookin’ at you tryna act like you ain’t impressed by a nigga.”

You’d scoff, but you never sent him away.
Truth was—he was tryin’. Hard.

He’d sit across from you, brow furrowed, tryna follow your notes while low-key givin’ you his own kind of test.

“Yo, derivatives?” he said one day, flippin’ his notebook around with dramatic flair. “These just wild disrespectful.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself—and he grinned like he just won the championship game.

“There she go,” he said. “Knew I could crack that mean girl shit eventually.”

You tried to play it cool. “Focus, Samuel.”

“I am focused,” he said, eyes lockin’ on you just long enough to make your heart skip.


“On the sexiest tutor on campus. Don’t blame a nigga if you distractin’.”

Every time he talked slick like that, you swore you wouldn’t react.


But your cheeks always gave you away—heat risin’ like you caught a sunburn indoors.

“That a blush?” he teased, leanin’ in like he tryna get a better look. “Don’t start fallin’ for me now.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back. But even you heard the smile in your voice.

From then on, study sessions were never just about the project.


He’d pass you a highlighter and let his fingers graze yours.


Let y’all knees touch under the table like it wasn’t on purpose.


Lean over your shoulder like he tryna read the worksheet—when really, he just wanted to breathe you in.

“Okay, brainiac,” he’d say when you breezed through a problem. “You really just be out here rememberin’ formulas off the dome like that? You sexy as hell.”

You froze. “Sammie.”

“What?” He shrugged, all fake innocence. Eyes scanning you full of anything but. “I’m just sayin’— brains and looks? That’s dangerous.”

It wasn’t long before you started leanin’ in too.


Not ‘cause you had to.
But because you wanted to.

Little things added up.


A hand on your back when he leaned closer.
The way his eyes tracked every word when you explained something. Really listened.


Like you was the only person in the room.

He still messed up equations. Still talked too much. Still flirted like it was second nature.

But he was showin’ up.
Every time.


For you.

And somewhere between late-night study grinds and lowkey heart flutters…
Sammie Moore stopped bein’ the boy from the back of the class and started becoming the one who had you smilin’ between blinks,
blushin’ between smile lines and fallin’ just a little harder every time he cracked a joke.

College life meant party life—and here y’all go again.

Your girls talkin’ you into steppin’ out with ’em.


You was easier to convince than usual. All it took was them bringin’ up Sammie.

“How close is close?” one of ’em asked, nudgin’ you.


You tried to play it off, but that blush crept up quick.

“He just… I mean…”


You rolled your eyes, but you told ’em. How fine he was. How deep his voice got when he was focused. How you couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Who said you had to?” one of them smirked.

Another girl leaned in, fanning herself. “I bet he talk you through it too,” she said, and y’all lost it, laughin’ all over again.

You grabbed your gloss, touched up in the mirror, and tried not to smile so hard.
You was feelin’ yourself tonight. And you should.

Y’all finally headed out—heels clickin’, perfume thick in the air, dressed like you had something to prove.
Which maybe you did.

Or maybe… you just knew Sammie was gon’ be there.


And tonight, you was gon’ let him see it.

The party started before y’all even hit the door. Lights low. Bass heavy. Air thick with perfume, weed, and sweat. Everything bathed in that purple-blue glow like a dream you wasn’t supposed to wake up from.

Y’all pulled up together—but separate.
You and your girls all sharp edges and lip gloss, heels clickin’, skin glistenin’ like honey under neon.


Them and Sammie? Posted on the opposite sidewalk, black tees, gold chains, eyes cuttin’ through the dark like heat.

It was automatic.


You stepped out the car and locked eyes with him.


Sammie already waitin’. Already smilin’.

“Damn,” he said under his breath, loud enough for the fellas to hear. “Y’all see this?”

You tried not to, but you blushed. Again.

Your girls noticed. Teased you. One popped your arm with her clutch, whisperin’, “Girl, if you don’t go say hey—”

But you ain’t have to.


Sammie was already crossin’ the street. Already comin’ to get you.

He stopped in front of you, the world hummin’ low behind his eyes.

“You wear that for me?”
His voice hit your chest first, then your knees.


You looked him up and down—black denim, clean kicks, rings on his fingers, that gold chain you always noticed when he was leanin’ over your notes.

“You think everything for you,” you murmured, tryin’ to sound unaffected.

He just grinned. “Only the good shit.”

Your girls and his boys fell into that easy, flirty back-and-forth.


Laughin’, flirtin’, dappin’ each other up like this was just another night.
But you and Sammie?


Y’all was in your own bubble. One step slower. One look longer.

And when the door to the club cracked open, that bassline slid out like smoke—and Sammie turned to you.

“Aight,” he said, reaching for you smooth and easy, like he already had the right.


Arm slid over your shoulder. Firm. Warm. Protective.


“Come on. You wit’ me.”

And just like that, you let him guide you in.

Walkin’ through that crowd like you was made for it.


Shoulder to chest, his hand droppin’ to your hip when somebody brushed too close.
Eyes on the DJ, the dancers, the lights—but always comin’ back to you.

Inside, it was wall-to-wall heat.


Bodies movin’. Drinks spillin’. Hooks loopin’. Lights stutterin’ like camera flashes in slow motion.

Sammie leaned down, lips close to your ear.
“You good?”

You nodded, barely able to hear yourself think.


But his arm didn’t move. Stayed locked around you like it belonged there.
And for the first time… you let it. Let yourself settle into it.

Let yourself feel how good it felt to be next to him—not just in study halls or library booths, but here.


In the lights. In the noise. In his world.

Some girl tried to come up. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.


Just kept his body turned toward you like she wasn’t even there.

“You drink?” he asked, mouth back at your ear.
You nodded again. And just like that—he was leading you through the crowd, still holdin’ you close.

You felt eyes.
Felt envy.


Felt the beat thumpin’ in your chest.

But most of all—you felt safe.

Like maybe, just maybe… this boy was serious.

Like maybe… you was ready to find out.

Sammie didn’t say nothin’—just nodded toward the back, hand still resting heavy on your waist as he guided you through the bodies like he had a key to every room in the house.

Past the living room speakers, past the swayin’ couples, past the girl in red heels dancin’ like she ain’t have a care in the world.

The kitchen was cooler, quieter.
Dim light from the stove clock. Ice clinkin’ in cheap glass cups.


Somebody’s cousin passed by with a bottle tucked under his arm and a blunt behind his ear. Didn’t even look twice at y’all.

Sammie stepped to the counter, opened the fridge like it was his place.

“What you drink?” he asked, back still to you.

You shrugged, leanin’ against the island. “Pick for me.”

He turned, brow raised. “You don’t drink like I do.”

You tilted your head, smirkin’ just a lil. “Try me.”

He chuckled—low, lazy.
“This gone be funny,” he said, grabbing a red bottle and somethin’ brown from the corner.


Poured heavy in two cups, eyes low from the weed hummin’ through his system.

Then he took a sip.


Slow.


Eyes on you the whole time.

Mouth still on the rim when your gaze dropped—followin’ the line of his throat, the way he pulled back from the cup slow, lips glossy, glistening under the overhead light.

He wiped his hand down his mouth, rings glintin’, and your eyes tracked every. damn. move.

Then—he licked his lips.
Just once.

Your gaze dropped there, couldn’t help it. You watched his tongue slide across those thick lips, the gold of his slugs lookin at you.

He stepped in closer, the space between y’all shrinkin’ like breath in cold air.


Held your cup in one hand, lifted your chin just a touch with the other.

“Go 'head,” he said, voice dipped in honey and dare. “Let’s see if you real.”

You opened your mouth, and he pushed the cup to your lips—fingers gentle, but sure.
His other hand slid back, found the nape of your neck, thumb pressin’ just enough to ground you.

You drank.

All the while, his eyes never left you—low, watchful, wantin’.


That tilted POV got you dizzy, heat spreadin’ slow down your spine.


He smelled like kush and cologne and the sweat on his skin. You looked up from under your lashes, caught his mouth twitchin’ like he was thinkin’ somethin’ he couldn’t say out loud.

You dropped the cup without speakin’.

He let it fall—plastic, not glass—no spill. No need to say nothin’.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow.
Wet. Glossy. Warm.

He hummed low in his throat.
“Sweet,” he said. Could’ve meant the drink. Could’ve meant you. Didn’t matter.

Then he pulled back, just enough to breathe, fingers curlin’ around yours.
Didn’t tug. Didn’t pull. Just led.

Back through the smoke and color.
Back to the music, where it was louder, hotter.


Back to the floor, where the bass made your bones hum and the lights turned his eyes to fire.

Hand in hand.

You and him.

And this time… you didn’t let go.

