#*ISE: press

[allbeendonebefore]

colleague: are we doing US/UK/CAD spellings/formatting?

me: i like CAD (leaning towards UK) because blah blah blah but we can check the existing pdfs to see what’s been happening

colleague: i have been using the canadian press style guide but i’ll check with [boss]!

me:

me: there’s a GUIDE

[bending-sickle]

oh also i had to superglue my retainers again today :))) they’ve been on their last leg since 2020 but new ones are hella expensive :)))

[brownsugarcoffy]

The Hallelujah Heat (1)

Summary

In a small Mississippi Delta town steeped in scripture, reputation, and whispers, Ise Bakersfield has always walked the righteous path as the preacher’s only daughter. Pressed skirts, quiet Sundays, and eyes that cast down low. However, something or rather someone has come to stir the fire within her.

Stack "Elias" Moore is Magnolia Lane’s smooth-talking neighborhood bad boy. It all starts with lingering glances on her porch and soon becomes a heat that haunts her thoughts. What begins as innocent avoidance quickly turns to dangerous curiosity. Their worlds aren’t meant to touch, but temptation knows no bounds... and Ise is about to find out what happens when desire dares to cross the line.

Characters: Ise Bakersfield (OC) x Stack " Elias" Moore

Warning: Vulgar Language, Sexual content, Angst, Slow Burn & More..

Chapters: PART 2 , PART 3

A/N: I thought about an idea early this morning and was like, "I'm writing this."😭 Feedback is welcome. Enjoy!

NOT EDITED

Stack “ Elias” Moore lived five houses down on Magnolia Lane. He has been there since the day he was born, just like Ise Bakersfield, but they moved in different circles.

Ise was the preacher’s only daughter. Very polished, pressed, and proper, with her hair in soft waves and her ankles hidden beneath hems that didn’t dare misbehave. Folks called her a good girl, said she’d marry a deacon’s son and play piano on Sundays just like her mama.

Stack was the boy the church elders warned her about.

Too slick for his own good, with that lazy grin and a mouth full of sugar and sin. Rumor was he ran liquor behind the juke joint, played cards with married women, and always came home with lipstick on his collar. He wore gold in his mouth like he was daring the Lord to pull them out .

They never truly spoke. Not a real conversation, anyway. But that didn’t mean Ise hadn’t noticed him. She just made sure she noticed in silence.

That evening, the sky was the color of sweet tea and smoke. Ise was sitting on the porch swing in her Sunday best, even though it was Tuesday. A hymn book in her lap. Legs crossed at the ankle like her mama taught her, but her eyes were sinning.

Across the way, Stack leaned against the wood post at his daddy’s gate, lighting a cigarette with one hand and watching the street like it owed him something. The flame kissed his face long enough for her to see the hunger behind his easy look.

He caught her watching.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t wave.

Just strolled across the road slowly, cigarette dangling, voice dragging like jazz on a scratchy record.

“Evenin’, Miss Bakersfield.”

She closed the hymn book but didn’t stand. “Didn’t think you knew my name.”

“I know a lotta things,” he said, stopping just shy of her porch. And I know good girls ain’t supposed to stare at boys like me.”

She should’ve flushed. Should’ve gone inside.

Instead, she tilted her head. “Nobody told you to come over here. Betta be careful folks’ll think you’re sweet on the preacher’s daughter.”

Stack grinned, slow and dangerous. “I ain’t sweet on nobody. Just got a curiosity for quiet things with heat underneath.”

And for the first time, Ise let her smile rise. It was sharp, knowing, unbothered by God or gossip.

“Careful, boy,” she warned. “Curiosity like that? That’s how folks catch fire.”

He exhaled smoke toward the evening sky.

“Maybe I like the burn.” Stack exhaled again, slow and steady, letting the smoke curl around the space between them. He didn’t climb the steps. He just stood there on the ground like he knew his place, or maybe like he was daring her to invite him up.

Ise tilted her head a little more, her voice soft but laced with bite. “You curious about me, but your curiosity needs to focus on how you gon’ keep screwin’ Mr. Chase’s wife, Lottie.”

The corner of Stack mouth lifted. Not in shock or in shame. Just that same lazy, low grin like he was half-impressed.

“Sounds like somebody been keepin’ tabs on me.” He leaned in, voice syrup-slick.

“Now is the church girl judgin’ me… or she got her own curiosity?”

Ise’s fingers tightened around the hymn book. She didn’t blink. “You don’t rattle me, Stack.”

He chuckled, eyes glittering beneath the porch light. “Didn’t say I did.”

She should’ve gone inside, but she didn’t. Lord help her, part of her liked that he wasn’t embarrassed about Lottie Chase. That he didn’t flinch. That he could smile with smoke on his tongue and sin on his breath and still act like she was the only thing worth noticing on that porch.

Static stepped back, not retreating, just giving her space like he knew he’d be on her mind anyway.

“Well,” he said, flicking ash to the dirt. “I’ll leave you to your hymns and thoughts, Miss Bakersfield.”

“Goodnight, Stack.”

He turned with that same easy swagger, but not before he let his gaze fall on her lips. It was just as long enough to make her chest ache and wonder what his mouth felt like.

However, she was a Bakersfield. A preacher’s daughter. There was a reputation to maintain.

So she lifted her chin and swung gently on the porch like her heart wasn’t pounding loud enough to drown out every song in that hymn book.

An hour after Stacks left her on the porch, Ise was still pacing in her room, hands twisting the hem of her slip, heart ticking like a clock that couldn’t calm down.

Her mama’s voice floated up from the kitchen. “Ise, baby, come on down here and wash your hands. I need you to help me jar this marmalade before it gets cool.”

Ise blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Coming, Mama.”

The kitchen was full of citrus and sugar, the smell of orange and peach marmalade thick in the air like perfume. Her mother stood at the stove, stirring the last pot, wearing her floral apron and humming gospel under her breath.

“I need you to start with those sterilized jars. Use the funnel, don’t make a mess,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

Ise rolled up her sleeves and got to work, carefully spooning the golden orange spread into the jars, the rhythm of it keeping her grounded.

Halfway through sealing the lids, the phone rang. A sharp trill that cut through the soft clinking of jars. Her mama wiped her hands and picked it up.

“Hello? … Oh Lord, Carla’s in labor? Already?” Her mother’s tone shifted quickly, moving from curiosity to command. “I’ll be right there. Y’all keep her calm and don’t let her get up. She dilated last time before she even knew it.”

Hanging up, she turned to Ise. “That was your Auntie Winnie. Carla's contractions five minutes apart. I gotta go. I’ll take the birth kit and head over.”

She grabbed her bag from the pantry but paused at the door. “Before you do anything else after jarin’, take this box over to Miss Frances’ house. She bought these last week and I told her she’d have ’em today. I don’t care what’s goin’ on, I made a promise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ise said, drying her hands.

By the time she finished sealing the last lid, twilight had deepened. The walk to Mrs. Frances’ house wasn’t long, just a few blocks down on the east side, but the box was heavy and the evening air still clung with warmth.

When she reached the steps of the small yellow house with the chipped shutters, she paused.

Blues music drifted out from the open window. Smooth and loud. The clink of bottles, laughter, deep voices floating like smoke through the screen door. Something was going on inside. A gathering. Maybe a party.

She knocked anyway, balancing the box on her hip.

After a few seconds, the door creaked open, revealing Cornbread, Mrs. Frances’ youngest boy, tall and sturdy with a low cut and an unsure look in his eyes. His expression froze when he saw who it was.

“Miss Ise? Uh… what you doin’ here?”

She raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Droppin’ off your mama’s marmalade. My mama promised it’d be here today.”

Cornbread looked like he’d swallowed a brick. “You… you ain’t gon’ say nothin’, are you? My mama think I’m just havin’ a couple boys over to help fix the gutters.”

Ise gave a small shrug, adjusting the box in her hands. “I don’t care what y’all doin’ long as you ain’t burnin’ nothin’ down. Where you want this?”

He blinked. “Uh, I take this, I guess.”

She was about to hand him the box when she heard it. A voice, low and cocky from inside the living room. Smooth as honey and just as sticky.

“Nigga, you sure you wanna bet that much? Your luck runnin’ thinner than your hairline.”

Ise froze.

That voice.

She peered past Cornbread and saw Stack, sitting at the card table, legs stretched out, suspenders hanging loose off his shoulders, surrounded by two other guys laughing and drinking from red cups. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the smoke curling up like a spell.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

Something pulled at her, something reckless and curious. This world wasn’t hers. Not the dim lights, not the smell of beer and cigarettes, not the muffled bass of a stereo vibrating against the walls.

But she wanted to know.

She wanted to know what it felt like to be inside Stack orbit when he wasn’t leaning on porches in the moonlight, teasing her with half-truths and daring smiles. She wanted to see him with his guard down. Wanted to see the version of him that didn’t talk in riddles.

She shifted the box into Cornbread’s arms. “Actually… before I go, could I get a glass of water? That walk had me thirsty.”

Cornbread looked startled but polite. “Y-yeah, of course. You can come in. The kitchen is on your right, straight through that hall. I’ll put these on the counter.”

Ise stepped inside.

The door closed behind her.

And with it, so did every line she wasn’t supposed to cross.

Inside Mrs. Francis’ house, the air was thick with music and humidity. Someone had pushed the parlor furniture against the walls, clearing room for dancing and dominoes. A record spun scratchy blues in the corner, and the scent of bootleg gin and sweet cologne tangled together like secrets. Laughter rose in waves, but just beneath it were voices sharper than they meant to be.

Ise stepped inside wrapping her arns across her body, as her Sunday shoes clicking against the hardwood, all she wanted was to be quick and invisible.

But eyes found her like they always did.

Ise moved through the hallway with her hands folded in front of her like she was still carrying the marmalade, though her heart beat louder than any stereo speaker.

From the living room, laughter burst, followed by the clack of dominoes and the scrape of card decks. Stack was still seated at the table, back to her now, shoulders relaxed like sin didn’t have a price.

Her and Cornbread vanished toward the kitchen ahead of her, the box of jars rattling lightly with each step.

“Glasses are in the cabinet above the sink,” he called. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

“I got it,” Ise answered, her voice even.

Cornbread looked jumpy. Ise could see him glancing from the faucet to the front door like he expected her to scold him about every bottle tucked behind curtains and every girl sitting on laps of young men.

“I ain’t gon’ say nothin’,” she said softly, arms folded as she leaned against the counter. “Your party ain’t none of my business.”

Cornbread glanced over his shoulder, surprised. “Oh. Uh—well…thank you, Miss Ise.”

“Just Ise,” she replied.

“ Well thank you, Ise.” Cornbread smiles as he walks back out the kitchen.

Now standing by herself in a dimly lit kitchen which was cleaner than she expected. Smelling faintly the scene of lemon soap and something fried hours ago. She reached for a glass and turned the faucet on low, watching the water rise.

Outside of the kitchen, gossip began to spread like wildfire throughout the house.

“Preacher’s daughter just walked in,” Stephanie said, her voice pitched high enough to slice through the trumpet solo on the record. She sat on the arm of a sofa, her legs crossed loose and glossy with oil, lips redder than church pew cushions. “Came through the front door with Cornbread like she ain’t scared of her daddy’s belt.”

“Lawd, what she doin’ here?” another woman asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a silk scarf slipping down one shoulder. “She come to save us or judge us?”

A couple of them laughed. Not loud, but enough.

“Maybe she tired of bein’ holy and came to sin proper,” Stephanie added with a drag from her cigarette, smoke curling up toward the ceiling like a prayer going the wrong direction.

That’s when the card table stilled.

Stack, sitting with a hand full of spades, paused mid-turn. His dark eyes lifted, slow and lazy, toward the direction of the kitchen. The overhead light gleamed off the edge of his suspenders as he shifted in his chair. He didn’t say a word at first just stared, listening.

“Who you say?” one of the men asked.

Stephanie’s grin widened. “Lil Miss Ise. Lookin’ like temptation in pressed cotton.”

Stack stood up. No warning. No sigh. He placed his cards face down with deliberate ease and adjusted his collar, rolling his sleeves up higher on his forearms. A gold watch winked on his wrist as he tucked his cigarette behind his ear.

“She in the kitchen?” he asked, not to anyone in particular.

Cornbread’s voice called from the back, a little nervous: “Ise just droppin’ off somethin’ for my mama. That’s all. She is not gonna tell on nobody.”

Stack didn’t respond. He was already moving, slow and easy, like he was headed toward something he’d already dreamed about.

The women fell quiet as they watched him go.

Stephanie blew out a plume of smoke and murmured, “Mm-hmm. That boy ‘bout to forget his poker hand for a little church mouse.”

The cold water touched Ise lips just as a familiar scent rolled in tobacco, cologne, and something warm she couldn’t name. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him.

Stacks filled the doorway like he’d been summoned by the heat rising in her chest. His suspenders had slid off his shoulders, hanging loose around his hips, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. A curl of smoke hung near his ear from the cigarette he’d tucked there earlier. That lazy, confident posture made her heart beat just a little louder, though her face didn’t flinch.

“Well,” Stack drawled. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I figured you only left your porch to go to the church or the corner store.”

She set the glass down slowly on the counter and met his gaze. “Didn’t expect to see you sittin’ in someone else’s mama house like you ain’t got enough scandals folks whisper about.”

Stack’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it grew smoother.

“For a church mouse, you sure keep tabs on a lot of gossip.” he said, voice like slow rain.

Ise narrowed her eyes, lifting her chin. “ Or maybe I just listen better than most.”

“You do more than that.” His gaze flicked down, slow and deliberate. “You watch.

She should’ve slapped him for being so bold, but the truth was she had watched. Watched him saunter down Magnolia Lane like he owned it. Watched the way women leaned close when he spoke. Watched his lips, too.

Stack took one step closer. Not touching, but near enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin. “Tell me, Ise…” he murmured. “What else you curious ‘bout?”

Her laugh was sharp, soft, almost bitter.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He leaned just a little closer, eyes locked on hers. “Yeah,” he said, low. “I would.” For a breath, neither of them moved.

The sounds of music and laughter floated in from the parlor, but in that kitchen, time thickened like molasses. Ise’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the counter, her heart hammering under her prim clothes.

Then, like something snapped back into place, she smoothed her clothes and reached for the empty glass and placed it in the sink.

“I should go,” she said, voice quiet but firm.

Stacks didn’t argue. Just stepped aside, letting her pass, but his eyes stayed on her, trailing the sway of her walk, memorizing it like scripture.

Before she can make towards the end of the hallway Stack will say something that would change Ise forever.

“You ever think ‘bout it?”

She paused. Didn’t turn. “’Bout what?”

“Doin’ something you can’t take back. Just once.” His voice was a hush behind her. “Just to see how it feels.”

She did turn then. Slowly. Met his gaze through the dim hallway light, the shadows softening the edges of his jaw and catching in the curl of his lashes.

Her lips parted, like a question was about to fall. But instead, she swallowed it. Straightened her shoulders. Lifted her chin the way her mama taught her.

“Good night, Stack.”

She opened the front door and stepped out into the thick Delta night, the air humming with summer heat and something heavier. Something that stayed with her all the way down Magnolia Lane.

Stack didn’t follow. He stood in that kitchen, smiling to himself, the ghost of her perfume still caught in his lungs. And when he finally went back to the card table, his grin was slower. Hungrier.

Because now he knew: Ise Bakersfield curious.

And sooner or later? Curiosity always came back around.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The next day

The sun rose slowly over the morning sky, the gold hues spilling through the curtains in the Bakersfield family kitchen. Roosters crowed and made noise behind the family house, and the scent of fresh grass and bacon drifted from the open windows.

Ise stood at the kitchen sink, washing the same teacup for the third time.

She’d barely slept.

Her mother had come home just after dawn, exhausted but smiling. Aunt Carla had delivered a healthy baby boy. Ise had hugged her, helped her off with her boots, and nodded politely as her mama went on about the birth.

However, her mind kept returning to the moment in Cornbread’s kitchen.

To the way Stacks looked at her like he was undressing her with just his eyes. The feeling of heat curling low in her belly.

“Lord, help me,” she whispered, setting the cup aside.

“Did you say something, baby,?” Her mother questioned behind her.

“ No ma'am.” She turned and forcibly formed a smile, as she dried her hands with a towel and walked to the table to hear her mother talk more about her night.

Later that afternoon, Ise followed her mother up the steps to the Post Office in town. Her arms are full of letters tied in twine. Her mama wore her good church hat. It was navy with white trim and a thin sheen of sweat clung to her temple, but she held her chin high, proud like always.

“Gotta get these to your brother ‘fore the week run out,” she said, tucking the letters under her arm as they stepped inside.

The post office was full, thick with the smell of dust, ink, and wood. A few folks turned to nod politely. Others were too busy fanning themselves with old envelopes or sighing about the wait. Then the front door creaked open, and just as Ise turned to move aside for whoever was leaving, her breath caught.

Stack.

He stepped into the sunlight like he owned it.

Wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders hanging from his hips and his signature black hat, and that same lazy walk that made it feel like the ground bent to his pace.

She barely had time to glance away before his eyes found her.

For a half-second, neither of them moved.

Then he tipped his hat barely visible, just enough to say he saw her as he walked out the door.

Ise turned quickly to her mother. “Mama, it’s awful warm in here. You mind if I wait outside?”

Her mother looked up the line, then back to her daughter. “Don’t go far. Soon as I send these off, we headin’ to the store.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ise said, smoothing her skirt like it needed taming, even though the wild in her had nothing to do with fabric. She stepped back outside, heart tapping her ribs like a second hand on a clock.

Stack hadn’t gone far. Just down the steps, toward the corner where the magnolia trees threw long shadows across the road. He was lighting a cigarette with that same slow ease, shoulders relaxed like he had all the time in the world.

Ise began to walk toward him, but not too fast, also not too slow.

He didn’t look at her right away. Just spoke like he’d known she was coming. “You always this good at making folks think you're innocent?”

She folded her arms. “You always this bold with somebody else’s daughter?”

Stack turned, eyes traveling the length of her like he was tracing a poem he meant to memorize. “Only when she don’t run the other way.”

Ise’s lips curved just a little. “You ever think maybe I like to run so I can feel the heat chase me from behind?”

Stack took a drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowed against the sun, and exhaled through his nose.“Then maybe you ain’t as sweet as folks say.”

Ise didn’t flinch. “Maybe they don’t know how many kinds of sweetness there are.” Their eyes locked. And for a long, thick second, the town fell away. No mothers. No church. No porch swings or hymn books or jars of marmalade.

Stack took another drag, letting the smoke roll from his lips like a secret. Ise stood just a few feet from him, arms still folded, her eyes shaded by her lashes.

“ So…what brings you to the post office?” she asked, tone light but lined with something more curious than casual as she tried to break the tension.

He cut a glance her way, one brow lifting like he already had the answer but wanted to see if she could handle the delivery.

“Thought I might run into a pretty girl with a sharp tongue and a habit of lookin’ like Sunday morning trouble,” he said, flicking ash off the edge of his cigarette.

Ise raised an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Mm. That right?”

“Maybe,” Stack said, smiling now. “Or maybe I was just sendin’ off a letter to my brother.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty tucked under the charm. “Your brother?”

“Mm-hmm,” He nodded, his grin softening. “Smoke. Been stationed overseas a few months now. Ain’t one for writin’, but I know he has been missin’ me.”

Ise’s arms lowered. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve, something thoughtful passing through her gaze.

“That’s what we are here for that too,” she said quietly. “My older brother. Leroy. Mama won’t sleep easy ‘til she sends him her prayers on paper.”

Stack looked at her differently like they stepped out of the game for just a minute and shared something real.

“Leroy in the Army?”

Ise nodded. “Been gone over a year now. We don’t hear from him often.”

“Same with ‘Smoke,” Stack said. He tapped the side of his cigarette thoughtfully, the flirt gone quiet for a moment. “Funny how folks can be halfway ‘round the world, and you still feel like they sittin’ at your kitchen table.”

She smiled at that. Not wide. But real.

“I hope they both come home safe,” she said softly.

Stack nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a beat, the heat didn’t feel so heavy. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward, it was stitched with something shared. Something neither one of them could name yet.

Then Ise looked back toward the post office. “Mama’ll be done soon. We got more errands to run.”

Stack leaned back against the railing post, tilting his head. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“You ain’t,” she said, turning to go, but pausing after a step. “You just… slowed me down a little.”

She didn’t wait to see his reaction. Didn’t need to. She could feel his eyes behind her. Warm, amused, and watching.

And she liked it.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Three days later

One second, the clouds loomed heavy; the next, they cracked open and poured rain straight down. Ise clutched the brown paper sack against her chest like it held her whole world because it did. Inside were the mother-of-pearl buttons and soft gray fabric her mama needed to repair her father’s Sunday suit. She’d walked all the way to Miss Lettie Fabric Shop and back without trouble. Until now.

She had no umbrella. No coat. Just the damp hem of her dress slapping against her legs and her breath hitching as she searched for shelter.

Her eyes caught it off the road, half-hidden behind low willow branches and tall grass: an old shack, abandoned from the looks of it, but standing solid.

She didn’t think twice.

Shoes thudding against the muddy path, she dashed up the wooden steps and pushed through the door, panting, the sound of rain drumming loud on the roof above. The inside smelled like old cedar and dust, with a draft sneaking through the walls. But it was dry.

She turned to close the door and nearly screamed at the presence behind her

A figure leaned in the corner, half-shadowed. Then a familiar voice broke the air, smooth and amused:

“Well, well… preacher’s daughter.”

She blinked, heart thudding. “Lord have mercy—Stack?! You scared the life outta me.”

“You scared me too,” he said with a slow grin. “Thought you were a raccoon at first.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but her chest still rose and fell with adrenaline. Her hair had come undone, water dripping from the curls at her temples. She set the bag of fabric down gently on a dry crate.

“What are you doing in here?”

He shrugged. “Same as you. Duckin’ the storm. I was down by the tracks when it broke loose.”

They stood there for a beat, just the sound of rain hammering the tin roof above them. It was louder than she expected.

Her thin blouse clung to her arms, and her curls dripped rainwater down the nape of her neck. This caused Ise to start shivering, which she wrapped her arms closer to her body to find any warmth left.

Stack noticed.

“You’re soaked,” he said quietly. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sayin’ that, but you shiverin’ like a leaf.”

Ise turned away, rubbing her hands along her arms. “I said I’m fine.”

Stack moved then, slow like molasses, and took off his denim overshirt. “Here.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Didn’t say you needed it,” he replied, his voice a low hum. “Just figured I’d rather not sit here listenin’ to your teeth chatter.”

She hesitated, but the heat radiating from his shirt was too tempting to ignore. She took it, wrapped it around her shoulders, and sat on a crate across from him. Their knees weren’t touching, but they were close too close.

“You always show up when I least expect you,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on the flickering candle stub in the corner.

“Maybe you should start expectin’ me.”

“That sounds like trouble.”

“That’s ‘cause I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy, not awkward, not empty, but weighted. Charged.

“You ever kiss someone before?” he asked suddenly.

Her breath caught. “Excuse me?”

“Just a question.”

“Why you wanna know?”

Stack leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. The rain pounded above them, thunder cracking low in the distance. “Because every time I see you, I think about what you look thoroughly kissed.”

She swallowed, eyes flashing. “Don’t be crude.”

“I’m not. I’m bein’ honest. Ain’t asking you to do it,” he said, voice softer now, “but if you think I ain’t curious… then you ain’t been payin’ attention.”

Ise’s pulse roared in her ears. She should’ve stood up. Walked out. Said something sharp and holy to make him feel small.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “You always this bold?”

“Only with you.”

She shook her head, looking away with a half-smile she didn’t mean to show. “You don’t know nothin’ about me.”

“I know you like to sit on the porch and read.,” he said. “I know you looked for me that day outside the post office. I know you don’t flinch when I talk to you the way I did in Cornbread’s kitchen. And I know…” He paused, eyes locked on hers. “You wonder about me too.”

She didn’t answer him back, simply ignored the beautiful man right in front of her and looked towards the window.

The rain wasn't letting up. If anything, it came down harder. Thunder rumbled again, low and long, rattling the shack’s old wood panels.

Ise still sat there, arms crossed, pretending like her skin wasn’t burning beneath Stacks shirt. The scent of him. It was smokey, spicy, and something almost sweet. She kept her eyes trained on a crack in the wall across from her, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Stack didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched her.

She could feel his gaze. Very sharp and steady, like he could see past every wall she was trying to keep up. It made her stomach flip. Made her chest tight. She hated that.

“You always this quiet?” he asked finally, voice breaking the heavy silence. “Or is it just me?”

She exhaled slowly. “I just don’t feel like entertainin’ conversation right now.”

“Mm.” He leaned back, the crate beneath him creaking. “That so?”

She didn’t reply.

“Funny,” he added, “you ain’t had no trouble speakin’ when you told Cornbread you needed a glass of water.”

Her eyes cut toward him. “That wasn’t nothin’.”

“Sure didn’t feel like nothin’.” He smirked, tapping ash from his cigarette that he lit two minutes ago. “You came in lookin’. Admit it.”

Ise rolled her eyes and stood up abruptly, turning her back to him. “I came to drop off marmalade.”

“Uh huh. And decided to linger.” His voice dipped. “Like you lingerin’ now.”

She whirled around, her voice sharp. “You think you so irresistible, don’t you?”

Stack didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head, one brow raised. “I don’t think I’m irresistible,” he said low. “I just think you ain’t as uninterested as you act.”

She opened her mouth, ready to shut that down,but nothing came out. Because he was right. And she hated that.

He stood slowly, stretching, his tall frame moving with lazy, unbothered confidence. He walked to the window and looked out at the rain still falling in sheets.

“Storm ain’t quittin’ anytime soon,” he said over his shoulder. “Guess we stuck.”

She stayed standing, stiff and defensive. “I can wait it out.”

He turned back to her, leaned against the window frame with that crooked grin. “I hope you do. You make good company when you ain’t tryin’ so hard to act like you hate mine.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly, almost surprised to hear herself say it aloud.

He grinned. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t go gettin’ ideas.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

She huffed, flustered, and sat back down. The air between them thickened like the humidity outside, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name.

He walked over, slower this time, and sat again closer than before. Not touching. But close enough she could feel the heat of him.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” he murmured.

She didn’t answer right away. Then, “What?”

“Why you fightin’ it so hard?”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Because I know better.”

“Do you?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Or you just scared what will happen if you don’t?”

The silence stretched between them again, thick and electric. The only sound was the steady drum of rain on the roof and the occasional crack of thunder in the distance.

Stack glanced at her and studied the way her arms were still folded like a barrier, her back stiff, her lips pressed into a line that looked too soft to be held like that.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice rough and quiet when he spoke again.

“You ever been kissed, Ise?”

She froze.

Her eyes cut to him slowly, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right.

“What?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I said,” he repeated, softer now, “you ever been kissed?”

The heat in her cheeks flared so fast it nearly embarrassed her. She turned her head, gaze fixed on the wall again, pretending like the question didn’t crawl beneath her skin and settle low in her stomach.

“ Again, that ain’t none of your business,” she said flatly.

Stack gave a slow grin. “That mean yes... or no?”

She sucked her teeth. “It means you're bold.”

“Maybe,” he said, voice curling with a teasing edge. “But I’m curious. Ain’t like I got anything else to do in this shack but ask questions and listen to the rain.”

“You could shut up.”

He chuckled low. “You want me to?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Her heart fully pounding now. It was getting worse because the thought was playing in her mind: what would it feel like if he kissed her?

Stack sat back again, dragging his thumb along his jaw, watching her like he could see the thoughts she was trying to hide.

“Must be a no,” he said after a moment, almost to himself. “Ain’t no shame in it.”

“I didn’t say no,” she snapped.

“So is it yes then?”

She looked at him. Eyes narrowed, chin tilted up just enough to show that pride of hers was still fighting.

“I didn’t say yes neither.”

He smiled. Not cocky this time—just slow, deliberate. “Hmm. I’ll take that as a maybe.”

She folded her arms tighter, like she was holding herself together. “You think you got some power over me.”

“I think,” he said, voice low and steady, “you wanna know what it feel like too.”

That shut her up. She just stared back, mouth parted slightly, breath shallow caught between her pride and her curiosity.

And he didn’t push.

He just let the next question hang in the air, thick and warm and dangerous.

“You ever been with a man?” he asked, quiet but direct. He wanted to see how far she can take his teasing, like he wasn’t already crawling beneath her skin.

Ise’s spine straightened. “What kinda question is that?”

“The kind you ain’t gotta lie to answer.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Didn’t answer either.”

She exhaled slowly, trying to keep her composure, but she could see how hard her heart was thudding in her chest. She hated how he made her feel like every secret she’d ever kept was written on her face.

“I don’t go around lettin’ men touch me like that,” she finally said, voice tight.

“That ain’t what I asked,” Stack murmured.

She turned sharply toward him, eyes flashing. “And what if the answer is no? You tryna feel big ‘cause you more ‘experienced’? That's it?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smirk.

His voice was softer now, almost too sincere. “Nah. Just tryna understand what makes you so scared.”

“I ain’t scared.”

“Then why you act nervous every time I look at you too long?”

That hit a nerve.

Ise looked away, jaw clenched, lips pressed together like she could lock all her feelings behind them.

Stack stood, slow and careful, and stepped toward her. The shack suddenly felt even smaller with him closing the distance. He didn’t touch her, he just stood close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off him.

“I ain’t ask to kiss you,” he said low. “Ain’t even ask to touch you.”

“Good,” she said sharply, even though her voice was weaker now. “’Cause I ain’t offering.”

“But you think about it.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, burning.

“I don’t.”

“Lyin’ again,” he whispered.

The rain thundered harder above them, but neither one moved.

Then Stack did something bold. He leaned in just slightly, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath brush her cheek.

