☆ZENONSDREAMS☆

elias “stack” moore will definitely fuck you with his nice tailored suit on. you’re down for a quicky? he’s telling you, “well what you waiting for darling? bend that ass over”. with that silky smooth southern twang in his voice and a smirk that flashes his gold slugs.

elias “stack” moore is someone who prides himself on looks and fashion, in his eyes he’s the best looking nigga that came out of the delta—and he’ll continue to keep that image. but if his ole lady wants to pop a seat on his thigh and ruin his slacks with her sweet cream he can’t say no.

elias “stack” moore is a freaky ass nigga, we all know that. so it’s not a surprise when he’s at his usual spot where he gets his suits, touching different fabric to pick out so you can rub that pretty pussy all over it. “boss man, let me get this one. the missus would like this right here. hurry up ‘n get me fitted too.”

elias “stack” moore sometimes gets frustrated with how many layers are on his body. especially when he’s in a rush to get between your thighs. “fuck this shirt too damn complicated—you just stay right there sweetheart, daddy’s coming.” he’ll tell you while fiddling with the small buttons on his collared shirt.

For all you WONDERFUL FIC WRITERS who made the mistake of following me

modern!au annie x smoke

preview: When it came to Annie, Smoke grew soft. It was something she had teased him about early on in their relationship because no matter how much she pissed him off, he was always going to give her whatever she wanted. She commanded his attention with ease, and how can you blame him when she pled with such a pretty, whiny voice; when she batted her eyelashes and apologized for doing what she shouldn't have?

They'd end up in this position again—with her not listening and doing something she had no business doing—but for now, he was giving in, letting her have it, and showing her just the type of rough nigga he could be—because she'd asked.

cw: smut, daddy!smoke, baby!girl!annie, bratty!annie, orgasm denial, possessive, spanking, aftercare, use of the nword

a/n: this was requested!!! i worked more on the build up of the scene but yessss. send me more requests fr because this was funnnn

masterlist

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₊ ♪˚⊹Order Up ₊ ♪˚⊹…….

Music!Producer!Stack x Black!Fem!Singer!Reader ‧₊ ♪˚⊹

☆┇a taste of the story: You were having a hard time in the studio today. Things just weren't in your favor today, whether it was the flow or the lyrics. Something was missing, and you just couldn't figure it out..until your producer and boyfriend!Stack helps you alone in the isolated recording booth.

☆┇ingredients & calorie count: this late night sweet treat includes 3k+ word servings. has notes of mr. certifited eaterrrr, music!producer!Stack, black!fem!singer!reader, p in v, porn with a bit of plot, oral (fem receiving), unprotected smexy time. 18+ ,MINORS THIS IS NOT THE BAKERY FOR YOU! Ella’s Mai’s Song 10,000 hours!! all lyrics belong to Ella Mai

☆┇mika's notes: this is in fact a late-night sweet treat for my lovelies who are still up at 2 am!! tried my best with proofreading sorry for the wait, everyone. (this was supposeddddd to be a drabble but…here we are with 3k words) But hope y'all enjoy! dividers cred @cursed-carmine

The music has been playing in your ears for hours now. It's a familiar routine, you inside the isolated booth, headphones that rested against your ear, standing in front of the mic. Sheet music stand holds your printed, now it's not like you really needed them. You know the words by heart, but something isn't hitting the way you want it to. So maybe see the lyrics physically might help you figure out whatever the problem is.

You can't tell if it's your vocals, the beat, or the lyrics themselves, but something is completely off.

Through the double-paned glass that was in front of you, the luxurious control room, with its plush leather seats, top-notch recording equipment, and the walls that were decorated with a mix of your own plaques and favorite artists' records. Sitting on the other side of the glass are your manager, Ayesha, your assistant and close friend, Tia, and right in the middle, sat right in front of the soundboard is Elias, also known as Stack, your producer and boyfriend.

This was supposed to be a quick session, but it has dragged on for three hours now. Wearing a comfortable brown halter top and camo skirt with a double belt that laid low on your hips, with lots of thigh to show underneath, you shift on your feet, the frustration starting to cloud your mind. You hum to yourself, shaking your head murmuring, "Mmm, something ain't right." Usually, you’re entirely confident in your music, but this creative block is causing a stubborn stagnancy.

Now you being in the studio for hours wasn't something new, but you having trouble like this?? now this was something completely different.

Ayesha watched you through the glass as you hummed to yourself . She took note of how you were nodding your head to the beat, but pen in hand and scribbling on the paper that had your lyrics on them.

You were in the studio longer then expected due to something that was bothering you, and you couldn't even place what it was.

You couldn't put your finger on it.

Ayesha took a brief sip of her water as she sighed leaning back in the office chair, that made a slight screeching noise as she leans back. And Stack, oh Stack's eyes never left you, he saw the tension in your expression the uncertainty and doubt clouding your mind, as you shook your head scribbling more on the paper.

