strangerexee

[strangerexee]

Where do you be getting these screencaps from? I'm scrolling through your blog and I swear, you've got an reaction image for every occasion. I wanna be like you when I grow up!

Pinterest babes 🤏🏽🤏🏽

[strangerexee]

I deleted tumblr and I’m back guys🤸🏽🤸🏽 I’ve grown obsessed with um…Javier escuella from rdr2 so…yeah —

I’m back I guess — thanks for all the love while I was gone…love you all🕴️🕴️

[strangerexee]

the way you write sammie is soooo MMMM like you eat downnnn 💕

ty bb 💋

[strangerexee]

(6) ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ɢɪᴀɴᴛꜱ | ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜ “ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ” ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽!𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙶!𝙰𝚄

pairings: Elijah "smoke" Moore x black!fem!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 | 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐/𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎/𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 | 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜 | 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 (𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜), 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝-𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚢 | 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 | 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

It had been a few weeks since smoke let you back in his bed. You had a lil life to get back to. Ya lil apartment to get back to. Your job…that you kept calling out of…

Not just back in tho — back in good.

Now? You was up in there every night like rent-free real estate.

You done made yourself real comfortable.

Damn near lived there. Clothes in his drawer. Lipgloss on the nightstand. Breakfast every other day. You were living the dream.

He was gentle when he wanted to be. But clingy as hell in his own quiet way — always touching something. Your hand. Your leg. That lil crease in your waist.

He’d kiss on you randomly, like he just remembered he could.

Pull your bonnet down before bed like it was a crown.

Sleep hard as hell behind you with a thigh between yours like a seatbelt.

Anyway.

You had just got your hair done.

Knotless. Butt-length. Parts crispy. Baby hairs laid by God himself.

You posted one lil pic, and he was already texting like:

“Where you at? I’m tryna see somethin.”

So when he pulled up? You really didn’t know what he was doing there...

He came in smelling like Dior and weed.

Looked you up and down, reaching over to twirl a braid around his finger. Then nodded all calm like it wasn’t nothing.

“You wanna come with me?”

“Come where?” You tilted your head.

He just smirked.

Threw his arm around your waist. Kissed the side of your neck.

“Miami.”

You blinked.

He said it so casual. Like he was askin’ if you wanted to go get wings.

“We got a lil shit to handle, me and Stack,” he added, “but…figured I’d bring my girl with me. Have some fun.”

Damn near shed a tear…he called you his girl…

Your heart jumped so ugly. You played it cool, though.

Bit your glossed-up lip, leaned into his hoodie.

“Aight then. Lemme pack.”

next day.

Private jet.

No TSA. No crying babies. No coach seats. No stress.

You stepped up the lil steps in a skims set, black hoodie tied round your waist. Sunglasses on. Edges still immaculate. And he let you go first, his hand under your ass like a lift.

Stack was already on the plane, lounged out with a PS5 controller and a pair of Louis slides like they wasn’t headed to commit light crime.

“Daaaamn, look who came wit’chu,” Stack grinned. “Don’t start fuckin’ on the seats, damn.”

You rolled your eyes.

Smoke just smirked, wide and lazy.

Yall sat down and he had you in his lap like luggage. Hand on your inner thigh, thumb rubbin’ slow back and forth like he was markin’ territory.

You was takin’ pictures, snappin’ vids, postin’ lil sneaky ones on your close friends story like

“He don’t like pics, but look at himmm.”

He’d lean into your neck while you posed, kissin’ behind your ear.

Real quiet and low under his breath.

“Keep postin’ me like I ain’t gon’ fuck you when we land.”

“Nigga —” he cut you off.

“Keep postin’. Watch.”

You were gigglin’ so much he had to press a hand to your stomach just to stop you from movin’.

He kissed you.

Hard and slow. With tongue. With pressure. Pullin’ you closer by your jaw.

Not even tryna be discreet.

You straddled him sideways for a lil minute. Y’all was talkin’ low, touchin’ lips, whisperin’ stupid shit back and forth like —

“You miss me already?” You bit your lip.

He gave you a look. “I’m lookin’ at you.”

“Still.”

The jet hit the clouds, and all you could feel was his hand between your thighs and his hoodie strings looped around your fingers.

And his mouth?

Every couple minutes?

Back on your skin.

Just because he could.

The house was stupid nice.

Like MTV Cribs meets Cartel safehouse nice.

Marble counters, all white everything, a pool out back that looked like it came with a breathtaking view.

You walked through barefoot like a dream, silk robe flutterin’ behind you, braids tied up in a high bun like a crown. Took you a minute to do it.

Everything smelled like money, weed, and cologne. Like a music video before the chaos hit.

You had packed many bikinis.

The one you’re wearing right now. Just a simple one. Strings tied at the side of your hips and back of your neck and the trust you put into it was…let’s not talk about it.

It was cute tho.

When you put it on, you looked like a problem. Like his problem. His prettiest problem.

Like somebody who deserved to be on a boat right now, not chillin’ while her man got dressed to leave.

You threw on your anklet. Stepped out into the main room and leaned in the doorway.

“You leavin’?”

Smoke glanced up from where he was putting his chain on.

Black tee. Cargo pants. Diamond in his ear. Beard lookin’ sharp. Skin glowin’ like sun-drenched honey. Too fine.

“Yeah. Stack need me for a sec. Be right back.”

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“I thought the whole point of me comin’ was to have fun with you.”

That man had the audacity to smirk.

“You is havin’ fun with me. I flew you out, didn’t I?”

He said it all calm. Like he didn’t see the way you were standing — thighs out, bikini on, glistening like a goddess in the Miami light.

You sucked your teeth.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here lookin’ cute while you go do…whatever the hell?”

Smoke walked over slow. Hands in his pockets. Laughed low under his breath.

“That’s what you wanted to do. When I first met you, anyway.”

Not true.

“Yeah, well.” You looked away, arms crossed, lips pouted. “Now I wanna do it with you.”

He was in front of you now.

Close enough to smell his neck. Close enough to feel the warmth off his body.

One of his hands slid up under your robe — just a little. Found your waist. His thumb brushed along the side of your swimsuit.