AYEEE my first req of many whoever requested this it got too long baby this coming in parts but enjoy thiss one 😏

Pt2 here😫

Next up is : @yourm0mish0t Sammie x Reader cause yall can’t get enough. It’ll come soon so here’s a title ‘songbird sins’ #staytuned #stayloyal #stayfreaky

[solastarr]

Both Ain’t Shit- Smoke vers.

Smoke Moore x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot

Word count: 6.2k+

Summary: You and Smoke have been having a little fling for a while now. But Smoke pushes you too far. And now it’s time to show him you can play the game just as well as him, and remind him who he’s dealing with.

Warnings: cheating if you squint, p in v, fem receiving oral, use of n word, banter, and cussing

Authors notes: i’m so sorry for making yall wait so long for this. This was very long so i think my next few pieces will be short. I have a lot more ideas to come tho! Enjoy!!

He is not my man.

I mean, yeah he be at my place more than his own. He got a designated space in my closet for his clothes, he sometimes gets packages sent to my address, and my neighbors think he’s my husband…

But Elijah Moore is not my man.

And I wasn’t his woman neither.

Or at least that's what we tell everyone…

Me and Smoke wasn’t nothing but a good time to each other at first. The risky nights, flirty texts, and playing house was fun and all at first. But then I fell too deep into our fake fantasy. 

Smoke has everything I want in a man–drive, ambition, quite confidence and he gave me sex that made me forget my own name. Everything I dreamed of, but he didn’t give me the security, honesty, and title of the relationship I wanted. 

I used to care, I used to ask, I used to cry about the women that approached us in public like I was some homewrecker, the days when he would leave and not talk to me, the late nights where he would up and go handle “business” without putting on proper clothes or packing his work bag. And I say this with my chest because I will never again fall for his games. 

He use to gaslight me so well I thought I was going crazy and made up the entire thing. And I tried to leave, put the mess of a relationship behind me but Smoke can make you feel like you the only one, even when you know for a fact you’re not. 

And I always knew, I always knew.

Between the late replies, dirty stares from women I don’t know in shops giving me dirty stares, and the way his phone magically stayed face down every time he came over.

I’d have to be stupid to not know. 

But now?

I play it cool. Smile in his face, moan in his ear, and act like I’m not being used. Because I know I can run game too. He wants to be a player? Bet you I can play dirty too if not dirtier.

Because even when he’s out chasing whatever new girl that caught his eye, he still ends up in my bed. He might go ghost for a day or two, but he always shows back up with that same sorry ass smirk like he ain’t been doing me wrong. But I know I mean something to him because I’m the one he slips up and calls when he’s drunk, the one he trusts with his silence, his stress, his secrets. I’m not stupid—I know I’m not the only one he touches, but I’m the only one that sees Elijah Moore. They might get Smoke, but I get both. And maybe that makes me just as dumb as them, but at least I’m the one he always runs back to. Even if he pretends like he’s just passing through.

 I don’t return the energy to the same extent—not 'cause I’m loyal, but 'cause none of them other dudes make me feel what Smoke do. They don’t got that pull on me. They don’t got that calm but dangerous aura that make your knees weak and pride nonexistent. And I hate that. I hate that I crave the same man that got me second-guessing my worth, but still got the power to fuck me like I’m the only woman in the world. They couldn’t handle me anyway—not like he can. So I let him think he winning… while I lose my damn mind behind closed doors.

But tonight he did something that was a new low.

I should have know something was off when he showed up to my door with flowers.  

Smoke ain’t ever gave me no fucking flowers. He do give orgasms and headaches. He do “You good?” texts at 2 in the morning. But flowers. Roses? Never .But there he was—standing in the doorway like a fever dream—holding roses like that alone could undo months of hurt. They were fresh too, like he’d actually cared enough to stop and pick the best ones for me. The red looked loud against the cool evening light, too loud for a man who whispered lies in a voice so calm it sounded like love.

That was guilt wrapped in a heart shaped box. With a weak ass smirk. 

“What’s this for?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe of my front door with my arms crossed. Staring at him with confusion and surprise in my voice.

He smirked. “ I can’t do something nice for you?” He says dressed in his typical grey suit with a blue tie, with a caring but deceitful look in his eyes.

He walked past me like he owned the place– even though some days he practically lived here. He dropped the roses in the middle of my dining room table like they meant something to me and then found his way back to me by sliding his arm around my waist. I let him. I always let him. Because I deserve some fun out of this too. 

The night started like our normal routine. Dinner. Jokes. Laying in his chest while telling him about my day. He even started talking to me about how he wants to take me on a getaway trip so he can show me the world. Which should have been red flag number two. But again I just wanted to get the most out of him being with me.

The third flag was what got me though. 

I was looking for one of my heels that I had recently broken on accident in hopes I could get a little money out of him for all the problems that come with him. But while I was looking I saw a little velvet box tucked in the bag he packed to spend the night. 

At first, my heart jumped–thinking that maybe something came over him and knocked him into his senses to commit to me. Thinking maybe it was a promise ring or something stupid like that.

But as I got closer I realized how familiar the box looked. When me and Smoke started messing around he gave me a gold anklet as a little keep me in mind gift. And I still wear it to this day because you cant see it under my clothes in public, it makes him pound me into the mattress when he sees while we fucking, and because I thought it was a genuine gift he was giving me because he cared.(you’re a dummy bitch)

Out of curiosity I kneeled down checking my surroundings to make sure he wasn’t about to come help me look for whatever I came in my room for. I opened the box to see the exact anklet that was on my leg. The box has a note attached to it that read, 

“To J.”

“J… Who the fuck is J?” I thought to myself. My blood immediately started to boil. Vision blurring. But I collected myself to steady my hands as I closed the box and zipped his bag right back up with a smirk on my face. This was my green light to start fucking with him.

I walked back into the living room. I didn’t ask no questions. Didn’t start a fight. Didn’t even make a petty remark. I gave him one more night, one last kiss, and last moan. Letting him think everything was sweet. Made it real good too, gave him my all.

Because tomorrow?

I’m getting my lick back.

Next day 

I woke up like I knew nothing.

Played the same role—sweet, soft, and familiar. I kissed him good morning, made him breakfast, even ironed the shirt he accidentally wrinkled from throwing it in his bag.

He was still in bed by the time I was done, shirtless in only his underwear, stretching like he ain’t just spent the whole night with his tongue in me. The sun crept in through the blinds, laying golden ribbons across his broad muscular back. He looked good—too damn good for someone who didn’t deserve me.

I walked past the bedroom doorway with my coffee in hand, making sure to get all his shit together so he could be on his way. I looked like a woman coming down from a long night—curls falling messily from the makeshift bun, nightgown straps slipping off my shoulders from running round the house. But the second I heard his voice, I paused.

“Damn, you just gon’ walk past me like that?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and fake concern.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” I replied over my shoulder, taking a slow sip from my mug. “Usually you’d be gone by now.”

He chuckled, that lazy one he does when he thinks he’s charming.

“That how we acting today?”

I kept moving, gathering his keys, wallet, phone charger—placing everything neatly by the door.

“I made breakfast. Even ironed your shirt. What else you want?”

“I thought maybe we could chill for a second.”

I glanced over at him, leaving my bed, half-dressed and stretching. Taking his sweet time like he ain’t planning to meet another girl in a few hours. “I’ve got stuff to do. You got places to be and people to see, don’t you?” I tilt my head, all sweet like honey over broken glass.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to read me.

“You good? I just wanted to make sure my girl was alright after last night.” He grinned—half pervert, half innocent—as if the memory of his mouth on me gave him the right to ask.

“I’m great,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Got what I needed, didn’t I?”

He laughed, low and amused like he thought I was playing. But I wasn’t.

I brushed past him, slow enough to feel his heat, fast enough to pretend it didn’t burn. Before I left the room, I paused.

“Your shirt’s on the couch, still warm. Coffee on the counter, take it to go.”

I walked toward the hallway mirror, pretending to fix a loose curl, but really, I was watching him through the reflection. Watching him fake like he wasn’t confused.

He moved slow, dragging himself out into the hall, “Damn, you rushing me out?”

I turned, still calm. “Not rushing,” I shrugged. “Just... reminding you that you do have somewhere else to be. I mean, don’t you have brunch plans? I know I’m not the only per—I mean, thing you tend to in your day-to-day.” I offered a soft, fake smile

He smirked. “Why you always doin’ that?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head, voice dipped in charm and guilt like he didn’t know where he stood.

I turned back to the mirror. “Doing what?”

He walked into the hallway like he owned it—coffee in one hand, confusion in the other. “Throwing lil’ jabs like I ain’t been here every night this week.”

I tilted my head, slow. “And yet somehow, still not doing right.”

That shut him up for a second.

“If you got something to say—”

I cut him off with a soft laugh, eyes still on my reflection. “I don’t. Nothing to say. Nothing new, anyway.”

