#(both of them. i thought i was crushing on both of them) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 3 days ago

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The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part 5.1: This will be written in two parts because of length and detail!

They say fairies don’t feel guilt. That we glitter, giggle, and flit away from consequences like moths from flame. But I remember the way he looked at me—his mouth open in a half-smile, a question dying in his throat—before the room cracked open with light. And then silence. And smoke. And nothing.

So I ran. All the way to Mississippi, where the air is thick and memories can’t follow…

The Day The Truth Surfaced…

The earth smelled sweet before the sun rose. Not like New Orleans—no rot or river breath—but something deeper. Rooted. Green. Like a place that meant to hold you.

Amelia pressed her fingers into the dirt beside a rosemary bush and exhaled slow. A storm had passed the night before. The air was still swollen from it. Leaves glistened. A tomato vine lay broken on its side, too heavy with fruit to stay upright. She knelt to tie it gently, careful not to crush the stalk. Barefoot, in a cotton slip damp at the hem, her knees tucked in the soft dirt, she looked like part of the garden herself.

But inside?

Inside, she glowed.

Not a warmth you could see, not yet. But the kind that lived in her chest and behind her eyes. A soft spark that hadn’t gone quiet since Mound Bayou.

“I thought I was careful,” she whispered to herself, looping twine around the vine, “I didn’t mean to pull nobody in.”

But she had. Annie. Smoke. Even Stack—especially Stack.

That night in Mound Bayou had cracked her wide open.

She closed her eyes and let the memory drift up.

The heat of Smoke’s mouth on her skin.

Annie’s soft moan between her shoulder blades.

The weight of his body, the way he groaned her name like it hurt him.

The way they held her like she was a secret too sweet to speak out loud.

It hadn’t just been sex.

It was something tethered, something claimed.

And she felt it now, days later—like fire running under her ribs, warm and slow…

It started with laughter.

That warm kind that lingers in the corners of a hotel room long after the sound fades. Amelia could still hear it when she closed her eyes. Annie’s low, throaty chuckle, the kind she only let out when she was tipsy and happy. Smoke’s rare, softened smile. Her own small laugh, quiet and unsure.

They’d gone to Mound Bayou for rest. A night away from the pull of Clarksdale. Annie called it a “reset”— a little spell in motion. She wanted new perfume, new silk, a new memory to wrap around the bones of their tangled lives.

Amelia remembered stepping into Francesca’s boutique, the scent of vanilla and cedar thick in the air. She remembered Annie pulling her behind a curtain, pressing a deep red slip against her frame.

“This would melt off you,” Annie whispered.

And she’d been right.

The hotel was owned by a Black family—carved from wood and red brick, warm with lamps and iron balconies that caught the moonlight just right.

Their room was on the second floor. It had one bed.

Amelia sat on its edge, legs tucked beneath her, while Smoke stood at the window, puffing on a cigarette. The scent of bourbon and musk clung to his open shirt. Annie moved around the room with ease—fluffing pillows, humming to herself, already shedding layers of clothing like she couldn’t stand anything between her and skin.

Amelia watched them both with glittering eyes. She didn’t know where she belonged in that moment. She wanted both. Needed both.

“You alright, sugar?” Annie asked, already in her slip, curls damp from a bath.

Amelia nodded, though her heart beat too fast.

Smoke turned around. Looked at her for too long.

Then Annie crossed the room and touched her face, thumb tracing her cheek, and Amelia breathed again.

The first kiss was Annie’s.

The second was Smoke’s.

They didn’t rush her. They never had.

But once she said yes—once she leaned into Annie’s mouth and let her knees fall open beneath Smoke’s unnaturally steady hands—everything changed.

Smoke fucked her first.

His hands were rough but reverent. His mouth was pillow soft and ticklish at her collarbone, her thighs, the inside of her wrist. He kissed her like he was afraid of breaking her, but wanted to learn her shape by memory. All of this was by Annie’s command. Annie enjoyed watching. She’d spread her generous thighs and rub on her pussy while instructing Smoke on how to fuck Ameila. How to eat her. How to kiss her.

And Smoke would oblige with a dick as hard as steel.

She remembered how he tasted—like tobacco and heat.

How he held her hips in his large hands.

How his breath caught when he slid inside her.

“God damn,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers, “feel like I’m sankin’ my dick in warm honey…fuck…You feel like sin… and Sunday.”

Annie didn’t leave them—she stayed close, kissing Amelia’s mouth as Smoke moved, guiding their rhythm. Annie sat behind Amelia while Smoke fucked her missionary. He preferred to take Amelia from behind, but Annie wanted to watch the way his big dick thrust in and out of Amelia’s wet pussy.

They held her between them—her skin slick, breathless, glowing.

“That’s it, Elijah…fuck her good…give that pussy what she want…she hungry, Papa…she want some of that big dick…look how she creaming…feel good? Push her legs back some more…uh-huh…dig deeper…make her feel it…don’t be afraid to give her all ya’ inches, Elijah…she can take it…”

Smoke planted his fits against the bed and locked lips with Annie while Amelia whimpered beneath him. He bottomed out in her and groaned against Annie’s mouth. Amelia’s glossy eyes stared up at Annie’s heavy, sagging breasts and the way their tongues flicked and swirled around each other’s.

“Annie…he’s so deep…” Amelia cried out with a faint sigh.

“Fuck her like that pussy belong to you and not Elias…”

Those words hit Amelia like a freight train. It hit Smoke just the same if not harder. His dick seemed to grow wider in girth, stretching Amelia open so wide she almost cried.

A gasp ripped through her, half-moan, half-stunned cry. Her back arched instinctively, fingers clawing at the sweat-slick sheets beneath her, the bed frame groaning like it might break with them. He was too much. Too thick, too deep. She swore she felt him in her belly.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice gritty with restraint, staring down at her. His breath was hot, panting, “You too tight, sugar. Gotta breathe.”

But she couldn’t.

“Told you, Melia, you gotta take it…you took it so well last night…what happened, baby?”

He fit inside of her and Amelia clawed at his slick biceps. Annie rubbed her hair to soothe her.

And when they collapsed into one another—a knot of limbs and quiet moans, the record player whispering blues from the next room—Amelia felt something she didn’t know how to hold.

Not just pleasure.

Not even love.

But belonging.

And that terrified her more than anything.

The garden shimmered faintly around her.

Now, back in the garden days later, her fingers trembling in the dirt, Amelia could still feel his hands on her hips. Annie’s lips at her shoulder. The weight of being wanted by both—held between devotion and desire.

“They weren’t just in my bed,” she thought, “They were in my magic. I pulled them in… and now I don’t know how to let go.”

She opened her eyes, glanced down at her arm. For a moment, she could swear her skin glinted just faintly, like mica caught in sunlight.

“Not here,” she murmured, “Not now.”

She sat back on her heels, wiping her fingers on the front of her skirt. Her breath moved through her slow.

The way Annie had taught her.

The way her grandmother once whispered, too deep in the bayou, when her fae threatened to spark wild.

“Breathe like the wind don’t know you there. Breathe like fire gone to sleep.”

But the wind did know she was there.

It moved through the garden like it had questions.

And in her gut, she felt it—something shifting. A tug on the thread she’d been trying to keep loose. Not danger, not yet.

But conflict.

Longing.

A future she didn’t know how to stop.

She rose, brushed dirt from her thighs, and looked toward the house.

Smoke would be waking soon.

Annie might already be watching.

She turned her face to the sky and whispered to the morning.

“Don’t burn nothing today.”

And went inside.

The pulse under her skin changed.

It wasn’t just the usual flicker of her feu follet. It was… older. Sharper. Like a key turning in a lock she hadn’t known was there.

She shut her eyes. Breathed through her teeth.

And that’s when she saw it:

Annie, turned away from her, tears in her eyes.

Smoke, standing in the rain, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers covered in blood.

Stack, kneeling before a grave she couldn’t recognize.

Herself, barefoot in the road, crying. Glowing too bright.

Her eyes snapped open. The thyme trembled in front of her.

“No,” she whispered, “Not now. Not yet.”

The visions had always come like that—in flashes. In warnings.

Her grandmother once said, “fire that sees too far burns too much.”

But this was new. Bolder. Clearer.

It wasn’t just her fae nature. Something in her was opening.

“A seer,” she breathed, lips dry, “Fae fire’s waking somethin’ else in me.”

She didn’t want it.

But it was coming anyway.

She stood slowly, pressing her hand to her belly like she could hold herself together from the inside out.

She thought of the first jar.

The one she buried deep under the floorboards in New Orleans, then packed and carried in her trunk when she fled.

The Nathaniel jar.

It had been meant to sweeten him—to draw him gently toward her.

But the love turned heavy. Sticky. Possessive.

She’d made it with honey, golden and rich. Damiana leaf, for passion. A piece of his sermon cloth, soaked in cologne. Her own fingernail, trimmed during a full moon

What she didn’t understand then—what she sees now—is that magic made in grief and hunger stays hungry.

“That jar don’t wanna die,” she said softly, “Even with him gone, it still wants…someone.”

It stirred every time she touched someone who reminded her of Nathaniel.

Smoke’s quiet control.

Stack’s commanding presence.

Even Annie’s pull.

It’s a jar that lingers. Still warm with unfinished want.

But then there’s the second jar.

This one she made weeks ago, in a fit of quiet ache, alone after a long bath.

She felt empty.

So she made a jar not to seduce, but to soothe.

Its contents were humble. Clover—for peace and soft attention. Honey—because she was lonely. Tobacco ash —to quiet the ache. A lock of her own hair—snipped while thinking about longing

She whispered into it.

“Bring me sweetness. Bring me warmth. Bring me something that don’t want to leave.”

She thought it was harmless.

But now?

Now she isn’t so sure.

Five Days Earlier…

Smoke sat back in the porch rocker, the old wood creaking beneath his weight as he watched the world unfold slow in front of him. He wore a white tank beneath a short sleeved, black button down shirt and dark denim pants with patches and distressed around the ankles. The sky was high and bright, the trees swaying gently like they had nowhere else to be. A cigarette burned between his fingers, curling smoke trailing lazily up toward the porch ceiling.

He hadn’t been able to sleep right since Mound Bayou.

Not because of guilt. Not really.

It was something else.

Need.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Amelia. The way she arched beneath him. The way her voice caught when he slid inside. The shine on her lips when she moaned his name like it meant something.

“Elijah,” she’d whispered, breathless, “You feel so good inside of me…”

He exhaled slow, smoke curling around his jaw like a noose. The memory coiled in his chest—hot, aching, alive.

Annie had given him permission. Said it was alright.

“Give her what she needs.”

But that was in the moment.

In the fire.

Now that the heat had passed, all that remained was the weight of what came next.

Because now?

He wanted her again.

And again.

And not just when Annie was around.

He ground the cigarette out on the porch rail. Lit another.

He hadn’t meant to want Amelia this way.

At first, he’d just watched her from a distance—curious, cautious.

Annie trusted her. Loved her, even. So he tried to do the same.

But the more he stayed near, the more her pull crept into him.

Not just her looks. Not just the way her hips swayed or her laugh sounded like warm sugar.

It was something…underneath.

A pull. A heat. A hum.

He didn’t know hoodoo well. Didn’t put full stock in Annie’s charms. But he knew when something wasn’t natural.

And Amelia?

She didn’t feel like any woman he’d ever touched before.

Even after talking to Stack about what’s been going on since he’d been out of town after he picked them up from the train station, he could even sense it himself.

“You still feel her, don’t you?”

Stack’s voice echoed in his memory. A question from earlier that morning.

Smoke didn’t answer.

He wasn’t the type to talk about feelings. Hell, he barely spoke if it wasn’t necessary.

But he felt it.

That getaway in Mound Bayou hadn’t satisfied anything. It had woken something.

Something he wasn’t sure he could put back to sleep.

And then there was Stack.

The way his brother looked at Amelia lately—grinning, cocky, bold.

It was different than before.

Hungrier. Deeper.

Smoke didn’t know if Stack had touched her since they got back, but he could feel it brewing.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t sure if he had a right to care.

“She ain’t yours”, he told himself, “She was never yours.”

But his chest said otherwise. His body still remembered her heat.

And every time she passed, humming to herself, smelling like rosewater and peaches?

His hands clenched at his sides.

He leaned back in the chair, staring out at the coming storm. Clouds rolled slow and dark. The scent of rain curled in the wind. But despite all of that, the sun still showed its strength.

“I said I wouldn’t touch her again unless Annie was there,” he murmured to himself.

His voice was low. Gravel-rough.

“So why the hell do I feel like I’m about to break that promise?”

Inside the house, he heard Amelia laugh at something Stack said.

His jaw tightened.

He stayed on the porch.

But the fire inside him?

Refused to go cold.

“Glad you bought somethin’ sexy for me to take off that body…that red slip was Annie’s idea? Bless that sister of mine…”

Through the screen door, he could see his brother crouched inside with Amelia, the two of them laughing soft and close. Stack had that rare, mischievous smile on his face—the kind that reached his eyes—and in his hand, he held a velvet green box. Amelia’s bare legs were tucked under her, one delicate foot stretched toward him, her curls spilling down her back like dark syrup.

Stack sat on his knees, towering over Amelia as she sat on her butt. Stack wore a pair of jeans with some boots and a white T-shirt that clung to his biceps like plaster. A black fedora was tipped back on his head, giving a tease of his freshly slicked hair. His eyes glittered with mischief and the dimples in his cheeks deepened with every syllable he uttered.

Amelia looked like a gypsy—a silk, patterned scarf over her wild curls, a white dress that cinched at the waist and hung from her slender shoulders, and bare feet. Her ears were adorned with little pearls that Smoke purchased from Mound Bayou. It was more so a ‘thank you’ gift for being Annie’s happiness while he was away. They looked pretty on her. Smoke’s eyes drifted to her sweaty, bronze skin before looking away.

Stack watched her with that sly smile that made her belly stir. His hands were hidden behind his back, but his posture was too relaxed, too guilty. Mischief danced in his dark eyes.

Amelia narrowed hers, “What you hidin’?”

Stack just raised a brow, didn’t answer. His voice dropped into a lazy drawl. “Why you always so nosy, huh? Can’t a man keep a little surprise to himself?”

She scooted closer, batting her lashes up at him, “You got somethin’ for me?”

“Maybe.” He grinned, the dimple in his cheek cutting deep, “But you gotta behave.”

She gasped, reaching for the hand behind his back.

Stack jerked away playfully, circling her like a wolf teasing its mate, “Uh uh. Nosy and grabby? That ain’t how this works.”

“Stack,” she giggled, giving a small stomp with her bare foot. “Now you playin’.”

Smoke couldn’t hear every word, but he caught enough.

“You’re so sneaky!”

“Damn right I am,” he said, inching in closer until their noses almost touched. “Now close your eyes for me, bébé. Be good so I can give it to you proper.”

“Stack—”

“Close your eyes, girl. C’mon now…”

Amelia eyed him suspiciously, but the soft heat in his voice made her heart flutter. She obeyed, lashes lowering, lips parting with a whisper of a smile.

Stack moved slowly, pulling the small jade-colored velvet box from behind his back. He opened it just enough to see the glint of the gold catching the warm afternoon light—a delicate anklet, fine and glimmering, with a tiny cursive A dangling at the center.

She felt him crouch low, his breath brushing over her skin. Her toes curled in anticipation.

“Alright,” he murmured, “You can look now.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Stack…”

When Stack slipped the anklet around her ankle and fastened the tiny clasp, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Her face lit up—genuine, flushed, sweet.

Elijah didn’t look away, he just smoked, slow and thoughtful. Folks had been drawn to Amelia since she showed up. There was a softness to her, sure, but something else underneath it too. Something none of them could name. He’d felt it himself—pulling at him like a string tied to his ribs.

The gold anklet sparkled in the light, catching the soft brown of her skin like a whisper of sunlight wrapped around her ankle. The A swayed gently as he fastened the clasp with large, steady fingers, careful and reverent, his touch a kind of worship.

Stack sat back on his heels, admiring his work. “Perfect,” he said, voice rougher now, gaze climbing up her legs. “A for Amelia. My sweet girl.”

Amelia blushed, cheeks warm as peaches, her lips trembling with a smile too big to contain, “You got this in town?”

He nodded. “The Delta got more than good food, you know. Saw it sittin’ there like it knew it belonged on you.”

She dropped down, arms circling his neck in one sudden motion. “You are…the sweetest damn man I ever met, Elias Moore.”

He caught her, laughed low in his throat. “Shh. Don’t ruin my reputation. My big brother out front. Can’t have him thinkin’ I’m a softy—”

She kissed him—soft at first, grateful and tender. Then deeper, longer, lips melting into his like honey off the comb. Stack groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding down the curve of her back until they found the swell of her behind.

He gripped it hard, then gave one cheek a firm squeeze, then a light slap. She squealed into his mouth, body arching against him.

“You tryna rile me up, girl?”

“I ain’t do nothin’ but kiss you…”

“And that’s all it ever takes,” He slapped again, this time slower, the sound echoing in the warm hush of Annie’s home, “You kiss me like that and I forget where I am.”

She pulled back just enough to whisper, eyes half-lidded, voice a velvet hush, “Then don’t remember. Just stay right here.”

Stack kissed her again, deeper this time, the anklet catching a ray of gold light as her legs wrapped around him and he lifted her off the floor.

The velvet box tumbled to the side—forgotten. The A on her ankle sparkled like a secret spell.

Smoke heard footsteps.

His eyes were fixed on the path.

She was coming.

Annie Moore.

She moved like molasses sliding down warm bread, slow and sure, like every step had purpose. Her hips rolled in a steady rhythm beneath a faded mustard-yellow skirt, cinched high at her waist with a knot of thick cotton. The fabric clung to the swell of her backside, catching a whisper of breeze as she walked. Her blouse was thin and ivory-colored, damp at the neck and under her full breasts with sweat, fabric pulled just a little tight where it hugged her curves. The buttons down the front strained at her chest, and one had come undone, just enough for a glimpse of the soft brown cleavage below. She had tied a rust-colored sash around her waist like a belt, making her hourglass shape impossible to ignore.

A wide straw hat shaded her face, but not enough to dim the richness of her skin—deep, sun-kissed brown with golden undertones, glowing like burnished copper beneath the summer light. Beads of sweat dotted her collarbone, and her ankles peeked out beneath her skirt as she climbed the road barefoot, dust clinging to her feet.

Smoke’s throat tightened.

His gaze slid over her like water over stone—slow, reverent, and hungry. He studied the sway of her thighs, the gentle bounce of her breasts under the blouse, the stretch of her skirt across her hips. Her body was thick, plush, womanly in all the ways that made him ache. She looked like she could hold storms and comfort and lust all at once. And she did.

She was Mississippi heat—humid, lush, heavy.

The trees lining the road bowed low with the weight of the season, their branches arching above her like they were drawn in by her gravity, bending with unseen devotion. Leaves rustled softly as if whispering her name. The light filtered through them dappled gold, painting her shoulders with moving shadows.

She saw him watching.

Even from that distance, her eyes met his, slow and knowing. She didn’t pick up her pace—no, Annie never rushed for a man. Instead, she smiled, lazy and deep, lips painted a dusky blackberry-red from some root-stained balm she mixed herself.

Smoke tipped his head and smirked, his chest lifting with something he couldn’t name. He looked like a man watching his favorite sin walk toward him.

She lifted her hand and blew him a kiss.

He caught it out the air like it was gospel.

“Come here, woman,” he said under his breath, barely a whisper, but it floated out over the porch like a spell.

She climbed the steps with grace despite the sweat, despite the heat, and the second she got close enough, he reached out and pulled her to him. The screen door rattled behind them as her body pressed against his, soft and full against his slightly taller frame.

Their mouths met—wet, deep, familiar. Not rushed. Like they’d done this a thousand times, but this time still mattered.

Smoke’s hands slid around her waist, palms dragging up the curve of her spine, down over her thick hips, gripping her like he needed reminding that she was real. His hands pressed into her skirt, fingers spreading over her ass, slow and claiming. She tasted like salt and sassafras, and her scent—clove, lemon balm, and something earthy he could never name—was all around him now.

She gasped into his mouth and leaned her forehead against his.

“You missed me that bad?” she whispered.

“I missed you like hell,” he murmured back, “Like my hands ain’t know what to do without ya’ to hold.”

She smiled against his lips. “Then hold on, baby.”

Behind them, the screen door creaked open.

“Aight now,” Stack’s voice called out, playful but loud, “I said lunch is ready, not foreplay on the porch.”

Annie pulled back, laughing, breathless and warm, “We was just gettin’ our appetite right.”

Smoke let his hand slide slow off her backside and called back, “What ya’ll make?”

“Catfish sandwiches with chow-chow and pickled onions. Collard greens on the side. Got watermelon chillin’ and sweet tea pourin’. Y’all comin’ or not?”

Annie turned to look inside. She could see Amelia blushing through the screen, one leg curled under her, ankle sparkling with a gold charm. Stack leaned in beside her, watching them both with a grin on his face.

Annie caught her breath, eyes narrowing slightly—but not out of jealousy. Just… curiosity. Something tugged at the air between them all, thick and restless.

Smoke watched her face and asked, low, “What is it?”

She shook her head slow. “Nothin’. Just…air feel different all of a sudden.”

He touched her cheek, thumb brushing her jaw, “Don’t matter. Long as you standin’ in it wit’ me.”

They walked into the house together, hand in hand, while the shadows behind them shifted like they knew something the rest hadn’t yet learned.

The air inside the house was thick with the smell of fried catfish and spices—hot oil, cornmeal, cayenne, and a hint of vinegar from the chow-chow cooling on the counter. The table in the center of the room was already halfway set with heavy plates and chipped porcelain bowls. Sunlight slanted through the open window, striping the floorboards like a ladder to something holy.

Amelia moved with grace between the kitchen and dining table, her dress now topped with a lightweight apron, curls still wild around her flushed cheeks. Stack watched her go, the sway of her hips, the way her gold anklet caught glints of light like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Smoke pulled a chair out, then went back for forks.

“You didn’t say much about Mound Bayou,” Stack said, casually, as he laid out the thick drinking glasses.

Smoke gave a faint grunt, noncommittal.

Stack raised a brow, “That bad?”

Smoke shot him a sideways glance, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Nah. That good.”

Stack paused, still holding a handful of cutlery.

The silence hung a second too long.

Smoke didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. The way he leaned back against the wall, cigarette now extinguished, eyes half-lidded like he was still dreaming of something soft, told enough of the story.

Stack gave a sharp, single nod—quiet and unreadable. But behind his calm face, something churned. Smoke knew it too. He could feel it through the air between them, that unspoken thread only twins shared. Stack wasn’t asking for conversation. He was asking whether something shifted. Whether Mound Bayou changed something between them all.

Smoke’s eyes met his brother’s again, harder now. It did, they said without words. But don’t ask me what.

He moved past him to the table, brushing Stack’s shoulder with a quiet finality.

At the counter, Annie was helping Amelia place the catfish sandwiches on a wooden tray. Amelia arranged each one with care, lining up slices of cornbread buns and pressing the pickled onions down with her fingers. She was still glowing—lit from within.

Annie leaned in close, her voice low, coaxing. “After lunch, we’ll head back to the shop, alright? We ain’t done with that drawing lesson yet.”

Amelia glanced up, her doe eyes curious. “Drawing?”

Annie smiled. “Mmhmm. Love drawing. Honey jars, sugar cones, follow-me spells. You gotta know how to build a jar that speaks without sayin’ a word. Yours pull somethin’ in already—I can feel it. But I want you to understand why. There’s spirit in the building. You feel it?”

Amelia nodded softly, but her breath caught when Annie reached to brush a stray curl from her face.

Annie’s eyes dropped to her ankle. “That’s real pretty,” she murmured, kneeling slightly, fingers ghosting just above the golden anklet.

The A charm shimmered like it had caught sunlight, though no ray touched it. For a moment, a shimmer pulsed from the charm outward—like heat rising off pavement, a soft flicker of energy, invisible to most but thick enough to make the hairs on Annie’s arms rise.

Her lips parted.

Something in her gut twisted—not fear, exactly, but an ancient kind of knowing. Like her blood remembered something her mind couldn’t name.

Annie blinked, shook it off, and stood quickly. “Mmm,” she said, clearing her throat, “I like that shine.”

Amelia, ever perceptive, felt the shift. Her smile faltered just slightly.

“I’ll bring the tea,” she said, almost too quickly, turning and slipping away from the moment.

Annie stared after her for a beat, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her eyes flicked once more to the anklet, then toward Stack—who was watching Amelia too closely—and then to Smoke, who wasn’t watching at all but felt everything.

She shook her head and carried the tray to the table.

“Let’s eat before this fish gets cold,” she said, her voice bright but slightly strained.

Amelia set down the pitcher of sweet tea and took her seat, carefully folding her hands in her lap. Stack sat across from her. Smoke poured Annie a glass of tea before pouring his own. For a moment, the only sound was the clinking of glasses and the rustle of napkins. The charm on Amelia’s ankle swayed as she crossed her legs beneath the table.