“You gon’ be alright for a couple hours, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Ain’t like I’m leavin’ for good.”

You leaned back against the door frame. Looked up at him from under your lashes.

“You always say that like I don’t be countin’ the minutes…”

His hand flexed just a little on your hip.

“Don’t start.”

You tilted your head. Let your lips brush his jaw real soft.

“I miss you.”

“I’m standin’ right here.” He chuckled.

“Still.”

He kissed you.

Once. Deep. Slow.

Then again. Tongue soft. Pullin’ a sound from your lips.

His fingers slid up to your neck and pulled you closer, pressed your bodies together. Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip before finally letting go.

“You gon’ make me stay,” he whispered. “For real.”

You smiled, real slow. Pressed your lips to his again like you didn’t care. Like that was the goal.

“Then stay.”

“Girl —”

“You gon’ leave me here like this? Hair done, skin out? That’s disrespectful.”

You could feel him biting back a grin. His hands were already low again. Gripping. Palming. Getting lost.

“Damn, baby…”

“Mhm.”

He pulled back finally. Swallowed hard. Adjusted his chain like it was your fault he was about to be late.

“Aight. Ima be gone just a couple hours. Pool out back. Pour somethin’. Relax.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. But your eyes were still stuck on him.

As he walked off, you called after him:

“You better not be lyin’ this time!”

“You better not post no thirst traps while I’m gone.”

You smirked.

Already had your camera out. Face glowy, body glistening, caption loading.

Out back, you let the robe slide off.

Dipped your feet in the water. Slid your sunglasses on and leaned back like you owned the place.

Smoke might’ve had to handle business but when he come back he was gon’ have to handle you.

Sun was gettin’ low.

But the heat hadn’t backed off.

It was that sticky kind of Florida air. Heavy.

Sky soft orange, palm trees still.

Not a breeze in sight.

Smoke and Stack sat on the hood of a matte black Range Rover. Parked deep in some dead-end lot behind a warehouse near the water — boats nearby, tugboats creakin’, seagulls loud. Whole place smelled like sea salt and decomposing seaweed.

Smoke had the blunt between his lips. Stack was rollin’ another, long fingers fast, calloused. Gold chain glintin’ when he moved.

“Man takin’ his sweet ass time,” Stack muttered, eyein’ the road.

Smoke shrugged slow, eyes half-closed.

He was always the calm one. Looked like he could nap through a shootout.

“That’s how Miami niggas move,” he said, low around the smoke. “Slow n’ flashy.”

Stack just snorted. Lit his blunt and leaned back.

Then —

Headlights turned the corner.

Low, black Benz. Tinted.

Came rollin’ real slow into the lot like it was feelin’ them out before committing.

Smoke sat up just a bit. Didn’t move fast. Just tapped Stack’s arm once. They both stood.

The Benz stopped. Engine still running.

Door cracked. Out stepped a dark-skinned dude in his late thirties — gold fronts, lil chain, Dior shades on.

He had a blunt too. Lit already.

Wasn’t in a rush.

“You Hakeem?” Smoke asked, voice like sandpaper and quiet fire.

The man grinned wide around his blunt. Blew smoke through his nose.

“Y’all niggas twins?”

Stack barked a soft laugh, the sound light but not friendly.

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “We cousins.”

Smoke hit the blunt again, eyes on Hakeem the whole time. Didn’t blink much.

Hakeem laughed. More like a snort.

Didn’t seem fazed.

“That’s good.”

Then a pause.

Tension. But not sharp — more like everybody here knew what this was.

“You got it?” Stack asked.

Hakeem stepped back toward the Benz.

Opened the back door and popped the trunk from inside.

Didn’t say nothin’ — just walked to the rear of the car and lifted it up like he done this a hundred times.

Inside?

Two black, weatherproof duffle bags. Heavy. Zipped up like they were locked down tight.

“Glocks, baby,” he said. “Nine mils. Forty-fives. Couple of those titanium slides — real stealth, real light. Got the Cerakote finish, black and slate gray, keeps ‘em slick and quiet.”

Smoke and Stack didn’t move right away.

They let the silence stretch. Like they were tryna make Hakeem feel something. Nervous. Small.

Didn’t work — the man just pulled on his blunt again and leaned on the bumper.

“Y’all out here for vacation?” he asked, glancing between them.

Smoke finally stepped forward.

Grabbed one bag. Unzipped it halfway. Peeked inside. Matte black frames with silver accents gleaming under the lot lights, mags loaded, safety off.

He nodded once.

“Work don’t stop,” was all he said.

“So y’all workin’ and partyin’?” Hakeem said, grinning again. “That’s crazy. Niggas like y’all always end up with trouble.”

“Niggas like us always end up with money,” Stack said, stepping forward now.

“Or dead.”

Stack smiled again. Brighter this time. Teeth sharp.

“Ain’t we all?”

Smoke zipped the bag up again. Passed it to Stack.

“What about the other drop?” he asked.

Hakeem shrugged.

“Later tonight. Same place. Different face.”

“He good?”

Hakeem just tapped the ash off his blunt and looked off at the skyline.

“You ever seen a nigga with no tongue run his mouth?”

Smoke tilted his head.

“You tryna be poetic?”

“Nah.” He smirked. “Just sayin’. He good.”

They left it at that.

Money was handed off. Quick count. Nobody flinched. Nobody reached.

It was calm like rainwater — until it wasn’t.

As they got back in the Rover, Stack glanced in the mirror.

“Why that nigga talk like he in a Spike Lee monologue?”

Smoke laughed soft.

Started the engine.

“Long as the shit clean, I don’t care if he speak in haikus.”

You was warm.

Not just body warm — but deep.

Bones relaxed. Eyes heavy. Muscles floated.

That wine done crept up on you.

You ain’t even realize it at first.

Just a lil glass to sip while the Bluetooth speaker played some SZA in the background.

Legs stretched out across a plush outdoor chair by the pool.

The whole place glowing in the blue light of underwater LEDs and Miami night.

But that one glass turned into two.

Two turned into three.

Next thing you knew, you was giggling at your phone and talkin’ to yourself.

You dragged your thick lil tipsy self into the house just before midnight.

