hoetachi

[hoetachi]

y’all heard about coryxkenshin…..

[hoetachi]

fuck with a pro

✗ warnings: mostly none ( sfw minus kissing ), childhood friend trope, a lil tension wc: 540

synopsis: once hearing about a new fighter in philly, you go check it out realizing its an old friend.

(a/n: i re-wrote this a thousand times. listen to this with “Persian rugs “ by party next door!)

you had just got in touch with your childhood friend adonis. he was currently being trained by the rocky balboa. one of the best fighters for years.

the previous training session was intense to say the least. hell, you were sore just watching.

luckily, you guys had made its back to rocky’s house and were about to sleep.

“you can have my room, if you want” donnie told with an nonchalant expression , “no no, you have your room, ill sleep on the couch” you shrugged before the elder man spoke up. “why you two don’t just share the bed?” you could see adonis get flustered a bit.

“i mean, if yall are comfortable—if not don’t listen to me” he clarified shrugging before your friends eyes met yours.

woah, this couldn’tve been the adonis you became friends with all those years ago.

“it’s fine with me” he shrugged and just for a second you could see his admiring gaze. “yeah” you nodded heading towards the boys room.

you seen the bed and how tight it might’ve been had both of you laid comfortably in it. without anymore second guessing, you removed your shoes and laid in the bed. not too long after, adonis walked in and stared you down; mostly in shock.

“what?” you asked looking at him through your lashes, “i didn’t say nothing” he shrugged before pulling off his shirt, tossing it aside and laying beside you.

any other night you would’ve been dead tired. tonight though, you both were wide awake..in more ways than one.

you huffed throwing the covers off of you.

“can’t sleep either, huh?”

“if i could i wouldn’t be up” you snapped causing adonis to turn and face you “what’s your problem?” the man asked before you looked up at him seeing his raised eyebrows.

“..just tired i guess” “that ain’t no reason to be mad at me, fix that.” he told jokingly before closing his eyes, not knowing the affect it had on you. “shut up” you rolled your eyes pulling the cover away from him. he opened his eyes and scoffed seeing your fake sleep expression with the stifled smile.

everything settled for a second before donnie squeezed your side, just enough to sting.

“ow! jackass” you exclaimed slapping his arm. he laughed then gently pushed you, “quit hittin’ me” the man spoke shadow boxing you. “quit fake hitting me, then!” you said in an irritated tone.

“or what?” donnie kissed his teeth as if calling your bluff.

time passed like licks and somehow you two ended up all over each other.

donnie kissed you as he did his teeth earlier. his grips now more affectionate than playful. his lips found their way to your neck as you huffed impatiently.

the man brought his hand up to your shoulder, about to slide your shirt off. of course that was before the older man from earlier appeared in the doorway.

“my bad, kid—i, i didn’t see nothing” his gruff voice assured, which of course was a lie. you and adonis separated after being caught. both still wide eyed and breathless.

“i was gonna say, no training tomorrow—bad weather.” he finished before walking out and shutting the door.

now you really couldn’t sleep.

tags: @ohshesamonet, @heuhanenani, @moqnqr, @loveabledovee, @thecoloredpages, @thequeenkhlo, @anotherdayof-sun, @sharpaysbestfriend, @queenofklonnie22, @heartgirllover, @jioats, @honggihwa, @xxalysse, @vile-harlot, @cremeful, @rios-st4rs !

[hoetachi]

Omg girl I forgot to tell you but I got the JoJo star tattooed yesterday

OMGGGG THAT LOOKS SO GOOD!!

[hoetachi]

OMFG THE NEW SUPERMAN IS SO FINE

[hoetachi]

Your account is so pretty, you're so cool, and I love your writing!!! ♡٩(❛ัᴗ❛ั ๑ )(๑˃̶͈̀∇˂̶͈́)و⁾⁾˚*

GIRLIE YOUR THEME IS MY AESTHETIC DREAM AND YOUR STORIES ARE TOO TEAAAAA

[hoetachi]

imma deleted geaux those crooked i’s because i got lost in the fluff of husband!louis & claudia’s diary entries ANDDDD COMPLETELY forgot about stack

[hoetachi]

Hiiiii, I’ve been obsessed with your blog for like officially a month now (pls don’t think it’s weird I kept track), and honestly I love all of your work. You are literally the only writer whose work I’ve read over and over and over again. I was wondering if you didn’t mind me asking could we possibly get a part two to your “Money can’t buy what fic” pretty please 🥺. Again absolutely love your writing, literally never stop !!!

MWAHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 💋 i promise its already in the works babe

[hoetachi]

you could tell he wasn’t used to all this.

the strip club, the men’s whistles..the tight restraint against his increasingly large bulge. this whole thing was far beyond a foreign concept to him.

but, you moved so gracefully. almost as if you knew he’d be feeling the way he is by watching you dancing. each time you spun around the pole he could swear he got harder.

it was already bad enough stack dragged him here but, it’s worse that he’s enjoying it. enjoying watching as you shake your ass. god, is it turning him on. he feels like such a perv to be this horny in strip club just from looking at a woman he doesn’t know—dance.

then for him to find out the prices for you to give him a private dance? pathetic.

the room was secluded from the rest of the club. but that didn’t stop the muffled voices of patrons from seeping through the dark painted walls.

he sat down as if he didn’t know what he paid for you to do. or maybe he was too ashamed.