The sunlight seemed to lean in, too.

Watching. Listening. Waiting.

Something had shifted.

But no one yet had the words to speak it.

The catfish was crispy and golden, the chow-chow tangy and sweet. A bowl of collard greens sat steaming beside a plate of sliced watermelon, their red centers glistening. Smoke bit into his sandwich with slow satisfaction, licking a smear of hot sauce from his thumb. Across the table, Stack leaned back in his chair, toothpick stuck between his lips, one elbow on the table as he talked business.

“So we meet ‘em at the old cotton press, out past the levee,” Stack was saying, tearing off a piece of cornbread with thick fingers. “They’re bringin’ a truck, say they got buyers lined up from Memphis to Vicksburg. Cash in hand. All we gotta do is hand off the shine.”

Smoke nodded, chewing slow. “We takin’ the last barrels from the juke’s cellar?”

“Yeah. That batch aged good. Real smooth. Better than the stuff we been sellin’ to Johnson.”

“Alright. You loadin’ tonight?”

“Late,” Stack said, pausing to sip his tea, “You ridin’ with me?”

Smoke glanced at Amelia and Annie for half a beat, then back to Stack, “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

As his brother spoke, Smoke felt something warm press lightly against his leg.

He blinked once.

Ankles tangled under the table. He looked down—Amelia’s foot was sliding softly over his calf. Her bare toes curled against his slacks, teasing up the fabric.

Across from her, Annie was calm as a still lake, one hand resting on the table near her glass, the other… slipping low beneath the linen.

Smoke exhaled through his nose, quiet and slow.

Annie’s hand found the bulge beneath the table. Soft pressure. She stroked him through the fabric with practiced ease, fingers slow, teasing. Her touch was firm enough to make him shift slightly in his seat but subtle enough not to draw attention.

Stack kept talking, “We’ll leave the juke front lookin’ clean. Don’t want nobody sniffin’ around. Just music, drinks, same as always.”

Smoke grunted his agreement, but his jaw clenched as Annie’s hand kept moving—her nails grazing lightly, then flattening her palm against his length. Under the table, Amelia’s foot moved higher, pressing against his thigh with the same sweetness that lingered in her voice.

He gave her a sideways look.

She smiled at him—demure, unreadable.

Lord help me, he thought.

The air had thickened, gone heavy with heat and honey. Flies buzzed faintly near the window, the watermelon juice glistened like rubies on porcelain, and everyone was pretending not to feel what was very much being felt.

Finally, Stack stood up and stretched, toothpick between his teeth.

“I’m headin’ into town. Need to check on that shipment at the depot ‘fore we meet our contact later. I’ll grab the papers for the handoff.”

Smoke wiped his mouth, grateful for the excuse to breathe, “I’ll go too. We’ll ride back together and stash what’s needed.”

Annie stood as well, gathering plates, “Me and Amelia headin’ to the shop after we clean up. Got some more lessons to go over.”

Stack nodded, already heading for the door.

Smoke stepped in behind Annie just as she reached for the pitcher to rinse it. His presence settled against her back like a shadow stretching into dusk—warm, broad, unmistakable.

He leaned in, lips brushing just beneath her ear. His voice dropped low, gravel thick with hunger and heat.

“Don’t wash too hard, baby,” he whispered, letting his hand ghost along the curve of her hip, “I want that scent on you when I come back.”

Annie’s breath caught, lashes fluttering.

Smoke’s lips brushed her again, this time just behind her jaw, “You hear me?”

She didn’t speak—just nodded, slow and sharp.

He smiled against her neck, “Good. ‘Cause soon as I’m through with this run, I’m gon’ tear you up. Ain’t lettin’ you sleep tonight. You gon’ walk crooked by mornin’.”

Annie turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes—dark, hooded, steady, “You better come back ready,” she whispered.

Smoke chuckled low in his chest, kissed her temple once, and stepped away, grabbing his hat from the wall hook.

Near the doorway, Stack stood with his hat already in hand, watching Amelia. She was near the windowsill, pretending to adjust the lace curtain, but her whole body tilted slightly toward him—waiting.

He walked up slow, like the air between them was thick with something he had to wade through.

“You be good while I’m gone,” he murmured, his voice gentler than his brother’s, but no less heavy with promise.

Amelia looked up at him, soft brown eyes wide, lips parted like she had something to say—but didn’t.

Stack leaned in and pressed a single kiss to the side of her neck. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just firm and lingering—his lips dragging lightly across the pulse point beneath her ear. His hand slid to the small of her back and stayed there for a heartbeat too long.

Then he pulled back, his thumb brushing her side, “I’ll be back before sundown.”

Amelia nodded, a soft blush blooming beneath her skin.

Annie watched the exchange from the sink, lips twitching into a knowing smirk. She didn’t say a word.

“Y’all don’t be messin’ around too long.” Annie said.

Smoke met Annie’s eyes as he moved toward his hat. “Don’t I always mess around too long?” he muttered, low, with a wink.

The front door opened with a creak, then shut.

And just like that, the house exhaled.

Once both brothers had left—boots clomping down the porch steps, doors shutting behind them—the house fell into an almost too-quiet stillness.

Amelia looked up, her lips parted just slightly. Annie crossed the room slow, her hips swaying as she pulled the apron from her waist and tossed it over the chair.

“You play too much,” Annie said softly.

“So do you,” Amelia whispered.

They stood in the open doorway of the hallway, sunlight from the kitchen framing them. Annie reached out, trailing her hand down Amelia’s arm. Her fingers curled around Amelia’s wrist, thumb stroking the inside like she was feeling for a pulse.

“You got time before your lesson,” Annie said.

“I know,” Amelia breathed.

Without another word, Annie led her by the wrist toward the bedroom. The air was thick with jasmine and the ghost of frying grease. Annie closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Inside, the light was golden and low. A breeze moved the lace curtains just enough to flutter them like a breath.

Annie reached for the buttons on her blouse, slow and measured. “C’mere, sugar,” she said, voice warm and honey-thick.

Amelia stepped in close, her fingers brushing against Annie’s waist, her breath catching in her throat.

They had work to do, yes. But for now—just a little indulgence. Just a little sweetness before the spirits came calling.

For a long, loaded moment, neither of them moved.

“I felt you teasing me,” Annie murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “looking at me across the table with a bite of your lip. You want me to eat my pussy, sugar?”

“Yes….please…devour me, Annie. Ain’t been right since Mound Bayou…”

“Me neither. Got a taste for pussy juice and yours get me right every time.”

Amelia’s lips parted, but no words came.

Annie reached up and brushed a fingertip along the curve of Amelia’s jaw, following it like a map she already knew by heart. Her hand cupped the back of Amelia’s neck, warm and steady. She leaned in slowly, her breath brushing Amelia’s lips.

“Say stop,” Annie whispered, “If you need me to.”

“I won’t,” Amelia breathed, eyes already half-lidded.

And then Annie kissed her.

Soft at first—just the faintest press of lips. A tasting. A question.

Amelia leaned into it, answering.

Their mouths moved gently at first, grazing, brushing, lips molding and parting. Then deeper. Annie tilted her head and licked softly into Amelia’s mouth, her tongue teasing, coaxing.

Amelia gasped, the sound muffled between them, her hands rising to curl into Annie’s sides, bunching the soft fabric of her blouse. Her body melted forward, pressed into Annie’s with a hunger she couldn’t hide.

Their tongues tangled, slow and searching. No rush. Just sensation. A slow burn.

Amelia’s hand slipped around to Annie’s back, fingers dragging along her spine. Annie’s other hand slid low to Amelia’s hip, gripping it, guiding her closer until there was no space between them—just heat, breath, and lips that kept finding each other.

Annie pulled back slightly, just enough to speak against her lips, “You taste like summer.”

Amelia gave a breathless laugh, fingers still trembling where they touched, “You taste like somethin’ I ain’t supposed to have.”

Annie leaned in again and kissed her deeper, slower. Their breaths were shallow, shared. The kiss unfolded like a secret—satin-slow, layered with longing.

When they finally parted, Amelia’s lips were swollen, her breath unsteady, curls brushing Annie’s cheek.

Neither spoke for a moment. They didn’t have to.

Annie just took her hand and led her to the bed.

“C’mon, sugar,” she whispered, voice velvet-dark, “Let me show you what drawin’ in love really feels like.”

And beneath the quiet moan of the floorboards and the hum of summer outside, something unseen stirred in the room—a shimmer, a ripple—like magic holding its breath.

The bed sat in the center of the room, low to the floor with thick carved posts that framed it like an altar. A patchwork quilt was folded at the foot, worn and sun-faded but lovingly kept. The sheets were cream-colored and linen-soft, wrinkled slightly from the morning’s rest. A single red pillow rested where her head had been earlier, the indent of her shape still visible.

Beside the bed, a small wooden nightstand held a clay dish of jewelry—rings, copper bracelets, and silver hoops scattered like offerings. There was a well-thumbed Bible there too, tucked beside a tiny blue bottle of protection oil and a folded scrap of paper with faint handwritten sigils. A glass of water with lemon slices floated near the edge, the condensation sweating down its sides.

A cedar wardrobe stood open on one side, dresses hanging like pressed flowers—cotton, muslin, and the occasional silky piece saved for nights that needed it. A pair of leather boots lay kicked off beside a woven mat, and one of Annie’s headwraps draped over the edge of a wicker chair by the wall, where a half-finished doll made of Spanish moss and red thread waited in Annie’s lap basket.

In the far corner, a small altar sat against the wall, subtle but sacred. A photo of her mother, younger and smiling in black and white, sat framed in brass. A tiny bowl of salt. A bundle of sage tied in string. A glass of rum. And tucked near the base—something soft and wrapped in silk: a small charm bag she’d made weeks ago, before Amelia ever showed up.

The whole room breathed warmth. Lived-in. Loved-in.

It wasn’t grand or loud. It was hers—intimate, spirit-fed, and humming with the echoes of laughter, prayers, and the low, private moans of a woman who knew how to love hard and quiet.

And now, with Amelia standing before Annie naked, the light curling around her like it belonged to her, the room felt suddenly alive.

Annie sat bare before her, delicious curves revealed. She drew Ameila closer and wrapped her lips around her nipples.

“Hike a foot up, sugar…”

Amelia obeyed. Annie’s long fingers stroked her pussy lips back and forth. She was already slick between her thighs, warmth blooming there like honey left too long in the sun—thick, golden, sweet. When Annie’s fingers parted her, they came away shining, coated in the soft proof of her want. It wasn’t just arousal—it was surrender, a kind of sacred ache that pulsed with every breath Amelia took beneath her hands.

“You so sticky…I can smell you…so fuckin’ beautiful, Lia…”

Annie sucked Amelia’s arousal off of her fingers. Amelia watched, caressing her knee, nibbling on her lip. Annie’s eyes locked between Amelia’s legs. She gasped when she noticed a trail of her arousal dripping like honey from a comb. Annie scooted off of the bed and let her head recline back against the mattress.

“Sit on my mouth, sugar, please…”

Annie was desperate. Amelia climbed up and squatted over Annie’s lips while holding onto the bedpost. The floorboards creaked beneath Annie’s heavy bottom as she adjusted herself. The stroke of her lips against Amelia’s clit sent a jolt of electricity through her. Annie kissed her clit repeatedly, soft and sweet. Amelia couldn’t control the way her hips would roll along Annie’s lips when the kiss became too much.

“Annie…you kiss my pussy so good…”

Amelia allowed her full weight to settle down. That movement opened her pussy up more and her arousal dripped down Annie’s chin. Amelia arched her back and stared straight ahead at herself in Annie’s ornate mirror.

The mirror was old, its glass slightly warped, the wooden frame carved with roses and roots, stained by time and candle smoke. It leaned against the wall of Annie’s bedroom, right across from the bed, angled just enough to catch every inch of Amelia’s body.

She was glowing.

Not figuratively. Not metaphorically.

A faint, golden shimmer coiled along her collarbones, danced beneath her skin like lightning in honey. Her eyes—half-lidded, dazed with pleasure—flashed not brown, but molten, their irises threaded with soft embers. Each breath made her chest rise, and with it, tiny sparks of light pulsed at her throat and wrists, as if her veins carried starlight instead of blood.

Her lips parted on a moan—head tilting back, throat exposed—and the mirror caught it all: the sweat shining on her skin, the trembling curve of her stomach, the glistening slick between her thighs as Annie’s fingers slid deeper, Annie’s mouth pressed closer.

Annie murmured something low against her, a praise or a spell, but Amelia barely heard it.

She couldn’t stop watching herself.

She looked… not human. Not just human.

Her reflection shimmered around the edges, soft and flickering, like heat haze rising from a bayou at dusk. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Light clung to her like perfume. Her body looked too soft, too radiant, too real to be only flesh.

She wasn’t unraveling—she was becoming.

Becoming whatever she was always meant to be.

And Annie—now kneeling behind her, moaning softly between her thighs—seemed to feed it. Fuel it. Pull it to the surface. Each lick, each suck, each curl of a finger sent another flicker of light through Amelia’s reflection, like a ripple across moonlit water.

Amelia gasped, eyes locked on her glowing, god-touched self.

What am I becoming? she thought—but there was no fear in it.

Only wonder.

Only ache.

And the slow, delicious build of something ancient unfurling inside her, like fire waking in her blood.

“Annie, fuck…”

Annie’s chin dripped with Amelia’s release. The sound of Annie’s loud sucking grew louder. She didn’t want to stop. She’d only ever stop to admire her work. Amelia’s folds puffy and sensitive, slick with spit and cum. Annie would stroke it with her fingers before going in again to taste. Amelia stayed still like a good girl, arching more, spreading herself open more.

Annie dipped her head to suck her clit from another angle. Amelia felt herself clenching around nothing.

“Mhm…” Annie hummed.

Annie’s mouth moved with slow precision, her tongue circling, teasing, her fingers stroking Amelia deeper. The heat building between Amelia’s legs was unbearable—perfect—a slow burn that curled up her spine and bloomed behind her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror gleamed brighter now, as though the fire in her blood had taken root in the glass.

Her lips parted on a moan, and then—

“Sélas ti’mo lúmen… ai’triel sa lorrein…”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, half-gasped, half-sung—like smoke rising from the mouth of a flame.

Annie froze for just a moment, her breath catching against Amelia’s slick skin, “What… was that?” she whispered.

But Amelia couldn’t answer. Her head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation crested inside her. The words hadn’t come from her mouth alone—they came from deep within, from some sacred, buried root waking beneath her skin.

The mirror pulsed. Her reflection flared with golden light, the embers in her eyes glowing brighter now—alive, wild, ancient.

The words echoed softly through the room, even after her voice fell silent:

“Sélas ti’mo lúmen… ai’triel sa lorrein…”

Light of my flame… let the veil open…

Annie pressed her hand to the back of Amelia’s thigh, breathing harder now, but not just from desire.

From awe.

Amelia gripped the quilt, her whole body trembling as the climax rolled over her—but part of her, deep and sacred, had already passed through another threshold entirely.

She didn’t know the meaning of the words.

But her blood did.

“You speaking in tongues, sugar?”

Annie stood, staring down at Amelia. Amelia didn’t know what she was speaking, she was equally as stunned.

“It’s just…Annie, the way you, Stack, and Smoke eat me…it just…it…”

Annie stroked Amelia’s cheek to soothe her.

“Tell me what it does while I finish my dessert, sugar.”

Amelia gave Annie a slow nod. Annie got down on her knees and motioned for Amelia to come closer. Ameila scooted to the edge of the bed, spread her thighs, and watched Annie dive back in with a curl of her tongue.

Amelia sat back on her elbows to watch. Annie slipped a hand between her legs to touch her own pussy.

Annie spoke between licks and slurps, “You lovin’ my lips on this fat pussy?”

Amelia was choking on a moan. She couldn’t properly respond.

Amelia was soaked and leaking to the quilt. She couldn’t hear Annie’s wet folds and it made her sit up. Annie locked eyes with her while her lips lightly sucked on her clit.

“Annie…can we touch pussies?”

Annie paused.

“Please…I need it,” Amelia begged with a whiny voice.

“…Yes,” Annie says with a smile, “I’ve been wanting to do that to you…”

Annie stood, sharing a laugh with Amelia. She went to rest on her back and she hooked her heels in her hands before opening up wide and limber. Ameila stared astonishingly at Annie before clombing up to straddle her. She sat directly over Annie’s hairy pussy and when their clits touched Amelia moaned without restriction.

The feeling of their shared wetness pressed together and gliding sent shivers up Annie’s spine. It felt amazing. Slick and messy. She stared up at Amelia past her breasts that sat beneath her chin. Amelia looked like a goddess above her. Nipples erect and poking out. Hair falling into her eyes, skin glistening with sweat.

“Bump my pussy, Lia…”

Amelia braced herself on Annie’s legs. She tossed her hair back and bucked her hips like Annie commanded. The amount of wetness between them left no room for words. They locked eyes and moaned on a loop. Amelia bounced, her clit slapping into Annie’s.

“Lia, that fat pussy…oh, goodness…keep doing that…”

Annie felt her clit grow with each collision. Ameila found her groove and she would bounce then buck…bounce then buck…bounce then buck…

Annie couldn’t believe that she could feel herself cumming already. She stared up at Amelia with disbelief at how good it felt. Brows pinched together, lips parted. Amelia circled her pussy over Annie’s and Annie could feel her body seizing.

Ameila twirled her nipples and licked her lips. She looked so damn beautiful.

“Smoke gonna have a good time sinking into this pussy with how wet you are, Annie…”

Annie couldn’t believe the filth that just came from Amelia’s mouth while she brought her to climax. Annie felt her pussy pulsating against Amelia’s. It was such a powerful orgasm. While Annie tried to come down from her orgasmic high, Amelia spread her open and licked up everything that was left behind.

Annie stared down at Amelia with a look of defeat.

Amelia spoke between licks, “I think I’m ready for my lesson now, Annie.”

Amelia still felt warm between her thighs as they stepped into the shop—clean, dressed, but touched. She and Annie had to freshen up before the lesson, and though water cooled their skin and fresh cotton clung clean to their bodies, the memory of Annie’s mouth and the mirror’s glow lingered like heat under the skin.

She had slipped into a soft sage-green dress that clung in the right places, brushing just past her knees, and Annie had chosen a cotton wrap skirt and a white blouse that left her collarbones bare. They didn’t speak of what happened in the bedroom, but the way Annie’s eyes flicked over her as she unlocked the shop door, the slight curve of her smirk, said everything that needed saying.

Inside, the air was thick with rosemary, lemongrass, and mugwort. Dried bundles hung upside down from beams above, their stems bound in twine. Glass jars lined the shelves—full of roots, powders, dried flowers, little bones, and oil tinctures that caught the light. The old wood floor creaked under their bare feet. A low blues tune spun from the corner, soft and crackling, as if the record itself had a soul.

Amelia inhaled deeply. This space felt alive.

Annie moved behind the counter, pulling down a jar of honey and a bundle of cinnamon sticks. “Let’s get started on love work,” she said, laying the items on a cloth square, “Drawin’ in want. But this time, I want you to focus on how your hands move. What they say. Rootwork ain’t just what you use. It’s how you touch it.”

Amelia nodded, her fingers tingling as she reached for the honey.

But just as she uncorked the jar, the bell above the door jingled.

A woman stepped inside, soft-voiced and slow-footed.

Pearline.

She looked a little nervous, like she’d rehearsed her entrance. Slender and brown-skinned, wearing a faded yellow dress and a matching hat sitting low on her forehead. She carried herself like someone used to holding back—chin slightly tucked, shoulders not quite squared. But her eyes… her eyes were curious, wide-set, and shining.

“Miss Annie?” she said gently.

Annie turned, wiping her hands. “Mm. Pearline. You made it.”

Pearline nodded, glancing briefly at Amelia with a shy smile. “I—I wasn’t sure if it was too soon.”

“It’s right on time,” Annie said, motioning her in. “C’mon in, baby. You remember Amelia?”

“We ain’t properly met,” Pearline murmured, offering her hand. “I seen you ‘round town though. Folks say you Annie’s apprentice.”

Amelia smiled and took her hand. Pearline’s touch was warm, and there was something in her—some flicker, some faint light Amelia felt in her chest like a bell being rung softly. Recognition, but not quite knowing. A kinship unspoken.

“I’m learnin’ all I can,” Amelia said gently. “Glad to meet you, finally.”

Annie motioned toward the reading table, where the light pooled golden over a linen cloth, and a small bowl of herbs waited beside a red flannel bag.

“Now,” Annie said, “you said you wanted help for… your husband?”

Pearline flushed, fingers twisting in her skirt. “He—he don’t touch me no more. Not like he used to. And I ain’t sure if it’s me… or if somethin’ else got in the way.”

Amelia’s heart softened.

Annie nodded, all business now, the rootworker stepping forward. “Well. We gon’ see what’s what. I got somethin’ that might sweeten his tongue and stir what’s sleepin’. But first we talk, and then we make.”

She turned to Amelia with a flick of her chin. “You gon’ help me build it.”

Amelia stepped beside her, eyes on the ingredients: damiana, ginger root, licorice, rose petals.

But as Pearline spoke—softly, haltingly—Amelia felt it again. That flicker. That something in Pearline’s voice, her eyes, her blood. A faint glow behind her skin.

And deep in Amelia’s chest, her fae light stirred—curious.

She don’t even know, Amelia thought.

Not yet.

But maybe… she will.

Annie laid out the ingredients with care, every motion deliberate—rootworking wasn’t just craft. It was communication. A dance between spirit and touch.

“First,” she said to Pearline, “we work a tea to cleanse you—open your heart, clear out any grief cloudin’ your womb or your want. Then we draw what’s needed.”

Pearline nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. She sat on the stool quietly while Annie passed her a warm cup steeped with hibiscus, damiana, cinnamon, and a whisper of honey. It smelled like longing. Like heat waiting to be called back.

While Pearline drank, Annie handed Amelia the red flannel square, “You fix the conjure bag. Do it like I showed you.”

Amelia nodded and began.

A pinch of ginger root, to stir the flame.

Damiana leaves, for lust and passion.

A twist of licorice root, for control—gentle but firm.

Rose petals, for softness, for sweetness.

A drop of patchouli oil, slow and musky.

She moved with intention, each herb added like a verse of a prayer. Her fingers pinched and poured with grace, and Annie watched her, lips pursed in quiet approval.

“Now kiss it closed,” Annie said.

Amelia brought the cloth to her lips and pressed a soft kiss at the center before tying it shut with red thread. As she did, the bag warmed in her palm—just slightly, like something inside had stirred to life. Her heart skipped.

She didn’t say anything.

Annie dipped the tip of her finger into the honey jar nearby and wrote a symbol over the pouch—one Amelia didn’t recognize. Not hoodoo, exactly. Not completely. It looked older.

Pearline held out her hands.

Annie placed the bag into them gently, “Put this under y’all’s mattress. Sleep over it. And when you want to call him back into you, talk to it sweet. Like he already yours again.”

Pearline looked at them both, eyes glistening, “Thank you.”

“You ain’t alone,” Annie said, “Not never.”

After the working, Pearline lingered. She stood beside a shelf of dried herbs, running her fingers over the hanging bundles like she was trying to read something in the leaves. Amelia stepped beside her, drawn in like a moth.

“You did real good in there,” Pearline said softly, without turning, “You got a gentle hand.”

Amelia smiled, “Thank you.”

Pearline turned to face her. Their eyes met.

There it was again.

That flicker.

It wasn’t magic in the hoodoo sense. It wasn’t a spirit in the room.

It was in Pearline.

Amelia’s fae light stirred behind her ribs, curling like warm vapor. It responded without her permission, reaching—curious. Pearline had something inside her. Latent. Quiet. Maybe passed down without ever being named. Maybe watered down from a long-ago bloodline or hidden behind Sunday skirts and psalms.

But it was there.

Pearline stepped closer. Not in a flirtatious way. But open.

“Sometimes I feel things,” she said, almost whispering, “Things I don’t understand. Like… like the wind listens when I talk. Or animals follow me for no reason. Or my dreams come true in little pieces.”

Amelia’s throat tightened, “You ever told anyone that?”

Pearline shook her head, “Folks already think I’m strange. I don’t want ‘em thinkin’ worse.”

“You ain’t strange,” Amelia said softly, “You just ain’t been taught your name yet.”

Pearline blinked. “My name?”

“The one inside you,” Amelia said, placing her hand lightly over Pearline’s chest. “The one only the old blood remembers.”

Pearline stared at her for a long moment. The shop around them hummed—soft wind against glass jars, blues music fading into silence.

“Will you show me?” she asked.

Amelia nodded, “If you want it.”

And somewhere beneath them—below the floorboards, under the roots—something ancient and glowing turned over in its sleep.

