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mcfriggingonagall · 13 days ago

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Do It Together

A anonymous request😏

Annie/Smoke x Reader

The juke was humid with bodies and heat, sweat hanging in the air like perfume. That old blues record spun slow, dragging hearts with it. You sat alone at the bar, hands wrapped around a cold glass, watchin’ the crowd sway in and out of the shadows.

Then she showed up.

Didn’t hear her—just felt her. That soft shift in the air. Bare skin, gold jewelry glintin’ under red lights, lips painted like sin and cinnamon. She slid behind the bar like it was her front porch, calm, confident, like she didn’t owe nobody explanation.

“What you sippin’ on, baby?” she asked, voice slow and syrupy.

You blinked. “Uh… whiskey.”

She didn’t wait on no bartender. Reached right for the bottle, poured it herself. Ice hit glass. You watched her hands, the way she moved like she’d done this for years—like it was an art. She slid the drink in front of you with a little nod.

“This one’s on me,” she said. “You looked like you needed somethin’ sweet tonight.”

You gripped the glass, noddin’ small. “Thank you,” you murmured, eyes droppin’ quick. “It’s… good.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes never leavin’ you. “You come here often, or you just got that look like you belong?”

“I don’t really… no,” you said, voice a little breathy, nerves tucked up under your tongue. “Heard the music. Thought I’d see what it was.”

“That mean I’m lucky I caught you tonight?” she teased, leanin’ on the bar like she had all night to hear your answer.

You glanced at her, then back to your drink. “You work here or somethin’?

“Nah,” she said with a sly smile. “But they know me. I pour when I feel like it. Talk when I want to. And right now… I wanna talk to you.”

Your throat caught. You weren’t used to this kind of attention—weren’t sure if you oughta smile or run. “I don’t really talk to people much,” you admitted. “Not like this.”

“That a warning?” she asked, soft, eyes low-lidded and sweet. “Or you tryna make me work for it?”

You shook your head, barely. “I just… ain’t used to bein’ noticed.”

Her smile deepened, soft at the corners like she understood more than you meant to say.

“Well,” she said, reaching up to brush a curl from her temple, “now you are.”

She let it hang there, between your heart and hers. No pressure. Just presence. Just her.

“I’m Annie,” she said finally, like a gift.

And you? You swallowed slow and gave her your name, real quiet.

She repeated it, like a song she was already startin’ to learn by heart.

Annie tasted your name once more on her lips, like it lingered there, sweet.

Then she straightened just a little, not pullin’ away but giving you enough room to breathe. The music behind y’all shifted, that low-down rhythm fading into something softer—slow guitar, heartbreak drums, a voice like molasses startin’ to croon about lost love and second chances.

Annie tilted her head toward the jukebox.

“You hear that?” she asked, eyes on you like the rest of the room didn’t matter. “That’s a beggin’ song. Somethin’ meant to be danced to.”

You swallowed, felt your stomach flip a little. She could see it—nervous thing that you were.

“I ain’t pushin’,” she added, voice tender now, almost serious. “But if you wanna… just take my hand. We don’t gotta make a scene.”

She held it out, palm up. Fingernails painted deep red, bracelets soft-clinkin’ on her wrist. Not rushin’ you. Not expectin’ nothin’. Just waitin’.

You looked down at her hand. Then up at her smile. And something in you—shy and quiet as you were—ached to say yes.

“I don’t really dance,” you said, barely breathin’ it out.

Annie’s smile turned knowing, playful. “Then tonight’s your first lesson, baby.”

And her fingers brushed yours, light as breath, warm as sin.

She led you off your stool like you was somethin’ precious. The floor wasn’t crowded, but folks was watchin’—the way they always do when somethin’ fine and unfamiliar steps into the light.

Your steps were small at first. Hesitant. You could feel the weight of every glance, every whisper floatin’ under the music.

Annie felt it too. She stopped just shy of the center, turned to face you, and placed one hand soft at your waist. The other, she held up between y’all, waitin’ for yours.

You hesitated.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against your cheek. “Ain’t gotta worry ’bout nobody’s eyes,” she said low. “You got somethin’ in you, baby. Somethin’ folk stare at long enough, it make ’em fidget.”

Your breath caught.

“Let ’em look,” she added. “They ain’t the one I’m holdin’.”

Your hand found hers.