Shower ran hot — steam curling up against the mirror like a ghost.

You scrubbed that chlorine off your skin, deep conditioner in, body butter after.

Tied your scarf like somebody grandma.

And slid into bed like you was in love.

Only you wasn’t.

Not technically.

But god — you felt like it.

The sheets smelled clean, expensive.

Room dim, soft glow from the bathroom light spillin’ across the floor.

You were on your side, legs bent, hoodie on — his hoodie, matter fact — the grey one you stole off his suitcase and never gave back.

You curled into it.

Nose pressed to the collar.

Smelled like detergent, weed, cologne, and him.

And you just laid there.

Still.

Quiet.

Thinking.

You wasn’t tryna be dramatic or nothing, but…

You kinda missed him.

And that didn’t make sense.

Because he’d only been gone 13 hours.

But something about the silence when he wasn’t around made the world feel off balance.

Like he carried the gravity of every room he walked into, and without him, shit just floated weird.

You stared at the wall.

Breathing slow.

Mind wandered to the way his hand found your thigh like it was made to rest there.

How he kiss your cheek without warning.

How he look at you sometimes — eyes low, lips parted, jaw tight like he ain’t know what to do with all that feeling.

You swallowed.

Tucked your bottom lip between your teeth.

You thought about earlier.

The way he’d said, relax, like it ain’t hurt him to leave you.

Like he ain’t look back at you twice on his way out.

You thought about the way he touched your chin that morning.

Real gentle.

You exhaled, slow.

Wasn’t nobody who ever made you feel like this.

Not soft. Not wanted. Not heavy in a good way.

He didn’t even say too much — but he was loud in all the places that mattered.

You blinked slow.

Mind startin’ to fade with the wine, body heavy against the mattress.

And then —

Click.

You snapped up.

Quick — like your body knew him before your mind caught up.

Eyes still half-sleep, but your ears perked at the sound of the front door shutting soft.

Not slammed.

Not loud.

That careful-close he only did when you was sleep.

Your heart kicked.

Then melted.

Then flipped again.

A minute later — you heard his voice, you heard his steps.

That slow, heavy-footed walk he always had, like the floor owed him silence.

And when the door opened and he walked into the room, it felt like somebody lit a match in your chest.

There he was.

Elijah.

Neck glintin’.

Chain heavy on his collarbone, eyes low like he ain’t had nothin’ left to prove.

He smelled like cold night air and weed and heat.

Your lips parted.

You was sobered up just enough to realize you wasn’t ready to pretend like you hadn’t missed this man this bad.

He was quiet. Just stood in the doorway for a second, eyes skating over you in bed.

The room still dim.

You in his hoodie, legs bare, scarf tied like a good girl.

Looking at him like he was the moon.

And you wanted to hug on him.

Kiss all on him.

Pull him in and lay up on his chest and tell him don’t go nowhere else ever again.

But your limbs was lazy.

Body melted into the mattress.

You just blinked at him slow, eyes all big and pink in the corners.

He came over though.

Didn’t say nothing at first.

Just leaned down and kissed you.

Real slow.

Real him.

One warm hand cradled your cheek and the other braced on the mattress as his mouth met yours like he’d been waitin’ to all night.

You sighed into it.

Drunk lips parting, letting him taste that wine you still had on your tongue.

You sucked his bottom lip out of instinct.

He pulled back a little, licking his own lip.

Eyebrows dipping just slightly. “You drunk?”

You blinked. Smiled lazy.

“…Just a lil bit drunk.”

He squinted. “Did you eat?”

You shook your head on the pillow.

“Damn…” He looked down at you, thumb brushing your cheek. “You want somethin’ to eat?”

You closed your eyes, still smiling.

“…No. Just miss you.”

That part came out softer.

Almost a whisper.

Like you was embarrassed to say it out loud, but you couldn’t not say it.

He stared at you for a second.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Didn’t play.

His eyes just softened real slow, mouth parted like he ain’t expect you to hit him like that.

You looked back at him.

Skin glowing gold from the lamp light spillin’ in behind him.

Lashes low. Lips pouty. Eyes full of every feeling you had no business tryna hide.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered.

That time you meant to say it loud.

Meant for him to hear it.

And he did.

Smoke leaned down again — kissed you with his hand sliding under the hoodie, up your side, slow and possessive.

His breath was warm against your cheek when he whispered, “You been thinkin’ about me, huh?” He asked before standing up.

You nodded.

You smiled.

Then giggled.

The one you only do when your feelings real warm and gooey and girly.

The kind you hate that he be causin’.

You tilted your head, cheek mushed into the pillow.

Lashes fluttering.

Eyes a lil glossy from that wine, but they was all on him.

He ain’t say nothing else for a moment.

Just breathed.

Took another long look at you beneath the covers, then backed up slow to the edge of the bed.

The low thump of his shoes hit the carpet first — then the quiet creak of the mattress as he sat down, back to you.

Tugged his shirt off, slow.

He ain’t face you.

Just sat there in the golden spill of the bedroom lamp, the muscles in his back flexin’ soft as he rolled his shoulders a bit.

You blinked — then shifted.

Sat up onto your knees.

There was no hesitation in your body.

No wine fog between your thoughts.

Just need. Just comfort. Just the overwhelming ache of him.

You crawled across the bed and kissed the space between his shoulder blades.

Real slow.

He stilled.

You kissed his up spine next.

Then the back of his shoulder.

Then up the column of his neck, warm lips soft and open against his skin like a sigh.

Tasted his sweat and cologne and Florida air.

Your arms slid around him from behind, hands resting on his chest, and your cheek pressed against his back like you belonged there.

“You smell good,” you whispered, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

Elijah reached for your arms and pulled your hands up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles one by one.

Then turned, real slow, to face you.

You sat up on your knees in front of him.

He looked at you like you were everything.

His fingers ghosted your jaw, then dipped under the hem of your hoodie to rest against your waist.

Just warm enough to make you inhale.

He said nothing at first — just looked you up and down like he was taking inventory of all the parts he’d been craving since the moment he left the house.

Then finally — his voice low and soft:

“Imma spoil you tomorrow.”

You blinked. Your breath caught.