Before any of them could speak, your voice broke the silence in the room.

Turning back into the mic, you ask, "Can y'all isolate my vocals? I'll sing it real quick."

Outside the glass, Stack’s head tilts. He leans his elbows on the mixing desk, his fingers moving smoothly against the sliders to mute the backing track.

But as you begin to sing the lyrics raw, it still isn't working. It’s not what you want to hear, and you weren't…..feeling it??

"What do you think it is?" Ayesha asked aloud, to both Stack and Tia, they both knew what she was asking.

Tia shrugged her shoulders as she shook her head, completely stumped on what could be the problem, she thought the song was perfect and sounded good to her "I'm gonna keep it real i ain't got a clue in the world, i liked the song, but you know how she gets when she don't like somethin', it doesn't leave her mind until she fixes it,".

Stack hums agreeing, he knew how she gets in her head so quickly when it comes to her music, she gets like that because she cares deeply about it, he always knew that everything had a place for her and so once something seems outta place, you were the one to fix it.

He just wonders what you were thinking.

You let out a heavy groan, sucking your teeth, unaware of how intently Stack is watching you. He always catches the small things—the furrow of your eyebrows, the tension in your shoulders, the doubt in your eyes.

He twirls a pen between his fingers, his tongue rolling into his cheek as an idea forms. He knows exactly how to break through your frustration or whatever is going on in your head.

"Tia, Ayesha," Stack says, his tone low and calculated as he speaks to the room. "We haven't had our break yet." He briefly looks at you. "Looks like she needs one, and we could use one too. Why don't y'all step out for a bit so I can talk to her?"

Tia and Ayesha exchange a look, then glance back at him. "You sure?" Tia asks.

Stack nods, rubbing his hand along his goatee. "Positive. Y'all go on and grab some lunch. I know y'all were talkin about the new place on 5th, see what happenin' over there. I'll text y'all when we're finished here."

Tia looks at Stack and then you, "You want us to get y'all a lil somethin, heard they got some good fries there too," she offers.

Stacks waves her off "Nah, I'm straight, but you can probably get her something to eat,".

Ayesha gives him a warning look, "You betta make sure she's alright,"

Stacks nods without hesitation "Always,".

Ayesha sighs, pushing back her rolling chair with a slight squeak, and grabs her purse. Tia follows close behind, their distant murmurs fading as the studio door clicks shut.

Now, Stack leans back in his chair, his eyes entirely fixed on you.

You're still looking down at your lyric sheet, pen in hand, aggressively scratching out words and editing lines. The sudden sound of the heavy booth door opening snaps you out of your daze. Looking up, your shoulders instantly ease at the sight of him walking in. Elias stands there taking in your frustrated appearance, his white shirt clinging to his frame, every ridge of his muscles on display, and for a second, the stress of the track completely fades away.

You turn your head back to the sheet of lyrics.

"Elias, i don't know, how do i sound to you?" your head hangs low as you ask.

"You always sound good to me"

Stack's heart softens even more after he hears you call him 'Elias', it was a soft spot for him always. He walks up behind you, his hand on the music stand looking over your scribbles and notes you made on the paper as his hand slither around your waist.

"What's bothering you so much that it's got you writing liking chicken scratch on the lovely lyrics?" He asks with a smirk appearing on his face.

You sigh and shrug. "I don't know.. something ain't clicking, I'm just not feeling it,"

"I'm just….this never happens to me, you know?" you add.

Stack picks up the paper and looks at it, reading it as he paces the room, and he hums the beat to himself .

"How bout, you tell me what you like in the song and what you got going on in that head of yours?" he ask as he lightly taps your temple.

You look around the room, as you pull the one side of the headphones away from your ear.

"Ummm, I like the percussion on this track, also really like slow vibe on the one part that gives a little sensual vibe,". You begin to hum the song and go to the chorus that you love and sing.

"Why you always take so long to call me? Know I gotta wake up in the mornin'. You know every second adds up to a minute.

As you are singing Stack leaves the room heading back to the control room and standing right in front of the soundboard. He watches you, your eyes are closed and singing, he can see that you are easing into the music and then his finger moves against one of the sliders, slowing the tempo down just a little bit.

You like the way that sounds, so you continue.

You sing .

"Need 10,000 hours, We can be so in love, Don't stop, I'm counting them up.

Run the clock, I be counting them up.

We can be so in love.

You know every second adds up to a minute.

Need 10,000 hours

We can be so in love."

As you sing, Stack is adjusting the soundboard, so when you sing the lyrics "We could be so in love" it loops. Your voice is now a background vocal and looping. It sounds exactly what was missing .

A smile can't help but appear on your face as you sing. Before Stack walks back into the isolated room, he watches you as you finish singing and saves that track. You still sing to the music, and Stack walks up to you smiling.

“How does it sound now?" he asks, looking at you.