And she pulled you in easy—one step, then two, your body findin’ the rhythm slow. You weren’t dancin’ so much as swayin’, lettin’ her guide you through it. Her touch light, like she was coaxin’ a song out your skin.

“You alright?” she asked, lips barely partin’.

You nodded.

She smiled. “Told you. You don’t need to know how to dance. Just need to let me hold you.”

And you did

With her chin tucked close to yours, fingers curled firm around your back, the music stretchin’ out like summer dusk, you let yourself fall into it. Into her.

Like you’d been waitin’ to be seen.

You weren’t sure what was happening. All you knew was her hands. Her warmth. The way her hips moved like water, and how your own body answered without thinkin’. You weren’t used to this—women lookin’ at you like that, like you were a song they wanted to hum low and long.

Annie leaned in close again, cheek brushing yours, breath hot where your pulse lived. “You ever been held like this?” she whispered.

You shook your head, the smallest motion. Didn’t trust your voice.

She smiled, slid one hand up to cradle the side of your neck—soft but sure, like she wanted to make sure you felt wanted. Her touch wasn’t greedy. It was reverent. Like she knew what it meant to be looked at and was teachin’ you now, real gentle, what it meant to be seen.

That ache in your chest bloomed slow, tender and dangerous.

“You got this softness,” she said, real quiet, like she was settin’ you up for somethin’. “Like honey in a jar ain’t been opened yet.”

Then her body shifted. Not away.

Around.

Her eyes flicked past your shoulder, lips curling at the edges like she knew what came next before you did.

You felt it before you saw him.

A heat at your back. A weight in the air.

You weren’t surrounded by silence no more.

Smoke stepped in without a sound, slid behind you like a shadow with a heartbeat. No door creaked, no boots scuffed. He just was. Tall and calm, hands in his pockets, heat pourin’ off him like summertime asphalt. He didn’t press—just stood close, his chest not quite touchin’ your back, but near enough to make your breath hitch.

Annie smiled.

“Told you,” she said soft, brushing her lips close to your ear. “You got somethin’ in you we both noticed.”

Smoke’s hand came next, slow and sure, resting above your hip like it already belonged there. His warmth settled you, made the music in your bones rise up different.

Annie stayed in front, fingers still holdin’ yours. Her touch light. Her voice even lighter.

“They say me and Smoke ain’t normal,” she whispered. “Maybe we ain’t.”

Smoke leaned forward just enough for you to feel his breath near the nape of your neck. Still hadn’t said a word.

“But when we want somebody…” Annie’s hand brushed your jaw, thumb strokin’ soft over your bottom lip.

“…we don’t take turns.”

She leaned in, one hand around your waist, the other tangling with Smoke’s where he held you.

“We do it together.”

That night—that slow, warm hold between Annie and Smoke—it wasn’t just a moment. It was the start of everything.

That’s how I became theirs. How we became one.

It wasn’t lightning or fireworks or some grand show. Nah, it was the quiet pieces. The little things we did, day after day.

We ran that juke together, from dusk till dawn. Annie worked the bar like she owned the place, pouring whiskey and smiles. Smoke handled the music, always tuning the old speakers just right, keepin’ that soul deep and thick in the air. And me? I kept the doors open, swept the floors, learned the songs by heart.

We made dinner every night. Three plates, always hot and heavy with flavor. Annie cooked collards and cornbread, smoky and sweet. Smoke made his mama’s black-eyed peas, slow-cooked till they melted. And me? I chopped, stirred, learned their secrets in the kitchen’s quiet rhythm.

We did the laundry, too. Sorting colors, washing, folding — laughin’ over old stories, sharing small talks that felt like promises. It was these simple chores that pulled us closer. The way Annie’s hand found mine when the basket got heavy, how Smoke’s shoulder brushed against mine when the soap suds spilled.

We weren’t just three people living under one roof.

We were a rhythm — different notes, different beats, but one song.

We carried each other’s weight without speakin’ much. We built a home from the softest things — trust, touch, and the way our bodies fit together in the dark.

It was there, in the quiet and the noise, in the music and the mess, that I knew I belonged. Not to one, but to both. Not as a shadow, but as their light.

That’s how you became theirs.

That’s how yall became one.

Smoke and Stack called a meeting one night, shadows heavier than the night itself hangin’ between them. The kind of weight you don’t speak loud about — business, they said. Something too much for words. Something better left unspoken.