He smirked just barely. “You deserve it.”

“You say that now,” you mumbled, tilting your head. “Then you gon act like spoilin’ me is a chore.”

He shook his head once, low chuckle spilling from his chest as his hands slid down to your thighs.

“You dramatic. But I’m for real.”

“You mean it?” you asked, tilting your face toward his.

He nodded, this time slow. Real slow.

“Whatever you want.”

You paused. Then smiled.

And kissed him again — soft, wine-lazy, slow enough to melt the moment.

He pulled you closer, slid his hands under your thighs and brought you into his lap like you was weightless.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, lips never leaving his.

It wasn’t about sex.

Not yet.

It was about intimacy.

And you was wrapped up in it — right here. On his chest. In his hands. In his arms.

A/N: Love me some Elijah “smoke” Moore — he can have this anytime- anywhere he want — I’m talkin abt IN ITTTT — NO lube, NO protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jittering, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, he could put a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

Lil taglist — @sertonins - @crimsonxm00n @klssngss @juicypinksblog @mingisg00dgirl @stilestotherescue @imperfectlyperfect78 @hoouno06 @kirayuki22 @christinabae @pinkpantheris @kxllanxtdoor @heartgirllover @spicypiscesssss @italiekim @rarow-racee @fadingbelieverexpert @juicu @roughridah0 @yornayyy @reignsinmydreams @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @thequeenkhlo @lewispool @levibabymama-blog

[strangerexee]

LEMME KNOW🙌🏽

[strangerexee]

okay, so i overcame my stint of writer's block & i have no one to talk to about it. you wanna read? you can say no. lmao. 💀

Yes — GIVE IT TO ME 🙌🏽🙌🏽

[strangerexee]

us smoke girlies rn:

Scheherazade 😏

[strangerexee]

you piss me the fuck off....

I’m sorry…

[strangerexee]

✦ ɴᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ | chapter one: “he fine as hell.” ᴇʟɪᴀꜱ “ꜱᴛᴀᴄᴋ” ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗!𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐!𝚊𝚞 | 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜-𝚝𝚘-𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 (𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊) | 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑

Parings: Elias “stack” Moore x Black!Fem!Reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: (𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 | 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 | 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 | 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 | 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 | 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 | 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 | 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 )

It was one of them hot-ass, Southern block parties where everybody came out fresh — twists crisp, lashes long, t-shirts tight and music loud. The pavement still held heat from the day and the air smelled like smoke, and sweat. You had on your short shorts, gold bamboo hoops, and your feet were hurting from the cute sandals you swore up and down you wouldn’t regret buying.

You was posted on the porch with a red cup full of Hennessy and your cousin Chey when the twins pulled up.

Smoke and Stack Moore.

You didn’t need nobody to say their names — you could feel it when they hit the corner. That street just got quiet for a second. Not because they was famous or anything…but because they were the kind of trouble everybody respected. The kind you don’t look at too long.

The kind you don’t look at too long. Stack had on all black — fitted tee stretching over muscle and tattoos, gray sweats hanging low, and a thick rope chain swinging like it had a mind of its own.

Smoke walked a step beside him, grill glinting, eyes cold like always.

But Stack?

Stack’s eyes landed on you.

And baby, you smiled.

You dipped your chin and sipped slow, pretending like your pulse ain’t trip over itself, pretending like your legs ain’t weaken the second y’all locked eyes.

He stared hard, too — like he was counting every gold fleck in your eyes. Like he saw past your lip gloss, past the hoops, past the good-girl act you wrapped around yourself.

And you slipped.

“He fine as hell,” you muttered to Chey under your breath. Just loud enough to blame the liquor if anybody heard.

Chey choked. “Girl —!”

Too late.

Tyree, your hot-headed, too-much-of-a-gangsta older brother, was walking up with Kash, your older brother-slash-bodyguard.

Tyree squinted. “Who fine?”

You blinked. “…the ribs.”

“Yeah,” Kash muttered, side-eyeing the twins, “say that again and see what happen.”

You said it one time. One time.

And your life ain’t been peaceful since.

See, your brothers were deep in that street shit. You wasn’t. You wanted no parts of it — hell, you ran a salon. You made girls feel pretty, lined up kids before their first day of school, did mamas’ curls before church.

You was soft life. But your blood? That was Tyree and Kash.

And the Moore twins?

They were opps.

Not “arguing on the internet” opps.

Not “we got problems” opps.

You was talking blood-on-the-sidewalk type of history. Years of tension. Men dead. Streets painted red. Your family ain’t even say their names in full. Just “them Moore boys” like they was a curse.

But still…

Still…

You looked at Stack every time you saw him.

You flirted bold when your brothers weren’t watching. Called him “trouble” with a smirk. Laughed when he said things you shouldn’t let slide. One time at a car wash pop-up, you even let him feed you a mango snow cone and sucked the juice off your thumb while holding eye contact.

“I’m not scared of you,” you’d whispered.

“Yeah, but you should be,” he said, licking his lips.

He never touched you. Never crossed a line. But he looked at you like he wanted to.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because if you touched him?

You ain’t know who’d kill who first — your brothers or his.

Back at the block party, Stack walked past, slow as ever. You felt him before you saw him. He smelled like wood smoke and something sweet. A cologne you couldn’t name.

You turned your head and —

There.

He caught your eyes again. Smiled. That little cocky tilt of his head, like he knew.

And you?

You let your eyes travel down. Chest. Waist. Print.

And back up.

You bit your lip.

He shook his head.

Tyree grabbed your shoulder like he could see sin on your face.

“Fix your face, girl.”

“I am,” you said sweetly. “You fix yours.”

The night rolled on. Music blasting. You danced with Chey, with a few boys you didn’t care about. All the while, Stack was watching. Sitting on a car hood across the lot, cooling in a black durag, legs spread, licking a lollipop like he ain’t give a damn about nobody else breathing.

Your heart raced, but you knew the rules.

You wasn’t fucking that man.

You couldn’t.

Your brothers would kill him.

And then kill you.

So you played the game.

You kept flirting.

Kept pretending.

Kept aching.

Two nights later

The block was quiet. Too quiet.