You smile as you take the headphones off and place them on his ears. Before he even hears the rest, his lips find yours, melting together. His hands immediately find your ass, as he listens to your voice singing to him

"Y/N, you sound so good" he pulls away breathlessly from the kiss.

He presses himself against you and you smile. Your lips dance together as his hand find the back of your head, bringing you closer to him.

"Hold on baby," he says pulling away ripping a needy moan from you. As he takes the headphones off and leaves the room.

He leaves the room and your panties are soaked, you stand there waiting and soon you hear your voice coming from the speakers of the isolated room.

The song you just sang, now playing throughout the room.

He walks back in with a erection that can't be ignored, but he caresses your cheek.

"Told you before to stop doubting yourself, ain't I?". He asks looking down at you.

"Y-Yes," you lean up to kiss him but he doesn't let you get the satisfaction just yet.

"You were stressin' and all I needed to hear was what you were fucking with and what you weren't, and I knew what to add once I heard it.” He kisses your neck, his wet lips sliding up your neck with little bites he leaves as he makes his way up to your ear and kisses it.

You can't help but let out a moan "Mmm, baby,".

Stack smiles against your ear, your hear a soft huff of air and shiver, "Now you just listen to yourself and how pretty you sound," he directs.

You take a sharp breath as he kisses your ear, and smiles.

As you kiss him, your soaked panties cling to your soppy pussy. You feel his fingers pull them to the side, toying with your sensitive clit, causing you to jolt in his arms.

He smirks something cocky as he watches you. He lives for how sensitive you are for him, how wet you are.

His hand slowly holds you, pressing you against the double glass-paned window. You kiss him before he pulls away and shows all the love to your chest, licking the part of skin that shows on your test and squeezing your nipples through your bra.

His eyes lock with yours, causing you to whimper as his other hand has remained busy on your clit. He kisses down your body, your breathing becomes heavy. He moves the material of your skirt and kisses the meat of your thighs. He then drags his tongue on your clothed pussy a couple of times. Your head leans back on the glass window pane.

" 'Lias- you ain't gotta-" you begin to say

"Shh, what i need you to do is it back and sing for me, go on and listen to your song and hit those high notes for me," Stack grins as he pushed your soaked panties to the side, giving your pussy kisses and licks before sliding your panties off.

His grabs your thigh, placing it on his shoulder as he begins to devour your pussy, full of tongue as his nose begins to rub your clit, your eyes widen and mouth agape as you hand supports the back of his head. "F-Fuck S-S-Eliass you—".

Stack smiles as his tongue delves into you. He groans as he hears you having trouble speaking, stumbling and stuttering over your words. Doesn't sound like much singing to him.

Your moans can't be helped from escaping you.

"Baby, I need more, please. I- could you please stop teasing!" you whine out, your hands caressing the back of his head.

Stack chuckles and hits your g spot one last time, leaving a drabble of spit and your juices smeared on his lips and your pussy. He slurps every bit, and he pulls away, standing to his feet as he hears your pleas.

"So damn, impatient. I ain't doing shit until I hear my pretty girl sing like I hear you on these fucking speakers. You got a voice of the angels, princess, and I wanna hear that." He rasps as his dick throbs in his pants.

You clear your throat, realizing he is serious. As he smiles, tilting his head, grabbing your hips and turning you to face the glass window, your hands immediately bracing on the cold glass and your breath panning on the window, fogging up just as you exhale.

And you begin to sing, the lyrics. Your voice oozing like honey in his ears. You are harmonizing with yourself. "I've been high and I've been low." He holds your hips, kissing your shoulder and neck as you continue. You feel the bass from the speakers in your chest, or maybe that was your heart racing because of how wet you were. You begin to find the rhythm of the music as if there wasn't a care in the world."But this time I know it's for sure." He watches you in the glass , his eyes taking in your figure, and feeling your ass, and soon his hands aren't on you. You

You hear a zzziiiipppp sound behind you. Stack fists himself behind you, tapping your leg, signaling for you to spread your legs wider . You continue singing."Cause I'm right where I belong, and we are only getting stronger. Feel's good to be down in my—!"

"Oooouuuu shiit—" You moan as your head leans on the glass, your breath fogging a spot on the window. Stack lined himself up with your soaked pussy so quickly you didn't even realize, and his thrust wasn’t so gentle; they had urgency and passion behind it.

"Fuuck!. You are everything, baby. Ain’t nobody doing it like you ain’t, that right?". He sinks into you again, causing your body to jolt to the window as Stack grips your hips. Your back arching, Stack looks down, looking down as his dick thrusts into you.

In and Out. In and Out. In and Out.

A constant pace, a relentless one.

“You’re so wet for me, baby. All for me, my pretty girl. Sing just for me." He grunts as he kisses your neck. Both of your senses were blown. Your music on a loop in the room, mic stand kicked on the floor. Hands everywhere, and Stack fucking you like there was no tomorrow as you throw your pussy back to him. Stack moaning and grunting in your ear as your head is leaned back on his shoulder, hand on the window, bracing and back arching.