you’d slide your hand up his thigh right by his hardened cock that is smeared in pre-cum. hes most definitely ashamed.

he didn’t even look at you, just whimpered grabbing your hand and placing it directly on the bulge. you caressed the area gently seeing as how he’s already a mess as is.

he tilted his head back with a whine as you kissed his neck. he sounded so pretty trying to stifle his moans and whines.

man, did he love this feeling.

the kisses spread far and wide as your ministrations on his bump continued. he parted his lips huffing as you left open mouth kisses all up and down his neck.

it really didn’t take much for him to cum. hell, just watching you, he was a mess. but now? he was in shambles.

soon enough, he finished. with a short shy “mngh”.

you pulled back looking at his seemingly damp pants. you could practically feel his humiliation. he cleared his throat before rising to his regular height and walking away, just short of the door.

not because he was ‘in love’ but because he felt embarrassed at having to resort to a strip club for release.

without any word, he walked out the door and closed it.

you giggled to yourself at his bashfulness. newbies are the best.

[hoetachi]

LOVEHAPPY — E. (SMOKE) MOORE

➠ modernau! smoke x blk! reader

➠ mulan’s input; this song by the carters was on loop as well as int’l players anthem and the idea of a big luxurious wedding had me cheesing

➠ cw; in this annie passed unfortunately, n-word usage, smoke has cherophobia (yes, ik im evil yall), stack just being the best (& worst) best man

“big pimpin’ settlin’ down!? can you believe this nigga, sammie!?” stack chuckled as he readjusted his twin’s tie. smoke gave a small smile, but it barely shifted the knit in his brows as he returned to his thoughts. todays a big day— the biggest day for him and you… so why do he feel—

“we all knew you was the one really pimpin’, nigga. you was wildin’ last night,” sammie teased. “lucky mary ain’t see what I saw,” he added, cutting his eye at his older cousin.

“hey, y’know what the smokestack twins do to snitches?”

“do what?”

“shoot ’em in the ass,” they both said in unison, dead serious.

“go make sure cornbread is actually watchin’ over the bride’s door. knowin’ his ass, he got slim ol’ ass sittin’ drunk at it,” stack ordered, smacking his younger cousin in the back of the head playfully as he sent him out.

once sammie left the room, stack turned back to his twin, giving him a once-over.

“nah, for real though, big pimpin’…” stack’s grin softened as he dusted off his brother’s shoulders. “i’m proud of ya’”

“’preciate it…” smoke smiled sheepishly, eyes flicking to the mirror in front of him.

stack exhaled, pulling in his lips like he was bracing himself. like what he was about to say could shift the whole energy of the room.

“i know it was a lot to open up again after annie…” his voice dropped. “she was a great woman. epitome of a great wife.”

a long silence held them. smoke stared at his reflection—royal blue tux hugging his frame, a white magnolia tucked in his lapel like a whisper from heaven.

“i believe y/n is the best woman a man with blood on his hands could pray for,” smoke finally said.

then, quieter, “i just hope i’m the answer to her prayers.”

he turned, meeting his twin’s gaze head-on

3 years earlier

the hospital room smelled faintly of clean linen and antiseptic. the machines beeped soft and steady, but every tick of the clock felt louder than it should.

smoke sat beside annie’s bed, his large hand engulfing hers, thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. her body looked fragile, but her eyes—when they opened—still held that same flame. faint, yes. but not gone.

“eli…” she murmured, her voice brittle, like a memory hanging on thread.

he leaned closer. “yeah, baby?”

a soft smile curled her lips, small and tired. “you look like ya’ already buried me.”

smoke swallowed hard. “don’t talk like that.”

“i gotta,” she whispered. “you hardheaded. and i can’t haunt your ass if i don’t get the last word.”

she paused, shifting her hand slightly in his. “eli… you gotta stop thinkin’ love is punishment.”

he tried to speak, but she shook her head gently.

“you ever heard that old saying? ‘when the roots are deep, there is no reason to fear the wind.’”

he blinked. “what that mean?”

she smiled again—this time with a quiet pride. “it means love that’s real… it don’t break when life blow through. it bend. it sway, but it don’t fall. we had roots, eli. me and you, but you gotta let somebody plant new ones with you. someday.”

his jaw clenched, but his voice cracked when he finally spoke. “ain’t nobody gon’ love me like you.”

“no,” she whispered. “they not s’posed to.”

a silence fell between them, broken only by the rhythm of her breathing, slower now.

“just promise me…” she said, breath hitching, “you’ll let yourself grow again. you deserve to grow. to bloom into something beautiful..”

smoke bowed his head to her hand, tears soaking into her wrist as her fingers curled one last time around his

present day

smoke exhaled slow. the weight in his chest wasn’t gone, but it had shifted—become something steadier.

“when the roots are deep…”

he looked into the mirror, fingertips brushing the magnolia pinned near his heart.

“i’m still growin’, baby,” he whispered. “and I think I finally found good soil.”

stack’s voice came from the doorway, warm and steady. “e, don’t let that cherophobia ruin this damn day for you,” he strolled over to his other half, “‘cuz i spent too much on a damn suit that ain’t even my favorite color” he complained

“but what if someone objects? o-or she has second thoughts and gets cold feet?” smoke’s once relaxed features now etched with paranoia; gripping him like a vice

stack just sighed, smirk tugging at the corner as he shook his head. “1. i don’t think that’s how that works, especially at weddings and 2. sounds like you’re the one gettin’ the chills in ya big toe,”

stack watched his brother spiral in silence for a moment—eyes darting, lips tight, fear creeping up like smoke from an old fire. then he stepped forward and pressed his weight on him like a ragdoll, locking his eyes on his twin in the mirror

“look at me, e.”

smoke raised his eyes slowly.