Annie stood behind the counter, slowly cleaning the edge of a carved mortar with a linen cloth, but her eyes weren’t on the tools in her hands. They were on the corner of the shop where Amelia and Pearline stood, just beyond the reach of the sun filtering through the lace curtains.

The two women were close—faces turned inward, heads bowed slightly like they were speaking something soft. Private.

Annie couldn’t make out the words.

But she didn’t need to.

She watched Pearline touch one of the dried rosemary bundles, her fingers lingering, then drop her hand to her chest as if something there had just stirred awake. She watched Amelia answer her with that look—the one she wore when her spirit recognized something before her mouth could name it.

Well, Annie thought. Ain’t that something.

She didn’t feel left out. Not exactly. But there was something in the air now—like a thread had been pulled from a fabric she’d thought only she and Amelia shared.

Amelia, who had been so quiet at first. So sweet, tender. Powerful, yes—but soft with it. Careful. Annie had watched her bloom like a morning glory since the day she stepped into the shop, barefoot and smelling of river moss and honey. Now she was reaching out to someone else. And not just anyone.

Pearline.

Of course it would be Pearline.

There was something in that girl Annie had always noticed. The way animals followed her. The way her voice carried like wind through tall grass when she sang at the river. The way her eyes always looked like they were remembering something she hadn’t lived yet.

Two women made of ache and hidden light.

Kindred.

Annie narrowed her eyes slightly. Not in judgment—but in thought.

She set down the mortar and reached for the jar of frankincense resin, as if busying her hands would still her thoughts.

Pearline trustin’ her already, she mused, and they only just properly met.

But it didn’t feel wrong. In fact, it felt like something that was always meant to happen.

Amelia placed her hand gently over Pearline’s heart, and whatever she said made Pearline’s shoulders soften like they’d been carrying something too long.

Annie’s mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

“They speakin’ a language without words,” she murmured aloud, though no one heard it, “One they both remember, somewhere deep.”

Still—something in her belly curled tight. Not jealousy. Not even suspicion. Just a flicker of watchfulness. Like a door she’d thought was closed had quietly eased itself open.

She wiped her hands and called softly across the room, “Y’all alright over there?”

Both women turned at once.

Pearline gave a small smile, a little dazed but glowing.

Amelia’s eyes flicked to Annie’s, wide and unreadable.

“Mhm,” she said gently, “We just…talkin’.”

Annie nodded once, slow, “Good. ‘Cause the lesson ain’t over yet. And I want you both ready.”

Then she turned and walked into the back room, leaving the two of them in that golden hush.

But even as she moved out of sight, she could feel it: something had shifted.

Something was blooming.

And it wasn’t done yet.

The sun was streaming fuller through the windows by the time Pearline gathered her things. Her root bag was tucked beneath her arm, tied off with a strip of indigo cloth Annie had blessed with oil and a whispered prayer. She held the charm bag close to her chest, like it was more than fabric and herbs—like it was a secret only she and the spirits knew.

Her hat had lifted slightly, a soft curl slipping free at her temple. Amelia noticed it, and something about the way it curled—unruly and delicate—felt familiar. Kindred.

Pearline turned to her at the door, eyes searching.

“I know you probably busy with lessons and things, but… I’d really like to see you again.”

Amelia’s smile bloomed slow and warm, “I’d like that too.”

Pearline exhaled, a shy, breathy laugh escaping her like she hadn’t meant to be so bold, “Maybe we could talk more. I got questions, and you… you feel like someone I can talk to without feelin’ crazy.”

Amelia nodded, stepping closer, her voice a soft hush, “You ain’t crazy. You just woke up. And sometimes, when you first wake up, you need somebody to help you figure out what the dream meant.”

Pearline’s eyes welled with quiet emotion, but she held it back, smiling through it.

“Tomorrow,” Amelia offered, “why don’t you come by Annie’s garden? We’ll have a picnic out back. It’s quiet there—pretty, too. We could bring sweet tea, a little fried okra, maybe some biscuits if I don’t burn ‘em.”

Pearline beamed, “Yes. I’d like that real much.”

They exchanged a time—just after eleven, before the heat climbs too high—and Amelia gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

A faint clop-clop sounded outside the shop, the slow creak of buggy wheels against the dirt road. Pearline glanced back over her shoulder.

“That’s my friend, waitin’ with the horse. He gon’ take me home.”

“You need help carryin’ any of it?” Amelia asked.

Pearline shook her head, “I got it.”

Annie, who’d stepped out of the backroom just in time to catch the exchange, came forward and pressed a hand gently to Pearline’s shoulder.

“You did good today,” she said, “Now don’t go second-guessin’ it.”

Pearline nodded.

“And don’t forget,” Annie added, her voice slightly firmer now, protective, “what you feel inside—your voice, your power, your need—it ain’t wrong. Ain’t never been.”

Pearline’s eyes shimmered, “Thank you, Miss Annie. I mean that.”

Annie nodded once, “You sleep with that bag under your bed for the first three nights. Then move it to your pillow. And if that man start actin’ brand new, you send me a letter.”

Pearline laughed, then turned to Amelia.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waitin’.”

Pearline slipped out into the sunlight, her figure framed by the doorway—slight, soft, but no longer small. She walked to the buggy with a spring in her step and a root bag full of magic nestled close.

Amelia watched her go, the door swinging shut gently behind her.

“Girl got a light in her,” Annie murmured, stepping beside her.

Amelia turned to her, voice low. “Yeah. She does.”

But inside, her fae light whispered something else.

She’s got more than that. She got something old.

And it’s waking up.

The sky had settled into a dusky violet by the time they got home, the final red threads of daylight curling low behind the trees. The scent of drying herbs still clung to Amelia’s dress, and the backs of her knees were damp with sweat. She was tired—but content. The shop had been quiet after Pearline left, and the energy between her and Annie had softened into something warm and close.

Annie pulled the screen door shut behind them and kicked off her shoes in the entryway. She moved toward the small stack of mail left tucked in the slot by the doorframe.

“Didn’t check it earlier,” she muttered more to herself than anyone.

Amelia walked into the kitchen and set her bag down with a sigh, already moving toward the icebox to fetch the leftover fried squash and red beans they hadn’t touched the day before. She hummed a little under her breath, comforted by the small ritual of reheating food in Annie’s cast iron skillet.

The house creaked with familiar sounds—floorboards groaning as they cooled, frogs beginning their chorus outside, and the soft crinkle of envelopes as Annie sifted through the mail at the table.

Then a pause.

Amelia turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

Annie sat still now—shoulders stiff, one envelope trembling slightly between her fingers. Her face changed—eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a firm, unreadable line.

“You alright?” Amelia asked gently, stepping closer.

Annie didn’t answer at first. Her eyes scanned the page, but Amelia could tell—she wasn’t reading it anymore. She already knew what it said. The kind of knowing that settled in your bones before your eyes caught up.

“It’s from Miss Ora Mae,” Annie said finally, folding the letter tight, voice thick but calm. “Down in Shelby. One of her girls went missin’. And a woman’s been found near the crossroads with her eyes gone.”

Amelia froze, the warmth of the skillet forgotten.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

Annie looked up at her then, face shadowed beneath the kitchen light. “I gotta go. She’s callin’ for me.”

“Tomorrow?”

Annie nodded, “First light.”

They didn’t speak much after that. Just ate quietly—red beans over rice, squash crisp at the edges, cornbread still soft in the center. Amelia wrapped a second plate in cloth and set it near the stove, leaving a pan warming for when Smoke and Stack returned from town. The brothers were handling something with the moonshine and juke joint supplies—last details before the weekend’s big opening.

Outside, the cicadas hummed.

Inside, tension curled behind Annie’s eyes like smoke in a closed room.

Smoke and Stack returned just as the crickets took up their night song, boots heavy on the porch. Stack stepped inside first, his shirt damp with sweat and the smell of whiskey clinging to his collar. His eyes landed on Amelia with a small, crooked smile.

“I’m takin’ her,” he said simply, nodding toward Amelia.

She gave Annie a quick glance, then followed Stack down the hall, her pulse already rising.

Smoke lingered, silent as ever, his gaze sweeping the kitchen before settling on Annie.

“Food’s hot,” she said softly, motioning to the waiting plate.

He sat across from her, taking his button shirt off and resting it behind him, and then he dug in. He didn’t say much—not at first. Just ate slow, chewing like he could taste something beyond the food.

Annie stared at her tea, fingers tapping absently against the cup.

“You gone quiet on me,” he said finally.

“I got a letter.”

He stopped chewing, “Bad?”

“Miss Ora Mae in Shelby. Trouble with one of her girls. Real bad signs.”

Smoke swallowed, jaw twitching.

“You think it’s them folks from that river camp?”

“I don’t know. But I gotta go see.”

“When?”

“Dawn.”

Silence.

Smoke set his fork down, leaned back slightly, “You ain’t goin’ alone.”

Annie met his eyes, “I am.”

He shook his head slowly, “Nah. Not for somethin’ like that. Not if they takin’ eyes now.”

“You got the juke openin’ this weekend. You can’t go runnin’ off.”

“Damn the openin’,” he growled, but the heat in his voice softened at the look she gave him. That stubborn calm she always wore when her mind was made up.

“Smoke,” she said gently, “This my work. Mine. They called for me, not you. You stay here. Handle what’s yours.”

He clenched his jaw, pushed the plate away.

“I don’t like it.”

“You ain’t got to,” she said, reaching for his hand, “Just trust me.”

He held her hand a long moment, callused fingers wrapping tight around hers.

Then—quietly—he nodded.

Later, beneath the open sky, Annie drew water from the hand pump and filled the iron tub on the back porch. The moon was nearly full, hanging low and round above the trees. Smoke sat in the tub, his back to her, steam rising around him in soft tendrils.

She bathed him in silence, her hands slow and reverent. She poured warm water over his broad shoulders, dragged the washcloth across the planes of his back, kissed the nape of his neck as she worked.

He said nothing at first.

Then, he spoke softly, “You come back to me.”

“I always do.”

“I mean it, Annie.”

She leaned in, pressed her lips to his ear.

“If I don’t, you’ll find me anyway. You always do.”

Water splashed soft against metal. Frogs sang in the cane grass. The moon watched from her perch in the sky, full and golden, as Annie’s hands moved slow over the man she loved.

And somewhere in the distance, the wind shifted.

Something was coming. Annie could feel it in her bones.

But for now, she just bathed her man in moonlight. And let the night hold them.

The steam curled in soft spirals from the surface of the water, carrying the scent of rosemary and bay leaf. The iron tub be on the back porch creaked faintly as Smoke shifted, his long legs stretched out, chest slick with heat. Moonlight cast him in silver—his dark skin gleaming, beard damp at the edge of his jaw.

Annie knelt behind him on a stool, bare feet braced against the wooden slats of the porch, her slip clinging damp to her thick body. She dragged a cloth over his broad shoulders, slow and deliberate, her fingers following behind to massage soap into his skin.

Smoke groaned low in his chest, head falling forward slightly.

“You always groan like that,” she murmured, lips curving at the edge, “Makes me think you been needin’ this more than you let on.”

“You already know I do,” he rumbled, voice thick as molasses, “Ain’t nothin’ like ya’ hands, woman.”

Annie reached for the tin pitcher and poured warm water over him again, watching the rivulets roll down the grooves of his back, over the scars he never spoke of, over the life he’d never explain. She set the pitcher down and leaned in close, breath warm against the nape of his neck.

Her right hand dipped lower beneath the water—beneath the surface, where heat pooled thick. She found him with ease, fingers curling gently around his length, already half-hardened from her touch alone.

Smoke exhaled, jaw tightening.

“Annie…”

She kissed behind his ear, slow and wet, and then her tongue flicked over the curve of his right ear—the sensitive part she’d discovered long ago that unraveled him like thread.

Her voice dropped, lush and low, and she began to whisper in his ear—not English now, but Yoruba, her grandmother’s tongue. The one passed to her through work and blood, never written down, only remembered through ritual and want.

“Mo ní ifẹ́ rẹ… gbogbo ara rẹ.”

I want you…all of you.

Smoke’s hand gripped the sides of the tub, knuckles pale.

“Jọ̀wọ́, jẹ́ kí n jẹ ẹ láradá…”

Let me be your healer.

She kissed just behind his jaw, her voice like silk wrapped in flame.

“Fọ gbogbo ìbànújẹ rẹ sínú omi yìí.”

Let the water take your sorrow.

Her hand stroked him under the surface, slow and steady, and she felt him growing harder with each breath. The moon above them seemed to hold its breath. The frogs, the wind, the night itself stilled.

Smoke turned his head slightly, his eyes finding hers—dark, unreadable, full of fire.

“You tryin’ to drive me outta my mind?”

Annie didn’t answer.

She simply rose from the stool and climbed into the tub with him, her full body slipping into the water, thighs parting as she straddled him, taking off her slip that clung to her curves like a second skin from sweat.

She reached between them, guiding him to her, and whispered one last thing against his mouth—

“Má ṣe bẹ̀rù ìfẹ́ mi…”

Don’t be afraid of my love.

Then she kissed him.

Hungry, deep, wet.

And the tub rocked beneath them as the water answered in waves.

The water sloshed softly around them as Annie eased down over him, her hands pressed to his slick chest, her breath catching the moment he filled her. Deep. Stretching. So familiar, and yet every time felt like the first—all heat and slow ache and a breath stolen too fast.

Smoke’s hands slid up her thighs, gripping her hips with reverence and hunger. He groaned, head falling back against the rim of the tub, the sound guttural and low.

Annie moved slow, rocking her hips in a rhythm as old as prayer. The iron creaked beneath them, moonlight bathing their glistening skin, steam rising like the breath of the spirits that bore witness.

“FUCK,” Smoke spoke sharply with a grunt, “Hot pussy…juicy…”

“Amelia warmed me up nice and good for you…”

Smoke gripped the tubs edge and stared into Annie’s eyes with smoldering passion.

“Feel this pussy, Papa…”

the curves of her breasts pressed tight against his chest as she leaned forward and whispered more Yoruba into his ear.

“Mo jẹ́ ayé rẹ… mo jẹ́ ibi ìsinmi rẹ…”

I am your world…I am your place of rest…

Her lips brushed his jaw as she moved, the words dripping from her tongue like oil over fire. Smoke’s grip tightened, and his hips bucked up into her, his rhythm becoming needful, deeper now—pulling moans from her throat she didn’t try to hide.

“Say it again,” he rasped, though he didn’t understand. “Whatever it is. Say it.”

She cupped his face in her hands, slowing her movements just enough to feel every inch of him. Her eyes searched his.

“Ìfẹ́ yìí… kò ní parí.”

This love…will not end.

She stuck her fingers in his mouth and then replaced them with her tongue as she kissed him then—full, open, wet. Their mouths met like they were starving, teeth grazing lips, tongues stroking in time with her hips. The water rocked louder now, the tin tub groaning beneath the strain of them. Her thighs trembled around him.

Smoke sat up, arms wrapping around her, mouth dragging along the curve of her shoulder, then her throat. His voice was thick, trembling.

“You feel like home, Annie. You are home.”

Annie buried her face against his neck, her arms wrapping tight around his back. Her body moved faster now, chasing the edge with him, the sound of flesh meeting water rising like thunder in their ears. His hands gripped her backside, guiding her rhythm, grounding her in his body. Water splashed, coating his face and hers.

Then—

He groaned her name, rough and breathless.

And she shattered against him.

Her cry was soft but shaking, clinging to him as her climax rolled through her like storm-wind. Her walls fluttered around him and that’s when he let go—gripping her close, his release pulsing deep inside her, their bodies locked in wet, heaving stillness.

They stayed like that for long moments. His forehead pressed to hers. Her breath still stuttering in her chest.

Then—

Smoke let out a slow breath, like something in him had finally exhaled after years of holding on.

Annie cupped his jaw again, stared into his face. “You hear me now?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“I heard everything.”

She smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth. Then leaned back, letting the warm water rise around her once more.

They bathed each other in the quiet that followed, no rush, no words needed. The moon hung high above them—witness, keeper, guardian.

They didn’t bother to dry off.

Smoke lifted her from the tub, water slicking off their skin in rivulets as he carried her into the house—her thick thighs cradled around his waist, her arms looped behind his neck. Their mouths stayed locked, breath hot and uneven, tongues tangled in kisses that never ended, only deepened.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind them.

Moonlight spilled through the open window, casting Annie’s skin in silver flame. Her body gleamed—full, bronzed, beaded with water. Her breasts heaved, nipples tight, Smoke’s eyes stuck to every curve like worship.

Smoke growled low in his throat.

“Lay back,” he said roughly, guiding her to the bed.

She obeyed, her body hitting the sheets with a soft, wet sigh.

His eyes swept over her slowly—deliberately—dragging from her hips, to her belly, to her breasts. He kissed every inch it revealed, moaning as he went.

“Look at you,” he muttered against her stomach, voice thick and reverent, “You so goddamn fine, Annie. Look at this body. Look at these hips. This ass. You know I ain’t never wanted nobody the way I want you?”

His hands roamed her like he’d forgotten everything else in the world.

“I’m gon’ take my time wit’ ya’ tonight,” he growled. “And YOU gon’ take all this dick, just like ya’ was made to.”

Annie whimpered, already arching beneath him.

Smoke grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide as he knelt between them. His mouth found her again—devouring, slow at first, then faster. She cried out, hips bucking, and he held her down with one strong arm, eating like he was trying to own her soul.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he murmured against her folds, his beard slick with her arousal. “Keep runnin’ from me, I’ma pin you down and fuck you into the floor.”

She moaned—shaky, desperate—and reached for him.

“Elijah!”

His response was more pussy eating. He pinned Annie’s thighs back with both hands. Smoke ate her like it was his last supper. Annie watched with her breasts in each hand, cupping them like he loved. He loved it when she rolled her breasts and pointed them up so he could take in the beauty of her big areolas and perk nipples. Smoke missed wedging his big dick between them and pouring the Sweet Ember.

Sweet Ember smells like desire in summer dusk—thick, slow-burning, and sticky-sweet. Like brown sugar melting on a cast iron skillet. Like crushed clove in a warm palm. Like the smoke of a love letter burned and inhaled.

The scent lingers, curling behind the ears, at the collarbone, between thighs. It blends with the skin’s own chemistry, deepening as bodies warm. On Smoke, it sharpens—the cedar and tobacco becoming heavier, headier. On Annie, it sweetens, bringing out the molasses and vanilla, making her skin smell edible, holy.

Smoke took a breath, “You ‘bout to cum, I can taste it, baby, just let it go. Give me what the fuck I want.”

Annie was in paradise. She’d had her pussy licked and sucked twice in one day. Once by Amelia. And now her handsome husband. Her Papa Smoke.

“Papa my puss cummin’…”

The defeated tone of her voice followed by her sweet moans sent Smoke over the edge.

He climbed up, mouth crashing into hers, then flipped her onto her stomach like she weighed nothing. Smoke popped her on the rump, the sensation stinging from the lingering water against her skin.

“You want me to stop?” he rasped in her ear.

“No,” she gasped.

“Say it.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Say it.”

“Don’t stop, Papa, please don’t stop. Get in this pussy.”

“Then I’m a take this pussy.”

Smoke growled, sliding into her from behind in one slow, claiming thrust. Her back arched, hands gripping the headboard as he drove into her—deep, hard, full. His hips snapped against her ass, one hand against the side of her neck, the other hand wrapped tight in her hair.

Every thrust pushed a moan from her lips.

“You mine tonight,” he snarled, dragging his hand down her back, “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she choked out. “Yours, Elijah—”

He slammed deeper.

“Say my name again.”

“Elijah.”

“Louder.”

“Elijah!”

“Look at you—back bent, ass high, beggin’ for it without sayin’ a word. You so goddamn beautiful, baby. This body? This body was made to be loved like this. You hear me?”

He grinned, kissed the side of her throat, then flipped her again—face to face now. His eyes, wild and full of dark heat, bore into hers. He kisses her shoulder, then bites gently, hand slipping beneath her belly to stroke where she’s most sensitive. He grips her hips tighter, pulling her back onto him with a grunt.

“Wanna see your face when you cum.”

He lifted her legs over his shoulders and drove in again, watching every expression as she came undone beneath him. The bed rocked beneath them, and the room was soaked in moans, skin slapping, gasps for air.

Then—

He slowed.

Pressed his forehead to hers.

Let the rhythm draw out again—long, deep, possessive strokes.

The moon poured over their skin, igniting the bronze and brown of their bodies like they’d been sculpted in flame. Their melanin shimmered beneath the silver light, sweat and want gleaming like how Sweet Ember across the curves of Annie’s stomach, the thick of her thighs, the swell of her breasts.

“I see you,” he whispered, breath ragged. “Ain’t never stopped. Ain’t never will.”

“Don’t ever stop, Papa. Don’t…don’t ever stop…shit, Elijah!”

“Didn’t I tell you?” he growls softly in her ear. “Didn’t I tell you I was gon’ do you good tonight? Mm. Got you moanin’ into the sheets like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

Annie was teary eyed and speechless. That Yoruba, Creole, and English was trapped in her throat with how good Smoke was making love to her.

“Goddamn, Annie…This pussy always know how to take me. So fuckin’ soft. So wet. You feel that?”

“Mm… Elijah… yes.” She moaned.

Her breath catches as he thrusts deep.

“I’m doin’ it good, baby?”

He drives in deeper. She gasps, body arching.

“You said you’d do me good… and you doin’ it, baby… Lord…”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Grippin’ me like you ain’t ready to let go….moonlight all over you. Skin shinin’ like it’s been kissed by fire. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He grinds into her, slow and heavy. She shudders beneath him.

“You got me meltin’… legs shakin’… You got me callin’ out ya’ name…”

He begins to stroke deeper, slower—his voice becoming thick with emotion.

“You makin’ me feel like I ain’t never had no woman before. And maybe I ain’t, not like this. Not the way you take me in. Not the way you make me lose my whole goddamn mind.”

He brushes a damp curl from her forehead, then rests his forehead against hers, breath shuddering.

“I told you I was gon’ have you walkin’ funny,” he whispers, grinning slightly. “And I ain’t nowhere near done.”

Then he kisses her hard, possessive. His hand curls around her throat—not to choke, just to hold—and his next thrust sends her gasping into his mouth.

“You mine, Annie. Mine ‘til the stars fall.”

“Take me, Elijah… Make me forget where I am…Just don’t let me forget who I’m with.”

Annie cupped his face as he moved inside her, their climax building again—slow and thick and soul-deep. She cried out his name as she came, her walls clenching tight around him. He followed with a low, broken moan, emptying into her as his whole body trembled.

Their bodies were still tangled, limbs heavy and wet with sweat. The bedsheets were half-kicked to the floor. The window remained open, and the night air curled in like a lullaby, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle and damp earth.

Smoke didn’t pull out.

He stayed inside her—deep, slow-breathing, his chest rising and falling against hers. One hand cupped the back of her head, fingers slipping through the damp coils of her hair. The other held her thigh, thumb stroking slow circles against the softness of her skin.

Annie’s breath was still catching in small waves. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, her lips brushing his collarbone.

“Damn,” she whispered.

Smoke chuckled low in his throat. “That what you got to say?”

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s all I can say.”

He shifted slightly, just enough to slide deeper. She gasped—soft, not in pain, but from the sensation of still being filled. Still connected.

“You want me to stay like this?” he murmured.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded. “Don’t pull out yet. Not just yet.”

He kissed her forehead, slow and lingering.

“I ain’t never loved a woman like I love you,” he said, his voice raw.

Annie opened her eyes.

“You love me?”

He looked down at her. “I thought you knew.”

She swallowed thickly. “Sometimes I forget I’m allowed to have that.”

“You don’t just have it,” he said, brushing his nose along her temple. “You own it.”

They stayed wrapped together like that, his length still inside her, their bodies breathing as one, until sleep came in soft waves. The moonlight spilled over them, igniting their skin with silver, as if the heavens themselves had seen what they shared and blessed it.

They stayed locked like that, trembling in each other’s arms.

Then, slowly, he rolled to his side and pulled her with him—her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her belly.

They lay bathed in moonlight.

Their breaths slowed.

But their hearts thundered on—tangled in sweat, salt, spirit, and something so ancient, not even the stars could name it.

And though tomorrow would pull Annie away…

Tonight, she gave him every part of herself.

And he received it like it was the last water on earth.

The house had quieted to a hush by the time Amelia settled onto her bed, one leg tucked beneath her, the other stretched out across the patchwork quilt. The oil lamp on her bedside table cast a soft amber glow, flickering shadows across the walls and the spines of her old books.

Stack was pacing slow, lazy circles through her room like a big cat with nowhere to be. He picked things up and put them down without real purpose—opened her music box again and let it chime its soft, broken melody. Then he clicked his lighter open and shut, open and shut, as if the rhythm steadied him. His eyes kept drifting back to her—watching her legs shift under her nightgown, her bare foot flexing as she adjusted her seat.

She pretended not to notice.