“I ain’t gon’ do nothin’ you don’t want,” he said. “But you should stop pretending you ain’t curious.” Then he stepped back, leaving Ise standing there breathless.

Stack still was watching her with that same quiet intensity dancing behind his eyes. He could see straight through the act she put on.

“You ever think about me?” he asked, voice low and dragging.

She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

He tilted his head, took a step closer.

“I’m serious,” he said, eyes locked to hers. “When you lay in that bed at night, all alone with nobody watchin’… you ever touch yourself thinking about me?”

Ise gasped like someone had smacked the wind out her chest.

“What?! Boy, what is wrong with you?” she snapped, but Stack only took another step, closing the space again. He didn’t grin. Didn’t tease. He just looked at her like he already knew the answer.

“You do,” he said softly. “Don’t you?”

She shook her head, too hard, too fast. “I don’t—I would never—”

“Lie all you want, Ise. But your eyes said it soon as I said the words.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to fire back something sharp, something prideful and cutting. However, nothing came because the truth hung heavy between them.

Stack moved closer still, his voice now a whisper meant for no one but her.

“I ain’t tryna shame you. Just want you to stop pretendin’ like I’m the only one feelin’ this thing.”

She finally looked toward him, her face burning, her breath uneven. “I don’t feel nothin’,” she lied, eyes wide and glassy. “You just… you just like playin’ with people.”

“Maybe,” he said, stepping back, voice low and rough. “But if I ever kissed you, I promise it wouldn’t feel like no game.”

Ise stood there frozen, pulse pounding so loud she could barely hear the rain anymore. She hated him for knowing. Hated herself for wanting.

She cleared her throat and said with more bite than she intended, “How about you go play with Mrs. Lottie… not me. Since you already screwin’ her and all.”

Stacks blinked, then let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. He leaned against the wall like her words didn’t faze him, but his eyes never left her.

“You jealous?” he asked, voice low, almost amused. “That she got a piece and you are still a frustrated little virgin too proud to ask for what you want?”

Ise stiffened. “I ain’t jealous of no married woman creepin’ with a man who don’t even belong to her.”

“No?” He pushed off the wall and stepped toward her again, closing that tiny gap between them. “Then why you bring her up? Why do you talk about her, but you standing in front of me with that look in your eyes like you don’t know whether to slap me or pull me in?”

“Because you—” she started, then stopped. Her throat tightened.

“Because I what?” he pressed. “Make you feel something you ain’t ready to admit?”

“I don’t feel nothin’ for you,” she lied again, quieter this time, her voice almost trembling.

Stack eyes flicked to her mouth, then back up.

“You keep sayin’ that. But your body…?” His gaze dropped slowly, deliberately. “She already told me the truth.”

Her heart slammed so hard against her ribs it hurt. She wanted to move, to push him, to run out into the rain. But her feet wouldn’t move.

“You can keep pretendin’, Ise,” he murmured. “But I see it. I feel it. Every damn time we close like this… you want me.”

Ise’s hands balled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. Her chest rose and fell fast, breath shaky, and she could feel his words crawling under her skin like heat.

“I’m tired of you tellin’ me what I want,” she said suddenly, voice shaking but firm.

Stack raised an eyebrow, mouth parting slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she said, stepping toward him with something wild burning behind her eyes. “Matter fact…”

Before he could blink, her hands were in his shirt collar, yanking him down with more force than he expected. Their mouths crashed together. Her kiss wasn’t delicate or shy, it was full of fire and frustration and three days of pretending not to ache for him. Stacks stood frozen at first, stunned at her boldness, caught off guard by the heat of her lips, the grip she had on him like she’d finally lost control.

She pulled back just as quickly, breath shallow, eyes wide and dark. Her chest heaved like she couldn’t believe what she just did.

“Now you don’t have to guess what I want,” she muttered, voice sharp, and turned to head for the shack's door.

Before she reached it, his hand caught her wrist and spun her back into him. His mouth was on hers again. This time hungry, this time full of all the tension they’d been dancing around. It wasn’t sweet. It was heat and tongue and pressure, and the way his hands slid down to grip her waist made her breath catch in her throat.

He backed her against the wooden wall, lips never leaving hers, and this time she didn’t pull away.

The shack creaked under the weight of the rain pounding against the tin roof, but inside, all Ise could hear was the thunder of her own heartbeat.

Stack kiss deepened, hands exploring the curve of her waist like he was finally touching something he’d only dreamed about. She leaned into him, hands threading up into his slick back hair, tugging slightly at his scalp just to feel him groan against her lips.

“You got no idea,” Stack murmured between kisses, his lips brushing against her jaw, then her neck, “how long I’ve been wantin’ to do this…”

She bit her lip, tilting her head slightly to the side as his mouth found a spot just beneath her ear, sending a shiver all the way down her spine. She didn’t answer, she couldn’t.

His hand slid down her thigh, lifting it slowly as he pressed his body more firmly into hers. The tension between them had been building like pressure in a bottle, and now that it had finally burst, neither of them seemed willing to put the lid back on.

“Still gonna pretend you don’t think about me?” Stack rasped, pulling back just enough to look at her face, his breath hot against her cheek.

“You talk too damn much,” she whispered. She kissed him again, but deeper, rougher, her hands clutching his shirt like she was trying to pull him into her skin.

A sudden crunch of footsteps outside the shack cut through the storm and sliced the moment in half.

Ise jerked back like she'd been burned, her breath ragged, lips swollen from the kiss, and her eyes wide with alarm. "Shhh!" she hissed, pressing a finger to her lips as she strained to listen.

The voices of two men talking and laughing passed close by. The sound of their boots sloshing in the wet grass just outside the shack door. For a second, it sounded like they might stop. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Lord, if someone saw her out here, alone with a man like Stack, lips swollen, clothes wrinkled from where his hands had gripped her.

She quickly stepped away, smoothing her skirt, brushing invisible dust off her clothes. She wouldn’t be caught. Not like this.

The voices faded, distant now, swallowed by the rain. She exhaled a sharp, trembling breath and grabbed her bag.

“Ise,” Stack said quietly, watching her like he wasn’t ready for this moment to be over. His lips were still parted, chest still rising and falling fast.

She shook her head, not looking at him. “This was a mistake.”

He moved toward her, but she stepped back, reaching for the latch. “I can’t.I ain’t like those girls you mess with. I got too much to lose.”

Before he could say a word, she yanked the door open. Rain splattered in as she stepped out into it, not even bothering to shield herself. She half-ran down the muddy path, heart pounding harder now than when he’d kissed her.

Stack stood inside the shack, silent, wet from the rain but warm from her touch, staring at the door she’d disappeared through li

He didn’t chase her, but Lord knows… he wanted to.

TAGLIST:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @brattyfics @chaneajoyyy @333creolelady @chixkencxrry @soufcakmistress @diamondsinterlude

[ningtheftauto]

nunchi 논치

⤼ pairing: sister!yizhuo x sister!reader

⤼ tags: dead dove, incest, top!reader, bottom!yizhuo, fingering, spanking, degradation, tit-sucking, cunnilingus, squirting

⤼ synopsis: yizhuo cannot stand seeing the way y/n glides through life, getting everything she wants. yizhuo’s jealousy gets the best of her, but finally she can have one night about her.

⤼ ise: since no one else wanted to take one for the team, i guess i'll just have to do it. honestly rushed, but it's good enough for me :3

⤼ wc: 3.2k words (friend proofread)

“and look at our little y/n! the star of yonsei and graduating with honors,” your uncle yelled over the loud chatter. you couldn’t do anything, but smile.

you, family members, and close friends all gathered in your family’s luxurious garden to celebrate you. you wore a nice white shirt, black slacks, and beautiful, white heels. the stringed lantern lights lit up the place and the faces among. the air held the smell of success. this was your night. every person’s beaming face, every back pat, every hug, every whispered word was for the brillance of you, the golden child. 

your gaze drifted past the crowd of people, past the tall plants, to where your sister stood. yizhuo. her white dress contrasted against the shadows, as if the celebration were for her. she had walked the same halls, studied for the same hard exams, held her breath through the same finals at yonsei. but, no one celebrated her. no one even really looked at her. her jaw was set, a clear sign of years spent as an afterthought. 

you watched a distant aunt notice yizhuo, give a quick nod, then turn back to others to continue conversing about you. yizhuo just took another slow sip of her punch, knuckles white around the glass. her eyes fixed on nothing at all. 

you felt it from so far away, the thrum of resentment from her. a bitter taste under the sweet party air. the celebration meant to mark your achievements, was slowly building pressure. you knew you could break it. 

hours bled into a blur of champagne flutes, punch glasses, and drunken babble. your sister sat just as the last time you saw her. each compliment for you, each touch, seemed to tighten her silence. but still, you watched her from across the lawn. you knew how her shoulders stiffened when someone praised your perfection, how her eyes dropped when someone mentioned your accomplishments. tonight, though, her usual simmer was boiling over. 

the lantern lights now felt like harsh spotlights. another round of toasts began, while you were talking with your closest cousins, min and hoseok. 

“are they trying to get us wasted?” min asked, admiring the glass that was just handed to her. 

“they’re free drinks, i don’t really care.” her brother, hoseok, downed the glass as soon as he finished his sentence. 

you let out a silent chuckle. “they’re just happy, i guess.” your eyes were already scanning the area, knowing something would happen soon. spotting your father walking up to the dj’s table, you were already chuffed. “oh god, here he goes…”

he took the mic, and the already lowered music was muted. “to y/n! to a future as bright as her mind!” his voice boomed and amplified, washing over the party. the cheers that followed were deafening. he gave you a look of pure adoration, of cherishment, of favoritism. you couldn’t help but to brighten your smile and reciprocate the love you felt all around you. 

as the applause died down, you turned back to your dear cousins already pestering you. 

“so, what’s the after party plans?” hoseok averted his eyes to you, followed by min. 

“whatever you guys plan, i don’t really care.” you said, your eyes already scanning the periphery. 

“oh come on y/n,” min pressed with impatience in her voice. “it’s your night, so give us something you want to do!” 

you shrugged. “dude, anything is fun in this city.”

hoseok leaned in. “is, uh, your sister joining us this time?” 

“she never comes out with us anymore,” min pouted. “she always says next time but we never see her.” 

“how about i go get her, and we ditch this party?” you gave a sly smile. 

“fuck yeah!” they both cheered, giving you a laugh. 

“i’ll back soon,” you said, backing away from the two. “just enjoy all this shit!” you heard them snickering as you walked away, but your concern was your sister. where did she sneak off to this time? 

you started your search near the house, checking the quieter less lit areas first. the small patio off the kitchen was empty save for discarded plates. the narrow path leading to the side gate, which was usually a smoking spot, was clear. you moved, scanning the shadows, dismissing fleeting glimpses of other guests. it was a small thrill, this hunt. you pushed through a thick hedge, entering the less manicured part of the garden, a place of forgotten statues and overgrown bushes. no sign. a flash of dark fabric near the pond, but it was just a discarded jacket. the longer it took, the more anticipation grew. you rounded a bend, the sound of the fountain growing louder. 

and then you found her. near the old stone fountain, half hidden by the polished bench. she wasn’t just sitting. she was raging. not with screams, not with shouts, but with a raw force that ripped through the festive sounds. her hands gripped the fountain edge, knuckles white, nails scraping the stone. a strangled sound tore from her throat repeatedly, muffled by the party, but loud enough to make the fine hairs on your arm stand up. she hunched over, shaking. a single, empty glass shattered against the fountain’s base. the sound was sharp, brittle, cutting through the noise only for you to hear. 

the grin you had on your face fell. this was it. the moment you had been waiting for. you walked towards her, each step measured. the world around you faded until only yizhuo’s ragged breathing and your own pulsing blood filled your ears. 

“yizhuo.” you said, your voice low. it wasn’t a question. 

your poor sister flinched, her head snapping around. her eyes were wide and wild. raw anger, humiliation, and surprise filled them. 

“what do you want?” her voice was a strained whisper, hoarse from whatever silent battle she was fighting. she didn’t move, still hunched, palms still in place. 

you stopped just in front of her, close enough to see the tremble of her lower lip, the rapid pulse at her throat. “what do i want?” you echoed softly. you let your gaze sweep over her, taking in the disarray of her hair, the faint sweat beading at her forehead, the dark smudges under her eyes. “i want to know about this,” you gestured at her vaguely, at the shattered glass, at the trembling. “this tantrum.” 

it’s not a tantrum,” yizhuo hissed, defiance heavy in her voice. “it’s…it’s everything! all of it!”

“all of what, yi?” you bent down to level with her. “your inability to keep up?” your voice stayed low, but each following word was a barb. “your constant, pathetic struggle to even be seen when i’m in the room?”

she recoiled slightly, a low growl escaping her throat. “do you think this is about you?” 

“i know this is about me.” you inched closer to her. “everything is about me, isn’t it? for you.” 

yizhuo’s chest heaved. her eyes, fixed on yours, held desperate intensity. “you don’t know shit.” 

“oh, but i do.” you lifted a hand. you didn’t touch her, not yet. your fingers hovered inches away from her cheek, letting the threat of your touch hang in the air. “i know exactly how you feel. and i know something else, too.” your voice dropped even lower. “i know what you really want.” 

your sister was frozen. the anger in her eyes slowly begin to morph into fear. 

“you want to make it about you,” you purred. “and so that’s what we’ll do.” before the last word even left your mouth, you moved. your hand shot out, gripping her arm, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her elbow. you bent her over the stone bench beside the fountain, a sudden motion that stole her breath. her body arched, a whimper tearing from her lips. 

“what are you doing…”  yizhuo’s voice was a choked whisper. the sound of the distant party, once a muted hum, now felt impossibly far, replaced by the frantic beat of her own heart in her ears. 

you leaned in closer, breath ghosting over her ear, “making it about you, just like you wanted.” your other hand was already at the hem of her dark dress, pulling it up with a swift motion. the flowy material folded on her back, exposing the skin of her thighs. the smooth curve of her ass in her favorite white panties. her breath hitched again, a small sound as her eyes squeezed shut. 

“there it is,” you whispered, a low rasp against her ear. your open palm connected with her exposed thighs with a sharp smack. the sound echoed, swallowed by the distant party. her whole jolted. “you hate being second best, don’t you, little sister?” another stinging strike landed, making her gasp. “but, you love being put in your place. 

you watched her tightly clenched fists, the way her shoulders trembled. her breath came in ragged gasps, but no cries escaped. just raw, helpless sounds. you smoothed your hand over her ass, and leaned in closely, your mouth brushing against her cheek. “you’ll never be as good as me, yizhuo,” your hand creeped to the waistband of her panties. “say it.”

“say what?” she rasped, voice thick with shame. your free hand gripped her throat with firm pressure. you felt the pulse at her throat. a smile spread on your face as you pulled her panties to her knees, exposing her bare ass and pussy to the crisp air. 

“say you’re not as good as me,” you demanded. “say you’ll never be.” you wanted to hear those words so bad, to see the admission in her eyes. your hand creeped down her ass, fingers filing through her already slick folds. you continued further, fingers brushing against her clit a few times. her head thrashed weakly against the cool stone, but still, no words came. “if you want more, then you’ll say it.” you said with tease. 

a single tear came from her squeezed eyes, tracing a path down her flushed cheek. you added more pressure, trying to elicit something out of her. her hips bucked against your hand desperately. her eyes flew open, locked to yours and the tears flowed down her cheek. 

“i-i’m not as good as you,” she choked out, words ragged and broken. “i’ll never be as good as you, y/n..” 

oh, how she crumbled under you, you enjoyed it so much. “that’s a good girl.” you closed in on her face, tongue licking at her tears. slowly removing your fingers from her clit, and hovered two of the digits over her hole. your tongue trailed from licking her cheeks to her lips, pressing your mouth fully against hers. a deep kiss that stole her already shallow breath.

her lips were soft, trembling beneath yours. your tongue delved deeper, intertwining with hers. she let out a slow, deep moan against your lips, desperate and shameless. your free hand, no longer at her throat, slid to the back of her head, tangling in her hair, holding her captive in your kiss as your fingers continued to dance at her entrance. the taste of tears mingled with the sweetness of her mouth. you deepened the kiss making sure she felt every each of your control. 

her hands detached from the bench to your face, pulling you closer. you wanted to tease her so much more, but you couldn’t bear it anymore and you could tell she couldn’t either. you forced your fingers inside her cunt, making her involuntarily clench around your fingers. she cried out as you pushed in and out of her sopping hole. her nails dug into your cheeks, asking for more. you could feel her heat, the way she tightened around your fingers with every thrust, a frantic rhythm building between you. 

you pulled away from the kiss briefly, “look at you,” you admired. “all that resentment, all that jealousy, just for you to be getting fucked by me.” you added another finger with ease, making yizhuo’s back arch impossibly more. her choked cries were now desperate pleas, her body like a bow string on the verge of snapping. her mouth didn’t answer you, only seeking more from your lips, in which you gave in. 

your digits continued their insistent rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, the tension in her lower half becoming unbearable. just as you noticed her breathing become unstable, you paused, holding perfectly still inside her. this time, she broke the kiss, whining with frustration and even more desperation. your thumb soothed over her cheek, “oh, don’t worry, sister. i’m not finished with you yet.“ 

you withdrew your fingers with a slick sound. with a rough pull, you flipped yizhuo over. her back now on the cool stone, head tilting back, exposing the marks from your hands. her bare legs parted, still trembling from the denied release. 

you got on your knees, not caring if you dirtied your clothes, and stretched your body over hers. your fingers caressed the inner curve of her thighs, slowly up past her still slick pussy, spreading flat against her tummy. your hands moved to trace the curve of her ribs, before grabbing the material left on her body. you pulled the dress gently over her head, throwing it somewhere out of sight, discarding her panties along with it, leaving her entire body bare. 

“you look so pretty like this, yi.” you placed kisses all over her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. you could feel the vibrations of her soft moans against your lips. little red marks blossoming across the pale skin of her throat. your hands explored her tits, harshly pulling at her nipples. you rolled the sensitive nubs between your thumb and forefinger, feeling them harden further under your touch. 

“fuck,” the girl gasped, “you feel so good.” you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze. her pupils were blown, high on thrill. 

“do i, baby?“ you could hear the squelching from the way she clenched around nothing, the word triggering her. you lowered yourself, letting your tongue trace the outline of her left nipple before drawing it into your mouth, suckling deeply. her back arched further, a guttural sound escaping her as you continued to consume her. your free hand slid down her stomach, ghosting the inner of her thighs, inching even closer to her core. 

you switch to the right nipple, performing the same shameful act. spit pooled in your mouth as your tongue nurtured the bud in every way, making sure it was throbbing and distended. your teeth grazed against the nipple, teasing, pulling roughly at the sensitive thing and yizhuo enjoyed every second of it.  her body writhed beneath you so submissively. 

you slowly withdrew your mouth from her breast, leaving it swollen and glistening. your sister whimpered at the loss, but you still weren’t done with her. you placed open mouth kisses all over her tummy, leaving little wet spots all over. each warm press, eliciting a low groan from her mouth as you moved closer and closer to her pussy. 

you admired the sight in front of you. her bare, shaven pussy soaked in wetness, waiting for you to eat. your tongue moved along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, until it finally brushed against her clit. curses spilled from her mouth as you devoured her. your mouth enveloped her, drawing her in with a hungry urgency. the first taste was intoxicating, a sweet and salty rush that made your head spin. your tongue gave supple, flat licks against her clit. her hands tangled in your hair, gripping, pulling. you worked her, mouth suckling, tongue flicking as fast as your jaw would let you. 

you took the chance to insert your fingers back inside her hole. three fingers pressed against her hole all at once, suddenly filling her full. yizhuo was getting bolder, sounds emitting louder and louder from her mouth. the grip she had on your hair was even more needy than before. her thighs sandwiched your head in place, not a care in world if she suffocated you. you plunged your fingers in and out, a steady push and pull to compliment the frantic rhythm of your tongue. the combination was utterly overwhelming. 

“god, you’re gonna make me cum all over your face…” her voice was ragged and strained. she was clenching tighter and tighter around your fingers, tongue furiously assaulting at her clit. it was clear she was going to spill, so you eased your pace and slowed your fingers to a tantalizing speed. she let out a whimper, desperate to let go. “please.” she begged in a broken whisper. 

you leaned up just enough to meet her gaze, tears still falling down her face. a wicked smile playing on your face, “beg prettier for me, baby.” you dove back without a time for a response, continuing your frantic motions with more intensity. your head started to hurt from how intense her legs were closed in on you, but you didn’t care. her lower half rose against your face. you could feel her pussy spasming around your fingers, squeezing so fucking tight. just as you curled them, warm liquid soaked your face. you moaned against her, enjoying the taste of her sweet juices on your tongue. 

sounds ripped from her throat, high broken cries that weren’t quite screams, but loud enough. it was a messy mix of sounds, like she couldn’t decide what noise to make. her breathing was fast and shallow, little puffs of air. you slowed down gradually, eventually stopping once her body had gone limp. a sudden quietness falling over the two of you. you kept your face buried between her legs, lapping up the warm aftermath. your tongue sweeping over her clit and folds, gathering every single drop of her release. her chest heaved as she flinched at the cleaning. her hand loosened its grip on your hair and her legs relaxed. 

you took a moment to gather yourself, wiping your mouth on the inside of your shirt. yizhuo sat watching you, her breath still a little shaky, her eyes puffy and low. the remnants of her climax clung to the air. 

you reached for her dress that you had thrown earlier. “here.” hanging the clothing in her face. 

her hand reached out, fingers brushing up against the fabric. with a soft sigh, she took the dress from you, pulling it over her head and beginning to dress herself. the fabric rustled softly as she worked, covering the damp skin and only the marks below her neck. 

you heaved yourself from the ground, stretching your arms once you reached your feet. “we have somewhere to be soon.”

“hmm?” her voice was soft and hoarse. 

“i told the cousins that i would come look for you so we could go out.” you clarified, gesturing towards the sounds of the party. 

“and you actually want me to go?” yizhuo said, genuinely confused. 

“no, not really, but i guess i have to now.” you replied with a slight shrug in your shoulders. 

“you’re such an asshole.” she muttered, shoving your shoulder as she walked back to the party. you simply laughed, letting her push do a little more than shift your weight. the night air chilled against your arms as you followed a few steps behind her back to the party.

[lotuseye]

KINKTOBER 2024, I DIDN'T CHANGE MY NUMBER.

don't take it out on me, i'm out of sympathy for you. maybe you should leave, before i get too mean and take it out on you ( and your best friend too! )

suguru geto & satoru gojo. it was so, so difficult to put up with satoru sometimes- especially when every 9 of the 10 words that left his mouth was lies and excuses. in a particularly rough patch where there seems to be a whose-d*ck-is-bigger contest between the two stubborn idiots, she runs into geto in the bar they frequent and decides he deserves an earful for enabling gojo to be atrocious- but a torture can come in various forms, can't it?

word   count:   6902.

genre:   one-shot, kinktober product.

characters:   suguru geto & satoru gojo & reader.

notes:   hi so this is an insane idea that i could not help but write. satoru being a bad boyfriend. suguru being an even worse friend. pr*ise. degr*dation. kind of ch*king. car s*x. pet names. mean dom!gojo. submissive leaning p*ssydrunk switch!geto. switch!reader. dont even perceive me with this one i have no clue how we got here even.

“ you are such an… such an asshole.” 

“ and your learning curve is horizontal, sweetness- i don’t recall you leavin’ me.” 

the liar, the bitch and the master manipulator, she hated every single bone in satoru’s body. 

well, except the one he was burying her to the sheets with. 

the same old unfinished story of broken promises, it is a rinse and repeat now with the vibrant colors of their relationship is diluting in the waters of exhaustion and exasperation. oh it was limitless alright, the number of times he could have let her free fall from the tallest skyscraper of tokyo and be forgiven with how he catches her right before the fall, a honeyed coo or two in her ear. no language on the face of earth is adequate when it comes to explaining the way satoru exists on the axis of the world he’s tilted, but the words detached & displaced are the first ones that come to mind. she is simply one of the many things bound to be lost in the infinity between him and the space he occupies, a hard-swallowed pill that she couldn’t still digest even when he had his veined hands splayed on the curve of her hips, his steel of a bicep pressing against her throat as the bed rhythmically creaked beneath them. 

it felt too good, and he knew it- he knew he had her when she left that airy sigh into the pillow she had been drooling in with the spot he found without effort, he knew he had her when she preened underneath him with her shoulderblades against his ribs. it’s lazy, lazier than satoru usually indulges in, his hips maintaining an angle that let him bully the spongy g-spot tucked between the snug walls with such fervor that he has her reeling with each languid thrust. his damp locks are tickling the nape of her neck, the beads of sweat collecting at the conjunction of their limbs, wetting the already messed sheets. she can hear each grunt, each breath of his, feel it vibrate in her chest. the same old tale, he does something rancid enough to piss her off and then instead of an apology he fucks her until she forgot what she was mad about in the first place, but like any trick, it has a point where the audience tires of the repetitive schemes. 

“my baby’s pissed at me, huh? would ya’ look at that. ” he coos, his mouth pressed against the junction of her jugular and her neck, his mouth wet. she has no choice but to listen, no choice but to take it- he doesn’t leave anywhere for her to escape, having her stuck beneath the mattress and his heavy figure, with her throat sitting tight and cozy in the crook of the arm he has wrapped around her neck like a shackle. her maroon nails are digging into his sinewy forearm until crescent moons shine with a painful pink color and it is not only a rightful response to the merciless pounding, but also a subconscious punishment, a silent outlet of her anger.

satoru doesn’t like that. 

the position shifts, the man atop her whining rather dramatically before his weight lifts off of her. “ naughty girl, so ungrateful.” he chastises breathlessly, and just when she thinks she’s free of the torment she can’t stop cumming from, he yanks her up by the fat of her hips, propping her up on her knees but her attempts to rise on her hands is strictly prohibited, satoru lets out a “ tch tch,” as he catches both her wrists in one large palm to cross them on the small of her back, right in the middle of the twin dimples before his empty hand grasps the nape of her neck and push her face into the sage green, satin pillowcase she had been moaning into few moments ago, burying himself to the hilt in one go simultaneously. “ this is why we can’t have nice things,” he clicks his tongue, and she can almost see the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, all educated deductions from the way he speaks through his gritted teeth. complain he might, but he cannot deny that he lives for the thrill of her, lives for the thrill of having her in his bed, the taste of cherry lipgloss stuck in the back of his throat and her laughter his favorite siren song. “ because you don’t appreciate ‘em, baby.” 

“ don’t even start-” she groans, and his hips snap harsher the next time as a silent yet effective method of shutting her up, liking her pliant and obedient as always. “ sorry, what was that?” he leans over, asking with a faux undertone of surprise in his tone. “ can’t hear you over the sound of her, babe,” he pulls out temporarily, just to bring his palm down for a hard smack on her swollen cunt, only pleased when he hears her cry out and shudder to grasp the base of his painfully hard cock and nudge it right back inside her to resume. “ wanna’ repeat that f’ me?” 

but she can’t, her vision already having painted white as she stiffens and seizes with a whimper choked on her throat, clenching around satoru impossibly as her climax pulls her right under the crashing wave, a steady ringing in her ear that deafens her briefly- she can call him every single name under the sun and he’d deserve each one of them, but she cannot deny that the bastard has a way of pushing her to the brink of feelings & sensations she didn’t know was possible. it’s what makes it all so alluring, it’s what makes her heart swell with the ease of familiar affection when he follows her almost immediately, his hips slapping against the back of her thighs faster as he falters, the feeling of wet ropes fill her to the brim a one that makes her toes curl, a nice warmth spreading through her system. 

“ why are you adamantly trying to get me to leave you?” she asks, breathless, rolling to her back- her knees hurt, and she’s definitely pulled a muscle in her neck with how strained it feels. the heel of her palm presses against the junction of her neck and shoulder, rubbing in idle motions to alleviate it a bit. she watches him collapse next to her, just as breathless, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips, snowy lashes fluttering with exhaustion, gaze heavy lidded. “ didn’t i tire you enough? ” he mutters but she doesn’t need to know him as well as she does to hear the whiny undertone. he blindly reaches through the sheets to find her warmth next to him, yank her to his chest without paying any mind to the way she yelps, and nuzzle his face against her spine. “ you talk too much, go to sleep.”

it had been a long shot, but at least she wouldn’t say that she didn’t try. “ get off of me,” she sighs, exasperated more than anything as she pushes satoru’s heavy arm to slide further away in the sheets. still drowsy & a bit lightheaded but still not relaxed or prideless enough to fall asleep next to him. “ ‘m gonna’ go take a shower.” 

oh, that gets his attention. his head slightly lifting from the sheets, he watches her go, wearing nothing but his shirt. “ can i come?”

the only response he gets is the door that slams shut on his face.

****

she hadn’t expected suguru to be home. by the time she takes a stroll to the kitchen with her damp hair tucked in a soft towel, having switched back to her own clothes to deprive satoru of the pleasure of seeing her in his own clothes, adorned in a pair of rust nike shorts and a hot pink crop top. she finds suguru by the stove, cooking something that smells like thyme with his headphones on. she would have snuck her head in to get a good sniff of the pot, but since sneaking up on someone who is handling a hot pan while wearing headphones is never a good idea, she makes her way to the fridge as intended. he notices her by the shadow that falls on the counter, pulling the headphones down to his neck. “ hey there,” he greets, simple as he spares her a single glance. he doesn’t need to look at her twice to imagine what went down, sighing before turning to his meal.

“ i can feel you judging me,” she says as she pulls the bottle of milk out before closing it shut with a sway of her hips. suguru snorts. “ i am.” 

ever the honest.