I walked to the door, held it open like a polite hostess.

“I don’t want to stand between you and your business. They seem to be getting impatient.” I nodded toward his phone lighting up again with a text he didn’t bother hiding.

He looked at it, then back at me. “You really on one today, huh?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Just on schedule.”

He stepped onto the porch, shirt tugged, ego bruised, still confused

“You good though?” he asked again, this time softer. Smaller.

I leaned against the doorframe, cool and casual. 

“Always,” I said.

And then I slammed the door in his face.

Later that day

The silence in the apartment after he left was thick. Like the walls were holding their breath, waiting for me to fall apart.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I ran a hot shower, scrubbed him off my skin, and let the steam cleanse every trace of him from my pores. Then I pulled open my closet and picked the one dress I knew would make someone stare too long and think too hard.

It was satin—deep red, the kind of red that doesn’t beg for attention but demands it. It clung in all the right places and slid over my thighs like water. I slipped on gold hoops, sprayed the perfume he used to compliment before he stopped noticing, and glossed my lips.

I needed to get back at Elijah in a way that would make his blood boil. Elijah used to have a friend named Darius that always showed me a little too much attention when me and Elijah would run into him. Compliments that were too attentive, gifts too expensive, and hugs that were intended to be more than friendly. 

Elijah hated it. Hated him.

Then my phone lit up:

Darius: I’m outside.

I smiled to myself, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door with the same grin smoke gives when he’s fucked me over. 

We walked into Club Eden like we’d done it before. Darius had one hand on the small of my back, the other in his pocket, grinning like we go together. I kept my chin high, every step deliberate, the red satin of my dress catching the lights just right. Heads turned, we looked good, and I knew it. But I wasn’t here for the stares. I was searching for one face in the crowd. Just smiling, slow and sweet, as Darius guided me deeper inside the club I knew too well.

Smoke wasn’t hard to spot.

Even in the low-lit haze of Club Eden, he stood out like sin dressed in success. Black slacks tailored to perfection, button-up open just enough to show that gold chain he never took off, and a gold watch to match catching flashes of light as he leaned back, calm and calculating.

And he wasn’t alone.

She sat next to him, legs crossed, laughing because she didn’t know about our twinning anklets. It shimmered around her ankle like a middle finger straight to my face.

I didn’t react. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I leaned back against Darius, legs draped over his lap like it was second nature. I smiled, slow and sweet, twirling my straw in my drink as if I wasn’t locked in a silent war with the man across the room.

Smoke’s eyes met mine—dark, unreadable, but I knew that look. His jaw was clenched. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. The girl next to him leaned in to whisper something, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Just kept his gaze on me like I had his whole night wrapped around my finger.

Good.

I tilted my head, let my curls fall over one shoulder, and whispered something in Darius’s ear. Didn’t matter what, I just needed to see Smoke look at me.

He did and I knew I had him right where I wanted him.

“Wanna dance?” I asked Darius, my voice soft but just loud enough. He grinned like he’d been waiting for the invite. “You know I do.”

The second I stood, I felt Elijah’s stare follow every step I took. I didn’t look back. Just led Darius to the dance floor like we owned it. The bass hit heavy, the colorful led lights spun soft, and I let my body move—slow, effortless, sensual. Darius tried to keep up, hands respectful but curious. I didn’t care. I wasn’t dancing with him for him. I was dancing for the man sitting in the corner pretending he didn’t care.

Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But when I twirled to catch his gaze again—he was gone.

Just like that.

I smirked, satisfied, even as my chest tightened.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Darius, brushing a kiss on his cheek before slipping toward the restroom.

The bathroom was cool and quiet. I touched up my lip gloss, adjusted my dress, and took a deep breath. The game was fun, but it was stressful. And I was starting to feel the heat of it rise to my skin.

I opened the door, and there he was.

Smoke.

Leaning against the wall like. His arms were crossed. His shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tattoos on his forearms, jaw tight, eyes darker than I remembered.

I blinked. “You lost?”

He didn’t smile. “Was about to ask you the same thing.”

I crossed my arms, mirroring him. “Bathroom’s not your usual hangout, is it?”

“I saw you dancing,” he said, voice low and clipped. “Looked like you were real comfortable.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Darius is sweet,” I said, letting the name linger to make sure it burns.

His jaw flexed. “He’s a clown.”

“He’s not you,” I shrugged. “That’s kind of the point.”I look at him with amusement because I know i’m getting under his skin.

“You really brought him here?” he asked, stepping closer. “To my spot?”

“Oh, my bad,” I said with mock concern. “Didn’t realize I needed permission to come to the club. Should I check in next time?”

His tongue dragged across his teeth like he was trying not to snap. “You knew I’d be here.”

I tilted my head. “Did I?”

He scoffed, stepping in just close enough that I could smell his cologne. “You doing all this for what? Huh? To make me jealous?”

I smiled. “Ain’t nobody checkin for you Smoke?”

His hand came up, not touching me—just hovering near my waist like muscle memory. As he towered looking down at me,  “You think I care about Darius? You think I give a fuck about that lame ass nigga?” 

I leaned in, just a breath from his lips. “Well… he was talking real good about having dessert back at my place. So maybe I will leave your “spot”.”I give him a menacing grin.

His whole body tensed.

“You lyin’,” he said, but his voice cracked just enough to expose the panic under the rage.

I laughed. “Am I?”

I stared up at him, not moving. “See, I think you care more than you wanna admit. But I think you should head back to your little date. I wouldn’t want her ankles to get sore waiting on you.”

He flinched. Just a flicker. But I saw it.

“Keep playin’ with me,” he warned, voice almost a whisper. “You forget, I know how to handle you.”

I laughed, low and bitter. “Yeah? If that’s what you want to call your lame ass stroke game.”

His mouth opened—but I started to walk away before he could respond. Because I was definitely lying about his stroke game unfortunately.

“Have fun tonight, Elijah,” I said, brushing past him, the scent of my perfume trailing between us like a dare.

And then I walked away—hips swaying, heels clicking, heart pounding—but head held high.

As the night continued I still felt the heat of Smoke and his date that hes not paying any attention to anymore on me. I continued to dance, flirt, and laugh with Darious to prove that I can play game too. I even let Darious’s hands explore my body a little. Rub my thighs, grip my ass a little while dancing, let his hands run up and down my curves. By the time the lights came on in the club and all the drunks were scrambling out to their rides. I let Darious drive me home. 

The car ride was actually nice. The moon was bright and full, soft R&B music was playing, and the conversation we had was amazing. Darious is a really sweet guy, but I know it would be wrong to drag him into me and Smoke’s mess. Plus I don’t want smoke to kill him…

We made it to my apartment and I knew I wouldn’t have much time until Smoke showed up at my door to interrogate me. Darious wanted to come up, but I knew if he did someone would end up in jail. So I said my goodbyes to Darious and promised him another night out soon as I walked back into my apartment. 

As soon as I walked through the door I took a quick shower, changed into a silk blue night gown with white lace trimming, fluffed my curls, removed my make up and prepped my skin for whatever is going to happen in the next few hours. Lastly I got myself a glass of wine and sat on my couch and read a book as I waited for him. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I needed to be ready nonetheless.

Not even twenty minutes late I hear a loud banging at my door. Three quick, violent knocks. Like the wood itself owed him an answer. I didn’t rush.

I took my time taking a last sip of wine, stood slowly, let my silk nightgown cling to my hips like it was made to tease. I walked barefoot to the door, cool and collected, like I hadn’t been waiting on this exact moment since I walked out of that damn club.

I opened the door just enough so he could see me. And there he was leaning against the door frame using one of arms for leverage.

Pupils dilated with nothing but anger. Jaw tight. Other hand clenched at his sides trying to contain himself.

“Where that nigga at?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play with me,” he snarled, stepping inside like this was his home. His head was on a swivel. “You let him fuck you?”

I shut the door. Walked right past his rage and sat on the edge of the couch, crossing my legs with purpose.

“Hello to you too Elijah, come one in?” I stated.

“Answer the question,” he snapped.

I smiled, slow and dangerous. “I don’t have to do shit.”

Smoke stepped closer, his whole body on fire with fury.

“You wasn’t gon’ fuck him.”He looked at me like he was challenging me to give him the wrong answer to send him over the edge. 

“Wanna bet?” I raise an eyebrow and give a deceitful smirk.

He snatched the glass from my hand, set it down with a rough thunk, and stepped between my knees. Boiling with anger waiting for me to say the wrong thing to make him explode.

“Say that shit again.”

I looked up at him, lips parted just slightly.

“I was gon’ let him taste every inch of me… then let him sleep right where you do.”

His hand wrapped around my throat in a flash—tight, hot, possessive.

