#Old Tobacco House | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

promisingyounglady · 1 year ago

Text

accident. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.

WC: 3.6k

WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst

A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.

He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.

Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.

Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.

He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.

Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.

Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.

“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”

“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.

“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”

Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.

Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.

“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.

She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.

“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.

“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.

Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.

Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.

“Fucking hell.”

You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.

Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.

Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.

Javier was supposed to pick you up too.

But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself

You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.

Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.

What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.

You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.

You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.

You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.

—

Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.

When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.

Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.

The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.

Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”

Thwack.

An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.

Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.

“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.

Thwack. Thwack.

The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.

“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”

You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.

Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.

He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”

The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.

You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.

“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.

“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”

“Mi-”

“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.

Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.

You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.

“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.

“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.

You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”

Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.

You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”

The words pierce through Javier’s heart.

Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.

“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."

Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.

A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.

“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.

“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.

A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.

Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.

“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.

“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.

You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.

You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.

But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.

Now it was your turn to fuck things up.

Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.

Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.

You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.

“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.

Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.

“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.

That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.

“Javi, I’ll go get the-“

“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.

You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.

“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.

Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.

You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.

”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.

Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.

“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.

You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.

He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.

“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.

“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.

“Answer me, mama”

A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.

”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.

Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.

“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.

Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.

“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.

”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.

”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”

You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.

“Yes, Javier” you repeated.

He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.

It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.

You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.

“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.

“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.

You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.

“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.

“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.

“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.

“I know.” He says back gruffly.

Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.

“Merida”

You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.

”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.

Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.

You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.

Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.

“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.

Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.

You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.

It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.

Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.

“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.

He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.

He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.

“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.

You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.

Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.

You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.

You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”

You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”

You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.

You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.

4K notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 1 month ago

Text

In Your Arms Tonight by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Unprotected Sex, Adult Language, Speculative Elements

Summary: Annie has been asked by her estranged husband Smoke to provide hot food for the opening of his new juke joint in Clarksdale. After seven years apart, their passion and love for each other hasn't waned, but Smoke learns the hard way that leaving his wife alone for a long stretch of time doesn't mean other suitors haven't been chomping at the bit to be with her in his absence.

Word count: 7.2K

youtube

"Somebody take me

In your arms tonight, alright

Somebody take me

In your arms tonight…"

Miles Caton – "I Lied to You"

Oh, he was mad.

Big mad.

Full lips all bunched up in a pout. Eyes more narrow than a sewing needle stitching a hemline back in her house. Fingers gripping the rolled tobacco cigarette tight.

Annie Moore watched her estranged husband Elijah "Smoke" Moore pretend to act unbothered on the second-floor, looking down at the mighty fine juke joint he and his twin Stack cobbled together in a day.

That big nigga was fuming up there, all on account of Beau Willie approaching her for a plate of fried catfish, and her mama's red rice recipe carried all the way over from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

There was plenty of fish to fry, pots of greens to stir, fried potatoes to season, and plenty of people to buy plates and eat them in Club Juke.

Annie wiped her brow with a folded towel next to the fryers and pretended not to notice her man hawking her from above. She gave Beau Willie two big slices of white bread with hot sauce, and pointed out the Irish beer, and Italian wine available to purchase with it. Her best friends Millie and Alberta helped cook and serve, and they all tapped their feet to the music swirling throughout the transformed sawmill. Two of Millie's older daughters stood nearby, watching and learning, and every now and then, the women would let them cook a batch of fish and sell some plates. Grace Chow the grocery store owner, also helped serve and sell liquor while gossiping with them.

"That man keep starin' at you, he gonna have his eyes fallin' outta his head," Millie whispered.

Grace giggled. Annie rolled her eyes and popped the cap of Beau Willie's beer with a bottle opener for him. Handed him the drink.

"There ya go, Beau Willie. You enjoy all that and come back for more when you ready," she said.

"You know I'll be back for your cookin', Annie. Every time," Beau Willie said with a voice deeper than the Mississippi River.

Brawny and handsome, Beau Willie worked the cotton fields like most of the colored people inside the juke. He was her first boyfriend. The first boy to ever kiss her.

Delta Slim belted out some tunes on his harmonica and tickled the piano keys, and Lloyd Allen played the lead guitar. The dancing crowd added the extra percussive beats. Preacher Boy Sammie stood next to the legend and played along with his guitar respectfully, not trying to outplay his elders, just keeping the rhythm steady with his strumming. A fiddler and two sibling banjo players waited offside for their turn to perform.

Annie served a few more plates and propped herself next to Grace against the counter filled with liquor bottles and high-priced hooch. She rightfully assumed Smoke and Stack stole all that shit. Smoke came to her house with pockets so fat and full of cash that she knew he'd been up to no good again. Wasn't no need to question or fuss with him about his criminality. He was going to do what he wanted.

A soft shiver went up her spine.

Lord, that man put it on her earlier that day! Twice. It was like old times with them. Argue and fight, and then fuck the disagreement away.

An undercurrent of disappointment simmered in her blood for his abandonment of their marriage after the loss of their baby. He begged her to run off to Arkansas with him after they robbed several banks in Clarksdale, and she refused to leave their baby behind in the ground they buried her in. That gravesite was holy, and she didn't want to leave her kin behind either. Smoke grew bitter about his pain. Selah, their baby girl, had meant everything to him. He couldn't wait to be a father and the first time he held her, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. They never stopped flowing after her death.

Annie did all she could when Selah grew sick. Asked every ancestor she knew by name and then some for help, wrung her hands with High John the Conqueror root as she beseeched God to grant her one holy favor: save her daughter from a too soon homegoing.

It wrecked Smoke.

He turned bitter, surly, and prone to drinking all day and night. The resentment in his eyes when she could cure ailments in other people, but not her own child, festered like an infection full of pus in his spirit. He said not one word to her, even though she sensed that negative energy clinging to him.

Her sorrow buried itself in her chest and she stumbled around each day numb for many months. They were not good to each other. He got it in his head to leave, like going away would banish Selah from their collective memory. She cursed him out. Beat her hands on his chest. How could he up and leave their child? Who was going to take care of her grave? Talk to her? Let her know they loved her beyond the veil of life?

He didn't skip off in the night when he left. That big gorgeous man looked Annie straight in her face and told her he couldn't stay. If he did, he feared he would turn into his father. A sullen, abusive man.

"Go on then," she said, "You scared to handle your feelings like a man, then leave. I'll stay and honor her and make a life with this pain."

He winced, and she turned her back on him, prepared an herbal remedy for a customer who was due to come by that day.

Smoke left her.

She had the community's support and sympathy. Built a business using the conjuring and medicinal skills she learned from her grandmother and Smoke's mother, Taiwo, both Hoodoo women. Taiwo nurtured her growth of knowledge until her passing two years ago. Annie stayed rooted in her power and fierce determination to keep her people thriving in Clarksdale.

She snuck a sip of the good hooch and squeezed her eyes shut from the burn that scorched her throat.

"Ooh, wee! That is some strong corn liquor," Annie gasped, patting her chest.

Millie cackled and sipped it like a pro, the moonshine sliding down her gullet like water.

"I don't know how you do that," Annie said with wonderment on her face.

"Y'all can't be drinking up the supply," Smoke said.

Annie jumped at the sound of her husband's voice. He'd moved in stealth down from the top floor to the main one. Grace wandered off to check on her husband, Bo.

"You ain't paying enough to be worried about me taking a drink when I want one," Annie joked.

"Thought I paid you in other ways that ain't got nothing to do with cash money," he teased, sliding his tongue across his top lip.

Millie smirked and lifted freshly cooked fish from the fryers and dumped them on some paper to drain. Annie wiped her hands and called one of the teen-aged girls over from the back to take over her spot.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Going to mingle and let people know we got a hot batch ready. Why you stressing me?"

"As long as you're doing that and not flirting with customers."

"Flirting with who?"

Annie put a hand on her hip. Eyed him up and down.

Smoke glanced around. The crowd wasn't paying attention to him.

"Summa these menfolk might have some amorous intentions toward you that they shouldn't," he said.

She slanted her head and waited for him to continue. He snuck a glimpse of her chest. Annie wore her good bra tonight. Her breasts sat high like mountain peaks and looked voluptuous in her new velvet green dress with the few sparkly sequins she sewed into it. She gave enough cleavage with her beads falling down the center of her breasts guiding inquisitive eyes to the Promised Land. Green was Smoke's favorite color on her. Every man watched her work the floor all evening looking like a Hoodoo queen.

Her heavy hips and high riding backside cast spells on other men as she passed them by, and that worried Smoke in that sexually charged environment. Just because they made love hours ago didn't mean he had her safely tucked in his pocket. And he knew that. He'd been gone much too long to think other men hadn't plotted to scoop her up. It was one thing for her to be out of sight/out of mind while he was up north and not faced with other suitors pursuing her. Quite another to witness it full on in person. That's why he chased the back of her dress every chance he got when she went to wandering in the juke.

His reconciliation with her was still tenuous. By his facial expression, she knew he was having flashbacks of sticking his thick dick in her deep, gushy pussy, and he worried that some other man would dare to wet his dick in it, too. It kept him on his toes. Territorial. He'd already shot two men who tried to steal his liquor when he first arrived in town. If a man tried stealing his wife's pussy…there'd be a funeral in the morning.

Smoke didn't answer her question any further about flirting and cut his eyes away from her face. She slunk around him, draped her arms across his shoulders from the side, and stared up into the brown eyes he once gave their baby girl.

"What you worried about, Elijah?" she purred playfully.

"Ah, woman, get on and handle your business."

He tried to act nonchalant, but his eyes darted back and forth to clock anybody waiting to approach her when she moved away from him.

She kissed his cheek and sauntered off, glancing back to catch him watching her. Sure enough, three other men did the same, grinning at the seductive way she swung her hips. They looked elsewhere when Smoke turned their way, going in the opposite direction of her.

"How you folks doing? We got some fresh fish hot and ready. Some Creole potato salad, too! Don't be shy about getting seconds or thirds…hey Earline! I love that dress on you! Shake it, sis! Casper, let some other fellas get a chance to dance with her…hey Ora Lee! I ain't seen you out in a long time, girl!"

Annie circled the extensive building interior. Smoke's twin brushed past her on swift legs with Mary tailing him in her expensive pale satin dress. The juke stayed turned up, with Delta Slim leading the charge. People drank, ate, and had a damn good time.

Smoke stayed watching her, and she decided to ruffle his feathers.

"Oscar, don't you owe me a dance?"

She tapped a man's shoulder, and he showed all his teeth, so happy to hold her hand and swing her out on the floor. Her left arm casually rested on his slim shoulders, and he loved the feel of her near him.

"Aw, Miss Annie, I been waiting all night for a chance to dance with you."