“ you don’t get to,” she comments simply as she occupies the same counter he’s cooking in. their shared apartment having memorized by now, she pushes on the side of his head slowly to avoid him hitting his forehead on the cabinet she pulls open ( thinking about it, maybe she should have let it hit him ) to get the coffee she had been desperately craving. she releases him a moment later, putting the coffee jar on the counter. like the calm before the storm. “ you’re the one who told me he was home when he was out with the bitches, if my memory isn’t failing me.” she states thoughtfully as she licks the spoon she delved into the coffee jar earlier. “ and you were the one who told me not to worry when i, in fact, should have been worrying.” 

suguru sighs, clearly discontent to be in the conversation but too bad- he wasn’t discontent when he was lying straight to her face. her gaze is keener than a knife when she turns it on him, the smile that curls on the corners of her mouth is cold enough to look cruel. “ you’re a disappointing friend, suguru.” she comments, her tone sing-song-y enough to sound eerie. too serious and unserious at the same time, like his mistake was spilling her favorite coffee on the floor or forgetting to pick up groceries on his way home. “ and you’re not one bit innocent.” 

“ don’t get me involved in your shit,” he exhales, keeping his gaze on the pan- chicken pesto & rice, hm. delicious. what a pity she felt too nauseous to take a bite. “ it’s not my responsibility to keep your deranged man in check, satoru is the way he is and you know it.” he places a large palm on top of her head but not ruffling her hair, instead bending over a bit unnecessarily to get down on eye level with her, his voice reeking of condescension. “ aren’t we a little too old to be blaming others for our bad life decisions, missy? ” she smiles at him, as sweet as a plum. “ fuck you, suguru.” 

he grins. “ oh, i’d bet you wish. ” 

***

it has been two months without satoru, two months with letting his calls go to voice mail or turning the flowers away from her doorstep. he’s using every trick in the book, from the gifts to the soft epilogues he is murmuring into the mic in the late hours of the night, hoarse and truthful but satoru’s truth as subjective as it can be- his emotions shift with the weather, and so does his intentions. his detachment applies to his ability to hold onto his promises, and the last couple of years he had not learned from his mistakes or her pleading, and she doesn’t necessarily deem herself the teacher he loves being. it’s not in her nature to be coddling a man that is not getting the message, at least not without making him regret every bit of a wrong he’s done her. 

early 2010s are playing in the club that smells like pot & cigarettes & sweat, the fog of everything & anything that’s been smoked blurring in her gaze and dimming the moving purple & pink of the lights, coating the glitter on her cheeks prettiest of technicolors. four martinis in, she’s feeling the buzz in the marrow of her bones, not drunk enough to be stumbling on her feet but drunk enough to not try to see satoru’s white head in the packed crowd. the soles of her butterfly shoes are hitting the back of her ankles, and the polyester of her cheap dress is sticking to her damp skin in ways uncomfortable enough to assure her she definitely is getting a rash the next day. still, it is not nearly as bad as the urge to check her phone every twenty minutes to see if he’s texted. he probably has, and not that she’d text him back, but still it was a reassurance of its own to know that she occupied his thoughts. it was hard, for someone like satoru, to stay focused without drifting away. she’s even surprised he seems to have object permanence altogether. 

just when her tired feet are dragging her to the bar for a refill of her empty martini glass, a similar figure draws her attention. the oversized black sweater that’s ridiculously loose on his shoulder, the fresh wolfcut, the black circle earrings and the cargo pants that also sit nonchalant on his waist and that goddamn manspread. he’s been staring at her. 

if he was here…

“ the pot and its lid, how lovely.” her smile is forced when she leans over him, to the bar, yelling inaudibly over a loud remix of lady gaga for a refill, trying to contain her suddenly restless heart in her ribs, over the prospect of satoru popping out of somewhere to tap her on the shoulder with his disgustingly saccharine smile, sticking a tongue out through his perfect teeth. her knees feel weak and the alcohol is not the only culprit. suguru chuckles, taking another sip of his own drink, neat whiskey as usual. “ he’s not here.” 

thank fucking god. she breathes, and he takes the sight in, nursing his whiskey, slowly twirling the glass with leisure movements of his wrist. “ you want me to call him?” he asks, mocking, teasing. she doesn’t give him the reaction he probably had been pulling and poking around for, instead waiting patiently with her elbows on the counter, a little bent, her midsection resting on suguru’s knee. she’s too occupied in her thoughts to notice it, but he’s not. though, it remains a silent acknowledgement. “ no,” she tells him, mouthing a thank you to the bartender before she turns to suguru eventually, her blue eyeliner having smudged around the corner of her eyes. he offers a grin. “ why, you here with someone? ” he shakes his head at the possibility of that being true, accompanied by a disapproving sound. “ don’t let him know, princess- he can dish it out but he can’t take it. such is the man, your boyfriend. ” the cynical undertone is laughable, so she does- it is swallowed by the slender glass in her hands. “ look at the one talking,” she gestures, amused. suguru shrugs, his head tipping back with the big sip to down the rest of his whiskey, adam’s apple bobbing and the chain that shines distracts her, gleaming under the now red hues. “ jus’ saying,” he shrugs. “ i know him. and you know him. don’t understand why you’re so obsessive over things you know that ain’t good for ya’.” 

well, that had been a little too real than what she expected. she blinks, her expression shifting into one of confusion and of restlessness- a question she cannot answer truly, as she herself is yet to discover the big revelation. instead, her limbs retract, the ghost of a smile playing on the corner of her mouth. “ careful, suguru.” she muses, words laced with honey but not without the sting. “ you don’t know me like that. you don’t know me at all, actually. ” how would he, when all he has seen of her was her reflection created in satoru’s image? he hasn’t known her the way satoru or even shoko did. he knew her as the girl satoru couldn’t treat right a day in his life yet the girl he simply was too entranced to move on from. 

his expression remains untouched, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth catches her eye. “ you’re here for him,” he says, without an attempt to correct her. “ you’re wearing that skimpy little dress for him. you’re drinking, laughing, dancing- for him. and he’s not even here.” it feels like a dare, the way his shoulders move, how he leans back. “ what a shame.” her ears are burning, the root of her hair red, and the flush on her cheeks is reeking of shame. she feels exposed, at the way suguru pecks at her open wounds without a care- but she asked for it, didn’t she? she stills, then leans, until both of her hands press against the cold edge of the marble counter, caging suguru in. she can smell the whiskey on his breath, can smell the cologne he wears, earthy and woody, lacking the sharp scents satoru uses. he leans back in his stool, carefully curated expression watching every single movement of hers to see what she’s after, decipher the secret message except there is no secret message- she’s angry, and she feels like a lesson has been due by yesterday. 

“ and you’re here for me,” she says eventually, cracking into an eerie smile with the dawning of the revelation. “ oh, suguru, you sneaky bastard,” she can’t help the airy chuckle that escapes her, her eyes having widened with something she’s found in the poker face he had been wearing. he is good at this but so is she. “ you’ve almost had me, gotta’ give it to ya’.” she coos, mingled with mockery in the worst way possible as her head cranes aside, withdrawing to take a good look at him. “ who knew?”

he laughs, the tormenter that he is, and it’s pretty. has it always been this pretty, or is the newfound depth to dabble in make her see him in a light she hasn’t before? “ please,” he snorts, shaking his head, asking the bartender for a refill and tossing his empty glass on the counter. he makes no moves to get out of her symbolic cage, pretty content to be sitting where he is, a knowing look painting him more annoying than he already is- but how could he not be, with the pretty girl lodged between his knees? satoru’s girl, at that. or not. that part was always confusing, even for them. “ i’m flattered, but you’re… not my type.” he finds the words he had been looking for eventually, clicking his tongue with satisfaction. “ i don’t like ‘em as whiny and loudmouthed as you.” she can’t tell if he’s joking or not, can’t tell why the room went up a hundred degrees all of a sudden. “ do me a favor and pick up the next time he calls, yeah?” he murmurs, digging around for something she assumes to be a cigarette, no longer focused on her. “ he’s been nagging like a bitch all day, ‘m tired of it. we both know you’re not going anywhere.” 

she didn’t think it was possible to despise someone as much as she did satoru, but suguru is full of surprises. even if he is not able to find that one particular vein satoru adores pressing with the soles of his pretty, expensive shoes, he finds a completely different one- condescension dripping off his mouth, that lazy stare boiling the blood in her veins. he deems her not worthy of him, whiny and loudmouthed. 

she kisses him just for that. 

it is short, it is confused- it is filled with the urge to prove something, unsure to herself or to him. he tastes like whiskey & mint and it burns the back of her throat, and for a brief moment, he parts his lips, to which she takes as an invitation to push her tongue in and lick at the roof of his mouth as her hands grasp the collar of his hoodie. 

it is short because suguru breaks it, his hands on her elbows, eyes widened and the cherry hue of her lipgloss smudged on his lower lip with the saliva that it shines with. “ ‘m not the revenge you want,” he warns, perhaps the most serious thing he’s said to her that night- but she lacks the fucks to give. “ shut the fuck up,” she says in return instead, before pushing him incessantly to return to the bittersweet taste she had been craving before it even died on her tongue. this time, suguru doesn’t reel back or stop. this time, his tentative hands slide around the small of her exposed back, pulling her flush against him as his teeth sinks into her plush lip. it’s dizzying, how he kisses the breath out of her lungs, and how it sets a dozen fireworks in her ribs. 

“ oh, fuck, i can’t- he’ll kill me,”  the sentiment returns, and she doesn’t remember hearing him so desperate in her life- doesn’t remember hearing him so out of breath and pleading, a begging more to himself than her as he rests his forehead on her temple and draws in heavy breaths like it might make him want her less. it doesn’t. satoru doesn’t plead the way he does, doesn’t look at her with the same pathetic insurmountable need in his eyes. maybe it’s what makes her bold enough to push her thigh between his knees, watching the way his jaw falls slack, slender fingers tightening on her hips as if he can’t decide if he wants to stop her or not. “ you’ve been lying to me for him long enough,” she murmurs, hot and breathless into his mouth, watching every single way his face contorts with shame and pleasure like a hawk through heavy lidded eyes. “ time to lie for me, sugu.” 

it’s how they end up in the back of her car- with her perched atop suguru’s large thighs, moaning into each other’s mouths, raven locks bunched in her incessant palm and his hands splayed out on her thighs. it’s sloppier than anything, and all she can think about is how utterly beautiful he is, with his heavy breathing he is pointless trying to regulate and the way he keeps clutching at her, ridden with guilt & lust at the same time. she doesn’t carry the same concern as he does, doesn’t care about satoru- not in the way she should, at least. it was time he stopped underestimating her. it was time he stopped believing her lack of retaliation on his bullshit was because she thought he could be a better person than he was, not because she was weak enough to stay. she only realizes her mistake now, how wrong it was of her to try to handle things the way adults did- but forfeiting grudges, by trying to forgive and communicate. he mistook her kindness. he thought her sweet, thought her all bark no bite.

but looks could be deceiving.

no clothes are coming undone, but suguru is half unraveled underneath her thighs. “ look at you,” she says in pure admiration, catching his chin between the knuckle of her index finger and her thumb, tilting his head to her liking- which is straight at her, having no choice but to see the diabolical grin that turns her into something he has never put his hands on before. something he wouldn’t know what to do with, if he had. “ whiny and loudmouthed, you said?” she quotes, and a single shift of her hips is enough to drown out any response he might have, to which he responds with a grunt of restraint and a kiss harsher than loving. “ shut up,” he kisses it on her teeth, and she has no objections to that. his presence is overwhelming. it’s unusual, the attachment that comes along- suguru is intense in a way she cannot define to be good or bad. so explore she does, tilting the corner of his jaw with a stubborn push from her nose, teeth grazing at his jugular. she can feel the way his breath hitches, feel the way he twitches. he attempts to take control of the situation by manhandling her on his lap, squeezing the fat of her hips in his palms with a grunt as he forces her into movement. the sticky material of her long drenched panties stick to her, the zipper of his pants getting caught at her clit and making her jolt with each drag. it gives him a momentary release from her evil clutches, but it is questionable how it can be considered relief when he has that drunk look on his face, jaw setting with a low grunt. “ such a fucking slut,” he whispers it against the column of her throat, freeing one hand to resume the movement by lazy & languid rolls of his hips, having her gasp on top of him, boneless on his lap. “ grinding on me because your boyfriend just can’t act right, huh? is this how you get back on him? ” 

she nods, even if she doesn’t want to, too caught up in the way he pseudo-fucks her, unhurried and devoid of any rush- like they had hours to spend in the back of her car. his pants might be deceiving her, but even the outline of him pressing against her is enough to have her mouth watering for the real deal, satoru half forgotten in suguru’s warm lap. his fingertips trail beneath the hem of her blue skirt, and they dance around the edge of her panties without ever getting to business. she squirms, desperate for a taste of something she can’t go back from, but his hold is a one of steel- “ if you want something, you’re gonna have to say it,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing hers without properly kissing her, each thrust making her jolt on his knees. she melts halfway, face contorted in pressure. “ are you this much of a headache for satoru too, or is it special f’ me?” 

that does it, her lower lip trembling as she rests against his chest, hips lazily grinding back into his to keep up with the delicious rhythm that has her seeing stars before anything. the fingers that now ghost over the damp spot of her underwear is her undoing. “ performance anxiety, sugu baby?” she lets a breathless, airy chuckle, accompanied by a sweet aw she manages to utter. “ don’t worry, i’ll guide yo-ohhhh shit,” he tucks her words back into her mouth without batting an eye, he’s good like that, of course he is. there is nothing to be questioned in his abilities to touch a girl, it seems- he doesn’t struggle as he slips underneath the wet fabric and plunges two fingers deep inside her, the sudden intrusion sending an electric jolt down her spine. for a moment, it becomes so, so hard to speak, toes curling in the pretty heels satoru has gotten them as an apology gift for one of his many fuckups. she doesn’t think suguru would like to know that. 

“ sorry, you were sayin’ somethin’?” he hums, a pleased, toothy smile tugging his mouth upwards as he takes in the sight of her squirming on his lap to handle the pressure. he brings an end to those wiggly hips by pressing the forearm that has been on her thigh even harder to pin her nice & tight. “ uh uh, don’t run away from me, now, you wanted this, remember? ” he tuts, still keeping his slow grind her swollen bud as his fingers pump leisurely in & out. “ suguru,” she shudders, gripping the car seat behind him just to be able to have some sort of anchor but even that is failing her. suguru is an asshole of his own kind, so instead of easing up on her, he tugs on the lace ribbons of her dress with his teeth, like an animal, just so he can nuzzle his nose between the valley of her breasts. he’s not as chatty as satoru, it turns out. not as hurried either- it’s not the same rush, not the same avid sense of detachment. this is not turning out the way she expected it to, not the mindless fuck she had been going after just so she could see the look on satoru’s face when she told him she fucked his best friend. 

“ mhm, i see what’s got him so hooked alright,” he reveals to himself, half mesmerized and half amused, an afterthought as he drags his tongue on the velvety edge of her dress, dipping it underneath. “ i’d be tweaking too, if i fumbled this.” the this he is talking about is not her sparkling personality, she assumes, but it has her chuckling breathlessly anyway. it’s one thing to be wanted by satoru who wants everything he can get his hands on all the time, but it is another to be wanted by suguru who seems to want nothing at all. well, except the girl he lied to the face of repeatedly. just for that she thinks of leaving him blue-balled, but all thoughts flee her mind once his teeth catches her hardened nipple and his fingers crook in that delicious way, pulsating around his fingers as the tight coil in her guts snap. 

she doesn’t realize the buildup, nearly panicking with how sudden it all crashes into her- eyes widening impossibly as she clutches onto suguru desperately as the man holds her still. “ keep cumming, keep cumming, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts with his nose pressing hard against the column of her throat, effortlessly handling the mess of limbs on his knees that is stiffening & seizing with the pressure it takes her to release it all. she thinks she’s seeing sounds, she thinks she’s hearing colors- by the time she comes back down to earth, she has half a mind on her to breathe, and only through the demanding of him who is now holding her chin in his palm: “ don’t pass out on me now, keep breathin’, keep breathin’.” 

it feels cold, when his fingers finally vacate their cozy home, but they are soon to find another- he uses the hand on her chin to pull her jaw a bit down, fingertips squishing into her cheeks to make her open up so he can stuff her mouth with the very same fingers with a dazed look in his eyes. “ polite girls clean up after themselves,” he murmurs. the tangy taste melts on her tongue, sucking on suguru’s fingers as he slowly rocks them a bit, imitating the lewd imagery of her sucking his cock. it would be a pretty sight, she thinks. to see him with his head tipped back, to rob him stark naked of any control he might have, to own him by the balls, as they say. but suguru doesn’t seem interested in the idea, as he just sighs, contently watching her suck on his fingers. she’s always thought he had pretty eyes, violet hues that have been shining with brilliance from the day she’s met him. “ i can’t be doing everything around here, can i?” the way he asks is so fucking condescending, she can’t help the way her ears burn as he pushes his hips into hers to remind her of the very painful hard on that’s been straining against her thigh now. “ ‘m not satoru, sweetheart- i don’t give out free dick. if you want it, you earn it. ” the now empty hand comes harsh against the plush fat of her ass, making her let out a muffled cry through his fingers. “ ride me like you mean it. ” 

he doesn’t have to tell her twice. 

the unbuckling of his belt and the freeing of his hard on is unceremonious, but the thrill of it is so, so heavy in her blood she thinks she’d ride this high for a good year, if she was lucky. he’s not as long as satoru, but the girth of him makes her gulp with the unsavory calculation- it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s going to be a hell of a stretch. suguru, who seems to have noticed her hesitation, grins a little. “ aw, afraid of dick, now?” he mocks, and she hates how much she really likes the genuine laugh he lets out, even when he’s bullying her. “ it doesn’t bite. go on, now. ” she wraps a hand around the base of it, her knuckles brushing against the dark happy trail as she indulges herself in a leisure stroke, watching his eyes roll back with an animalistic pleasure. all she knows is that she wants to see more of it, so when her thumb reaches the angry & leaking tip, she makes sure to apply all the pressure she can manage. “ i think the dick is afraid of me, baby. ” she teases, teeth grazing the corner of his jaw. “ you’ve been packing this the whole time? damn, maybe i got the wrong bestie.” 

suguru can’t manage a response with the way he looks like he’s on cloud nine beneath her, and she finds it sweet, the way he leans into her touch, the way he’s lost in it. having decided that she doesn’t want pleasure if it doesn’t involve hers, she aligns him with her slick entrance, letting the fat tip nudge against her folds with a shaky breath, and tilting her hips to let him sink into her without further teasing. 

the moan they let out when he’s finally inside her is in unison, but his is much whinier than hers and she finds that she revels in the sound- she’d never think him to be whiny in bed, never think him the one to release control. but here he is, holding onto her hips in the backseat of a honda civic, the living and breathing embodiment of pussy whipped. “ holy fuck,” he gasps out, his adam’s apple bobbing as his head tips back to the headrest. “ holy fuck.” 

“ you’re gonna eat your fucking words, suguru,” she confesses in his ear, in the most saccharine voice imaginable as her thighs part to dig her knees on the leather seats so she can ride him to her heart’s content, moaning every single time he bottoms out, every single time his head kisses her cervix, filling her up so nicely. all she can think about is how he deemed her unworthy of him in the bar an hour ago. “ oh, no words? the whiny girl’s pussy got your tongue, baby?” she latches onto his throat just so she can leave a pink mark of hers, just for him to see in the mirror, just for him to have to sit down in satoru and try to explain where that came from. what a scene it would be, how she would have given a kidney and a lung to see it. suguru, to the proof of her point, is too focused on not busting on the spot all her teasing is returned by radio silence except for grunts and whines. he looks so drunk, she wants to kiss him just for that, but she bites on the inside of her cheek instead, wanting him to know what real desperation was. his hands are so, so tight on her waist, and his mumbles are her favorite song. 

well, except the ringtone that disturbs the perfect rhythm she has found, an unexpected caller. 

it is coming from suguru’s pocket, to which she has no problem digging around to find. “ i’ve got you, sweetness, keep moaning like that,” she kisses his forehead just to drive her mockery home, before her eyes lock on the screen. 

gojo. 

if it wasn’t lucky. 

“ no, no, give me that back-” suguru attempts to get his hands on his phone but she is already answering before he can manage, and the first thing they hear is satoru’s voice, who never lets anybody speak first if he’s the caller: “ dude, i’ve been calling you all fucking night, ” he complains. “ where the hell have you been?” 

suguru is looking at her with pleading eyes, but seeing how that desperation erodes with a single roll of her hips is so satisfactory there is no shame in her voice as she responds: “ he’s busy, satoru babes,” she laughs, giddy. and it takes a hot minute for the white haired walking ego on the other end of the line to register her voice. “ what?... how?... what the fuck?” by now there is no fucking way he’s not hearing the sweet moans suguru is releasing, too pussy-whipped to realize the situation she put them in, too pussy-whipped to stop. “ say hi, sugu.” she plays an evil more diabolical card, shoving the mic right in the corner of suguru’s mouth, who is now scrambling for the last bits of his late composure. “ sato-oh, fuck, satoru, i can’t- i couldn’t- oh my fucking god, ‘ts so tight, ” unable to string a form of coherent sentences, she thinks she could cum from just how mouth-watering the view is. 

“ suguru, are you fucking my girl right now?” satoru is asking with a bamboozlement she has never heard in his voice before but before he can get an answer she hangs up, tossing the phone somewhere in the messy seats- not everything is about satoru, and leaving him hanging is a bigger punishment than letting him stay on the phone for the whole thing. there was no knowing with the bastard- it wouldn’t be a punishment if he turned out to be into it, after all. torture or not, suguru is hers for the moment, and there is a prized possession in such belonging, she honors it with wrapping her arms around his neck and rocking into him like there is no tomorrow. “ you feel so good,” she breaths into his ear, honest and genuine. “ you feel so fucking good, suguru. you’re so beautiful, look at you,” she slides his chin into her palm, gaze boring into his heavenly visage with an adoring look, even when he looks so utterly fucked out. “ who’s passing out on who now, hm? ” 

maybe he would have panicked at the aspect of being caught red handed, maybe he would have stopped or would have actually do something about it when satoru calls again immediately after- but all he does is to shift deeper in the seat, spread his legs wider and start fucking up into her in a rhythm so unforgiving they go back to square one, all power evades her, being reduced to a ragdoll in his arms as he hooks his arms beneath her thighs and spreads her all the way open. “ you got wetter when he heard this,” he tugs on her earlobe, hoarse and teetering on the edge of his own pleasure. “ you got tighter when you picked up, such a fucking whore,” he grunts, and she is reeling, nails digging into his shoulders as she tries to take the pounding without screaming. “ little slut is gonna cum from being caught,” he mocks, breathless. “ go ahead and fucking cum.” he is so right there is no fighting it- he commands with that growl and she is falling apart before she can stop it, and suguru is right behind her. 

it takes minutes, for both of them to come down from their highs, as suguru keeps spilling into her with no end and she keeps milking him for all he’s worth, clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. knowing that satoru had stopped calling somewhere right before they came, it truly might have, as there was no knowing what he would be doing right now. his silence was scarier than his reactions, but at the moment she really can’t bring herself to care. “  you doin’ okay?” he asks, making her jolt on his thigh just to get a reaction out of her, brushing her damp strands away from her face, revealing her hazy gaze and unfocused eyes. “ cockdrunk,” he grins. “ look at yourself, poor little thing.” her limbs still work enough for her to give him a slap on the bicep along a roll of her eyes. “ says the man who moaned like a bitch to the boyfriend of the girl he’s fucking. who knew you were such a whore, suguru?” her tongue darts out to lick her dry lips. “ you’re full of surprises.” 

“ and you’re so full of unnecessary words,” he sighs, both to how she immediately became annoying again and how it feels when she finally lets him slide out of her, remaining seated on his thigh. none of them make an attempt to leave this cozy nest they have been indulging in for a good hour or two now. “ at this point i just think you are incapable of going fifteen minutes without hearing your own voice.” she snorts with the response, shifting off his lap to collapse right next to him, both of them breathing heavy in silence for a moment. “ what now?” he asks after a few minutes, looking over at her with those heaven of violet eyes. 

she offers him the most charming, dazzling smile of hers. “ what happens is that you tell satoru i said hi,” she says. “ and get out of my car, suguru. i’m done with both your asses.” 

© written by lotuseye. do not translate or copy my work.

[thehandsresisthim]

“tranquility”

contains: yandere link (botw/totk) x reader, nothing too explicit, but still 18+, ise-kaid reader but it kinda just starts when you’re already in hyrule, maybe i’ll post the next ‘chapters’ the following weeks if i remember to ehem

word count: ~1400

You and him find a secluded spot in the woods to spend the night.

He thoroughly scouts out the immediate area for a moment, making sure that there are no monsters around.

It’s late into the night, almost midnight, so he hurries up preparing everything - not that there’s much to prepare. But he lights a fire, and he puts down his bedroll, and he tells you to use it. He’ll keep watch, he tells you.

“Is this really okay?” you say in a tired voice.

He nods. “I bet you’re not used to sleeping on the ground.”

“Mmh.” you would argue further, but you’re so tired that you don’t protest, just lay down. It’s not as bad as you thought. He insisted on making sure there were no rocks beneath the bedroll, not even the tiniest thing - smooth ground all the way. You pull the thin covers over you and rest your head on the pillow. You don’t close your eyes yet, however.

He looks at you and smiles. “Sleep well.”

Quickly after, you fall asleep.

⚔️⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ⋆ ❁ ⋆ ⋆ ✩°｡⋆ ⚔️

It’s early morning, around four, when you wake again. He’s laying next to you, arms tightly wrapped around you, right hand placed beneath your shirt, on your back. His hand feels surprisingly soft, although some of the callousness you’d expect due to his, uh, living circumstances, is also there. He’s breathing softly, and definitely asleep. His sword and other weapons are placed right next to the bed roll.

You find yourself not knowing how to react. Although this is definitely a bit forward, he did lend you his bedroll, and has been so, so nice to you so far. If not for him… you don’t know how you would’ve gotten along in this world. Probably gobbled up by some monsters. He deserves some rest too…

A voice - his voice - snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Darling…”

You notice that he’s sleeping - breathing as softly and evenly as before, hand still located on your back. Perhaps he is dreaming about his lover? You hope that this isn’t one of those dreams. That’d be really weird. But you guess that even if that’s so - not like that’d be his fault. He can’t help what he’s dreaming about.

“‘M… never… going to let you go,” he continues.

You can’t help but smile a little. Yes, you decide, he’s definitely dreaming about a lover. You wonder if you’ll ever meet them. You fall asleep again.

⚔️⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ⋆ ❁ ⋆ ⋆ ✩°｡⋆ ⚔️

It’s later in the morning when you wake up again.

You stretch and yawn. He gives you a friendly nod once he sees that you’re awake and waves at you.

“Good morning!” you say.

He smiles back at you, then turns back to the fireplace. He seems to be grilling the mushrooms he collected yesterday. You smile at the smell and get up from the bedroll.

He’s wearing his armour, and all of his weapons on him. You remember that he did wear his armour in bed with you - you felt the metal on his shoulders pressed against your chest - he must’ve put the weapons back on. It only makes sense, after all.

You can’t help but think of him sleeping next to you… he seems to be unbothered by it. Maybe it’s just a common thing among travellers? You decide to not think anything else of it.

You fold the blanket and the pillow, and roll up the bedroll. You have to bend over to pick up the bedroll, and you feel like he glances over at you for a moment as you do so…

Snap out of it! you tell yourself. He’s probably just making sure that you’re folding it up correctly. Besides, if you’re going with the dream he had earlier, he's already got someone else, so don’t get your hopes up!

You place all the parts of the makeshift bed together. He doesn’t look at you again, but rather, seems to stare at the fire and continue preparing the mushrooms.

You decide that since he’s made sure that the area is safe just last night, some mild exploring might do you some good. The noise of your steps is overshadowed by the cackling fire and muffled by the dampness of the forest floor.

⚔️⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ⋆ ❁ ⋆ ⋆ ✩°｡⋆ ⚔️

After a few more minutes of roasting the mushrooms over the fire, he stretches a little and decides to sit down. As he stares into the fire, he reflects on last night. Admittedly, laying down next to you was a bit forward…

But then again. He allowed you to travel with him, although you’re slower, and he allowed you to sleep on his bedroll. And he defended you against the monsters, and he’s making you food right now. He deserves a bit of comfort, doesn’t he?

‘Hopefully, the bedroll will keep her scent for a while.’ he catches himself thinking. ‘If she’s always with me… then I’ll never have to worry about that…’ a part of his mind continues.

He catches himself staring into the flames and entertaining the thought. He imagines you living with him, in a house built by him, near a village of your choosing. He imagines you and him sleeping next to each other, perhaps even more entangled together than last night.

He could make you food. Maybe you could keep horses. He could use his strong arms and knowledge of weapons for something other than fighting. Although… if someone were to get too close to you… He’ll make sure to never forget how to properly handle people like that.

But there’s a certain tranquillity in thinking about how everyday life would be with you.

You and him could design a house together: you said you’d like to stargaze, so obviously, there’d be a large balcony.

It could connect to the bedroom; he imagines a big bed where you can sleep on the proper mattress that you deserve. Next to him, of course. He could build it himself. He knows that he’s rather strong; so, since he wants it to be a place where he can have you all to himself, he’ll need to make sure that the bed is built in a way to be able to keep up with that. And it’ll need a big canopy - a physical thing to keep out the outside world. He’ll get to keep you all to himself there.

And he’ll build you a nice big closet, so that you can keep all the luxurious clothes he’ll buy for you. He wonders what you’d like to wear… He thinks about buying you jewellery. Small amber earrings. A necklace… perhaps one of those tight ones, that would go around your neck. And he’d make sure that you have a ring on, too, just like he will. He wants you to have a closet full of pretty clothes. Maybe you’d ‘steal’ some of his too… you in his tunic… he smiles at the thought. You, in the morning, perhaps still slightly sleepy - quickly getting out of bed, searching for something to wear. Maybe you’d just quickly slip on some of his clothes. You’d sit on a nearby chair and smile at him. And there’d be a big desk for you to paint and craft and write by.