“she chose you, my nigga. ain’t no bluff, no charity, no ‘maybe.’ she know who you are, who you was, what you used to do and she still wanna meet you at the altar. that mean somethin’.” he jabbed a finger right where the magnolia was pinned against smoke’s chest.

smoke stared at it, silent, trying to breathe past the knot in his throat.

stack pulled back, eyes narrowing like he was tryna decide whether to console him… —or call him a pussy. then his lips curved. “y’know what? you remind me of that one song…” he started, waving a finger as if he was sorting through his memory right before him. smoke sighed.

“what fuckin’ song stack?” smoke asked, sounding exhausted of his own paranoia

stack cleared his throat as he rested back on his twin, “so.. i typed a text to a girl I used to see, sayin' that i chose this cutie pie with whom i wanna be” smoke shook his head at his twin’s stupidity, but a tiny smile was threatening his lips.

stack raised his arms in feigned surrender, backing away while still going “…and i apologize if this message gets you down then i cc'ed every girl that i'd see-see 'round town and hate to see y'all frown, but I'd rather see her smilin'” he pointed towards the door, like he could already see her at the altar, waiting.

smiling.

for him.

“wetness all around me, true, but I'm no island, peninsula maybe” stack shrugged, sauntering over to open the door, revealing sammie, cornbread & a surprisingly sober delta slim that all held knowing grins

stack strolled back to smoke, slung an arm over his shoulder, cool as ever. “it makes no sense, I know crazy? give up all this pussycat that's in my lap, no lookin' back”

smoke snorted despite himself, head dipping down, that weight on his chest beginning to ease. “you done?” he asked quietly.

stack just smirked. “would not burn me on my bum, when I shoot the moon high jump the broom, like a preemie out the womb”

“my partner yellin' "too soon! don't do it!, reconsider! read some literature on the subject, you sure? fuck it”

“y’know we got your back like chiropractic,” cornbread brought him into a brotherly dap

sammie giddily joined in, “if that bitch do you dirty, we'll wipe her ass out as in detergent” smoke cut his eyes at his cousin, an unspoken “my wife ain’t some bitch” look

“now hurry, hurry, go on to the altar!” they all shouted in unison, laughter erupting as they pulled smoke in for big bear hugs, back slaps, and handshakes. then, just like that, the others filtered out—leaving only smoke and stack in the quiet of the dressing room again.

stack leaned in, hand cupped around the back of his twin’s neck, foreheads nearly touching. “i know you ain’t a pimp,” he said softly, “but pimp… remember what i taught ya.”

stack cut in again, voice low now—soft but clear as a prayer, “keep your heart, 3 stacks, keep your heart…” he squeezed firmly, a few tears flowing down his twin’s cheeks without him realizing his crumbling exterior.

“hey, keep your heart, 3 stacks, keep your heart… man, these girls is smart, 3 stacks, y/n is smart” smoke let out a choked half-laugh, half-sob, wiping at his eyes at the alternation.

“play your part,” stack whispered, brushing away one last tear from his twin’s face.

the music started soft—low strings and the distant coo of a piano, like the prelude of a dream. the altar was dressed beautifully—lit candles, antique candelabras, and vines crawling up wooden beams like nature wanted to bear witness too. the double doors parted, first came pearline, regal as ever, arm locked with a freshly lined-up sammie, who walked like the aisle was his big break.

behind them came grace, cheeks pink with nerves, walking proudly beside bo, who nodded respectfully to everyone like he was at a barbecue and a board meeting all at once.

then came cornbread, slow-steppin’, lips pursed with fake reverence and one hand curled protectively around mary’s. she looked elegant—graceful even—but something in her eyes was off. distracted. sharp.

grace’s brow furrowed. a subtle twitch that can be missed if you wasn’t taking in the details of each bridesmaid. however, pearline noticed too, glancing discreetly over her shoulder once the pair had passed.

and that’s when it hit them.

there were only three groomsmen.

and stack hadn’t walked out with any of them.

pearline leaned in to grace, her voice barely a thread beneath the music.

“where’s stack?”

grace shook her head slowly, clutching her bouquet tighter. “i was wonderin’ the same thing.”

mary, already halfway into formation, dipped her chin slightly as she caught their eyes.

then, low and quick like a snake through grass, she whispered—just loud enough for them to hear, “smoke ain’t cold, but his feet might be. stack’s in the back—tryna keep it from reachin’ her before it’s too late.”

grace’s eyes widened.

pearline’s lips parted, but she said nothing. just turned forward again, holding her position like any good soldier would.

the music swelled again. the chapel walls seemed to lean in closer.

the tension had shifted—just slightly.

a tremor beneath all the satin and lace.

the hush in the chapel was thunderous once the doors opened for a second time

and there she was.

y/n, radiant. floating. veiled in ivory and wrapped in soft candlelight. every step was poetry. every breath held in by the crowd.

her hand clutched her father’s arm like a lifeline, bouquet trembling just enough to give her nerves away.

but when her eyes lifted—when they reached the altar, her breath caught.

there was no groom waiting.

the aisle stretched on, long and holy. the officiant stood patiently beneath the archway, hands folded. the groomsmen had lined up. the bridesmaids were all in place. but the man she was walking toward?

he wasn’t there.

y/n’s heel stuttered on the tile. a half-step. almost nothing, but her father felt it.