He was only a couple of years older than her, searching for a wife, and he'd been pestering her to go out even though she told him she was still married…for seven years straight. With no word from Smoke, she started keeping company with Oscar briefly two years ago, but the bones she threw after their third picnic date told her they were not evenly yoked. They also told her Smoke wasn't dead. And if he wasn't dead, he was bound to come home someday. She let Oscar down easy, but he never gave up hope. He dated around, but yearned for her still. It showed in the way he held her while they danced. Annie kept it short and chaste.

"Thank you," she said.

"Why you running off, Annie? You think I'm scared of that runaway husband that showed up out the blue?"

She grinned.

"I got more fish to cook and some money to make," she said.

"Don't be shy coming my way again," he said, winking at her.

His buddy had a different idea.

"Nigga, you oughta be scared. Them Smokestack twins ain't to be tested if you want to stay healthy. You ain't hear about them fellas that tried to steal from Smoke today?" his buddy said.

Annie slipped away from the conversation and checked on Smoke, who still stood up high overlooking the railing. Lips poked out again, but he wasn't taking the bait.

She returned to her post after using the privy outside and washing her hands. Stack's trickster self found himself caught in the middle of a heated conversation within a circle of young women who didn't look happy with him.

"What I miss?" Annie said.

Alberta nodded over toward Mary, who sipped a glass of wine at the far end of the food table, watching Stack like he'd vanish into thin air if she didn't keep her eyes glued to him.

"Stack called those ladies field bitches, and they heard Mary say she'd beat up every one of them over him," Alberta said.

"Oh, Lord," Annie sighed.

One woman wagged her finger in Stack's face and spoke loud enough for Mary to hear.

"Her mama was a field bitch too!"

Millie went over to help get the argument under control. Stack looked somewhat remorseful, but maybe it was because the darker Black women were lighting his ass up. They didn't play that shit.

Alberta inched closer and lowered her voice.

"You see that gal right there? The one fussing the most? She's Grace Latimer's niece. Her sister Jessie left town seven months after Stack left. He was messing with her and Mary at the same time. They say she had two of his babies. Twin girls. Her people carried her off to Pittsburgh and got her married up quick. They were too scared to confront Stack about it. Now that's a rumor, so don't go telling folks you heard that from me."

Annie studied the young woman cursing Stack out.

"Does he know he has children by Jessie?" Annie said.

"Like he would care if it's true. He a rolling stone, that one. I wouldn't be surprised if he got a heap of babies all over the states the way he sweet talks women out they drawers."

Annie glanced over at Mary again. She stayed watching her great love with twisted lips and heat in her eyes. Annie felt bad for her. It made her wonder about Smoke. Were there babies out there in Chicago with his last name attached to them? No, she would've known. Felt it. Her small bag of bones would've told her as well. She prayed for that man to come back home safe, and he did. Took him a long time, but she had him back for herself.

Stack smoothed over the argument, apologized, let the women have free drinks on him, and they rolled their eyes and went about their business partying. He shuffled away to join the rougher men gambling with their Chinese guests in a back room, his gold-rimmed teeth gleaming. Mary huffed loudly, then flounced off into the crowd.

"Whew, I don't want that kinda love coming after me," Millie said, "She sticking to him like a haint in the graveyard."

"She shouldn't even be here," Alberta interjected. "He keeps telling her to go, but she won't leave. What if that sheriff come 'round here to check this place out and they see her? Ain't enough bribery money in this world to keep them crackas from killing him or us if they think she white. Her too. God rest her mama's soul, but she ain't doing us no good being here," Alberta said.

"She knows, but she don't care," Millie said.

Annie fixed plates quietly.

"Annie, maybe you should talk to her. She listens to you. She your play cousin anyway," Millie said.

"Ain't nothing I can say to her that will change her mind. Y'all know I'm married to Stack's other half. I loves me some Smoke, so I know what she's feeling inside. Can't explain it to y'all what it's like being in love with a Moore man. They cut from a different cloth."

"Oh, so they be up in them guts having y'all speaking tongues then," Millie teased.

Annie guffawed and grabbed onto her friend's arm to hush her. The women laughed together and Annie sighed afterward.

"All they got is this one night," Annie said. "We're safe enough in here with our people. Stack gotta decide what he gonna do with her on his own is all I'm saying. I'll talk to her in a little bit. But we got work to do."

Annie supervised the cooking, fanned herself, and chatted up the patrons buying liquor. She couldn't stop grinning at everything and everybody. The festive atmosphere hadn't been in Clarksdale like that for years. People needed the release from toiling in the fields and their troubles.

She took another walk to cool off. The sweat between her breasts and thighs got to her. She fanned herself down in a corner and gazed at the dance floor where folks stomped feet and threw hands up in the air.

The scent of tobacco wafted near her nose.

Smoke found his way next to her. He handed her a small mason jar half-filled with wine. He held another for himself.

"For a job well done," he said.

They clinked the jars together, and she sipped the white wine. He did the same after tossing his cigarette. The sweet liquid tasted good. Not too dry, nor overly sweet.

"You look beautiful, Annie. I meant to tell you that before we got here…but we got busy and…"

"Thank you," she said.

He took their empty jars away and handed them to a young man walking past and asked him to drop them off over at the liquor table to be washed.

"Would you like to dance, Mrs. Moore?" he asked her.

"I would love to, Mr. Moore."

A faint perceptible smile turned up one side of his mouth. She delighted in the rare sight of seeing his dimples. One would think only Stack had them with the lack of smiles Smoke gave freely. So stingy.

He threaded his fingers with hers and purposely walked to the center so everyone would see they were together. The strut in his step gave away his pride at having her by his side. If other men didn't take the obvious hint that she was back with her husband, the gun openly displayed on Smoke's side would deter them.

When he pulled her in close for a down home slow drag, her breasts rested on his wide chest where they were meant to be. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and those muscular ones of his circled her waist. He'd taken off his tweed jacket and the heat from him gripped around her as tight as his arms. They rocked their bodies together and his eyes latched onto hers.

Smoke didn't need words to speak what he felt. He snaked his hips and pressed into her tight.

Love looked right into her eyes through him. So raw and intimate. She almost had to turn away from his intense gaze.

"Baby, you're the finest woman in here," he whispered in her ear.

He let the tip of his tongue swipe the shell of her ear and spoke her name slowly, like an incantation. The hair of his mustache tickled her face the way she remembered, and he rubbed on her Rubenesque shape. Smoke loved him some full-figured women and although she had been a slender teenager when they first met at a church revival gathering, he took one look at her mother and saw the future of what Annie would become. It probably helped that she'd grown plump round titties already, but he'd zeroed in on her like a hummingbird to nectar.

His prediction came true. She filled out in the hips and rump. Her breasts turned buxom. He became an ass man and a lover of big tits.

Smoke liked how snug they were against him in that moment because his dick already poked at her through his trousers. She slid a hand down and palmed that third leg.

"Hey, now," he said, looking around.

"You think your dick the only one hard out here?" she said.

He lowered his hand on her waist and slapped her ass.

"Play around with me, woman, and I'm liable to take you in a room upstairs and bend you over again. You want me to make another big mess inside you?"

Annie covered his mouth with her hand, shushing him.

He pulled it away.

"What? You can talk dirty to me, but I can't give it right back to ya?"

She threw back her head and beamed, feeling tingles all over from the raspy tone of his voice. He gently placed his lips on her neck and sucked on it while stroking her bare arms. His fingertips ignited her flesh and when he finally kissed her, she didn't hesitate to slide her tongue against his. Her heart thumped with the excitement of their lips touching and fired off sparks everywhere on her body. When the man started lifting and separating her ass cheeks, kneading them like he had biscuits to make, she had to shut him down, or else he'd take her right there on the dance floor.

"I gotta get back to work, Elijah—"

"Mmm hmmm."

She pulled his hands away from her backside reluctantly. He slapped her rump again playfully.

"When we get back home, I'll get them big legs around me again," he teased.

He grabbed onto his dick and showed her the bulge ready for her. She waved a hand to shoo him away, but he held her from behind and pressed his temple against hers, swaying to the music. He gently tugged on the soft abundance of her belly and held it while putting his tongue in her ear again.

"You my woman, understand? My wife."

"Yes."

He patted her rump, and she meandered over to the food, playing with her protective haint blue beads, and giving herself time to collect her thoughts about Smoke. She grinned until her cheeks hurt; her husband's touches still lingered over the skin of her arms and midsection.

"Love looks good on you, Annie," Millie said.

Annie patted her friend's hand and calculated the amount of food left to cook. Plates were moving, but the liquor not as quick while folks danced. They would have to lower prices on the booze. Smoke wouldn't like that. The man wanted to make a profit, not break even…or worse. Surveying the crowd, if Club Juke could maintain its current capacity week after week, they would be alright.

She checked the trays of uncooked fish left. Not enough. Millie and Alberta noticed it, too. There was a tub of extra fish on ice in Smoke's truck.

"We need to get the rest from the truck…Hampton, come help me bring the fish in," Annie asked a young man standing idly by the table watching the dancing.

"I can get it for you, Annie," Beau Willie said.

He tossed a bottle of Irish beer into a waste bin.

"That's alright Beau Willie, Hamp can help me—"

"I got it," he said.

He headed out the side door, and Annie followed. She paused at the door's threshold and glanced over her shoulder. Smoke and Stack spoke to each other on the landing of the stairs leading to the second level.

She slipped outside and the balmy fall air felt hot and sticky on her skin.

"The truck's over there," she said, pointing.

He ambled over and she followed behind him.

A crow sat on the truck. Annie stared at it. The bird's eye shine announced its presence. It was odd to see a lone crow like that at night. Normally they did communal roosting hidden away. They preferred safety in numbers, and the anomaly of seeing one crow wide awake and watching her sent Annie's intuition into overdrive.

A pale white moon attracted her attention, and she turned to look at Club Juke in its entirety, surrounded by dense trees. The music bubbled out from it, and so did all the laughter inside. They were isolated from everyone in Clarksdale. The sawmill was the perfect property to buy.

The crow kept watching her.

It stretched its wings with a couple of loud flaps and then settled into observing her and Beau Willie. She touched her beads. The crow seemed familiar to her, like from some dream she had recently, one that woke her up in the middle of the night panting. Smoke had been in the dream with her. It had been so real that she could smell his skin and the cigarette smoke on his clothes. The crow spoke to her like a friend in that dream and told her not to worry. Her man was coming home soon.

Annie shook her head. Focused on the task at hand.

"It's up in there, Beau Willie," she said.

He pulled the tarp back and climbed onto the truck. He picked up the heavy tub of fish Smoke bought from Bo Chow and left it on the edge before jumping down on the ground.

"Thank you for helping me," she said.

"No problem, Annie. Always happy to help."

Beau Willie peered at her with softness in his deep-set eyes. Recently widowed, he cared for his four young children with his mother's help. His grown face still held the boyish charm she fell for as a teenager.