“You gon’ let another man lay where I sleep?” he growled.

I smiled, the tension around my neck turning me on, breath hitching. “I was gon’ let him do more than that.”

He paused. That’s when I stood up. No fear. Just slow, deliberate grace as I walked past him and down the hall.

“You can keep lookin’ for him if you want,” I said over my shoulder, “but if you was really scared I let that man touch me, you’d be too late. He left already.”

I didn’t wait to see if he followed. I went straight to my bedroom, sat at the vanity, touched up my lip gloss with calm hands. Behind me, I heard heavy footsteps pause in the doorway.

His eyes were all over the room. Searching. Burning.

“You think this shit cute?” he asked, voice gravel-thick. His eyes looked me up and down almost in disgust and jealousy.

I met his gaze in the mirror. “No. I think it’s fair.”

He stepped inside, slower now. Confused. Angry. Hurt. “What the fuck mean by that?”

I turned on the stool and faced him, legs crossed again. My night gown starting to rise a bit up my thighs.

“It means I’ve been waiting on you to choose me, Elijah. Or at least grow a pair and tell me that this bullshit we got going on isn’t going nowhere. But you’d rather keep me close, fuck me, then go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His shoulders dropped like the weight of my words finally registered.

“I’ve given you space, time, silence. I’ve let you spin this thing however you wanted, and I stayed. Quiet. Loyal. Patient. But I’m done beggin’ a “grown-ass” man to act like one.”

Smoke’s jaw flexed. His hands were twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab me or punch a wall.

“So yeah,” I said softly. “I let him touch me. I let his hands roam a little. Not ‘cause I wanted him. But because I needed you to feel what it’s like to watch the person you believed was yours go play boyfriend to other bitches.”

Smoke’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.

I watched him. Calm on the outside. Heart thudding like a war drum on the inside.

“You really was thinking of letting that nigga touch you?” His voice was low now. Dangerous. “He don’t even know what to do with you.”

I stood up slow, walked toward him like prey that didn’t fear the predator. “He may not know how to handle me,” I said, standing chest to chest. “But at least he acts like he wanted me.”

That landed. Hard. He blinked once—tight, sharp—like the words had cut straight through his ribcage. His hand gripped the back of my neck, and whispered against the shell of my ear.

“I ain’t act like I wanted you, huh? Was that before or after I fucked you outside that club becuase you was letting niggas grind on you and I had you cryin’ and creamin’ on my dick?”

My breath caught.

“Or when I had you bent over your own counter, sayin’ you was mine with a mouth full of my name? Because you like flirting with dudes in front of me. That's not ‘wantin’ you’ either?”

My knees pressed together tight.

“You sayin’ he acted like he wanted you…” he scoffed. “Cool. But did he make you cum in under five minutes on your bedroom floor? Did he eat you ‘til your voice broke because you was hitting up the dudes in your DM’s?”

“Shut up,” I breathed, voice shaking.

“Say it,” he taunted, eyes on fire now. “Tell me he could have touched you like I did. Tell me he could have made you forget your own fuckin’ name. When you go out half naked with your girls and come back with ten new numbers in your phone”

“I—” My chest rose and fell too fast. “He didn’t.”

Smoke’s gaze burned through me.

“I didn’t lose you,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Even when you out here pretending like I’m the only one fucking up. You ain’t been right by me either.”

My mouth parted, but I didn’t respond.

“You mine,” he said. “Still mine.”

He stepped forward as I kept moving back, until the backs of my knees hit the bed. Still, he hadn’t laid a single hand on me—but I could feel every word on my skin.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”, I give him a confused but intrigued look. 

“You know what the fuck I’m askin’, ma.”

My mouth opened, but he didn’t wait.

He dropped to his knees and pushed me back on to the bed.

“I should make you beg,” he growled. “After that bullshit you pulled tonight.”

“But I missed this pussy…” he muttered, shoving me back onto the bed, hands pushing my nightgown up slow.

He paused. Smirked. “No panties?”

I smiled, real smug. “Why wear ‘em when I knew you was gonna end up on your knees anyway?”

His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.

Then his mouth was on my clit immediately. Hot, angry, wild.

He licked me like he was punishing me, tongue stiff and fast, nose buried deep like he needed every drop. He groaned when I whimpered. Flattened his tongue against my clit, then flicked it until my hips jerked.

“Say who it belongs to,” he growled against me.

I gasped. “Fuck—”

He sucked my clit hard enough to pull the words out of me.

“Say it.”

“Fuck you Elija–”

He slapped the inside of my thigh. “Try again.” starting like and suck faster. 

I gave in, my climax was near and continued to build, “It’s yours! It’s your pussy!”

His eyes locked on mine, lips shiny and glistening with me. “Damn right.” He licked me slower now, dragging it out, two fingers slipping inside me, curling just right.

My back arched off the bed.

“Louder,” he whispered. “Let the whole fuckin’ building know who got you cryin’ like this.”I whimpered his name, high and cracked, as he tongue-fucked me like he needed it to breathe.

“Had me stressing bout you letting some other dude in here?” he muttered between licks. “In this pussy?”

“Wanted you to feel it,” I moaned. “Wanted you to know—what it felt like.”

“Never again,” he growled. “You mine. You hear me?”

“Then act like it,” I snapped, as I begin grinding against his face. “Act like I’m yours.” I say as I grab the back of his head to push him further in to me. 

He laughed low, filthy. “Oh I’m ‘bout to show you, baby.”

Then he dove back in, no mercy, dragging me through a climax so hard I shook, hands fisting the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer and a curse all in one.

My thighs were still shaking when he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’d just devoured something messy and rare.

He looked down at me—lips glistening, chest rising and falling, jaw tight with hunger.

“You talk too much,” he muttered.

“I was making a point.” I snap back, out of breath.

He grabbed my waist, flipped me over onto my stomach like I weighed nothing.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped. “Make it now.”

I didn’t have time to speak—he yanked my hips back, arching my ass high in the air, pressing my face down into the mattress with one heavy hand on the back of my neck.

“Say that shit again,” he hissed into my ear, breath hot. “Say how he acted like he wanted you.”

“Elijah—”

“Mm-mm.” He pressed harder on my neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know who was in control. “You wanted Daddy’s attention?”

He lined himself up, thick and heavy against my soaked entrance. His other hand gripped my ass, spreading me open.

“Well, you got it now.”

And then—he thrust inside me, deep and fast. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just raw, angry, need.

“Fuck!” I try to muffle my moan as I pushed my face into the mattress.

“Nah, don’t get shy now,” he growled, snapping his hips against me again, again. “You was runnin’ your mouth a minute ago. Where all that shit talk go?”

The slapping of skin echoed through the room, loud and wet. His hips slammed into mine, balls smacking against my clit with each brutal stroke. The bedframe creaked under the force, the mattress giving under the weight of his big, muscular body.

Smoke’s build was all lean muscle and hard edges—wide back, thick arms caging me in as he pounded into me from behind, I could feel the tension radiating off him.

“You wanted to make me jealous? You wanted me mad?” he breathed, chest pressing into my back. “Well, now you got me.”

He drove deeper, grunting, hips rolling in filthy rhythm. “This what you wanted, huh? Daddy stretchin’ you out like this? Say it.”

I whimpered, arching into him, my ass bouncing back against his thrusts.

“Say it.”

“It’s what I wanted,” I moaned into the pillow. “I wanted you—fuck—I needed you.”

He leaned in closer, biting the curve of my shoulder.

“You mine, baby. You don’t gotta play games for me to see you. You all I ever see.”

He fucked me harder then, no mercy. My pussy clenching around him, trying to keep him in with every stroke.

“Look at this pussy suckin’ me in,” he growled, voice thick with possessiveness. “You act up just to get it like this, don’t you?”

His palm came down on my ass, the sting making me cry out.

“You love it when I fuck you back into your place, huh?.”

I could barely respond, the way he was hitting made my thoughts scatter like dust. All I could do was moan and take it.

“You gon’ behave now?” he asked, yanking my hair so I lifted my face off the pillow. “Or you need another round?”

“Give it to me,” I panted. “I can take it.”

That did something to him. His next thrust knocked the wind outta me.

“You do all this talkin’, just to shut the fuck up when this dick in you. That’s your problem.”

The pace got even filthier—fast, relentless, dragging sounds out of both of us that had no place outside of a bedroom.

The air was thick with heat and sweat and desperation.

“Say you mine again,” he ordered, breath ragged. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m—fuck— i’m yours, Daddy.”

That sent him over. He slammed into me one last time, deep and hard, filling me up with a loud groan that vibrated against my spine.

I followed right after, walls pulsing around him, toes curling, throat raw from moaning his name.

We collapsed together, breathless and shaking, tangled in the mess we made.