“hey,” he murmured, squeezing her hand tight. “look at me.”

she turned, eyes wide with quiet panic, lips already trembling. “now i know what you’re thinkin’, baby girl. but let me ask you this…”

his voice softened, memories laced through every word.

“‘member that time you got sick down in lil’ rock? 4 states away, middle of nowhere, ain’t no flights runnin’, weather all sideways?”

y/n blinked, throat thickening.

“you ain’t even call him. just mentioned it to pearline in a damn text. and that boy—that man—showed up at your door in less than twelve hours. had soup in one hand and damn near tears in his eyes.”

she let out a shaky laugh, shoulders easing just a little. her father leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple like he used to when she was little.

“if that man could move mountains and highways to get to you then, you don’t think he movin’ heaven and hell to get to you now?”

y/n swallowed hard, vision blurring behind her veil—but her back straightened. her grip steadied.

she nodded once, strong. chest now blossoming with confidence, not for herself but for her husband

“alright then,” her father smiled. “let’s go greet whatever miracle’s 'bout to walk through them doors.” and together, they began walking again

she reached the altar with every eye still on her, every breath in the chapel caught in a slow, suspended hush.

her father brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. then, as if blessing her journey into something deeper, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“you’re gonna be alright,” he whispered. “you already are.”

he stepped aside, blinking faster than he’d admit, and gave her hand one final squeeze before moving to his seat.

y/n stood alone now at the altar—no veil of nerves left to hide behind. just her, radiant and trembling, wrapped in satin and courage.

pearline was the first to speak, soft and reverent from behind her.

“girl… you look like a damn vision.” her voice cracked halfway through, eyes shining with pride. “ain’t no one ever looked that stunning and that ready at the same time.”

grace fanned herself dramatically, sniffling. “lord, bo, i might cry more than i did at our wedding.”

bo, standing among the groomsmen with a steady expression, gave a quiet, reassuring nod to y/n

“he’s comin’,” he said calmly, his voice carrying just enough to be heard without stirring the crowd. “man like that? he wouldn’t leave you. not for all the nerves in the world.”

y/n blinked away the burn in her eyes, lips parting—but she couldn’t find words.

mary gave her a slow wink from the bridesmaid line, chin tilted, that old fire in her voice. “you better not cry and mess up that beat face. stack’d kill him before you ever got the chance.”

the guests were quiet, but a ripple of chuckles moved through the front pews.

as if on queue, the music started again but this time bold and a little too upbeat. people turned, confused, as the chapel doors flung open like a movie set.

and there he was. stack.

“y’all can relax—wedding’s still on!” he announced, arms wide like a prophet, tux glistening under the light, sunglasses still on indoors.

he strutted down the aisle slow, with the kind of confidence that said ‘i helped make this day happen, so you gon’ see me’.

“y’all thought i wasn’t gon’ walk?” he called out, halfway down. “i’m the best man, not otis!”

laughter bubbled up from both sides of the aisle. pearline groaned, already shaking her head, while someone’s uncle clapped in approval.

“he treatin’ this like a bet awards entrance,” mary muttered from the bride’s side.

stack paused to shake hands with a few guests like he was campaigning for mayor. then he stopped mid-aisle, threw his head back dramatically and yelled

“SMOKE! THEY WAITIN’ ON YO’ BLACK ASS!”

that drew full-on laughter this time.

stack made it to the altar, popped his collar, and dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief like the moment was too hot to handle.

“okay, now we good,” he grinned, finally falling in line beside the officiant. “commence the tear-jerkin’ shit.”

then the music shifted.

a slower, cooler rhythm with that deep southern soul rolled in. the chapel settled.

and then— smoke appeared.

framed in the doorway like the final line of a poem; royal blue tux sharp as sins from his youth, magnolia pinned near his heart like a memory.

his eyes swept the room—nerves still lingering in their corners—but when they landed on her?

the world quieted— his world quieted

y/n stood at the altar, light hitting her just right—veil soft like moonlight, bouquet clutched tight to her ribs. her lips parted, and though her eyes shimmered, they didn’t cry. she smiled.

the kind of smile that broke chains and erased all doubt

smoke exhaled hard, almost staggered. like something cracked wide open inside him and poured out into the soles of his shoes, steadying him.

he walked.

not rushed. not too slow. just enough to carry the weight of this moment like a crown and a cross, that won’t be stolen from him this time

pearline mouthed, “told ya’.”

mary let out a relieved breath, fanning herself with her bouquet.

bo gave a knowing nod to his longtime friend

and stack?

stack smirked like his work here was done.

as smoke reached the altar, he didn’t say anything right away. he just took her hand.

“sorry i was late”

pt.2?

[hoetachi]

HAIIII HELLO ARE U STILL ACTIVE DO U REMEMBER ME?????

ofc i remember you sosa baby!!!