"You sound really close, baby. You gonna come for me, ain't you?" Stack kisses your shoulder, the sound of your lovemaking, remixing with the music you just made in the studio.

Tears begin to prick into your eyelids as you whine. "Aaa-aa- I-I can't hold it anymore".

The wet slapping sounds coming from your pussy only grew as Stack continues, the material of your skirt flipped to your back. You cum, no longer able to hold it, as a moaning cry leaves your lips as your whole body convulses and locks. That doesn't cause Stack to pull back; in fact, it drives him even crazier.

Stack pulls your hips back as he is chasing your release with his own. His thrust pushes you forward to the glass. You use the glass as leverage, pushing your pussy back onto his dick, and you hear him moan. Stack cums with a groan , kissing your neck and sinking his teeth, leaving marks on your skin.

Stack fills you up, and some cum spurts onto the underside of your skirt, sinking into the material. You two catch your breath. As he pulls out slowly, smacking your ass, causing you to yelp, "Eliass!"

“Girl, stop all that," Stack chuckles, rubbing your ass softly and leading you to take a seat.

You both take a minute catching your breath as his arm wraps around you. You look at the glass closely. Squinting and smirking as you whisper, "Oh my god."

Stack looks at you as he is adjusting himself back into his pants, as he zipping his pants back up and catches his breath, "Oh my god, what, what are we whatin' about?" As he moves his head trying to match your eye line and see what you are seeing, a smirk that shows his dimples all too well appears on his face.

You try to stop him. "Don't start."

But you knew it was already done

Stacks smile is wide with pride, "Oh ho hoooo, I'm definitely taking a picture of this for keepsake, damn baby, I had your hand print like that.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his foolish behavior, as he gets up and grabs his phone, snapping a picture at an angle for the lighting to be just right and.

Click. Click. Click.

A couple of shots were taken, and as he bends down, picking up the music stand and fallen lyrics, phone in hand, he can't help but smile as his eyes examine the picture closer.

"Hold up, I'm not gonna lie, this would make a dope ass cover for the album." He nods at the picture, already thinking of a way to edit it, if you agreed.

You can't help but roll your eyes, but now that you think of it, maybe you would.

A hand print of your love, where you make the music you love, isn't such a bad idea.

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— mika’s notes: thank you for reading lovelies, please reblog, comment and let me know what you think!! <𝟑 .ᐟ

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Elias "Stack" Moore x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Stack get into an argument that shows a side of him that you've never seen. He's no poet, not a man that's good with words, but he can speak through actions better than anyone.

Tags: Angst, Major Angst, Slight Toxicity from Reader & Stack, Arguing, Potential Cheating, Stack is Bad with Words, Softcore Non-Con, Violence Between Lovers

Word Count: 4.9k

You stand with your arms folded and hip jutted to the side as you ponder which table cloth to pluck from the large shelf of miscellaneous supplies in front of you. Annie had directed you to this large supply closet that’s basically just a room where all of the supplies for the juke joint is kept.

Dark liquor and shimmering jugs of moonshine make up the largest demographic in the room. The space smells of dust and old, dry wood. There’s a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling that casts an amber light throughout the space that’s too weak to reach the outer corners of the wood box of a room.

Your eyes scanned up and down the shelves, playing back the color scheme of the scenery outside the supply closet door so as to choose the best match. Linens and table cloths of various patterns and colors sit one atop the other carrying a thin layer of dust. As you stand pondering, you hear the creak of the door swing open behind you, three heavy, masculine footsteps follow, stopping behind you. 

You know it’s him, you feel his energy buzz atop the surface of your skin the moment he enters the room. His presence bares an intensity that tends to have that effect. The man carries such a signature aura that it's impossible to miss or fail to notice. So distinct, that what emanates from him is starkly different and distinguishable from his twin. The air seems to shift around him when he enters a room and then he proceeds to take up all of said air. 

“I said I don’t wanna talk to ya, Elias.” You huff, but not nearly as venomously as would accurately reflect your lack of desire to be in the same room as him. You wish your words had come out harsher. But you’re mature enough to know that showing the true extent of your anger would do you no good.

Besides, you know that he’s like a bundle of dry hay that any spark from you will ignite into flames. Your back stays facing him, which sends a message in and of itself. He didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you recognized his footsteps.

Elias studies you from behind, taking what he can get since you won’t even grant him a face-to-face conversation. Your pale yellow dress hugs the feminine roundness of your shoulders nicely. In an instant and with the quick flick of his sharp eyes he studies what’s radiating off of you as well. A tension that speaks in frequencies that only he can hear and that shows itself in the stiffness of your posture. 