Her focus remained on the leather-bound journal resting across her lap—one of her grandmother’s oldest. The pages were filled with looping cursive, herbs smudged into the margins, candle wax stuck between spells. Amelia’s finger traced a line of ink that read:

For fire without flame: mix crushed red pepper, cedar smoke, and the tears of a woman scorned. Speak her name three times, and no man shall ever rest in her arms again.

She shivered a little.

In front of her, she heard the creak of floorboards.

Then—

Tickles.

She squealed as Stack’s fingers brushed the arch of her foot, light and devilish.

“Stack!” she laughed, pulling her leg up, but he caught it.

“Mm,” he hummed, crouching at the foot of the bed, “You so serious tonight. Thought I’d be the reminder that you got skin.”

He held her foot gently in his big hand, rough thumb brushing the soft pad of her sole. Then, without warning, he kissed the top of it. Just once. Warm and unhurried.

Amelia blinked, thrown off by the tenderness of it.

Then another kiss. This time just above her ankle.

Then higher—his lips grazing the side of her calf, his breath hot against her skin.

She swallowed, her fingers sliding to mark her place in the journal, but her focus was gone now.

“What you readin’?” he asked against her leg, his voice low, molasses-thick.

She hesitated, “My grandmother’s hoodoo book. One of her oldest ones. She used to write notes in the margins when things didn’t go right.”

Stack nodded, still kissing upward. “That the same grandmother raised you?”

“Mhm.” Amelia smiled faintly. “Vivienne. She taught me how to brew healing teas before I could even write my name. I used to sit at her feet while she read Psalms over herbs like they were alive.”

Stack paused, resting his chin gently against her knee. The lamp’s glow hit her just right—golden and warm—and for a second, she looked like something caught between a dream and a flame. His eyes didn’t leave her.

“She the one who gave you your shine?”

Amelia blinked, “My shine?”

He nodded slowly, brushing his thumb along her skin. “Yeah… that light. That thing you got around you. I don’t know what to call it. But it’s there.”

She tilted her head, intrigued but cautious, “What kind of light you think I got?”

Stack’s voice dropped, thick and reverent, “It ain’t somethin’ I see. Not with my eyes, not really. It’s like…I feel it when you walk in a room. Makes the air shift. Animals go still. Time slows up a little.”

He paused again, his thumb still drawing slow circles just below her knee.

“I see it in your skin when you laugh. Hear it in your voice when you speak over tea like it’s spellwork. You shine, Amelia. You glow. And I don’t think that’s just ‘cause you fine. I think that’s somethin’ in you.”

Her breath caught. She looked away for a second, her fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the journal in her lap.

“You don’t know what you talkin’ about,” she whispered, but it lacked conviction.

Stack gave a soft chuckle, “Maybe not. But I know how I feel when I’m near you.”

She looked back at him.

“And how’s that?”

He stared at her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her soul. “Like I’m standin’ in front of a fire that don’t burn… but still changes me.”

Amelia swallowed. Her heart was thudding now, not from fear—but from being seen.

Deeply.

More deeply than she’d ever been seen before.

She lowered her hand and brushed her fingers over the edge of his jaw, voice trembling just a little.

“My grandmère…she did give me somethin’. But I don’t think even she knew what it really was.”

Stack nodded, eyes never leaving hers, “Don’t matter if she named it or not. I see it. I feel it. Every time I touch you, it’s like I’m touchin’ light,” He leaned in again and kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and soft, “Reckon I’d like to hear more ‘bout her sometime.”

Amelia reached down, her hand brushing his jaw.

“You stay the night, and I’ll tell you one of her stories. The one about the bottle tree that kept whisperin’ her name.”

Stack grinned against her skin, “You tryin’ to scare me or seduce me?”

“Ain’t it always a little of both?”

He laughed, deep in his chest, and rose from his crouch, easing himself beside her on the bed. He took the journal from her lap and closed it gently, setting it on the nightstand.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

Then she turned to him, let her head rest against his shoulder, her fingers finding his under the covers.

The music box wound down in the corner.

And somewhere in the house, the faint scent of cedar smoke lingered.

Amelia was curled against Stack’s chest, her head tucked under his jaw, their limbs loosely tangled under the thin sheet. His hand moved slow along her spine, trailing patterns she couldn’t name, fingers sometimes pausing to twirl one of her damp curls around his knuckle. She thought he might be drifting off.

But then he spoke, voice low and gravel-soft, barely louder than a breath.

“You ever believe in things you wasn’t supposed to talk about?”

Amelia blinked up at him, still hazy from the edge of sleep.

“Like what?”

Stack’s hand slowed, “When I was about… six? Maybe seven? Smoke and me used to sneak down by the bayou, out past where the cypress trees thicken and the ground gets soft under your feet. Real still out there. Too still sometimes.”

Amelia nodded slowly. She knew the kind of still he meant.

“One afternoon, I stayed behind after Smoke ran ahead. I was sittin’ on a rock, missin’ my momma again. It hit me sometimes… that ache. Like she was just outta reach but I couldn’t touch her.”

He paused. His fingers skimmed the curve of her waist, thumb settling lightly just beneath her breast.

“Anyway… that’s when I saw her.”

Amelia tilted her face up slightly. “Her?”

“Mmhm. A woman. Not like any I’d ever seen before. Skin gold and brown like riverstone after rain. Hair long and wild, blowin’ though there wasn’t no wind. She was dancin’, just beneath the trees. Twirlin’ like she ain’t had a care in the world. Like joy itself was pourin’ outta her feet.”

His voice dipped into something more reverent now, distant, “She… she glowed. Not like fire. Not like sunlight. She just…lit the world around her. The leaves. The water. My chest. Made everythang feel warm again, even though I’d been cryin’.”

Amelia stilled.

Stack’s jaw flexed as he remembered, “She looked right at me. Smiled, real soft. Then she waved her hand and said, ‘Everything’s gon’ be alright, baby boy.’ Just like that. Like she knew me. Like she meant it.”

He exhaled, long and slow, “I never told nobody. Not Smoke, not Annie, not my daddy. Folks would’ve laughed, said I made it up. Said I was just seein’ things.”

Amelia swallowed, “But you know it was real.”

“I do,” he said, with a conviction that surprised even her, “I ain’t never felt peace like that again. Not ‘til…”

He stopped, hesitated.

She looked up at him, “Not ‘til what?”

His hand returned to her back, stroking lower now, possessive, protective.

“Not ‘til you.”

A soft ache bloomed behind her ribs. Her throat tightened.

“Where was this? Where you saw her?”

Stack glanced toward the window, where the moonlight spilled across the floorboards like a path. “Out past Tchula Lake. Not far from a little four-way crossroads lined with willow trees. Place feelin’ wrong and right at the same time. Like magic and memory both live there.”

Amelia closed her eyes.

She knew that place. Her grandmother had once whispered that fae linger there—that the veil was thin along the water, where cypress trees root into more than just soil. She hadn’t been there since she was a girl.

“Amelia…” Stack’s voice pulled her back.

“Yeah?”

“I think maybe I saw somethin’ I wasn’t meant to. Or maybe I was meant to and just didn’t know what it meant yet.”

Her voice came out a whisper. “Maybe you still don’t.”

His fingers brushed her jaw, tipping her face up toward his.

“I ain’t never stopped thinkin’ about her,” he said, “Not once. Not ‘til now. ‘Cause now… now I think that light might’ve found me again.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t trust herself to.

Stack kissed her forehead, then pulled her tighter into his chest, tucking her beneath his arm like something precious.

“G’night, moon girl,” he murmured, half in jest, half in wonder.

And with his arm wrapped around her and her cheek pressed to his chest, Amelia finally let herself fall asleep. She leaned into him as the hush of night settled around them, her head resting on Stack’s shoulder, one hand still laced with his beneath the coverlet. Her breathing softened, deepened. Within minutes, sleep had pulled her under.

Stack stayed still.

He didn’t want to move. Not yet.

She was warm against him—soft, curved, steady. Her curls had spilled across his chest, a few strands sticking to the fine sheen of sweat that clung to them both. The oil lamp on the bedside table had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows up the walls, golden and slow.

He reached for one of her curls, coiling it gently around his finger.

There was something about her that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Not just the way she kissed, or the way she gasped his name when his fingers found the right place. Not even how sweet she smelled when she’d been working in the garden all morning, herbs clinging to her skin.

It was something else. Something in the way she watched people. The way animals didn’t flinch when she got close. The way her touch lingered in places long after she’d gone.

Stack had been with women. Slept beside a few. But he never stayed the whole night. Not unless he was too drunk to get home. He didn’t choose sleep like this. He didn’t seek it.

But tonight, with her weight curled into him and her breath fluttering against his ribs, he didn’t want to go nowhere.

He shifted carefully and reached across her to pull the journal from the nightstand—her grandmother’s book.

The leather was cracked and worn, edges curled like it had lived through fire and rain. He opened it.

Symbols. Words that looked like English but weren’t quite. Ingredients he half-recognized—calamus root, dragon’s blood, hyssop. He didn’t understand any of it, not the way Amelia did. Not in his hands.

But he wanted to.

He flipped through the pages slow, reverent, like maybe by holding it he could get closer to her. Not just her skin. But the parts she hadn’t shared yet. The deeper parts. The parts that whispered instead of moaned.

He closed the book after a while, eyes moving back to her sleeping face. Her full lips, parted just slightly. The slow rise of her chest beneath the sheet.

“I don’t know what you are,” he whispered, barely loud enough for the room to hear, “but you ain’t just a girl.”

He let that truth sit in the silence.

Then he moved.

Quietly, he unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it off his shoulders, and folded it once before setting it on the floor. His pants followed. He climbed back under the coverlet, bare-chested, the heat of Mississippi night wrapping around them both.

Amelia shifted slightly, sighing in her sleep. Her hand found his again, even in the dark.

He held it.

Let his head rest back against the pillow.

And for the second time in his life—maybe the first by choice—Elias “Stack” Moore let sleep come to him beside a woman not out of lust, but out of peace.

Out of want for something deeper than flesh.

Out of need.

And the journal on the nightstand pulsed with quiet energy, as if it, too, had taken notice.

The morning came heavy with dew and silence.

The kitchen smelled like sweet mint and cedar ash— the last remnants of the incense Annie had burned before sunrise. She stood by the stove, hair wrapped in a deep green scarf, her skirt cinched tight at the waist, boots laced high. The letter sat folded on the table, held down by a tin of red clover.

Smoke leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, bare-chested, his jeans riding low, belt slung loose.

His eyes didn’t leave her.

“You sure I shouldn’t come?” he asked, stepping closer, “I can put the juke on hold.”

Annie zipped the bag and turned to face him.

She cupped his face, thumb brushing the stubble on his cheek.

“You already came back, Elijah. You got work to do here. With your brother. With her. And you need a new shave. I’ll handle that when I get back.”

“Annie…”

She smiled softly and stood on her toes to kiss him — long, deep, her fingers sliding into his hair.

“You trust me?” she asked when they broke apart.

“Always,” he murmured.

“Then trust I’ll be fine.”

They packed the truck together.

Smoke tossed the bag in the back beside a small trunk of conjure tools wrapped in cloth and bone charms.

Annie tied her scarf tighter, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt with steady hands.

“Train leaves at eight,” she said, “We got time.”

The drive was peaceful, Annie’s hand in his, windows down. The station was quiet. Just the sound of birds and the distant rumble of the engine coming down the tracks. Steam hissed. Metal whined.

Smoke walked her to the platform in silence, one hand on the small of her back, the other clenched at his side.

When they reached the edge, she turned to face him again.

“Watch the house,” she said, “And the shop.”

“I will.”

“And watch her.”

She didn’t say Amelia’s name, but it burned in the space between them.

Smoke’s brows furrowed.

“You sure—”

Annie stepped in close. Pressed her chest to his, whispering in his ear.

“I want you to enjoy her. If she needs you… even like that… you give it. She trust you. So do I.”

Smoke exhaled—slow and sharp. Annie slid her hand down, cupping his hardness through his jeans.

“You hard already,” she teased, “Ain’t no shame in that.”

She kissed him one last time—slower, with meaning.

“I love you, Elijah Moore.”

“I love you, Annie Moore.”

She stepped onto the train with her bag and trunk, turned at the top of the steps, and waved.

“Tell my girl I’ll be back soon.”

Smoke didn’t speak.

He just watched.

As the train pulled off, he reached under his shirt. Smoke pulled out the mojo bag she’d made him before he left for Chicago.

He held it to his lips.

Kissed it once.

“I got errythang,” he said under his breath, “I got our home…the shack…our baby grave…I promise.”

Smoke got back in his truck and drove home.

Smoke had only meant to close his eyes for a moment.

The bed was warm. The house too quiet. Annie’s absence settled deep in his chest like a stone in water. He stretched out, hand on his chest, boots still on.

And then…

He was somewhere else.

Stay tuned for 5.2...

@blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams

#nahimjustfeelingit #annie and elijah smokes #smoke x annie #annie sinners #elijah smoke moore #smoke sinners #smoke x stack #smokestacktwins #elijah smokes x black!oc #elijah smokes #elias smokes x black!oc #elias stack #elias stack moore #sinnersfanfiction #sinners 2025 #pearline sinners #sinners fanfiction #sinners smut #sinners fic

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astraveritas · 1 day ago

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── .✦ I don't know if people with saturnian 3H (capricorn or aquarius ruiling their 3rd house), know how blunt and rude they sometimes are. I'm dragging myself here, but at times we really do not know how to say things without hurting other people's feelings even if the intentions are good and we're trying to help. no sense of diplomacy just "you're being an idiot, here's what you should do" and you standing there feeling like you're being scolded by your deadbeat dad.

── .✦ if your crush has a libra venus and you’re worrying about not being pretty enough for them - don’t be. this "libra venus only wanting the prettiest of the pretty" talk is a propaganda, I’ve seen what they date, cuff and marry, you’ll be fine.

── .✦ aquarius placements (mars!) love for long ass rants about meaningless bullshit is why all those podcasts are infested with them.

── .✦ best thing to do is just ignore what they're ranting about this time and just listen to them for the sound of their voice only. cause baby, men with an aquarius mars have such nice voices, they have this low timbre and slow way of speaking that is kind of hypnotizing, for example: penn badgley, theo james, oliver jackson cohen, harry styles.

── .✦ cancer placements men getting whacked like a pinata left and right for having breeding kink, while libra placements men and their army of toddlers remain unscathed is the pretty privilege they yap about on tiktok.

── .✦ scorpio placements that are obsessed with being perceived as dark and constantly talk like they are feared and desired by everyone are kind of like those 40yo divorcees of tiktok that pop up on your for you feed sometimes and they have black eyes filter on, lipsync to pop punk songs, talk about how scary and sexy they are, but their eyes look empty and sad cause linda took the kids and left. people clown leos for being self obsessed, but they have competition.

── .✦ I love when I stumble upon an astrology cliche, because why my gemini ascendant - sagittarius descendant friend keeps falling in love with priests, and now she's with a guy that left the church to be with her. gemini risings' ego's so big nothing's hotter to them than a man who loves them more than a god.

── .✦ if you wanna know if someone has leo placements just look at their partner, if their significant other has so much hair on their head NASA can photograph it from space - there's probably a prominent leo placement lurking in their chart. the higher the hair the closer to god - the god being of course, a leo.

── .✦ the dichotomy of cancer rising in women and in men is astounding. cause why cancer rising women are the most beautiful angelic creatures on this earth and cancer rising men look like hard boiled eggs or half-cooked potato. venus is much more egalitarian in that aspect cause she's blessed both the feminine and the masculine with beauty and charm and the taurus and libra risings both in women and men are usually conventionally attractive and then there's the the moon and she's like "and why would a man be here?".

── .✦ aries sun/mars folks need to learn to flirt with people without terrorizing these poor souls, cause what do you mean you like them so you were chasing them down with your car?

── .✦ libra placements get into relationship first and ask questions later. they see an opportunity to be coupled up, fall head over heels at the thought of it and then they get to know the person they're with, realize they're incompatible, the reality of who they're with hits them, the delusion wears off and that's why they have the reputation of being h-o-e-s. just doing things ass backwards in that area of their life. yeah, aries are hotheads in general but libras are too, they're just relationship hotheads.

#astro notes #astrology notes #astro observations #astroblr #astrology observations #astro community #astrology #*#natal

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itsclydebitches · 3 days ago

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Gurathin's "Do you have feelings for it?" really adds another layer to his dislike of SecUnit.

Though the whole group is still grappling with whether to trust it or not, Gurathin remains the most stubbornly vocal about that distrust and on one level we already understood why. He's a former member of the Corporation Rim, someone who both grew up on the same feeds as the SecUnit engineers—'They go rogue and kill everyone all the time!'—and, as we learn this episode, has been horrendously abused by the Company itself, so why would he trust anything it gave them? One might even go so far as to say Gurathin still doesn't see SecUnit as a person, only a very dangerous piece of equipment.

Except... you don't see equipment as a romantic rival.

We know Gurathin has a rather intense crush on Mensah and who can blame him? She not only forgave him when few others would have, but she turned his whole world on its head, providing him with a new purpose and autonomy and love when he was very close to giving up. That's the level of devotion that inspires sneaking into her bedroom to smell her pillow, or staring star-struck across the dinner table, unable to think of a single critique. Gurathin loves Mensah and Mensah obviously loves him... but not in the same way.

Now toss SecUnit into the mix. Here's Company property that scares the shit out of you and as if that weren't enough, the woman you love is being so nice to it. Not just that, she's seemingly prioritizing it over you.

"It feel like it's going through something" vs. I'm going through something.

Running to talk to SecUnit vs. I was the one who was just threatened.

"I feel we can trust it" vs. I thought you trusted me?

"You need a MedBay" vs. But you won't get me to one because SecUnit advises otherwise, right? (Notably, Gurathin doesn't seem to be conscious when Mensah makes the decision to leave anyway, with or without SecUnit).

There are a lot of other moments like this and from our perspective we can see that Mensah is treating SecUnit similarly to how she no doubt treated Gurathin six years ago. The parallels between them abound, including being slaves to the Company who only start to demonstrate true autonomy after meeting Mensah. Gurathin still has a lot of healing to do, but after so many years he's in a better place than the slave that has just admitted to some level of personhood (not to mention the practical issues of them needing SecUnit to defend them), so of course Mensah is going to prioritize it to a certain extent. She's trying to help it the way she once helped Gurathin, but Gurathin is still so damaged and so JEALOUS that he can't conceptualize, "Oh. She's giving SecUnit what I was once lucky enough to receive."

He can't see that, so what comes out instead is, 'You have feelings for it don't you?' Because what other explanation does he have? If SecUnit already 'stole' her attention and her high opinion, why not her romantic love too! I don't think Gurathin would have ever asked that without the fever lowering his inhibitions, but I don't think the fever caused that worry either.

Gurathin makes me insane because I just want to scream, "SecUnit is you! It's you! It's not your rival, it's a mirror of who you were six years ago! You're not in competition with it, you're the best person to help it because you know something of what it's gone through!! You get to pass the torch, Gura, and help Mensah help someone else!!!!"

#Murderbot #Murderbot spoilers #Gurathin #mymetas #long post

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kdh-tally · 1 day ago

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Have you ever thought about what a Swap AU would be like, where the Saja Boys would be the Hunters and the Huntrixs would be demons (and the boys would have that look of love, especially Mistery and Baby drooling when Zoey lets her hair down (I'm sure Zoey with her hair down must be a beauty and a sin, it's so beautiful)?

Yes, I think about this all the timeeeeeee. I also agree with the whole "Zoey looks fine af with her hair down" idea. Cause imagine she only keeps it up to maintain that bubbly energetic image. Hope i met your expectations :D

First Meeting!

Imagine the scene where the girls first meet the boys but its swapped 💀

The saja boys walking out of the scam doctor’s shop with a whole bag of fake throat juice ( i don’t remember what it was called-) just to come face to face with this duo.

Zoey and Mira both walking down the alley way, their eyes just barely passing over the boys before refocusing on the path ahead of them.

Now imagine the look on Mystery’s face when he sees her.

Jaw dropped, eyes wide, bro doesn’t even notice he’s staring till Baby elbows him in the side to pick up his jaw from the ground.

Zoey is most definitely playing it up, doing a little hair toss as she gossips with Mira.

Speaking of Mira

Let's say she’s ordering food off her phone

Just cause she’s a demon and technically doesn’t need food doesn’t mean she won't take the opportunity to enjoy all the food provided.

Human food is better than the demon stuff.

She is listening to Zoey yap, a teeny smirk on her face as she thinks about how easy it’ll be for them to steal souls.

Romance and Abby have never been so focused in their entire lives.

Who is this girl?

Why does her hair colour match???

Why is she everything I’ve ever dreamed of?

They’re very much drooling

The first two girls have already gone by, not that any of the boys notice as they’re still entranced.

Jinu is side-eyeing his other members. “They’re just girls you guys-” his voice is then caught in his throat when he lays eyes on Rumi.

Now Rumi “casually” passes by Jinu, accidentally brushing his shoulder as she does.

Jinu, unfocused, gets knocked off balance and falls.

He’s still staring when Rumi turns back in slow motion~

“Oh..” he hears her gasp innocently, hand reaching out to him, and Jinu swears he can hear his heart beating so fast.

He reaches out to meet her hand, “Thank-“

She quickly moved her hand to brush off non-existent dust, “Watch where you’re going hm?” she says smugly.

My guy is shocked, watching as she walks of to meet with Zoey and Mira (they girls were most definitely watching in amusement)

“Damn,” Baby scoffs “You guys are down bad”

Finding out they’re demons

When the boys eventually find out the girls are demons, their first move of action is to remain in denial.

“What do mean they’re demons?”

“Just because they have a dark girl crush concept doesn’t make them evil???”

“Okay so what if they have patterns? Maybe it’s a style choice ☹️”

“You can’t prove that they’re actually stealing souls…”

Romance and Abby definitely stream “Golden” in secret and everyone knows.

Watching the girls perform “How it’s done” set something off in their brain

Jinu glares at the guys whenever he catches them dancing to the song.

“We’re supposed to hate them!”

The day of the fan sign?

Mira sits between Abby and Romance (instantly stealing all their attention and distracting them from the fans)

I can see one of them accidentally signing the fans album with Mira’s name instead of theirs just cause they’re so unfocused

Zoey is happily between Baby and Mystery.

She’s probably having the most fun out of all of them.

Instead of her and Mystery “arguing” like in the movie, I feel like Mystery would be too busy unconsciously doing everything to please her.

This means Zoey is now arguing with Baby (the only Saja Boy who doesn’t seem to be hypnotized by the girls)

“What kind of stage name is Baby?”

“It’s better than your basic one 😒”

Jinu is just trying to live bro

Rumi, who found out about the whole “half-demon” thing earlier, makes it impossible for him to focus.

She’s out here racing circles into his sleeve where his patterns would be.

“You’re gonna have to tell them~” she reminds him of the truth he is definitely not ready to face.

Fans obviously see these interactions and ship-wars ensue.

Final Battle

Originally i was thinking the girls would sing “How its done” instead of “I’m Your Idol” but that song scratches something in my brain 🥰🥰🥰

Yes, they would sing “I’m your idol.”

Yes, the other boys would be under their spell.

Baby would be fine at first… “I won’t fall for this—” halfway through the chorus “...damn it.”

Zoey would 100% have her hair down during the performance.

Imagine her rapping Baby’s verse 😭 😩

Mystery just mumbles “She’s not real. There’s no way she’s real.” as he walks into Gwi-ma’s fire.

If Jinu had watched the performance from the start instead of popping up halfway to beat them he definitely would be under the spell too.

The fight ensues.

Mira and Zoey are parrying the boys' attack with ease.

They're almost winning when the fans souls begin to power the boys

Jinu is focused on defeating Gwi-ma but is losing.

And then

Rumi sacrifices herself for him.

Jinu is in tears

What do you mean the only person that understands me is dying???

Mira and Zoey see this and both decide to follow in her footsteps.

Though they’re demons, I feel like seeing their leader willingly sacrifice herself would make them do it as well.

They love her too much to live without her, you know?

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chaconnewon · 2 days ago

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nerd!won surprising u by actually being good in bed despite what the others say (him being bitchless i mean) *but still clumsy and cute 😩* PLEASE

a/n: TOOK ME A FUCKING WHILE TO WROTE THIS. I am so, so sorry. Is not even that good. I had to change it so many time that I dont really know if it's what you wanted or... anyways I hope you like it(if you see it ;_;) Thank you so much for the request. <3

surface ─── y.jw

contains: nerd!jungwon x fem!reader, masturbation(f. recieving), unpreotected sex(gyus no), mentions of a party, alcohol(both conscious), jungwon looks like a tease but it's a softie, mention of aftercare. wc: 2k(2.261) a/n pt2: this is proofread but once again english is not my frist languague so it may contains mistakes. hope you enjoy it !!!

‘’Why you care about body count so much?’’