"Annie, can I ask you something personal?"

"What?"

"Is he staying for good this time?"

Annie wiped the back of her neck and turned to head back. He clasped her hand and held her in place.

"I'm not tryin' to be disrespectful to your husband. We both know who he is and what he does. You deserve better, Annie. Someone who won't run out on you when things get tough or even when bad things happen. I loved you first. He stole you from me—"

"Nobody stole me, Beau Willie."

"Then why him? Huh?"

"You and I were so young when we dated. You had plenty of girlfriends after me and married a good woman—"

"They weren't you, Annie. I've had you in my heart for a long time. If he doesn't stay this time like he didn't before…then give me a chance to rekindle us. I can give you a family already. I work hard…look after my kin. I ain't never stopped loving you. Even when you chose him over me, I held you here…"

He touched his heart.

"He's my husband. What you want, Beau Willie, is what I caint give. Maybe…maybe if Smoke never came back…maybe if he'd been killed or thrown in prison and stuck on a chain gang for life…maybe if something like that happened…our bond would be broken. But that man is a part of me and planted so deep in my soul that there ain't nothin' that you or any other man in that juke can say to change my mind different. I would walk through hell with him. Do you hear me?"

"He already put you through hell, Annie. Left you all alone, for all those years—"

"But he back now," she said, shifting her weight onto one foot.

She hated Beau Willie in that instant. He had the audacity to bring out the niggling twinges of doubt into her mind about Smoke.

The click of a revolver behind them snapped them to attention.

"You heard her, Beau Willie. I'm back now. I suggest you take that fish into the juke and stay the fuck away from my wife," Smoke said.

Beau Willie blinked rapidly and stepped back from her.

"No need to have that out, Smoke," Beau Willie said.

"Why not? I come outside and see another man propositioning my wife to leave me, and what am I supposed to do? Let that shit fly? I should blast holes in you right now, but I got a business to run. Pick that fish up, nigga, and go."

Beau Willie glared at Smoke. He didn't dare look at Annie again. Smoke aimed the gun at the man's head.

"I can take you out clean or painful. Your choice," Smoke said.

Beau Willie lifted the metal tub of iced fish and trudged back into the juke.

Smoke holstered his gun and faced Annie.

They stared at one another in silence.

"How much you hear?" she asked.

"Everything."

Her tongue worried the roof of her mouth as her eyes welled up.

"You really staying, right?" she said.

"You let that nigga get in your head?"

Annie closed her eyes. Tilted her head back slightly so no tears would fall.

"I'm staying," he reassured her.

She nodded her head once, afraid the knots in her stomach would find a way to take root in her chest.

"You believe me, dontcha, baby?"

"Like you told me back at my place. I believe what I can see," she said.

She left him outside and returned to the makeshift kitchen to oversee the cleaning of the fish. Smoke did his rounds on the floor, and she fought the anxiety of worrying about him and his plans. Her grandmother always told her people showed you who they were, and she could believe in what Smoke did. Not what he said.

Delta Slim beckoned for Sammie to take center stage with pride in his voice. The young man was finally getting his chance to sing.

"Tell them who you are…" Delta Slim said.

Sammie shyly and sweetly introduced himself, and Annie couldn't help but smile at how precious he was to the Moore family. He was her family, too, and he glanced at her briefly. She nodded her head for him to show the world his gifts and Sammie started singing something he never shared before and the hairs on her neck and arms raised up.

Immediately, a tunnel vision warped her reality and Annie pushed out her breath to keep herself from having a panic attack and passing out.

Sammie.

His guitar.

Annie stared at the walls as Sammie wailed out the blues with Delta Slim perched on stage like a proud Poppa. She could see the people shouting and encouraging Sammie to let loose, and when he held a long note, his voice ripped through the ceiling and Annie sensed there were more people in the sawmill than the ones she could physically see. Some unseen entity darted past her skin, touching her like bird wings fluttering in the air. High above, perched on a rafter, the crow from outside gazed down at her. The surge of power in the room engulfed the entire juke.

Smoke looked in her direction, just as shocked by the music and Sammie's voice and also by the triumphant way the people danced. Grace and Bo also twirled in time to the blues music that wrapped everyone in a cloak of revelry and freedom to be who they be.

Annie gasped, wildly overstimulated by the unseen. She touched the top of her head, feeling the sensation of an overwhelming presence.

It freed her.

She locked eyes with Smoke far across the room and he strode forward, zigzagging through the crowd on a direct path to her. The weight of Sammie's music slowed everything in her mind down and her husband's movement seemed even slower. She moved from around the counter and lunged for him, pushing through sweaty people, needing to get to her man.

Smoke reached for her, and she cradled his face.

"I need you. Here with me," she said.

"I ain't going nowhere."

Their lips crashed together, tongues battling to subdue the other in a frenetic exchange of energy and desire. He entwined their fingers and pulled her through the crowd, heading for the stairs. The music had risen to a crescendo that vibrated on her skin with an intensity that should've burst into flames.

Smoke pulled her up the stairs and into a room that he used for himself, that he planned to make his office if the juke proved profitable. He slammed the door shut behind them.

He spun her around and helped her take off her dress, unhooked her bra, and pushed her onto an old cot covered in a coarse blanket. Smoke undressed quickly, and the music rose through the floor.

"Somebody take me…in your arms tonight…!"

Sammies mature voice thundered below them.

The only thing Smoke had on was the mojo bag she made for him and his metal dog tags from the war. His dick pointed at her and dripped pre-cum. He barely gave her time to pull off her panties before his erection parted her slick labia and sank into her.

"Oh…Jesus!" Annie shouted.

Her man was down in that bottom.

He cradled her breasts and stretched his mouth around her areola, sucking to his heart's content. She wrapped her thighs around him and he gave her more of the deep dick she'd been craving for seven years.

"This is my pussy," mumbled into her ear.

The weight of him smothered her in scorching heat and his steady heartbeat.

He dropped to his knees and spread her legs, licking his wide tongue against her labia, giving extra tender care to her clit. Daddy was hungry and made her a sopping wet mess. He took his time until there was nearly a puddle under her.

"Turn over," he said, helping her move into the position wanted.

She placed herself on her hands and knees. He plunged his tongue inside her entrance and she squealed. Rubbing on her ass, he stood and inserted that thickness between his legs back into her, grunting and cussing up a storm. Her pussy felt exquisite to him by the sounds he moaned out. She was as hot and gushy as he wanted. He angled himself so he could watch her titties hang and smack together with each powerful thrust. Annie was so wet that her pussy sounded like it was having its own conversation taking his dick in the small room.

He climbed on the cot with Annie and pulled her onto her knees. She spread her thighs wide. He took back shots, holding her arms behind her, and Annie's tits bounced like crazy, forcing throaty moans from him. The pounding of the rhythm below them matched the pounding Smoke gave her pussy. The frenzy of his dick going in and out pulled lustful cries of pleasure from her lips. He palmed her breasts and rolled his fingers across her big nipples.

"You coulda been getting this pussy all the time," she said.

He clutched onto her tits, squeezing them, before gripping her arms tight, delighting in her titties shaking and arousing him more.

Annie squeezed her walls around his girth and he shouted her name.

"Pussy so good…Annie…"

She took control and pulled away from him.

"Whatchu doing? I need that shit…" he gasped.

She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. Her thighs spread and wedged against his hips. Her breasts rested on his chest. He fondled them and stared up at her.

"I love you, Elijah. I never stopped loving you. All these years…I never once wanted any man the way I wanted you."

He thrust up, and she snapped her eyes closed. He stretched her like no other, and it felt incredible.

"Elijah…"

He thumbed her clit, allowing the slick wetness from her pubic hairs to coat the button every man wanted to push on her since Smoke had been away. She lowered her head and kissed him. His lips were so fluffy and soft against her mouth. The taste of her pussy there pleased him. He licked his lips as she tasted herself.

"I love you…hear me, woman? I love you. Don't let one of these niggas get killed tryna take you from me."

"No one can take me from you."

"You sure?"

She stopped moving.

"You think I'd want anyone else?"

She spread her hands on the wide planes of his chest. Traced two fingers down the path below his belly button of soft hairs that led to the wild pubic bush surrounding his dick.

He didn't answer, trusting the sincerity in her eyes.

"All I ever wanted was you…just you, Elijah. And when you left me…"

He lifted himself to face her and held his hands around her waist and backside.

"Shhh…shhh. Don't cry, Annie. Baby, please…I don't ever want to make you cry again. I promise."

He kissed away each teardrop that fell from her eyes. The soft pecks built up her confidence in him and she breathed easier. His voice stayed soft.

"I told you I missed you and wanted to be with you…I also want us to try for a baby again. Build our family," he said.

"You do?"

"Yes. That is…if you want that, too."

She hugged him tight.

"I do…I do!"

She wept so hard her eyes blurred. Smoke gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart nearly burst with joy.

Annie rocked on him, pleasuring herself and him. Smoke held her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

"Oh…damn…Elijah…you're making me…oh Jesus!"

Annie came hard, and it rocked her world. Smoke massaged her breasts and watched her face transform with the rapturous climax. He grazed his teeth across a nipple and she shuddered, exalting in the sensations cascading all across her skin.

"We can try for a baby right now," he said.

He flipped her back over onto the small cot and she yelped as he tossed her legs over his biceps.

"Will you let me put another baby in you, Annie?"

"I sure will," she gasped, nearly out of breath.

His dimples melted her. He got down to business, too. Touching her skin all over, kissing her throat and whispering words of love in her ear. He licked on her nipples and stared at her fullness.

"Touching you is like touching the beauty of the night sky, Annie. You my jewel…my most precious thing in this world. Without you…I ain't fit to live."

"Hush now…"

"Nah, I want you to hear me."

"I want you to show me."

He grinned and pumped that thickness into her slowly, letting her feel every inch. Her mouth parted, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Ooh…Elijah…baby…"

Her pants came faster, and the groans from him aroused her to new heights. He hunched over her and every muscle flexed for her. Their sweat mingled and his strokes curled her toes. He lowered her legs and thumbed her clit, watching his dick go in and out. His lips poked out and his face carried a serious expression.

She recognized that look.

He was about to cum.

"Annie…baby…I'm getting close…"

She fondled her own breasts, and it created more tension for him. His eyes darted from her pussy to her tits. The way his eyes narrowed, she knew it was going to be a big load.

"Annie!"

"Yes!"

"I'm cummin'!"

He threw his head back and roared her name, his thumb faithfully rubbing her clit until she spilled over into a new release. His dick throbbed inside her and she matched the pulses squeezing her walls around him to milk every drop of cum.

"Fuckkkk!"

His hoarse cry drowned out her whimpers of pleasure. Her pussy kept throbbing around him until the last surge of her orgasm quieted down enough where she could move again.