The wall of a man slowly steps closer into you, not in a way that denotes carefulness, but in a way that radiates entitlement. He stops just before the fabric of his clothes press into your back. His presence sits on the nape of your neck. Still you don’t turn around, staying focused on your task, or at least trying your best to.

His cologne all but burns your nose, it’s smells like sandalwood and musk and a strong alcohol aroma that binds the two scents together. The fragrance blends with the warm, smoky scent of whiskey on his breath in a way that’s very him. 

Stack plucks the toothpick from between his full lips, flicking it to the floor before shoving his hands in his pockets. A simple gesture done with such nonchalance that would’ve pissed you off if you’d been facing him to see it. Him following you into this secluded space where it's just the two of you feels predatory and unfair.

Like he only followed you in here because it would create a private moment between the two of you that he knows you’re in no mood to create knowingly or willingly. 

He’s not touching you, though might as well be. But he likes how your frame fits into his, how he can swallow you up or absorb you into himself like this. This is a tactic he employs often whether you’re in the mood to be this close to him or not. He takes in your spirit the way a plant will grow towards a window just to have the sunlight touch it’s leaves. Just proximity to you feeds him down to his bones. Though he's not the type of man that's able to put that into words.

The top of your head stops at the middle of his broad chest, freshly hot-combed hair swirls towards your face like wisps of unraveled clouds. The front of him, chest-to-crotch, is nearly pressed flush against your back. The roundness of your butt is the nearest to pressing against him but not quite.

“Now how I’m gon invite you to my get-together and you can’t even spare a brotha a hello, a kiss-my-ass, nothing?” You hear the smile in his voice, the boldness of his entitlement sets a trap that you fall into. 

At last you stop pretending to still be picking out a table cloth and spin around to face him. “Kiss my ass. Happy?” Your words are sharp and sarcastic and patronizing enough to satisfy you. Before he can fix his lips to shoot something back, you’ve spun back around towards the shelf to grab the cloth you decided will do. You just want to get out of here as soon as possible. 

Elias doesn’t move, because he doesn’t have to. He’s a brick wall that would have to move out of the way to let you pass, anyway. When you turn back around to face him, fully intending on leaving hurriedly and in a huff, he’s still standing in the same spot. 

Now the buttons holding his black, sleeveless vest together are nearly pressing into the butter yellow silk that’s stretches across your bust. His shoulders are massive beneath his white dress shirt, his chest is broad and tone in a way that makes his clothes fit nicer than the average man. Your nose is level with his crimson tie when you begrudgingly make eye contact with him.

He examines you like something he’ll always possess, like something inevitable. Like you’re the once making a needless fuss about something that will always be; that, being this push and pull routine the two of you have done for years. Unspoken words and spoken ones and the times you’ve made each other feel so good that you couldn't formulate any at all. 

“Look, baby, didn’t I tell you that wasn’t what it looked like?” There’s a desperation in his tone that’s accompanied by his usual smug playfulness. You only catch the latter.

A delivery carrying such little seriousness makes a poor companion to the sincerity hidden beneath the many layers of his voice. His default chuckle and the twinkle of gold in his teeth when he smiles distracts from any candidness hidden on his tongue somewhere. 

If looks could kill, he would be dead, cold and buried by now. Your gaze is hot with an anger that’s barely bridled. You swear you feel your eye twitch under the strain of keeping your mask of togetherness up. You want to explode and tell him to fuck off. But you also want to dish him out the coldness apathy possible, because that’s what truly gets a man like Elias bothered.

But how dare he condescend to you like this? Insulting your intelligence, that's your trigger. Like you’re just supposed to take his word for it that the girl you saw kiss him ‘wasn’t what it looked like’. 

The second the last syllable leaves his tongue, your own is already on him like white on rice. “And I told you that I didn’t believe yo slick ass!” Your words cut through the small space room like the crack of a whip. His expression falls subtly from an ego-driven grin to one more serious, concerned even.

You maneuver to push by him, fed up with this horribly timed interaction and wanting to get back something that will distract you from his nonsense. “Look, I don’t want to play these games, Elias, I’m here to help my sister set up and have a good time.” You huff, your voice is strong and decided as you step to the side to push past the road block that is his large frame. 

Your fingers spread atop his crisp cotton shirt when you place your hand on his large bicep; pushing him out of the way enough for you to slide by. You weren’t halfway past him when he grabbed your wrist, not harshly, but certainly firm enough to stop you in your tracks. Your breath catches when he pulls you against him.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that.” His southern drawl is thick and dripping sweet, he says the words like he’s scolding a fussy kitten. His large hand is warm, strong as a hundred-year-old oak and could wrap around your wrist twice if that were possible. 

He holds your wrist firmly against his chest, hindering your forward motion entirely. Your forearm is pinned between his grasp and the fabric of the clothes across his broad chest. Each of his fingertips feel so warm and pronounced against your skin.