You didn’t mean to overhear that conversation but those students were too close to you, and they weren’t speaking quietly. You took some books off your shelf locker, maybe a little slower to continue being nosey.

‘’ What if I'm sleeping with someone who has zero experience?’’

‘’ Everyone has been inexperienced at least once. Not a big deal, you’re having sex for fun not to impress someone.’’

That was right. No one should be ashamed for being a virgin, or lacking in experience. From the past years people made sex look like some kind of competition. Setting your status based on how many people you slept with. Nothing to flex about, neither if you have sex or not, both valid.

‘’ I know for sure some of your classmates have lost their virginity…’’

‘’ Jesus, why are we talking about that? ‘’

‘’ What do you mean ‘we’? She seems to have been ovulating for the past two months! My girl, if you wanna get laid so bad, go ask Jay for one night. I'm pretty sure he won’t deny.’’

‘’Not my type.’’

The girls laughed, and so did you. Quietly, of course.

‘’My type is more like… Jaeyoon? Or maybe Jungwon!’’

You knew both of them. Well, actually you knew Jake for always saying dumb shit at the worst moment possible. He kinda makes you laugh, and was a good classmate. And Jungwon…

Jungwon was the type of guy who’s smart as fuck. Like, had a response to everything. He knew about so many things you couldn’t remember. Doesn’t talk too often but always has the first place in the ranking grades. No one could beat him even if they tried. A lot of people envied him for that, even making bad comments about him but Jungwon didn’t seem to care. For you, it was just admiration. A person so sweet, caring and smart. You couldn’t find bad traits about him and you didn’t want to.

It’s been four days since that conversation lingered in your mind and you couldn't help but wonder what was your ideal type. Never thought about that before and you felt curious. Not that you have an extensive list of crushes throughout your life but still.

Of course you liked some people, but none of them had a unique trait to make you think ‘’that is maybe some kind of my type’’ like glasses, or people taller than you. Honestly, you didn’t care as long as they were nice to you and the others.

Cuz we don’t beg or idealise the bare minimum.

As soon as you stepped outside the school building, you stretched your body, hearing some of your bones crack. It was Friday, finally. And you couldn’t wait to arrive home and do nothing for the rest of the weekend. But again, you overheard another conversation.

‘’It is true that this boy next class is arranging a party?’’

‘’I think so, shall we go?’’

A party… When was the last time you went to a party? You thought about it, until said party day came. You stood in front of the door, hearing the music through the walls, blasting. Was that a good idea? You were 100% sure you wanted to spend the night in someone’s house full of people you didn't know?

When you stepped inside, the warmth of people's bodies slapped you, making you gasp for air. Did they really enjoy being so crowded, almost sweating, rubbing against other people? You didn't like the idea, and walked through dancing bodies until you reached the kitchen, apparently the only place in the house that seemed to be… spacious.

You got yourself a cup of whatever they were handing, sipping thirsty and almost immediately regretting it.

‘’Shit, did these people even pour some soda or something?’’ you muttered, eyebrows furrowing as you checked the plastic cup.

By the corner of your eye, you caught some silhouette gripping the kitchen counter. He seemed like the alcohol was doing something to him, and he tried to act cool but didn’t work. Concerned, you held him by his arm, and soon found out who he was.

‘’Jungwon?’’

‘’Did you know those fuckers are serving just alcohol? No mixed, no shit. Straight pure alcohol like it’s gonna be banned.’’ he said, shaking his head with disapproval. ‘’Fuck, it’s burning my throat. And the people here aren’t making it easy.’’

You chuckled, softly. You haven’t heard Jungwon curse like that, like he was truly disgusted.

You looked around, searching for a crowdless place to bring him. But everywhere was full of students: furniture, the couch, even the corners… Everything was filled with drunk, noisy people. And when you were that irritable, the least you wanted was some drunkass bothering you.

‘’Come here, let’s go.’’

You took him by his wrist, leading the way across the people. You didn’t even know whose house it was, but your steps guided you to the close bedroom, opening the door and entering, pulling Jungwon inside too. You placed him on the edge of the bed, and you took a seat on some chair in front of him.

Jungwon had his cheeks blushed due to the alcohol but still was very conscious of his actions and thoughts. His lips were parted slightly, breathing through them. And then was when you realised that Jungwon never had a dating rumor. You found him so pretty you reached that conclusion. You haven’t seen him with a girl, or talking about girls. Was he single? Or was he in a private relationship with someone? You heard other students making fun of him because apparently he had no one.

But what was the reality?

When you came back down from your daydreaming, you found his feline eyes looking directly at you, his head tilted to one side trying to read your mind.

‘’You good?’’ you asked, acting as natural as you could.

‘’Uh-hum’’ he hummed. ‘’And you? You seem far away from here.’’

You looked at him again, feeling how the blush was creeping in your face. And he smirked. He fucking smirked, like he noticed you red-ish shade lighting up you face. Like he knew what was inside your head.

Jungwon leaned in to grab the armchair, and pulled it closer to him, placing you and the chair between his legs. Suddenly something shifted in the air. Having him so close made your pulse rate high.

‘’Is there any hidden intention why you brought me here?’’

You swallow hard, shaking your head. ‘’I–I saw you struggling, and thought to… I don’t know, you maybe feel better with no one around.’’

He faked a thoughtful expression. His hand travelled from the armchair to your chin, raising your head for you to look fully at him. There was something dark in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite tell. And honestly, it was hard to tell if you liked it or not.

Before you could react, his lips were pressing against yours. Slow movements started an addicting dance between both lips. His hand cupped your face, tilting it to one side to fit the kiss even better. You kissed him back without thinking twice, with hunger.

With ease he lifted you and laid you down on the bed, positioning him between your legs. His lips descended from your mouth to your neck, marking and sucking it at the right places, like he knew your body better than you did. You squirmed beneath him, soft whines leaving your lips. You heard him curse underneath his breath, teeth sinking your soft neck skin to suppress his gasps.

He looked at you again, desire mixed with some kind of adoration reflecting his eyes. His hand roamed your body, memorizing every inch of it. You could keep still, arching your body against his soft touch. Jungwon’s fingerpads reached your clothed nipples, brushing it slowly until they were hard, perky.

‘’You liked that?’’ he smiled, pitching you perky bud and got a moan for answer, content.

‘’F–Feels good.’’

‘’Does it? Should I continue?’’

‘’Please.’’

Jungwon didn't hang you waiting, raising you top clothes and exposing your breasts, covered by the thin layer of your bra. Gently hands were kneading your soft flesh, feeling every inch of your breasts. You back arched again to keep feeling the warmth of his hands, which traveled down until reaching your pants. You nodded at him as giving permission to go further, and he unbuttoned your pants, sliding them through your legs and tossing them aside.

He gripped your knees, spreading them to settle between them again. His fingers traced soft lines inside your thigh until they reached your clothes core, cupping it above the fabric. You gasped, breath hitching as he started to give pressure into your clit –or at least where he thought it was.

You shifted slightly, moving your hips to align his fingerpads and your clit. He was fast to catch up on what was going on.

‘’Not reaching?’’

‘’You’re a bit to the side…’’ you giggled softly, earning a soft chuckle from him for the first time that night.

He was a bit ashamed. It was his first time doing something like that, a fact that you would believe if he said it out loud. When he had enough of teasing you, his free hand moved to slide your panties to one side, taking a look at your wet pussy. He tried again, pressing two fingers in your clit and moving them in slow circles. He watches carefully your expressions, how you face contorned in pleasure even if he was moving them at slow pace.

He left you clit to spread your lips and coated his fingers in your arousal, the same ones brushing your entrance but not putting it in. Jungwon saw your legs tremble, trying to trap his hand between them and had to grab one of your legs to keep them open.

‘’Tell me if you want to stop because I don’t think I have enough energy myself. Please Y/N…’’

‘’N–No, don’t stop.’’

He smiled, and got rid of his own pants and underwear. You looked down, curious, and saw his hard dick standing. Maybe it was the prettiest dick you have ever seen–not that you saw many but still. He took himself from the base and pushed the tip a bit, coating it with your juices.

‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yes, I’m sure.’’

You looked at him for the last time. He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, brows furrowing slightly. His cheeks were even red-ish that before, and you couldn’t help but to think that he was looking so cute right now. Despite being seconds away to fuck you, but he was still cute. He held one of your hands, interlacing his fingers at the same time he pushed his length inside you.

Inch by inch he bottomed you out, making sure there was no pain during it. But the second he noticed your scrunched expression, he stopped.

‘’Are you alright?’’

You nodded but Jungwon didn’t feel like it. His mind was racing, thinking of something to ease the pain you were not talking about. Then an idea snapped his mind. Jungwon took a pillow and placed it under your lower back, making your body a bit arched.

‘’O–Oh, feels better like this.’’ You told him, squeezing his hand.

He took it as a sign to continue. Slowly, he pulled back a bit and again pushed his entire dick inside you, leaving you gasping for air. Jungwon continued to move with no rush, letting your insides adjust to his length. His free hand caressed your sides, then your stomach until they were back at your hips. Grabbing them, he started to pick up his pace, your moans slowly driving him insane.

You found out that, same as you, he was a vocal person. Especially when your walls clapped him so tight it was hard to move inside.

‘’Shit– You feel so good.’’ he panted, leaning closer to your body. His hot breath reached your neck, giving you goosebumps.

Soon his dick was reaching spots you would have never known it would feel so good, making you squirm under his body. Your moans became a bit pitch-highed and more continuous, a clear sign you were close to snap. And that was the last straw from Jungwon, pushing harder into you, his tip constantly rubbing that sweet spot inside you.

You could tell he was close too by the way his thrusts were sloppier, his dick twitching inside you.

‘’F–Fuck, I’m so close–’’

‘’Me too, please. Don’t slow down.’’

He growled, hooking one of your legs from behind and lifting it a bit, reaching even further.

‘’Fuck! Just like that!’’

‘’ Haah… Y/N, wh–where do you want it?’’

You mumbled something about outside but not clarifying where. He waited until you reached your peak, clamping hard his dick with your gummy walls as the orgasm washed you all over. It felt good, so good he almost forgot to pull out. He was lost in the way his name fell off your lips in such an erotic way.

As you were coming back from your high, Jungwon suddenly pulled out, just in time to spurt thick ropes of cum from his throbbing cock. They landed in your pussy, mixed with your own release.

You two tried to catch your breath, feeling how his seed was dripping from your cunt into the sheets beneath you.

‘’You good?’’ he asked, stroking gently your face. You nodded. ‘’Good, let me clean you, okay?

#enhypen #enha x reader #enhypen hard hours #drabble #chaconnewon #enhypen jungwon #jungwon smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen x reader #enha smut

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b3ach-bunn7 · 3 days ago

Text

BENEATH THE MASK

Jason Todd is your cute coworker at the shelter you work at. Red Hood is the hot vigilante who saves you from being mugged

—————————————————————————

Your job right now is to wash the incredibly dirty dog in front of you. Not to ogle Jason from across the shop.

Your hands are pruning from being in the water too long, the suds crawling up your arms. The dog in question is Poppy, a brown retriever that keeps biting at the water, which only makes it spray all over your top, which is now thoroughly soaked. You huff, wiping your face on your shoulder.

“Poppy, please stop doing that, you’re making me all wet.” You scold.

She just barks up at you, shaking to rid herself of the water all over her. You sigh. It's sort of hard to be annoyed at her when she’s so cute. You suddenly feel a presence behind you, and a heavy arm leans on your shoulder.

“Don’t think you should be talking about that at work.

You roll your eyes almost immediately at the low drawl too close to your ear, but a smile dances at the corner of your lips. “Shut up.”

You’re not sure when Jason appeared behind you, but you’re not complaining. You don’t know what you’d call what's going on between you guys. You saw a TikTok a few weeks ago that said workplace crushes are only a thing because of the close proximity, but you don’t think that's the case.

Jason was a hard person to figure out. For starters, he is completely too attractive to be volunteering at a lousy shelter like this. Judging by the defined muscles on his arms you get a delicious view of when the air conditioning is on the fritz, you think he’d be more suited to be a superhero or a bodybuilder. He’s also very attractive. A sharp jaw, doey brown eyes and curly hair that falls over them softly. The little strand of white that peeks through the brown, and all six feet of him is too much for you to handle.

Jason was quiet at first. Not much of a talker, but luckily you could talk for the whole of Gotham, and he’d warmed up over time. He didn’t have much of a choice. Most of the other workers are either sixty and bored or sixteen and trying to fill out their Cvs with some work experience. You were the only person similar in age and had almost all the same shifts as him, too.

You’d ask him for help with extra rowdy animals, go on smoke breaks together. It was fun. You’re friends now, maybe something more. Nothing makes you laugh as much as his dry humour does, that little smirk he always gives you after making something flutter in your stomach.

Poppy barks loudly. Jason reaches down and scratches her behind her ears. She immediately goes limp, and you scowl.

“This dog. Why does she listen to you and not me?” You mope.

He wiggles sudsy fingers at you. “I have the magic touch.”

“Freak."

You turn on the water again and start hosing her down. Jason takes a pointed step backwards to avoid the spray. He’s leaning on the wall behind you, and he’s being absolutely no help as you slug your way through her last wash.

Once she’s washed and dried, you hand Jason the leash to put her back in her cage. You dry off your hands, the smell of the berry soap you guys use seeped into your skin.

“So,” Jason hums. “You wanna go on break?”

“I think the boss will kill us if we both leave at the same time again.”

Jason groans. “He’s not even here. It's just me, you and that old lady in today.”

You splutter a laugh. “Her name is Doris. And don’t call her that.”

“I’m not lying, she is old.”

Jason digs in his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He shakes it in front of you and you bat him away. It’s a filthy habit you both have, and you’d have thought someone as athletic as him would be against it. He’s not though, evident by the expectant way he’s looking at you.

“Come on. I know you need it. I could see you seething from all the way over there.”

“What I need is new clothes.” Your wet shirt sticks to your skin, the breeze in the room cooling it quickly. You shiver a little.

You pout. “I can’t believe I have to be in this all day.”

You should have learnt by now, really. This isn’t the first time you’ve showered along with the animals.

In one swift motion, Jason pulls his hoodie off and over his head. You watch a little too intently as his shirt rides up, revealing the sharp outline of his stomach and his abs and his v line, before it unfortunately falls back down. He holds out the hoodie to you, running a hand through his hair to fix it.

“You don’t have to-”

“Just take it.”

You don’t need much convincing, so you do, a little smile creeping on your face. “Fine, fine. Turn around so I can change.”

Jason pouts. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you perv.”

He complies, and you quickly chuck your shirt off and pull on his hoodie. It’s warm and worn and it smells like him, and you sigh contentedly. Jason watches you with an amused sort of look on his face.

He shakes the cigarette in your face. “Now can we go?”

You bite your lip, looking back at the shop, contemplating his offer. It’s empty, to be fair. It’s twelve in the afternoon on a Tuesday, so slow is an understatement for the state of the shop right now. And Doris probably has it covered.

You snatch the cigarette out his hand and he flashes pearly white teeth at you. You both squeeze in the little alley behind the shop, passing the cigarette between the two of you. You make a horrible joke about the fact you guys are technically kissing, and Jason just rolls his eyes.

You look around aimlessly, until your eyes fall on a newspaper strewn on the floor. You tilt your head to read the title, and gasp a little.

“Hey, look.” You pick it up, ignoring Jason’s noise of disgust. “It’s about that Red hood guy.”

Jason stands a little straighter from where he had been leaning against the wall. He peers over you shoulder to see what you’re reading, but loses interest quickly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Come on, it’s kinda cool. He’s out there saving the night while we wash dogs!”

Jason snorts. He lets the cigarette fall to the floor, crushing it with the back of his shoe.

The article is actually not painting Red Hood in a very positive light. They call him a vigilante, an anti-hero, condemning him for thinking he’s got a right to dish out justice how he sees fit. You read this all to Jason, who’s looking at you with a careful look on his face.

“They have a point.” He says. “What do you think?”

“I think I need that.”

His brows furrow in confusion, a laugh leaving his lips. “What?”

“I said I need that. Have you seen those abs?”

You hold up the newspaper to him. Even through the blurry image, clearly taken in haste, the built figure of this masked man is very visible. You jab your finger at it.

“They are literally protruding out of that suit. Hence, I need that.”

“You’re so-“

“Really. I could show Red Hood a very good time.”

“Okay.” The tips of Jason’s ears are a bright red, and you’re a little confused why all this talk has got him so flustered.

He must sense the fact you’re about to tease him for it, because he stands to his full height. “Come on, you perv. Stop creaming over Red hood and get back to work.”

“You brought me out here!”

————

Talking about showing Red hood a good time is all well and done until he’s standing right in front of you.

It’s your own fault, really. The sun sets too early, just as you finish work, and despite Jason’s insistence that he could drop you home, you assured him you’d be fine walking. You’d lived in Gotham your whole life. You knew how to walk home without getting mugged, even if it was too dark out.

Apparently not, judging by the knife being held towards your throat.

It’s later than you intended to stay out. You’d stopped by the grocery store to grab a few things for dinner, and the plastic bag slips from your hand and crashes against the floor. You’re regretting it now, seeing as you just wasted fifteen dollars on food you’re not even going to get to eat.

In all honesty, you’re scared. As much as you trying to not show that to the person in front of you, your hands are shaking and your chest feels tight. If you die in some dingy alley literally five minutes away from your house you’re going to be really fucking pissed.

He growls in a low tone for you to give him your wallet. Just as you’re about to comply to his demands, hands slowly reaching for your purse, he’s hit by something, or someone, as he goes careening into the dumpster beside you. Your mouth drops open a little, and your head turns so fast you think your neck might snap.

And there he is, in all his glory.

That shitty newspaper picture definitely did not do him justice. He’s tall, towering over you. He’s not looking at you, gaze trained on the man now slowly rising from the floor. His abs really do protrude out of his suit, and you’re glad you’re not the one on the receiving end of whatever the hell is about to happen. His hands, covered in leather black gloves, grip a gun with practised ease, and though you can’t see his face under that mask, you can feel how pissed he is.

The mugger seems to be smarter than he looks, because the second he looks at Red Hood and the barrel of his gun, he cowers, hands shaking as he holds them up.

“I’m- I’m sorry, man, Jesus!” He cries.

You scowl. Your confidence seeps back quickly with the vigilante standing beside you. “Why are you apologising to him? I’m the one you tried to mug!”

Red Hood makes a noise beside you that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

The flimsy covering on the mugger face has slipped off, and he looks young. Too young to be out holding people at knife point. You feel bad almost instantly, despite that fact he was the one about to stab you. You sigh irritably, digging in your purse. You pull out a twenty dollar bill. The kid looks confused and you tut, shaking it at him.

“Take it. Come on. And stop mugging people. Get a job.” You snap.

He still looks confused, but nobody is stupid enough to say no to free money. He takes it out of your hands carefully.

“Thanks.” He says it more like a question and you just usher him away.

He skitters off, giving you one last look. You mumble some choice words under your breath, digging in your purse for your phone. And that’s when you remember you’re not standing alone.

Your eyes flicker toward him. And he’s looking right at you. Of course, you think he is. His eyes aren’t visible, none of his face is. Your gaze also flickers to his exposed arms, the curl of his bicep and the material that is stretching over it.

“You can take a picture if you’d like.”

His voice is full of static, low and gravelly. It makes sense, you figure, to keep his identity a secret, which is why he sounds so robotic. He does sound sort of familiar, but you don’t dwell on that too much.

You laugh nervously, a furious blush spreading across your face. “No, that- That’s fine.”

“What are you doing out this late?”

You narrow your eyes at him a little. “Sorry, dad.”

He tilts his head. “Don’t get bratty with me. You’re the one who almost got mugged.”

“I-“ You ignore the heat that pools in your gut at his teasing tone, and try to look annoyed. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s is. Wouldn’t be if you’d gotten home earlier. Not a lot of people get mugged when it’s light out.”

You snort a laugh. “Yes they do. We’re in Gotham, in case you forgot.”

You kneel down to grab your fallen groceries, and he immediately does the same. You work in tandem and silence, quickly putting everything back. You get up with a heavy sigh.

“I should’ve taken that ride home.”

Red hood looks at you quizzically. Again, you think. You wish you could see his face. You wonder if he’s just as attractive without it on.

“My friend from work offered to drop me home,” you explain. “And I said no. Like an idiot.”

He nods slowly. He slips the bag out of your hand easily.

“Sounds like a good friend. Why’d you say no?”

He’s nosy, this anti-hero.

Truthfully, you were nervous. You won’t deny your crush on Jason, and you’re not sure how well you would have faired on the back of his motorcycle, hands wrapped around his waist and body pressed against his.

You struggle with what to say. You wonder how willing Red hood will be to give you relationship advice. “He’s..”

“You don’t like him?”

“No, I- I think I like him too much.” You mumble. “That, and his motorcycle is too scary.”

“Motorcycles are cool.” You think he’s pouting a little.

You giggle. “Sure, sure.”

Red Hood tells you he’s walking you home. He doesn’t offer, but instead waits until you start heading towards your flat so he can follow.

Gotham is never quiet. It’s one thing you love about the city. It’s always active, cars bustling down the streets or apartment lights on all hours into the night. Most people hate the noise, but you think it reminds you you’re alive.

It’s busy now. Nobody questions the man in red besides you because you don’t think any of them are brave enough to.

“Is it smart for me to show you where I live?” You wonder aloud.

Red hood makes an offended noise. “Hey. I’m not some supervillain.”

You laugh a little. “How am I supposed to know? You could be lying.”

“I don’t lie, princess.”

Princess. You smile a little weakly. “I hope not.”

He looks a little funny. This big strong man, guns hung on his waist, red suit glimmering under the street lamps, a Target bag swinging in his hands. You adjust your purse on your shoulder.

“The press isn’t a big fan of you, you know.” You say.

He hums. “Are you?”

“Am I the press?”

He shakes his head. “No. Are you not a big fan?”

Oh, you’re definitely a fan. But you don’t say that. You just give a shrug.

“I’m not sure. Think I’ll need to do some more digging.”

He makes a noise. “Digging? I saved you from a mugger and I’m walking you home.”

You hum thoughtfully. You’re getting closer to your place, and you’re a little disappointed. He’s nice company. And he smells good, too. Like something you know, but you can’t quite place.

“I suppose. You’re like a real life Robin Hood.”

The bag rustles as his hold on it tightens a little. He only nods once, curt, and you feel an urge to change the subject. Luckily, you don’t need to, because you’ve reached your block of flats. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cheap enough that you can’t complain.

You turn to him. He holds out your groceries, and you take them with a soft thank you.

“So.” You say.

“So.” He replies.

“Thanks for saving me, Mr Hood.”

“No problem. Next time take that ride home.”

You nod. “I will.”

If you spend the rest of your night reading every article and Reddit forum about Red hood, nobody needs to know.

——

Jason has to try very, very hard not to laugh as you recount your encounter with Red Hood.

He wasn’t being a stalker, or being weird, he’d like to start with. He had business in town, and he’d gone home, changed into his uncomfortably tight uniform and instantly gone back out. It was just pure luck that Jason had stumbled across the poor woman with a knife held to her throat. He would’ve helped no matter who it was. But the second Jason saw you, eyes wide and fear plastered on your face, his body moved before he could even think.

If he’d have looked for a second, he would’ve been able to tell that the person mugging you was just some overzealous teenager. But he hadn’t, which is why he pushed him away from you hard enough to knock him into the dumpster behind him.

But you’d been kind. Given him money and ushered him along his way. And if Jason didn’t already love you, that would’ve been enough.

You’re sitting in front of him, legs crossed. You fiddle with the laces of your worn out docs as you watch him feed the litter of kittens they’d recently gotten into the shop. You’re trying to mask your jealousy as they all clamber in his lap, but you’re not doing it very well.

You sigh dreamily. “You should’ve seen him, Jason. So tall, and his voice was all deep and gravelly. And I was right!” You exclaim.

“About what?” He asks. One of the kitten mewls loudly and he scratches the back of his ear.

“His abs do protrude out of his suit.”

Jason laughs, and you grin. “You should be more careful. And I’m dropping you home today. Whether you like it or not.”

You shake your head quickly. “I’m not getting on that death machine of yours.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “First of all, shut up. Second of all, I have my car today.”

You dangle your fingers in front of the kittens. They paw at you, tiny claws catching on your skin. Jason thinks you look the prettiest like this, all worn out and soft after a long shift. The tiredness that gets to you both, and the final few hours of the day you get to just sit and talk.

He wonders how you’d react if he told you that he’s Red Hood. It had taken strength he didn’t know he had to not rip off his mask and take you in that alley right then and there, especially with how horribly you were hiding the fact you were blatantly checking him out.

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping to get mugged again so he could save me.”

“You need help.”

“From him, yeah.”

Jason rolls his eyes as you laugh loudly.