He was still catching his breath, eyes fluttered shut, mouth open like he was trying to gather himself.

I sat there for a second, letting the weight of what just happened settle between us. Sweat slicked my skin, my curls wild and frizzy from all the grinding and grabbing and all that heat. My chest heaved. I watched his body twitch—sensitive, eyes closed, overwhelmed, but still so hard for me.

He didn’t even notice me move.

Until I straddled him again. Hovered over him, lined us up—

And slammed down on his dick.

“Shit—!” he yelped, eyes snapping open like I’d snatched his soul. “Wait—wait—baby—”

I bounce on him hard, grinning down at him like a beast that finally caught its prey.

“You good?” I asked sweetly, breathless.

He gasped barely able to make a sound. “Damn, girl—”

“Thought so.”

I started to move. Slow at first. Just enough to hit him right. His whole body tensed, trying to brace, but he couldn’t. He was too sensitive, and I was overriding his nerves.

“I’m tired of bullshit, Elijah. I want to settle down,” I reminded him, voice low, sultry, taunting. “You going to be better for me, baby?”

“I—I am,” he stammered, jaw tight. “I am, baby—I swear—”

I sped up.

That had him groaning, loud and full in his chest. His hands shot to my thighs, gripping, begging me to slow down—and I didn’t.

“You gon’ answer when I call?” I asked, breath hitching from how deep he was hitting. “No more games?”

“Yes! I got you, baby, just don’t—don’t stop—”

I moved faster.

“Say it again,” I demanded, hips rolling harder, rougher. “Louder.”

“I’m gon’ do right! I swear to God, I’m—fuck—”

He tried to hold my hips, tried to make it last, but he couldn’t keep up. He was shaking, whining, and I loved every second of it.

But so did I.

Every stroke had my moans cracking, turning breathy and sharp, like I was losing the same control I held over him. I started to tremble too, thighs quaking, chest heaving. He was hitting that spot, again and again—stretching me just right.

My hands landed on his chest to steady myself, nails digging in. “You better,” I gasped, voice splintering. “You better fucking do right by me.”

“I will—I swear—baby, please—”

I felt it creeping up on me—my legs tightening, the heat coiling in my belly. “Oh my God—Elijah—”

“Come for me,” he begged, hips bucking under me. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

That did it. I shattered around him with a loud, raw cry, my walls clenching hard, dragging his name out like a prayer. My body folded forward as I pulsed around him, riding every wave, every tremor, until my whole frame shook.

His voice broke under me, hands locking around my hips like he never wanted me to move again. “That’s it, baby… fuck, that’s it.”

Breathless, dazed, I slumped against his chest, heart pounding, sweat glistening on my skin.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned against his neck. “I know I ain’t been fair either.”

His hands slid up my back, holding me tighter.

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” I whispered. “I just needed to feel wanted too.”

“You got me, ma,” he said hoarsely. “You been had me.”

“I don’t wanna fight no more,” I breathed. “But you gotta do better.”

“I will,” he promised, kissing the side of my face. “You got my word.”

We laid there tangled in silence, both of us wrecked and breathless

~ I hope you liked it! Also send me some asks if you have a request, question, or fic ideas!!

click here to send an ask!!

sola💫

Taglist: @bxunyx @keenkittyconnoisseur @yana3sworld @thefutureemmywinner @roughridah0 @iiiheartfayee @margepimpson @cocooned-butterfly @sajoi @jackierose902109 @wingedpeachjudgegiant @liloswayy @sharpaysbestfriend @cosmicautomatonshark @ivoryyythesimp @dezzy154 @christinabae @doradaexplorher @mikaelsonharem7

[solastarr]

What fraternities do yall think the twins would be in? I think Stack would be a Nupe and maybe Smoke would be a Que maybe???😭 this could be a fun take on a college au

[solastarr]

Both Ain’t Shit Teaser

(because i haven’t finished it yet…)

Stack Moore x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot

Summary: You and Smoke have been having a little fling for a while now. But Smoke goes too far. And now it’s time to show him you can play the game just as well as him, and remind him who he’s dealing with.

Teaser

I stood up slow, walked toward him like prey that didn’t fear the predator. “He may not know how to handle me,” I said, standing chest to chest. “But at least he acts like he wanted me.”

That landed. Hard. He blinked once—tight, sharp—like the words had cut straight through his ribcage. His hand gripped the back of my neck, and whispered against the shell of my ear.

“I ain’t act like I wanted you, huh? Was that before or after I fucked you outside that club becuase you was letting niggas grind on you and I had you cryin’ and creamin’ on my dick?”

My breath caught.

“Or when I had you bent over your own counter, having you sayin’ you was mine with a moaning my name? Because you like flirting with dudes in front of me. That's not ‘wantin’ you’ either?”

My knees pressed together tight.

“You sayin’ he acted like he wanted you…” he scoffed. “Cool. But did he make you cum in under five minutes on your bedroom floor? Did he eat you ‘til your voice broke because you was hitting up the dudes in your DM’s?”

“Shut up,” I breathed, voice shaking.

Authors note: I lowkey don’t like this fic and i’m fighting demons not to scrap it. But this fic will be out soon! Also my next few posts following this will most likely be short because i like to yap in my writing 🥲

~ sola💫

[solastarr]

guys i have so many fic ideas i’ve just been so busy i haven’t been able to sit and write. but soon i will be back and expect some good shiz!

~sola 💫

[solastarr]

will there be a part two of i'm grown?? would love to see sammie and reader's relationship develop🤭🤭

I honestly wasn’t expecting this fic to do that well, but i’m so happy that yall liked it!!

I’m going to pull some strings and plan a part2 for yall! Anything in particular yall want in the fic?

[solastarr]

GYATT 😩🙏

[solastarr]

Coming Soon…

Both Ain’t Shit- smoke vers.

Smoke Moore x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot

Summary: You and Smoke have been having a little fling for a while now. But Smoke goes too far. And now it’s time to show him you can play the game just as well as him, and remind him who he’s dealing with.

Teaser:

Because even when he’s out chasing whatever new girl that caught his eye, he still ends up in my bed. He might go ghost for a day or two, but he always shows back up with that same sorry ass smirk like he ain’t been doing me wrong. But I know I mean something to him because I’m the one he slips up and calls when he’s drunk, the one he trusts with his silence, his stress, his secrets. I’m not stupid—I know I’m not the only one he touches, but I’m the only one that sees Elijah Moore. They might get Smoke, but I get both. And maybe that makes me just as dumb as them, but at least I’m the one he always runs back to. Even if he pretends like he’s just passing through.

 I don’t return the energy—not 'cause I’m loyal, but 'cause none of them other dudes make me feel what Smoke do. They don’t got that pull. They don’t got that calm but dangerous aura that make your knees weak and pride nonexistent. And I hate that. I hate that I crave the same man that got me second-guessing my worth, but still got the power to fuck me like I’m the only woman in the world. They couldn’t handle me anyway—not like he can. So I let him think he winning… while I lose my damn mind behind closed doors.

Another little tease because i like y’all 😚:

“You wasn’t gon’ fuck him.”

“Wanna bet?”

He snatched the glass from my hand, set it down rough, stepped between my knees.

“Say that shit again.”

I looked up, lips parted. “I was gon’ let him taste every inch of me… then let him sleep right where you do.”

His hand was around my throat in a flash—tight, hot, possessive.

“You gon’ let another man lay where I sleep?” he growled.

I smiled, breath hitching. “I was gon’ let him do more than that.”

~ ayeee #badbitchy/n i’m still working on this fic but i hope yall like it when it come out!

~sola 💫

[solastarr]

Introducing Moon Mail 🌙

“Whisper your wish to the moon and I’ll write it into the stars.” ~sola💫

I’m now accepting Moon Mail — aka your lovely fic requests!

If there’s a scene, a character, or a vibe that’s been stuck in your mind, this is your chance to send it my way. And i’ll do my best to bring it to life with writing!

How to Send Moon Mail:

Drop it in my ask box (anon or not — up to you)

Include your character, reader info (if any), and what you’re craving (fluff, angst, smut, comfort, etc.)

Be respectful, clear, and kind

Black reader requests are front of the line — this is a soft space for us

Not all Moon Mail will be answered, but every message is seen & appreciated

Divider by: https://www.tumblr.com/strangergraphics

[solastarr]

I’m Grown

Sammie/Preacher's Boy x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot, Modern AU?(ig)

Warning: Smut, fingering, D in P, unprotected

Word Count: 3.8k+

Summary: You and sammie basically grew up together. Though you were only half a year older, you always treated him like a little kid.

Then college came, and you moved away. Now it's summer, and you start to realize the little preacher's boy you left...is a man now.