Annie and I looked at each other, eyes sharp as a blade’s edge

Stack grinned, trying to brush it off. “Ain’t nothing here that women’s ears gotta worry ’bout,” he said, voice low but steady. “We got this.”

I raised an eyebrow, Annie crossing her arms like she was ready to rip him apart. “Stack, don’t play that old fool game with us,” she said. “You act like we ain’t been through hell and back. You think you can just walk out and we won’t see through that?”

I nodded slow. “We ain’t blind. You gon’ tell us or you ain’t telling us, but you best know we got our own ways to keep y’all safe.”

He chuckled, a little too cocky, but there was respect there. “Alright, alright,” Stack said. “We’ll sit. But keep it straight — no scary stories, ya hear?”

So we sat ’em down right there, Annie pulling out mojo bags, little pouches packed tight with roots and herbs, amulets and secrets passed down like gospel from her ancestors. She whispered prayers low and steady, the kind that reach out and hold you when the world feels ready to swallow you whole.

I worked too, steady and sure, drawing on every faith and belief she’d taught me — every spell, every word meant to guard, to protect, to keep evil at bay.

Stack shook his head, laughing half-hearted. “I don’t need all that hoodoo,” he said, smirking as he slipped the bag into his pocket. But I saw that pride hiding the gratitude. I slipped it in there myself when he wasn’t looking — ego too thick to think I’d try sneaky shit like that.

Smoke stood quiet through it all, steady as a rock. When it was time to leave, Annie took his hands in hers, eyes fierce and tender all at once.

“Stay safe, Smoke,” she said, voice breaking just a little.

He pressed his lips to hers, slow and sure, the kind of kiss that held promises.

I watched them, felt a heat rising in the room — maybe a little too hard, a little too heavy. Smoke caught my eye, then pulled me close, kissing me like he felt the fire I was trying not to show. Like he knew what I was holding back.

“Annie gonna take care of you,” he said low, looking right at me. “And you do the same for her.”

Then they were gone, walking out into the night like ghosts, leaving behind the smell of smoke and prayer and something stronger than words.

It’d been close to three weeks since Smoke and Stack left—since the house felt a little quieter, the rooms a little emptier, but y’all still moving through the rhythm of it all like you belonged.

That morning, you were sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee that was still too hot, when Annie came in humming low, sliding in like she owned every inch of the place —which, maybe, she did now.

“Morning,” she said soft, voice like a warm breeze.

You looked up, smiled just a little. “Morning. Smell like you been cookin’ already.”

Annie grinned, cheeks flushed from the kitchen heat. “Had to get started. You want grits? Creamy, buttery — just how you like ’em.”

You nodded, watching her move with a quiet confidence. “You sure you wanna be wastin’ your time on me?”

She laughed, the kind of laugh that felt like a promise. “Baby, we got to keep this place runnin’ smooth now that they gone. Might as well make it worth my while.”

You leaned back, stretching. “So what errands we got today?”

She pulled out a crumpled list from her apron pocket and laid it on the table like it was a secret map. “Market for greens, butcher for chicken, corner store for eggs and biscuits — and you gonna help me clean up this mess before the sun hit high.”

You chuckled, standing slow. “Mess? Girl, I live here. I know how it looks.”

Annie shook her head, mock stern. “Exactly. You been here too long. You get lazy. That’s why you got me.”

You moved to help her pull out ingredients, the two of you sliding into a rhythm that felt easy, steady — like a new kind of home.

Later, on the porch, you both sat with grocery bags at your feet, the heat beginning to settle deep in the air. You caught Annie’s eye and smiled, thinking about how much had changed since Smoke and Stack left — and how much had stayed the same, right here with her.

You carried the bags in behind her, arms full of canned tomatoes, onions, a box of cornmeal pokin’ out the top. The kitchen was already warm from the morning cookin’, light spillin’ golden through the windows, makin’ dust hang like honey in the air.

Annie had her back to you, halfway bent into a cabinet, hips swayin’ just a little as she stacked the rice and flour, her sundress tight across the dip of her waist. She was hummin’ low, that same old tune she always went to when her hands were busy—slow, almost sad, but sweet enough to hang in your throat.

You set your bags on the counter, tryin’ not to stare.

Tryin’ not to think about how the sunlight caught the fine gold chain restin’ against her collarbone. How her skin looked slick with heat—glistenin’, warm, kissed deep brown like syrup under that yellow kitchen light.