[hoetachi]

Hiiiii, I love you Loustack drabble and was wondering if maybe we could get a pt. 2. I absolutely adore your writings !!!

i have something even better for you lovely

[hoetachi]

“my neighbors allergic to bitch-ass energy” is taking me OUTTTTT

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－dropping off your son at your ex’s place, and Stack taking the opportunity to taunt you about your boyfriend

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗁𝗌－Harsh language, N-word usage, toxic ex dynamics. Stack & Smoke are being arrogant, petty assholes.

A/N: I watched Sinners for the first time and loved it. I’m pretty sure I’m a Smoke girlie, so here’s a little story.

It was a hot afternoon when you pulled up to Smoke’s house—well, your old house, if we’re being technical. Your son was in the back seat babbling about Roblox and fries, kicking the passenger seat every few seconds like he knew your nerves were already hanging on by a thread.

You adjusted your sunglasses, took a deep breath, and walked your baby to the front door like you hadn’t just been arguing with your new man ten minutes ago about “boundaries” with your ex.

But the second the door opened?

Trouble.

And that’s exactly what stood on the other side of the front door when it opened

Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

Your ex-husband.

Your baby’s father.

The man who ruined you for everybody else.

Smoke was leaned against the doorway shirtless, tattoos gleaming, chain swinging just enough to catch the light. His usual low-eyed expression flipped to a grin the moment he saw you—and then his eyes dropped to your outfit.

“Mmh,” he hummed, already staring too long. “You showin’ up in them tight-ass leggings like that for me or for him?” he nodded down at your son. “’Cause either way, I appreciate it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Ain’t startin’ nothin’ but missin’ what used to be mine,” he muttered, stepping aside to let y’all in.

Your son took off toward the living room while you stayed back to hand over his backpack. That’s when you heard it

“Damn, she came by lookin’ like that you sure she don’t want you back?” came Stack’s voice—from the kitchen.

You froze. “Oh lord, not both of y’all here today.”

You gave him a tight smile. “Hey, Stack.”

Smoke smirked as Stack walked in with a paper plate of wings, wearing a gold chain and a devilish smirk. “What’s up, baby mama?” Stack grinned, licking his fingers. “Or should I say baby mama who downgraded to a nigga who work at T-Mobile?”

You squinted. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Nah,” Smoke said, closing the front door behind you. “He ridiculous. Walkin’ ‘round thinkin’ he competition. Heard he wear them little loafers with no socks.”

“He don’t,” you muttered, lying.

“Bet he say ‘grand rising’ too,” Stack added with a snort. “That’s not a man. That’s a therapist with a fade.”

“I’m not doin’ this today,” you said, putting the backpack down hard. “He treats me right.”

“‘Treats you right’ but don’t know how to fight?” Smoke stepped in, arms folded across his broad chest. “You lettin’ a soft nigga be around my son? C’mon, mama. He ain’t even built for this life. If somethin’ popped off, he’d hide behind you.”

“Nigga probably cry when he get pulled over,” Stack added, cracking open a Sprite. “Talkin’ about, ‘I pay my taxes!’”

You wanted to be mad. You did. But their tag-team was relentless—and funny.

You groaned.

“He look like he cry after sex. Probably moans with his eyes closed and say, ‘Am I pleasuring you?’”

“Y’all done?” you asked flatly.

Smoke shook his head. “Nah, not until you answer one question.”

You tilted your chin. “What?”

He looked you dead in the face.

“When shit hit the fan, and you need somebody who’s gon’ slide, gon’ ride—you really think that cornball you got now gon’ stand ten toes behind you and our kid? Or you gon’ end up callin’ me?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The silence in the room got loud.

Stack laughed from the kitchen. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Smoke stepped up close, all low voice and heavy heat. “Keep playin’ house with that nigga. But when you tired of fake peace and yoga-ass sex, you know where I’m at.”

You scoffed and turned to leave—but not before Stack called out, “Tell him next time he come pick you up, to park on the other side of the street. My neighbors allergic to bitch-ass energy.”

You stood frozen in the doorway for a long second before your son called from the back, “Mama? You leavin’?”

“Yeah, baby,” you said, voice thick. “Mama’s leavin’.”

But even as you walked away, the way Smoke watched you—hungry, smug, dangerous—you knew you’d be back.

And that’s what scared you the most.

Smoke leaned against the doorway again, smiling like a man who knew he still had it. “Later, mama.”

You didn’t look back. But your heart? Yeah—it stayed right there in that damn house.

And worse?

Smoke knew it.

You made it halfway down the steps before you heard the door open again behind you.

“Wait.”

You stopped, hand on your car door, not turning around. Just… waiting. Breathing.

“What?” you asked, already tired, already knowing whatever he had to say was gonna make things worse.

Smoke’s voice dropped. “You leavin’ like that, and we not gon’ talk for another week? You cool with that?”

You slowly turned, face blank, lips tight.

“We don’t need to talk,” you said. “You got him for the weekend. I’ll pick him up Sunday.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

Your fingers tightened on the car door.

Stack was still inside, but quiet now—too quiet. You could feel the weight of both their eyes on you.

Smoke walked toward you slow, steady. Like he had nowhere to be but here. Like he didn’t give a damn about the new man, or the way your jaw clenched when he got too close.

“Y’know what I think?” he said, voice low and gritty. “I think you tryna prove somethin’—to yourself. Not to me. Not to him. You tired of this life, tired of the mess, so you went and found the safest man you could. Somethin’ neat. Predictable.”

He stepped in close enough that you could see the gold in his grill glinting when he spoke.