You’d also want a nice bathroom, probably. A really modern one, where you could shower… perhaps with him. And it’d need a bathtub, too!

And he’d make sure to build a strong, big staircase… it could lead right into the living room. He’d like a kitchen area that would connect to the living room… just a big open space. So that he can always watch you. You could cook together, and he’d make all your favourite meals. And he’d make sure that you’d have a big sofa, to cuddle on and hang out on and maybe indulge in other activities there too.

The windows would be big and open, to always let the sun in.

And maybe, if you’d like it, you’d keep horses. He wonders what you’d name yours. He could teach you how to ride… maybe help you catch one. Or maybe you’d only have one horse, and he’d never teach you to ride, so that you’d always have to rely on him to get around. So that he’d always be around you. And you’d sit behind him on his horse, and he’d purposely ride a little faster than you’re used to, and you’d hold onto his waist.

He finds himself smiling. The thought makes him feel warm inside, in a way that he’s not used to. He thinks that you must be feeling hungry, so he picks up one of the mushroom skewers from the fireplace. He turns around to face you. His smile falls. You’re not there.

i swear if i was isekai-d (?) to hyrule i’d be killed for blasphemy in seconds - “lmao weak ass goddess hylia needing a nine year old to fight her battles for h-“ *gets struck down by lightning*

uhhh enough babbling hope you enjoyed ❤️ comments and likes are always appreciated, same as reblogs of course!! master list is here :)

18+ short fic abt link warming your strap is here if that suits your fancy hehe

[scuderia-piastri]

networking

✮⋆˙summary: two moments where red has managed to bond with her fellow drivers, and one moment where she hasn’t (sort of)

✮⋆˙warnings: google translated spanish because i don’t speak spanish (duo is rolling in his grave), stupid fia regulations, danica patrick, pierre’s hair (or lack thereof)

✮⋆˙a/n: took a while but motivation struck at 4 am and who am i to ignore it after it ghosted me for weeks on end? also, thank you so much to my friends @foreveralbon and @vroomvroomcircuit for helping with this one !! <3

rrcsav masterlist

one

sitting in the stewards office, red’s eyes darted around to whatever her vision could focus on. plaques, posters, clocks, anything. next to her, franco stared straight ahead with not a single thought behind his eyes. and nobody could blame them, because the stewards office was definitely the last place either of them wanted to be at the moment.

but the rules were written, and no matter how unfair they were, the two drivers couldn’t avoid a summons to the stewards office for their “derogatory remarks about the FIA” at the press conference. at least the other drivers found them funny. hell, even lewis gave red a pat on the back and said not to worry. still, she doubted the team would be too happy about the fact that their new driver was about to be the first to receive a fine for the new regulations.

“so,” the steward sitting directly in front of her started the conversation, glancing down at his notes. “mr. colapinto, you and ms-“ he hesitated.

“red is fine.” she replied automatically, not bothering to wait for him to attempt to pronounce her last name.

the steward nodded. “during the press conference, you two stated that you think the new regulations were ‘unnecessary and an insult to the drivers’ rights to free speech’. i assume you both have read through the regulations of this year, and understand why the FIA has deemed them necessary?” he looked to franco.

“lo siento, no hablo inglés, no entiendo qué dices.” franco replied immediately, to which red, as well as the stewards, gave him a strange look. franco returned the look with one of his own, signaling to her to play along. (sorry, i don’t speak english, i don’t understand what you’re saying.)

getting the hint, she bit back a smile and turned to the stewards. “kya? mujhe aapka bhaat nahi samhaj tah hain. aap hamase baat kya kaarana chaahate hain?” (what? i don’t understand you. what did you want to talk to us about?)

the men in front of them looked at each other uncomfortably. “everyone-”

“estoy un poco cansado de esta reunión, tal vez deberíamos irnos ahora.” (i’m getting a bit tired of this meeting, maybe we should leave now.)

“vaah, ye office kya sundar hain. ise kon banaaya?” (wow, this office is so pretty. who made it?)

“maybe we should all go, practice should be starting soon.” the man on the far right decided, setting his notes down. “you can have a warning, this speech won’t be tolerated next time. you’re free to go.”

“ah, gracias!” franco beamed, looking at red in success.

two

“i mean, just look at how she’s performed so far. you could claim it’s the lack of experience or because she’s a rookie, but oliver bearman, an f2 driver at the time, stepped into a ferrari in 2024 on short notice on a very difficult track and still managed to finish ahead of lewis hamilton himself. let’s face it, the girl is not ready.”

red stood and watched the footage with her arms crossed. she hadn’t done as bad as danica was making it seem at all, and it wasn’t fair. of course she was behind lewis, she was a goddamn rookie up against a seven time world champion for christ’s sake.

“she talks quite a lot, doesn’t she?” ollie remarked, coming up behind red and crossing his arms as well. “she seems to have a great tendency to twist data to be in her favor and leave out important bits.”

“that’s a great way to put it.” red scoffed. “for a woman, she sure talks like she hates every other one trying to get into the sport.”

“more the reason not to pay her any attention.” ollie shrugged, turning to face red. “you did a good quali, by the way. that squeeze into q3 at the last minute after the botched strategy was impressive. i just have one question.”

she smiled back at him. “thanks, you did great too. what’s the question?”

“kimi and i have a little bet. did you and franco really manage to talk your way out of a penalty from that press conference?”

three

“no, no, i’m not saying it’s bad. i’m just saying…” red titled her head. “is flavio making you do this? do you really need to spare all the weight from the car that you can?”

pierre shot her a glare in return. “no-”

“you have to admit it’s weird to outside eyes! both you and jack just seemingly shaved your heads at the same time. if this is a call for help-”

“oh mon dieu, i don’t have time for this.”

francisca.cgomes

francisca.cgomes ❤️

redracing OH MY GOD YOURE GORGEOUSSSS

redracing oh my god pierre’s hair….

⬑ pierregasly …🤨?

⬑ redracing no, it’s nice… it’s… wow!

⬑ pierregasly Isn’t it past your bedtime?

landonorris the hair, mate 😂

⬑ redracing lots of talking for someone who looks like they walked out of a old time western saloon with that mullet

⬑ landonorris you were literally just making fun of him too!

⬑ redracing okay yeah and that was ME what’s your excuse

⬑ landonorris okay ms “had to pretend to forget english to get out of a penalty last week”

⬑ charlesleclerc lando be nice

⬑ landonorris what did i do ????

⬑ redracing thanks… dad?

⬑ oscarpiastri oh new sibling. cool. welcome to the family.

⬑ maxverstappen charles stop adopting the rookies we have too many

taglist: @sid-is-gr8 @mellowarcadefun @justadesirebel @foreveralbon @inchidentofftrack @demvnsriot

[what-the-newsies]

can u write some javey please!!!!

Good luck charm ( short oneshot)

Notes: this is set after the strike, when davey has gone back to school. This can be read as any of the versions 🙈 I'm not too big of a fan of this fic, so I may rewite it soon, lmk what u think 🩷

It was quiet in the Jacobs household, peaceful even, Esther was in the kitchen happily cooking, mayer was sat silently in the kitchen reading the new edition , Sarah was delicately sewing up an old shirt that had been ripped and les was playing nicely in his room. The family were happy, the comfortable silence soothed them all as they basked in its hypnotic sense of calmness. You could hear a pin drop as the warm evening sun shone through the window, leaving the sedative family very pleased with life. However, the Jacobs household never stayed quiet for long...

"Mama, papa guess what!' Davey announced running into the room, he was sweating perfuesly which told his startled parents that he had ran all the way from school.

Ethster jumped at the sudden sound echoing through the previously peaceful house, making her drop the pan she was holding to the floor with a bang. She cursed under her breath and picked it up.

"David, how many times have I told you to not bound into here like a bull in a China shop?" She accused angrily.

"I'm sorry, Mama, it's just that -" He was practically beaming with exitment, his eyes had a certain spark to them, which made his exited face light up to the next level.

"No, I don't want to hear it." She interrupted, she became quiet for a few seconds as if trying to find the right argument, "just... go to your room." She sighed.

That spark in Daveys eyes had dissipated , leaving an unpleasant aura of tension and melancholy in the air of the once comfortable household. Slowly, he turned and sulked into his room.

"Come on, you didn't need to be so harsh." Mayer said quietly.

"Yes I did, the boy needs to learn how to regulate himself like an adult." Esther snapped.

"But he's not an adult honey, he's a child."

"And he will be forever if we dont teach him otherwise."

Mayer sighed in defeat and turned back to his paper.

Davey was sat on his bed, with the palms of his hands pressed against his eyes so that he could see colourful little circles. It seemed to be the only colour in his life right now. His chest tightened as he replayed the embarassing memory of his outburst through his head, forcefully acknowledging his wrongdoing and creating self promises to never do it again. He heard a knock at the window, and he looked up to be met with the eyes of Jack. He walled over and opened his bedroom window.

"Heya dave." Jack said climbing through the window.

"hi." Davey replied sheepishly.

"Whats da matta?" Jack asked wairely

"Nothing."

"Ise know youse lying."

"I know when YOU'RE lying." Davey corrected

"But Ise aint lied 'bout anythin." Jack looked puzzled

"No, I meant that you needed to fix your grammar." Davey gave a small smile now.

Jack chuckled softly and punched him in the arm.

" Yeah ise will get right on that, but seriously, what's eatin at ya?"

"Well at school about a week ago, my teacher told me that next time at debate a woman from the national team would be there, and she would basically come to scout out who she thinks would be fit for nationals, and they picked me and said that they want me to represent them on their team so i-" davey ran out of breathe and cut himself off.

Jack only smirked as Daveys heavy breathing continued.

"Wow, davey ise don't knows much about debate, but that sounds amazin'."

Once Davey had regained his breathe he replied.

"Yeah, it is. If i win, then I get a fully paid scholarship to a private grammar school." Davey beamed, the magical spark in his eyes being reignited by Jack.

"That's great, so whys was youse so upset about it?" Jack asked, following Davey to sit next to him on the bed. Davey remained silent ( for the first time ever). After a minute, he spoke.

"Do you think I'm too much?, like are my emotions too much for you?" Daveys tone saddened, as did the overall mood.

"Naw not at all, youse get very excited about a lot of things, but that ain't bad." Jack said gently.

"Because earlier I was really excited to tell my family about what happened and when I tried my mama yelled at me and said I need to calm down and regulate myself." Davey mumbled. Jack scooted closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Davey leaned into him.

"Well ise think it's a good thing, not everybody has the same passion for everything that youse do." Davey nodded sadly and sunk deeper into Jack's embrace.

"So what is debate anyways?" Jack asked cheerfully.

"Well it's basically like a fight, a verbal fight obviously, but not an actual fight because its structured and you have a limited amount of time, so the proposition have to pass the motion that they have been given by the judge by basically talking alot and as fast as they can-"

"Youse will win easy then, no competition there." Jack teased. Davey smacked him on the leg and giggled. Jack was relieved to see Davey smiling again. He wasn't used to Davey being so glum. He believed that spark In his eyes was perminent. He had never seen it extinguished before.

"Carry on ise listening."

"Carry on IM listening." Jack made michevious eye contact with Davey before grabbing his pillow off the bed and gently smacking him with it. Davey cackled hysterically.

"Jack, stop!" He giggled, trying to grab the pillow.

"If youse promise to nevers correct mys grammars again!" Jack stopped to let Davey answer.

"If YOU promise to never correct-" Davey was cut off by Jack tackling him into the bed as they began to play-wrestle and laugh.

Jack was used to rough housing with his fellow newsies, newsies play fought all the time. They were very tough and thick skinned from having to live on the streets. However, when it came to Davey, Jack was extremely gentle with it, always making sure to never hurt the other boy.

"Um, Davey?' Mayer had appeared at the doorway looking inquisitive as he watched his son and his friend snicker wildly whilst rolling around on the bed.

"OH um hi dad..." Davey quickly sat up, his face flushed.

"I wanted to see if you were alright, but I'm guessing Jack already did that." The older man smiled.

"Yes sir." Jack said proudly.

"Welll then, dinners ready, and Jack's welcome to stay if he likes."

"Thank youse sir."

"Thank YOU sir."

Jack tacked Davey to the floor, and they began to roll around, trying to trap each other and get the upper hand. Mayer only smiled and rolled his eyes before walking back into the dining room.

Later on that night, Jack was soundly asleep snuggled up in Daveys bed, whilst Davey sat at his desk trying to write his debate speech.

"hi sweetheart." Ethster said standing next to him. Davey didn't answer, he didn't even look at her.

"Listen, I'm sorry for shouting at you, didn't mean it, sometimes I just find it so hard to adjust to your emotions and I know that's not your fault and I need to work on it."

"It's fine." Davey said dryly.

There was an awkward silence. Esther stuttered a few times but couldn't seem to find the right words before getting up and leaving. At that moment Davey felt so alone, so he climbed into bed with Jack and as soon as his body hit the soft mattress, Jack's arms were pulling him closer and rubbing up and down the length of his back. Now, Davey had never felt less alone as he embedded himself into Jack's warmth. Electric shocks, zapping into his nerves with every touch to his body.

Two weeks had gone by, and Daveys master status had become, completely and utterly stressed. He was trying his hardest to write this damn debate speech, and yet nothing he wrote seemed to sound the way he wanted it to. He had been sitting at his desk for almost 7 hours, and his brain felt so frazzled that the words looked as if they were swimming. His eyes were so heavy that they physically hurt to keep open, every inch of his body begged for the kind mercy of sleep whilst his mind slowly shut down.

"Geez davey, youse look terrible." Davey didn't even need to look to see who it was.

"Go away." He said, covering his face with his hands, propped up by his elbows on the table.

"When's the last time ya slept?" Jack asked, eyeing the stacks of disregarded, crumpled up papers next to the desk.

Davey only groaned in response.

"Come on ya need to get to bed."

"No"

"Davey, do not fights with me right now."

Davey shook his head, Jack sighed and sat on the table, his legs dangling next to the chair where davey was sat. Jack began to card his fingers through Daveys hair, lightly scratching from time to time or swiling his finger around in a messy curl.

"stop im going to fall asleep." Davey yawned.

"Don't fight it Dave."

Davey remained stubborn, fighting the sleeping spell that Jack's fingers were putting on him. Jack sighed, god he loved this boy but he could be so damn stubborn.

Jack changed his tactic to just scratching, davey made a sleepy noise of protest and began to lean into the peaceful touch. Not giving him time to think, he lifted davey out of his seat and quickly lay them both down on the bed, Daveys head resting on Jack's chest.

"No- I need i-"

"Shhhhhh." Jack began tracing up and down Daveys back, Daveys exhausted eyes finally closed, and he snuggled deeper into Jack's hold.

"I've been trying to do that for hours." Mayer whispered into the room. Jack only smiled and closed his eyes too.

It was the big day of the debate, and Davey was panicking. He had arrived early to the event and had brought three extra copies of his speech in case he somehow lost the original one and was also slowly forgetting how to breathe.

He was pacing around the backstage area, running over the speech in his head. He left a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his first thought was Jack, however he wasn't disappointed to see his father -like him- dressed in his best and smiling from ear to ear.

"Don't worry, Davey, you will be fine." Mayer assured.

"Yeah, you'll be great!" Sarah smiled wildly.

"Come on, let's go find out seats, Goodluck we are so proud of you." His father pulled him into a quick hug before leaving. Revealing his mother apparently hiding behind him the whole time.

"Davey, baby, I am so sorry for ever making you feel like your passion and love for things was a problem, it was really my problem the whole time and I never want you to change ever." She pulled him into a big hug.

"It's okay mama." Davey said sincerely.

"Thank you, baby. I am so proud of you no matter what happens tonight. Good luck." She kissed him on the cheek and left.

He heard the announcers call his team up, and he walked on stage. He sat with his team members and was relieved to remember he was the second, not the first speaker. The first round did not go favourably for his team. The first speaker stuttered so hard that they missed half of their speech, and they kept taking on questions they didn't know how to answer.

"Please welcome, proposition, speaker 2." The judge called.

Davey stood up and prepared his speech. He looked into the crowd and felt his stomach do summersaults. The crowd went blurry as he felt hundreds of eyes digging into him. His breathing quickened as the hands holding his paper began to shake as the clapping bounced around his brain and all he could think was 'I can't do this'.

Somehow in the crowd of faces he could only make out one of them, and it was Jack's who mouthed, 'just breathe'. And so he did, he steadied his breathing and began to read, he read flawlessly and without stuttering. His unprotected time proved not to be a bother due to the opposition not being able to think of an argument, the longer he spoke the more confident he got. And before he knew it, it was over.

His new gained confidence proved useful as he was now able to rebuttle the oppositions final speaker as he scribbled down new arguments for the conclusionist once they counted the jury's votes. Davey held his breath and felt his heart pounding in his chest yet again.

"I declare this motion...carried." The judge announced. And daveys bloodstream turned into pure joy. His veins carried nothing but exitment and happiness around his body as he hugged his teammates and couldn't seem to wipe a stupid smile off his face.

He ran around the back of the audience to his family, who all excitedly greeted him and hugged him tightly. Once, they had been beckoned away to talk to the grammar schools principle who was seemingly very impressed, he finally turned his attention to Jack.

"Ise don't really understands much of what youse said, but it sounded good."

Davey giddyly hugged him and looked up at him, the spark in his eyes shining brighter than ever before.

"Ise mean it must've been good if youse won."

"Or maybe you're just my goodluck charm."

At this davey pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss, he was always told that his passion was too much, however in this moment it felt just right.

[nintendocompositions]

Take a deep breath and dive into a bygone future... thanks for listening!

VISUALS COMING SOON 📼

Tomodachi Life (Daisuke Matsuoka, Asuka Ito) - Café (Divorce Intl Ver.) "COMING ATTRACTIONS" Mario Artist: Polygon Studio (Kazumi Totaka) - Go Go Park Finish "WELCOME" Tekken 2 (Yoshie Arakawa) - Late Night Show (Anna Williams Ending) Super Smash Bros. Brawl (Taku Inoue) - All-Star Rest Area Mario Artist: Paint Studio (Kazumi Totaka) - Sea World Type 1 Pilotwings 64 (Dan Hess) - Birdman Racing Lagoon (Noriko Matsueda) - After Yokohama GP Sonic Mania (Tee Lopes) - Blossom Haze (Press Garden Zone Act 2) Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt (TCY FORCE) - CHOCOLAT (ft. Mariya Ise) Memorial Song (Yasuyoshi Suzuki, Wataru Iwamoto) - Track 11 "SUNSETS" Mario Artist: Paint Studio (Kazumi Totaka) - Sea World Type 2 Outlaw Star (Akino Arai) - Tsuki no Ie Memorial Song (Yasuyoshi Suzuki, Wataru Iwamoto) - Track 14 "DESIRES" Sonic Adventure 2 (Jun Senoue, Hunnid-P x Crime Mob) - Dive Into The Mellow x Knuck If You Buck *NEW*Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest (David Wise) - Forest Interlude Mario Artist: Paint Studio (Kazumi Totaka) - Music Type 1 (Jellyfish) Pilotwings Resort (Asuka Ito) - Staff Credits Wii no Ma (Kazumi Totaka) - Theatre Room Wii no Ma (Kazumi Totaka) - Midnight

Quotation marks are alt titles by me, I DON'T OWN THE RIGHTS TO ANYTHING!

[dearestspirit]

a note heard in heaven - 02

mizu x fem!reader | au based on the film the handmaiden | word count: 3,270 | warnings: mdni. this series will contain sexual and dark themes, including: abuse, sex, sexual assault/harrasment, period typical misogyny, murder, allusions to suicide, and period typical stigmas against mental health.

series masterlist | previous part | next part

You’re taking off out of the library faster than Mizu can keep up with. Struggling to steady the parasol over your head, she dreads the moment you’ll be inside; more aptly, she’s dreading the scolding she’s bound to receive due to you getting wet. She grunts, hurrying her walking to stay next to you. Nearly leaving her behind, you finally make it to your room, doors clattering open.

“I hate those books,” you grumble, perched over the sink in your personal bathroom. “They’re so… boring, they make me sick.”

Mizu watches as you retch, color drained from your face. In a panic, she strokes your back. However, you’re quick to wave her hand away, agitated. When the heaves of your chest finally slow to a halt, you press your heated forehead against the coolness of your sink. There’s a dry irritation in your throat and your eyes are scorched with pinpricks of tears. At the back of your mind you’re acutely aware of how unsightly you must look right now; the thought only serves to embarrass you further. Knuckles white from the grip you hold on the sink, you push to straighten yourself. When you do, you’re met with Mizu’s inquisitive gaze.

“Miss…?” She questions, but it’s not interrogative.

“I’m fine. Please go.” You tear yourself away from her eyes, finding you shrink under her authority despite her rank below you.

“You should-”

“Mizu, I’ve asked you to leave. Please.”

The disgruntled exhale from her nose is audible. She doesn’t speak another word to you before closing the bathroom door behind her, leaving you alone.

In the morning, when Mizu goes with all the other servant girls for breakfast, she finds one of them sniffling. Ise, she thinks, is the girl’s name. When Ise sees her, she skitters over, holding out Mizu’s missing shoe. You must have said something, either to Madame Kaji or the girl herself. Mizu scoffs and takes it back ungraciously. It’s no matter to her anymore, as she sits with her breakfast and listens to the chatter.

When whispers of The Count’s name pass through again, she almost snorts. He had been delayed yesterday, by something or other– she knew it probably had to do with the plan the two of them had. Something about making you wait, growing your anticipation. Some flirting tactic she had no interest in hearing about, especially not from Taigen. She’d never heard of any successful romances on his part, so she doubted he could know all that much about genuinely seducing a woman. Besides, your sheltered lifestyle meant you’d likely give your heart up in seconds once he threw some compliments and risque touches your way. Part of her was thrilled he’d finally be on his way here to get the plan truly in motion. With her bowls empty, she’s speeding to your room.

“Miss!” She calls for you.

The two of you hadn’t spoken since the incident last night. You hadn’t requested her presence at your bedside, choosing to derobe yourself.

But still, you smile when you hear her.

“Hello, Mizu.” You greet her, chin resting in your palm.

She stares at you like you’re mad. “Get up then, we’ve got to get you ready for the day. A bath, first.” Her hands take hold of your arms, guiding you into the bathroom.

With curtains drawn, the sunlight is dim, soaking the room in a gentle warmth. You watch as Mizu effortlessly prepares your tub, checking the temperature of the water. Satisfied, she gestures to you and your clothes.

“I’ll undress myself, thank you.” You mutter.

It’s been a few days of having Mizu as your new handmaiden, yet you insisted on taking care of clothing yourself. Despite it being a duty expected of her, she was nothing but respectful of your wishes. She tries to not stare as she hears the thudding of your elegant fabrics hitting the floor. Obviously, she’d have to bathe you, so she’d see everything. But it was just this once. You’d be swept up by The Count, then off to whatever madhouse would take you, and then…

“The Count is coming today.” She tells you, breaking herself out of whatever impending thought she had.

“That’s why you’ve set all this up.” You state, finally bare.

And then you’re dipping yourself into the water, carefully minding the table of soaps and oils Mizu had rolled over. Immersing yourself from the neck under, you bob back up to sit comfortably.

“Here,” Mizu mumbles, handing you a candy. “Back home, my aunts used to give candy to the babies they’d bathe.”

“So you’re treating me like a baby?” You chuckle, unwrapping the candy and savoring the sweetness of it.

“You’re like one, aren’t you? It’s as if you’re my baby.” She laughs– your heart stutters– scattering an assortment of floral petals into the bathwater.

Overkill, you’re sure, but it endears you. Your eyes follow her, her actions; she’s so dutiful in her work. A hush falls over the two of you. Mizu is concentrated, though when she sees your face fall, she stops. You’re pawing at the side of your jaw, letting out a broken groan of pain.

“Is something wrong?”

“I have a sharp tooth,” You whine. “When I eat… it cuts me.”

She hums in response, tilting your chin up with a hand. With her other, she drags a finger along the row of your teeth. When she comes across the pointed one, she hisses and steps back. At the table of objects next to her, she shuffles through, diligently searching for something.

“I remember,” You hear her call out. “One time, a relative used a thimble to grind down the sharp tooth of her son.”

Your teary eyes follow her as she hurries back to your side.

“Say ‘ah.’” She tells you, opening her mouth for you to mimic.

There’s a jolt in her at how comfortably you obey, how your lips part, how your mouth welcomes the intrusion.

Cradling your neck in her left hand, the thimble on her right thumb scrapes across your tooth. It’s a foreign feeling, one that brings along discomfort with it. You try your best to focus on the remnants of sugar on your tongue, the heat of your bathwater; but what helps the most is holding onto Mizu’s elbow. Her sleeve rolled up, you run your fingers back and forth as she continues her ministrations.

She suppresses a shiver at your touch– she can feel your knuckles tense when there’s a particularly uncomfortable drag of the thimble, she can feel the slight bite of pain as your nails sink into her skin. Even with the way her skin blooms red from your actions, you handle her with more nicety than she’d experienced before. Her eyes never stray far from your mouth, but…

But she follows the droplets that run down the bare flesh of your chest, meeting the water once more. It would be easy to let her left hand trail down, down your wet skin from pulse point to collarbone to the softness of your breasts that peek out just over the surface.

That fragile, delicate softness.

“All done.” She pulls her thumb from your mouth, mindful to not let the thimble hurt you on its exit.

You’re staring at her, eyes never leaving her own. You must’ve seen them lower and lower until no longer appropriate. She could sense the rush of heat to the tips of her ears. Depositing the thimble into the front pocket of her apron, she sits with her back to the tub.

“Go ahead and finish washing.” Her voice is husky, mouth dry.

She tries to not think about quenching her thirst with the water clinging to your body.

Palpable silence stays in the room until you’re clothed once more.

Mizu stands in the far corner, squinting as Taigen– playing as The Count, of course– greets you. The two of you had spent what felt like an agonizing amount of time going over your hair, makeup, and dress.

“Ah, you didn’t have to get all done up to see me.” He grins, laying the sleaze on thick.

A shy expression befalls you; the hint of a flirtatious smile.

“Your painting lessons, I promise they’ll be exhilarating for you,” Taigen winks, though he catches sight of Mizu in the mirror behind you. Turning, he opens his arms wide in a friendly gesture. “This must be your handmaiden! The one I so honorably recommended.”

Mizu wonders how the fuck he can go on and on without giving anyone else a chance to speak. Or have you been stunned into silence? Did you really think of him that highly already? “Yes, at your service.” She takes a shallow bow.

“Are you carrying out your duties well?” Taigen asks, stepping over to her. “It’ll make me look bad if you aren’t.”

“You picked perfectly for me.” You chime in behind him.

“So I did a good job,” That smarmy upturn of his lips is back again as he flicks a coin towards Mizu. “Take this, and keep taking good care of our Lady.”

She can barely contain her complaint, holding back a disgusted ‘ugh’ as he walks out of the room. You’re still over in your corner, looking demure. If Taigen were still in the room, he’d slap Mizu on the head and tell her to strike. So, she does.

“The Count sure is nice, isn’t he?” She plays up an exaggerated smile, fussing at your clothes to busy her hands.

You give a shrug in return, already heading back to your room before she can analyze your reaction and pinpoint your exact feelings for The Count.

Mizu’s breath runs ragged as she hurries to the guest room Taigen resides in. One of the other servant girls had fetched for her, claiming he needed Mizu for an errand. She knew that meant he had something important to tell her, though part of her felt remorse at having to leave your side. A loneliness swam in your eyes, that pout of yours betraying your usually stoic, posh demeanor. Your lips haunt her mind as she travels; the docile way they had parted upon request, or was it moreso a command? Did you care to discern the difference? Though, she supposes, someone like you deserves…

Taigen’s door slides open with an urgency that knocks the wind out of her. It nearly bounces back closed, before his hand stops it. Grabbing at Mizu’s sleeve, he tugs her into the room and shuts the door eagerly. She can’t even focus in time for Taigen to start hushedly whooping, arms waving in the air.

“Easy, idiot,” Mizu puffs, flipping that coin he’d given her back in his direction. “Did you really think you could fool me with that shit fake?”

To you, she’s been your handmaiden that does her duties to whatever standard you deem suitable to hold her to. If you said jump, she’d say how high. But Taigen knows better. He knows when someone tells her to jump, she asks how much.

And he knew that very well when he recruited her.

In that last month before Mizu came to be by your side, she was approached by the son of a local farmer. Taigen. The two lived in a poor, weary village. Little luxuries were afforded to them. It only made sense that in an unseen corner, thievery would thrive here. In that small hut on the outskirts of her home, Mizu would learn everything– pick-pocketing, forgery– and would grow to excel at it.

It’s why, when Taigen shows up in a suit far outside his price range, he’s quick to pick her out of the rest. He’s boasting of how grand a plan this is. How you have millions, and that your current fiance was looking for the same thing he was: getting their hands on that fortune. Taigen’s the one to claim he can snatch you right under that old man’s nose. Mizu almost retorts with a ‘what do you know about love?’ but she holds her tongue.

“After the job is done, you can get all of the mistress’ dresses and jewelry. Everyone here will get a share of fifty thousand.” There’s gasps as he finishes speaking. To them, fifty thousand is more money than they’d all seen in their lifetime, combined.

Mizu nods with a hand on her chin, tapping her foot. “On top of the fifty, I want my own hundred thousand. That’s my price.”