Jason likes you. He thinks he likes you too much, in a way that makes his heart ache like he’s never felt before. He doesn’t think he’s all that deserving of love, but when he’s with you, Jason likes to pretend that he is.

You both get up, placing the kittens back in their respective cages. You leave slowly, talking too much as you stuff your things in your locker and head out. You’ve still got his hoodie on. You haven’t offered to give it back yet and he doesn’t ask.

It’s only six as you both leave, and Jason wants to ask you to hang out. Not on a date, but. As friends. Or coworkers, whatever makes this not weird for you. Maybe to grab some food, or-

“Do you wanna get a bite to eat?” You suddenly speak up.

Jason isn’t exactly shy, but he is when it comes to romancing. He doesn’t want you to think he’s being too forward, but you never seem to share the same notion.

“I’m starving. And I’m really craving something greasy.” You hum, and he nods.

“Yeah, sure.”

“You’re paying, by the way.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Says who?”

“Says me. As your apology for hogging all the kittens today.”

You’re walking close to him. Close enough that your fingers ghost against each other as you swing your arms beside him. He wonders if you’d pull away if he held on.

“Not my fault they all love me, princess.”

Jason curses internally. He instantly sees the cogs turn in your head as you give him this look of something. He looks away too quickly, praying there’s no recognition in your gaze.

“You know, that’s what he called me!”

Jason nods, hoping the relief isn’t too obvious on his face. “Really?”

“God, he was flirting.” You almost whine, “Definitely. I’m going to tell the six o'clock news that Red Hood has a crush on me.”

Jason knows you’re joking, so it really is quite funny how accurate you really are. Instead, he just scoffs.

“Like he’d ever like you.”

“Don’t act jealous, Mr Todd. It’s unbefitting of you.”

—————————————————————————

guys.. Ik im always posting anime guys but dc.. Jason Todd he is my roots and I wanna take a bite of his big biceps

#b3ach bunn7 #oneshot #fluff #jason todd x y/n #jason todd oneshot #jason todd reader #jason todd red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood #redhood #dc comics #dc universe #dc red hood #dc jason todd

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smiling-laughing-hating · 1 day ago

Note

I saw you too have kpop demon hunters brainrot, and so, I am here to request!

Can I have some dating headcannons of the main girls (with like gender neutral or AFAB)?? I have a huge crush on mira rn and there's like no content of her, only jinu and the saja boys-

summary: what is it like to date the Huntrix girls and dealing with their insecurities

====

Rumi

Let's just say that to get with this girl you had to go through alot

She surrounded herself with walls all the time cause of her patterns

And she won't tell you about them even when you get together forget

How you figure it out must have been her letting down her guard (which one it's on is hard)

You were sleeping over at the Huntrix and currently were in Rumi's room; on her bed

Your girlfriend walks in with her coat on something that you always question about her is why she always wears a coat inside who does that?

"Hi baby what are you doing?"

You shrugged scrolling some more on your phone "nothing much"

She sits besides youand snatch your phone "hey!" You grin and jump at her causing you both to collapse on the bed you on top of her

You giggle as you start to tickle her relentlessly

"Wait- no- HAHAHAHAHAHA"

"Surrender for i-...?" You stop and raise a brow as you see the marking on her arms that were exposed as a result of her squirming

she was confused at first before she realised you saw it and froze in shock

Yea after that she explained everything and how it is only 'temporarily' until they can seal The Honmon and she was surprised to hear you say that even if she stays like this you will always love her

Yea that was an emotional night for her

Oh and btw after this you are the most important person to her no one can top you

She became more open more romantic and oh she is touch starved

Now that she feels safe around you you better expect that you will be cuddling every night

Mira

Sweet sweet Mira here is your no.1 fan of anything you do she supports 100℅ she knows what it's like to not be accepted she would for you to feel that way

She maybe a little hesitant to talk about her past and family and every time you bring it up she always dodges it like a bullet

She may snap at you sometime and say hurtful things but she never really mean any of it

Well that fact doesn't make it hurt any less does it?

You were leaning against the Huntrix balcony

You and Mira fought, again

This week was rough it seems like any disagreement between you two cause a full blown fight, it was alot

you understand that Mira's parents contacted her and that's what is making her so on edge but it doesn't exactly soothe the ache in your chest

Your thoughts are interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around you

"You have every right to be angry i shouldn't have lashed out like that...forgive me please"

You don't answer you simply put your hand on hers and you both basket in the comfortable silence

After that night she became more careful with her words

And now instead of fighting eachother you fight the problem while cuddling to get rid of any possible argument

Zoey

We already know how much of a worrier this girl is when she confessed to you it was so exaggerat that you thought she may as well ask you to marry her (i mean-)

But while it can be endearing it can also be too much on both of you

For everything she does she looks to please you and everyone around her even is she doesn't realise it

To the point where it becomes suffocating

"i made your favourite dish"

"What do you think of ---?"

"Are mad at me?"

" i am sorry"

"You love me right?"

And so on and so forth

That is a normal day between you two you were ready to quell all her fear you cared you really did

But this was too much

"Zoey! Dear you don't have to try so much for me i love you for you!"

She blinks up at you and smiles sheepishly

"I am so-"

"No! No more of that come here" she looked at you confused as you pulled her at you and started to squeeze her as tight as you can

You threw yourself on the couch still holding her, you then start to whisper sweet nothing in her ear such as 'i love you' 'you are worth everything' 'you are enough' and more

You guys stayed like that all night

She smiles as she nuzzles into your neck "thank you..."

thankfully after that day she seemed to calm alot more about her habit of overpleasing you

She is more comfortable around you she now tells you everything

Ans i mean everything :D

====

#kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh rumi #kpdh zoey #kpdh mira #•smiley writes :) •

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lostrologyy · 14 hours ago

Note

Himbo James would be so exhausted after exams that he'd just fall at the sight of your tits

stressed himbo!james finding comfort in your tits*. ⋆

cw: fluff 'cause i was feeling like it. fem!reader. james obsessed with your tits duh (no description of size or anything:))

a/n: kinda like and hate this at the same time. let me know if you'd like a smut version:)! anyway, as always any feedback is very much appreciated and remember english isn't my first language!

you barely hear the door closing before james drops everything to the floor, his bag, his keys, his jacket—and if you ask him, his lack of dignity after pretending to be okay during five days of back-to-back exams.

you don’t even get to turn around before a pair of beefy, muscular arms you know so well anchor you to the couch below you. his legs tangle with yours as his head ends up resting on top of your chest, groaning loudly and rubbing his face against you like a cat looking for attention.

“hey jamie” you giggle.

“missed you so much, god.” he groans again, voice muffled by your tits.

his arms wrap around your waist like he’s holding himself to life, his big hands slipping underneath your shirt and stroking your back gently, you wince at the contact.

“james! your hands are cold!” you whine.

you try to tug him upright but he clings.

“noo, don’t care. i missed these— i mean i also missed you, but god, i missed these.” he groans, rubbing his cheek against your chest again.

“okay, you big baby,” you mock. “did you eat already? want me to make you something?” your fingers tangle in his hair, a sigh leaving his mouth when you start scratching his scalp.

“i just wanna eat you,” he murmurs, his head turning slightly to sink his teeth on the side of your left boob.

you flinch. “hey!”

“mm, sorry love. you just look so pretty and yummy and pretty…” he mutters, his voice barely forming the words correctly as he feels the exhaustion from the week finally setting in.

“that’s pretty twice,” you give his head a small peck.

his arms tighten around you, giving a little squeeze. “i thought about you all week.”

“i’m glad, ‘cause i really missed you too,”

“couldn’t bear not seeing you every day,” he says, and even though you can’t see his face you just know he’s pouting.

“well, you were the one who said you couldn’t concentrate when i was around.”

“i know, that’s what i get for having the most beautiful, amazing girlfriend ever.” you smile when his words come out a bit sluggish. it’s more than obvious he’s both physically and mentally worn-out and still, he manages to make you feel like a teenage girl with her first crush.

you don’t answer him and he doesn’t try to talk again either. you lie there with him for what feels like half an hour, deciding to ask him again before he falls asleep.

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“baby, i just spent the most horrifying days of my life buried in books and checking flashcards over and over again, once i even forgot how to spell my name,” he pauses to kiss the exact spot where he bit you. “and the only thing keeping me from collapsing was the memory of you and my girls.”

“did you just call my tits 'your girls'?”

“mhm, ‘cause they’re my girls and i love them so much. not as much as i love you, though.” he hums.

you snort, “okay, drama queen.” you tug at one of his curls and he whines.

“don’t laugh, i’m serious. love you so much i’m never letting you go.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he hums again, feeling more and more sleepy as the seconds pass by and the comfort of being in your arms relaxes him. “gonna marry you and put your tits in my vows. gonna say 'i do' with my face right here.”

#*. ⋆ velvet's writing #*. ⋆ velvet's mail #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #himbo!james potter #himbo!james potter x reader #james potter fluff #marauders era #james potter fanfiction

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englishisaboutconfidence · 3 days ago

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Morso d'amore : Part 2 of Ahyeon knows best

Dating Ahyeon was great for a number of reasons, one being you had a smoking hot girlfriend and second your girlfriend already knew you better than anyone else. The first few weeks of dating didn't cause you to have to change your life really at all. You still had the same classes with her and sat next to her during all of them. You two kept working on projects together for classes, so it was an easy excuse for your friends as to why you were with her and why you were leaving the dorm. She already knew how much of a nerd you were so she wasn't too mad (emphasis on too mad) when you would ghost her while gaming or when you would spend hours grinding solo queue. Although she did force you to be on FaceTime with her as often as possible if you were going to be gaming for a few hours. Plus, you know, the whole thing that you were having a very active sex life with one of the IT girls of your school, who also happened to be your childhood crush. So, to summarize your current situation, you had an amazing hot girlfriend, and your friends and family had no clue… or so you thought.

Your sister Pharita and told Ahyeon that she was going to spend the weekend with your parents, so naturally Ahyeon had let you know immediately, and you ran over to their dorm the second Pharita left for your parents. You barely had time to text Ahyeon you were there before she pulled you in and started making out with you. Stumbling onto her bed, you two were too busy fighting for oral dominance that neither of you noticed the door open and someone entered the room. Finally asserting our dominance, you went to remove Ahyeon's shirt when you heard a loud "Yaaaah". Spoked by this, Ahyeon released a loud shriek before hiding herself behind you. Turning around, you see your sister Pharita with her arms crossed and an annoyed look on her face.

"How long has this been going on? My best friend screwing my brother?"

Awkwardly rubbing the back of your head, you say "Uhhhh, like 3 weeks".

Unsatisfied with your answer, you feel Ahyeon gently elbow you in the stomach, "And its ummm dating. Yeah, we've been dating for 3 weeks."

Still waiting for the most important part, Ahyeon cleared her throat "And I love her and intend to marry her."

Finally satisfied, Ahyeon gives you a quick peck on the cheek.

"Really?" Pharita asked which you and Ahyeon responded with an affirmative nod.

"God, you two are terrible at hiding it then because I realized it the Sunday you two returned from "dog sitting" at our parents".

Surprised, you and Ahyeon questioned your sister "Huh! What do you mean you've known since then?"

"Please, you two were making googly eyes at each other while you Y/N dropped Ahyeon off at our dorm. Plus, you two forgot there was an eyehole in the door, so I saw your little goodbye kiss. Also, did you two dumbasses forget that I have both of your locations so I can see when you two disappear to Ahyeon's house to fuck, or our parents place, or a love hotel? And of course, the fact that you Y/N make any excuse to come over and you Ahyeon don't even try to hide how much you love lying all over him when we watch shows."

Annoyed that your little secret wasn't really a secret, you respond to your sister’s very logical statements with a very mature "yeah whatever."

Chuckling at your annoyance, Pharita continued "Ahyeon although I do wish you would have told me yourself that you finally got Y/N to confess."

"Sorry Rita, I was a little distracted since this dummy finally stopped ignoring his feelings and accepting that he's mine."

"It's okay Ahyeon, I'm just happy that we are going to finally be sisters in law sooner rather than later."

Confused by the entirety of the conversations, you interrupt the two dormmates and childhood friends "Wait, what are y'all talking about? Rita, you knew that Ahyeon liked me and that I somehow liked Ahyeon? And what do you mean sisters in law? We just started dating 3 weeks ago."

Amused by your confusion, Pharita just smiled and said "Oh please, both our families have known that you two were destined for each other for years. You forget, but you would not stop talking about and hanging around Ahyeon when y'all first met in the 1st grade. You think that Ahyeon's infatuation with yours started out of nowhere? Please, you would always gravitate towards her and eventually, I guess Ahyeon somehow started to like you despite how annoying you were. 'Ahyeon said this. Ahyeon did that. Ahyeon likes this instead'. Good lord you would not shut up about her. Although in middle school you stopped talking about her as much though it was clear that she still occupied your thoughts and feelings and started to try to suppress your feelings for her with annoyance; but that's when Ahyeon truly showed how much she cared for you. She started following you instead and talking to you and about you all the time, or maybe how central you were in her life was made more apparent when you tried to hide how much Ahyeon occupied your life."

Hearing the quick recount of your two’s history, Ahyeon just smiled and leaned forward into your back while capturing you in a back hug.

Still confused and even more so with how relaxed Ahyeon was, you turn to her "Why are you so relaxed? If you knew all of this, why didn't you tell me."

Still smiling at you, Ahyeon gave you a quick peck before saying "Because honey, you needed to come to that conclusion mostly on your own. Plus, I was never scared about losing you, even when you were 'pissed' at me, your adoration of me was easy to see through the pointed jabs and attempts at annoyance and indifference. I knew that you only had eyes for me and that my happiness and joy for life were essential to you, even when you didn't realize it. Do you remember when my grandma died?

You nodded.

"Well, it was a really shitty time especially the funeral, but honestly, it is one of my favorite days because it showed me what kind of person you are and how much I mean to you. Your family was of course coming to the funeral; but I remember Pharita telling me how much pressure you put on your family to show up not only on time (which is struggle especially for your dad); but an hour early to make sure that whatever my family and I needed, you could provide. Of course, you didn't yell at them like a drill sergeant; but you kept subtly reminding your mom and by extension your dad that my family would do the same and that it's probably really important and helpful to show up early and take care of us during such a tragic time. And then when you arrived at the funeral, I don't remember you ever leaving my sight. You didn't ever really come up and tell me you were there for me explicitly; but you kept hovering in case I needed something, I could tell that you had your eyes on me the entire time, and whenever I did ask for something, you pretty much sprinted and got it for me and made sure that you were the one taking care of me. And of course, you comforted me after the funeral when everyone had left, even our parents and Pharita and you just sat with me for hours. And when I went to leave, you softly grabbed my hand and tried to console me but instead started to ramble awkwardly which led me to smile for the only time that day."

"I don't remember your smiling; all I remember is my rambling and staring at our hands instead of you because I could barely look at you in the eyes because of how nervous I felt."

"Do you remember how I finally got you to shut up Y/N?"

Blushing, you nod your head.

"God you two are the worst. It's like watching a cheesy romcom; but I also love you two and wish you nothing but happiness; but can you let me know what the hell she has been since I wasn't there, and she never told me this story?" Pharita said exasperatedly.

Looking at her, you silently beg Ahyeon not to tell the whole story, but she just lovingly pats your check and continues on

"Okay Okay. Well, despite his truly terrible and inaudible rambling, I knew the gist of what Y/N was trying to say as well as where it came from, so I decided the best way to shut him up was to do something that would truly stun him, so I grabbed his face with my right hand and raised his face so our eyes met and kissed him right then and there, at the funeral home on the day of my grandmas funeral. Then while he was stunned and opening and closing his mouth like a fish, I told him the truth, that I loved him and wanted him to be my first and only for everything in my life. And this asshole just stared at me and right when I was about to turn and leave, heartbroken; he grabbed my hands and pulled me into a kiss and told me that he had no clue how or why, but that he knew that he loved me too and that something inside of him was telling him that I was the one for him. We then just stood there hugging for a while before he walked me home hand in hand. But of course, being Y/N, the next day he was back to his old self and kept acting like I was the bane of his existence when we both knew it was quite the opposite."

"Awwwww, that's so cute. Disgusting but cute. I didn't realize how in touch with your emotions you were Y/N." Your sister said.

"I'm not. I just can tell what my gut is telling me, and it told me that if I fucked that up then I would regret it for my entire life. So, I am not cute and that story doesn't need to be repeated".

"Okay sweetie" Ahyeon responded.

"I'm not!" You responded back like a child.

"Of course,"

"I'm telling you Ahyeon. That story is not sweet or cute and doesn't need to be mass spread."

Sighing softly, Ahyeon just said "Y/N honey, that story is going to be told at our wedding and probably plenty of times before that so you are just going to need to accept the fact that everyone is going to know you’re a big softie who is also absolutely whipped for your wife"

"Fine, but you were obsessed with me and that's how we got together so you're even more whipped, so ha."

"Of course," Ahyeon sweetly responded before shutting you up with a quick peck.

Smiling since she knew she had won, Ahyeon turned to your sister and asked, "So are you going to your guys' parents or was that just bait?"

"Oh, don't worry you two, I'm still going. Just needed to confirm my suspicions so now I can tell both families the great news. But don't worry, I'll make sure they don't do anything tonight or tomorrow; but be prepared for Sunday because they will summon you then."

"Wait, shouldn't we be the ones to tell them?" You quickly questioned your sister.

"It's fine Y/N. They deserve to know ASAP, plus let's be honest, if you had it your way, no one would know until after the wedding."

Knowing she was right and that this was probably the best way for the news to be revealed to the parents aka you would have a 2 days to prepare for the Spanish Inquisition as well as an overindulgent celebration of you getting your head out of your ass, you just nod and say "Fine, just make sure we get to eat steak on Sunday and no one bothers us till then"

Smirking, Pharita responded "Of course dear brother… although I will tell them that you are busy making them grandchildren" before running out the door laughing.

"Wait, Rita. Don't say that!" you yelled at her retreating figure before laying on Ahyeon's bed sighing and saying "God they are going to be so annoying on Sunday. At least we have 36hrs before then. So, what do you want to do Ahyeon?"

Turning to look at her, you are met with an annoyed and dumbfounded look. Once again confused, you say "What?"

"Your sister who we thought was going to be gone all weekend is finally gone. She is telling your parents we are making babies. You came over specifically because she was going to be gone and we haven't fucked in 2 days, so what do you think I want to do?"

Realizing that you were in a very advantageous position and that to fuck it up would be an absolutely moronic thing to do, you make the very tough choice of giving your girlfriend what she wants as well as making sure you do what you came over to do.

You quickly recapture the moment your sister so rudely interrupted and pin your girlfriend to the bed with your hands while you capture her lips with yours. Moaning into your kiss, Ahyeon frees her wrists from your control and guides you to take off your shirt while making sure not to separate her lips from yours. Knowing what she wants next, you flip the two of you over and quickly remove her shirt. Taking a moment to catch your breaths, you are happily surprised to see that Ahyeon had decided to forego a bra that night and your eyes were met with her perfect, perky tits adorned with the most beautiful areolas. Knowing your next move, Ahyeon quickly shoves you back onto the bed before you can capture her tits in your mouth and wiggles out of her pants before quickly discarding yours along with your underwear (she of course doesn't have to deal with panties of her own since she had also decided to go commando for tonight).

Giving you a quick little smirk, she grabbed your cock and quickly started stroking it to get it nice and prepped for her. After needing a couple of seconds to recover from the pleasure that she was giving you, you grab her by the waist and pull her close to you before capturing her right tits with your mouth and giving her left one equal attention with your hand before starting to switch between the two like a man eating for the first time in weeks. Feeling how hard you were and knowing how easy it was for you to become distracted from the objective when her tits were present, Ahyeon tears you off her chest before straddling you and sinking down until you were fully sheathed in her. Not letting you recover, she quickly started to ride you but not before once again capturing your lips with hers. After a few minutes of her strong riding, you feel your orgasm coming. Sensing this too, Ahyeon quickly locked her legs around you and made sure you were buried as deep as possible in her. Burying yourself as deep as possible, you let your orgasm take hold and you release spurt after spurt of cum into Ahyeon's waiting womb. The feeling of you filling led to Ahyeon finally reaching her peak. Once the last remnants of your shared orgasm subside, Ahyeon finally allows herself to let go and she falls onto your chest. Pulling up the covers which you two had cast to the side during your lovemaking, you make sure that Ahyeon is properly covered before sighing and saying "Fuck, I love you Ahyeon". Smiling softly, Ahyeon raised herself up to give you a soft kiss on your lips saying, "I love you too". Content, satiated, and utterly spent, the two of you finally fall asleep in a loving embrace with your legs intertwined and bodies connected in a way that showed true intimacy.

#kpop smut #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #ahyeon smut #ahyeon #babymonster smut #babymonster #jung ahyeon #jung ahyeon smut #male reader

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esmeefreckles · 10 hours ago

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Falling in love | Alexia Putellas x Leah Williamson x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

BDSM. CANING. WHIPPING. SPANKING. STRAP-ONS. FINGER FUCKING. PRAISE KINK. IMPACT PLAY. HAIR-PULLING. ORGASM DENIAL.

A/N: A huge thank you to @sswed for being the best beta reader and helping me so much.

The city stretches out below us, night black and shimmering metallic beyond the window, pricked with electric lights like stars. Alexia lights the candles on the windowsill, their golden glow swells and flickers, dancing in the dark glass. She waves the match until the flame goes out, painting a small swirl of smoke in the air. It smells hot and burnt.

You feel Leah’s cold fingers then, intertwining with yours at your hip. When you turn, she isn't looking at you. You follow her gaze to the row of sleek wooden paddles of different sizes, hanging on the wall beside a golden-framed mirror. On the other side of the mirror: a collection of long, black leather and rubber floggers hanging from hooks. Canes of varying length and thickness. A slender riding crop with a golden handle. You watch as Leah’s blue doe eyes travel across the items, her lips slightly parted.

“Does it make you nervous?” you ask and she shakes her head but you don’t know whether to believe it before she replies.

“No,” Leah says and you hear her mean it, “I want to cross boundaries tonight.”

You feel Alexia’s presence swell behind you both and you resist a shiver of excitement. She reaches between you to hand each of you a glass of water.

“What kind of boundaries do you want to cross?” Alexia asks softly,

and as she turns to Leah you see their gazes drop to the other’s lips. You can feel a drop in your chest and you feel your eyes widen.

A final thought, before it begins, before it's already time: this is happening.

“I guess we can start with this one,” says Leah.

You watch as she reaches up to close her mouth on Alexia’s, you resist the urge to lick your lips and instead swallow deeply.

Alexia takes Leah’s face in her hand, fingertips on her jaw, in a gentle grip. Their soft, full lips move against each other, tasting, exploring. You feel Leah’s grip harden around your hand. Suddenly you know what this night is going to be. So very soft and so hard. You melt at the images crafted in your head. Hotness gathering in your chest and between your thighs, melting. Your skin ripples with goosebumps, your nipples harden.

Still holding Leah’s face in her hand, Alexia turns to kiss you next. Your tongues meet, while Leah breathes heavily next to you both. You feel Alexia’s hand at the side of your throat, a sweet caress slithering down to trace your shoulder, your arm, landing at your hip, pulling you close. You feel both of them against you, crushing the distance between, eliminating it. You all start to intertwine. Breasts press against breasts, nipples tease nipples through clothes, three pairs of thighs dance a slow, hypnotic dance against each other. Hands shape hips and waists. When your mouths permit it, you gasp for air, as if you’re drowning in the two of them.

The tension builds and shudders, and as you watch Alexia’s lips travel down the line of Leah’s jaw, and further down, Leah breaks. Alexia kisses her neck and Leah gasps out loud.

“God!”

Which makes Alexia laugh. When she leans back, her eyes are glowing. Lit up, it seems, with a new idea.

“Using the lord’s name in vain, are we?” she asks.

Her voice drips with hot, blood-tinged sarcasm. It reaches straight down between your thighs. She’s still playing with your hair as she watches Leah stutter.

“I… guess I am,” Leah says, panting. Shiny lips swollen from kissing.

Alexia nods, and that mean-looking tilt to her eyebrows, that you love, is there.

“And you,” she says, turning to you. “You’re a bad influence on her. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, wasting no time because you cannot afford to waste it.

Alexia nods again, slowly, and she glances out the window through the corner of her eye.

“You can undress now,” Alexia says.

The words immediately awaken that familiar pull in you, deep down, pulsating slowly. The desire to please intermingles with the desire to rebel. A vibration, like a shudder, pulses between your legs. While Alexia and Leah watch, their gazes bathing you in the sensation of being wanted, you undress. You take your time, putting on a show, and you see a smile starting to form in the corner of Alexia’s mouth, but it seems like she is fighting it. Tension is already building in the room.