You opened a bag slow, reachin’ for the eggs like it was just another chore, like your heart wasn’t startin’ to trip over itself.

Annie stood and stretched, arms up high, back archin’ a little. “Whew,” she sighed, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “This heat tryin’ to fight me today.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Sun ain’t lettin’ up.”

She turned to you then, catchin’ your eyes for just a second longer than you were ready for. Sweat glided slow from the edge of her hairline down the curve of her neck, disappearin’ beneath her dress strap.

“You alright?” she asked, voice soft, curious, but not pressin’.

You blinked. “Huh? Yeah. Just tired.”

Her smile was lazy, but it knew too much. “Mmm. Tired got you starin’ like that?”

You looked away quick, fumblin’ for the butter in one of the bags. “Wasn’t starin’.”

She stepped closer, not enough to touch—but you could feel the warmth comin’ off her skin, all that August gold and soft perfume she wore like a second name.

“Don’t gotta be shy,” she said, real gentle, like she was talkin’ to a skittish horse. “I see you.”

You didn’t say nothin’. Just nodded, hands suddenly real interested in stackin’ canned beans.

She didn’t let it go.

Didn’t hum her way back to the sink like nothin’ happened.

Instead, she stayed close. Too close. One hand settin’ gentle on the counter beside you, her body leanin’ in just enough that the air between y’all thickened.

“That why you been movin’ quiet lately?” she asked, voice low, syrup-slick. “Watchin’ me like I’m somethin’ you scared to touch?”

You froze with a jar of pickles in your hand, heart knockin’ loud in your chest.

“Ain’t watchin’ you,” you mumbled.

“Mmm,” she hummed, that sound like she ain’t believe you one bit. “So it ain’t my dress stickin’ to my back that got your mouth goin’ dry just now?”

She smiled slow when you didn’t answer.

Then—Lord—she reached up and wiped a line of sweat from her neck with two fingers, real casual, then looked at ’em like they told her somethin’.

“You ever had syrup drip down your neck on a hot day?” she asked, eyes still on her fingers. “Stick to you slow? Make you feel seen and sweet and ruined all at once?”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to look. But your eyes betrayed you, slidin’ back to that place just beneath her collarbone, where the gold chain clung and the sweat shimmered soft.

Annie saw it.

She stepped in closer, her chest brushing yours now, her breath warm against your jaw.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Say you want me.”

Your hand, still holdin’ that pickle jar, shook just a little as you set it down. You didn’t mean to look at her lips, but you did—and she was already smilin’ like she knew exactly where this was goin’.

“I—” you started, but your throat caught.

She lifted her hand, slow, brushed her fingers—those same slick ones—against your jaw. Her thumb rested just under your chin, holdin’ you there, soft but sure.

“You ever been kissed by somebody who knew you was worth it?” she murmured. “Somebody who saw every quiet part of you and didn’t flinch?”

You shook your head, barely. Couldn’t speak.

She leaned in close. “Then maybe it’s time.” Her lips hovered just over yours, not touchin’ yet, just waitin’.

You could feel her breath, taste the cinnamon on it.

“Tell me no,” she whispered. “If you mean it.”

But you didn’t.

You didn’t even blink.

But just before her lips could catch yours, you turned your face—not all the way, just enough that her kiss landed soft on your cheek instead.

Annie froze. Not offended. Just quiet.

You didn’t move for a breath, maybe two. Then you whispered it, barely louder than the hum of the old fridge behind y’all.

“Ain’t never done nothin’… without Smoke.”

She blinked, pulled back just enough to see your face.

“What you mean, baby?”

You swallowed, eyes still on the floor, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it might steady you. “That night… at the juke. When we all… I just followed y’all. I ain’t never been with nobody like that. And I damn sure ain’t never been alone with just one of y’all.”

Annie’s mouth softened. Her fingers, still near your jaw, slid down to your shoulder, real gentle.

“So you think this some betrayal?” she asked, voice warm but firm. “Think he’d be mad?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just—when y’all together, it feel like I got a place. Like I don’t gotta pick.”

Annie tilted her head, like she was tryin’ to see inside you. “And now you feel like you steppin’ outta line.”

You didn’t answer.

You thought sayin’ it would cool things down. Thought once you admitted it she’d ease up. Back off. Let you breathe.