Writers note: I’m still new to writing fan fics, so i’m not the best, but i hope y’all still like it! I plan to keep practicing and getting better!!⭐️

In the past…

Your mother and Sammie’s mother were next-door neighbors turned best friends. They did everything together, meaning you and Sammie had to do everything together too. From Sunday school, choir, same school, clubs, sometimes y'all's mom thought it was cute to dress y'all up in matching outfits. 

Eventually  leading to you and Sammie to become besties. 

Now even though you were only a half a year older than him, you made it your soul duty in life to make sure he knew he was the baby. From calling him nicknames like little boy, baby, baby bro, and eventually preacher’s boy. 

Sammie had a deep hatred for these lame ass names, but it was you so he let it slide.

Over time as you and Sammie got older and the teasing continued but started to tone down, as your crush on him started to flourish. But you denied it with all your heart. 

“He’s too young for me. Plus he’s my best friend… and I doubt he likes me.”, you explain to anyone who’d ask about you and sammies relationship. 

But everyone else could see it– how Sammie would zone out to watch your smile across the classroom, the way your lips curl up when you smile at his jokes, how he’d analyze every curl that fell from your hair, the way your skin glistens when you run around the tract for P.E., and the way yall sound beautiful together when harmonizing during choir. 

Sammie had feelings for you–no doubt bout it, but both of you had too much pride, and too much love for your friendship to ever say anything. 

Jump to the end of  Senior year of high school…

You and Sammie are now done with highschool, and now it’s time for you to figure out what the world has to offer you. You and your mother had been going back and forth for months about whether you should go to college near home and out of state. You wanted to stay close to home where your family, friends, and childhood were. But your mother insisted that you’d go much farther in life if you went to a big college some states over. 

Eventually, you caved and agreed with your mother’s claims and chose to go to school out of state.

Now, the day you leave for school, and it’s time to tell your friends, family, and the person you dreaded telling the most goodbye… Sammie. 

Going from seeing each other everyday to seeing each other for only a few months out of the year was going to be rough. But there was no avoiding it now. 

You and your mother walked over to Sammie’s house, greeted by a long hug from his mother and some positive words from his father. You put on a brave face while  talking to them all, not wanting them to see the fear of leaving choking you in your chest to show in your face. You barely talked to sammie the whole time you were over, unsure what to say or even how to say it—avoiding conversation with him at all costs. 

Before it was time to leave, you slipped away to the bathroom, trying to think of what to say to sammie that won’t leave you in tears.

“He’s my best friend, I’ll know what to say…”, but as soon as you opened the bathroom door, there he was. Sammie. Waiting in the hallway like he knew you were hiding from him.

“Damn you already ignoring me you couldn’t wait til left?”, he says sarcastically, but you can hear the concern underneath it. You froze, caught off guard, not thinking your silence would make him think you were ignoring him. So, you immediately threw your wall up.

“Boy, I didn’t know how to let you down easy without leaving you in tears,” you joked, nudging his side. “Plus, don’t think a little distance could make me forget about my little bestie.” You gave him a warm—if slightly worried—smile.

The tension between you was thick as he stared at you, like he was trying to find the words too.

“Of course not. You know you can’t get rid of me girl”, he says with a smirk on his face. “And stop treating me like a baby, I've been grown. You just won't accept it.”

He nudges you back, making you laugh. “Nah,” you teased. “You’ll always be my little preacher’s boy.”, you pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He held you back even tighter—like he didn’t want to let go.

You could both feel it—the warmth, the bond, the love between you. But the hug didn’t last forever. The tall, masculine figure in your arms would have to stay behind.

For a second, you wanted to say everything. That you didn’t want to go. That you wished things were different. That maybe, if you both had just been a little braver, things could’ve been more than late-night phone calls and unsent texts.

But instead, you just held him like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

“Now gon on,” Sammie said, voice low and playful. “Before it gets too late and you miss your train.”. You nodded, eyes a little misty, and started walking toward the front door where your mom was waiting.

“Bye, Sammie. Don’t grow up too fast, now!” you called over your shoulder with a laugh.

He chuckled, just enough to cover up the lump in his throat. “Yeah, yeah. And you don’t get into too much trouble, little girl.” 

You turned around one last time and flashed him a mischievous grin.

“Let’s remember who the little one is here.”

Before he could reply, your mom’s voice cut through the moment, calling your name.

And just like that, you were on a train to Georgia…
…leaving Sammie back in Mississippi.

Now your back home for summer…

You hadn’t been home for more than 24 hours and already your mama was dragging you around town, making you run errands like you hadn’t just survived your first year of college. Between unpacking, catching up with cousins, and fake-smiling through “You don’ grown up!” comments from nosy church ladies, there hadn’t been time to stop and breathe—let alone see him.

But you finally slipped away… finally getting a moment to go visit your ole best friend.

You walked down the sidewalk in your old neighborhood, past the familiar houses with chipped paint and crooked mailboxes, past the corner where you and Sammie used to race on bikes. Everything felt the same and yet… you didn’t.

And when you turned the corner toward Sammie’s house, you definitely didn’t expect what happened next.

He was outside. Shirtless.

Standing in the driveway like a man who knew damn well he looked good. He was taller, broader, and his skin was glistening from the heat—golden brown, smooth, and definitely not the “little preacher’s boy” you left behind.

He was working on his car, arms flexing just enough to make your breath catch.

You tried to act unfazed...Tried.

“Boy, you still out here pretending to be a mechanic?” you called out, trying to sound playful.

Sammie looked up, wiped sweat from his forehead with a towel, and his lips curled into that familiar smirk—but there was something different behind it this time. Something slower. Deeper. Like he was seeing you for the first time too.

“Well well well…” he said, voice lower than you remembered. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

You swallowed hard.

His voice was deeper too, not just in tone but in presence. He moved slower, more deliberate. Like a man who wasn’t in a rush to prove anything anymore—just sure of himself. Of what he wanted.

He walked up to you, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every inch.

“You gon' give me a real hug or just stand there lookin’ surprised?”

You blinked, then gave him a tight hug, suddenly hyper aware of how solid his chest felt against yours. He held you for a second longer than expected, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“I’ve missed you, my little preacher’s boy” you say softly. 

He scoffed, stepping back a little, “Still calling me that, huh?”

You nudged his side, now more muscular and lean than you remember, “You know you love it.”

He smirked, wiping his hands on the towel. “Love it? Girl, I barely tolerated it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You would’ve cried if I ever stopped.”

“Cried? You forget who you talkin’ to.” He squinted at you, leaning in a little. “I’m not that lil boy you used to boss around, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, glancing him up and down. “You done grew up a lil, huh?”

Sammie raised a brow, clearly catching the way your eyes lingered. “You tryna say I look good or something?”

Your throat went dry. You weren’t used to this version of Sammie—direct, confident, making it hard to tell if he was joking or if he really saw you now... like more than a friend and not just the girl who used to beat him in Uno.

“I’m sayin’ you don’t look terrible.” You shrugged casually, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer. “A year away and you still playin’ with me like we kids.”

“You ain’t ready for grown-woman compliments, preacher’s boy,” you teased, folding your arms.

Sammie chuckled and tilted his head. “Oh, so you grown now? One year outta town and you all woman now, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you smirked. “I eat my greens now.”

That made him burst out laughing, deep and from the chest. “Greens? Girl, you used to cry over broccoli.”

“Growth.” You lifted your chin proudly.

“Well, I like this grown-up you,” he said, eyes scanning you again, slower this time. “Confident. Mouth still slick. But I’ma warn you…”

You cocked a brow. “Warn me about what?”

He leaned just a little closer, voice dropping. “Keep teasing me like that and I might start actin’ like I’m grown too.”

You blinked, heart thumping just a little harder.

“Boy, hush,” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than expected.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, backing up toward his car. “That’s what I thought.”

You stared at him, biting your lip before shaking your head.

“Still cocky, I see.”

“And you still love me,” he tossed over his shoulder.

The next morning…

It was barely 10 a.m. and you were still in your pajamas— some old cartoon shorts and a stretched-out tank top—hair in a messy scarf, and attitude already on 10 because somebody was banging on the door, and you wasn’t expecting no guests. 

You lazily walked over to the door opening it with frustration all over your face. To your surprise it was Sammie. 

White T-shirt clinging to his arms, cargo shorts low on his hips, tool bag in one hand, smug grin in the other. Looking good as hell, unfortunately for you.

You froze.

He didn’t.

His eyes raked over you slowly—taking in your bunny slippers, your tank top with one strap hanging off your shoulder, and your scarf slowly falling off your head.

“Well damn,” he said, cocking his head, “did I catch you fresh out the bed or is this what grown looks like now?”

You crossed your arms instinctively, suddenly aware of every exposed inch of skin and how his eyes didn’t flinch away—not like before. It wasn’t teasing this time. It was... something else. He was really looking.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing here?”