Your eyes flick back and forth between his wild and livid, but you find no similar expression reflecting back at you from his eyes. Only an uncharacteristic softness shown through a gentler gaze that doesn't match the other parts of his hardened-by-life countenance.

Somehow that makes you more angry than a harsh expression from him would make you. Because it feels like a very unfair weapon formed against you. It's easy to be mad at someone who's mad at you. But the softness that you see in him every now and again keeps you hooked and you hate that more often than not.

You snatch your wrist away so quickly that he couldn't tighten his grip fast enough to keep you caged in the moment. A hot breath seethes from your flared nostrils, your gaze looks past him towards the door as you try to swallow the feeling of offense. Your eyes stay ahead, refusing to feed his antics by so much as a glance in his direction.

You straighten your posture, committed to not having this become something uglier and night-ruining. “Thank ya kindly for the invitation Mr. Moore if that’s what you’re looking for, now if you don’t mind–” The sting of your sarcastic tone is cut off.

That's when he suddenly snakes a single muscular arm around your waist and pulls you against him. The impact of your body slamming into his ejects a breath from your lungs. Your entire body and bust make contact with the expanse of his chest as his lips crash into yours. He claims the air in your lungs as his own through bruising open mouthed kisses. His mouth is hot and his tongue invasive.

His bicep curls around your waist and his hand is planted against your back, holding the warmth of your body against him. The plushness of your curves pressing into him numbs any worries in his mind. He takes your mouth in hot, whiskey-sweetened kisses that don't ask for consent or care about being crass. Lapping up every corner of the heat of your mouth like a poor man digging for gold.

It's carnal and rough and deep and just as soon as it happened, it was over. Your muscle memory is overpowered by what's left of your sense. You push off of his chest to untie his tongue from yours. Your lips break away from the snare of his with a crudely wet click. The sudden lack of touch feels premature to him, and like putting your foot down to you. In reaction he simply looks at you, with a flatter expression than your own but heaving for air as well, nonetheless.

In seconds he managed to make your lips feel swollen and your head felt lighter than it did twenty seconds ago. You glare at him, your eyes have darkened with so many different things. Your bust heaves as you make an effort to catch your breath. You feel a wrathful heat rise up your neck to spread across your face, leaving cool beads of sweat on your nose. Emotion boils over into the physical feeling of fire all over your body.

Before you knew what had happened, you felt your palm slap him across the face; his head turned with the force of it. The crackling sound of the strike bounced off the ceiling and the impact stung your palm a pinker shade than usual.

You feel sick at yourself. For a split second you feel like a monster for displaying such violence, then the next second justification swoops in to wash those feelings away.

Tear prick the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. “How dare you kiss me with your filthy mouth that’s been god-knows-where on god-knows-who?!” There's a strain in your voice that's evidence of whatever knot of emotions you'd been holding in your belly bursting undone.

Elias looks at you with his lips slightly parted in disbelief and his right cheek still stinging with pain. The taste of you suddenly feels like stolen goods on his tongue. Realization hits him, and it scares him like nothing has since he was a boy. The realization that he still has the energy to play a game that you grew tired of ages ago.

A somber curtain shades his eyes with something unmasked and miserable that you've never seen before. He says nothing, he can't think of anything to say.

The well of wit and charm that's always so plentiful on his tongue has gone entirely dry. His silence leaves an uncanny feeling in the air and your stomach because he always has something to say. He just looks at you with a surprising lack of anger on his face.

You won't let the tears fall, you won't let this ruin your plans to have a great time tonight. You simply will not grant anyone that sort of power over you. Your throat is tight with emotions that you can barely hold back. Your attempt to regain the breaths he'd stolen from you feels like breathing through a straw.

You blink your eyes in an attempt to mop up the tears welling in your ducts. “Whatever this unwelcome interaction is, is over!--” Before your feet can move towards the door, again he cuts you off by stopping your lips with his own. Is he an idiot or just the most selfish man on earth? You don't know.

In one step he closes the space between you again, softer this time, gentler and less selfish. He catches your lips less like a beast and more like a gentleman that doesn't quite know how to be one. He kisses you again like it's an impulse he can't help and it's softer but somehow still so smothering. His arms stay by his side rather than repeating his previous seizing of your body like a man claiming war spoils.

The plush of his full lips brush yours again, but he keeps his tongue to himself this time. The feeling of his still throbbing face and his lips pulsing against yours is a sadistic high he's never ridden before.

He holds you hostage for only a few seconds as you writhe against him in shock and anger at his audacity. You hiss into his mouth before tearing your lips from his grasp again before he can finish tasting you.

This time the strike comes immediately after the offense like a reflex. The moment the kiss breaks, you cock back your hand and deliver another stinging slap across his face. Again, his head turns with the force of the hit. Your hand burns from the strength of the contact and the sound of it is a merciless one.