But Annie ain’t let up.

If anything… her eyes darkened.

Not mad. Not even surprised. Just somethin’ slow and patient in her bones like she’d been waitin’ on you to say it.

She stepped closer again, one palm sliding against the counter right by your hand. You could feel the heat of her skin without even touchin’.

“Baby,” she said low, that syrup in her voice gettin’ thick, “I know you nervous. I know that boy got a hold on you somethin’ fierce. Me too. But let me tell you somethin’ right now…”

Her eyes dragged down your mouth, then your neck, slow like molasses.

“You think just ‘cause he ain’t here, I’m supposed to act like I don’t want you?”

You tried to speak. Tried to say I ain’t mean it like that, but your tongue was heavy.

“Smoke knows,” she went on, stepping between your knees now, her body heat rollin’ off her like the sun, “how I look at you. He seen it. He loved it.”

Her hands went to your waist, slow but firm, not tryna own you—just steady you, anchor you.

“I ain’t takin’ nothin’ he ain’t already given me permission to touch.”

You breathed out sharp, heat crawling up your spine like you’d been sittin’ too close to the stove.

“Annie—”

“Hush,” she whispered, real soft, her hands slidin’ up your sides under that loose tank. “I ain’t gon’ rush you, but don’t you lie to me. Don’t sit here and pretend you don’t want my mouth on your neck, my hands on these thighs…”

She dipped her face close to yours, lips barely grazin’ your jaw.

“I see how you look at me when you think I ain’t lookin’. I see how you bite that lip when I bend over to grab somethin’. I feel you starin’ when I sweat.”

You whimpered.

“You feel guilty?” she asked, voice rougher now. “Or you feel scared ‘cause you know once I start, you ain’t gon’ wanna stop?”

Her thigh slid between yours, slow. Pressed gentle.

You gripped the counter.

“Smoke might’ve lit the fire, baby,” Annie murmured, mouth at your ear now, “but I can stoke it. I can keep you warm till he get back.”

You nodded before you even meant to. Just a breath. Just a whisper of consent.

And Annie’s smile turned wicked.

“You sure?” she asked.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

That was all she needed.

Her mouth finally found yours—hungry this time, no hesitation, just heat and hunger and weeks of eye contact that’d been flirtin’ with the edge of sin.

She kissed you like you’d already been hers. Like she’d been waitin’ for the moment your lips would part for her and not just in conversation. You felt her hands at your ribs, thumbs dragging slow up your bare skin till your shirt was bunching at your chest. And baby, when she kissed you like that?

You didn’t feel guilty.

You felt claimed.

Annie pressed you back against the counter, the last of the groceries still half-unpacked around you. Tomatoes, peaches, a loaf of bread tilted like it too was watchin’ you come undone.

Her mouth left yours just long enough to kiss your jaw, your throat, the damp edge where sweat kissed your collarbone.

“Mmhm,” she hummed against your skin, voice thick, “you taste just like I thought you would.”

You gasped, knees goin’ soft. One of her hands slid behind your thigh, lifted just enough to seat you firmer against her leg. “Keep lookin’ at me like that,” she warned low, “and I’ma make you beg.”

You stared at her, lips parted, heartbeat a wildfire in your ears.

And Annie just smiled, sweet and wicked both.

“Now,” she whispered, fingers tugging at your waistband, “let me take my time with you. Let me show you how good I can be… even without him.”

Annie’s kisses trailed lower—down the slope of your neck, along the hollow of your collarbone—slow and reverent, like she was savorin’ every inch. Her mouth was warm and wet, tongue flickin’ just enough to make your body quiver.

You clutched the edge of the counter behind you, breath coming shallow. Her hands moved with the same kind of reverence, one pressed gentle at your lower back, pullin’ you close, the other slidin’ down your side like it already knew you.

“You’re shakin’,” she whispered against your chest, her voice syrup-thick and smug. “That all for me, baby?”

You tried to nod, tried to be brave, but your voice came out barely more than a breath. “Y-yeah…”

“Mmm.” Her lips grazed between your breasts, hand now slidin’ slow beneath the hem of your shorts. “I know it is. I can feel it.”

You bit your lip, eyes flutterin’ as she slipped your shorts down inch by inch, knuckles brushing your thighs. She looked up at you once you stepped out of them, eyes low and dark.