He held up the tool bag. “Your mama told mine y’all kitchen faucet was leakin'. You know how they are. So my momma volunteered me like I’m the damn neighborhood handyman.”

You stepped aside with a sigh.

“She ain’t mention nothing about you coming over.”

“She probably knew you wouldn’t clean up anyway,” he teased, walking past you. “Or put on a bra.”

You threw a couch pillow at the back of his head as he walked past you, mortified. “Don’t play with me this early, Sammie.”

He laughed, easily dodging it. “I’m just sayin’. You had all that grown woman energy yesterday, now I pull up and it look like yo childhood fought you and won.”(damn sis)

“I’m still living out of boxes,” you snapped, following him toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t  find my good pajamas, so don’t start.”

“Right, right. Excuses.” He knelt down by the sink, glancing up.

You crossed your arms. “Fix the sink and shut up, Sammie.”

“I will,” he said, reaching under the counter. “Soon as you admit you missed me.” He smirked as he positioned himself under the sink to find the leak.

You rolled your eyes, smirking despite yourself. “Mmm. I missed peace. And silence.”

He chuckled, tools clinking under the cabinet. “Keep lyin’. You couldn’t even open the door right—you was too busy starin’.”

You blinked, your smirk faltering just a bit. He said it differently this time. Lower. Serious.

But before the silence could stretch too long, he flicked a piece of plastic from under the sink at you.

“You gon’ stand there or at least make yourself useful and pass me that wrench?”

Your fingers brushed his when you handed it over, and neither of you commented on how neither of you pulled back right away.

Trying to focus on literally anything except how his shirt lifted just enough to show the waistband of his boxers and the deep V line leading down.

Flashing that cocky grin.

“Dang you not even gon’ offer me a drink or wipe my sweat or somethin’?”

“I didn’t know ‘neighborhood handyman’ came with customer service demands,” you shot back, leaning on the counter.

He slid out from under the sink, sitting up on his knees. His eyes flicked over you again—longer this time. And it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking you over like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You really grew up, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That surprise or disappointment in your voice?”

“Nah. Just… something i’m taking note of,” he said, standing up slowly. His shirt clung to his chest now, damp from sweat.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then— “You missed me, didn’t you,” he said again, stepping closer this time.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out breathy. “I missed clownin’ you. Big difference.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Nah. You missed me.”


A beat passed.


His eyes didn’t leave yours.You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him—really looked. 

“You know I did,” you said finally, your voice lower now, honest in a way it hadn’t been all year.

Sammie stepped closer, “Yeah,” he murmured, “but I wanted to hear you say it.”


Then his voice dropped, that Southern drawl thick and heavy like honey on your skin.
“You just scared.”

That made your head tilt. “Scared?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, that cocky smirk returning. “You missed me. You just don’t know what to do with me now that I’m not some lil boy followin’ you around.”

You scoffed. “Ain’t nobody scared of you, Sammie.”

He licked his lips, eyes dragging slow over your body.
“You should be,” he murmured. “I ain’t lil no more.”

Your pulse jumped. But your mouth moved before your brain could catch up.

“Then show me how much you’ve grown.”

You reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in, lips crashing into his like you were done playing games—and he didn’t hesitate, didn’t ease in. He kissed you back like he’d been waiting to shut you up for years.

His hands gripped your waist like he owned it, like they’d been there before in dreams he wouldn’t dare confess. He walked you backward, not even breaking the kiss as you hit the counter behind you, gasping as his mouth dipped to your neck.

“Sammie—wait,” you breathed, your hand curling in his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his voice a low rumble.
“You made me wait long enough.”

Your tank top was halfway up before you could respond, his hands slipping beneath it, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your waist. His lips returned to your throat, to your collarbone, trailing heat with every kiss. One second you were in the kitchen, half-dressed and breathless—and the next?

Your back hit the couch cushions.

He hovered over you, looking down, eyes dark and sure. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just reached for him again, pulled him down by the collar of that stretched white tee, and kissed him like you were starving.

His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath your shorts to grip your thighs. You gasped when he lifted you slightly, adjusting your body beneath his like he knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. You felt him, hard and ready, pressing against the inside of your thigh, and it made your breath catch.

“You still scared?” he asked again, voice brushing the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips slowly into yours.

You tried to keep it playful. “I ain't scared of a little boy who had to listen to lullabies to go to sleep till ninth grade.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, then caught your chin between his fingers and tilted your face toward him. "That boy’s gone, baby. Been gone. Let me show you what replaced him."

Then he was pulling your tank top the rest of the way off, eyes devouring every inch of skin like it was the first and last time he’d ever see it. His mouth followed, lips and tongue tasting your collarbone, your chest, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch.

You moaned his name without meaning to. That only made him bolder.

His fingers slid beneath your shorts, teasing the band of your panties until you whimpered, rocking your hips into his touch. “Damn,” he whispered, "You already this wet for me?"

“Shut up,” you panted.

“Nah,” he said, voice dropping, teasing and full of heat. “I gotta teach you sum real quick.”

His fingers slipped between your pussy lips, slow and slick, finding your rhythm like he’d been studying your body in secret. You gasped, gripping the back of his neck.

“Sammie…”

“Now you know damn well I ain’t little no more, but you’re too fucking stubburn.,” he murmured, slipping one finger inside, then two. Curling them. Stroking that spot that made your thighs tighten around his wrist.

“Say it.”

You shook your head, breathless. “Fuck you.”

He smirked. “That’s the plan.”

He kissed you again—messy, possessive—while his fingers worked you open, coaxing soft cries from your throat. When he finally pulled them out, he looked at you like he was weighing a decision.

Then he tugged his shirt off, muscles flexing as he reached for his belt. Your eyes went wide when he freed his dick, thick and hard, no trace of that 'little boy' anywhere. He caught your expression and leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.

“Still think I’m playing?”

You swallowed hard. “Shut up and show me.”

He did.

He eased into your pussy, inch by slow inch, watching your face the whole time. You moaned his name again, louder this time, and his eyes darkened.

“Damn, baby,” he hissed, gripping your hips. “I know you’ve been wanting this.”

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust. Each stroke dragged long and deep, the kind that made your eyes roll back. His lips found your neck again, whispering filthy praise between kisses:

“Look at you… takin’ me so good.”

“Still think I’m that lil boy, huh?”

“Say it, baby. Admit it.”

You couldn’t form words at first—just moans and gasps, fingers digging into his back. But he didn’t stop. He rolled his hips with steady purpose, pushing you higher with every thrust.

When he lifted your leg and angled deeper, you nearly screamed.

“Oh my god—Sammie—” 

You started to pull back just a little, breath catching, heart racing. It was almost too much—too good, like you couldn’t handle all of him all at once. Your body wanted more, but your mind flickered with the fear of losing control.

“Why you running?” he laughed, dragging you back against him. “Take this dick like the woman you say you are.”

“You gon’ remember this every time you try to play me like I’m still a lil kid,” he growled, sweat dripping onto your chest as he picked up the pace.

Your nails scratched down his back. “Fuck, you’re grown. Fuck—okay?!”

He smiled against your skin, victorious and still not letting up.

“Say my name,” he growls against your lips.

His strokes are slow, deep, and strategic. Every thrust hitting the right spot again and again.

“Preac…” you almost say out of habit, but the way he grips your thighs, the scent of his cologne, the heat in his stare—it’s too much.

He slows just enough to lean down, lips brushing yours. “Say it right.”

You try to sass back, breath hitching. “Please—Preacher’s b—”

He stops.

Just like that.

Your body whines at the sudden emptiness.

He gives you a cold look, jaw clenched, voice low and cocky.

“Try that nickname again, and I’ll leave you right here—dripping and needy.”

You shoot him a look, trying to tell if he’s bluffing. But no—he’s dead serious. That playful glint is gone, replaced with something darker.

Hungrier.

Still clinging to a shred of pride, you whisper, “Okay, Samm…” You pause, catching yourself—desperate to bring back the friction. Trying to grind against him.

He tilts his head, starts to pull out again. “Try. Again.”

You squirm. “Sammie—please Sammie!”

He grins like the devil and slams into you again, making your back arch off the bed.

“That’s more like it. Now keep sayin’ it—so you never forget who you dealin’ with.”

He doesn’t let up. Just deep, calculated strokes. His voice low in your ear. “I’m grown now, baby… and preacher’s boy ain’t round here no more. But Imma help you remember—every damn time I’m diggin’ inside you.”

He fucked you like a man with something to prove—each thrust rougher, wetter, louder. The slap of skin against skin filled the room along with your cries.

You could barely breathe, let alone think, as his dick filled you over and over, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping every inch.

“Who's grown now?” he grunted.