“But safe don’t mean happy.”

You blinked at him, your throat tightening before you could stop it. “I am happy.”

Smoke raised an eyebrow. “That why your hands shakin’ right now?”

You glanced down—and cursed under your breath when you saw he was right. Fingers trembling around your car keys.

“I’m fine.”

“Fine ain’t love. Fine ain’t joy. Fine is what people say when they tryna convince themselves they ain’t settlin’.”

Your breath hitched.

“You got me twisted if you think I want to come back here and be played with,” you snapped. “I left for a reason.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But you came back for one too.”

“You forget who the fuck you built all this with?” he asked, voice low and ragged. “Who kept you safe?Who put money in your mama pocket and never said a word?”

You opened your mouth to argue—but the words didn’t come. Because he wasn’t wrong. And you hated that he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t just about your son. It wasn’t just about co-parenting.

It was about the way this house felt like it knew you. Like you’d left parts of yourself here that your new man never even touched. It was about the way Smoke looked at you like you were still his, even after all this time. And the worst part? You didn’t even fight it anymore. You just buried it. Swallowed it.

“I gotta go,” you whispered, finally unlocking your door.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping back. “Go ahead. But you know where the real is.”

“Next time you come over here wit’ his scent on your skin, I’m fuckin’ it off you”

You slid behind the wheel, started the engine.

And just as you reached to shift gears, Stack leaned out the front door with his usual smug grin. “Hey!”

You looked up.

“If little man’s stepdaddy ever wanna learn how to change a tire, tell him we do classes now. Free for lames.”

You flipped him off through the windshield. He just laughed.

Smoke leaned in, one last time, one hand on your car door. “He can’t protect what he can’t handle. And you?” His voice dropped. “You too much woman for half a man.”

You didn’t say anything. You just drove off, pretending you didn’t see the way your hands still trembled on the wheel.

But later that night?

When your son was already asleep in his Spider-Man sheets, and your man was still out at some networking dinner that didn’t include a plus-one, your phone lit up.

Smoke:

“He ever fix that weak-ass handshake? Felt like I was dappin’ a wet napkin.”

You stared.

Cutting your phone off you turned over when you got a call from smoke.

Groaning you answered

@enchanthings

[hoetachi]

Is the johnny fic cancelled for part 3? love ur work btw

OMG ITS NOT BABYYY!!

june has been so busy but i just need to rework the end of that chapter and it’ll be up

[hoetachi]

happy juneteenth niggas!!

[hoetachi]

LOST COUNT — E. (SMOKE) MOORE

➠ tattooartist!smoke x blk!reader

➠ mulan’s input; listen to nekkid by muni long yall… its def smoke coded

➠ cw; y/n is just girl who wants a pretty tatt, hints at ptsd, angst & slow burn (but like barely if you squint)

“ ‘ight, we done the easy part,” stack muttered, reaching for a clean paper towel and gently wiping over your swollen, red skin. you winced even at the touch.

“i think the numbing cream wore off,” you said nervously, eyeing the needle now buzzing back to life in his grip like it was plotting against you.

“sucks to suck,” he shrugged, absolutely no mercy in sight. “‘cuz this next part? gonna sting bad. real bad.”

you instinctively tensed, gripping the cushion beneath you as stack lowered the machine toward your thigh again — right over the part you knew was all soft nerve endings and suffering.

the second the needle touched your skin, your whole leg jerked like it had been hit with a live wire.

“damn!” stack pulled back fast, glaring. “girl, you tryin’ to catch a charge? i told you this part ain’t no joke!”

“i wasn’t ready!” you cried, gripping your own thigh. “you ain’t give me a countdown or nothin’—you just went in!”

stack cut the machine off, dropped his gloves on the tray, and stood up like he was done with life altogether.

“nah. no ma’am. i got high blood pressure. you not finna send me to the er ‘cause you don’t know how to sit still.”

“wait—stack, i’m sorry—”

he threw a hand up, already backing toward the hallway.

“nope. don’t apologize now. i need a break. i need a sandwich. maybe therapy.”

he peeked around the curtain.

“yo, smoke! ol’ girl over here tap dancin’ on the table again. i’m taggin’ out.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “i’m not trying to be difficult,” you mumbled.

a few moments later, you heard the soft tread of boots, then felt the shift in air as smoke stepped into the room. he said nothing at first — just quietly took in the unfinished tattoo, your flushed face, and stack’s dramatic exit.

“he quit on me,” you said weakly, glancing up.

smoke raised a brow. “stack barely got patience for mosquitos. you think he gonna survive a jumpy first-timer?”

“you still want it finished?” he asked, setting down the stencil and gently grabbing a fresh pair of gloves.

you nodded quickly. “yeah. i’m just—i don’t know. my brain knows i want it, but my body’s bein’ a punk.”

that got the faintest flicker of a smile from him. “it happens more than you think.”

he pulled the stool close, adjusted the tray, and checked the lines stack had already done. the buzz of the machine hadn’t even started again yet, but your leg was already bracing itself.

smoke glanced up at you, calm and even.

“you ever try takin’ your mind off the pain?”

you blinked. “like... how?”

he leaned back slightly, considering. then said with a shrug,

“count my tattoos.”

you blinked again. “wait—what?”