“You gon’ let me touch you, sweet thing?” she asked, her voice a slow tease, thumb drawing soft circles into your skin. “Gon’ let me take care of you?”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to look her in the eye, but it was too much—the way she was kneelin’ there in front of you like temptation itself.

“We ain’t done this before…”

Annie’s smirk softened, lips still kissin’ up your thigh, tongue flickin’ at sensitive skin.

“I know, baby. I know. But you know what this is. I seen how you look at me. He seen how you look at me.”

Her hand slid up the inside of your thigh, slow and warm, till her palm pressed right where you needed her. You whimpered—tried to hide it, but she heard.

“And he’d love seein’ you like this,” Annie murmured, “shy and needy and already drippin’ for me.”

You gasped. “Annie…”

“Shh,” she said, kissin’ the crease of your thigh. “I ain’t here to scare you. I’m here to love on you. Make you feel good. Make you safe.”

Your legs trembled. You reached for her hair without even meanin’ to.

“I want it,” you whispered, voice shaky. “I want you.”

Annie’s breath caught. She groaned, real low, fingers slidin’ slow between your folds.

“You sure, baby?”

You nodded, blushing hard, tryin’ to stay still under her gaze. “Please… don’t make me say it again.”

Annie’s smile turned wicked. “That’s all I needed.”

She kissed your hip, your belly, your ribs, her hands never leavin’ your thighs. And then her fingers slid inside you—slow, firm, careful like she already knew just what you liked. Her mouth followed right behind, kissin’ along your stomach, the inside of your breast, up to your neck.

You gasped into her shoulder, one hand still clingin’ to the counter, the other buried in her curls.

“Annie—feels so good—”

She shushed you again, but gentle this time. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. Just let me have it.”

And when she pressed her mouth to yours again, kissin’ you deep and slow while her fingers worked you open, you didn’t feel scared.

Didn’t feel guilty.

You felt owned.

And she hadn’t even had to ask.

Annie’s fingers curled just right inside you, slow and deep, and her mouth never left yours long. She kissed you like she needed to breathe you in—like your lips were water in the desert.

You whimpered into her mouth, hips rollin’ up against her palm like your body couldn’t help it no more.

“Mm-mm,” Annie murmured, smilin’ against your jaw. “That’s it, chérie. Let go f’me.”

She dipped her head, kissin’ along your neck, her curls fallin’ soft against your chest. Her voice dropped low, that thick Southern drawl melting into Creole like honey in hot tea.

“Ou si douce, bébé. Mwen ka manje ou tout lajounen.”

You so sweet, baby. I could eat you all day.

Your whole body jolted—heat flooding through you, knees weak, your grip on the counter near slippin’.

“Annie—” you gasped, a high breath.

She hummed low and wicked, suckin’ just under your ear. “Pa bezwen pe. M’ap kenbe ou.”

Don’t be scared. I got you.

And she did.

Her fingers moved deeper now, slow and relentless, curlin’ just right till your back arched. Her other hand rose to cup your breast, thumb brushin’ your nipple soft through your tank, like she already knew how sensitive you were there.

Your thighs were trembling.

“Bébé, gade jan ou fè bèl lè ou soufle konsa…”

Baby, look how beautiful you are when you fall apart like this…

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do nothin’ but moan, forehead fallin’ against her shoulder as your body started to quake.

“Annie… I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she whispered, right against your lips. “You gon’ come for me, chérie. Right here in my hand. Show me what Smoke already knew…”

And that was it.

Her voice. Her fingers. Her heat.

Your legs locked up, body goin’ tight as a bowstring, and the release hit you hard—wave after wave, right there in her arms, her name spillin’ out your mouth like prayer.

You slumped against her after. You were breathless, barely holdin’ on, thighs slick and trembling, your hands grippin’ the counter for dear life.

Annie pressed one last kiss to your neck, lingerin’ there like she could taste your pulse through the skin. Then her hands slid down your sides, holdin’ you tender but firm, thumbs drawin’ lazy circles near your hips.

“You good, bébé?” she murmured, voice low and thick with want and pride.

You nodded against her, still strugglin’ to catch your breath. “Mhm…”

She chuckled—soft, satisfied.

“Aight. Come on now,” she said gently, tuggin’ your wrist just enough to guide you. “Let me get you off this cold tile. You need a bed. Somethin’ soft.” You blinked up at her, cheeks flushed and legs still tremblin’.