It was one of them sticky nights — when the humidity sat heavy on your skin and the streetlights buzzed like they was tired of burning. The No Love Beauty Bar sign was still glowing soft in your window as you swept the last bit of hair into the dustpan. The smell of mango oil and flat iron heat still lingered in the air, soft and familiar.

You glanced at the clock — 9:37 PM.

Late, but not unusual.

You closed the shop alone all the time. Had the routine down to a rhythm — wipe the chairs, count the cash, lock the front, leave out the back. You moved through it mindlessly, humming Summer Walker under your breath with your slides scraping the tile.

Until you saw him.

At first, it was just a shadow. A shape hunched outside your front window, head down, arms resting on knees.

Then the streetlight caught the shine of a chain.

And you froze.

You knew that silhouette. That slouch. That stillness.

Stack.

What the hell —?

You inched closer, peeking through the blinds, heart lurching straight into your throat.

He was bleeding.

T-shirt ripped near the shoulder, blood spreading like a slow leak. His arm dangled loose, and his jaw was clenched like he was holding pain between his teeth. But his eyes? They found you fast.

Like he felt you coming.

You yanked the door open.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

His head lifted slow, and even in pain, he had the nerve to smirk.

“Hey, pretty.”

“You bleeding on my concrete, Elias.”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “Couldn’t think of nowhere else to go.”

You stood there, halfway between slamming the door or dragging him inside.

“This a setup? One of my brothers out here? You tryna get me killed?”

He laughed, but it turned into a wince.

“Baby, if I wanted to get you killed, I wouldn’t be knockin’ on your damn salon door.” He hissed, leaned back against the wall. “I just need a minute. I’ll go.”

You stared at him. Your jaw locked, nails digging into your palm.

Then you muttered, “You dumb as fuck.”

And opened the door wider.

The bell above the door jingled as you helped him in — one arm around your shoulder, the other limp, body heavy and warm and bleeding all over your damn floor.

He stumbled a little. “Damn. You strong, huh?”

“Shut up.”

You led him to the break room couch in the back, the one your girls took naps on between clients. You grabbed a towel, peroxide, and a mini first aid kit from the cabinet.

He groaned as he leaned back.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Damn, buy me dinner first?”

“Stack.”

He chuckled low, and started peeling off his shirt — slow, careful, muscles flexing with every hiss. You tried not to look. But your eyes betrayed you. They always did with him.

His body was all bruises and chocolate-brown skin, ink swirling down his ribs and over his chest. A bullet graze near the shoulder — a bit deep, but bleeding steady. You pressed the alcohol drenched towel to it hard.

“Shit —” he groaned.

“You gon’ cry?”

“You gon’ kiss it better?”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands stayed soft. Your fingers trembled slightly as you poured peroxide and wiped him clean.

Silence fell.

Except it wasn’t silence.

It was his breath. Heavy. Real.

It was the closeness — his legs spread wide, yours between them, tension so thick you could taste it.

You glanced up. His eyes were already on you.

Always were.

“You need to go,” you whispered.

“I will.”

“When?” You tilted your head.

“…Soon.”

Your hand paused against his chest. You swallowed.

“My brothers ever find out you stepped foot in here —”

“I know.”

“They’ll kill you.”

He stared at you.

“You care?”

You hesitated.

“…No.”

Stack laughed low, the sound raspier now. “You such a bad liar, pretty.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours. “You been doin’ it. All them looks. All them little games. We both know this. You act like I don’t see you.”

“You ain’t supposed to,” you whispered.

“Oh - But I do.”

He reached up with his good hand. Brushed a curl from your cheek. Touched you like you was something delicate — like he ain’t just walk in bleeding and cursed.

Like you was the only soft thing he had left.

“You so damn pretty,” he said.

“You so damn stupid,” you whispered back.

The moment pressed, thick and dangerous.

If you leaned in, you wouldn’t stop.

If you kissed him, the line would blur forever.

So instead?

You stepped back.

“You got ten minutes. Then you’re gone.”

He leaned back on the couch with a sigh, eyes on you the whole way out.

But before you turned the corner, he said —

“Thank you, baby.”

Three nights later

You wasn’t even supposed to be there.

But Chey begged.

And your brothers were out of town, handling “business” in Atlanta.

So you slipped on a little dress, sprayed too much perfume, and told yourself you was just going out for drinks, not trouble.

That was a lie. A sweet one. A soft one.

Because the moment you stepped into Sable, that dark red-lit club two neighborhoods over, you felt him.

Before you saw him.

You felt him.

As always.

The music was up loud — bass sliding down your spine, fog machines in the corners making the lights blur soft. Your curls were piled high, your gloss was thick, and the dress you had on? Baby pink. Tight. Strapless. Short. Every curve of your body humming in the heat.

Chey handed you a shot. “To being bad bitches with no brothers in sight!”

You clinked and downed it.

That Henny kissed your soul before it burned.

You was four shots in when you saw him.

Stack.

Leaning on the wall near VIP, chain thick, teeth shining when he grinned. His eyes landed on you like he expected you to show up. Like he wanted you to. Like the club was his trap and you walked right into it.

You tried to look away.

You failed. Obviously.

You danced with Chey first, swaying slow, arms around her shoulders, letting the liquor and beat melt your worries. But every time you turned your head?

Stack. Watching.

Stack. Licking his lips.

Stack. Sipping brown liquor from a lowball glass, jaw tight, smirking.

You gave in.

You always did with him.

By the fifth drink, you made your way across the club, hips swaying on purpose, fingers grazing his waist as you passed him.

He caught your hand.

Pulled you close.

You didn’t resist.

His mouth brushed your ear. Shit, you wanted that mouth kissing all over your neck.

“You look good, pretty.”

“You owe me,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “Bled all over my damn couch.”

Stack smirked. “Let me make it up to you then.”

You said nothing.

Just licked your lips and led him through the back hall like a woman on a mission.

A Storage Room…a fucking storage room - Jesus Christ.

Low lights. Locked door. Concrete floors and bass from the club thumping through the walls like a heartbeat.

Not exactly the most romantic place to fuck the man you’ve been wanting to fuck for the first time.