Taigen agrees effortlessly. He insists that Mizu go through the next few days ‘training’ with him. She had never been a maid of any sort before, born into criminality, so she needed at least some preparation. Otherwise this plan would be doomed from the start. For starters, he spends way too long teaching her how to make herself blush. Calling you an ‘uppity bitch’ who would succumb to the inferiority complex of a poor handmaiden. He makes sure she knows to not let you think; no questions, take care of everything in a matter-of-fact way. Honestly, Mizu cares little for whatever Taigen lectures her on. He’s just like her– a poor criminal looking for a way out. She knows she’s intelligent, and she knows how to use people to her advantage. Taigen, on the other hand, is rarely ever self-aware of the drivel that comes out of his mouth.

At some point, the time passes and Mizu’s faced with her last night in the village. She sits on her knees behind the old woman who’s been taking care of her her whole life. Mizu knows it's thanks to her that she's still here. Not quite a mother, but close enough, after losing her own. Something somber settles in the room, Mizu exhaling a sigh.

“When my mother was hanged,” She starts, combing through the elder’s hair. “Did she cry?”

“Mizu,” Her voice has become frail in the past years, age beginning to get to her. “After your mother had you, she told how she was the luckiest woman. She had no reason to cry, not even when faced with her death. You take after her so much… what a thief you’ll be, one day.”

Taigen snaps a few times, taking Mizu out of her memory. “Look, when I give the signal… ‘fully ripe’, make sure that she and I are alone.”

Mizu raises an eyebrow. “She’s very sheltered, Taigen,” she strolls over to the large bed he’s been provided, flopping backwards onto it. “You could touch her intimately and she still won’t know what you want.”

“Well, do your part then. Everything is because of me.” Taigen states. “Like… her nails growing longer because I’m here. Things like that, she won’t know any better.”

Mizu’s mind drifts. Hand stuck down the front pocket of her apron, she finds herself fiddling with the thimble she left there. You and Taigen, alone… He said he wanted to devour you. She remembers now. Someone like you, she remembers, deserves the touch of someone tender. The Count has teeth, claws given to him as the birthright of being a man in this world. A dark cloud simmered in her at his signal. ‘Fully ripe,’ as if you’re something to be eaten, the only fragment left being an empty pit. No, she had seen you– had seen the flush of your skin, the supple ways your body curved. You were meant for more. You were meant to be given to, not taken from.

But she couldn’t. She had to feed you to an insatiable man. From her palm to the white blades of his teeth, she’d comply. No victimless crimes truly exist, she reasoned. If she had to take advantage of yet another person to get to her goal, what did it matter? She repeats it to herself a few times, a mantra to clear her mind: It has to be done.

“Give her these,” Taigen hands a box to Mizu. “From me, of course.”

Gracefully, you pull the golden rope away from the box, admiring the floral pattern atop it. When you open it, revealing the earrings inside, your face lights up.

Taking one of them, you hold it up to your ear and look in the mirror. “Mizu, these sapphires are so blue!”

Mizu nods, watching your reflection. ‘They suit you’ almost tumbles off her lips. It’ll do her good to remember those will be hers as soon as Taigen gets rid of you.

“They remind me of your eyes, don’t they?” You grin. “Just as pretty, too.”

“Actually, it’s blue spinel.” Mizu mutters, ignoring your previous comment.

“What?” You’re frowning.

“But that’s just as expensive as sapphires.” She’s sputtering and correcting herself, catching her slip up.

“How do you know that?” You’re questioning her, eyes squinted.

“My old mistress taught me. That’s all.” Mizu gulps, rarely ever nervous, but she can’t mess up this far into the scheme.

You nod, unrolling the piece of paper The Count had included in his gift. Mizu exhales, glad you’ve moved your mind onto something else. She lets her eyes scan you as you read, thinking back to what you said. They remind me of your eyes. Just as pretty, too. It’s not hard for her to remember all the times she’d been looked at in fear, cursed at, beaten. All the children of the village who had thrown rocks at her, chased after her. Why were you so different? What gave you the right? The boiling heat of anger starts to crawl under her skin. She has no reason to trust you; at the end of the day, once you learn you’ve been betrayed, you’d take those comments back in an instant. You’d call her ugly. A demon. She knows this. She’ll lock the sound of your voice in the far reaches of her mind and she’ll never think of you again, only ever your money. It has to be done.

So why can’t she stop looking at you? Has she ever seen anything so lovely?

There’s a dinner tonight. You, your ‘husband’, and The Count.

Mizu is sure to pull out one of your fanciest dresses for the night, telling you The Count will love it. You look shy again, putting your cheek in your palm as you coyly smile. A hint of disgust brews in her at your awe of him. But when she follows behind you, down the steps to the dining room, she can’t help but let her eyes roll over your figure. Your hair is up. Would you squirm if she pressed her lips there, on your neck? Even down to where your dress dips, exposing your shoulder blades? Between them, as she pushed your sleeves past your arms? And what if The Count did the same? He’s trashy, unable to hold something so vulnerable in his hands with any grace. It wouldn’t happen. At least, not while Mizu was in the room. If she left you alone with him… would you?

She cares so much because you’re a poor, poor girl, is what she decides. Really, she just feels bad at how badly your heart is going to break when you realize The Count doesn’t love you in return. Anything else is simple curiosity– a destitute criminal pondering on the lifestyle of someone so privileged.

A chair clashes to the floor as soon as Mizu holds the door open for you. Taigen’s standing up, mouth open like a fish out of water.

“You’re incredible!” He yells, gaping shamelessly. “Breathtakingly beautiful.”

Mizu’s fist clenches, nearly drawing blood with her nails.

He’s so full of shit.

a/n: so on the last part i had some people interested in a taglist!! personally, i would feel uncomfortable doing that as there will be eventual nsfw content in this. maybe i'll change my mind, but for now i rather not to avoid minors/ageless blogs being tagged. either way i hope you're all enjoying the read!! i'll try to keep getting chapters consistently out if i can <3

[dervampireprince]

I dont know if you've seen anything about this yet, but discord recently partnered with generative AI (called DomoAI) and added hidden bots to servers to scrape messages and images. I know you're very open about your stance on AI so I figured it's something you'd want to know about/ look further into

okay everyone needs to learn to google and try and fact check things before they just believe anything you read or hear. i constantly see things going around discord saying some new thing is scamming or hacking or doing something bad and it's always ended up to be a hoax or misinformation or exaggerated. is discord promoting them? yes and it's shit. however, it is not made by discord, discord did not partner with them. discord is shitty for allowing ai art on their platform, however the claim they partnered with them is just a lie. discord bots exist. i have some in my server, eg pluralkit, but discord didn't make pluralkit they just allow it to exist on discord. now it seems in domo's marketing *they* called it a partnership, but it's not. they just uploaded a thing they made onto discord. that's like saying every app on the apple store has a 'partnership' with apple.

itsoasus on bluesky already listed everything out, so here's the screenshot and alt text underneath. everything in purple are their words, copy and pasted from the alt text on their post.

"This was the info I posted to a server of mine, in case this had spread far. I think I summarised it better here: The claim:

discord partnered with DomoAI

this partnership allows any user to pass images to an AI without consent

server owners are powerless against this ^ NONE OF THIS IS TRUE.

The truth:

the DomoAI people made a bot

the bot was submitted to discord's app directory, just like any other bot

discord accepted the bot to it's app directory, just like any other bot

the app directory is simply a list of discord bots that you can search through inside of discord

ALL discord bots which discord has verified are REQUIRED to use slash commands or "application commands" (right click menu on PC, press and hold menu on mobile)

if a bot dev wants access to text-based commands (like !role or !color etc), the bot has to go through a SECOND application process and prove that their bot is non-functional without such a permission

server owners CAN prevent both slash and application commands from being used

if you're in a server that has those permissions denied, the ONLY way someone can use your content in the DomoAI bot is if the person MANUALLY copies your image/text into a place where the bot CAN run

meaning nothing has changed AT ALL and this is NO DIFFERENT from feeding your image or messages into an AI any other way"

and here's how to turn off 'use external apps' thanks to glitchypsi on blue sky. it's under server settings > roles > edit role @ everyone > ise external apps

it doesn't take much time to try and fact check something. the amount of times ive seen messages on discord claiming all sorts of wild things to be true when theyre not is countless. and they always spread like wildfire because no one tries to check anything for themselves, someone just goes 'heres a screenshot of a message someone sent in a server im in' to another server and then on it goes.

i have rules in my discord server that no one is to post things like this without getting permission from a mod so we can try and fact check it, but you guys should do that yourself first. and i really didn't want to see an ask about this either.

discord lets you have the option to edit images with 'apps'. theyve had this ages. yes it sucks that some of them are ai. no i dont think they should be allowed. but it's like ai filters existing on tiktok, like tiktok didn't make them. do i think that is an excuse? no. i think generate ai apps shouldn't exist on discord. however, it is factually incorrect to say that it is something discord made or 'partnered' with, and incorrect and fearmongering to say it's in ever server (which in a technical sense like.. you can *access* it in every server, but in the same way you can access the youtube activity in every server, it doesnt mean youtube has now read all your messages).

yes that ^ is a screenshot from my discord. no domo is not in my discord. "but its there in the screenshot" its giving you suggestions of apps they have and if you want to use them. if you click on it to use it thats your fault. no, i dont think they should be there at all i think they should be banned. but again, it's like tiktok recommending you a filter, it's not some malware that's hacked into your phone or a bot thats invited itself to your discord. apps dont join your discord server like users or bots, theyre just.. there, the same way that every discord server has access to the youtube or gartic phone activities.

stop spreading misinformation. stop fearmongering. all it took to find discussions on it was searching for it on bluesky. and also the fact that.. i use discord and know the difference between a discord app and discord bot. it literally says 'apps' in the screenshot. people crying that banning it doesnt work.. yeah... cos its not a bot.. its an app.. that people can choose to use.. so just.. dont choose to use it (and yes it would be better if discord banned it) but its not a bot that discord has placed in every server idk im repeating myself now i feel like im going crazy with how many people are believing discord forced an unbannable bot into your servers when it did. not. do. that. and if you dont want anyone else in your server to be able to do it then turn off the external apps permission in your server.

[shadow-riley]

Pt. 2 FIREWORKS {Simon Riley x f!reader}

written by yours truly<3

f!reader simon riley NSFW

pt.1 link:

https://www.tumblr.com/shadow-riley/758575937815232512/fireworks-simon-riley-x-reader?source=share

tw: mention of b!ting, rough, mention of bru!sing (no abuse), m@rking, overstim, unprotected p in v, pr@ise, rope bunny (user)

Simon felt shock waves through his body at the sound of your whimper. He broke the kiss for a moment, before he started to place kisses on your jawline, his lips moving from your jaw down to your neck.

"Si..." you breath, your hands finding his hair, the other on the back of his neck.

He lets out a sound that was almost a mix between a sigh and a growl, his lips continue to move down your neck and onto your collarbone.

His large hands move from your hips to your waist, holding you flush up against his body, the heat between the two of you was burning.

Simon lets out a sound deep from his throat that was definitely more of a growl as your hips buck up into him.

His hands grip your hips harder, not enough to hurt you, holding you in place pressed against him.

His head was buried in your neck as his lips kissed down to the collarbone of your shirt, he bit down on the flesh for a moment, leaving a hickey.

He lifted his head back up to look at you, his eyes were almost feral as he looked at the mark he left on your neck. His hands continued to hold your hips firmly in place, pressing you up against his body.

"good. I love marking what's mine" his voice is deep and husky.

"You like that...?" he mumbled, his voice was deep, and you could hear to possessive side of him coming out as he looked at the mark, with eyes that almost dared someone to touch you now.

you nod. "Yes", you whimper.

He hummed again, as his grip on your hips tightened a little even more.

He looked at the mark, his eyes scanned over the spot his lips had been on moments ago.

"Good…" he mumbled, his eyes glanced down to your lips for a moment, thinking about kissing them again.

"that was more than just a midnight kiss…" you're voice sounded more unsure than you had intended.

He chuckled, his hands continued to hold you against his body, the possessive side of him wasn't going to let you go anytime soon.

"Did you want just a midnight kiss… or did you want me… " he mumbled, there was some uncertainty in his voice, he needed to know if you just wanted to fool around or if you wanted him…

"what do you want?"

He hummed, his hands held your hips in a tight grasp, not letting you go.

"I want you…and only you…not just for tonight…I want you…" he mumbled, he was completely open about how he felt for you. His heart was on the line.

Your hands found his as you rested them ontop of his. "not just tonight, hm?"

He continued to hold you tightly against his body, his hands on your hips didn't loosen their grip, he needed you closer to him, he wanted you closer.

"Not Just tonight… I want you for as long as I can have you…" he mumbled in his deep whisper-like voice. His heart was laid out for you plain and simple, his vulnerability clear to you.

you place your hands on either side of his face, cupping his head in your hands. "then i'm all yours"

Those words hit him deeper than you could ever know. He needed to hear you say that, and here he was, with you in his arms.

A small gasp left his lips as you cupped his face in your hands. His voice is almost breathless as he speaks again, his eyes look into yours, trying to see if you really meant what you said.

"Are you all mine…?" he whispered.

Your thumbs rub his cheek gently and your expression softens, your voice gentle and reassuring.

"I'm yours for as long as you want me, Simon..."

A shiver went down his spine as you spoke.

Your thumbs rubbing his cheeks was almost calming to him, he was completely different with you, not the hard ass he had to be outside.

He leaned into your hands as you held his face, he held your hips even tighter, pressing you up against him like he was never going to let you go.

"Promise me you're mine…" he mumbled.

"i promise, sweet boy..."

Those words did something to him, something deep within him…the possessive side of him.

Hearing you refer to him as sweet boy and promise him that you were his, it stirred something inside of him.

He continued to hold you against him, pressing your bodies together.

"Sweet boy?…" he mumbled under his breath.

"yea… you can be sweet under your facade" you tease.

A huff of air escaped his lips as you called him sweet.

No one had ever called him sweet, but when it came out of your mouth…he actually liked it.

He took a breath in, your smell overwhelmed his senses, gun powder, sweat, and something else that was just you.

you place your lips against his neck, sending a shiver through his body.

is grip on your hips got even tighter as you did that, pulling you even closer to him, if that was possible.

"That's... that's a sensitive sport..." he mumbled, letting out a soft hum as you continued.

"is it?" you tease, nipping on that particular spot.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as you nipped on the sensitive spot on his neck. And as you continued, it became clear that it was very sensitive.

His grip on your hips tightened even more, as he held back the reaction he felt wanting to come forward.

You hum approvingly at the sound he makes and drag your tongue across his neck on the sensitive area.

Another shiver went down his spine, this time the reaction he held back was more than a shiver as another sound escaped his lips, almost like a stifled moan.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to keep his composure, but the things you were doing to his neck were unraveling him.

The sound he made unleashed something feral in you as you grip his shirt tightly and work your mouth on his neck with renewed desire.

It was getting harder for him to hold back, and as you worked your mouth on his neck again, he let out another stifled moan.

His blue eyes watched you as you continued, his hips started to push up against yours more.

You remove your head from his neck as you feel the pressure of his hips against yours, a sound escaping the back of you throat.

As you removed your head from his neck, he looked down at you, his grip on your hips was still tight, but he started to push his hips up against yours more and more.

He could faintly hear the sound that escaped your mouth, and it stirred something in him, he wanted to hear more. He need to hear more of you.

A soft moan sounds in your lips. "Simon.."

The sound of you saying his name sent a shiver down his spine, and each time you said his name, it seemed to only ignite his possessive side more.

He didn't say anything in return, his only response a grunt as he just pushed his hips up against yours again, wanting to hear more sounds from you.

You moan this time, pressing yourself into him aswell.

His blue eyes never left yours as you pushed your hips back into his, and when you moaned, his lips parted slightly.

He wanted to hear more sounds, the ones you were giving him were sending shocks through his body.

He pushed his hips again, this time even more than the last.

"fuck" you curse under your breath.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as you said that, he was far used to your cursing.

He looked down at you, his eyes looked over your face before he pushed his hips against yours again, pulling you flush against him.

"Yeah? Like that…?" he mumbled under his breath.

He hummed at your response, watching your face as he continued to push his hips up against yours, the sound of his voice was getting more strained the longer he continued.

You whimper, feeling the friction and pressure against your bullied clit.

"You keep making sounds like that…. and I won't stop…" he mumbled, his voice sounded huskier than normal as the possessive side took over.

"I need more" you pleaded, half expecting him to make you beg.

He could hear the desperate edge in your voice, and when you said you need more, he loved it. The possessive side of him was going crazy as he gripped your hips even tighter, keeping you flushed against him.

A shudder went down his spine as you said that, and he started to grind up against you, pushing himself up against the sweet spot of your sex.

The sound of your gasp made his eyes go a little darker in color, in an almost feral way. The possessive side of him was really coming out now.

Another, huskier chuckle left his lips as he continued to grind up against you, listening closely to the sounds you were making.

"You like that baby…?" he mumbled

The pet name only added to the hot, almost dizzying pleasure. "yes, just like that"

He hummed again, hearing you tell him you liked what he was doing to you only made him want to do it more, more and more.

He started to grind against you even more, each time his hips pushed up against you, a sound fell out of his lips.

The sounds of his whimpers made you feral. You begin taking your top off.

Simon's eyes widened as you took your shirt off, he looked down at your body, the possessiveness coming out in him even more than before.

He looked at you, his eyes going up and down your body, taking in every curve and imperfection, he wanted to memorize all of them.

"You're mine…" he mumbled, his hands gripped your hips so tight you were gonna have indents from his fingers tomorrow, but you loved being marked by him.

His eyes watched yours as his hands moved to the back of your bra, uncliping it in a quick, practiced motion.

He pulled it off of you, and once he did, he looked up at your face, his eyes darker than normal, his possessive side coming out.

He took in the sight of you and almost growled.

"God you're beautiful…" he mumbled in a low, gruff voice.

His hands moved to the sides of your waist, feeling the skin under his hands.

He ran his thumbs across your skin, he loved the feeling of touching you, the way your skin felt against his hands, it was like ecstasy.

He continued to look at you, his expression was that of complete possession as he spoke again.

"No one else can see you like this… no one else can touch you like this… you're mine…" he mumbled.

"I'm yours"

The way you affirmed that you were his sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, and it only confirmed for him that he was never letting you go.

His large hands moved from your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer to him, there was almost no space between the two of you.

He looked down at you and spoke again, his voice was gruff and low.

"I'm never letting you go. You're mine, and mine only…" he said possessively.

"okay, darling" you respond.

His eyes moved down to your pants as he hooked his finger into the waist band, he tugged it gently, like he was silently asking, are you gonna take these off too?

He looked up at your face again, his eyes dark once more, the possessive side of him still clear as he spoke again, his voice like a rough whisper.

"Take them off…" he said almost like a command.

"do it yourself" you say almost challenging him.

A small huff escaped his lips as you said that, challenging him. He loved it.

He took the challenge and pulled your pants down himself, his face was calm, but his eyes were dark with lust.

He pulled them down, taking in the sight of you as he did.

"Lift your hips for me…" he said, his voice a rough command.

Your hands find his shoulders for stability as you do what he asks.

His eyes went over the newly exposed expanse of skin as you lifted your legs, his large hands held you still as he drank in the sight of you.

He looked at you for a moment, taking in the way you looked, it was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen in his life. But he wasn't done yet.

He looked at you again, this time his voice was a little less rough as he spoke again.

"Turn around…" he ordered.

You we're a bit surpised but obeyed. "yes, sir" you voice was teasing.

The sight of you obeying him, the fact that you turned around when he told you to, it was so damn hot to him.

He looked over the back of your body, his eyes taking in all the details, he loved it. He was about to get more than his eyes on you though.

"Keep your hands against the wall for me…" he ordered, his voice getting rough again.

A shiver runs down your spine as you place your hands on the wall

Seeing the shiver go down your spine from his command made him feel good. He could see how excited you were from this, how much you were enjoying it.

He continued to look at the back of you, his eyes taking in every detail, but he was also impatient.

"You gonna keep your hands on the wall, princess…?" he asked, there was a hint of a growl in his voice.

Seeing you nod and keep your hands against the wall made a hum of approval come from his lips.

He gently pressed his lips against your shoulder, silently asking for your permission before he continued, he was a gentleman that way, even if he was acting so possessive.

"You're good, baby" you consent.

After you agreed, he began to press soft kisses against your shoulder, each kiss getting just a little bit closer to your neck, each kiss more possessive than the last.

After he found that sensitive spot on your neck , he started to focus on it, leaving a few hard kisses and even lightly biting that spot. He could hear the sounds you were making, and it was music to his ears.

He was clearly trying to leave marks of his ownership on your neck. As he did so he unbuckled his belt.

Once he got his belt unbuckled, he moved his hands to the front of your body, his hands slowly moving down. Your body pressed back into his, impatient and needy.

Simon kept a hand on your hip while the other gently rubbed circles on your clit, sending a shiver through your entire body.

Your moans only made him work harder.

"You like that, huh?" his voice is deep and possessive.

He hums approvingly at your nod. "good girl"

He gave himself a few pumps before sliding against your sex painfully slow.

"c'mon, Si..." you plea, silently begging him to take you.

He could hear the silent plea in your whining, and it made something in his brain short circuit. Your silent begging was the last straw for him.

"I got you, princess, I got you…" he mumbled against your skin.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you away from the wall, turning you around to face him as he spoke in a low, rough voice again.

"Wrap your legs around me…" he ordered.

Feeling you wrap your legs around his waist sent a wave of pleasure through his body. The feeling of your legs around him and your body pressed against him was a delicious feeling to him.

He grabbed both of your wrists with his large hand, holding them above your head in a near vice-like grip.

His blue eyes looked down at you, his expression was almost feral.

"You ready, princess…?" he repeated, the possessive tone in his voice stronger than ever.

you nod eagerly.

He chuckled when you nodded eagerly, the sight of you so wanting and needy for him was almost too much for him.

He moved one of his hands to the back of your thigh, his grip on your wrists never loosening.

"You know i love you, right baby?" he mumbled, his tone taking an even more rough edge to it.

"yes, Si" you breath.

"good. because im going to fuck you like i don't, 'kay darlin'?" he growls.

"good..." you smirk.

A small sound of approval escaped his lips as he heard your response. You knew what you were getting into, and he loved that.

He lifted you a bit higher, positioning your body a bit more centered against his hips, his blue eyes looking down at you with an almost feral look.

"Good. No whining, baby…keep it down for me" he mumbled, getting ready for what he was about to do to you.

He looked down at you again, his eyes watching your face, waiting for any sign that you were uncomfortable.

When he was sure you were comfortable, he adjusted his grip on your waist, then slowly, he started to push you down, pushing his hips up against you at the same time.

He continued to keep a hold of your wrists above your head, not letting you move them.

You whimpered at first entrance.

He gave you almost no time to adjust as he began to thrust inside of you viciously, bullying your cervix.

As your eyes rolled back, a low growl escaped his lips, he loved seeing you look like this, so completely at his mercy.

He continued to move his hips up and down, holding your waist and wrists tightly as he did.

“God, you’re so good for me…my good girl…..” he mumbled, his breath short as he continued to move his hips at an ungodly pace.

"you can take it, baby...good girl....fuck you're taking me so good" his voice was husky and strained

"my perfect girl"

You reach your hand down.

"move your hand. now" his voice was dark and rough, demanding and possessive.

"what is it mamas, don't make me tie you to the fucking headboard."

You whimper and squirm

"you want that, darlin'?"

He ties your wrists to the headboard and begins to rub your clit mercilessly.

A moan escaped your lips

"didn't i say keep it down?" He placed his free hand over your mouth "be a good girl, shut the fuck up".

You become a trembling mess beneath him.

"fuck you're so cute when you're a mess for me..."

The pleasure becomes overwhelming as your back arches and your body trembles. A cry escapes your lips.

Simon grins at the overstimulation. "what it baby, use your words"

"shh...you're being so good....we're almost gone, be a good girl"

He plants his mouth over yours, drowning out your moans, the sound driving him crazy.

"you can take it"

You both tremble as you ride out your orgasm at the sime time, Simon pulling out in time.

He collapsed next to you, a hand around your waist. "such a good girl for me" He praises as he unties your wrists, kissing them.

"You okay, luv?" he pants

You nod your head, catching your breath as well.

The fireworks and loud cheering had died down, the only sound being the your guys's labored pants and the crickets outside, accompanied by the occasional boom of a firework in the distance.

Simon holds you close to him, littering your skin with gentle, caring kisses. His eyes lock onto yours. "i love you, YN"

You look at him with meaningful eyes. "i love you, Si."

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Shadows Entwined: part 9

BatmanVsTmnt!Leonardo x sidekick!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 / Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Bonus (18+)

---------------

A/N: I just passed my exam and finished yet another part of Shadows Entwined!🤩💙 It’s not super long this time. Due to my exam I decided to cut it a little short this time around, but I hope it’s still enjoyable😘💙

---------------

Warnings: None💙

The reader and the turtles are 19.

---------------

That day, all up on till the sun disappeared below the horizon, was relatively uneventful. While the sun stood in the sky, the turtles slept away in their rooms, while you, Damian and Barbara stayed in the Batcave with Alfred, keeping an eye on Bruce, and working away, trying to figure out where Ra’s al Ghul and Shredder was hiding out, and the much more pressing question; what were they working on? Why were the two villains working together?

You, Barbara and Damian had all decided to stay in costume, just in case any of the four terrapins would wake up. But as you pulled on your mask in your room, you couldn’t help but feel a rush in your stomach at the thought of the night before. What Leo had said about your face made you smile like crazy, and the thought of how close you had been to… how close you had been to kiss Leo made you gitty. Of course you couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if you had kissed, finding yourself daydreaming on your way down to the Batcave with a small skip in your step, thinking of how Leo’s lips would have felt against yours.

But then the sobering reality hit you as soon as you entered the Batcave, the sight of your still unconscious father reminding you of all the other things that happened the night before. The towering gothic halls of Arkham. How terrified you had been while Leo had been under the influence of the Crane Gass, unable to do anything as he seemed terrified that you wouldn’t look him in the eyes, even though you had never said such a thing. And how your father, the dark knight, was turned into a mutant bat before your very eyes. Suddenly your little daydream about the almost kiss with Leo wasn’t the only thing on your mind.

It was around dinner time that the turtles woke up. At that point the dark had already fallen over Gotham, the sun being hidden behind a thick layer of dark clouds, the city rarely having more than a few hours of life during the day.

Sitting down next to Leo as you ate, your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the small smile he shot at you, his blue eyes twinkling a little as they searched for yours. It was clear that he also remembered the night before, both the good and the bad parts, seeming a little unsure if he was still in your good grace. But the smile you sent back at him, made him relax with a silent sigh, finally letting him eat without his heart jumping like mad.

After dinner, all of you went straight back to work, looking through any possible leads on where Ra’s and Shredder could be, while Alfred continued his care of Bruce, in the company of a worrisome Robin and a curious yet slightly scared Mikey. And then, lo and behold, Batgirl struck gold, showing you all her findings on the big screen of the computer.

“The Wayne Enterprises’ container ship that was moving the Cloud Seeder to Bludhaven, was hijacked last night”, Batgirl explained, reading up from her findings. “The thieves then smuggled the Cloud Seeder back into Gotham port”.

Raph grumbled with his arms crossed and his teeth clenched. “While we were dealing with those freaks in Arkham”. He was right. Arkham had been nothing but a distraction.

Donatello, who was seated in the chair right in front of the big computer, looked at the screen in thought, a finger tapping on his chin, before he seemed to have a realization, tapping away on the keys.

“With the machinery the Foot has stolen, I think they’re building something that’ll mix the ooze with Joker’s formula, and launch the Joker-ised ooze into the clouds above the city”, he said, pulling up pictures of the machinery for you all to see.

“And when it rains down, it’ll turn everyone in Gotham into a monster mutant like Batman”, Leo said, dreading in his voice. Having fought against mutant Batman was one thing, but a whole city? And not just any city, but your city. Yet another reason for Leo to hate everything the Foot and Shredder stood for.

“Dudes!”, Mikey yelled in eagerness from Batman’s table, causing all of you to turn, fearing the worst. Even Robin jumped from his chair, seemingly ready to fight whatever threat Mikey had seen. But there was no threat. Just Mikey screaming beside Bruce Wayne. “I’m freaking out here!”, he said, placing both hands on his head, as if he was trying to keep his mind from exploding. “Did everyone else know that Batman is Bruce Wayne?!”

The silence that followed, only broken by the smack of Raph’s face palm, spoke for the situation itself. You might not have been the biggest fan of Raph’s way of doing things, but you could not deny how much you related to that smack against his forehead.

“I mean, you knew the Batcave was under Wayne Manor”, Donnie said with a raised brow bone. He knew that his little brother wasn’t the sharpest knife in the draw, but he had never thought that such a revelation would take so long for Mikey to realize.

“I’m just saying it’s a lot to take in”, Mikey said, stretching his face in thought, before he rested his elbows against Bruce, causing Alfred to see red in the corner of his eyes. “Rich and cool! Like leave something for the rest of us guy!” Alfred let out a loud sigh, before he started moving Mikey away from Bruce, causing the orange clad turtle to yell out in protest at the butler. “I’m going, I’m going, okay!”

You looked at Leo with a questionable look, and all he could do was sigh with a small nod. Yes, Mikey was always like that.

“Do we have any idea where Shredder and Ra’s are building this machine?”, you asked, turning back towards Batgirl and Donnie, feeling Leo’s eyes on you, along with the small tug at the corner of his mouth. Apparently you were asking the right questions. And much to your luck, that question sparked a thought in Batgirl’s head.

“I don’t know exactly how Joker makes his venom, but I do know where the components would be”, Batgirl said, leaning over Donnie in order to press on the computer keys. His small flustered expression made you choke down a chuckle. Oh, how you were going to press Batgirl with your knowledge. Even Leo seemed to notice, enhancing small glances with you. Both of you knew something, that much was obvious. Leo poked at Donnie with a small finger, causing the purple clad turtle to scowl at him. “Ace Chemicals”, Batgirl continued, pulling up a picture of the facility. “It’s where the Joker was created, when he fell into a vat of, you know, chemicals. So if they need venom, they’ll be there”.