Elias takes the full brunt of the hit in silence. Your sweetness on his lips in combination with the hate you poured into that slap is a feeling that's already burned into his memory. He pauses, wincing the pain away under his breath before looking back at you from the direction the slap had turned him in.

It happened so fast that it scared you. It scared you how quickly and easily you'd struck him.

You look at him bewildered and panting, your hand stings from the harshness and speed of the impact. So many different things have you feeling sick at him and yourself. Your chest heaves, you're breathless with anger and shock and a growing heartbreak that feels like an infection you're trying not to contract.

Tear sting in your ducts, and a few finally break the barrier holding them back and pour hot onto your cheeks. Your throat is tight and painful as you inhale a shuttering breath. You feel so belittled and even worse, violated, and that feeling leaves a nasty, nasty scar.

His face is pulsing with stinging pain, but Elias doesn't move or lash out. He doesn't say anything, his massive frame doesn't even wordlessly display any hostility towards you. His back is straight, and his expression is unreadable apart from the softness in his brown eyes.

That softness confuses you and that confusion morphs in anger because it feels like all of this is nothing to him. For you to be so angry and him to be so calm.

The fury you'd poured into him not once, but twice and all he can give you is that stupid, pitying look. As distressing as all of this is for you and it didn't even spark a fire in his eyes. Just a remorseful softness that won't let your gaze drift away from it.

The man stands like a brick wall in front of you, unwavering and confident in what, you're not sure. But his shoulders are relaxed, his jaw isn't even tight and he just looks at you, watches you.

In some ways it feels like he's seeing you for the first time; seeing you as a separate entity and not a character in a story where he's the main. It crashes down on him that you're something real and losable, and that clearly he has realized that too late.

The first hit shocked him, the second him confirmed what he already knew after the first strike, but foolishly thought he could fix. He's faced with the reality that he messed up. That he'd damaged the only flower in his life. Self-loathing made plenty of space for letting you loath him to.

The silence in the small room is uncomfortable and cut through only by your ragged breaths. Hot tears pour down your cheeks in streams, but still you hold back the urge to let it all out. You growl through gritted teeth at how he dares to give you this meek look after behaving like such a selfish beast. He doesn't get to corner you, shove his tongue down your throat and then look at you like a shamed puppy.

The air between you is hot and thick with humidity; your scents are combined in the air. Elias wants to say something, but he feels tied up by his own superficial nature. For the first time, it feels like a binding shackle keeping him from what he wants. He doesn't have the words, his brother is the deep one, he's always preferred to stay on the surface of life. Even if he did he wouldn't know what to say to fix this anyway.

The memory of what he'd just done flashes in your mind as if it were still happening; stoking the fire in your chest all over again. The lingering feeling of violation kicks up a level of rage that you thought you'd swallowed down and breathed out. That you thought you had exerted by hitting him.

A fed-up breath huffs from your lips that still buzz with the remnant of his touch and the taste of dark liquor. You sharply raise your hand to strike him a third time, for reasons that are too complex and frustrating to put into words. But your lack of surety this time is evident, like you’re hoping this will solve a problem that you know it won’t.

Your wherewithal to slap his face again is smaller than a mustard seed but you want to because how fucking dare him? 

Elias doesn't even flinch when you cock your hand back with snatching force. He leaves his entire body at your mercy to do with as you will. His submission isn’t begrudgingly. It’s a heartbreaking admission of guilt that’s so loud but entirely wordless. He’s kneeling before you in every way but physically and for a man with such a boisterous personality, the sight stuns you. 

You pause, hand still in the air and tears staining your cheeks. Your eyes scan over his demeanor, he’s so…docile, despite everything. Your teeth catch your bottom lip, displaying the hesitancy in your heart. For the first time since his mouth crashed into your, you had a moment of clarity. You’d struck him twice, and such a large man didn’t even flinch when you raised your hand to do it a third time. 

Stack isn't a man that does a whole lot of deep conversing, but he is a man that knows that actions speak louder than words.

He stood straight and unshielded to take whatever you were going to throw at him. Your eyes soften into a puddle of remorse and damp lashes. The tension that had your face tied up in a wrathful expression came undone. Anger unravelled into regret and shame and tears that burn with something different now. The hit never makes contact, your breaths are ragged and dry in your throat. 

Elias’ body language didn't grow volatile and the look in his eyes never hardened. Your open palm that remains in the air slowly closes and your hand lowers back down to your side. You inhale a softer, calmer, still shuttering breath.

The heat on your face transforms into the warmth that shame brings to one's cheeks. The blindness of your rage wears off a bit and the look on your face that was enraged perplexity is now a humbler awe. An admiration that you'd previously not know him to be capable of inspiring.

He feels like a brute in the presence of a lady, some would call that self-awareness. Elias watches intently as your posture softens as well as your expression. The sudden change in countenance is the drastic result of revelation. Your eyes shift from piercing sharpness to the roundness of a does eyes. Your lips press into a thin line like you're wincing at yourself.