You pressed him against the wall and smiled up at him, heart racing, breath shallow.

“You shouldn’t be in here with me.”

“I know.”

“You the enemy.”

“So are you.”

“…You like that?”

Stack leaned down slow, face inches from yours. “I like you.”

Then his lips were on yours.

Hard. Hungry. Heavy.

Like he was starving and you were the first thing he could taste.

You moaned into his mouth and kissed him back just as bad. Your hands curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. His hands gripped your waist like he had every right to, like he forgot who your brothers were, like you weren’t forbidden fruit.

“You drunk?” he murmured against your lips.

You grinned. “A little.”

“You freaky when you drunk?”

“…Maybe.”

He groaned, lips brushing your neck. “Goddamn.”

You pushed him onto the little loveseat in the corner, climbed on his lap, thighs spreading around him like you been dreaming of this — and baby, you had.

Your lips found his again. Slow. Deep. You kissed him like he was already yours. Then slid down to his neck, lips pressing soft under his jaw, then sucking just below his ear.

Stack hissed through his teeth, low and deep. “Shit, girl…”

“You owe me,” you whispered, reminding him once more, mouth still on him.

He let his hands roam — slow, big palms smoothing over your hips, up your back, gripping you like he was scared you’d disappear.

“Say the word,” he whispered, voice rough.

You didn’t say anything.

You just kept kissing down his throat, trailing your lips lower while your fingers tangled in that chain around his neck.

His hands slid back down. One on your hip. The other…

Slipped under your dress.

It kept going.

Past the panties.

You gasped when his fingers slid through your folds — slick, slow, deep.

Stack sucked in a breath through his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tight as hell. “Damn, baby…”

You clenched around nothing, thighs twitching.

His fingers stayed there, just resting between your folds, feeling how soaked you were, how hot it was — like your body had been waiting for him.

“Drunk lil freak,” he mumbled, smirking, voice dark. “I barely touched you.”

You bit your lip.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

Stack brought his fingers up slow — wet, glistening in the dim red light — and pressed them against your bottom lip.

You parted your mouth.

He slid those same fingers right onto your tongue.

“Suck.”

And you did.

Wrapped your lips right around them, moaned low, let your tongue swirl like you was practicing for what you really wanted. You looked him dead in his eyes as you did it, cheeks hollowing just enough to make that man groan

“Shit, girl…”

He pulled his hand back and kissed you filthy — like you belonged to him, like he ain’t give a damn about your brothers, about rules, about nothing but you right here, right now.

And then?

You moved.

Lifted up, grabbed his belt, and undid it slow while still straddling him. He let you, hands gripping your hips tight, breathing like he was losing control.

When you pulled him out, your eyes widened just a little.

Because — lord.

He was thick. Dark. Heavy in your hand.

“I—”

“Yeah,” he cut in low, cocky. “You see it.”

You ain’t say nothing else. Just shifted your panties to the side and sunk down slow.

“Oh — ha, Stack —”

He groaned, head falling back.

Your hips stopped when he bottomed out.

Thick and deep. Stretching you so good.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, and your mouth fell open. “Oh my god —”

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s all you, pretty. All you.”

And then?

You started to ride.

Slow at first.

Lil rolls of your hips, his hands ‘guidin you, mouth kissing every inch of your neck. You bounced just a little — his hands grabbing your ass, pressing you down deeper.

“Stack — Stack…”

You moaned his name over and over, like a chant, like a prayer.

He cursed low, bucking up into you, matching your rhythm. “Don’t say my name like that…”

You did it again.

“Stack…”

He slapped your ass hard, gritted his teeth. “You tryna make me lose my mind in this damn club?”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The way he filled you? Thick, pulsing, dragging against your walls like he was made to fit inside you. That type of deep stroke that made your eyes roll back. That good hood dick you always said you’d stay away from.

Too late now.

You started bouncing faster, your moans louder.

Skin slapping. Lip ‘bitin. Nails on skin.

“Fuck — fuck, girl—”

He gripped the back of your neck and kissed you hard, tongues tangling, breath shared. His other hand slid between your legs, thumb brushing your clit just right.

You jerked.

“Right there?”

“Yes — please, right there —”

“Tell me who pussy this is.”

Shit — it was his now.

You couldn’t lie.

Couldn’t fake a thing.

“Yours, Stack…it’s yours…”

He smirked.

Started stroking up into you, harder, faster, watching your body shake on top of his.

You let your head roll back.

Your moans echoed in that room — sweet, filthy sounds.

You was gone.

So gone.

And when your walls squeezed tight, trembling all over him?

He knew.

He held your waist still, let you ride it all the way out, let you come deep on him, slow and heavy, thighs shaking.

Your body was done.

You were done.

Or so you thought…

You collapsed against his chest, breathing heavy, legs weak from riding him slow, deep, and nasty. His hands gripped your waist like he owned it, face buried in your neck, both of y’all sweaty and stuck together in that small, locked storage room.

But Stack didn’t move.

Didn’t lift you off.

Didn’t let you go.

Instead?

His fingers dug in.

His lips touched your ear.

And he whispered low, voice dark and sticky:

“Nah, pretty. Keep going.”

You blinked, still panting.

“Stack—”

“I said keep going. You not done ‘til I say so.”

And baby, that’s when you knew you was in trouble.

You tried to move — hips lifting just a little — but he pulled you back down with a groan, grinding you on him slow.

“Mmmph —”

You shifted, walls fluttering from the aftershock of that orgasm still rolling through you.

He was still hard inside you. Still deep. That slow, thick stroke that reached so far you felt it in your belly.

“You got one more in you,” he muttered. “Don’t you.”

You whimpered. “I’m tryna — shit — it’s too much…”

“You can take it,” he smirked, licking into your mouth before pulling back. “You took it once, you gon’ do it again.”

He moved his hips up.

Deep.

You huffed, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

Stack held you steady, lips brushing your jaw. “Bounce on it.”

“Say please.” You smiled lightly.

“Please, pretty.”

You obeyed.

Slow at first — hips rolling in little circles, rising and falling, his dick dragging right across that spot that made your toes curl. The overstimulation was real — too real — and every stroke made your pussy squeeze around him like it was trying to keep him inside.