“But it’s walled off”, Leo pointed out, noting the high walls and barbed wire. “Easy to defend”.

“So what?”, Raph said, sounding frustrated. “If they’re dugg in and ready for a fight, then we bring them a freaking fight”, he continued, slamming his fists together with a dark smile.

“We aren’t doing anything”, a deep voice sounded behind you. You turned in joy, seeing Alfred helping your father up to stand, Robin running to his side in order to help.

“Master Bruce you’re not well”, Alfred said in concern, wishing Bruce would sit down once again.

“I’m as well as I need to be”, Bruce grumbled, taking the drop out of his arm, his gaze turning to the turtles. He stared at them for a moment, before walking to his neatly folded costume on a nearby table. “Batgirl and Robin are coming with me to Ace. (H/N) stays in the manor. The turtles are going home”.

“What?”, Mikey exclaimed in sadness and shock as Bruce pulled on his costume over his head. “C’mon, we know your secret identity now! Our team up have been surmounted!”

“I gave you a change”, Bruce said in a stern voice, turning directly towards the terrapin brothers. “You four are impulsive, and you don’t follow orders”. His eyes narrowing at them. “I want you out of Gotham!”

“Uh, father”, Robin said, his small frame stepping between them. “Look, it pains me to say this, but the turtles saved you in Arkham. They are valiant allies! Even the dumb one! Michelangelo”.

“Hey!”, Mikey exclaimed in a displeased expression. “Not cool!”

“If it wasn’t for them, Joker would have never gotten close enough to inject me in the first place”, Bruce said in a scowl as he closed the clasp on his cape, before pulling the mask up over his head, once again becoming the dark knight of Gotham City, before turning his back to them. “This is not up for discussion”.

Leo felt the burning stair from Batman, telling him to do exactly as he had been told too. To leave Gotham. But Leo’s heart stung at the thought, because leaving Gotham meant not just leaving the city, but leaving you. Leo once again thought back to the visions he had seen under the influence of the Crane Gass. How he had scared you. How you had feared him. He still did not know if these visions had been real, but never did he wish for those visions to be real. He hoped that none of it had been true and just his mind playing tricks on him. But in reality, Leo did not know. He remembered how scared that you had been when you entered Arkham, and how fearful you had been when you walked the halls, and the more Leo thought about it, the more it unsettles him. Maybe Batman was right. Maybe it was best if you stayed in the Wayne Manor where you could be safe while Batman, Robin and Batgirl headed out. And maybe, just maybe it was best if Leo and his brothers left. Leo had scared you once and he did not wish to do it again, even if it was going to hurt him.

“Maybe he’s right”, Leo mumbled, looking down at his feet, not wanting to meet your confused eyes. He could almost hear your heart crack just a little inside your chest, not wanting to believe what you were hearing as he turned towards his brothers. “Following Batman’s lead took us to Arkham and distracted us from Shredder”, he said, not noticing the deepening frown on Raph’s face. We’d be better off on your own”.

“No! No! He ain’t right!”, Raph yelled, pushing back his brothers so he could storm forward. He pushed the leader in blue so hard that he tumbled, only just catching himself before he fell onto you, your eyes meeting once again, sending shock waves through the two of you. Leo felt his mouth dry out as he stared into your eyes, knowing full well that they would be the hardest thing for him to leave behind. The hurt in your eyes and the way his heart was aching, making him freeze in place, unsure of what to do or say. Leo did not want to go. He did not want to leave you. Could he just stand there and look at you forever he would, but sadly, your father did want it to be like that.

“Look, Batman”, Raph said, making his way to your father, who was busy assembling his beloved utility belt. “I get it! The whole brooding loner thing, sitting on top of roof tops, mumbling about how you’re the only one that can stand up to evil in your own city. That’s my whole deal! I love that stuff! And I totally agree that my brothers are annoying, unbearably so sometimes”.

“Uhm”, Leo said, finally realizing that Raph had been talking the whole time the two of you had been locked in each other’s eyes. “Where are you going with this?”

“Teh!”, Raph said annoyed, turning back to Batman. “That’s why. When things get though, I don’t even bother with them. I go off on my own and do things my way!”

“He does do that”, Donnie said, Mikey agreeing with a sounding nod.

“Still doesn’t explain where he’s going”, you whispered, making Leo hum in agreement.

“Yeah, but here’s the thing”, Raph continued. “Every single time, I just get into more trouble and my brothers have to bail me out”.

"It's true!”, Mikey chimed in. “Every time”.

“Sure we make mistakes. Sure we make the wrong moves”, Raph went on, ignoring his little brother. “But we can’t get better-”. Raph grabbed onto Batman’s arm in order to turn him around to face him, making you, Batgirl, Robin and Alfred gasp in surprise. No one just grabbed onto Batman nor Bruce Wayne like that. That was just not how it worked. “-If you don’t trust us”. The turtles, seeming to understand the severity of Raph’s actions, watched with wide eyes. Donnie even covered his mouth, Leo’s eyes going wide and Mikey gasping out loud. Batman said nothing but just narrowed his eyes at the square jawed mutant, almost daring him to continue. “We’re a family, and learning from your mistakes together, is how a family works”.

“This is not a family”, Batman rumbled, bumping his shoulder against Raph’s as he walked past him. “It’s a team”.

“Ain’t that the same thing?”

That comment made Batman halt in his actions. It was as if those words had touched a nerve deep within him. Batman said nothing but stared forward, his thoughts running wild in his head. Raph’s words echoing in his head as he looked to Alfred, Robin, you and Batgirl and then to the turtles, only to notice how close all of you were standing. And how you and Leo seemed to seek each other out in the small crowd. Just like he had noticed the two of you do in Arkham. And on the roof. Even during your first meeting and fight together.

“You’re right”, he finally said, making you all stare at him in disbelief. You felt your palm begin to sweat as Batman made his way towards Leo, determination in his eyes. “Let’s stop Ra’s and Shredder”, he said, before extending a hand to the leader of the turtles. “Together”.

Leo looked at Batman’s hand, extending his own hand in order to shake it, when suddenly…

“Awesome! Dips on the Batmobile!”, Mikey yelled, jumping over the head of a growling Raph, skipping right by you in a rush and right through Leo and Batman’s handshake.

“Uh, we have our own ride”, Leo said after Mikey, not sure if his forgetful lille brother actually was able to remember it.

“You do?”, Batgirl asked Donnie in confusion, causing Donnie to beam with innocent pride, thinking of the van he had tuned up.

“Yeah, we didn’t walk here from New York”, Donnie smiled, secretly hoping that Batgirl would ask about the van.

“Don’t care!”, Mikey yelled, already inside Batman’s car, fastening his seatbelt. “Called the Batmobile!”

Batman looked from Mikey to Leo, his eyes lingering at him for a moment before giving him a small nod. It was time to find Shredder and Ra’s.

[brownsugarcoffy]

The Hallelujah Heat (2)

Summary

In a small Mississippi Delta town steeped in scripture, reputation, and whispers, Ise Bakersfield has always walked the righteous path as the preacher’s only daughter. Pressed skirts, quiet Sundays, and eyes that cast down low. However, something or rather someone has come to stir the fire within her.

Stack "Elias" Moore is Magnolia Lane’s smooth-talking neighborhood bad boy. It all starts with lingering glances on her porch and soon becomes a heat that haunts her thoughts. What begins as innocent avoidance quickly turns to dangerous curiosity. Their worlds aren’t meant to touch, but temptation knows no bounds... and Ise is about to find out what happens when desire dares to cross the line.

Characters: Ise Bakersfield (OC) x Stack " Elias" Moore

Warning: Vulgar Language, Sexual content, Mention of M*sturbation, Angst, Slow Burn & More..

Chapters: PART(1), PART(3)

NOT EDITED

The front door creaked as Ise slipped into the house, the scent of rain-soaked wood and old hymnals greeting her like a memory she hadn’t asked for. Her shoes squelched softly against the floorboards, soaked from the mud path leading home. Her fingers clutched at the edges of the heavy denim shirt draped over her shoulders—Stack’s shirt—the fabric still radiating his body warmth, or maybe it was her imagination, still humming from his touch.

The house was quiet, dim, the only light a soft golden glow seeping down the stairwell from her parents’ bedroom.

Then her mother’s voice rang out sharp and clear, slicing through the hush. “Ise? That you?”

Her whole body went still.

“Yes, ma’am,” she managed, her voice small, barely covering the wild thump of her heart.

Her mother was upstairs, probably in her brother's bedroom her parents. It's where she did most of her sewing now that Leroy was no longer here. Ise could hear the familiar metallic clink of scissors against the desk, the soft brush of fabric being pinned into place.

“You got caught in that rain, didn’t you?” her mother called again, not stepping out. “Make sure you dry yourself off quick, so you don’t get sick. Then bring me the buttons and that fabric you got from the shop.”

“Okay,” Ise answered, forcing her feet to move. Her eyes darted nervously up the stairwell. One more second, and her mother might appear at the top with sharp eyes catching Stack’s shirt before Ise could hide the evidence of where she’d really been.

She fled down the hall, clutching the shirt tighter around her, the soft scent of him clinging to her like smoke.

Once in her room, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, breathing hard. The rain had darkened her curls into spirals, now clinging to her cheeks and neck. Her dress stuck to her skin, cold and damp.

And yet—she was still burning inside.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the denim shirt, bringing it closer to her face. Faint traces of cologne, tobacco, and something earthy rose from the fabric, flooding her senses. It was wrong. All of it was wrong. But she couldn’t help how she shivered, not from the chill, but from the memory.

Dear Lord… that kiss.

His mouth had tasted like honey and heat and defiance. The way he’d cupped her face like he was afraid to break her. The look in his eyes was dark, intense, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered..

Then came the voices.

Two strangers passing by, cutting through the trees near the shack. Their laughter loud, unbothered. Her breath had caught mid-kiss, as she had frozen. She pressed a finger over her mouth gently, silently, like a secret protector. They stood there, unmoving, hearts pounding against each other like drums.

If those men had come any closer…

Her father’s voice echoed in her ears, a phantom carried on guilt and memory.

“The world don’t offer mercy to preacher’s daughters who slip.”

That’s what she’d grown up hearing.

Be obedient. Be pure. Be proper.

Be someone worth marrying.

Be silent.

However, tonight she hadn’t been silent. She’d kissed Stack like her soul had been starving for it.

Tears burned behind her eyes as she peeled off the denim shirt, her hands trembling. She looked around her room frantically. Where could she hide it? The closet? Too risky. The hamper? Not safe. Her mother always checked the laundry.

Under the mattress.

She quickly folded the shirt, careful with the sleeves, and tucked it beneath the edge of her bed, smoothing the fabric down like pressing a secret into the earth. She let the mattress fall with a soft thud and stepped back, breathing hard, watching it like it might still give her away.

But the room was still.

She sank down to the floor, pressing her back to the wall, knees drawn tight to her chest. Her soaked dress clung to her skin like guilt, and the cool air raised goosebumps on her arms. She couldn’t tell if the shivers were from the cold or the chaos inside her.

What am I doing?

She felt like she was splitting into two girls.

The girl her daddy preached about. Who wore her skirts long, her voice soft, her head bowed. The girl meant to find a godly man and host the women’s prayer meetings. The good daughter. The example.

And then there was this girl.

The one who kissed a boy in the rain. The one who let her heart break rules. The one who wanted.

She rested her head on her knees, trying to quiet the storm inside her. Her fingers tingled. Her lips still buzzed. She wanted to forget, and yet she wanted to replay it a thousand times.

And the worst part?

She didn’t regret a damn second of it.

The comforting clink of silverware on ceramic filled the small kitchen, mingling with the scent of stewed okra, black-eyed peas, and cornbread warm from the oven. Ise sat quietly across from her father, who’d just come home from work, his face still tired but alert in the way that meant he had things to say. Her mother moved about the kitchen, wiping down the counter, then finally sitting down to her own plate.

The rain had dried up outside, but the storm still clung to Ise in other ways. She wore a clean cotton dress, her damp curls pulled back into a loose braid. Stack’s shirt was long hidden under her mattress upstairs, but her skin still buzzed with the memory of it on her back, the scent of him lingering in her senses like a warning.

Her father cleared his throat, folding his napkin with the kind of precision that said this ain't small talk.

“I heard from an old friend today,” he began, reaching for his glass of water. “Willie Robinson. Used to preach out in Memphis before his stroke. Said his boy’s lookin’ for work—said he’s been havin’ a rough go of it lately. Can’t find nothing steady, so Willie asked if I could help.”

Her mother glanced up, interested now. “That boy must be grown by now. Last time I saw him, he was no taller than my knee, runnin’ around in johns.”

Her father nodded, swallowing a spoonful of peas before continuing, “Name’s John. He’s about your age, Ise. Maybe a year older.”

Ise looked up at that. Just for a second.

“Anyway,” her father went on, “I told Willie I’d help. The church always needs a hand—roof’s still leakin’, back steps need repairin’, and Lord knows the garden could use another pair of strong arms.”

“That’s good,” her mother said. “Be nice to have another young man helpin’ out.”

Ise felt a shift in the air before her father even said the next part. He leaned slightly forward, speaking in that calm, persuasive tone he used when delivering a sermon.

“I also told him you could help John get settled in,” he said, locking eyes with Ise now. “Show him ‘round the church, help him get familiar with the work. You’re already up there most days anyway.”

There was a pause. The only sound was the soft scrape of Ise’s fork against her plate.

He kept going. “He’ll be stayin’ behind the church. That old shed still standing strong—it’s got space enough. Tomorrow, I’ll move the cot and some blankets out there so he’s comfortable.”

Ise’s stomach churned. She forced her voice to stay steady. “You already said yes to all that?”

“I did,” her father replied, not unkindly. “Willie’s a good man, and his boy needs help. We’re called to do what we can.”

Ise’s hands tightened in her lap. Of course we are. And yet, it stung that he hadn’t asked her first. Like her time wasn’t hers to begin with.

“Yes sir,” she said quietly, eyes on her peas. She didn’t trust herself to say more.

Her mother seemed to sense the shift. “Ise, you’ll be alright. It’s just showin’ someone the ropes. Helpin’ a man find his feet. You’ve always been good at that.”

But it wasn’t about being good at it.

It was about the way her father said "he’s about your age" like that meant something. About the way everyone in the church whispered over potlucks and peach cobbler about who the preacher’s daughter might marry one day. About the fact that this wasn’t the first time he tried to steer her.

Does he think if he picks right, I won’t fall the wrong way?

She glanced up again, her father already moving on, discussing the shed repairs and who could help bring the tools over. Her mother nodded, already mentally organizing what supplies they’d need.

Ise stayed quiet. Her mind was already elsewhere. From Stack kiss, to the denim shirt under her mattress and now John. A stranger who was now a part of her father's plan.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Three days later..

Three days of focused work, quiet meals, and long hours under the Southern sun. Ise had kept herself busy helping her father clean out the old church shed, sweeping dust off the floorboards, washing the windows with vinegar and newspaper, and laying down clean sheets for the cot they’d placed in the corner. Her daddy was determined to make the space decent for John’s arrival, and Ise... well, Ise welcomed the distraction.

She hadn’t been on the porch in days. Not during the golden hour when Stack was usually leaning on the banister couple houses down, not during the warm breeze of late evenings when the fireflies glowed and the neighborhood porch lights came on. She kept her head down and her hands moving, and part of her thought that was a good thing.

Kissing Stack on that day in that shack, with the storm outside pounding against the roof had been dangerous. Too dangerous.

That kiss lingered like honey on her lips. It wasn't just the thrill or the way his mouth felt against hers; it was the way her body responded, like she'd been waiting on that moment for years. But they had nearly been caught. The voices of those two strangers passing outside had scared her stiff. That fear still hadn’t left her chest. The heat of it, the shame of what could’ve happened, or worse.. who could’ve found out.

She’d promised herself to let it go. He wasn’t good for her. She wasn’t good for him. She had too much to lose.

Today was John's arrival.

The family had gotten dressed early. Her mother wore her best green hat despite the sun, and her father had shaved clean for the first time in two weeks. Ise wore a light cotton dress, pale yellow and modest, her curls tucked under a scarf. She sat quiet in the backseat of the car as they made their way to the station.

When they arrived, the platform was buzzing with passengers and families hugging goodbyes or waiting with flowers. The train hadn’t come yet.

Her father looked at his pocket watch, frowning. “Running late,” he muttered.

“Like always,” her mother added, adjusting her purse. “These trains never on time in the summer.”

Ise nodded quietly, trying not to let her thoughts drift too far, but that when Ise heard it. The sharp, melodic cry of a harmonica farther down the platform. She turned her head slightly.

“Step right up, step right up — this Friday at Lil’ Water’s Juke! Come get your groove on!”

Her stomach dropped. That voice. She knew that voice.

Her eyes darted over her shoulder, and there he was — Stack — standing next to an older man blowing the harmonica like the Devil himself was paying him in whiskey. Stack's voice rang out bold, smooth, magnetic, pulling eyes and ears from every direction.

He was dressed in a dark pinstripe three piece suit. He was wearing that same cocky, crooked grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath. And then his eyes found hers.

A slow, devilish grin stretched across his lips like he knew all her secrets.

Ise snapped her head forward, heart pounding like thunder in her chest.

“You okay, baby? You’re sweatin’ somethin’ fierce. Hope you not comin’ down with fever,” her mother said, worry in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Ise answered too quickly, then softened her voice. “It’s just the heat. I—I’m gonna splash some water on my face in the bathroom.”

Her father nodded. “Go ahead. Just don’t be long.The train could pull up any minute.”

Ise nodded and hurried toward the bathroom, refusing to glance in Stack’s direction, but she felt his eyes on her back. She moved quickly, slipping past clusters of waiting passengers and old folks fanning themselves.

Stacks watched her disappear toward the bathroom. He finished his pitch, gave the harmonica player a quick pat on the shoulder, and walked casually, slowly, in the same direction. He was careful not to draw too much attention. He leaned casually against the wall near the ladies bathroom, hands in his pockets.

When Ise stepped out moments later, her skin was cool, but her nerves were still on fire. Before she could make it more than a step or two, a strong arm reached out and gently pulled her to the side behind the old brick column where the shadows swallowed them.

“Boy—!” she hissed.

“You missed me?” Stack whispered, eyes gleaming.

“What’re you doin’?! You crazy?”

“Maybe.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “You been hidin’ these last few days. I thought I did somethin’ wrong.”

“You didn’t,” she said too fast. “I just been busy helpin’ my daddy.”

“You been avoidin’ me.”

Her jaw clenched. “No. I've been busy.”

“You really gon’ act like that kiss didn’t happen?” Stack asked, folding his arms across his chest. His grin was lazy and teasing, like he already knew her answer.

Ise stiffened, hands pressed behind her to the brick, her chest still rising and falling fast. “What kiss?” she said coolly, arching a brow. “You mean that little slip-up in the shack? That was nothin’. Just a moment. Nerves, maybe. Heat of the storm.”

He stepped in slightly, tilting his head. “Funny. Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me. Felt like a whole lotta somethin’.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms to mirror him, though her posture was tight, like she was holding herself in place. “You got a big imagination.”

“ I am your imagination.”

“You're so full of yourself,” she said, trying to push past him, but he blocked her gently, his arm a cage, his presence intoxicating.

“You ever kiss someone and taste somethin’ so good you gotta take a second to catch your breath?” he asked, his voice a whisper now. “That was you.”

Ise’s throat dried. “Stop—someone could see—my parents—”

“I know,” he said softly. “You care what they think. But me? I ain’t never gave a damn ‘bout what folks say. Still…”

He brushed a knuckle along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine.

“…I’m mindful. I know you got somethin’ to lose.”

Her breath hitched.

Then he leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing hers but not quite.

“You taste so damn good,” he murmured. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout it since the shack. How you melt against me. How your lips trembled on mine.”

“Stop talkin’ like that,” she said, breathless, shaking her head.

“Why?” he teased. “You scared? Or you scared you want me to say it again?”

“Shut up, Stack.”

“Make me.”

Their eyes locked. Heat pulsed between them.

“Are you done?!”

“Nah,” he smirked, inching closer again. “I ain’t done. “Cause now all I've been thinkin’ ‘bout is when I’m gon’ taste you again. Real slow this time.”

Her eyes darted around, panic and heat battling inside her. “My mama’s just feet away,” she hissed. “If she sees us—if she hears—”

“I get that.” He softened just a touch, like a flame dropping low but still burning. “ But don’t act like this don’t got you twisted up.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, his lips close enough to stir the curls at her temple. “Don’t act like your thighs didn’t tighten around me. Don’t act like you ain’t still feelin’ it every time you blink.”

Her breathing quickened. Her body betrayed her. Not just by remembering the kiss, but by aching for another.

“You ran last time,” he said, low and deep. “But you ain’t gonna run forever. When you ready…”

He leaned down, brushing his lips near the curve of her neck, not touching, just close enough to make her pulse jump.

“…you’ll come to me.”

Then he stepped back. Just like that. Cool as anything. Ise stood frozen, chest heaving, her blood a riot in her veins. She glanced toward the platform. Her mama was already looking around.

“I gotta go.”

“Go on then,” Stack said, that damn grin still playing on his lips. “But you’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

She turned without another word and rushed back to her parents.

Ise reached her parents just in time for her mother to say, “There you are, baby. You alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ise said, smoothing her dress, trying to breathe normal. “Just needed a minute.”

Her mother gave her a side-eye, but let it go.

A shrill whistle sliced through the humid air. The train.

It rumbled into the station, loud and steady, wheels grinding against iron. Steam hissed from beneath it like a dragon exhaling, the scent of coal and hot metal drifting through the air. Folks gathered their things, children sat up straight, and church fans stopped moving.

Ise watched as the train came to a stop. The conductor stepped down, calling names, calling cities. Businessmen in suits, women in hats and gloves, a soldier in uniform pour out of the door. Then she saw him.

John.

The ride back from the train station was slow and quiet at first. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting an orange tint across the dusty road. Cicadas buzzed from the tall grass, filling the silences between conversation.

Ise sat in the back seat beside John, her hands folded in her lap, her spine stiff against the leather cushion. Her parents were up in the front. Her father drives, while her mother humming faintly to herself.

John shifted beside her, trying not to stare but doing it anyway. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, with skin the color of rich molasses and a face that had both boyish charm and the sharpness of a man who’d seen just enough life to know how to carry himself. His suitcase sat between his boots, and a worn duffel was tucked by his feet.

”Appreciate y’all picking me up. Your father’s been real generous helping me get settled.”

he said, breaking the silence with a light tone,

She gave a short nod, her eyes fixed out the window. “You're welcome.”

He chuckled softly. “Not much of a talker, huh?”

“I talk. Just not when I don’t feel like it.”

That made him smile, but he didn’t push further. “Fair enough.”

They rode on, the gravel popping beneath the tires, the scent of hot earth and summer leaves drifting in through the window cracks. After a few minutes, John tried again.

“Your dad says you’ll be showing me around town, helping me get situated at the church.”

Ise’s lips pressed together. “I guess so.”

He turned slightly, angling his body toward her without leaning too close. “I don’t mean to be a burden. I’ll figure things out pretty quick. I’m good with my hands, and I don’t spook easy.”

“That so?” she said flatly.

He smiled again, this time slower. “That so.”

From the front seat, her father interjected, “John’s roof is gonna need patching and the windows needs fixing. Ise knows the place inside and out, so she’ll show you what’s what.”

John nodded. “Appreciate that, sir.”

Ise’s mother turned slightly in her seat to look back. “You hungry, John? I made supper. We’re eating before Samuel takes you over to the church.”

“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t had a real meal since Memphis.”

Her mother smiled at that. “Well, you gon’ eat good tonight.”

John smiled politely, but his eyes returned to Ise. “You cook too?”

Ise finally turned to look at him, her gaze sharp, unreadable. “I help. When I want to.”

A small pause, and then John gave a low chuckle. “You always this sweet?”

Ise didn’t miss a beat. “Only to people who don’t ask dumb questions.”

That earned a laugh from her father, who slapped the steering wheel lightly. “She get it from her mama.”

John held up both hands, a grin spreading across his face. “Alright then. I’ll tread lightly.”

Ise turned back toward the window, hiding the small, almost unwilling smile that tugged at her lips. He wasn’t like Stack didn’t carry that same wild edge, that reckless spark, but something in John’s calm confidence made her feel like she was being watched with real intention. It unsettled her, but she reminded herself: this was just a favor her father was doing for a friend.

The smell of cornbread, fried chicken, and sweet onions filled the small kitchen, where laughter and clinking silverware echoed off the walls. The table was full—bowls of okra, a platter of hot biscuits, and a pitcher of iced tea sweating through its glass.

John sat with his back straight, shoulders squared as if still riding the train. His “yes, ma’ams” and “thank you, sirs” came easily. He passed dishes, complimented the food, and answered Ise’s father’s questions like he was in church. Ise noticed he didn’t eat like someone trying to impress,he ate like someone who appreciated the meal.

Her father was all smiles. “You know, Ise knows just about every board and nail in that old church,” he said, spooning beans onto his plate. “She’ll be good company while you get to work.”

Ise didn’t look up from her cornbread. “We’ll see.”

John glanced her way with a short smile. “Long as she don’t mind a little dirt and sawdust, we’ll get along fine.”

Her mother chuckled. “Oh, she can get her hands dirty when she wants to.”

“That’s right,” her father added. “She just need the right reason.”

Ise’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Her eyes slid to her father with a look that said: don’t push me.

He just smiled into his greens.

John caught the strange silence and looked between them, confused but polite. “Well, I’m grateful either way. I came here to work. Whatever else happens, happens.”

Ise finally met his eyes, cool but not unkind. “Good mindset to have.”

John nodded once, unsure if that was a compliment or not.

The conversation moved to stories from her father’s youth, talk of town politics, mention of the church’s roof and a leaking pipe. Ise listened quietly, her mind half-present. Across the table, John fit in easily. Too easily.

Her father wanted her to see what he saw: a good man. Hardworking. Respectful. Solid.

But Ise wasn’t looking for “solid.” She wasn’t looking at all.

The last thing she needed was some tidy man from Memphis with good manners rushing to find a young thang to give his last name too. Ise was not trying to be someone's homemaker doll just yet. There was more she wanted to do and see in this world.

After dinner, her mother packed leftovers and her father gave John details about the shed behind the church. Ise decided to slip out onto the porch.

The night air was thick and fragrant with jasmine. Crickets sang from the grass, and far down the road, the faint hum of blues music drifted in from someone’s open window.

She leaned against the railing, arms folded.

She felt him before she heard him.

John.

He came out with two glasses of iced tea and offered her one.

“Figured you might want something cold,” he said.

She accepted it but didn’t say thank you.

They stood in silence a moment before John spoke again.

“Your folks seem like good people.”

“They are.”

“You’re... not exactly what I expected.”

She raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. You’re quiet, but you look like you got a lot going on in that head of yours.”

She sipped her tea. “Better than being loud with nothing going on.”

He laughed under his breath. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t return the smile. “Let me be real clear about something, John. My daddy might be hoping for something between us, but I ain’t.”

John blinked, surprised, then recovered. “I hadn’t thought about that, honestly.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Then she pushed off the rail and walked back inside, leaving John on the porch, watching the stars, his smile fading into something thoughtful.

Later that night.

The house had settled into its nighttime stillness. Her father’s deep voice and mother’s soft laugh had long been swallowed by the hush of sleeping walls. Ise stood in front of her mirror in the low glow of her bedside lamp, her fingers undoing the small buttons on her blouse, slow and distracted. She had smiled through dinner, offered pleasant conversation, even bowed her head during grace. Her mind… her mind had never made it to the table.

It stayed behind.

At the train station.

With him.

Stack.

Her breath caught in her throat just remembering the way he’d pulled her aside with that bold kind of ease that shouldn’t have made her stomach flutter. The bathroom door had barely clicked shut before his fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her into the narrow space between the freight crates and the wall. The scent of him smells like tobacco, musk, and sugar.

Her legs pressed together instinctively.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear with words that haunted her every time she blinked.

“I've been thinkin’ ‘bout is when I’m gon’ taste you again. Real slow this time.”

Ise gripped the edge of her vanity to steady herself as the memory slid through her body like silk over bare skin.

She stepped out of her skirt, let it fall to the floor. Her nightgown waited on the hook behind her door, but she didn’t reach for it yet. Instead, she walked barefoot to her bed, heart fluttering with anticipation, fingers twitching with knowing.

She knelt beside her mattress, lifting it slowly and pulled out the denim overshirt. Her fingers trembled as she brought it to her face, pressing her nose to the collar. God. It still held the heat of him, like the fabric refused to forget his touch. She inhaled deeply, greedy for it, for him. She wrapped it around her shoulders, then slipped beneath the covers.

The weight of the shirt settled over her like a phantom of Stack arms. Her thighs rubbed together under the sheets. Her body ached in that low, pulsing place that made her feel breathless and wanton.

He wasn’t supposed to talk to her like that.

She wasn’t supposed to want it.

But she did.

She wanted the sound of his voice in her ear, rough and slick like molasses. She wanted his fingers skimming the inside of her thighs, wanted to feel the scrape of his stubble against her neck, her chest, her—

Her hand slid slowly down her belly, hesitation curling in her breath, but the desire won.Her fingertips found heat beneath the cotton of her panties. A gasp slipped out.

She closed her eyes and imagined himnstanding over her, shirt undone, tongue wetting his bottom lip, that wicked gleam in his eye that said he knew exactly what she needed.

"Nice and slow. Show me how sweet you can be.."