"Elijah?"

His eyes watered. Tears fell down on her. The tone of his voice trembled.

"I'm sorry, baby…for everything…"

"My love…it's okay…you're here with me…we're here together," she said.

"I can't give you back those seven years…"

"Shhh…stay with me here…in this moment… in the right now."

He twisted his head to the side in shame. She pulled it back to look at her.

"We here," she said

He kissed her forehead.

Smoke snuggled around her until they were in a tight spoon together. He played with a breast and listened to her breathing calm down. The music below them kept going and Annie didn't want to leave his arms ever again. She shifted her position, and Smoke rested his head on her breasts. Stroking his hair gently, she snatched that tiny moment of peace for themselves, forgetting about everything and everybody in the juke.

Annie cleaned herself up as best she could with the buckets of water Smoke brought up from a well out behind the juke. No one paid attention to him or questioned why he needed to tote water and clean rags upstairs. He cleaned himself up, too, and they rejoined the dancing below.

She floated.

Making love to him grounded her and pushed away any doubt.

He was going to stay with her.

She hoped they had conceived a little one. Lord knows he put enough semen in her over the course of a day to open a whorehouse. She laughed at the thought.

Smoke made his rounds, checking in on everything before he slipped his hand over hers to dance one more time.

She nuzzled her face against his cheek, pulling an open smile from his face. It was such a shock that even Delta Slim had to look twice to make sure it was real.

She hooked her arms around her husband's neck, swayed with him in time to the music and their own internal rhythm. Part of his mojo bag peeked out from his vest. She touched it. Early that morning, she had fed it, prayed over it, recharged it with her love and that of her ancestors to protect him.

"Blood of my blood…bone of my bone…," she whispered.

"You putting a root on me, woman? I told you… I'm home for good. Forever," he said.

"Forever ever?" she teased.

"For always."

"Ashe," she affirmed.

"What that mean again?"

"And so it is."

"I like that."

"Me too."

"Annie?"

"Yes, Elijah?"

"I love you."

He kissed her softly. Kissed life back into her.

The music played on, and for a few hours, it did seem like forever.

A.N.:

Wanted to put out a short Smoke/Annie fic to practice getting Annie's voice for another fic. I plan to write more about these two. How they met. Had their first child etc. This short is connected to my "Choose One" longer fic. You may recognize a speculative figure lurking in the story if you've started reading "Choose One." Enjoy!

Taglist:

@marley1773

@amethyst09

@mitruscity

@readingaddict1290

@issimplyaamazinggg

@eyeknowmywrites

@kitesatforestp

@fd-writes

@soufcakmistress

@cherrystainedlipsbaby

@tclaybon

@thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel

@bartierbakarimobisson

@cpwtwot

@shookmcgookqueen

@yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78

@the-illlestt

@terrablaze514

@l-auteuse

@amirra88

@jimizwidow

@janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy

@sweetestdream92

@purple-apricots

@blackpinup22

@hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@bugngiz

@stariamrry

@honeytoffee

@meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

@eye-raq

@writerbee-ffs

@chocolatedream30

@childishgambinaa

@mygirlrenee

@thewaysheis—awkward

@tchallasbabymama

@lahuttor

@goodieyaya

@post-woke

@soufcakmistress

@yomiloo

@goddessofthundathighs

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@retroxvailles

@cydneyrenee4

@nizzle-mo

@cecereads209

@childishgambinaax

@gopaperless

@bombshellbre95

@tchallasbabymama

@musicisme333

@sister-winter73

@nccu-rnc

@sj206260358

@blmcd57110

@griot-of-wakanda

@xsweetdellzx

@nayaesworld

@carlakeks

@anaiyaflys143

@klutzylaena

@christinabae

@writerbee-ffs

@novahreign

@cosmicautomatonshark

@thedondada05

@wheresthecaptaincrunch

@pocahunatt

@blackgaladriel

@chrisevansmentee

@@nebulamilkyway

#smoke x annie #sinners fanfiction #sinners movie #michael b. jordan #wunmi mosaku #Elijah “Smoke” Moore #Hoodoo Annie Moore #smoke and stack #smokestack twins #sinners 2025

641 notes · View notes

twistedsistas-stuff · 25 days ago

Text

Candy Licker🍭

Sammie “Munch” Moore

Warnings; He’s Jodi baby 😏(in summary)

You ain’t never had a man go down on you before—not ‘cause you ain’t had a chance, Lord knows you had plenty—but ‘cause you ain’t never had a man. Not a Moore man, at least. You told Sammie that one night, sittin’ on the edge of that old bed in the shotgun house you two shared. The kind that still smelled like cedar and the sweet, smokey scent of tobacco, with that little draft comin’ through the window every time it rained.

You told him, and he just looked at you for a minute, real slow, like he was piecin’ it together in his head. His eyes were steady, dark like deep water. And then, that smile—ain’t no way you could call it nothin’ but dangerous—slid across his face.

"Never had a man go down on you, huh?" he said, voice all low, like he was thinkin’ on it real serious. "Guess I’ll just have to show you how it’s done, then."

And Lord, did he.

He eased you back on them sheets, movin’ between your legs like he was walkin’ into church—slow, reverent, like he was approachin’ somethin’ sacred. His mouth? It was somethin’ else. Soft at first, lips pressin’ against your skin like he was makin’ sure every inch of you was worthy. That mouth of his? Multi-talented in ways that made you forget your own name.

He started with that spot—oh Lord, that spot. He licked and kissed, every part of it, slow and deep, until all you could do was close your eyes and hold on. And once he figured you out, once he knew what made you gasp and moan, he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. Became obsessed, like his whole damn world revolved around learnin’ new ways to unravel you, just like he did when he played that old guitar of his. He played you, and he played you so damn well.

And you? You were helpless.

"Sammie, please… just a second, baby, please," you begged, hands on his head, tryin’ to pull him back for just a second, but he didn’t stop. Not even a little. His hands slid up to your hips, grippin’ tight to hold you in place, and he dived in deeper. Couldn’t even tell if he was breathin’ anymore, and at that point, you didn’t care. He kept at it, makin’ you feel things you ain’t never thought your body could feel, and all you could do was moan his name.

It had been hours. Most women would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You needed him. And then came that combo—his mouth and those fingers, movin’ like he was playin’ a song he knew by heart. He looked up at you, eyes locked on yours, mouth open, chest heaving, and you could barely catch your breath. Then, he slid two fingers in, slow but deep. You gasped, your body shudderin’, and Sammie just watched, smilin’ like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

And then he crook’d them fingers, hit that spot again, and you lost it. You were a mess.

“Yeahhhh, that’s it,” he growled, his voice rough like gravel, then ducked his head, suckin’ on your clit like he was tryin’ to drink you down.

Your legs buckled up on either side of his head, your hips jerked forward, and Sammie took it all in, keepin’ you just where he wanted you. He was shakin’ his head side to side, movin’ his fingers deeper, glidin’ against that spot that made you wanna scream. And you did scream—loud, so loud, like the whole world needed to hear you. But Sammie? He didn’t care. He wanted you loud. Wanted you broken. Wanted your pleasure to fill the room.

He could’ve kept you like that forever, if you’d let him.

Later that mornin’, you were in the kitchen, wearin’ nothin’ but one of Sammie’s old button-ups—soft and faded, like it’d seen better days but still smelled like him. You were makin’ breakfast, hummin’ a little tune to yourself, eggs crackin’ in the skillet, bacon sizzlin’.

You didn’t hear him at first, but you sure as hell felt him.

His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and his head tucked right under your chin, his breath hot against your skin.

“Good mornin’,” he rumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

You turned your head, met his gaze, and that low, hungry look in his eyes was enough to make your heart skip. You looked at his lips, then back at his eyes, feelin’ a little caught.

But you stifled a laugh and turned back to the stove, seasonin’ the eggs with a little salt.

“S’pose you’re up early,” you said, just tryin’ to keep it cool, but Sammie? He wasn’t lettin’ you.

He corrected you before you could blink.

“You ain’t sayin’ good mornin’ to me like that, baby girl,” he said, his voice dropin’ deep like honey spillin’ slow. He squeezed your waist, hand goin’ up your throat, tiltin’ your head back like you was his favorite song. “You gonna say it right?”

You swallowed hard, caught in that stare of his, and nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Good mornin’, Sammie,” you whispered, voice catchin’ a little.

That was all he needed. He pulled you closer, kissed you hard—deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world. His tongue slipped into your mouth, slidin’ past your lips, demandin’ and patient, like he was takin’ what he wanted and what he was gonna have.

His hand slid up your thigh, tuggin’ at the hem of his shirt that draped over your body. You leaned into him, ready to let it all go.

Then, the smell of burnt bacon hit the air.

You snapped your head around, eyes flyin’ open.

“Sammie Moore!” you yelled, shovin’ at his chest. “Bacon is not cheap!”

You whipped around to turn off the stove, but by the time you caught your breath, Sammie was doubled over laughin’, his chest shakin’ with a grin so wide it lit up his whole face.

“Oh, it’s funny, is it?” you said, arms crossed over your chest. Your tone was playful but sharp, and Sammie knew it was time to straighten up. He stood tall, licked his lips slow like he was fixin’ to bite.

“No ma’am,” he said, voice low, his eyes wild with mischief. He walked over to you like a predator and pressed his hand down onto your hips, then slid it down to your ass, squeezin’ it firm.

“Let me make it up to you?” he asked, low and dangerous, the words almost like a challenge.

You didn’t say nothin’—just looked up at him, mouth dry, body already ready.

He smiled, just a little bit, and then he lifted you like you was weightless, set you up on the counter like you was the only thing worth anything in this whole damn world.

And before you knew it, Sammie was down on one knee in front of you, like he was about to propose to your pussy. Serious as hell.

He slid his hand up your leg, lookin’ up at you with that same greedy gaze that made your whole body ache.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, voice thick with lust.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Your mouth,” you said, your voice low and desperate.

Sammie grinned like you’d just handed him the keys to paradise.

And then he dived in.

He kissed and licked you, slow at first but gettin’ hungrier the longer he went. You were beggin’ him not to stop, hips rockin’ toward him, and Sammie just ate it all up, fingers workin’ in and out of you like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

He didn’t stop, not until you were ridin’ his face, legs locked around his shoulders, and you were callin’ his name in that broken, desperate way that only he could make you.

And Sammie? He just kept goin’. Full of your taste, full of your body, his beard slick and his chest wet from the work of it all.

In front of the forgotten eggs and burnt bacon? Hell, you were the only breakfast Sammie Moore needed.

—————

Heyyy yall! A little short something to hold yall over while I work on bigger plots 😏💕

Kisses to all of you who read and like it reblog or comment💕

#sinners #Sammie #preacher boy #x reader #black reader #sammie sinners #smut #Spotify

442 notes · View notes

cosmicpuzzle · 10 months ago

Text

8th House- What is your danger ⚠️🚫⚡?