He sees your change in demeanor as his chance to finally speak. The arrogance that he entered the room with has long since departed.

“Baby–” Stack begins, his voice is just above a whisper and careful, but he stops when you begin to raise your hand towards his face. The movement is with a tenderness that's been absent since this interaction began. His brows knit together a bit with confusion. Your silence doesn't grant him any explanation as to what you're doing, but he doesn't dodge.

You lift your hand, much slower and gentler like you're asking permission to touch him for the first time; because it feels like you've lost the privilege to. Your expression is tentative and unsure like you're intruding and waiting for him to bite your fingers off. But he doesn't, he stands there open to you. His eyes carry a docility that stands out among the rest of his other very masculine features.

You want to test if this is real, if what you think he's saying through his body is real. All your years of knowing him and you've never seen this side of him. Elias is a wildfire of a man. A slick-talker that goes wherever the wind blows him and uses less-than-ethical tactics to steer things in his favor wherever he lands.

He's boisterous and arrogant and won't give anyone power over him. So who is this man standing in front of you? It's like someone that you've never met with softer posture and warmer eyes is occupying his body. Is he even real, is this another mask or what's always been behind it?

You reach out to him like he's a mirage that you swear will fade away.

He never stops watching your movements. Your hand lands not on his cheek or chin, but the entrance of his lips. Your wonder overpowers your hesitation. You push past them into his mouth without need for force, he parts his lips for you without resistance. Four of your fingers and your palm to the first crease push into his warm mouth and he fully lets you.

He doesn't move or shift atop the wooden floor, the moment your nails touched his lips he let you put your hand into his mouth. He exhales a slow, deep sigh through his nose; holding your gaze with your fingers resting on the hot slick of his tongue and his lips closed around your knuckles. His tender-eyed gaze as he lets your hand rest in his mouth is so out-of-character it's almost startling.

This feels more intimate and bare than anytime he's ever been inside of you. Half of your hand sits on his tongue and is enclosed by the wet heat of his mouth. The ridges lining the roof of his mouth press against the soft skin on the back of your hand, and he just stands there. His shoulders are loose, so are the muscles in his face. It's like he's dissolved into someone you've never met.

The energy coming off of him is like a lion that’s become so tame that it’s true nature has vanished before your eyes. This man has shot people for looking at him the wrong way, but he opens this tenderness and compliance only to you.

It’s because you know him and his cocky, unyielding personality that this stark contrast baffles you to silence. 

Elias hopes that letting you have your way with him is enough, that it says enough. He’s never let anyone close enough for them to have the option to be done with him because he’d never really let them in to begin with. Until moments ago he didn’t realize what being rejected feels like. It’s a foreign and awful feeling that penetrates the barrier of pride around his heart. 

He knows what you’ve seen from him over the years, and it's been harsh and insensitive at times. But that means that you know that this meeker side of him is shown to nobody. Hell, you didn't even know that it existed.

Elias is avoidant at his core, he doesn’t wallow. He bounces back up before things can sink in and creates an outer shell that’s charming enough that people don’t notice that it only goes so deep. He’s no poet, but he knows how to speak through actions.

The way your previous anger has dissolved before his eyes gives him hope. That maybe the resilience it took to fight his nature for you has paid off.

It takes a horrible person to strike someone that won't fight back, and you truly feel horrible. The heat of anger washed back out like the tide leaving you feeling sick in its place. The tears in your eyes are hot with shame and pose as a wordless apology that you know isn't sufficient.

Elias Moore, a broad-shouldered wall of a man that's never without a gun and a crafty smile, is showing that he's meek as a mouse for you. And the feeling--the sight--is so foreign and so new that you don't know what to do with it. How do you wield this newfound power and privilege?

The soft texture of your fingertips is a welcome presence on Stack's tongue. He likes the way every part of you tastes, having you in his mouth feels right. Other women have been there, but you're the only one that owns the place. He likes the look of surprise in your eyes when he tastes you with such a lack of hesitation.

He hopes that you get the declaration he's trying to make and he can be spared from the sappy love talk that he's never been good at.

Your eyes perform a slow dance across his expression once more before you slowly pull back your hand from the warmth of his mouth. The second he feels you reclaiming your hand, he obeys your movement and lets you leave him without touch.

"Baby--" He tries to begin for a second time.

"I'm sorry, Elias. I shouldn't have--I'm sorry." Your eyes don't meet his again, the air is too hot and thick and hard to breath in. The heat of embarrassment ties itself around your neck. You sniffle, wiping a wet stream from your cheek as you push past him to finally leave him alone in the small, stuffy room.

Elias words are still somewhere lost in the air without direction, you'd left before he'd gotten to say them. He knew that you would, and he knows that it was the right thing to do. For such a haughty man, he sure doesn't have the confidence that what he wants to say to you will fix things.