When you’re naked before them, both of them still dressed, your body already pounds with longing for Alexia’s hands, your skin rippled over and over with goosebumps, as if their absence leaves you freezing. You tense your thighs and feel the pressure against the growing pulse between them, the wetness spreading there. Leah stares at you like she’s never seen you naked before, which makes such warmth swell in your chest that you can’t stop a smile from spreading across your lips. Alexia smiles back at you, her eyes glowing. She looks hungry. Starving.

“Turn around and lean against the bureau,” Alexia orders, still fighting her smile.

Your body acts on its own. On the inside you’re soft and hot and liquid, quivering, but your muscles know what you want, and as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you turn to rest your elbows on top of the bureau. Bending over, looking up into the mirror as you see both of them behind you, watching. Alexia finally smiles, and you’re overwhelmed with feelings, with wanting, with wanting to please her, and pleasure her, and have her. No, have them. Both of them.

“She tops you, doesn’t she?” Alexia says then, turning to Leah. “She dommes you?”

Leah’s eyes widen, “Yes,” she says, a hot whisper.

“How does it feel to see the one that dominates you get dominated?”

You scoff, realizing quickly you're not in a position to do so.

“Exciting,” Leah answers, with such burning sincerity that you can’t help but smile.

“Sadistic!” says Alexia, delighted, and she shoots you an impressed look in the mirror, “You’re full of surprises.”

Leah lets out a little laugh and you narrow your eyes at her reflection, thinking for a moment that you see her rubbing her thighs together.

“Would you like to pick out what I’ll use to punish her tonight?” Alexia asks, which makes your jaw drop.

While you watch, anticipation tightening in your chest, hands already damp against the top of the bureau, Leah reaches up to take a wooden cane down from its place on the wall. It lies flat across her hands as she brings it to Alexia. Before Alexia takes it, she pauses, waiting for Leah to look up into her eyes.

Leah’s face is immediately crimson as she locks eyes with her. Alexia takes the cane from her, continuing, “She is supposed to get at least ten lashes every night we spend together. I think we’ll make it fifteen tonight, since she’s such an instigator.”

Alexia whips the cane through the air, testing it, and you wince. The cane is the worst. The pain doesn’t smolder; it burns. It doesn’t tickle; it punishes, hard. And fifteen with a cane would certainly… sting. But the sound it makes when it sings through the air, and as it wacks across flesh, is just delicious, and the glowing red lines it leaves are truly beautiful. Of course Leah would love to see the cane, and of course Alexia wants to show off, now that you have an audience. And it feels good to be something she wants to show off.

Cane in hand, Alexia comes closer. She looks at you through the mirror. She looks so serious then that the laughter that’s constantly fizzing inside you almost bubbles up, but when her eyes narrow and another mischievous smile starts to curve the corner of her mouth, you bite down on it as you swallow hard, before you can stop yourself.

“Will you count the strikes for me, darling?” Alexia says while approaching you. Her voice is sweet, but the request sounds like a threat, “You can thank me afterwards.”

Your blood is boiling. Rising. Pleasure tenses between your legs, like something shivering, about to explode, and you nod.

Then, finally, Alexia’s hand is there. Warm and gentle and its touch so soft, she strokes the back of your one thigh, tracing upwards. She curls her fingers and the tips of her nails tease your skin into such goosebumps that you squirm in your bent-over position. Her hand becomes firm, holding you in place, and then it disappears and the cane rests against your right buttock. You twitch away from its coolness, as if expecting a blow, and you hear Alexia’s purring laughter behind you. You’re so close to commenting on it, saying something stupid again about her sadism. But then the cane leaves your skin in one swift movement, whining through the air as it’s lifted high and brought down again. A first spark of pain, a sizzling little firework. Your lips part, a silent gasp. That hot, electric pleasure swells inside your body and you squirm against your will, pressing your thighs harder together.

“One,” you say, forcing every ounce of sarcasm left in your body into the word.

Alexia’s smile is liquid warmth.

Alexia cracks you with the cane again, on the spot where she just a moment ago touched you with such tenderness,you let out a frail sigh.

“Two,” you say, already hearing your voice soften.

The cane rests for a moment against the pain, making it burn and you wince. Alexia smacks you again, on the other side of your ass, even harder and you moan out loud. Her laughter hums; she is pleased. She begins to whip you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other one swinging the cane and you count.

Alexia covers your ass and thighs with hot, stinging redness. She’s methodical. You count, whimpering with every smack, and even as you hang your head, letting loose strands of hair fall into your face, there’s this vibration radiating from behind you. You can feel them, both of them, watching, watching you wince and squirm. You feel them enjoy it, fiercely.

By ten counted lashes the pain is almost excruciating, and a single thought is circulating in your head: You need, you need, you need… you need her to fuck you. You feel like you would die without it.

You hear your voice break into sobs, though you’re not crying. Your body is about to explode with sensations.

“Fifteen,” you groan, finally, through your teeth.

And the hand in your hair travels down your spine like a shiver, a caress. Alexia starts to stroke the pulsating redness on your backside and thighs, tracing the crisscrossing lines there. You sigh and she hushes, balancing the cane on top of your lower back, to soothe and fondle you with both her hands. The wooden cane has warmed up to your body. The slight pressure of its weight feels like a lingering threat.

You let yourself rest under Alexia’s hands, as she hushes and pets you, rubbing your goose-bumped skin. She makes you feel strangely proud of having taken the thrashing, now that you have an audience and all. When her fingers trace the soreness tingling on your skin, all you are is that pain. And when Alexia slips down between your thighs and reaches the wetness there, all you are is the pleasure exploding under her touch. You gasp and let out a moan. Pleasure has grown alongside the pain, and, finally, the tension softens. Alexia’s touch softens and she slips her fingers into you. Without warning, and easily in your wetness, she goes all the way in. You cry out, nearly with laughter, with relief pouring over you.

“What do we say?” Alexia demands, and in her voice you hear her breathe as heavily as you do.

“Thank you,” you sigh. Meaning it with every fiber of your being.

“Good girl,” says Alexia and from somewhere further behind you, you hear Leah moan.

Once more, Alexia closes one hand in the tangle of your hair, gentler this time, lifting your head so you moan towards both your reflections in the mirror. Your breath fogging the glass. With her other hand Alexia starts to fuck you from behind, slowly, before picking up her tempo. First with two, and then when they’re not enough, three fingers. Steadily, she pounds into you, and you hear your own pleasure echoed in your voice, as Alexia sighs behind you, moaning softly.

When you lock eyes with Leah in the mirror then, your body swaying against the creaking bureau, you fix her gaze on yours, holding it there, watching her pupils dilate, her lips part, as Alexia fucks you towards climax. Almost all the way. When you’re on the edge, trembling, she slips out of you, and you let out a long, loud moan as a protest. Laughing, Alexia takes the cane from your back, before wrapping her arms around you, lifting you up to a standing position. She lets you rest against her chest, and you groan, the pain still sizzling on your backside. Alexia hushes you again, and you breathe until the frustration is bearable. That she won’t let you come yet must mean she has more in store. And that’s fine; you can be good a while longer.

Alexia puts the cane on top of the bureau, and then, as if choreographed, you both turn to look at Leah. She’s standing in the middle of the room, staring back at you both. You feel Alexia plant a kiss on the back of your head, and, gently, she lets go of you.

“Take a seat on the couch, please, Leah,” she says.

And you thought it wasn’t possible but Leah’s eyes widen even more. She’s quick to obey, as if relieved to finally be given instructions.

Leah sits on the edge of the couch, and you see Alexia keep her gaze in hers as she approaches her. You follow close behind, not wanting to miss a single moment of what is about to happen next. As Alexia leans down to kiss Leah, her chin in a gentle grip between Alexia’s knuckle and thumb, you feel yourself melt. Alexia kisses Leah so softly, so tenderly. Before you know what you’re about to do, you sink to your knees on the floor between Leah’s feet. Their kiss breaks. Leah looks down at you, lips shining with Alexia’s saliva as you put your hands on her thighs, feeling her shiver beneath your touch.

“Do you want this?” you ask Leah.

Leah stares at you, mutely, looking like she’s trying to say something smart. Finally, she just smiles, her cheeks glowing red and nods.

Alexia and you look at each other, sharing a single mind. She slides in behind Leah on the couch, wrapping her arms around her. Pulling her up into her lap, breathing hotly against her neck. Leah closes her eyes, and you see her soften against Alexia’s chest, leaning back into her embrace. Leah breathes heavily, as if in meditation, as Alexia takes her pants off.

Together you both part her knees, spreading her legs, and your pulse quickens, saliva gathering in your mouth, when you see a pair of white lace panties clinging to the folds of Leah’s pussy. Alexia watches you over Leah’s shoulder, her eyes lit up from within. You hear Leah whimper as you lean in.

You kiss the outside of her panties, tasting Leah through the fabric. You start out gently, before letting yourself become rougher, giving in to your hunger while hearing her moan with frustration. You’re so close, yet painfully separate.

Then you hear them kiss. Wet sounds, reaching down between your thighs to quiver there. You look up through your eyelashes and see them: Leah’s face in Alexia’s hand, their mouths locked. Alexia’s other hand moving beneath Leah’s shirt. You watch them, hypnotized, body still buzzing with pleasure and pain as the tip of your tongue moves in circles around Leah’s clit, before pressing down on it, gently, through the lace of her panties. Leah moans then, and Alexia smiles against her lips. She is writhing between the both of you now. The whimpering sounds she sighs into Alexia’s mouth makes your pussy throb.

Finally, the fabric beneath your tongue is soaked all the way through, and just as you reach your hand in to pull Leah’s panties aside, you feel Alexia’s hand close in your hair, pulling your head back, with a sudden jab of pain across your scalp. You look up to see Leah’s eyes snap open, and she lets out a desperate gasp as the heat from your mouth leaves her, her panties snapping back into place. Alexia tilts your head back to smile down at you, giving you a devilish wink that makes your heart flutter.

“Please,” Leah sighs, as if in pain, and Alexia hushes her tenderly.

“Not yet, darling,” she says, and she turns Leah’s face towards hers again before continuing, looking straight into her eyes, “Now turn over.”

You notice she uses a different voice with Leah than the one she uses with you. Alexia is sweet, careful even, treating Leah as if she’s fragile. You can’t wait for her to notice what a pervert she really is.

Alexia lets go of your hair, shooting you another knowing glance, as Leah obediently turns over in her lap. You can almost hear her heart pound against Alexia’s thigh as she bends over it, her face pressed down into the couch’s seat, her ass placed before you between Alexia’s knees, her lace panties barely covering her buttocks.

You’re still kneeling on the floor before them, wetting your lips with your tongue as you watch Alexia pull Leah’s panties down over the curve of her perfect ass, leaving a trace of glistening wetness down the insides of her thighs. Her pussy is exposed, not many inches away from your face and you hear Leah whimper into the seat as Alexia laughs.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” Alexia says, stroking the back of Leah's thighs.

You sit back on your heels, wincing at the pressure against your punished ass.

“Don’t be,” you scoff, immediately feeling blood rush to your face, heating your cheeks as you realize you want Alexia to go hard on Leah. Because you want to see it for your own pleasure.

But Alexia is on to you, and with one hand resting on Leah’s backside she points at you with the other.

“You watch it,” Alexia says. “I’m already adding lashes to your next session.”

A twitch of pleasure between your thighs. An impulse to giggle, but you shut yourself up, giving Alexia a sly grin that she returns with a stern look. And Alexia turns back to Leah. She says her name again, and both of you shiver.

“Sweet Leah,” Alexia says, squeezing one of her buttocks hard, making Leah suck in her breath, “This is what you came here for, isn’t it?”

Leah makes a muffled sound, not quite a whimper, not quite a moan. Suddenly, Alexia raises her hand and lets it crash down on the side of Leah’s ass. The sharp slap makes you gasp, and Leah cries out with surprise. You’re amazed to see the redness already spreading on Leah’s skin.

“Isn’t it?” Alexia asks again, her voice cold but shaped by a smile.

“Yes,” Leah moans, lifting her blushing face from the couch cushion. You see her tremble in Alexia’s embrace and you see her wetness glisten beneath her buttocks.

And Alexia hums softly, as if in agreement, and you stare in wonder at the scene before you as Alexia begins to spank Leah, each slap sending a jolt of excitement through your body. Alexia is definitely not gentle with Leah, you think, as Leah squirms across her lap, calling out in marvel and pain. When a couple of stern blows land on the same spot, thoroughly reddening it, and Leah starts to kick her legs, you reach out to grab her ankles, keeping her in place. At this, Alexia shoots you a crooked smile, a playful glance that makes you want to giggle again.

Leah lets out a long moan, but she stills in your grip, taking the rest of her spanking without protest, letting out only soft, sweet whimpers. Alexia’s smile widens, and you watch them together, wide-eyed. Something sinks in your chest then: a realization. A warmth settles. And it’s like you’re in love. After another couple of slaps the punishment starts to subside. Leah breathes heavily into the seat, wetting it with her breath, and as she turns her head to the side to look at you, strands of her hair are stuck to her forehead. She looks dizzy, your eyes lock, and she smiles sleepily, as if she’s happy to find you there. And it’s like you’re in love.

Alexia’s hand softens against Leah’s skin, stroking it and she slips it down between her thighs to cup Leah’s pussy from behind, trying the wetness gathered there.

“So it wasn’t so bad after all?” Alexia purrs, and you laugh as Leah arches her back.

You see her clench her fists, digging her nails into her palms as Alexia’s fingers play with her. You can almost feel both their movements.

“No,” Leah pants, her voice trembling. “Not bad at all.”

Then Alexia’s free hand reaches up, crashing down in another merciless smack across Leah’s right buttock.

“You need more?” Alexia asks, smacking Leah’s ass again while leaving her other hand on her throbbing pussy.

“No!” Leah moans, cringing away from the slaps but arching her back further, pleading with her whole body. “I mean, I want more, I just, I want…”

Alexia stills again, looking down at the girl in her lap as if pondering what to do with her, and you think you feel Leah’s need, like a hunger in your every vein and muscle, the need to get fucked, hard, now.

Alexia looks at you and it’s like she looks straight into your mind through your eyes.

“There’s a strap in the bureau,” Alexia says.

And Leah lets out a loud sigh, a small whimper, “Thank you.”

You and Alexia both laugh. Alexia rubs Leah’s punished skin, and gives you a nod towards the bureau that you only minutes ago stood bent over. You jump to your feet, feeling your wetness move between your legs, and you hurry over to get the strap from one of the drawers. You pull them out at random, and your heart flutters again when you spot your pink paddle in one of them. Resting on folds of pink velvet.

While walking back to the couch, you step into the strap-on harness, relieved to have already mastered the art of fastening it around your hips as Alexia watches you, lips slightly parted. It looks like she doesn’t recognize you. It feels good; a triumphant little smile tickles your lips.

The dildo is already in place in the harness’ metal ring, and when you look down you realize it’s larger than the one you and Leah have played with. You approach the pair on the couch, while Alexia seems to feast on the sight of you, and Leah’s trying to look back at you past her shoulder. Lying over Alexia’s thigh, her ass looks as if it’s offered up to you, a trembling sacrifice, buttocks a smoldering red. Her wet, desperate pussy waiting.

Alexia holds Leah’s thighs apart, and as you lean down to position yourself behind Leah, the heat from their bodies, their mixed scents, envelop you. The dildo’s head reaches Leah’s pussy. She whimpers impatiently and you, surprising yourself, moan out loud. You move your hips and fill Leah, slowly. With your many hands—yours and Alexia’s—both hold Leah in place, her legs spread wide, as you start to thrust into her, fucking her into Alexia’s lap. The couch creaks beneath you all, and you all breathe together. Leah letting out a moan after a muffled moan into the cushion. All the while arching her back, letting you in deeper.

You feel Alexia’s hand grab your hair again then, turning your head roughly, crushing your lips with hers. You both kiss hungrily, panting into each other’s mouths, bodies swaying with the movement of fucking. When Alexia lets go, you’re gasping for air. Alexia leans down to speak hotly to Leah.

“Do you like that?” Alexia asks, a hiss almost, sizzling.

And Leah nods wildly into the couch cushion, her moans wet with saliva, her voice high. Alexia looks up to lock her gaze on yours, ordering, “Deeper.”

Alexia’s eyes shine. Hesitantly at first, you push deeper into Leah, lengthening your movements, hearing her cry out as she is crushed down into the seat.

“Like that?” Alexia asks Leah, voice hot and hard, and Leah nods even wilder. Alexia keeps instructing, “Faster.”

You obey, your moans breaking into grunts, sweat breaking out over your body in shivers, and Alexia kisses you again, choking your voice while you pump into Leah.

Panting against your lips, Alexia commands, “Harder.”

And you thrust harder and Leah squirms beneath you, desperately gripping the edge of the couch, muffling her cries. Alexia and you fuck her together. Deep, fast, hard. Your head swims with the movements, your breasts swaying, your hair whipping across your face and sticking to the sweat on your forehead.

When you hear Leah come, loudly, so do you. You can’t tell if you’re coming from your own thighs rubbing together, the base of the dildo thrusting against you, or the ecstasy in Leah’s voice when she cries out as you fuck her, as you hurt and pleasure her.

Your orgasm is long and intense, pulsating as you slow your movements. You’re panting, sweat glistens on Leah’s back. Finally, you pull out of her, and you both sigh together. Alexia pulls you down onto the couch, starting to unfasten the strap-on harness from your hips, and you and Leah lay moaning across her lap, in and out of sync with each other, as the waves of the orgasm keeps crashing.

Alexia moans with you, a comforting sound, a wordless “good girl.”

You’re trembling in Alexia’s arms, holding Leah in yours and you feel like you’re in love.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso smut #woso request #woso imagine #woso one shot #alexia putellas smut #leah williamson smut #alexia putellas x reader #leah williamson x reader #alexia putellas x leah williamson x reader

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airybcby · 2 days ago

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જ⁀✦ cause what if i never love again?

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — yall rock w the new pic set up? ^^

♡ word count — 2.8k

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, set in a kind of salem time, the 1920s, a war-time, and "modern times" (reo and reader are 19 and he plays pro soccer), right person wrong time, right person not enough time, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of car accidents, mentions of war (and all things affliated), mentions of illness, royal! reader, heiress! reader, nurse! reader, ill! reader, soulmates, meeting in every lifetime, 4 different lifetimes, angst, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — Reo Mikage will go through as many lives as he has to. Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you. And in every life, you leave him far too early.

── .✦ give me a memory i can use

The first time you met Reo Mikage, you were both small and sharp-eyed, children dressed in velvet and constraint.

Your families were tangled in money and politics—landowners of different provinces, but allies in name and interest.

You were five when he pulled your hair in the middle of a tea party.

He was six when you shoved him into a pond for saying your voice was too loud.

By ten, you were inseparable.

They let you roam because your names had already been written beside each other in social contracts and whispered agreements.

If it was known that one day you’d marry, what was the harm in letting you grow close? A scandal between children of dynasties only became a storybook legend.

He snuck into your father’s library to draw figures on old books while you read them aloud.

He taught you how to climb the castle wall in secret, and you taught him to hold his tongue when the lords came to visit.

You knew how to bite with a smile, how to laugh with your teeth showing.

Reo saw it first.

That fire in you.

You were always too wild for the world they tried to fit you into. Not unruly, no—never sloppy, never loud when you weren’t meant to be—but there was something about the way you looked out the window when no one else was watching.

Something about how you wrote poems in the backs of your ledgers and crushed rose petals into ink to write your letters. Something about how you said no.

And something about how he kept falling in love with it.

It wasn’t dramatic, how it started.

It wasn’t some grand confession or secret kiss stolen in a garden.

It was just... one day, Reo looked at you reading in the sun, your slippers dangling off one foot and your hair wind-tangled, and he thought, I want to know her forever. And then another day passed, and he still did. And then more.

You loved him, too, in your own way. Softly. Deeply. As if your lives had always been meant to run parallel.

You held hands under the table. He kissed the corner of your wrist one night when he thought you were asleep. You laughed into his shoulder after you tripped on your gown. He looked at you like he’d never seen anything as real in a world built on porcelain.

You told him once, “If I wasn’t born into this family, I’d be free.”

He looked at you, his own robe stitched with his family’s crest in gold thread, and said, “Then I’d give up everything and be free with you.”

You were seventeen.

You never got to turn eighteen.

They accused you of witchcraft.

It started with a dying boy claiming you’d looked at him wrong.

A servant finding dried herbs in your satchel.

A maid whispering about how she saw you dance barefoot in the rain last spring.

Enough breadcrumbs to ignite fear in people who’d rather burn a girl than question their own sins.

No trial. No appeal.

You didn’t scream when they took you. You didn’t beg.

But Reo did.

He fought everyone—his father, the guards, the church. “She’s not a witch,” he screamed. “She’s not anything but good.”

But the world didn’t want good. It wanted obedient. And you’d never been that.

They tied your hands behind your back. They bound you in white and dragged you through the courtyard, and Reo stood in the front row because he refused to let the last thing you see be anyone but him.

Your eyes met.

The smoke rose around you.

Your last words were not curses.

They were, “Don’t forget me.”

And he never did.

Even as the flames swallowed you. Even as your skin turned to ash and your hair burned away, Reo saw only the girl who once told him she’d be free one day.

The girl he loved in a world that wasn’t kind enough to keep her.

That was your first death.

The first lifetime where he couldn’t save you.

And far above the smoke, something—fate, time, maybe love—took your soul in its hands and whispered:

Not yet. Try again.

You were never supposed to be seen at the club.

Not you—darling of your family, heiress to a chain of railroads, pearls around your neck, and an engagement to a Duke’s son inked before you could spell his name.

Your mother taught you manners with the edge of a knife.

Your father raised you like an investment.

But then there was Club Ambrosia—all smoke and saxophones, women in dresses too short and heels too high, and music that wrapped around your ribs like sin.

That was where you went when you couldn’t breathe.

That’s where you were when Reo Mikage found you again.

He was already seated in the corner when your shadow slipped through the curtain. Champagne in hand. Gold cufflinks glinting under low lights.

Everyone knew the Mikages—owners of steel lines and half of Wall Street.

Their son? He was supposed to be on his way to becoming the next great American tycoon.

But there he was.

Watching you like he’d been waiting years.

His voice cut through the jazz. “Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who ran from parties thrown in her honor.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I didn’t think you were the kind of boy who followed girls out of them.”

“I don’t follow girls,” he said, standing to offer you his hand. “Just you.”

And like smoke rising from a candle, it all came back.

Not in full—not yet. But in fragments.

The shape of his mouth when he smiled. The way your heart quieted when his hand touched yours.

A memory of fire.

You danced that night. Barely spoke.

His hand on your waist, yours on his chest.

When the music swelled, you let your head fall against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you ever feel like you’ve done all this before?”

Reo didn’t answer. But he held you closer.

You and Reo became a story whispered behind champagne glasses.

The reformed golden boy of Fifth Avenue, now regularly seen at downtown jazz clubs, slipping into limousines with that Belmont girl. The one who used to recite poems in Latin and walked barefoot in her father’s garden.

They called it a phase.

You knew better.

It wasn’t perfect. You argued, often.

Your families met in secret to “discuss your recklessness.”

You wrote letters to each other in invisible ink.

He sent you flowers for every day he couldn’t see you.

You’d crush them between books, every one.

One night, you curled against his chest in his hotel suite, the city glittering outside, and you whispered, “They’ll never let us be free.”

Reo kissed your temple. “Then we’ll stop asking.”

You made a plan.

Two train tickets. A borrowed name.

You’d run to Paris, where no one cared about your families, where he could disappear and you could breathe.

But the night before your escape, your father caught wind.

Whether it was a servant or a slip of the tongue, you never knew.

Reo came to get you.

But you never opened the door.

They said the brakes gave out.

That your driver was drunk.

That the corner was slick from rain.

But Reo Mikage—standing in the rain, his fists bloodied from pounding the wreckage, your perfume still on his collar—knew better.

You died with your engagement ring still on, the wrong man’s name etched into your obituary.

And Reo never forgave himself for being one night too late.

He lived until he was eighty-seven. Never married.

Some say he bought every apartment overlooking the bridge where your car went over.

Some say every year on the anniversary, he sat on the ledge and whispered to the wind:

“Next time, I’ll come sooner.”

The third time you meet him again, it’s through blood and smoke.

You’re a nurse stationed at a temporary field hospital, the kind where floors are dirt and the walls are canvas.

The kind where no one remembers names—just numbers and wounds and how long someone has left.

Reo Mikage is wheeled in unconscious.

He’s covered in grime, his uniform soaked with someone else’s blood.

The tag pinned to his chest bears his surname, and something in your chest stirs.

Mikage.

You whisper it under your breath. It sounds... familiar.

Like a place you once lived. A name you once spoke like a secret.

He doesn’t wake for three days.

You sit beside his cot every shift.

The other nurses tease you for it.

They call him handsome, say you’ve got a crush. But it’s not that. Not really.

It’s something heavier. Something in the curl of his fingers. The furrow in his brow. Like you already know the way he’ll look at you when he opens his eyes.