“i’m serious.” he gave a soft laugh. “start with what you can see. out loud. keeps your brain busy. works better than holdin’ ya’ breath or squeezin’ the life outta that cushion.”

you hesitated, eyes trailing down his inked arms — and yeah, there was a lot. the longer you looked, the more you noticed the details: a portrait hidden in negative space, script in cursive so tight it looked like it whispered.

“okay... one,” you said, pointing to the jagged barbed wire wrapped around his wrist. “good,” he murmured, flipping the switch on the machine, the buzz soft and familiar

“two...” you said, moving your eyes up his forearm.

he started tattooing again, slow and steady. you winced slightly but kept going.

“three... four... five—”

you stopped, brow furrowing. “wait. that looks like two separate pieces. is it five or six?”

smoke glanced up briefly. “six.”

you nodded, returning to your count. it wasn’t painless, but it was manageable. his voice helped. his presence helped.

“seven... eight...”

he paused the machine suddenly, just for a moment.

“you missed one.”

you looked up at him, confused. “where?”

he didn’t answer right away. just reached down and, with a casual motion, pulled off his black tank.

your jaw damn near dropped.

his chest, arms, collarbones — all of it was marked. more than what you saw before. black and gray realism, smoke-like shadows blending into text, symbols, loss. pain and poetry inked into skin. and near the top of his collarbone sat the one you missed — an abstract design tucked near his heart.

“that one’s easy to overlook,” he said softly, touching the piece near his collarbone.

you blinked.

“...you are so much more tatted than stack.”

he gave a small shrug, almost like he was apologizing for it.

“yeah. i got carried away after the war...”

your eyes found his. he didn’t look at you at first — he just turned the machine off for a moment, resting it carefully beside the tray.

“me and stack enlisted together. thought it’d give us some structure. get us outta mississippi for a while.” he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs.

“but war… it don’t care where you come from. it strips shit from you.”

you were quiet, letting him speak. something about the way he sat — shirtless, half in shadow, tattooed from shoulder to hip — made him look both larger than life and completely exposed.

“every one of these,” he gestured slowly to the ink that wrapped around his chest and arms, “is a piece of what I lost. a name, a moment, a version of me i can’t get back.”

his fingers tapped lightly over the cracked halo on his ribs.

“that one? that’s innocence. got carved out of me overseas and never came back.”

you swallowed hard, not sure what to say at first. the air between you felt full — not heavy, but sacred, like stepping inside a story no one had told out loud in a long time.

“i didn’t know,” you said quietly. “you wear it all like armor.”

he looked at you then, soft eyes full of something between exhaustion and understanding.

“that’s the thing,” he said. “it ain’t armor. it’s a reminder. i don’t wanna forget who i was… even if i don’t recognize him anymore.”

you reached out before you even realized it, fingertips brushing the ink at his shoulder. he didn’t flinch. he let you.

“you’re still here,” you said. “that’s worth something.”

smoke gave you a look then — not surprised, not guarded. just present. like no one had ever said that to him before, and he didn’t quite know how to hold it.

he cleared his throat, lips twitching faintly. “you ready to finish this tattoo, or you need a minute to keep starin’ at me?”

you snorted, blinking quickly and pulling your hand back.

“just trying to be respectful of your trauma, sir.”

“mhm. sounded like thirst to me.” he teased

you studied him with a quiet laugh as the sweet lyrics of tevin campbell’s ‘can we talk’ cushioned your ears whilst he focused on your skin — his brow furrowed, mouth set in a calm line. so careful, so still. nothing like his brother, all loudness and sharp commentary. where stack talked with his hands, smoke spoke in silence. in patience. in presence.

and damn, now that you were this close, really looking…

“you’re nothing like your brother,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

smoke’s eyes flicked up, a little glint hiding behind his lashes.“that a good thing or a bad thing?”

you smirked. “good. stack’s the kind of loud people notice. you’re the kind of quiet they remember.”

he chuckled low in his throat. “careful. say one more poetic line and i might start thinkin’ you sweet on me.”

you opened your mouth to clap back— something equally slick, equally brave — but then the needle hit that spot on your thigh.

“oh—shit—” you gasped, jerking slightly, hand flying to grab the table’s edge like it could save you.

smoke’s hand pressed gently on your hip to steady you.

“breathe. deep. in through your nose, not through your scream.”

you groaned through clenched teeth, hating how good he smelled, hating how good his voice sounded, even when you were on the verge of seeing stars.

“i was having a poetic-ass moment,” you wheezed, “and then my nerve endings decided to jump me.”

he chuckled, eyes back on your thigh.

“that’s how it goes. beauty always costs somethin’.”

you clenched your jaw as the needle buzzed back to life, digging into the softest part of your thigh like it was trying to start a fire. your hands curled around the cushion beneath you, nails biting into the leather, but you didn’t move.

you refused to.

smoke had already seen enough — the flinching, the squirming, stack quitting on you like it was nothing. you weren’t about to fold now. not in front of him.

“you good?” he asked, not even looking up.

“mhm.” you nodded quickly, too quickly.

smoke didn’t say anything. just kept going, slow and steady. the room was quiet, but your body was screaming, and you were doing everything in your power to hide it. your eyes were glassy, your breathing shallow. your leg twitched once— just a little — but it was enough.

he stopped. turned off the machine.

you didn’t dare look up.

“why’d you stop?”

“because you lyin’,” he said calmly, setting the machine down like this was routine.

you blinked at him, heart stuttering.