“You,” you gasped. “You are—fuck, Sammie—”

Your orgasm ripped through you, blinding and hot, your body jerking beneath him.

He followed right after, groaning loud and low as he buried himself deep, hips jerking through his release.

For a long minute, the only sound was the rush of breath between you.

Then you whispered, "Told you I wasn’t scared.", as you smirked against his neck.

He kissed your cheek, lips curling. “You're too stubborn to be scared, but it’s alright. Imma break that habit.”

~ i feel like this was a bit out of character for sammie in the movie, but we can play pretend 😉. Hope yall liked it!💫

Taglist:

@heyyimmisunderstood @marley1773 @sajoi

@melaninbabyboo @hauntedfestivalluminary

@blackpinup22 @milesf4vg1rl @pinkpantheris

@iiiheartfayee @cosmicautomatonshark

@bluejay2503 @omgffs @anaiyaflys143

@pinkpillzsworld @jackierose902109

@serenedragonthought @condenhorn

@thesmutconnoisseur @katsleftnip

@sisi-pink0921 @woahthatshitfat

@cocooned-butterfly @motheroffae

@bumgyalworld @queenbumblebee777

@twistedsistas-stuff @ky1le

@kenziiie @queen-stars2 @sammiesprxncess

@ignotusumbra @goddessofthundathighs

@thickemadame

[solastarr]

Coming Soon…

I’m Grown

Sammie/Preacher’s Boy x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot

Warning: Smut

Summary: You and sammie basically grew up together. Though you were only half a year older, you always treated him like a little kid. Then college came, and you moved away. Now it’s summer, and you start to realize the little preacher’s boy you left…is a man now.

Out Now! Click here to read!

Teaser:

You always saw Sammie as the preacher’s boy next door—the kid you teased, protected, and called “baby brother.”

But after a year away, you come home to find he’s… changed.

Taller. Fine. Confident.

And tired of being called Preacher’s boy.

“Say my name,” he growls against your lips.

You try to sass back, breath hitching. “Please,—Preacher’s b—”

He stops.

Just like that.

Your body whines at the sudden emptiness.

He gives you a cold look, jaw clenched, voice low and cocky. “Try that nickname again, and I’ll leave you right here dripping and needy.”

I plan to have this up soon! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

~sola⭐️

[solastarr]

Ms.NotSoIndependent

Stack Moore(Sinners2025)x black reader:

Genre: smut with very little angst

Summary: once stack comes from chicago. he realizes how independent you've become and the tension you have towards him

Preview: “I knew you’d be mad... but you been treatin’ me like I'm just any other normal ass nigga. Like I don’t mean nothin’ to you,” he said, squatting in front of you so you were eye level.“Obviously, you forgot who the fuck I am... so let me remind you real quick.”

Word count: 1,192

Warning: the content with in this story contains sexual themes of aggressive conversations, fingering, smut, cunnilingus

It had been about two weeks since Stack came back into town after he and his brother's unannounced trip. He returned thinking the same sweet, charismatic, and loving girl he left behind would greet him with hugs and kisses. Instead, he was met with a cold, nonchalant, and independent woman who wouldn’t even give him a passing glance.

He knew leaving without telling you was wrong, so he had been trying to make up for it by helping you reach dishes on the top shelf, fixing the leaky sink, even offering to carry your groceries home. But every time, he was either ignored, brushed off, or straight-up told you didn’t need his help. Stack had been trying to keep his cool, hoping you’d eventually break out of this bratty phase. But today... you pushed him too far. And he snapped.

You were already having a rough day. The chores around the house stacked up as high as the dishes in the sink. Your mood was on edge when Stack decided to stop by.

“What you got planned for today?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

You didn’t even bother responding to the man whose voice irritated you every time he spoke.

“Okay… still being a brat,” he mumbled under his breath. You turned around and shot him the dirtiest look you could manage.

Leaning lazily against a chair in the kitchen, he stayed unfazed. “Me and my brother are having the grand opening of the juke joint tonight. I want you there for me.”You immediately responded, almost cutting him off, “Not interested. I got too much to do around the house anyway.” You went back to scrubbing the dishes without giving him another look. Stack took it as another chance to lend a hand. “Well, then let me help you. I really wa—”, “I don’t need your help, Stack!” you snapped, swinging around too fast. The dish in your hand slipped and shattered across the floor. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You dropped to your knees to pick up the broken pieces carefully. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You left me. I’ve moved on. You need to do the same.”you said coldly.

Stack’s face dropped. His patience finally ran out. “You know I’ve been tryin’ to be nice to you,” he said lowly, the tension in the room thickening. The house grew suffocatingly silent.

Stack started walking toward you, the crunch of porcelain under his boots echoing off the walls.

“I knew you’d be mad... but you been treatin’ me like I'm just any other normal ass nigga. Like I don’t mean nothin’ to you,” he said, squatting in front of you so you were eye level.“Obviously, you forgot who the fuck I am... so let me remind you real quick.”

You stood up just as he did, trying to hold your ground.“I don’t know what the hell you talkin’ about.”He stepped forward, closing the space between you, backing you into the kitchen counter.You could feel the heat radiating off his body.“Boy, move,” you warned, trying to slip past him, but he grabbed your wrists, holding you in place. He leaned into your ear. “You forgot what it felt like when daddy was here to take care of you. But I'm back now... and I ain't goin’ nowhere.” His words made your breath hitch.

Your eyes scanned his face, trying to tell if he was serious. He started kissing down your neck, rubbing your curves, slowly lifting your dress. You gasped at the way his hands roamed, but you had longed for his touch for too long to push him away. “Stack... move,” you tried to protest, your voice trembling with hidden moans.His mouth found your sweet spot near your jawline, making your knees buckle. Stack noticed immediately, smirking against your skin.

“See? All that 'I don’t need you' bullshit...” he murmured. “But your body can’t lie to me, baby.”

You hated how your body betrayed you.But with Stack... you couldn’t even fight it.You barely registered being lifted onto the counter until you felt the cold countertop on your skin, making you gasp. Stack ran his hands up your thighs, giving small squeezes, reaching your panties.The rough pads of his fingers and his husky cologne made you melt.

He stopped, looking you directly in the eyes as he rubbed you through your panties.

Your moans slipped out despite yourself.He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. He leaned closer, only inches away from your face.

“Tell me you want me to leave... and I'll go.”You wanted to slap him. Push him away. Cuss him out for the pain he caused when he left. But no words came out, only breathless moans. Because deep down, you didn’t want him to leave. And he knew it.

Stack smirked, feeling your surrender.

He ripped your panties off, slipping two fingers inside you, massaging your breast with his other hand.“I know you’re mad at me for leavin’,” he growled, “but daddy’s back now. And I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?”He slowed the movement of his fingers to an agonizing pace, waiting for your answer.“O-Okay,” you finally whimpered out, desperate for him to keep going.

He chuckled lowly. “...Okay what?” he teased, stopping again.“Okay, Daddy!” you cried out. Proud, Stack laughed in your face, cocky as ever. “There’s my girl.”

He slipped his fingers out and pushed them into your mouth.You sucked eagerly, happy to have your man back. Then he kissed you, a long, heated kiss that felt like a lifetime of waiting poured into it. When he finally broke away, he stared at your swollen lips, the hickeys blooming on your neck, the sweat forming on your skin.“Let me take care of you. Make up for lost time.”

Stack dropped to his knees between your thighs, kissing you everywhere until he reached your pussy. Without hesitation, he started devouring you, like he had been starving for you.You almost lost control instantly, gripping the back of his head, moaning his name.When you started grinding against his face, chasing the high he was giving you, he locked eyes with you.The sight nearly pushed you over the edge. But just when you were about to cum, Stack abruptly pulled away.

“Wait—Stack, please,” you whined, desperate for more.

He smirked, standing up, adjusting his suit while your juices still coated his face.

“And you said you didn’t need me,” he teased. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small wad of cash and tucked it between your breasts, brushing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Now go get you a new dress, shoes, and get pretty for me. Cause we're going dancing tonight” He kissed your lips one last time before heading to the front door.Before closing it behind him, he turned and shot you a wink with his signature smirk. You couldn’t help but smile, still aching for the touch you swore you didn’t need.

~ first post I hope yall like it!💫

[solastarr]

Blog Intro ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Welcome to the Solace Maiden!

Hello I’m Sola a black fanfic lover and writer!

I’m a college student with a love for stories! I love romance, sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, and horror genres!!

This blog was created for black readers who want deserve to see themselves in different universes with different love tropes!

Expect:

~ black reader fanfics (characteristics, culture, descriptions)

~ genres of fluff, smut, and angst

~ mainly oneshots for now

Thank you for allowing the light of my imagination into your minds!

~ sola ⋆⭒˚｡⋆