BEYONCĂ Wins BEST COUNTRY ALBUM at the 67th GRAMMY Awards (Feb 02, 2025)
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BEYONCĂ Wins BEST COUNTRY ALBUM at the 67th GRAMMY Awards (Feb 02, 2025)

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BEYONCĂ at the 2026 Met Gala
Beyoncé performing at the COWBOY CARTER TOUR in Los Angeles (2025)
BROWN SKIN GIRL- BeyoncĂ©Â
BEYONCĂ wins Best Country Album for "Cowboy Carter" at the 67th Annual Grammy Awards â February 2, 2025

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BEYONCĂ Cowboy Carter and the Rodeo Chitlinâ Circuit Tour, London June 12, 2025
BEYONCĂ BOWL (2024)
yearning!bestfriend!smoke x black!curvy!nasty!fem!reader
You and Smoke been thick as thieves since before yâall even had teeth. Since you were two loud little brown kids playinâ in the sprinkler in your grandmaâs yard, barefoot on concrete and dripping in popsicle juice. He was the boy who always ran. Ran to get what you wanted. Ran to fix what you broke. Ran to grab the extra cookie you were too scared to ask for.
And even when you got olderâfull hips, lip gloss poppinâ, that spoiled little whine always curled in your throatâyou still didnât have to finish a sentence before Smoke was already halfway to doinâ it.
âSmoke, can youâ?â
âI got it.â
âWait, you know what I wantââ
âI already do.â
That was yâallâs rhythm.
Heâd never said how bad he loved you. Never said that when you called him your best friend, it made his chest hurt. He never told you how many nights he stared at his phone, waiting for a text that said âCome over.â
You never told him either. You thought he knew. Thought maybe he didnât feel the same. So you started dating other people. Just a little. Just to test the waters.
But you still showed up at every function on Smokeâs hip. Like todayâhis mamaâs birthday cookout. You in that damn white dress. Tight up top, short in the back, every inch of you jiggling and glowing. Everybody noticed. But he noticed first.
He saw you before you even walked past the fence. Watched your thighs bounce with every step, your gold anklet glinting, your curls pulled up with just enough down to frame that smartass mouth heâd kill to kiss.
He didnât speak first. He just stared. Chain glintinâ. Blunt burning slow between his fingers.
You plopped down next to him at the table, legs crossed, plate in hand, talking loud with his cousins like you ainât been skipping his calls.
And thatâs when Aunt Vi turned to you, fork paused halfway to her mouth. âSo baby girl, you still single? Or you got a lil boyfriend now?â
You blinked. Swallowed. Peeped Smoke from the corner of your eye. Then softly, like you ainât really mean it: ââŠI do.â The clink of Smokeâs fork hitting his plate was the only sound for a moment.
He turned slowly, eyes glued to you. Not moving. Not blinking. That quiet, slow anger in his chest boiling over in silence. âYou do?â he said low, voice tight.
You didnât answer. You looked at Aunt Vi instead.âHe tall?â she asked, eyes twinkling.
âMhm.â
âCute?â
ââŠKinda.â
âGot a picture?â You pulled your phone out, too quick. Nervous giggle stuck in your throat. Smoke didnât take his eyes off you. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded, watching you show the picture. Your screen faced Aunt Vi, but he saw it too.
And his jaw clenched hard enough to crack.
Marcus. From the block. A dude Smoke knew. A dude who tried to be like him but couldnât hold a candle. He stood slow. Walked around the table. Quiet as ever. Then reached down and snatched your phone right out your hand.
âWhat the hellââ âGet up,â he said. You blinked. âSmoke, donât startââ âI said get. The fuck. Up.âHe didnât raise his voice. Didnât curse loud. But his tone wrapped around your neck and dragged you up out that chair like gravity shifted. Your thighs trembled. You followed. You had to.
He yanked the back door open and took you through the houseâignoring every cousin, every curious glanceâinto the den. The door slammed behind you. And then? Silence. Thick and hot and tight. Smoke turned, chest rising slow. âYou really fucking with Marcus?â he said. Voice low. Not yelling, but shaking. âMarcus?â
âHe nice,â you whispered, but your voice cracked.Smoke stepped forward. Your back met the wall. He placed your phone on the dresser like he was lining it up for later. âYou know how many times I wanted to tell you?â he said, hand finding your waist. âHow many times I had to sit there and watch you run off with them clown-ass niggas? You do that shit on purpose?â
âI didnât know youââ âYes the fuck you did.â You didnât answer. His mouth found your neck first. Hot, soft, trailing down like it was muscle memory. Your hands fisted in his shirt. His touch wasnât roughâbut it was hungry. Desperate. Like something thatâd been waiting too long to be born.