Aries on 8th: You are prone to physical danger from sharp subjects such as knifes, kitchen equipments such as microwave oven, cutting utensils, weapons, guns, heat and the Sun. You also are prone to accidents. Your head area must be guarded always.

Taurus on 8th: You are not prone to much physical danger but there are financial dangers such as loans, debts etc. You are also prone to excesses of all kinds, sexual, physical, food etc. Your throat area must be paid attention.

Gemini on 8th: You are prone to danger from social media and your random contacts. You also have problems through your communication. You are prone to danger throuh air element. Thus you may suffer lungs and breathing problems due to pollution, poor air quality etc. You must also avoid smoking.

Cancer on 8th: You are prone to danger from water bodies if you visit beaches, rivers and lakes. You must be careful during swimming, bathtubs etc.

Leo on 8th: You are prone to danger from fire and wildlife animals. You must also avoid overexposure to the Sun. You are at risk of blood pressure and heart ailments.

Virgo on 8th: You are prone to nervous disorders and anxieties and worries. You may also receive wrong medical diagnosis. You may face danger from small pets and infections. You may also have a relative backstabbing you.

Libra on 8th: Your dangers are from wrong relationships and addictive behaviors. You may become too lazy and thus your weight gain may lead to health problems especially related to kidneys

Scorpio on 8th: The danger in your life is related to violence or crimes and underhanded deals. You are exposed to jealosuy, fights or arguments. Anxiety or worries make you prone to accidents, bruises or burns. You are also prone to black magic. Sagittarius on 8th: You must be careful with fire, guns, competitive sports, adventures where you are exposed to accidents. You may also face danger in foreign lands or from foreigners and any mentors.

Capricorn on 8th: You face danger in old age or from old people. Accidents breaking the bones are also possible. Your joints are weak. You may be prone to Government fines.

Aquarius on 8th: You face danger from electricity and electronic items damaged plugs, wires or appliances. You may face danger from friends, social network. Your cardiac rhythm may be very irregular. Your circulatory system can be poor.

Pisces on 8th: You face danger from water bodies like cancer on 8th. Additionally, you face danger from drug overuse, medicines, tablets and any addictive substances such as alcohol, tobacco etc.

Note: Don't freak out as 1 in 12 people will have a sign on their 8th house. Just take precautions.

For Readings DM. For Reports at discount DM

#astrology #astrology observations #zodiac #zodiac signs #astro community #astro observations #vedic astrology #astro notes #vedic astro notes #astrology community

2K notes · View notes

eatuniverse · 21 days ago

Text

fame dr . motivation . 70s / 80s/ 90s

꒰ঌ ‧ first class pre-9/11 air travel

꒰ঌ ‧ smoking anywhere && everywhere ; the smell of stale tobacco lingering on everything

꒰ঌ ‧ the flash of old cameras, the sound of the shutter clicking then hissing

꒰ঌ ‧ seeing your face on weird tabloid magazines at the grocery store

꒰ঌ ‧ access to quaaludes

꒰ঌ ‧ the viper room

꒰ঌ ‧ opening the car door out onto the red carpet && being flashbanged ; the musk of the wet street (after fresh rain), of cigarettes, and of sweaty bodies and expensive perfume

꒰ঌ ‧ being recognised in public by name

꒰ঌ ‧ getting to talk to random actors / directors / musicians / comedians because you run in the same circles as them ; bumming a cigarette off of tarantino

꒰ঌ ‧ hitchhiking culture

꒰ঌ ‧ the intimacy of a loud social event ; thank you jordan baker

꒰ঌ ‧ going to the movies being a capital-o Occasion

꒰ঌ ‧ potpourri ; dried flowers and spices stinking it up in every bathroom

꒰ঌ ‧ shopping malls

꒰ঌ ‧ coke scandals rather than ozempic allegations

꒰ঌ ‧ seeing the milky way in the night sky ; stargazing && seeing actual stars

꒰ঌ ‧ being genuinely able to drop off the face of the earth, and go anywhere, with no way for the media to constantly watch or keep tabs on where you are ; out into the desert on a whim

꒰ঌ ‧ a notably lacking amount of creepy veneers

꒰ঌ ‧ toys r us

꒰ঌ ‧ everyone smelling like their houses ; celebrities, your friends, smelling like the places they live ; their cars and their bedrooms and their bags and their things all smelling like them ; etc

꒰ঌ ‧ only physical media ; records and cds

꒰ঌ ‧ a live studio audience churning with laughter, your view of them blacked out by blinding stage lights

꒰ঌ ‧ no one on their phones!!

#𐔌 ᯓ★ sonny scripting .ᝰ .ᐟ ꒱#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting motivation #desired reality #fame dr #scripting ideas #fame dr motivation #90s fame dr #80s fame dr #70s fame dr

309 notes · View notes

fictionalsweethearts · 4 months ago

Text

ENDURE, TAKE, OWN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: As you take control of your pleasure, Sevika reveals memories that still hurt.

Contains: hurt/comfort, soft!sevika, confessions, kissing, strap-on, vulnerability.

This a sequel of this fic, in case you wanna check it out. Enjoy!

"Huh, I don't remember..." Sevika said. "It happened ages ago."

"Are you calling yourself an elder right now?" you teased her, standing behind her, running your hand through her black strands. "How old were you?"

"Uhm... I dunno, seventeen?"

"Seventeen and sneaking girls into your room?"

"It didn't happen in my bedroom, doll." Sevika grinned just a bit, as if the emotion of the moment had suddenly seized her again, just as it had twenty-three years ago. "It happened in a warehouse where I used to work."

Sevika seemed to go over the events in her mind, she could still smell the alcohol and the aged wood, the girl's perfume, the taste of tobacco. Just the memory made her happy somehow, the expectation and the amazement she felt within those four walls was liberating, as she found herself in some sort of awakening.

"You see… I was still pretty lost when I was seventeen, I made a lot of bad decisions, I met people I shouldn't have hung out with," she explained. "The arguments with my old man were a daily thing, I was kicked out of the house many times. I don't regret it, though."

A gentle breeze blew through the window, and by then you were already running a brush through Sevika's locks. Seeing her with her hair down softened her features in a way you hadn't expected.

"I started working in a warehouse for the Barral Twelve company."

"Wasn't it the owner of that company who…?"

"Who killed himself in the main square? Yes, that same one. Those were different times, people were more… showy." Sevika sighed. "I worked double shifts, just to keep a roof over my head and not come back home with my tail between my legs, like my father expected. I used to steal things from the warehouse, mostly booze. It was more fun to work drunk."

"You drove the company into bankrupt then." you joked.

"Probably." Sevika chuckled, followed by a soft hum as you brushed her hair. "What are you doing?"

"You always wear that boring half ponytail, I thought… I'd change your look. For tonight."

"Just don't make me look like a schoolgirl."

"I won't." you smiled, starting to divide her hair into three sections. "I'm listening."

And Sevika continued.

"There was this girl I worked with, Nina," the woman continued, settling back in her chair as you did her hair. "She was older, I think. Twenty? I don't remember, but I do remember that we would sneak into the back rooms to smoke and drink whatever was on the shelves."

"So your first time happened in a warehouse?"

"Romantic, isn't it?" Sevika shrugged. "I'd kissed girls before, it was fun, but I was interested in what else she could offer."

You started braiding her hair, so delicately that Sevika felt a tickle on her scalp. "I remember taking off that ashen shirt of hers, she wasn't wearing a bra. I tried to suck on her nipples, she liked it…"

Sevika paused to review the events. "It must have happened during the break, we were in a hurry. I wasn't ashamed, rather curious cause I always liked her, she was pretty. Just maybe too much of a junkie for my taste."

"Junkie?"

"The white-nosed ones."

"Geez."

"Indeed." she agreed. "I remember her pushing me up against the wall, shoving her hands into my pants, and the rest happened in a minute or two. She covered my mouth when I came."

"And that was it?"

"First times are just that," Sevika said simply. "They're awkward, fleeting… even borning sometimes."

And that doesn't mean they were worth forgetting, they were steps to step on in an endless staircase of learning and mistakes. Sevika didn't see the first encounters as a problem, but rather as a time to identify what her body had to offer. After that encounter, she wasn't afraid to seek contact with girls in clubs, roommates, neighbors, waitresses or brothel workers. She was trying out the sexual diversity of Zaun, from shy women to shameless ones who enjoyed a slap in the middle of oral or a hand placed on their throat. Sevika accepted everything, in order to learn, in order to feel in control of what her body provoked in others. And she loved to own that power.

"Did you see her again?" you asked then, undoing the braid when you saw that it had become crooked. Not that Sevika was complaining, the feeling of your hands in her hair was delightful.

"No, she died. Overdose."

"Shit."

"Over time you learn to read people better, Nina had been seeing that coming for a long time."

Sevika had learned not to get attached to people whose lives hung in the balance. Death lurks around every corner in Zaun, in the form of drugs, crime and incidents, so seeing her peers succumb to one seemed more of a probability than an isolated case. Many times it was she who was dancing with death, dedicating herself to gangs from an early age, playing with substances that she herself did not know how to handle or exposing herself to Zaunian gases that competed to ruin her lungs with the cigarettes that she smoked day and night. Sevika's body remained firm as a rock, rooted to the land that saw her birth and her greatest tool to carry out a cause that gave her no respite.

Until the cause itself snatched one of her arms.

"I've never dared to ask you," you said after a moment of silence, your fingers gently braiding her hair. By then Sevika couldn't stop sighing.

"About?"

"The arm."

This time Sevika didn't sigh, but instead let out a subtle grunt.

"What do you wanna know?"

"About the experience… if you want to talk about it."

"I'd rather not." she admitted, noticing the way you flinched. "It's not a fairytale, doll. Losing a limb it's something you never quite understand."

"I know I couldn't fully understand it myself." you assured, now hesitant. "I'm sorry, I'm prying."

"What you wanna hear? The pain? The months it took me to get used to a life without an arm?"

You pulled your hands away from her hair, thinking you pushed the subject too far. Only for Sevika to sigh for the thousandth time and draw your hands into her hair again. "Alright... My arm was severely burned after a hex blast. It was completely unsalvageable from shoulder to hand."

And the rest of the story flowed so easily from her lips, that Sevika thought she had been waiting for someone to ask her so she could let out all the intrinsic thoughts she had been holding back since that incident seven years ago. "I still have the scapula and the clavicle, so inserting a prosthesis was possible. The first few days were hard to say the least, the phantom pains kept bothering me in the mornings and the pain in my neck didn't let up."

"Neck pain?"

"The weight of the prosthesis. This thing isn't light."