“i said I’m good.”

smoke finally looked up, expression unreadable but firm.

“and your face said otherwise.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already wiping your skin clean again — gentle, deliberate, careful.

“you don’t gotta prove anything to me.”

“i’m not,” you muttered, but it came out too soft. too guilty.

smoke raised a brow.

“so you makin’ that face just for fun?”

you went quiet. the weight of his stare was heavier than the pain had been. it wasn’t judgment. it wasn’t pity. it was just real.

“you don’t think i’ve seen people try to sit through more than they should? you think i’d let you walk outta here hurt worse just so you can feel tough?”

he leaned back slightly, peeling off his gloves with a slow tug.

“you wanna finish this piece? cool. i got you, but not if it means watchin’ you suffer and act like you not.”

you looked away, jaw tight. you hated that he could see through you like that. hated even more that he was right.

he didn’t press. just stood up, pulled out the wrap, and moved with the same quiet care he always had with 702’s ‘get it together’ whispering through the shop like a sign from the universe, telling you to sit your stubborn ass down.

“we’ll finish it when your body’s ready. not before.”

as he wrapped your thigh, you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. disappointed, frustrated, but… grateful.

“you didn’t have to stop.”

“i know,” he said, taping the last edge down. “but i wanted to.”

“we’ll finish another day,” he reassured, securing the bandage in place one last time. “ink ain’t goin’ nowhere. and neither am i.”

you watched him reach for the clipboard to jot something down, still trying to swallow the strange ache that had nothing to do with the tattoo.

“stack left you mid-session like a punk. you’re not payin’ full,” he said without looking up, like it was a decision he’d already made before you ever sat down.

“you sure?” you asked.

he shrugged, “you sat longer than most first-timers would’ve.” you opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a glance.

“ain’t charity. it’s respect.”

that shut you up. you looked at him and felt something twist deep in your chest. not regret. not pain. just that awful ache of wanting more time with someone right when it runs out. you were just starting to understand him. just starting to peel back the quiet. and now the session was over.

“guess I’ll see you soon, then.”

it sounded casual, but the hope in your voice gave you away. smoke nodded, handing you the paperwork.

“i’ll keep your stencil ready.” you took it from him, your fingers brushing his — just barely. but it lingered like a promise neither of you said out loud.

[hoetachi]

The prince's reading list

- My favorite fic's that I have written

˖૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა ˖ . ݁˖° ⟡ °˖ . ݁˖૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა ˖ . ݁˖°˖ . ݁˖૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

Sweetheartcore °sfw

Jason reacting to you kissing his scars

Sweet aftercare with Butcher

A night out with your lover Dio

Being sukuna 's boyfriend

Logan helping your daddy issues

Vixen°nsfw

Camboy! Jason and you finding out

Jealous sex with butcher!

Getting that strap from Valeria

Alucard finally being rough with you

Kenpachi NSFW headcanons!

݁˖૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა ˖ . ݁˖° ⟡ °˖ . ݁˖૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა ˖ . ݁˖°˖ . ݁˖૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

[hoetachi]

finna start chain smoking cigars in a sec

here’s another one: reader finds out logan’s a little masochist

LMAO the way that was my reaction to that tiktok. Haven't written for Logan in sooo long, my fav old man 🙂‍↕️

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

It was a pure accident that you stumbled across your friend putting out the cigar on his hand. Yeah, it made sense with his healing factor that he'd try to test it every once in a while. You went to fetch him from outside your place so he could finish fixing the leaky faucet in your bathroom when you saw it. He just put his cigar out on his hand.

The sound of it burning against his flesh apparent.

It was so quick for him, like it was absolutely nothing. You didn't even realize you were staring till you heard him grunt and turn to start going in that house only to be greeted by your body leaning against the doorway, seemingly waiting for him. "Didn't take too long did I?" With a simple head shake you followed behind hin as he came back into your home. A groan eliciting from him as he bent down, crawling under your sink.

A silent "oh my god" falling from your lips and watched his legs spread while laid on his back trying to determine what was wrong with the appliance. Was it really your fault your mind started to wander back to the little unintentional show he put on earlier? Did he know how sexy it was? For him it obviously felt like nothing since he had way worse but for you it was like he rewired your brain.

Would he let you do worse? You had always been on the more "exciting" side when it came to kinks. Previous partners had just been too boring for you after a while, but maybe you just needed your dear friend to show you how a man could keep up with you.

Would he let you put his cigar out on him like he did himself? Maybe drip wax down his chest, watched as it cooled against him. Maybe you could pull his hair as he fucked you into the mattress. Just what could you get away with? What would be his limit. Fuck, you needed to know now.

You shouldn't have been thinking about him like this. He was your best friend. But with how good he looked at that moment, doing all the things YOUR man should have been. You were quickly snapped out of your thoughts by him literally snapping to get your attention

"huh? Sorry, what'd you say Lo?" "Bring your ass over here, if I'm fixing this then you're sitting here and helping me with what I need." He spread his legs more for you to make your way over to him. Feeling your breath hitch a bit you walked over, sitting on his lap. "Right here?" A silly question to ask since you knew if you'd had been anyone else he would have tried to bite your head off. "Yeah. Stay right there and don't move. Gonna need your help real soon."

God you were horrible. The ache in your core you knew it was only a matter of minutes before you pounced on him. But for now you had to wait. At least until he finished.

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