âStill lettinâ me do everything for you,â he murmured against your skin, tongue flicking just beneath your ear. âStill callinâ me first. Still wearinâ shit like this around my damn family.â
âI didnât know you cared,â you whimpered. His hands slid down your thighs, cupping your ass, pulling your hips against his. âYou the only one I care about.â He kissed you. Slow and deep, lips pressed like a seal. Like a brand.
When he lifted your dress, you gasped. His fingers found the soaked cotton between your thighs and he smiled against your mouth. âThis for him?â he growled. âOr me?â
âYou,â you whimpered.
He dropped to his knees, pulled your panties down slow, kissed your thighs like he had all day. Then, without warning, he lifted your leg and buried his tongue in youâslow. Groaning into your folds, fingers digging into your hips.
You came on his mouth in minutes, shaking, gasping, whispering his name like a prayer.
âSay it right,â he whispered, standing, dropping his sweats. âYou know what to call me.â ââŠPa.âHe moaned. Deep in his chest. Lined himself up and slid inâslow, deep, smooth, until his whole body trembled. Your mouth dropped open. You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes glassy.âYou feel that?â he groaned. âThatâs mine.â
He moved slow but heavy, rolling his hips deep inside you like he was making a promise. His lips on your neck, your collarbone, your cheek. His hand on your jaw. âI been waiting so long for this, bunny,â he whispered. âAinât nobody ever gonna touch you again.â
You were close again. Shaking. Crying now.
And then he reached for your phone. âCall him.ââWhatââ âCall that little nigga now.â With shaking fingers, you dialed. Voice trembling. He pressed the speaker on.
âHello?â he spoke. Your breath caught. Smoke thrusted deep. You cried out, breath hitching. âIâm with my boyfriend.â Then Smoke grabbed the phone and ended it. And came inside you with a long, low groan that rattled your bones. His forehead rested on yours, breathing heavy, thumb wiping the tears from your cheek. âYouâre mine now,â he whispered. âAnd Iâm done sharing.â
A few weeks laterâŠ
You donât even call him âSmokeâ no more. Itâs Pa this, Pa that. The whole damn block know what it is. He walkinâ with his arm around you like you made of gold and velvet. One hand resting on your hip, thumb rubbing that little space on your waist like itâs his personal territory. And it is.
Youâre wearing one of the three diamond rings he bought you. Not engagement, not yetâbut you keep tellinâ folks, âThis oneâs for my mouth, this oneâs for my attitude, and this oneâs âcause Iâm spoiled.â He donât argue. He just adds another.
And right between your collarbones? That chain. Thick, gold, glinting in the sun. His name on the pendant in soft cursiveââElijahâsââlike a warning and a lullaby. Heâs got one too. Yours. Tucked under his shirt but always there, lying flat on his chest, heartbeat pressinâ against the letters.
Youâre headed to get ice cream, arguing playful in the heat. You want strawberry shortcake. He already bought it for you ten minutes ago and itâs in the car. He just like hearing you beg. And then, like a breeze cutting through the thick summer air, you hear two girls on the stoop whispering:
ââyou ainât hear? Marcus? That nigga gone. Shot dead couple weeks ago. Just now found the body in that alley behind Glenwood. Whole clip in him.â
You pause mid-step. Smoke doesnât.
His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, just enough to make your stomach flip. Heâs still walking, face neutral, but you catch the edge of his mouth. That little curl. That little smile.
He donât say nothing. Just keeps moving. Pulls you closer, presses a kiss to your temple. You look at him. âPaâŠâ He raises a brow like he donât know what youâre about to askâbut you donât even finish the sentence.
You know better. You know exactly what that smile meant.
He ainât ever gonna tell you what happened. But you can feel it in his kiss, in the way he holds your hand a little tighter now. The way he makes love to you like he got rid of every last threat.
That chain around your neck ainât just jewelry. Itâs a warning label. âProperty of Elijah Moore.â And when the streets whisper about Marcus? Smoke donât blink. He just licks ice cream off your lip and says: âOpen your mouth, bunny. You know I donât like repeating myself.â
last one yall⊠last one for the day.
@cursed-carmine for the dividers.