"I can imagine…"

"I never thought you could mourn a part of your body." Her expression darkened, the subject was as thorny as always. She soon felt the itch for a cigarette, something to somatize the emotions that were surging. She reached for the package on the coffee table. "You mind?"

"Course not." You assured, leaning down to light the cigarette between her lips. Sevika explained some details between smoke clouds, she certainly didn't allow herself to suffer from the accident as much as she would have liked. If the cause took her arm, she would continue with it until it took from her another or her life. Her priorities were ans still are different and to this day she believes that the loss of her arm was collateral damage.

"That doesn't make it any easier, Sev…" you whispered, wrapping your arms around her neck.

"It makes it more bearable," Sevika said. "Life down here is not about making it easier, but more bearable. I have learned to endure and soon enough my missing arm turned into an inconvenience only."

You processed her words in silence. Sevika seemed a woman so resigned to her place in the world that whatever she had to sacrifice for the cause was not a motive for sorrow, but rather for resilience. She believed in the power of overcoming situations, in moving forward and leaving behind what was necessary, and in the meantime, allowing herself fleeting moments of pleasure between gambling and women. Just to keep endure and give her tired soul a brief break.

"Have you realized you act just like a soldier?" You said then, making Sevika chuckle.

"Fuck off." You leaned down to kiss the blue scars on her cheek and neck, softening her frown. "Did you finish my hair, pretty girl?"

"Yeah, you look so pretty."

"Don't use that word on me."

But as soon as she looked at the mirror you brought her, the word no longer sounded so strange. You had made her hair into a loose braid, able to soften her features to the point that Sevika saw for a moment that seventeen-year-old girl, smoking inside the warehouse and willing to do anything to bring dignity to the land in which she lived.

She kept such thoughts to herself, of course, but you felt it in her gray gaze. She liked it. "Enough talking," she said then, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "Let's save the mushiness for bed."

-◊-

You felt confident that night, shame no longer tied you down, nor did fear. You felt in control of your own skin and capable of transmitting such courage to Sevika. From the first kiss she was willing to be the one explored on this occasion, and you were grateful for her willingness to allow it. Sevika put her metal hand behind her head, the flesh one caressing your cheek as you spread kisses over her chest and abdomen, descending with tortuous slowness but giving her a view worthy of admiration. You were focused on each kiss, each touch, your thumbs embedded in Sevika's hips, massaging in circles before moving her legs apart, placing a kiss on her inner thigh.

"You have such pretty skin." you whispered.

"Flattering me now?"

"Stating the truth."

Having Sevika naked in front of you was not an opportunity to waste. She didn't usually strip completely, there was something about her that kept her on guard, you didn't know what yet. You thought it was her constant state of alert, she learned to never let her guard down. But today her tan skin was visible and within your reach and you couldn't help but shower it with kisses.

Sevika frowned, meaning she was liking what you were doing. By now you had explored the expanse of her skin and your lips were resting on her breasts. You sucked on her dark nipple, your other hand squeezing the other and you heard her sigh. Sevika followed your every move intently, her hand cupping the back of your neck to signal you to continue, and you caught her hint, taking your hand betwen her legs and rubbing gently, you felt a pang of pride by sensing how wet she was.

"To think that you barely dared to grab my ass before," the woman grinned. "You've improved."

You looked at her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the lips before spreading more on her cheek and the path of scars down to her neck. They were blue, Sevika hadn't used shimmer that night, in fact, you've seen her sober more frequently these days.

"As far as you allow me, Vika." you purred.

"Go downstairs, then." Sevika whispered, cupping your cheek as her eyes lit up. "I know you want it."

You felt a pang of anticipation stir in your gut, it was what you were aiming for and luckily Sevika read your mind before you asked her. You nodded, giving her another kiss before tracing your path from her chin to her pubis again, your breath brushing her pussy with a subtle tickle.

You scattered kisses around, patiently. If Sevika had taught you anything, it was not to rush. Her fingers tangled in your hair with a certain affection, she bent one of her legs as you moved them apart, allowing you better access. "Slow… as slow as you want, doll."

With the pad of your tongue, you spread a long lick from the entrance to the bud, drawing a subtle moan from Sevika's lips and giving you that dose of approval you were looking for. With the tip you traced circles, exploring the folds gently and then sucking on the hood, enjoying the musky taste.

"Just like that, pretty girl." Sevika whispered.

"You taste so good…" you moaned, lying on your stomach as you pulled her legs over your shoulders.

"Getting comfy, are we?"

"I deserve it, don't you think?"

Sevika smiled. "Yeah... you do."

You reveled in the sensations of her, the thought of pleasing her alone, it pleased you. There was something about Sevika’s physicality that drove you crazy. Maybe it was the subtle moans or the way her hips moved against your mouth, or the way her fingers tangled in your locks and asked for more. She wasn’t afraid to give instructions; slower, faster, smooth your tongue, yes so good, oh fuck… higher, suck there, ah shit. And you followed each one of them, committed to her pleasure as much as she was committed to yours.

"Feasting on me, don't you?" she said, followed by a loud hiss. "Look where teaching you got me, I should have done it a long time ago."

And you reached out your hand to trace circles on her abdomen, her muscles tightening under your palm as Sevika moaned, gritting her teeth as if your touch was painful, and it was so slow that it actually hurt. She reached for your hand, bringing it to her tit and you squeezed. “Keep it like that…” she panted.

Sevika wasn't loud when it came to cumming, she was as measured as always, she usually swallowed her moans or smothered them in a growl, followed by a long sigh as her whole body relaxed. If only you could take the weight off her shoulders that she's been carrying for as long as she can remember, if only you could make her feel as good as she does now all the time.

You placed one last kiss on her pussy, tracing an upward path back to her lips and kissing her with so much affection that it was mistaken for devotion; the truth is that you felt both for her. Sevika cupped the back of your neck, caressing it while her other hand brushed a lock of hair out of your eyes. "You've done very well," she whispered against your mouth.

With one look you knew it was time for what you feared and anticipated equally. Your eyes landed on the strap next to the bed and you nodded. "Nervous?"

"A bit."

"We've already practiced, you'll take to it just fine."

You stepped back, letting Sevika leave the bed. You could feel your heart racing, watching her put on the piece calmly, almost solemnly. How many times has she done the same thing with other women? How many times has she repeated this same ritual? Her past intrigued you as much as it made you sick with jealousy.

Sitting back on your heels, you clutched the fabric of your slip dress, suddenly believing yourself to be just as incapable as the first time. Your breathing became shallow, your muscles tensing as you waited for the typical pain you knew and hated, retreating down that path of shame. Until you felt a kiss on your shoulder.

"Don't go there, I know what you're thinking," Sevika whispered, settling behind you as she spread kisses across your exposed skin. Her hands played with the valleys of your hips and waist, you felt the caress of her breath on your nape.

"It will hurt."

"No, it won't." she insisted. "I won't let it hurt."

"Sev."

"Shh..." Sevika slipped her hands under your slip dress, tracing from your hips to your abdomen, inviting you to let go of your traitorous thoughts. She didn't like to see you hesitate, not when she'd seen you succeed before. Fear would get you nowhere, never. She carefully pulled the dress off, leaving you naked before an accusatory mirror in front of the bed. That mirror spared no one, it showed you what you wanted to see, and now you saw a woman too ashamed of herself for her own good, and behind you, a ruthless woman who seemed to have the world in the palm of her hand.

If only you could take from the world what Sevika claims without flinching.

You sighed, parting your legs once Sevika brought her fingers to your core and rubbed carefully. The cold metal of her other hand squeezed one of your breasts and you closed your eyes. You would like to give yourself into her arms and forget the sorrows of your flesh and your conscience for once, just once.

"Do you want to try from behind?"

"I'd like to see your face."

"Alright." she nodded, slowly turning you around, your back meeting the soft sheets underneath as Sevika gave you another kiss.

The strap-on extension wasn't too long, you felt the weight of the piece on your abdomen as Sevika kissed you, and you carefully tested the phallus with your hand. Sevika then brought it against your entrance and you flinched.

"Vika."

"Just grinding, doll, easy…" she whispered, rubbing the tip against you. "I've applied lub, it won't hurt."

And the truth was, you were soaking yourself.

You clung to her back nervously, hearing her pant against your ear as she applied pressure to your entrance, briefly, with no intention other than to soften your ill-used muscles. You had to breathe, you had to breathe, it's what you learned and it's what allowed you to take Sevika the last time you came on her fingers.

You counted to three, feeling the tip push through, you counted to fifteen and you had taken half of it, you counted to twenty-five and let out a whimper.

"Should I stop?"

"No." you begged. "Keep going."

Breath, breath, breath. Endure, learn to endure.

"Doll." whispered Sevika. "You're trembling."

"Just keep going." you insisted.

Be nice, endure.

And you closed your eyes as you felt the contact of her hips against yours, Sevika buried inside you completely. Only then did you allow yourself to cry.

"Hey, baby." she whispered, caressing your cheek. "No, not like that."

It was as soon as a couple of tears rolled down your cheeks that your muscles relaxed and you took her completely. You held on, just like you promised yourself. Sevika kissed your wet cheeks, moving her hips just a little, noticing how your lips parted and you gasped. "Does it hurt?"

"No." you whispered.

The truth is that you felt full, the pressure present but less and less invasive. Sevika began to move slowly, her hips brushing against yours, your walls adjusting to the phallus as you moaned subtly. It was a dynamic of breathing, questions and moans in response. Do you like it like this? Slower? You're doing so well, keep going like that, doll, I knew you would. And soon your hands wandered over her back, over her locks, over her chest, delighting in the extension of her skin, in her warmth, in her hardness. You were so present that your mind had fallen silent.

"Yes… please…" you gasped. "There, there."

"God, you're so pretty."

You felt like you owned something you thought was not yours, a pleasure that was rightfully yours but that you were afraid to claim. You thanked her for letting you have it back, for giving you back the ability to claim it.

"Thank you." You whispered once Sevika stopped to give you a break, cradling you against her chest and leaving a kiss on your temple. She was breaking down walls with you herself, which was both exciting and terrifying.

Sevika laid back on the bed, watching you straddle her lap with such confidence that she smiled. Her hand rested on your hip, you rose up on your knees as you guided the phallus to your entrance. But you stopped.

"Can I take it off?" you asked suddenly, and Sevika didn't know what you were talking about until you pointed at her arm.

"Why?" she asked.

"I've never seen you without it…"

The flicker of terror that crossed her gaze as you unbuckled the strap holding the base of the prosthesis took you by surprise for a moment. You never considered that Sevika's confidence depended so much on that piece, and allowing you to take it off was her way of telling you that she trusted you. And you felt honored.

"Just keep any comment to yourself." she grunted, as you slolwy disarmed the prosthesis.