And then he does.

And you do.

He blinks once. Twice. Focuses on your face.

He says your name. Not the one on your uniform. The one no one here calls you. The one you’ve only ever heard in dreams.

He says it like he’s been looking for you in every burning city.

You drop the tray in your hands.

Reo isn’t like the other soldiers.

He’s quieter. Sharper. Always watching the sky like it’s trying to tell him something.

He tells you, once, after his fever breaks, that he didn’t want to fight. That his father made him.

He tells you, “War makes men into monsters. I’m just trying not to lose myself.”

You tend to his wounds in silence. And when you can’t take the silence anymore, you read to him. You braid the fringe of your apron.

He watches you like you’re the last beautiful thing left in the world.

You start to write letters.

Not to send. Just to keep.

Letters about the dream you had last night—about fire and water and lace.

About names that don’t make sense.

About waking up and looking at him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

He writes too. He tucks them under his pillow.

One night, you trade letters without reading them.

You hold onto his like a prayer.

The bombing starts in the middle of winter.

You’re stationed at a different camp by then. A converted boarding school turned hospital.

You spend your days wrapping wounds and your nights writing to him by candlelight.

You’re engaged now.

It’s not official—there’s no ring, no announcement—but the way he said “Marry me when this ends” felt more real than anything your father’s ever given you.

He signs every letter:

I will find you, in every life.

But then—radio silence.

Weeks pass.

Then months.

The air raids begin again.

You think maybe he’s dead.

You press your fingers to your stomach one morning and whisper, that you’ll be okay. He’d want you to be okay.

The night it happens, you can feel it.

A cold sweat. A ringing in your ears. The candle goes out with no warning.

You step outside into the snow. The first star has just appeared.

You want to send him one last letter.

But you never get to write it.

The bomb hits the edge of the hospital.

The world turns white.

Reo finds the ruins three days later.

He shouldn’t even be there. He’s already on his way back to the front. But something pulls him off the train. Something he can’t name.

He digs through the wreckage until his knuckles bleed.

He finds your locket in the ashes.

And a letter—his, unopened.

Your name written in the corner.

The paper is stained and singed, but his words are still there.

I remember you now. From every life before.

This time, I swear, I won’t lose you.

But he did.

Again.

He keeps the locket around his neck until the war ends.

He never takes it off.

Not even when they offer him medals, promotions, his father’s business back home.

He turns it all down.

He buys a farm on the outskirts of town. Quiet. Away from the noise.

Sometimes the villagers say they hear him talking to the wind.

Sometimes he walks to the river and stands there until morning.

When asked why he never married, he says:

“I already had her. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. But I’m still waiting for the time I get to keep her.”

You and Reo Mikage grew up next door.

Same gated community, same prep school, same security guards posted outside the wrought iron fences.

You were the daughter of luxury hotel owners. He, the heir to Mikage Corporation.

You were born in cashmere blankets. Raised on promises you never asked for.

Everyone said you'd end up together.

They said it at galas, while sipping imported champagne.

They said it like a joke at school when he shared his umbrella with you in the rain.

And when you turned sixteen and collapsed in your own hallway, too weak to stand, they still said it.

But softer.

“Poor thing,” they whispered. “She probably won’t live long. At least she has him.”

You hated those words.

Because they made you feel like your love for Reo was a consolation prize.

But Reo never looked at you like that.

Never once.

You were seventeen when he kissed you for the first time.

Ten hospitalizations in one year.

Tubes in your arms. Doctors poking and prodding.

He still kissed you like you were summer.

Not sick. Not fragile. Just you.

You were nineteen when he married you.

The media lost its mind.

Mikage Reo Marries Mystery Girl at 19!

Golden Boy Tied Down So Soon?

Is Love Worth This Much Risk?

Every interview asked the same question.

“Why so young?”

And Reo would just smile, golden and warm, eyes quiet, and say:

“When you know, you know.”

But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was: your lungs were giving out.

Your immune system couldn’t keep up.

And some days, you couldn’t even walk down the stairs.

The truth was: Reo had one chance to be yours in every way.

And he took it. No hesitation.

He plays with a pro team now.

Top-tier team. International attention. Commercials.

And every time he scores, he kisses his ring finger and looks to the sky.

You’re never in the stands.

You always ask.

“Can I come tonight? I’ll wear a mask, I won’t touch anyone, I promise.”

But he won’t let you.

You’re too delicate. Too precious.

“Please,” you said once, half-laughing, half-crying. “I just want to see you out there. Just once.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched.

“I don’t want to carry the weight of losing you in the middle of a game.”

You promised him then.

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The night you don’t wake up, he had a game in another city.

A late one. Sold out.

Reporters screamed questions at him about his strategy, his youth, his marriage.

He gave a polite smile. Always poised.

He scored twice.

But didn’t celebrate.

He got home close to midnight.

The house was quiet. Dark.

No light spilling from the bedroom door like usual.

No movie humming in the background.

No warm blanket lump with your eyes peeking out when he walked in.

“Baby?” he called, loosening his tie.

No answer.

He walked into the room. You were curled up in bed like always. Still wearing that oversized hoodie he bought you last winter. One arm draped over the pillow.

He exhaled a soft laugh. “Did you really fall asleep without texting me?”

He walked closer. Leaned down.

Touched your cheek.

You were cold.

Colder than you’d ever been.

Not just chilled. Empty.

“No, no,” he murmured. “Hey. Baby. Wake up.”

You didn’t move.

He shook you lightly. “C’mon, don’t do this. I’m home now.”

Silence.

He collapsed beside you, hands cupping your face.

“Hey,” his voice cracked. “Open your eyes. You said—you said you’d wait for me.”

But you couldn’t.

You kept your promise the best you could.

They say Reo didn’t speak for days.

Didn’t cry in public. Didn’t cancel a single match.

But on the field, he stopped smiling.

He scored goals like a machine. Cold. Calculated.

And every time, he still kissed his ring finger.

But he never looked up anymore.

He kept everything the same in your shared house.

Your side of the bed still untouched.

Your last note—"Come home safe. I love you."—framed by the door.

Sometimes, he talks to the photo of you by the window.

Not like someone grieving.

But like someone waiting.

He dreams of you often now.

And sometimes, when he wakes, breathless and aching, he whispers,

“Please. Just one more life. Let it be the one we finish.”

Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you.

And in every life, you leave him far too early.

so this is actually the first fic i've written where I'VE cried :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @nevvynevnev ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

#★ · airybcbyy #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage #reo #bllk reo #blue lock reo #bllk reo mikage #blue lock reo mikage #airy posts #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #reo x reader #bllk angst #blue lock angst #yall fw the adele?

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goonforgeto · 2 days ago

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・☄︎ CRUSH

chapter 04

SYNOPSIS — The last thing ten-year-old you ever imagined was falling in love at fourteen, getting your heart broken at seventeen, and spending your early twenties hunting down Jujutsu Society’s most wanted — your (ex?) boyfriend. But the last thing your twenty-something-year-old self expected? Falling for his best friend... just before your ex comes crashing back into your life after over a decade of silence.

WC — (2.7k) not proofread

CONTENT — fluff, mentions of vomit once, time jump

a/n: i actually got really upset writing this chapter heh. next chapter is rly long and what happens during christmas, also we get so see some more of satoru's friendship w reader and suguru so get ready!

series m. list | m.list

December, 2005

It was one of those rare days where your mission and Suguru’s wrapped up at the exact same time — a little stroke of luck that meant your schedules actually lined up for once. Even better, Satoru and Shoko were both busy.

Sure, you usually found ways to sneak in time together — late-night walks, stolen moments between training — but most of it involved tiptoeing around curfews, since neither of them knew about you and Suguru. Yet.

Not that it was anything serious or dramatic, you just liked having something that was yours. Something that didn’t come with teasing or smirks or endless questions.

And today — with the afternoon wide open, the air crisp and cool — it felt nice to think you had time.

The both of you had returned to campus around the same time, tired but relieved, and quickly agreed: freshen up first, meet outside in half an hour.

And right on time, when you step out onto the path behind the dorms — coat buttoned, scarf a little crooked — you spot him leaning casually against one of the old stone railings.

Suguru’s hair is still damp from the shower, tucked loosely behind his ears. He’s in a dark sweater and coat, hands in his pockets, looking up at the overcast sky like he’s thinking about something far away.

When he hears your steps, his gaze flicks down and softens the moment he sees you.

“You look warm,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

You grin. “And you look like you forgot your gloves again.”

He shrugs, pushing off the railing. “You’ll keep me warm.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s already doing that quiet little skip it always does when it’s just the two of you.

You come to a stop in front of him. He watches you for a beat longer, then dips his head and presses a soft kiss to your mouth.

But the second it hits, you stiffen — the taste of something pungent, bitter, metallic underneath the softness of his lips — the lingering residue of the curse he’d exorcised earlier.

Without thinking, you pull back. “Ugh—”

Suguru’s eyes widen slightly. “Shit — sorry,” he says quickly, already fishing in his pocket. He pops a stick of gum in his mouth, chewing fast. “Didn’t even think.”

You’re still catching your breath, rubbing at the back of your hand. “It’s fine— it’s just— gods, what was that?”

He grimaces a little, leaning closer. “Dunno. What’s it taste like to you?”

You blink. “Like… burnt, wet hair. And something metallic."

He makes a face. “Yeah, thought so. Usually tastes like a vomit rag to me.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hey, you kissed me back,” he says, teasing, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

You shake your head, the taste fading.

“Ready?” you ask.

“Always,” he says, falling into step beside you.

His hand finds your gloved one as you walk, fingers threading easily through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” you say, glancing up at him, “where are you taking me?”

He gives you a small, knowing smile. “To buy you dango.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Mm.” He squeezes your hand gently. “Since someone—” he tilts his head, a clear jab at Satoru, “ate your share last week.”

You groan. “I told him not to touch mine.”

“He never listens,” Suguru says with a faint laugh. “So. I figured you deserve a replacement.”

Your heart warms, simple and soft. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” he says, eyes flickering sideways at you. “But you can tell me again once you’ve got your dango.”

You tug your glove off with your teeth, pulling it free so you can reach up — fingers lightly toying with the ends of his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was in the summer, the strands soft between your fingers. He’s taller too — an inch or two since the last time you really noticed.

“Sugu,” you say softly, brushing a damp strand behind his ear, “your hair’s wet. You’re going to get sick.”

He leans in slightly.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmurs, voice low. “You worry too much.”

You let your fingers slip away, brushing down the side of his neck. “And you don’t worry enough.”

His smile widens just a little. “That’s why we work.”

The two of you made your way down to the station, hands still twined as you followed the quiet slope toward the subway entrance. The city above was crisp and cold, breath puffing faint clouds in the air — but down here, it was warm, the scent of metal and sweat hanging in the tunnels.

You slipped through the turnstiles side by side, Suguru thumbing your fare through before you could argue.

“It’s my treat,” he said simply, steering you toward the platform. “I’m taking you out, remember.”

The train rumbled in not long after — a soft clatter through the tunnel. You caught one of the middle cars, leaning together against the side rail as the car swayed into motion.

Outside the window, Tokyo blurred past in streaks of grey and light. The station names rolling by felt familiar.

“Where are we going again?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“That little shopping district you like,” Suguru said. “The one with the stalls and the food carts.”

You smiled, heart warming at how easily he remembered.

“It’s not that far,” he added, fingers brushing against yours again, casual, easy.

The train swayed gently as it sped through the tunnels, a low hum filling the car. You stood close to Suguru, shoulder brushing his arm, the warmth of him a welcome contrast to the cold air you’d left behind.

At one stop, the train jolted a little harder than usual, and you stumbled, hand catching his coat. He glanced down, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You alright?” he asked, steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, cheeks a little warm. “Just clumsy.”

He huffed a soft laugh, not letting go. “It’s the train. Not you.”

You peeked up at him, still tucked close. “You’re just saying that because you like having an excuse to hold me.”

He leaned in, a small smile playing at his lips. “Maybe.”

You look away, face flushed, trying to calm your heart.

“So… are you going home for Christmas break?” you ask, trying for casual — though it comes out softer than you mean.

“Definitely,” he says, smiling. “I haven’t had my mom’s cooking in ages.”

“Jealous,” you admit. “I’ll probably be stuck here. My parents are out of the country again.”

Suguru hums, thoughtful. “Well… maybe I’ll bring you something.”

You glance up. “From your mom?”

He grins. “If you’re nice to me.”

You nudge him lightly with your elbow. “I’m always nice to you.”

“That’s debatable,” he teases, eyes bright, then adds, a little quieter, “Or… you could come with me.”

Your breath catches. “Really?”

He shrugs, smile turning softer. “I mean… Satoru’s coming too. But my mom’s been dying to meet you.”

The train slows as it nears your stop.

“You… never mentioned that before,” you say, voice quieter.

Suguru chuckles under his breath. “Guess I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You glance at him, pulse skipping. “You didn’t even ask.”

His eyes flick toward you. “I’m asking now.”

Before you can answer, the train comes to a smooth stop, the chime for your station echoing through the car.

He tugs gently on your hand, fingers still twined through yours. “C’mon,” he says, soft. “We’ll talk about it after we’ve had you fed.”

The two of you step out of the station and into the heart of the shopping district — a narrow street lined with stalls and twinkling lights strung between the buildings, already glowing faintly in the late afternoon.

The air is cold, but not biting. It’s crisp enough to see your breath, the kind of chill that makes the steam from food carts rise in soft white clouds. The smells of grilled mochi, chestnuts, and sweet soy sauce drift through the crowd.

Suguru’s fingers slip back through yours as you walk, weaving easily through the bustling street. It’s busier than usual — families out shopping, students laughing over hot drinks, the hum of the city wrapping around you in a way that feels alive, familiar.

You glance up at him, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Lead the way,” you say softly.

He squeezes your hand, giving you that quiet smile of his. “You sure you trust me to pick the stall?”

“As long as it’s not the one Satoru always drags us to.”

He laughs — a soft, easy sound — and steers you down a smaller side street, where the line of dango carts stretches beneath colorful banners.

“There,” he says. “Your favorites.”

You walk up to the cart together — the familiar scent of toasted rice flour and sweet soy sauce filling the air. Suguru orders without asking, already knowing exactly which kind you like.

You smile as the vendor hands over the skewers, warm and fresh from the grill.

Suguru passes you one, keeping two for himself. “Fair, right?” he says, tilting his head innocently.

You eye him. “That depends. Are you planning to share?”

“Depends how nice you are to me.”

You huff a laugh, but as you take a bite, the smile pulls across your face before you can stop it.

He watches you, fond. “Good?”

“Mmh,” you hum, mouth full. “Worth the trip.”

He leans in a little, voice quieter now, eyes warm. “Told you.”

You reach over, and steal a bite from one of his skewers.

“Hey,” he laughs, mock scandalized.

“You said sharing depends on how nice I am,” you grin. “That was very nice.”

Suguru shakes his head, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”

And before you can think twice, he dips his head, brushing a soft, quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Warm, simple. Enough to send your heart fluttering.

You blink, surprised — cheeks going pink — but he just grins wider, unbothered.

“Sticky,” he teases, thumb brushing lightly at the edge of your lip. “Messy eater.”

You look away, flushed, but you can’t stop smiling.

Suguru just watches you for a second, the faintest flicker of something warmer in his eyes.

You busy yourself with another bite of dango, hoping it’ll settle the way your heart’s racing.

Beside you, he shifts a little closer, shoulder brushing yours lightly as the crowd hums past.

For a while, you walk like that — side by side, quiet, comfortable — the soft winter light catching on the shop signs, the air thick with warmth and scent.

Suguru glances down at you again after a moment. “So…”

You look up. “Hm?”

“That question from earlier.” His voice stays easy, but there’s a hint of something softer beneath. “About Christmas.”

Your breath catches a little, but you cover it with a small smile. “You’re really serious about bringing me home?”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Mom keeps asking who this mystery girl is that’s got me sneaking out all the time.”

Your heart stumbles again — that quiet ache blooming warm in your chest.

You shake your head lightly, teasing. “Mystery girl, huh?”

He smiles — slower now, gaze steady. “Not much of a mystery to me.”

You shift on your feet, glancing down at the half-eaten skewer in your hand, and then back up at him.

“...Yeah,” you say softly. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” He nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “Guess I’ll tell Mom to set an extra place.”

You laugh, heart light now, the earlier nerves fading into something sweeter.

The two of you wander through the stalls after that — past rows of trinkets, candles, little charms and scarves. The air smells of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, chatter rising from the crowd as the sun starts to dip lower.

You stop at one stall, all tiny hand-made charms and keychains lined up neatly on velvet cloth. Suguru’s already moved ahead a few steps, distracted by a stall selling old books, but something here catches your eye.

A pair of simple matching keychains — small wooden ones, carved with little protective sigils and tiny painted flowers. Subtle, but sweet.

Without overthinking it, you buy them — slipping the pair into your coat pocket.

When you catch up to him, you tug on his sleeve.

“What’s that?” he asks, amused, as you hold one out to him.

“For your bag,” you say simply, cheeks warming again. “So you can’t lose it.”

He watches you for a beat — then smiles, soft and bright. “You’re dangerous when you’re cute, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters as he crouches slightly to let you clip the keychain onto the strap of his bag.

“Now you have to keep it on there,” you say, teasing, stepping back.

He straightens, giving the little charm a glance — then you. “I will.” His voice is soft, but certain. “I’ll keep it.”

You keep wandering a while longer, Suguru’s hand finding yours again as the crowd starts to thin with the setting sun. The lights strung across the street glow a little brighter now, soft against the early dusk.

You catch sight of a little photobooth tucked between two larger shops — a narrow thing with faded pink curtains and a bright sign above.

You tug on Suguru’s sleeve. “We should do that.”

He follows your gaze. “The booth?”

You grin. “Yeah. Come on — you owe me for letting you steal my dango.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You stole mine, remember?”

“Details,” you say, already pulling him toward it.

He doesn’t resist — just lets you lead him inside, the two of you ducking beneath the curtain. The space is small, the bench barely fitting both of you, but you slide in close without thinking.

Suguru leans in, shoulder pressed to yours. “You know these always come out ridiculous, right?”

“That’s the point.”

The machine beeps and you barely have time to grab his arm before the first flash goes off.

The next few seconds are a blur of laughing and leaning into each other, you sticking your tongue out on one shot, him grinning too wide on another. The last one — right before the final beep — you turn on impulse and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The flash catches the exact moment his eyes go wide, surprised, the faintest blush creeping up his neck.

You’re still giggling when you step back out into the cool air, waiting for the little strip of photos to print.

When it does, Suguru takes it first — holding it up with a soft smile.

“I’m keeping this one,” he says, fingers brushing over the image of you kissing his cheek.

You grin, cheeks warm. “Fair. But I want a copy.”

The two of you linger a little longer — enough to wander past the last few stalls, the air now cooler against your skin.

Suguru glances up at the sky, “We should head back,” he says gently. “Before curfew.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He adjusts the strap on his bag, giving the new keychain a quick glance, and then falls into step beside you, fingers brushing yours again. You tuck your hands in your coat pockets, but stay close, shoulders almost touching as you walk.

The train ride back is quieter this time. You lean lightly against him as the car sways, the soft rumble of the tracks almost lulling you to sleep. Suguru says nothing, just lets you rest there.

By the time you reach campus, the air’s colder. The lights in the dorm windows glow soft against the dark.

At the path where your buildings split — his dorm to the left, yours to the right — you both stop.

Suguru turns to face you, hands deep in his coat pockets. “Thanks for today.”

You smile, heart still warm. “I should be thanking you.”

He holds your gaze for a beat longer, the air between you soft and a little heavier than before.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

For a second, it almost feels like he might lean in — but instead, he lifts one hand, brushing his knuckles lightly against your cheek.

“Goodnight, pretty,” he says, voice low.

“Goodnight,” you echo, cheeks warm again.

And then, he turns, heading down the path toward his dorm.

You watch him go for a moment, heart still fluttering. Then turn toward your own, the cold air nipping at your cheeks.

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danysdaughter · 1 hour ago

Note

bucky seeing p0rn for the first time after the dating apps don’t work out👀

I'm deadddd, this was so vague so I just ran with it

The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes

pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.3k words

summary | when dating apps fail him and thirst traps become his downfall, bucky barnes finds himself spiraling down the internet’s most unholy rabbit hole—pornhub.

what starts as horrified research turns into full-blown obsession... especially when you, his sharp-tongued best friend, catch him red-handed and make very sure he lives out every filthy fantasy he’s been hiding.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, face sitting, breeding kink dirty talk, roleplay mentions, overstimulation, sexual humor, porn discovery, reader catches bucky watching porn, friends to very horny lovers, reader is a menace, teasing, flustered bucky, dom!bucky, subtle power play, consent is sexy, reader rides his face, doggy style, missionary? i hardly know her, mutual pining (solved by porn), no use of y/n, reader is a problem and bucky loves it, aftercare.

a/n | yeah, I definitely went overboard with this. I hope you freaks enjoy this

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You sipped your drink slowly, already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky glared into his beer like it had personally betrayed him.

“So,” Sam started, barely hiding his smirk. “How was the date with... what was her name again? Velvet? Vixen?”

“Vesper,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And she asked if I’d be into choking her with my vibranium arm before we even finished our drinks.”

You snorted into your glass.

Sam leaned forward, grinning. “I mean... was she wrong?”

“Sam.” Bucky’s glare was instant, but mostly performative. “I just met her.”

You glanced at him over your glass, amused. “What app did you find this one on?”

He groaned. “The same one you said was ‘normal.’”

“No one said it was normal,” you said, raising a brow. “I said it was better than Tinder. That’s not a high bar.”

Bucky leaned back with a sigh, looking thoroughly done with the entire 21st century. “I miss when people met at soda shops and asked each other about their families instead of sending... pictures of their genitals.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Aw, poor Grandpa’s overwhelmed by the sex-positive future.”

“You know what’s not positive?” Bucky muttered. “The fact that I Googled ‘how to get back out of the dating app’ and it sent me to a subreddit with people just as confused as I am.”

You exchanged a look with Sam, both of you clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Have you... considered other ways to meet people?” you asked, trying not to grin. “Like not being a digital hermit?”

Bucky looked between the two of you, deadpan. “I’m this close to living in the jungle again.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Bucky Barnes, the only man who can bench-press a car but can’t survive Hinge.”

Bucky slammed his glass down—not hard, but with enough force to earn a side-eye from the bartender.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “I’m trying to talk to these women like a normal person. I say, ‘Hi, how was your day?’ and one of them responds with—” he fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen, “‘Send me a pic of the arm, baby, I wanna see what’s gonna rearrange my insides.’”

You choked.

Sam full-on cackled, grabbing his chest. “Wait—rearrange her insides? Yo, that’s poetry.”

“She sent a GIF after that,” Bucky went on, staring at the phone like it might explode. “A GIF. Of a hydraulic press crushing a watermelon. What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna die,” you wheezed, nearly spilling your drink. “She wants you to hydraulically press her coochie, Barnes. Come on.”

“I thought she was making a smoothie metaphor!” Bucky snapped. “And then another one asked if I was into CNC. I said I didn’t know what that meant, and she said ‘perfect.’”

Sam wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god—Bucky, you’re gonna end up in someone’s kink diary.”

“She sent me a TikTok about edging,” Bucky added, horror slowly overtaking his face. “I thought it was about gardening.”

You completely lost it, head in your arms on the table. “Please stop, I can’t breathe.”

Bucky scowled. “I’m serious! She said she wanted to edge me for hours, and I said that sounded peaceful, like a nice walk—and she sent back forty-seven emojis.”

Sam gasped between wheezes. “You’re getting sexted in hieroglyphics and you think it’s a hike, I’m begging you to never leave the house again.”

Bucky looked between you both, betrayal written across his face. “I survived Hydra. I survived seventy years of brainwashing. But I will not survive being called ‘daddy’ by a woman who lists her job as ‘freelance foot model and energy witch.’”

“Wait—did she have the crystals?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

He nodded grimly. “She said my aura was ‘screaming trauma kink.’”

Sam actually slid off the stool, wheezing on the floor.

He shut the door behind him with a dull thunk, then stood there for a moment in the silence. The kind that pressed in around the edges when no one else was around. Just him, the creak of the old radiator, and the words “rearrange my insides” still echoing in his head like a ghost.

Bucky sighed, tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair, and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge as if disappointment wouldn’t be waiting there too. One beer left. Great.

He grabbed it, popped the cap off with his metal hand, and made his way over to his laptop.

It sat there on the table like a challenge.

He opened it. The familiar whir kicked on. A sigh slipped through his teeth.

“I fought in two wars,” he muttered to himself. “Survived Hydra. Took down a helicarrier. But this? This is the real enemy.”

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then he typed:

"What does CNC mean?"

Enter.

He leaned forward slowly, reading the top search result. Then the second.

His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth fell open just slightly.

"...Consensual non-consent?"

He clicked the link. Read further.