“That’s it…yeah…”

He grabbed your ass, lifted you up, dropped you back down.

You moaned—loud.

“No one can fuck you like I can,” he said, voice low, possessive. “Ain’t nobody ever had you like this.”

You nodded fast, eyes fluttering shut.

“Say it.”

“You, Stack — ha — just you —”

“Damn right.”

He started moving under you now — hips thrusting up while you bounced, rhythm locking together like y’all done this before. Like your bodies knew each other.

Your second orgasm snuck up fast.

You tried to stop it — couldn’t.

“F-fuck— I’m—”

“You gon’ come again,” Stack whispered in your ear, teeth dragging down your neck. “‘Cause I said so.”

This bitch.

Your mouth fell open.

Eyes rolled.

You came hard — walls squeezing him tight, thighs shaking, moans breaking into high, breathless whimpers as he kept stroking through it.

“Shhh,” he cooed, lips at your neck. “You good?”

You nodded, laying your head on his shoulder.

You couldn’t even move.

But he was still hard. Still inside. Still fucking you slow.

And then?

He kissed your shoulder and whispered:

“Now ride me one more time, pretty…”

You whined into his chest. “Stack, I can’t—”

“Yes you can. You just scared ‘cause you know I fuck you too good.”

You clenched.

His damn voice alone had your pussy fluttering.

Then his hands slid down your spine — slow. He dragged your hips back a little, adjusted his seat under you, and pressed up from below.

Deep.

“Ohh — shit—”

“Yeah…you feel that?”

You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming.

Stack chuckled, low and smug, fingers curling around the fat of your ass, pulling you back until his tip was nearly out — then slamming you back down so hard you bounced.

“Ride me like you mean it, baby.”

Your hips moved on instinct.

You didn’t have no pride left. None. He took it when he made you come the first time — stole it again when he made you suck your own slick off his fingers.

Now? Now you were drunk, fucked out, but riding him like your life depended on it.

“I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t — Say my name.”

“Stack.”

“That’s it, baby.”

His grip got tighter, his mouth meaner — biting at your neck, licking up your throat. Your body rolled, bounced, circled on top of him. And every move? Sent his thick, heavy length dragging against that spot — that deep ache that made your walls clamp down like a fucking vice.

“Damn, you don’t stop gripping me,” he groaned. “Like your pussy know who it belong to.”

You moaned.

“Don’t go quiet now. You was real loud five minutes ago.”

“Fuck — please shut up—”

His hand went between your legs again. Brushed that swollen clit just right.

And your hips bucked.

Hard.

“Stack—Stack, wait— hollon—!”

He only chuckled.

Your whole body locked up — legs seizing, mouth falling open, a broken cry slipping past your lips as your climax hit like a freight train. Walls pulsing, heartbeat pounding, breath knocked out your chest.

You slumped forward, crying into his neck, trying to breathe.

Stack held you.

Stroked your back.

And then?

“You done?”

You nodded.

“Too bad.”

“Bitch…”

“Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you.”

“STACK—” You slapped at his chest.

He laughed — deep, raspy, smug as hell — pulling out slow and watching you squirm from the sensitivity.

“Chill, baby,” he said, leaning back, dragging his hands down his face. “You damn near passed out on me. I had to say something to keep you up.”

You groaned. “You ain’t right.”

“You knew that before you brought me back here.”

You rolled your eyes — but your body was still shaking. And the air was hot, too hot. All that sweat, that steam, your legs sticky and trembling.

So you slid off the little couch and laid flat on the floor.

“Mm…this floor cold,” you mumbled, cheek pressed to the tile. “Thank God.”

Stack raised a brow. “You deadass on the floor?”

“Hell yeah, I’m on the floor.”

You spread your limbs like a starfish, toes still curled. You needed a minute. Maybe an hour.

Maybe Jesus himself.

Stack just watched you, still ‘sittin with that smug-ass look, dick hangin’ halfway hard, sweats barely pulled up.

And then it hit you.

“Wait—” You turned your head. “You ain’t even…you didn’t cum?”

He smirked. Shrugged.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“GOOD??”

He leaned his head like he wasn’t the reason your soul left your body. Like he didn’t just rearrange your organs then get up and walk off like it was nothing.

You narrowed your eyes.

“A girl ever told you she felt it in her stomach?”

Stack grinned. “Few times.”

You blinked, chest still rising and falling.

“…Well I just felt you leave my stomach.”

He barked out a laugh.

That smug-ass, hood-rich, cocky laugh that let you know he was proud of every. single. stroke.

“Yeah?” he said, licking his lips. “You welcome.”

You rolled onto your side, lips twisted. “Nasty-ass…”

He came over, crouched beside you, ran his hand down your bare thigh, real slow.

“You look good like this. Fucked out. Quiet.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You was just now.”

You glared. He kissed your cheek. You hated how much you liked it.

“Do I look okay to walk out?” you asked, sitting up slow. “Or should I just stay here till morning?”

Stack looked you up and down.

Dress wrinkled. Lip gloss gone. Hair slightly wild but somehow still pretty. Panties still askew.

He licked his lips again.

“Nah, you cute…but stay with me ten more minutes and you ain’t walkin’ nowhere.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ughhh, nigga.”

He laughed, stood up, pulled his sweats back on, adjusting himself with a wince.

You watched him, curious.

“So you really ain’t finish?”

Stack leaned over, helped you up — gentle like he hadn’t been tearing you in half couple minutes ago.

He whispered, mouth against your neck:

“Nah…I’m savin’ it.” He said pulling you dress down by the hem.

You blinked. “For who?”

He smirked.

“For when you beg me next time.”

You rolled your eyes.

"Boy bye."