Annie brushed a thumb under your lip, eyes low looking into your soul. She took your hand and led you slow through the hallway, the air inside cooler now, the fans hummin’ low as dusk melted into night. You was still unsteady, thighs trembling, lips tingling from her kiss, but you followed.

In the bedroom, she closed the door behind you with her foot. Didn’t turn on no light—just let the moon cast that silver wash over the bed.

She turned, hands finding your waist again.

“Lay back,” she said, voice husky but warm.

You obeyed, climbing onto the bed slow, heart stutterin’ in your chest.

Annie followed, crawlin’ over you like she had all the time in the world. She kissed you again, lazy and deep, tongue strokin’ yours like she was sayin’ somethin’ with every pass. Then she leaned back just enough to look down at you.

“I want you to say it right,” she murmured, brushin’ her knuckles down your cheek.

You blinked, confused. “Say what?”

She grinned, dark and soft. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some girl off the street. Talk to me like you mine.”

You swallowed hard, that shy ache risin’ in your throat.

“I—I want you,” you whispered, voice barely holdin’ up.

Annie raised an eyebrow. “En créole, chèrie. Comme il faut.”

Your breath caught. She was serious. She wanted you all in.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to say—”

“Yes, you do.” Her mouth brushed your throat. “You been listenin’ long enough. Say it.”

You hesitated, cheeks burnin’, then tried, voice wobblin’ but real.

“Mo ou… Annie.”

Her eyes lit. That smile crept across her face like she’d been waitin’ on it.

“Ou mo ti dous,” she breathed against your skin. You my little sweet thing.

She kissed your jaw, your cheek, your ear, whisperin’ soft between each one.

“Ou tremblé pou mwen.” You tremble for me.

And it was true. You did.

Then her fingers slid slow between your legs again, drawin’ you open like you was a secret. One she already knew but still wanted to savor.

You whimpered, back archin’ when she slipped her fingers through your slick heat.

“Lentman, chèrie,” she whispered. Slowly, darling.

She stroked you in circles, small and deep, her other hand slidin’ up to hold your breast, thumb brushin’ over your nipple.

You tried to speak—tried to say her name—but it came out a breathy little moan instead.

Annie dipped lower, mouth draggin’ down your chest, then your belly, never breakin’ that slow rhythm between your thighs.

“You feel that?” she murmured, voice deep now, thick. “That’s me. Not Smoke. Not nobody else. Just me.”

You nodded, whimperin’.

She looked up, mouth against your hip.

“Say it again. In my tongue.”

“Ou fè mwen santi…” you whispered, barely coherent. You make me feel…

She rewarded you with another slow stroke. Then another. Fingertips pressin’ in deeper now, learnin’ you, claimin’ you.

“Mo ou,” you gasped, archin’ up.

Her voice dropped, low and fierce.

“Ou a mwen tou,” she whispered. You mine too.

And she didn’t stop. Not ‘til your body gave way again, back liftin’ from the sheets, thighs clampin’ ‘round her hand as you came apart beneath her—tremblin’, cryin’, clingin’ to her arm like salvation.

It was dark now. Not the soft kind, either. Thick and heavy like molasses, pressing down on the roof, slipping through the trees. The porch light was off, just the moonlight knifing through the woods in slow streaks of silver.

Stack’s truck idled for a second before Smoke pulled the door shut with a low clunk.

Stack leaned out the window, elbow propped.

“You good?”

Smoke gave a nod. “Bet. Appreciate the run.”

Stack smirked. “Don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t—wait, you already doin’ all that. Go on.”

The engine rumbled low as he pulled off, gravel snapping under the tires.

Smoke stood there a moment, takin’ it in. That stretch of quiet. That smell of damp wood and old roses creepin’ along the fence line. Home didn’t always look like peace—but tonight, it sure sounded like it.

He stepped up the porch stairs light, barely stirrin’ the dust. Opened the screen door gentle.

Then paused, fingers still on the handle.

He heard it.

You.

That soft cry—so faint, it could’ve been a breeze through a cracked window. But it wasn’t.

And then—Annie’s voice.

Low. Rooted in her gut. Creole runnin’ slick and slow from her lips:

“Mo ou…”

(I want you…)

“Ou santi si bon, chéri.”

(You smell so good, baby.)