Being vulnerable was one of Sevika's limits, until she found such affection and comfort in your gaze that she melted before you. You removed the arm, placing it on the table next to the bed, followed by the base and uncovering a stump that Sevika hid with her hand.

"Sev." you mumbled.

"Don't... don't touch it." she spat, her defenses went back up and you didn't argue with it.

"I won't." you stated, leaving a kiss on her cheek.

Sevika laid back down and you took her inside you again, letting out a sweet, controlled gasp. The sensation was different and unexplored, so you began to move your hips slowly. Sevika reached for one of your breasts, you looked at her with your lips parted and sucked between your teeth, taking it to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"You look good down there." you purred.

"You've discovered something tonight." she agreed.

Your breaths lengthened, your mouth no longer holding back moans, you wanted to be heard, by her, by everyone. You leaned in to kiss Sevika and continued, you felt in control and you loved it. By then the reflection in the mirror was not accusatory but revealing, you looked agitated, pleased, whole and present. Your reflection looked back at you.

"Fuck." you moaned as Sevika rubbed her thumb against your bud. "You always know when to touch me."

"Keep moving…" Sevika growled.

You nodded, your eyes focused on Sevika's gaze, on her dark lips, on the gap between her teeth, on her furrowed eyebrows and her blue scars. You wanted to cover her face with kisses. You pulled on her arm, making her sit up, capturing her lips in a panting kiss. You took it upon yourself to touch your clit, you cared more about having her close. "I feel so good." you confessed.

"I can see it." whispered Sevika between kisses.

"I love you." you blurted out, Not as a secret, but as a confession that you openly wanted her to hear. You didn't want to keep anything to yourself.

Sevika responded with a kiss, letting you ride out your orgasm which came out in whimper, falling onto her chest as your body surrendered to the torrent of oxytocin that flowed into you. Suddenly everything was silent, everything was okay, there was no evil in the world, just pure love, just Sevika, just you.

"My braid came undone," Sevika whispered after a long silence.

"I'll braid it again."

You looked at her with full eyes, Sevika seemed to be reading something in you that remained a mystery. Your eyes landed on her stump and she wanted to hide. "I've never seen you as naked as right now." you said, laying a kiss there.

And judging by the way Sevika's body relaxed, you knew she agreed with you.

-◊-

taglist: @bibi4exe @verseandchapterr

#arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane sevika #arcane smut #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #sevika #sevika my love #sevika smut

401 notes · View notes

babsharrison · 8 months ago

Text

Shadows and Sunlight - Thomas Shelby x Reader

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem! Reader

Summary: In Small Heath, you navigate the challenges of motherhood while your husband, Thomas Shelby, becomes increasingly absorbed in his dangerous world. A tense encounter forces him to confront his priorities, leading to a pivotal change in their family dynamic.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I love Tommy so much that I had to write a fic about him 😭.

It was a quiet night in Small Heath, but inside the Shelby house, the atmosphere was tense.

You looked out the living room window, watching the shadows stretch as the sun set. In your lap, your daughter slept peacefully, her tiny fingers clutching a piece of cloth while a soft smile danced on her face. Listening to the gentle sound of her breathing brought you joy, but also a sadness that was building in your heart.

Thomas, your husband, had been distant. Over the past few months, he had become increasingly absorbed in his business, and the life of crime seemed to be consuming the man you loved. What once was a strong and caring partner was now a shadow, often absent and lost in worries you couldn’t comprehend.

The house, once filled with laughter, now echoed with Thomas's absence.

He had come home late the night before, with the familiar dark look in his eyes. Your little one, only a few months old, was starting to sense the difference in her father. When he wasn’t around, she would cry as if she felt his absence, and that broke your heart.

That night, as you rocked your daughter to sleep, you decided it was time to confront Thomas. The weight of his absence was becoming unbearable, and you could no longer ignore what was happening.

When Thomas finally came home, the moonlight illuminated his tired face. He seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

“Where have you been?” you asked, trying to hide the worry in your voice.

“Business,” he replied, his voice low and distant.

You saw the internal struggle in his eyes, a mix of anger and pain. It was clear that Thomas was battling invisible demons, but that didn’t absolve him of his responsibilities as a father and husband.

“You can’t keep doing this, Tommy. You’re pushing us away. Your daughter needs you,” your voice faltered, the pain becoming visible.

He closed his eyes, a moment of vulnerability you rarely witnessed. When he opened them, determination was there, but so was a deep sadness.

“I do this for you. To make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, pulling you into a tight embrace.

From that moment on, things didn’t improve.

Thomas grew more reserved, and you found yourself struggling to care for your baby alone, trying to be a strong and loving mother. The emptiness in the house echoed the silence of your life, and you began to fear that Thomas was losing the battle against the world surrounding him.

One night, as you tried to calm your daughter, the doorbell rang. Your heart raced, and a chill ran down your spine. Opening the door, you found a man with a dark expression and eyes as cold as steel.

“Where is Thomas Shelby?” he asked, his voice low and threatening.

Fear surged within you, and an icy panic took over your body. The man was not just a presence; he was a warning of the dangerous world surrounding your family.

Before you could think to shut the door, he pushed it open, causing you to stumble and fall to the floor.

Your heart raced as you crawled backward, looking up at him with wide eyes. He was too close, the smell of tobacco and alcohol filling the air.

“Where is Thomas?” he repeated, now with palpable ferocity.

The little one in the crib began to cry, and you quickly turned to look at her, but the man was not interested. He advanced, and despair washed over you.

“If you don’t tell me where he is, you won’t like what happens to you and your little girl,” he whispered, his hand slowly moving toward your waist.

Panic gripped you as you realized he was holding a gun.

With a swift movement, he pressed it against your head, and you froze, the world around you becoming a blur. Your heart pounded frantically in your chest, and your hands trembled.

“He needs to know he can’t escape. It’s time to pay his debts,” he said, his voice calm, almost indifferent to your terror.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at your daughter, who was crying inconsolably.

The scene felt like a nightmare, and you were desperate. In a final act of courage, you said, “He’s not here. He won’t be back for a while. Please, don’t hurt us. She’s just a baby!”

The man hesitated, perhaps by the sincerity in your voice or the fragility of the situation. But the anger was still there, and he only laughed, a dry and cruel sound.

“Everyone has a price, and you two are on your way to paying it,” he murmured. But before he could do anything, the door swung open with a crash.

Thomas walked in, his expression cold and determined.

“Get away from her!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. The man turned to Thomas, the gun still on you, but Thomas's courage was palpable.

“You don’t want to do this, friend,” Thomas said, tension rising in the air. “Put the gun down.”

The man hesitated, and you felt the pressure of the gun dissipate, even if just a little. Thomas slowly moved toward you, muscles tense, each step measured.

“You’re going to regret coming here,” Thomas declared, and with a swift motion, he lunged at the man, knocking him down and sending the gun flying away.

The sound of the impact echoed through the house, and you fell back, breathless, still in shock.

Thomas was on top of the man, his fists delivering blows with the precision of a fighter, and you stood paralyzed, watching as anger and despair blended in your mind.

Finally, Thomas stood up, looking at you with concern in his eyes. He quickly approached, checking to see if you and your daughter were okay.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with anxiety.

As you looked at him, the tension began to dissipate, but the fragility of the situation still lingered.

“I... I am,” you replied, trying to stay calm as you looked at your daughter, who was finally starting to settle down.

From that moment on, Thomas began to change.

He realized he needed to make sacrifices and find a balance between the world of crime and family life. He started spending more time at home, helping with tasks, trying to make your daughter laugh, and enjoying the little moments you shared.

One night, while you were together in the living room, Thomas looked at your daughter, who was in your lap, and asked, “Do you remember when I promised I’d always be here?”

The baby, still too young to understand, simply smiled, flailing her tiny arms.

Thomas chuckled, the tension in his face easing.

“Let’s make this happen, my little one,” he said, looking at you with a smile you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Time passed, and life began to improve.

Thomas brought home flowers, helped with caring for your daughter, and slowly, the sparkle in his eyes returned. In one of those moments, while you were changing the baby’s clothes, he walked into the room and said, “I want her to know I’m here for her. For both of you.”

The next morning, you woke up before your daughter. As you made coffee, you smelled fresh flowers. Turning around, you saw Thomas entering the kitchen with a small vase, wildflowers gently swaying.

“For you, my dear,” he said, the smile now radiant.

In that moment, you knew he was determined to be the man you always believed he could be.

That night, as your daughter slept, Thomas lay down beside you.

“I never wanted you to feel this way, far from me. You and our daughter mean everything to me,” he whispered, wrapping you in his arms.

You smiled, feeling his warmth envelop you and the little one, a new beginning. The tension of the past life started to dissipate, and the love you shared began to shine once again.

And as the night fell, the soft sound of your daughter’s breathing filled the room, you knew that despite the shadows that had passed, the sun was finally shining on you again.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby angst #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x reader #fanfic #tommy shelby fluff #fluff #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfic writing #tommy shelby #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine

612 notes · View notes

spurbleu · 5 months ago

Text

ghost!simon x reader.

cute little thing, weren’t you.

house renovator, too-big armor of your fathers leather belts and iron tools sits on your hips, gloves hiding the dirt under your nails. grease grows from your scalp and sits on your neck, thawing into your shirt collar with a scent that reminded simon of what it was like to be living.

laboring.

and you work tirelessly, picking up exactly where your old man had left it. peeling the floral wallpaper to reveal yellowing tobacco and its implied wallowings. scrubbing the crevices even simon didn’t know existed- and he haunts it.

wherever you step, a blanket of bleach and rubber follows you. eventually your mortal bones guide you to stiff mattress respite- until morning claws at your ankles and pulls you back to your unofficial labor.

and simon can’t help but be fascinated.

observing as you prune the wood floors like feathers, deep within a self inflicted madness of monotony. he can’t even be upset that you’re tearing apart his home when you look so agonizingly alive doing it. as if destruction gave you the foundation to breath, and rebuilding was your exhale.

he hates to admit it, but he cannot lie to anyone but himself if he says he hasn’t grown fond of the little thing meddling with his backyard.

he had plans to spook you months ago, but maybe he’ll let you stay a little longer- if only to protect you from the creaky floor boards at night.

#old draft I cleaned up #Might expand who knows #simon x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #ghost call of duty #call of duty

377 notes · View notes

scealaiscoite · 9 months ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ prompt sets of three 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

write a piece featuring - in any capacity you can think of - all three things depicted in the given prompt!