Sorry yall…

Lil taglist — @deadvilesworld (ik you hurt girl...so I will apologize again - sorry) @wingedpeachjudgegiant @myfavscentislavender @remmickcherie @majorkee @authentic-girl03 @vintigepimpzinio @heauxtales @honestlyurslol @li-da-savage

[strangerexee]

Hurry tf up on our bo chow story hoe you keep starting all these new stories we don’t give a fuck about. like “where’s rick.. nah don’t care.. where’s rick” (i hope im not being too mean i just love ur bo chow writing pls dont get mad ily)

You sound like you meant that one — that hit a lil too hard but I get it — it started with bo and it just feels like I’m kicking him to the curb by writing for the other characters even tho he had my heart first soooo I gotchu🫶🏽🫶🏽 YOU WILL GET BO

[strangerexee]

Mmm you speaking my language

need that lovingly nasty sex with Mr. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

[strangerexee]

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ: ✦ ɴᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ | ᴇʟɪᴀꜱ “ꜱᴛᴀᴄᴋ” ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗!𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐!𝚊𝚞 | 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜-𝚝𝚘-𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 (𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊) | 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑

Parings: Elias “stack” Moore x Black!Fem!Reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: (𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 | 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 | 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 | 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍)

(New storyline — I am sorry, very sorry — especially to you, @deadvilesworld )

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 (ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ…)

ʜᴇʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ: ᴛʏʀᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋᴀꜱʜ

[strangerexee]

Ummm — I think I wanna change the plot of the story for All eyes on you bc it’s supposed to be a stack story but…it’s really a MALIK story with a toxic ass ex that want her back — and I’m not really liking how it’s turning out — soooo…uhhh — these drafts not really making me like stack he such a bitch — keep mentioning how he used to fuck her good like that’s all he known for wit his ghetto ass —

Sighhh — if y’all don’t mind — I’m gonna do it…don’t get mad…(Get mad — hurt me emotionally in the comments or I ain’t posting SHIT — WHERES YOUR RAGE — Don’t tell me to take my time — RUSH ME)🫶🏽💕

[strangerexee]

you think sammie eats it till you cry 👅

Of course he does – why is that even a question…

[strangerexee]

So..I know elijah is in love with reader. I just want to know when is he going to tell her that?🤨

Ion know anon — shit 🫦

[strangerexee]

Whatever I don’t care about your writing but could you add me to the tag list or I’ll beat you up or whatever (bcunyx)

Yea🫦

[strangerexee]

ᴍɪᴄ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ, ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ | ꜰᴀᴍᴏᴜꜱ ꜱɪɴɢᴇʀ!ꜱᴀᴍᴍɪᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝙰𝚄: 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 | 𝙵𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚁&𝙱 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎

Pairings: Sammie Moore x black!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : (𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜)

You were embarrassing.

You knew it.

Sweating under the stage lights, your phone gripped in both hands like your life depended on it, scream-singing along to every word like your soul might exit your body from pure, unfiltered thirst.

Because Sammie Moore was right there.

Fine as all hell.

Dripping sweat.

Voice deeper than sin itself.

His chain glittered under the stage lights, swinging every time he leaned forward and dragged those thick, ringed fingers down the mic stand. His shirt was half open. His skin glistened.

And God help you, you had no dignity.

You were screaming so hard you couldn’t even record.

Voice cracked. Makeup surprisingly not melting. Hair sticking to your neck.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you were at the front.

At a Sammie Moore concert.

And you’d never wanted a man more in your whole damn life.

The crowd swayed like ocean waves behind you, arms raised, girls crying, some throwing bras. Sammie walked slow across the stage, drinking from a bottle of water, that voice of his curling around lyrics like smoke. Like velvet dragged over your spine.

He looked good.

Too good.

Painfully good.

And then — Lord, then — he stopped singing.

Paused, lifted his mic.

“I got one question,” he said, deep voice rich like heat.

The whole crowd screamed.

“Who want a kiss?”

Bitch.

The way every hand shot up — like a coordinated attack.

You raised yours too — screaming like your life depended on it, half laughing, tears in your lashes from sheer embarrassment. Your phone was long forgotten. You were just pointing up, jumping like a damn idiot, yelling:

“ME! ME! OH MY GOD, ME PLEASE!”

He looked around. Took his sweet time. Eyes dark. Smiling low like he knew he had y’all wrapped around his finger.

And then — oh my god.

His eyes landed on you.

Not just glanced. Locked.

And that smile —

The cocky, tilted smirk with the dimples and everything —

That was for you.

“You.”

He pointed.

“Come here, baby.”

The security guard was at you before your brain even registered what was happening. You gasped. Sputtered. Let yourself be helped up and over the barricade while the entire front row screamed.

You were shaking.

You were sweating.

You were convinced your soul had just left your damn body.

Sammie watched you walk up — real slow — and you swear you almost tripped on air when he leaned down with the mic and whispered into it —

“Don’t be shy now, baby. C’mon.”

When you made it to the stage, he stepped forward and took your hand.

His palm was warm.

His fingers curled around yours like it was normal. Like this wasn’t the craziest thing to ever happen to you in your whole damn life.

He leaned in close — way too close — and brushed his lips near your ear.

“What’s your name, pretty?”

You told him.

“Mmm. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The crowd was SCREAMING.

You were DEAD.

And then — then.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, tilted your chin up, and kissed you.

On the mouth.

Not a peck.

Not a polite little brush.

No — Sammie kissed you like he meant it.

Like he’d been thinking about it.

Like it wasn’t just a stage bit.

His lips were warm. Slow. The kind of kiss that melted your knees. His hand slid down to your jaw, holding you in place, and his mouth lingered—just long enough to steal your breath — he had you squealing against his lips.

When he pulled back, your eyes were wide and glassy, and his thumb brushed under your lip like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted.

He still had the mic in one hand.

“Y’all saw that?” he asked, turning to the crowd. “She sweet as hell.”

You covered your face, sobbing. Literally sobbing.

He laughed.

Real, deep, low in his chest.

Then leaned back in.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against your ear, so low it didn’t even hit the mic, “I’b be crying too.”

When you were led back down to the crowd, every girl around you looked shook.

You couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Your lips still tingled.

Your hand — he held your hand.

Sammie winked at you once more before turning back to the mic.

And you?

You were a goner.

Js wanna say thank y’all for 1k followers — just got like 900 more strange-babies — preciate all the loveeee — all yall comments and reblogs bring me so much motivation…I love you guys especially the anons and my moots🫶🏽💕 and my wife (she don’t know we married on the low — @pinkpantheris )