“Respire pou mwen… wi, wi, kenbe li… konsa…”

(Breathe for me… yes, yes, hold it… just like that…)

Smoke closed the door behind him with a muted click and let his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor. His hands flexed, jaw ticking.

The air inside was warm. Warmer than it ought to be.

Her voice again—like heat coiling up his spine, like the weight of her palm pressed to the small of his back all over again.

Your voice broke through next. “Annie—please… please don’t stop—”

Then Annie, soft but firm, wrapped in that velvet fire:

“Pale li kòrèk, cheri. Di li an kreyòl.”

(Say it right, baby. Say it in Creole.)

Smoke’s chest rose sharp.

He didn’t need to see you. He could feel you—both of you—through the goddamn floorboards. Could smell the sweat and want driftin’ into the hallway. Could see in his mind’s eye how your back must be archin’, how Annie’s mouth must be hovering right at your neck, whisperin’ those same fire-wrapped words she used to wreck him with too.

You moaned, trembling, trying your best to obey her:

“S’il vous plaît… pa sispann…”

(Please… don’t stop…)

He rolled a cigarette between his fingers, but didn’t light it.

Didn’t even try.

His throat was dry. His jeans suddenly too tight. His heartbeat slow but heavy.

That damn woman.

She always knew how to wind him up just with a few syllables. Knew how to lace her voice with enough smoke to set a man on fire.

And now she was usin’ it on you.

Smoke stayed there a beat longer, eyes closed, takin’ it all in. The music of it. The heat.

Then, silent as ever, he stepped down the hall, drawn in by the pull of y’all like a man followin’ the smell of home-cooked sin.

The door creaked open just a hair—enough for light to slip in and his shadow with it.

You saw him first.

Head thrown back, breath catchin’ in your throat, you blinked past the blur of Annie’s mouth workin’ magic where your soul lived. And there he was—Smoke. Standin’ in the doorway. Still. Watchin’. That look in his eyes like he’d been starvin’ for days and just found the feast.

Didn’t say nothin’. Didn’t move. Just leaned against the frame, arms crossed, one brow raised like he couldn’t believe what he walked in on—or maybe he could and liked it more than he should’ve.

Your breath hitched.

Annie felt it. She didn’t stop.

Her head dipped lower, tongue slow and sinful, drawin’ sounds from you that ain’t had names. You tried to look away, embarrassed or shy or just overwhelmed by it all—but his eyes held you, locked you right there in that moment, naked in body and in need.

She glanced up once, just enough to catch your gaze pinned to the door, then she smiled against your skin. Dark. Dangerous. Sweet.

“Oh, you see him now?” she murmured against you, voice thick and warm, slick with tease. “Good.”

Then she pushed your thighs wider, flattened her hand against your belly, and pinned you down with one smooth motion. Her mouth got greedy.

You gasped.

Annie’s hand slid up, palm firm at your lower stomach, holding you still while her tongue worked faster, deeper—like she was tryin’ to draw that sound out of you again. That cry she’d already made once and wanted more of.

Your back arched.

“Go on,” she breathed against your heat, not lookin’ back at him. “Let him watch how you come for me.”

And then her arm snaked up, hand pressing soft and sure at the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair, guiding your crown down into the bed while her mouth drove you up into oblivion.

Overstimulation crashed into you—hot, dizzy, damn near too much.

You whimpered, tried to close your legs but she held ’em, firm and certain.

“You takin’ it,” Annie said, voice gone thick with praise. “You feelin’ too much, baby? Hush now. You mine.”

Your hips jerked once, twice, too far gone to care that Smoke was still there—watchin’ like he’d paid to see heaven and this was the only damn ticket.

And you?

You shattered. Shook. Eyes rollin’ back and lips partin’ with no words left.

Annie held you through it, tongue still slowin’, lips gentler now, but that hand at the back of your head never let up. She held you grounded, pressed into the mattress, body still tremblin’ with aftershocks.

And when she finally pulled back, lips shiny, smile lazy and lethal—she turned her head just enough to look at him, finally.

“Told you,” she said to Smoke, breathless but smug. “She got it in her.”

Smoke’s voice came low, rough like gravel warmed by fire. “Let’s see how much she got left in her now.”

And he stepped inside, door clicking shut behind him.

—————

YALL I write in my notes app so if it looks extras spacey that’s why💔

How yall liking the “I” instead of “you”

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