She moaned softly into the pillow.

Lord help me.

“God, why does he smell so good?” she whispered, voice catching in her throat. “This ain’t right.”

"Bet you moan real pretty when no one’s around, huh?”

“Stop it…” she whispered now to herself, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Stop thinkin’ ‘bout him.”

But she couldn’t stop.

She wanted to hear him say her name again in that cocky, raspy way. She wanted to feel those callused fingers trace the inside of her thighs.

“Fuck…Stack.” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingertips continued to brush where she ached, and her body shivered like a struck match.

“Jesus…”

"Let me show you somethin’ sweet, preacher’s girl."

She whimpered.

She could hear him, feel him, smell him. It was all too much. Her body trembled with want, hips rising slightly, searching for that edge.

“Stack…”

The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Soft, breathy, soaked in lust.

Her climax crept in like a slow wave. Then crashed hard, shaking her from the inside out. She cried out against the pillow, muffled and breathless.

Stillness returned slowly, her body sinking deeper into the mattress, muscles soft and warm. She stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling. Shame hovered at the edges of her high, but it didn’t touch her yet. Not while the ghost of his scent clung to her skin.

Beneath the sheets, Ise whispered to the shadows, “God forgive me...”

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Two days later...

John had settled into the small shed behind the church. It wasn’t much. It had bare walls, a cot, a nightstand with a rusted lamp, but he didn’t complain. He unpacked neatly, kept his boots by the door, and rose early with the sunrise. If he missed Memphis, he didn’t show it. He got right to work, hammer in hand, following Ise’s father around like a respectful shadow.

That morning, as the day began to stretch hot and bright, Ise’s father handed her a folded bill and a short list written in pencil.

“Take this into town,” he said. “Need you to pick up some boards and sealant. Ask for Ruben, he’ll know what we need.”

Ise wiped her hands on her skirt and reached for the keys that dangled from a nail on the wall. She was already imagining herself in the driver’s seat of the pickup truck, wind tangling her braids, sun heating her forearms through the open window.

But her father’s voice cut through that dream.

“John’ll be driving.”

Her hand stopped short of the keys. “What?”

“He knows how to drive a stick. And I want him to get familiar with town anyway.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and forced a smile that barely covered the sharp twist in her gut. “Right.”

John stood near the doorway, wiping his hands with a rag. “Ready when you are.”

She didn’t answer. Just grabbed the list, shoved it in her pocket, and stomped past him out the church door.

By the time they were in the truck and pulling onto the dirt road, she still hadn’t said a word. John glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You always this quiet, or just when I’m around?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not I wanted to be the one driving.”

He laughed, a deep, easy sound that grated on her nerves more than it should’ve. “Didn’t mean to steal your joy.”

“You didn’t steal anything,” she snapped, arms crossed, staring out the window. “Just had a different plan in mind.”

“I get that,” he said, and for once, there wasn’t a smirk in his voice. “But I’ll make it up to you. Next run, you drive.”

She cut him a side-eye. “You don’t need to make anything up to me. We’re not friends.”

John blinked, not offended, but surprised. “Did I say we were?”

She didn’t answer.

They rode in silence for a stretch, the gravel humming beneath the tires. Fields passed on either side, dotted with wildflowers and leaning fences. The air inside the cab was thick with heat and the scent of dust.

“Can I ask you something?” he said finally.

“If I say no, you gonna ask anyway?”

“Probably.”

She sighed. “Then go on.”

“Why do you seem so... mad about me being here?”

That made her turn her head fully, her expression unreadable. “I’m not mad.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just don’t like surprises.”

John’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “Well, I’m not trying to be one.”

She scoffed lightly and looked back out the window.

“I know your daddy’s hoping I’ll be something I ain’t,” John said after a moment. “Some kind of answer to a question I never asked.”

Her eyes flicked back to him.

“But I ain’t here for that,” he added. “I’m just here to work.”

She studied his profile—his strong jaw, the curve of his brow, the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t like Stack. There was no mischief, no fire. Just a steady presence.

She wasn’t sure if that was a relief... or lack of interest .

“I appreciate the honesty,” she said.

He smiled again, this time not cocky but warm. “I figure we’ll get along fine. Long as you stop looking at me like I kicked your dog.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You didn’t kick anything.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

They pulled into town just as the sun reached its highest point. Ise’s mood had lifted only slightly, but she had to admit he wasn’t trying to trap her in anything. At least not yet.

Still, she couldn’t shake the thought of Stack grin at the train station or the promise in his voice when he said she’d come to him when she was ready.

The sun hung low, casting long amber streaks over the town as Stack flicked his cigarette and leaned against the faded brick wall outside the corner store. The day was slow, full of grit and sweat. The Mississippi heat clung to everybody's skin like a second layer. Cornbread and the rest of the crew were sprawled out nearby, talking trash and slapping down dominoes like they had something to prove. Laughter cracked the air like firecrackers. Music buzzed faintly from someone’s open window. It was an ordinary afternoon, just like any other.

Until it wasn’t.

Cornbread paused mid-laugh, his eyes squinting across the street. “Ain’t that Ise?” he said, pointing with his chin. “Who’s that man she with?”

Stack didn’t react at first. He didn’t have to. Someone else chimed in, “Her old man letting her out with a man now? Must be something in the water.”

That’s when Stack looked up and there she was.

Ise. Stepping out of the pickup truck, her green sundress clinging to her waist in the breeze, her thick hair braided into two. Stacks’s eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t show a thing, but inside, something shifted.

She was standing next to a tall man with clean clothes and Sunday manners all over him. He was smiling at her like he was already halfway in love. Talking soft. Close.

Stack didn’t know him.

But he knew what he was looking at.

He drew in a long pull of smoke, held it in his lungs. Ise smiled and laughed at something the man said. It was polite, not flirty, but even that was enough to crack something under his skin.

He exhaled slowly.

“She ain’t yours,” he told himself.

And she wasn’t.

Hell, she couldn’t be. Sweet-faced and well-kept. The kind of girl who sat in the front pew every Sunday and helped her mother bake pies for the church picnic. The kind of girl who wasn’t supposed to let some juke-joint wanderer kiss her with his hand braced beside her hipscand his mouth pressed hot against hers.

But she did.

She tastes forbidden.

She didn’t know he was watching. Ise and the man headed inside the hardware store, talking low, walking side by side. Stack turned his gaze away just as she disappeared behind the door, but his thoughts followed.

He knew he should pull back. She wasn’t for him. Never had been.

Not with her daddy up at that pulpit every Sunday, preaching about sin and temptation like they were the same damn thing. Not with her mama watching like a hawk, praying Ise didn’t end up with some boy who wasn’t cut from holy cloth.

The way she’d scurried off from him at the train station, lips still warm, pretending nothing happened.

He should’ve let it go right then.

Should’ve looked at her like any other pretty girl in town and left it at that.

But he couldn’t.

There was something in the way she looked at him before she caught herself. It's like she felt something too.

He'd known about her beauty long before they’d exchanged a single word. Ise had always stood out. She was quiet, with eyes too big and too knowing. She walked like she was taught to be seen and not heard. At least, that’s how she was a few years ago.

But lately…

She’d been watching him.

Quick little glances when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. She paused by her porch when he stepped outside for a smoke. Her gaze lingered too long to be innocent. That’s when Stack started seeing her differently. Not as some preacher’s girl with clean nails and curfews, but as someone yearning.

She looked soft on the outside, but there was heat behind her eyes. Curiosity for something she wasn’t supposed to want.

He’d played it cool at Cornbread’s party when he slipped into the kitchen. Him flirting and teasing her as he watched her squirm with that mix of desire and denial. Then came their shared kisses in the old shack. In that moment, Ise kissed him like she couldn’t breathe without it.

Then she ran. Pretending like nothing happened. He couldn’t blame her. Not really.

She had everything to lose. A reputation. A name. Parents who watched her every move and would burn the world down if they caught wind of her fooling around with someone like him.

He flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette, watching the ember flare.

Stack couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way her breath hitched when he got close. The soft sound she made when they kissed and the way her lips trembled but didn’t pull away.

He hadn’t imagined it.

And he sure as hell wasn’t done.

“You playing?” Cornbread muttered beside him, not looking up from the dominoes. “Or does someone catch your curiosity?

Stack arched a brow. “Nah. Just watchin.”

Cornbread gave a slow, knowing smile. “Uh huh. Just be careful with all that watchin.”

Stack kept his face neutral, cool as the breeze, but inside, something locked tight in his chest.

Cornbread knew.

How much, Stack didn’t ask.

Didn’t matter because Ise wasn’t as untouched as she looked. Not to him. Not anymore. She could play house with church boys and smile sweet for her parents all she wanted.

But sooner or later?

She will come to him and he will be waiting…

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Two days later….

The summer sun was finally starting to bleed out of the sky when Ise stepped through the screen door of Charlene’s house. That old familiar scent hit her instantly. Peanut oil and a hint of talcum powder mixed with the sweet aroma of pound cake cooling on the counter. Even though it had been over a year since Charlene left for Spelman College, everything in the house still looked the same. The crocheted doilies, the faded floral sofa, the little ceramic angels on every shelf.

But Charlene wasn’t the same.

Not anymore.

Now she had that city shine. Her hair was in a new style. Shorter, layered, and shaped into a soft halo that framed her glowing face. Even the way she walked had changed. Her hips swinging with a kind of casual confidence Ise couldn’t imitate if she tried.

They were upstairs in Charlene’s bedroom, where time felt like it had paused. The same velvet pink walls. The same vanity with its peeling gold trim, but now there were new things too. Like records from up north, perfume bottles shaped like women’s silhouettes, and a stack of letters tied with ribbon beside the bed.

Charlene flopped down, propping herself up on her elbows. “Alright, catch me up. What’s been going on around here? What’s the juke joints lookin’ like these days?”

Ise joked. “Girl, my daddy would burst into flames if he even thought I was at one of those places.”

Charlene burst out laughing, throwing her head back dramatically. “Uncle really don’t let you do nothin’!”

“That’s an understatement.”

Charlene rolled onto her side, her voice softening. “I swear, you’re like a bird with its wings clipped.”

Ise looked down at her hands, fingers clasped in her lap. She didn’t want to admit how much that felt like the truth.

She’d wanted to go to college too. Had even been accepted to a small women’s seminary in Georgia. However, after her brother was drafted, everything changed. Her father said she was needed at home to help with her mama, to help keep the church running, to be his good, God-fearing daughter. That was all she had tried to be.

But now, watching Charlene move with freedom, hearing the faint trace of blues music humming from the little radio in the corner, Ise felt something twist deep inside her chest.

“How about the men?” Charlene asked, stretching. “They still slow as ever?”

Ise scoffed. “Girl, I don’t know about these men.”

That much was true, but it was also a deflection. Only one man had caught her attention.

Stack.

She could still hear the way he said her name. His voice teasing, low, slow like molasses. She could still feel the weight of his eyes on her, the ghost of his laugh brushing against her ear, and the taste of that kiss. The one she had started. The one that made her feel something dangerous and wild and not holy.

Nobody knew about that and nobody could.

“Still not curious?” Charlene asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Not really,” Ise said quickly, too quickly.

Charlene stared at her for a beat, then gave a slight smirk and let it go. “Mmm-hmm.”

Then her face lit up again. “You know what? You need a night. Just one. Stay here tonight, and when my parents go to bed we are sneaking out. Hit a joint, hear some live music. Just like old times, but better. We’re grown now.”

Ise’s mouth fell open. “Girl. No. I can’t. If my father finds out…”

“He’s not gonna find out,” Charlene said smoothly. “Just leave it to me. I’ll call him and ask. Say we’re up here talkin’ about God and college and scripture or whatever he wants to hear. You know I got the voice for it.”

Ise couldn’t help but laugh. “You ain’t right.”

“Come on! You’ve been cooped up, servin’ the Lord and scrubbin’ floors like it’s your job. Don’t you want to feel alive again? Just one night. One good song, one drink, one dance where nobody knows your name.”

Ise hesitated. Her stomach fluttered.

She did want that.

She wanted to make her own choices, even if they were the wrong ones. She wanted to stop being good even if just for a little while.

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay the night.”

Charlene screamed. “Yes! Finally! The good girl cracks!”

Ise shook her head, smiling in spite of herself.

Charlene sprang into action. “I’ll go ask your folks. Just need to figure out where we’re goin’.”

Ise was about to shrug when something flickered in her mind. The memory of Stack yelling out a name at the train station

“Lil Water’s Juke Joint,” she said softly.

Charlene raised an eyebrow. “Lil Water’s? Huh. Thought you ain’t know no juke joints.”

Ise stiffened. “Oh—I just… overheard somebody talkin’ about it. At the station the other day.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Charlene didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t push either. “Alright then. I’ll call Lucinda, see if she wanna be our ride. I’ll tell her to park a couple houses down. We go through the back. You still remember how to sneak?”

Ise nodded slowly, pulse quickening.

She wasn’t sure what was pulling her more. The idea of stepping out into the night like she’d never done before, or the thought of seeing him again. Either way, she knew she was inching toward something that couldn’t be undone.

Some part of her buried deep beneath the good daughter, the obedient girl wanted to get burned.

The night air buzzed with heat and the thrum of crickets as Lucinda’s car rolled to a slow stop a few houses down from the glowing hum of Lil Water’s Juke Joint. The old coupe rattled like it was holding in a secret, the bass of the blues spilling out from somewhere up the road, heavy and sultry like honey in summer.

Ise sat in the back seat, heart galloping behind her ribs. Her palms were slick with sweat, and she could already feel a hundred warnings from her father echoing through her chest. Nothing good happens after dark. Be mindful of your reputation. Your body is a temple.

But in this moment, her temple had been painted red.

Charlene had pulled out one of her going-out dresses from a suitcase lined with silk scarves and perfumes. The dress was deep plum, hugging Ise’s curves like it had been sewn just for her. Sleeveless, with a low back and just enough shimmer to catch every flicker of moonlight. Charlene had curled her hair into soft, bouncing waves and dusted her cheeks with something red. A touch of gloss on her lips, and for the first time in her life, Ise looked like the kind of girl who could make a man forget his name.

When she turned toward the mirror, Ise didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

“Lord have mercy,” Lucinda said from the front seat, peeking over her shoulder with a grin. “Preacher’s daughter turned fox in one night. The Lord work fast.”

Ise blushed, tucking her curls behind one ear.

Charlene leaned over and gave her hand a squeeze. “You look beautiful, Ise. And free. That’s all I wanted.”

The girls stepped out of the car, their heels clicking on the gravel road as they made their way toward the juke joint. Lil Water’s sat nestled behind a stretch of pine trees, its red neon sign flickering like a secret it was daring you to tell. The building was old with clapboard wood stained with smoke and sweat and years of dancing feet—but alive. Music oozed through the walls, slow and dirty blues, thick with soul and seduction. Laughter, clinking bottles, and the scent of fried catfish wrapped the air in something rich and forbidden.

The front porch was crowded with men with hats tipped low, women swaying like wind, hips moving in rhythm to music that could make the moon jealous. A man on a stool strummed a guitar, his cigarette burning slow between his lips.

Charlene leaned in and whispered, “This is exactly what you needed.”

Ise nodded, though her body was tight with nerves.

As they stepped through the door, the world changed.

Inside was a different kind of church. Dim red lights glowed like embers over wooden floors slick from years of dancing. The band onstage played behind a haze of smoke, their rhythm dirty, low, full of suggestion. The crowd moved as one. Laughing, grinding, swaying in a heatwave of temptation. No shame. No judgment. Just bodies chasing rhythm.

Lucinda had already disappeared into the crowd.

Charlene grabbed Ise’s hand, pulling her toward the bar. “Come on. First round on me. After that, we let the night take us wherever it wants.”

Ise nodded, barely hearing her because she felt him.

Stack.

He hadn’t even touched her, but his presence crawled over her skin like silk and smoke. He was leaning against a post near the back nursing a glass. He was dressed in black suit and with that same sly grin, a toothpick dangling between his lips. His eyes found her immediately and locked onto her like she was the only thing in the room.

And when he saw her in that dress, his grin faltered just a bit.

Ise looked away, heart thundering.

He didn’t come to her. Not yet. He just watched. And somehow, that was worse.

Charlene passed her a glass, something dark and strong. “Drink up, cousin. Tonight, we’re living.”

Ise took a sip, the burn crawling down her throat like fire and God help her, she liked the heat.

She had no idea what the night would become.

But she knew this:

She wasn’t the same girl who had walked into Lil Water’s Juke Joint and the look Stack gave her from across the room promised things no good girl was supposed to taste.

Ise was already hungry and she wanted Stack to be her meal.

Smoke curled from darkened corners, swirling into the rafters with the lazy rhythm of a slide guitar. Bodies packed the dance floor, sticky with sweat and heavy with desire, moving like shadows under dim light bulbs that flickered and hummed. The place smelled of whiskey, perfume, and heat. Everything that made a night unforgettable and a morning full of regret.

Stack stood at the post in the back, half-lost in the haze, nursing a glass of gin. His polished shoes were crossed at the ankle, his hat tilted low over his brow as he watched the night unfold. Clean lines, sharp suit, and a stare that cut through the smoke. Stack wasn’t just part of the scene. He was the scene.

Then the door opened and Stack felt it before he even saw her.

A hush, a slight shift—like the joint itself held its breath.

Ise.

She stepped in slowly, uncertain, flanked by Charlene and another girl he didn’t know. However, Stack's eyes didn’t move from hernot for a second.

She looked nothing like the preacher’s daughter she was supposed to be.

Ise’s hair was curled, her lips painted in a shade meant to tempt, and the dress she wore clung to her body like it had been made just for sin. The dress was dark red.

Red was his favorite.

Soft curves and unsure steps. Stacks saw the nerves beneath the surface, but he also saw want. Buried deep, maybe even from herself, but it was there.

He smirked into his glass.

She didn’t know how to carry that look. Not yet. But Lord, she wore it well.

Most folks would see a sweet, well-raised girl who had no business stepping into a place like Lil Water’s, but Stack had seen more than that. There was a fire beneath all that innocence. It was confirmed that day in the shack. It wasn’t him who kissed her first, It was her who moved the first chess piece.

She kissed him like it was a mistake, then fled like she’d sinned. But he knew better. There was a crack in her mask. A hunger that slipped through.

Now, here she was dressed for trouble, but trying not to look like it. Watching the dancers sway, pretending she didn’t notice the stares, or the way Stack’s gaze pinned her from across the room.

She could fool herself if she wanted to, but Stack saw it clear as day.

Ise wasn’t just curious.

She was aching for something wild. Something she’d been told her whole life she couldn’t touch.

Stack was going to be first to make her go crazy.

[galadrieljones]

I just finished reading riptide and I'm very emotional about It. I love Ise a whole lot and I hope life treats her a bit better soon enough. She's definetly the best lavellan I've read so far, I'm enchanted by her. I can see what Solas sees in her.

I hope veilguard is treating you kindly, I wonder, do you think you will write more chapters now that you have new material? I don't mean to press you, I'm honestly just very into Ise as a character.

Thank you so much, anon. This is one of the nicest comments I've ever received. I'm really happy that you like Sene (or Ise, or Isene, depending on the man and the mood lol). I have been writing her for so long, she feels like a part of me at this point. I'd love to know more about what draws you to her, if you ever feel like sharing. If not, that's okay, too 🙂

I actually do have plans to expand Riptide, once I finish Veilguard. I see a lot of opportunity given the Inquisitor's role in the south. I have plans for her, Abelas, and Ameridan as well, and possibly to roll in a bit of my Emrook, because they mean a lot to me, and I find that their story foils Solavellan on a thematic level. The final part, I hope, will be about, not Sene's relationship with Fen'Harel, but with Solas.

I can't start until I finish the game though! I hope to finish tonight actually. I'm very close.

Also, it may not interest you, which is totally fine, but I have a lot of other Solavellan writings about Sene and Solas, including my Solavellan fix-it The Dead Season, and also a masterpost full of tumblr prompts about them. The stories are canon divergent, particularly in terms of Solas's backstory, and they rely on the premise that Solas changed his mind during the Inquisition, came clean to Sene, and did not bail, but the way I characterize Sene/Solas is consistent.

Thank you again for your kind words. They are life-giving ❤️

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Another headcanon, hand in hand with the first.. the curse of a hypnotic ability.

Vox uses his his hypnotic gaze with varying degrees of subtlety, from a quiet suggestion during a show or press conference, to a full on bludgeon of direct command if needed to push a product or idea.

Alastor, the radio demon, came into possession of a hypnotic voice upon arriving in hell. At first it was something that simply happened, something barely controlled and slipping into each conversation no matter how he tried to override it. It was not like the static, everpresent, but it definitely could be felt... a sinuous tasteless crackle of Suggestion, of Want, and on the rare occasion he needed it in an emergency... of Desperation.

It left an itchy uncertainty behind his eyelids, tingling through his skin, to never be truly sure that the connections he made in the early days were genuine. Except Vox of course, when they had been friends each had been delighted to find their abilities nullified by the other... a camaraderie that lasted until that damnable moth arrived with his slavvering lustpickled brain.

Still, until he had the power leashed and tightly controlled to use as a weapon If needed, and now whenever it chose to appear... Alastor had been careful in the application. Too strong and even the most generic command could bind too deeply into the subject's mind.

He does prefer to ise his charm, his personable polite mannerisms and of course the mindfully masterful excessive violence of his trade to enact his power struggles qith overlords and sinners alike.

The weight of the voice was helpful in tearing down the cruel, the sinners who targeted the weak, but in the end he preferred to not use it where and when possible.

It caused extreme mistrust when people learned of it. He hid it for a reason. But perhaps one day when called out for.mesmerising the populace.into loving him, Vox blows a fuse and refutes that it was cute of the radio demo , the demon with the hypnotic voice, to criticise Vox for simply being blatant about his use of a wellknown ability.

Taunting that perhaps the other hid it to avoid being accused of luring his so called friends in, because it was the only way an old timey prick could get people on his side with so little to offer.

And, as he had always feared, it changed things.

Not with Niffty of course, she was a delightful ball of hellfire who didn't care about his peculiarities much as he did the same courtesy for her, but knew they had an unspoken bond. Besides, if Alastor had helped her drift off to sleep after nightmares with his Special Story Voice on her bad nights in hell... well, that was okay with her.

Husker was especially vocal about it, again claiming that Alastor could not be trusted to any and all who would listen to his ramblings. It was getting grating, but he had thus far resisted the urge to yank the proverbial chain about it... even if his patience was razorwire thin. The crux of the gambler's ire was the insistence that Alastor must have cheated in the card game for Husk's soul... for, from his perspective, there was simply no other way the Radio Demon could have beaten a consummate gamer such as he.

When Alastor tries to counter that perhaps he won because Husker was a degenerate gambler who took insane risks beyond what was good for him, and was consistently self-marinated in enough alcohol to flood the desert, he was dismissed sharply with a shout to not try talking his way outta it. And, as silly as it was... that was a sharp little blow to his pride.

Angel Dust was possibly the most surprisingly hostile at first, the spider demanding to know what kind of deal he needed to make with Alastor (who he'd kinda thought was a friend at this point, but let's be fair its not like the people he cares for haven't fucked him over ten ways to sunday before, so maybe he was wrong) would need for Alastor to use his voice to convince Val to break the pornstars contract. If he could do it without killing the guy, why did he just let Angel suffer? Was this funny to him? Did he not understand what the moth did to Angel, and had others do to him, every single fucking day? His tone distraught and eyes full of angry tears.

Alastor had attempted to explain that there was a reason he couldn't. That the vile picture box, Vox had managed to use his own visual ability on the other two Vees already, specifically to ensure his ability would never take hold on them. A suggestion to ward off suggestion if you will.

That seemed to mollify the other momentarily. 'Wait, does that mean ya tried already?' Angel had asked, and Alastor turned his head away, frowning at the memories. There had been a rather sharp shock of psychic feedback when he'd tried, a clear little booby trap left by Vox. He nods, his fingers twitching at the recollection of a burning that ran through his body like electricity, tugging at his nerves cruelly and unable to be settled, only endured.

And then the other asks, what they always ask, given that they were in hell... and everyone has a past. Angel asks if Alastor can help him bury the memories deeper, the bad days, so that he can sleep at night... or, at least, trick his mind into floating away when things got too much?

Alastor tactfully turns this down, the words needed to explain how deeply it would bury the personality before him to hide that pain and trauma, too complex on his tongue. And he gets a bottle hurled at his head instead... his shadow tendrils reach for it, but pause, and the whole room stills as the glass shatters against his ever-present smile.

He does not say he is sorry, but the shocked look on Angel's face, the choked cry of Charlie, and the blood now dripping down his chin... well, he hoped they understood. "If that is all..." he had said, casually, and slipped into shadow.

Vaggie had always been wary of him, but now is ever-present and within earshot of the Overlord when he even suggests he might be about to speak with Charlie alone. Not that he would ever need to charm her... perhaps help soothe her, like he did Niffty when she became manically unable to sleep for the river of thoughts running through her mind.

The Ex-orcist is always a solid prescence around him, he sees the eye on him. The implied threat in her stance whenever they share a room, the mild distrust in her expression before she bites into a meal he has prepared, or the sharp way her eyes re-read documents before Charlie signs them. She never voices her threat, her distrust... but it is a tangible thing.

Alsastor had always wondered if his voice would have even worked on the ex-angel, not to mention... if it could work on the Princess of Hell. Hellborn and Angels, they were something... different. The best he'd managed was to turn the head of a rather persistent Goetia suitor, once in a bit of a panic, with his voice... and it'd been a bit of a struggle. It would be unlikely to twist a Sin, much less Lucifer...

Charlie didn't treat him any different, at first. Unfortunately, her eventual response was almost violently optimistic... and felt just as devastating, when she stutteringly tried to bring Alastor's newly outed ability into her plans for rehabilitation. Haltingly asking if, maybe, perhaps, could Alastor um... could he consider using his ability to help ease some of the newer guests through their first few weeks? Like, with the withdrawals and the flashbacks, the nightmares? Help shore up their resolve? With their permission of course!

And why had that hurt so sharply? It was simply something for him to say yes or no to, a proposal... he normally loved such things. The twisting of words into a chain between two sinners... but this felt, hmm, distasteful was the word that came to mind. As if he was only useful now that someone needed his ability; a little issue he'd tried to quash decades ago before starting his tirade against the other Overlords to become one. Ah, such a circuitous path he trod.

Seeing the burning plea in her eyes, he felt his insides twisting, wondering how to diffuse this without losing his place in the hotel or its hierarchy. Simply settling for a 'I will consider your proposal...' as he strode away, trying desperately to ignore how his long-dead heart writhed in his chest and a sickened sensation spread coldly through his veins.

Lucifer though, of all the unexpected people to commisserate, it just had to be that overpuffed little cockrel. At first, the King of Hell had been insufferably infuriating, joking loudly that clearly Alastor's appeal was overblown and his only en-deer-ing factor was his ability to trick people into doing his bidding. It was grating.

However, over the coming days, even the insularly-minded King couldn't help but notice the increased censorship and scrutiny the demon bastard was under. Had started to (ugh) empathise... with Alastor over the deer only being sought out for his ability, and watching on as the sinner found increasingly convoluted means in which to turn down requests without infuriating the other party. It hit a little close to home for the fallen angel...

After all, it sucks when the only thing anyone ever wanted you for was what you brought to the table and not you, as a person. Or angel. Pretty sure that was what the musical pissing contest they'd gotten into that first time they ever met had been about, after all.

The downside to Lucifer's attempt to communicate this newfound not-animosity, was the pre-existing I-want-you-dead-and-custody-of-our-daughter relationship the pair had engendered from day dot. So he awkwardly tried to build that bridge through Charlie, just a few awkward meals and meetings that they both consciensciously tried not to kill each other in, and it was enough of an olive twig that they could have a passing discussion without rennovations being required.

Curiosity did get the best of Lucifer one day, and he did eventually ask Alastor if he'd ever been able to use his ability on Charlie or other hellborn. That had gone over as well as a firework in an antiques shop. Still, he got an answer... most hellborn were vulnerable, but no attempts on Charlie so far to test that.

The King offers a brief and extremely specific deal to Alastor to try seeing if it could influence ex-angels or those of his power rank... and there is a moment when it appears that the Radio Demon is interested. But it passes with a sharp look in those shrewd red eyes, an aborted movement to his throat and what had possibly been a trick of the light... because it had seemed like there was something there, but he could just be sleep-deprived.

That had been an uncomfortable week for Alastor.

He had surmised, based on the increased hostility from the Vees towards his radio broadcast in particular, that perhaps this had all been a fun little ploy from Vox to force Alastor to capitulate to his incessant requests to join the Vees. Possibly the only ones who would have him now...

Even Carmilla had sent a rather clipped message over with one of her underlings that Alastor need not attend the nextt Overlord meeting. He was not ignorant of her caution, and the why. In her place, he might do the same... at least when Vox was starting his nonsense, it was obvious. Alastor could theoretically 'get you' in a single conversation.

Frustrating. The loathing roiled in his body, growing daily, along with a thickening twist of anger, of murderous bloodlust and self-detestation. Even in the afterlife with thousands of souls dangling on his chains, still there was a way for him to be set apart and seen as an object of fear and hatred and disgust and untrustworthiness simply from something inherent. Something he had no control over.

To be feared for who you were and what you had done, that was simply the well-deserved prize of his Overlord station and something to be revelled in. But this was erring into deeply hidden memories of his time alive, and all the cruelty humans can have for someone different.

There was, of course, an option he had considered before... but it had seemed an over-dramatic response when it was dismissed previously. However, with recent events, and the never-ending suspicion shadowing his every movement, word and step... he would never be able to fulfil his duties as the hotelier (or the other less-voluntary requests placed upon him by the constraints of his deal).

The final straw came an evening after a truly grating day of suspicious and frightened eyes, a decreased viewership for his broadcast, and the little smear campaign Vox was running nonstop on various platforms. It was all just about to make him snap and go on a jaunty little evisceration spree...

And then, that last grain of temperance slid to the bottom of the hourglass when someone DARED to even infer that Niffty was enthralled to him against his will. One moment they had been talking, niffty grinning wildly as she spoke about her day, the surprise of finding even MORE vermin in the cellars! (Of course there were, Alastor was creating them to keep her occupied).

When she'd gestured for him to come down so she could whisper in his ear, it was nothing exceptionally exciting, just mentioning that she might have seen a video of Vox tripping over his own feet and cracking his screen on the hard head of Velvette during a press conference, that Angel had been watching on his phone that morning.

Alastor had said he also had a secret for her, and leaned in to whisper that actually, he'd seen Vox fall face-first down a flight of stairs once because Alastor had winked at him. Apparently from the outside, Niffty had gone deathly still with her eye blown and oddly blank for a full few seconds before the little maidling burst into hysterical laughter, reanimating immediately.

He'd been slammed in the chest by the handle of a familiar spear, and then Angel Dust was scooping a now-confused Niffty from him. Husk behind him, glaring down with a tight expression; as Vaggie spun the spear to face point-forwards at the spot his dead heart sluggishly trembled with almost-afterlife. It was baffling, before his brain caught up, seeing such hostility... and not knowing why.

He normally jested to prod, to prick, to frustrate and laugh at their annoyed groans. This was different. This was genuine and unabashed anger, disgust, distrust... so nakedly presented, it was like an active blow.

Charlie tried to intercede, calling for calm, as Niffty struggled to get down. To get to Alastor.

"Niff, no, he's just gonna do... that to ya again." Angel Dust mutters, his additional arms appearing to help curl the little maid in a cage of protective limbs. She writhed and protested.

"What did you say to her, you manipulative freak?" Vaggie snarls, her patience tested, and the tip of the spear jabbing through the layers of clothes sharply enough to draw blood. "I didn't think you'd even go as far as-... I thought you liked her as she is?!"

"Wait, don't let him talk. He's just gonna make us back down..." Husk added, eyes cold as he angles himself so he can spread a wing between Alastor's gaze and the wriggling Niffty.

"You think I-...?" he tried to explain, anyway. Not Niffty. Hells, not even Husker when he was being insolent. The words choked off as the blade sunk in just a bit further.

These fools and their hasty judgements. Always assuming, never asking. Just like his life, and look how that had panned out! His claws grasped the carpet below, fighting to withhold the automatic response of an overlord transformation. Eyes flickering with radio dials, antlers trying to snap out and bones cracking; it could be suppressed with effort.

"Whoa, guys, stop it! I don't think he was hurting Niffty or-... or saying anything, let's just calm down!" Charlie begs, getting desperate as she tries to pull Vaggie away without hurting her girlfriend or twisting the blade in any way.

"Ï̸̳̺͕͎̣͕̤̩͓̊̍͐͋̊̃̌̈́̔̒͆̊͘͜͜ ̶̛͓̥̬̅́̓̎w̷͚̤̦͙̖͒̓̊̾̑́͝ǫ̵͓̫̰̹̽͛͒͆̿͌̂͑̔͊͝ủ̶̧͙͚̦͚͖̳̭̦̫͎́̈́̾̃͊̊̿̂͊̕̕͜͠l̷̨̥̰̗͕͖͂̍͊̈́͒̓̎̌̅̀͆̾̃̾͘d̵̰̻͒͌̈̊̏̋ ̵̡̯͖̣̳̑̾̀̔͋N̶̫̦̩͐̃̋̿̄̓̀̀̀͛́̄͑̾͝E̸̹̗͔͍̗̜͌̿̐̋́̇͗̎͋̽͘̚V̴͍̋̈́̄̋̀̈́̿E̸̜̒̋͒̒̌̈̑̉͛̍͂͌̕̕ͅR̶̢̜̤͍̙͖͐͒͌̈́̀͑̂̑͝ ̶̯̰̫͇̺͔̗̣̼̟̪͖͉̟̓ͅh̷̡̡̧̠͈̳̥̣̒̕u̷̢̡̨͔͍̝͈̞͂̋̊̈́̈͐̌̍̈͛̆̔͋̚r̴͙̥̭͎͔͊̄̾̑̒̆̔̈́̈́͛̈͌̚ͅẗ̸̡͖̖͎̺̜̞̖̫́͊̐̓̄̋̽̀͛̅͘ͅͅͅ ̴͕̲͈̭̙͐̎̇͊N̸͈͉͎̺̂̔̀̃̍̔̓̾̓͑̊̀į̸̛̰̝̩͍̩̱̟̦̬̣̠̣͈͍̀̀̈́̈̊̾̇͊͐͝͝f̷̧̤̝̙͉͕̱̘̜͍̩̳͇̰̂̅͗͛̒̋̐͗̐f̴͍̹̘̱̭̬͐̒̌̔̓̕͜t̷̛̛͇̏̊͒̓̆̆̒̓̊̾͗y̷̨̧̦̻̮͓̲͆̀͜͝ͅ,̵̧̛̣̤̳̳͈͎̝̑͒̒̈́͛̿̔̋́̌̕͜ͅ ̶̙̯̞̩̳͓̺̼̿̔̀̊͐͘ͅỵ̵̢͓̲̙̺̙̤͇͔̠͓̟͋̈́͗͜͝ơ̷͇̲̮̫̄̊̋́̊̈́̓̍u̵̢̦̗̘͚̍̔̎̓͂̋͂̉̈́̐̊̆̐͋͘ ̴̢̧̻̥̙͓̘͕̹̞̱͑͗̄̅͊̊͒͠͝ͅs̴̳̎̾ǐ̵̢̥̥̞̭̘̟̦̘͔̼̼̹̔͑̃̿͠m̵̩͉͕͓͖͖͛̓̈͊̈͛̈̈͛̈́̇͛͠p̷͉͎͉͔̝͓̠̤̣̰̼̬̭̹̲̄͊̔̈̆̎̉l̶̛̲͖͍̫̮̏͊̉̀͗̔̂͛̃̚e̸̛̗͈̼̠͉̝̺̬̫̙̭͗̒̉̀̆̓̌̔ͅ-̸̬͈̹̖̮̊͊͗͜m̸͍̩͇̈̏̇̈́̎͛̀́̀i̴͙͆͘n̴̛̛͈͇̪̳̮̊͒͆d̷̡̲͈͎̙̥̲̥̒̋͆͊̌̈̍̊̔̚͝e̷̡̧͓̞̥̬̭̯͙̮̰͛͋̊̈́͛̅̽̈̇̕̕d̴͈͇̖̖̦̲͇͉͚͍͖̀̅̈́̚͜ ̶̧̛̰̮̪̰͍͍͙̺͇͕̣̎͊̿̓̾́̿̾̾̒̿̕͘͜͜f̷̝́͗̒͐̊͝ọ̸̮̗̦̰̜̬̣͚̇̈̇̄͜ô̶̡̡̯̭̠̝͖͕͍̳̞͓͍̑͌̑̌̋͠l̵͔͇̤̊͂̈̓̈́̾́̅̓̔͌̒͝ͅs̶͇͓̬͔̝̝̥̪̟͎͂̓̌̆͗̉͒͋̅͘̕!̶̢̢̡̛̛̹͓̘̮̖͕̏͆̇̉̅̚̕͜" he snarls, all shrieking radio static and coiling rage.

That gets their attention, and just enough breathing space for the Overlord to push back from the impaling speartip, to sink into his shadows. He ignores Charlie's calls to come back, fleeing to his rooms in desperation and a humiliation he hasn't felt since he was alive.

Within the twisting labyrinthine confines of his own room, secreted in a bathroom, Lucifer is the first to find him. Of course it would be the irritatingly familiar ex-archangel. Who else could swoop through the bayou and detect magical signatures well enough to find him?

"Fuck, Al, what did you do?" the King gasps, sorrow and horror at war on his features. Sure, the radio guy was a prick, but this was... something else. Charlie had told him what happened, and that Vaggie had used her angelic blade, so she thought Allan (wait, Alucard? Alice? Al... something) might need a patch-up from the one and only.

Charlie was settling things down now, with Niffty adamantly denying Alastor did anything to her, and they were being super mean. She did get a time out form Lucifer for threatening to impale Vagatha with her spear for hurting Alastor. Sure, she was an adult... but they all needed 10 minutes in the Calm Down Corner from time to time.

Sprawled across the bathroom tiles, haphazardly covered in leaves from the outside foliage and seeping blood, was Alastor. His expression bordering on manic, shadow lunging at the King protectively as he approached, and mouth glowing with sharp, cruel glowing green stitches. The Radio Demon's eyes flickered between dials and his normal red, sharp claws scoring his face as they clasped his cheeks about the ever present and now glowing grin.

His eyes roved the rapidly healing marks before they began to fade, sighting the equally angry green X over the announcer's throat. He knew, the moment he saw it, what Alastor had done... but this, well, fuck. This was someone driven beyond snapping by their own inherent powers.

Can't say he'd never been there, but sadly... had never had the option to bind his own abilities away. Except with, you know, the bone-deep depression that sapped his every ion of energy for decades at a time.

"Well, Charlie's gonna be really mad at you... but let's see what we can do about this, Angela." he says, pushing past the shadow without any real effort, scooping the lanky fucker up and treading the unstable swampy ground back to the room portion of the bedroom.

He did what he could to at least settle the self-inflicted binding, which wasn't much, that was under Alastor's control... and tried not to shudder at the absolute lack of response he received from the normally adversarial demon when Lucifer actually had to touch his chest to heal the puncture there.

They sat in silence for a long, long time, both staring beyond the room as the day spiralled into night and back again. Charlie came in quietly at one point, but Lucifer sends her away. This was... a lot for someone as gentle as she was.

Somewhere below, she is yelling. Something is cracking, splintering; possibly that one wall everyone insisted on using as a door. He is proud of her, in a distant way, a real Princess of Hell when she needs to be.

"That's our girl..." he huffs, trying to goad the other into speaking and receiving no response. This was going to take a while.

When he snapped awake a few hours later to find Niffty sprawled over the sleeping Alastor, he doesn't bother to wake either, just conjures a blanket.

----------

A few days past the incident, and it was as if nothing happened.

Alastor walked, talk and spoke without any sign of breaking so deeply. He could feel Charlie and Lucifer's eyes on him, and the deliberate avoidance from the other residents. Whether from shame or guilt or seething resentment at Charlie yelling at them, he's not sure.

There were some half-hearted apologies, some begrudging muttering about overreacting.

All he knows for certain, is that no one outside of Niffty and the Morningstars really understood what he had done.

That was fine.

He was fine.

----------

...until he wasn't.

-----------

It wasn't until the shield shatters above the hotel in a truly dramatic fashion, that the Hazbin team and assorted cannibals realised just how difficult the battle was going to be. Things had been going swell up to that point... well, as well as a handful of sinners and hellborn against the might of angels could go.

Alastor dodges and weaves, goading and cajoling his enemy, keeping him trained on the Demon and away from the crowd. His exorcists thinning out by the moment as Cannibals feasted and residents rallied.

Railguns boomed, sharpened cards sliced through the air, someone was yelling and quite a number of people were howling. Whether in delight or anguish was unclear, as he was busy.

Adam was more formidable than anticipated, however, and the moment that his staff was destroyed Alastor understood things had gone from abysmal to apocalyptic in short order. In the split second as his static cracked into his normal speech, the reaction time lagged enough for that egotistical first man to land a sharp blow he could not avoid.

The other goaded his anticipated prey, advancing on the Radio Demon, downed and certain that the graced blade had rent his ribcage in two. In a panic, he could feel his mind trying desperately to reach for his Voice, a last ditch effort to at least distract the Angel for a second to engender his own exit.

An internal vibration... and the sharp, instantaneous sting of it striking the magical threads at his throat, his lips. The smile never fell, it could not, but it twitched.

He threw out his best one-liner and dissolved into shadow before he could be destroyed utterly.

--------

Husk felt his collar shudder and phase out momentarily, the sensation like static down his spine, and if Cherri Bomb hadn't been paying enough attention to tackle the cat he'd be a shishkabob.

"Head in the game, Whiskers." she laughed, Angel helping them both up while firing wildly with his alternate arms.

"You good?" Angel asks, smiling as Husker sheered an angel's head off using the tipped cards.

"I... yeah, just for a sec there I thought... my collar, it kinda just shuddered. I thought it was gonna break."

"Oh... you don't think... ?"

"Nah, he's got that Voice Voodoo thing, maybe he can get inta Adam's head and make 'em all stop." Husker shrugged, uncertain and deciding to ignore it in favour of survivng the next few minutes.

"On ya left!" Cherri yells, hurling something explosive behind Husk and cackling as pieces of Exterminator rained down in dripping golden rain.

----------

Of course, the one time he actually needed the damn thing, the one time it would have been acceptable to use... it was gone.

He never could do anything right, he laments alone in the radio tower. Painting a trail of misery and self-loathing.

Why hadd he bothered to assauge the worries of gnats like the residents? Why had he fought for them?

It was all so meaningless.

It was almost enough to tempt him into taking Vox's offer of joinging the Vees... and it became more persuasive every hour he sat there alone, unable to move and untended. At least Vox was obsessive enough to never leave him alone and unsurveilled for long after a battle like this. Or ever, really.

A telltale crackle as the hatch screeched open. Ah, speak of the devil...

----------

Sir Pentioussss was no longer among them, but Adam was defeated.

In the moments after, the gaping silence, the world felt too big and too small and suffocating in both extremes. Charlie let her anguish out in song, comforted by those around her as they brought her back to the here and now.

It was only once the hotel was mid-rebuild that someone noticed the frantic Niffty (still coated in the blood of several dozen angels) searching everywhere for Alastor. Husk waved it off, stating he could feel the collar in place, so the fucker had to be alive somewhere.

Angel then reminded him about that moment in battle, the cat had almost forgotten given everything else happening around them. Charlie dropped a heavy beam she'd been lifting, only just avoiding making her father a few inches shorter through his own agility.

"WHAT? Why didn't you say anything? He could be really hurt!" She tugged at her hair as her emotions started to roil internally.

"Like I said, collar's still there... so he's alright. Or alive at least. Legs and I think he used his Voice to get away from that First Guy, 'cause it was almost immediately after that that Adam came swooping down to have a go at you..." Husk shrugs again, going for indifferent, but his hackles seemed raised. If only a little.

"BUT HE DOESN'T HAVE HIS- mmmph!!!" Charlie started, before Lucifer clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Ha hah, Charlie, I don't think that's something he'd be comfortable with us sharing. So maybe let's just go look for him, and check that smug strawberry motherfucker is alive, okay?" the hostility felt a little forced, as he strongarmed his daughter away. "Right, now where would the idiot go if he was hiding? Not his room, it's in like, 100 pieces... hmmm, is there a place you can eat crying orphans around here? I think that'd be his style..."

"Daaaaaaad!" Charlie half-giggled, rolling her eyes. He was doing this for her benefit, of course, and it sort of worked. "Actually, what about his tower?"

"Yeah, that sounds like him... but where'd it end up?" Husk asked, glancing about.

Angel twists himself around, then points somewhere off in the distance. "Hey is that it? Looks about right, but there's like, blue sparks coming off it..."

"Well, no time like the present to at least have a look..." Lucifer shrugs, launching into the air with Charlie and heading towards the site. From above, he couldn't help but notice that Vagatha was frantically attempting to reign in the speeding red blur of Niffty as the other beelined for the collapsed structure.

------

Electricity crackles in all directions, singing his skin and setting the few nerves left untouched by his other wound, ablaze with anguish.

"We didn't have to come to this," the voice almost pleads. "You can still be part of us, I can make the video of your little fuck up with Adam disappear... all you have to do is put aside your fucking pride and accept my offer, Al. C'mon, just take my hand and we'll go get you healed up... it won't be anywhere near as bad as you're imagining. What say we don't have you do any collabs with Valentino for, say, the first year or so... that's reasonable, right?"

The words are like the tide, relentless and punctuated by rushes of static and the buzz of electricity. His head pounds, but the other Overlord was starting to wear him down... at least... huh, at least Vox had come looking. For all Charlotte spouted about friendship and togetherness, she was not here.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue? You haven't even tried to use your Voice on me yet..." Vox pauses to consider, it's functionally useless against the other but they both tended to get a little excited during fights knowing it wouldn't affect the enemy overlord at all. "Am I not good enough for you? Hang on, did that Angel fuck you up more than I thought? Is this working on you now?"

Funnily enough, that swirling eye was making itself rather prominent in Alastor's fading thoughts. The very notion that it might be hypnosis working was enough to make his gorge rise, heart thundering in his own ears and a flicker of his overlord form crackled to the forefront.

"HAH! You cannot be serious, this is the best fucking day of my afterlife!" Vox crows, realising what he wanted for decades was now literally in reach, as he crowds the other Overlord in. Kneeling over Alastor's slumped form, hand cupping his chin so tenderly as he forces the other to gaze right into his eyes. "It's okay, just... sleep for a bit and when you wake up we'll make a deal, and you'll be a Vee. Trust me. It's for the best... that's it, let me in and it won't hurt anymore."

Damn it all, the suggestion feels like sinking into a warm bath. Distantly he wonders if this is how his own power feels when exerted against another.. and then the world becomes fuzzy, quiet, and he doesn't respond to the feeling of those taloned metallic hands on his arms.

Clarity snaps back like a cold bucket of water straight to the face as Vox is slammed against a wall by a majestic looking wing. Followed up immediately by Charlie lunging for the Overlord, claws extended.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

Ah, if he'd had the energy to laugh he would have. In disbelief or relief, even Alastor was unsure.

"Shit, Smiles looks fucked up!" comes the unfortunately true but otherwise unhelpful input from Angel Dust. "Hang on, why's Vox here?"

"Probably fishing for Alastor to join his team again, he's always doin' that." Husker reponds, grunting as he seems to be the only thing holding back Niffty right now. She's got a knife, if his eyes are still working right, and is trying valiantly to end the television.

"Yeah, he's right you're pretty fucked up." Lucifer adds, hand over the injury as he let out a low whistle. "Hey, so I'm gonna go ahead and guess he used that weird grace guitar of his... so this might sting a bit, just hold on."

He covered them both with his wings as the roof of the small space peeled free with the growing form within.

Static crackled, popped and sent chills up the spine of those who heard it as the ex-archangel wrestled the spark of divinity right out of the gash before healing it. Somewhere in the background, Vox was rising to his overlord form, swiping at the others and being driven back.

Vaggie was forcing the other out of the small area using her spear, ironically, and he tried to laugh but all that came out was a croak. Without his staff, the laugh track would likely come out distorted and distressing to the others at such a short range.

"That'll do until we get back to the hotel proper and we get you a shower. I know you have that whole cannibal mystique shit going on, but you reek like a dozen types of blood and gore, and a bit like Heaven but gone off... I think that's the last bit of Adam on you." Lucifer says, wiping his hands on the once-pristine white shirt and grabbing the demon's flagging attention.

"...thank you, your majesty." he conceded, sititng up without the world spinning for the first time in what felt like aeons. He tries to straighten his clothing, but decides that at this point they are beyond repair and gives up. It is not as if those gathered are likely to run to the press.

"Vaggie!" comes the anguished cry as the ex-orcist was struck violently by a whipping cable as thick as her arm.

"Stooping to hitting women now, Podcast? Have you no class?" he infuses strength he doesn't really have into his voice. Stretching out a tendril to snatch Vagatha from the air, and set her down.

He starts to writhe into his own Overlord form, feeling it fight him back as his partially healed body protested the snapping of bones and surging power. Swatting at Vox to force him away from the others, before someone got hurt.

A dazed Angel Dust wobbled into the arms of Charlie, eyes swirling as the spell snaps.

Alastor growls then, frustrated that he had no current ability to nullify the other overlord's powers. Thinking rationally on it, he should have at least tried to Voxproof the others in a similar manner to that of the Vees. Why had it come to things before he came to a common sense conclusion?

A cable wraps about his arm delivering sharp volts right into his spine. He plunges a clawed hand deep into the other's chest, tearing and gouging where he could to reach for a still humanoid heart where it pumped frenetically.

"Okay, I've had about enough of this. We've all had a long day, so you two need to calm down, right about now." Lucifer called, getting between the battling forms and outright basting them in bright angelic light. Vox, unused to being around such things, crumples to his Demon form with a curse. Alastor, on the other hand, feels a flare in his chest and shrinks slowly down until he lands on his knees.

"Box, was it? I'd go now, if I were you. We need to fix up the hotel and get our ducks in a row... heh. Buh-bye."

Succinctly dismissed, the other overlord stares in disbelief, then hurtles himself away in electrical form towards a nearby powerline.

"Are all Overlords such dramatic babies?" the King goads, sideyeing the other. "Or just you two? That Camero lady seems like she wouldn't need this level of babysitting..."

If looks could kill, Lucifer would be deepfried.

And then Charlie was there, sobbing into the overlord's shoulder and squeezing with not insignificant strength. "I thought you were d-d-deaaaaaaaaad!" she wailed, emotions fraught after already losing Pentious and then this whole mess.

"There there dear, I promise I'm still very much in one piece." he assured, ignoring Lucifer's snort and the obvious glance to his nearly bisected attire. "Nothing a quick shower won't fix, a-... oof!"

And there was Niffty, like a small cannonball of hysterical sobbing in his other side. "Sir, you're okay!"

'Always, Niffty. Deep breath, dear." Petting her head seemed to soothe her slightly.

"Hey uh, since we're like celebratin' you living through all this crap with us, I kinda wanna take the chance to say sorry about the whole... other day with Niffty. " Angel said, rubbing his arm sheepishly. "It's just... Vox uses his thing to make people do what he wants, and then Val he uh... well, I think you know about his venom, right? Just got panicked about it. But I shouldn't have..."

Husk grumbles as he's elbowed sharply in the side. "Yeah yeah, I'm sorry too. I hate ya got my soul on your strings, but like... I never saw you use yer Voice for anything that didn't warrant it. And sometimes if Niffty needed it, or..." he mumbles something, and refuses to look at Alastor at all.

There had been a few times when Husker needed a Soothing Bedtime Story of his own to help him through the worst of his detoxing. The drinking at the moment was a lot, but not the excess he'd been strung out on before the Radio Demon had put him on his employ. Because when you could drink with an Overlord's tolerance, and healing factor, it can be hard to revert. They never overtly talked about it and Alastor always assumed that Husk had forgotten.

"I accept your remorse, of course... but rest assured that the matter is dealt with." he replies, waving off the excess of emotion and helping to pry the starting-to-bruise grip Charlie had about him off with the support of Vaggie.

"I'm also sorry." Vaggie says, short and clipped.

"Noted." he nods. "Niffty my deer, would you mind giving Charlie one of your extra special hugs, I believe she might be in need?"

And just like that, the two snap together like magnets, resolving their emotions together and leaving the Radio Demon free.

"Yeah, so what the fuck does that mean, exactly?" Angel asks, squinting at the overlord.

"I wouldn't worry about it too mu-..." Alastor deflects, but then there is Lucifer. Face as severe as it is smug.

"The fucking idiot panicked after you guys reacted over him whispering to Natalie there, and used his power to lock that voice hypnosis thing he does away. Which was STUPID and RECKLESS especially when you consider that we were going to war with Heaven in like a week!"

"Wha-... how the fuck do you even do that?" Husk scowls, paws curling up in a genuine gesture of 'are you serious?'.

He considers sinking into shadow and slipping away from all this sickening emtional bonding and honesty, preferably before anyone starts singing about friendship. His overtaxed nerves would not manage that today. But decides that it would only stretch the inevitable...

"Why, like this, dear Husker." He smiles, head tilting as his eyes flared to radio dials and the stitches appeared glowing green against the ever-present smile, at his throat in a violent x. "It's easier than you think."

"Shit."

Angel just winces.

"Okay, so how do we like, undo that? Can you do it, Sir?" Vaggie turns to Lucifer.

"I can, but he has to want me to or they'll just remanifest later. That's the funky part of using your own powers to bind your powers." he shrugs. "Also, can we do this back at the hotel? It's getting late and we've had a pretty weird day."

"Yes, that would be ideal. Does anyone have a weak stomach? Shadow travel can take some like that the first time." Alastor asks, his shade swirling on the ground and pooling in inky darkness. He actually lets out a rather deer like sound of startlement when Lucifer bonks him on the head with that blasted cane.

"Oh no you don't. No using your powers until I've fixed you up, or you'll make it worse. I'm just going to portal us all back."

His mind was stuck back in the moment of being actively bonked by the king of hell and how absolutely absurd it was in the moment.

"Fine." His ears folded down, annoyed.

He pointedly ignored Charlie's gasp of delight at the movement.

"Oh hey, Smiles, this is yours, right?" Angel says, holding up two halves of the microphone in his hands. "Vox was... he was tryna take it with him when we were forcing him out, but Vaggie knocked it outta his grasp. Not sure if it was like, broken before but it kinda is now."

"Thank you, I was not aware that Vox had attempted to pilfer it. He did not break it, he doesn't have the power to do so or he would have done it decades ago... it was bisected by that loud buffoon leading the exterminators."

"Okay, add that to the list of shit I can fix because I'm the motherfucking King of Hell and really good at what I do." Lucifer brags, opening a portal. "Everyone get your butts through. Anyone who can't take two steps on their own gets carried... and it will be bridal style."

Alastor had never put so much concentration into walking a mere five paces before in his life, but managed to make it through the portal before sinking onto a lounge chair. He had questions about why there were lounge chairs in the half-built location... but they could wait.

"Hey Smiles, I was wondering," and he tenses for the query as Angel Dust drops onto the couch beside him. Space between them, but still a tad closer than he really felt comfortable with. "that thing you mentioned Vox doing to Val and Vel to stop you doing your Voice thing with them... you think you could like, do that for us? When Vox got in our heads today it was... it was so weird, I mean Val's venom does certain stuff but not like that. This was more like... felt like you were kind of moving into the passenger seat as he took the wheel, ya know?"

"Felt super gross, not a fan." Vaggie supplied. That also answered his question about ex-angels...

"...I believe I may be able to, yes. If you and the others are comfortable enough knowing I have such an ability." It was a pointed dig, he knew, but after everything... it felt fair to ask.

"Hey, look we totally fucked up on that, and we're sorry. But you ain't done anything to hurt us yet, lot of posturing and you probably need like, a daily hug therapy or whatevs for all of... this," Angel gestures at the whole of Alastor, confusing the demon further. "But you never made us do nothing with that power of yours, and I can't say I wouldn't have been tempted if I had it. And it's part of you, we never meant for you to like... go and sew it up or whatever the hell that is."

"I can feel you building up a storm of a speech about second chances, Charlotte, do take a deep breath."

"Oh Al, I mean yes I am and we should absolutely try that hug therapy idea with the residents but please let my dad remove the strings. You do weird creepy shit sometimes, but you're OUR Radio Demon and we trust you..."

The first reply gets caught in an uncharacteristic wad of emotion deep inside his throat, and he has to clear it away before trying again. "...very well, if you are sure this will not devolve into suspicion and finger pointing again, I will request his Lowness's aid in removing the binding."

"Finally, some common fucking sense from yo- WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?"

"Apologies, I didn't realise you couldn't hear me all the way down there."

"Oh you fucke-...!"

"DAD! He's just riling you up to deflect, can you please just finish healing him so I can stop worrying and go have a shower?" Charlie sighed.

"Of course Char-Char. Hey, why don't you all go shower and when we're finished here, we can try making pancakes! I think the kitchens are finished... if not, there's always magic!" Lucifer grins.

"I... I know it's silly but I kind of want to wait until everyone's okay first then I'll go. Oh, I know! Let me fix your microphone, Alastor, so I can help!"

"...as you wish, Charlotte. I am certain that you will succeed."

"A shower sounds so good right now..." Angel groans.

"Hn." Husk half-agrees, wanting to be clean... but at what cost for the feline sinner?

"Niffty, if Husk tries to evade showering, you know what to do." Alastor grins, eyeing the now-nervous cat.

"You wouldn't dare..."

"I would, and so would dear Niffty."

"Can I have your attention for like a minute? Trying to unfasten a binding here..." Lucifer interrupts, braving the glare as he turns the sinner towards him and prods his cheek until the threads manifest. He traces them with his finger and it's uncomfortable for everyone... but seconds later, the green turned to golden light and then dissipated.

"That should do it, but uh... you might want to test it. Somehow."

"Oooh, ooooooh pick me!" Niffty yells, bouncing up and down.

"As you wish, Niffty would you please put down your blade and come here?" he tries, the familiar texture layering over the words. He watches in surprise as Niffty does so, and then bounces onto his lap.

He releases the compulsion easily. "Thank you for that, Niffty."

"Anytime, sir!"

Charlie claps her hands together, Vaggie already pushing her across the floor towards her room for a well-deserved shower. "Alastor, did you see? I fixed the staff!!!"

"Excellent work, Charlotte, I would expect nothing less! Do hold onto that a moment while we all get spruced up for some well deserved food..."

Relieved things were back to normalish, the hotel inhabitants start to disperse.

"Hey, while we're in the process of fixing things you've managed to get yourself into without thinking, any chance you'll tell me who the soul collar you're wearing belongs to?" Lucifer adds a tad too casually, and easily ducks the couch thrown at him, as the others pause in various states of surprise and shock.

"What?"

"Who?"

"how the fuc-?!"

"You inta pet play, Smiles?"

"How could you hide this from me, I could have helpe-... wait, what did you just say, Angel?"

"You heard me, Princess."

"That was a low blow your majesty, but I suppose that's all you can manage give your stature..."

"Oh you motherfucke-..."

Charlie sighs, covering her eyes. "Here we go again..."