¹⁾ a polka-dot bikini, a throw blanket and a pint glass

²⁾ a sliotar, a flat tire and a thunderstorm

³⁾ a teakettle, a fresh bruise and rosewater

⁴⁾ a chipped enamel bathtub, a blue sweater and basil leaves

⁵⁾ howling gale winds, an inflatable paddling pool and an oil lamp

⁶⁾ a fresh buzzcut, pink bubblegum and rolling tobacco

⁷⁾ gas station bandaids, a cellophane-wrapped bouquet and muddy footprints

⁸⁾ a lipstick print, skinned knees and stained-glass windows

⁹⁾ a busted streetlight, green olives and a teak countertop

¹⁰⁾ gun oil, red lace and an old armchair

¹¹⁾ a fresh tattoo, a sacristy, and guilt

¹²⁾ a corner booth, sweet patchouli and a wallet

¹³⁾ donuts, orange juice and a jail cell

¹⁴⁾ a cold red bull, shaking hands and broken traffic lights

¹⁵⁾ new graves, a busted headlight and silver rings

¹⁶⁾ handcuffs, brightly coloured building blocks and fir trees

¹⁷⁾ a shortwave radio, takeout containers and a bare lightbulb

¹⁸⁾ broken windows, waist-high grasses and lit matches

¹⁹⁾ orange segments, divorce papers and a front porch

²⁰⁾ horror movies, steaming showers and cold bedsheets

²¹⁾ brazilian lemonade, a split lip and daisy chains

²²⁾ a red convertible, a priest’s collar and dogtags

²³⁾ a corner office, parking tickets and greyhound races

²⁴⁾ bitten lips, army fatigues, and coca-cola

²⁵⁾ old wives’ tales, creaky stairs and cherry lipgloss

²⁶⁾ smooth whiskey, greying hair and warm hands

²⁷⁾ hospital food, full moons and a reconciliation

²⁸⁾ exes, candy wrappers and a twin bed

²⁹⁾ a rural motel, a pocket knife and iodine

³⁰⁾ a dirty martini, a dressing gown and blood under fingernails

³¹⁾ slept-in braids, a lamplit office and an explosion

³²⁾ blueberry pancakes, a restraining order and the taste of rum off someone’s lips

³³⁾ farmers’ market peaches, burnt coffee and houseplants

³⁴⁾ a late text, faded jeans and lightning strikes

³⁶⁾ desert air, zinnias and chocolates

³⁷⁾ an old truck, freshly turned earth and a tv dinner

³⁸⁾ wedding rings, wildfire and wrought iron gates

³⁹⁾ a hostage situation, evergreen trees and a pierced tongue

⁴⁰⁾ unripe strawberries, bitter wine and a kitchen table

⁴¹⁾ a head laid down in a lap, green tea and a break news announcement

⁴²⁾ a fire alarm, a flower-patterened apron and an ajar kitchen window

⁴³⁾ a jar of jam, two shots of vodka and a stack of car manuals

⁴⁴⁾ techno music at 4am, knitted jumpers and a broken watch

⁴⁵⁾ a green silk scarf, a pan of burnt food and the trunk of a car

⁴⁶⁾ bound hands, a crescent moon and laughter

⁴⁷⁾ a winter coat, a heatwave and fresh mangos

⁴⁸⁾ a thrift store sofa, a highrise apartment building and creaking floorboards

⁴⁹⁾ missing teeth, a house half covered in ivy and cheap beer

⁵⁰⁾ undeveloped camera film, stomach kisses and cigarette smoke

#again! sorry if this is wildly unusable but it tickled the creativity goblin in the back of my brain and he's been awful cranky lately. so #prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #otp prompts #prompt sets #aesthetic prompts #drabble prompts

900 notes · View notes

florencemtrash · 2 months ago

Text

The Graveyard Shift: Chapter IV

Simon Riley x f!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley is a lonely grave keeper in Victorian England who puts a marriage proposal ad in the London newspaper. He's ready to make his house a home, but can he convince his new wife that he can be her safe space, or will the secret she carries threaten their newfound happiness?

Warnings: abusive marriages (not Simon), allusions to SA (not explicit)

The Graveyard Shift Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

Simon cut away bundles of purple and white heather from the fields behind his home, wrapped them in butcher paper, and tied them with a stretch of cord in the prettiest bow he could manage.

He’d taken care to scrub at the grime around his neck and beneath his fingernails until the skin was pink and raw. The rest of him… well there was only so much he could do. He knew his hair was shorn too close to his scalp to be fashionable, his clothes rugged and patched by hands that knew not the delicacies of stitching and mending. He lacked the narrow frame men always had in the fashion plates that sometimes passed through town and he would never be able to afford the kind of velvet decorum that might excite you. He could only lower his cap and pull his scarf higher up his face and hope for the best.

“I’ll be back soon, boy,” he murmured, scratching once behind Riley’s ears before locking the gate behind him. He took the dirt path down the hill, past rows of gravestones that bobbed on waves of grass and heather bristling in the breeze. A few mourners regarded him as he passed, planting bulbs he would be responsible for discarding after they’d bloomed and died.

He walked quickly, eagerness clear in his steps as he clutched the flowers tightly to his chest.

This was really happening.

He scarcely remembered speaking to Farmer Brown, or the awkward words of encouragement offered by the old, weathered man before he was hitching the horse to the carriage and setting off towards the train station. In hindsight, he should have realized how odd it must have been for Farmer Brown to open his door to the reclusive grave keeper gruffly explaining how he needed to borrow a horse and carriage to bring his wife home from the train station.

He spent the entirety of the trip wondering about his wife. She likely wouldn’t appreciate the ricketiness of the seat or the constant jostling of wheels over dirt tracks and gravel. She might turn her nose up at the strange bouquet he carried or complain about the sun beating on her head. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, only a jug of water and tiny tin of tobacco he sometimes chewed in the fields when he was tired. His new wife might not like that habit, but he could learn to stop.

The train station was a short, squat building painted over copper green with pale yellow sidings. Soot stained the floorboards inside where hundreds of feet had trampled, but the air was clean and sweet. The train from London hadn’t arrived yet, so Simon made his way outside to the tracks where a little boy wearing a newsboy cap and his mother squinted at the time table. The little boy was startled when he caught sight of Simon from the corner of his eye. He tugged on his mother’s orange skirts, eyes traveling up and up and up towards the sliver of tanned skin left exposed between his scarf and cap.

“It’s impolite to stare, Matthew,” she scolded him while subtly pushing the child behind her.

Simon stood, large and imposing, outfitted entirely in grays and muted blacks. When the waiting became too much, he sank into one of the benches so that he would be large, imposing, and marginally closer to the ground.

Finally he heard the whistling of an approaching train.

A small crowd spilled out from the open doors and he rocketed up to his feet. Well-dressed men and women in fanciful gowns in every color of the rainbow flitted along with conversations about food and business and gossip trailing behind them like silk from a torn dress. But none of the women matched the photo Simon carried in his pocket. He took it out at one point, just to check that his memory had not failed him.

It had not.

He had looked at the photograph too often and for too long to have forgotten the curves of his wife’s face.

But then a figure came to the train car’s door, struggling to hold onto a bonnet and two carpetbags as the wind sent tendrils of hair flowing over her cheeks and forehead. The bright midday sun caught the edges of her hair, framing her face in a halo. Deep eyes stared out from a smooth, solemn face, shadowed by a plain straw hat. Her grey-blue cotton dress was similarly plain, shoes sturdy and well-worn.

Her eyes flitted around nervously, skipping over Simon in favor of the handful of men still milling about the train station. He ripped off his cap, pulling down his scarf beneath his chin though it left him painfully vulnerable. When he stepped forward with his flowers grasped in trembling hands, he didn’t miss her slight intake of breath or the way she leaned away from him.

“Y/n Riley?”

It took her a moment to recognize her new name, and even longer to look into his eyes and recognize his face. He’d sent an impossibly blurry photograph along with the signed marriage papers — strong, crooked nose, pale blonde hair, and thick brows laid to rest atop deep set eyes. But the photograph had failed to capture just how… large he was.

He blocked out the sun. His shoulders flared out broad and wide as wings beneath a worn gray coat, pulling at the ragged seams of his clothes. His legs and chest were better suited to a tree than a man and he bowed beneath the weight of his own body. Calloused hands with short, cracked fingernails clutched a bundle of heather wrapped in butcher paper and tied with cord to his chest.

“Mrs. Riley?” He asked again. His voice was gruff and low, rumbling with the same timber of the train as it left the station.

She was stuck here.

With this man.

This… this stranger.

“Mr. Riley,” She finally breathed out. Miraculously, her voice came out even.

His shoulders moved like mountains. Up and down with a sigh of relief as he lumbered forward. “Let me get your bags.” He traded her the flowers in exchange.

She was wound up tight as a bird in the jaws of a dog. This close up she could see his light brown eyes and the scar that spliced his right brow at the corner. A similar mark slashed through the corner of his mouth like lightning, pulling down at the skin in a perpetual half-frown. His lashes were so pale they looked tipped with frost.

The tintype had only shown his neck, face, and cropped shoulders and he’d had a solemn, kind enough face that she’d agreed to the marriage. Seeing him now — the strength and violence he could be capable of — she was frightened. She thought back to the papers signed and sealed in some court office in London, her own incriminating signature on the line as she handed over her life to this man. Suddenly it all seemed so foolish. So stupid a decision she could scarcely believe it.

Her shoulders curled in like lit paper as she followed mutely behind her husband all the way to the carriage.

“Here,” he murmured in that gruff, sandpaper tone of his. He held out a large hand, skin weathered and thick and scarred. She stared at it dumbly. “To help you onto the carriage, darling.”

She shied away as though he’d lifted his hand to her and he felt what little confidence he had crumble into dust. Her hand was delicate in his as he gently helped her into the carriage before pulling himself into the narrow seat beside her.

Carriage was too fancy a word for the cart the horse pulled along the bumpy path. There was ample space for hay bales and bushels of harvest, straw poking at her legs through her stockings and dusting the wood flooring where Simon lay her bags, but only a narrow slab up front for a driver and their passenger. Y/n found herself squeezed impossibly close to the edge of the seat on one side, and impossibly close to Simon on the other. She could feel every muscle of his arm and shoulder pressed against hers, feel his warmth radiate through his clothes as he pulled on his scarf and hat before clicking his tongue between his teeth and urging the horse ahead.

He drove in quiet concentration, stealing glances at his new wife like she was a shadow on the wall that would change if he looked too closely. She had accepted his flowers and gently smoothed the butcher’s paper he’d wrapped them in. She rubbed one tiny velvet petal between her fingers, occasionally bringing up the flowers to breathe in.

“Thank you,” she whispered, when they were halfway to home. It was the first thing she’d said since getting in the carriage.

Simon wanted to melt at her voice. Maybe it’d been too long since he’d seen or heard a woman, because it seemed like a dream the way her words, few as they were, wrapped around his chest and squeezed.

Silence held them like a vice. Simon was afraid he’d scare her further with any questions, and Y/n was unused to speaking before she was allowed. So, she cast her gaze outward, watching the yellow-green fields ripple and twist down half-paved roads dotted with green tin and slate gray roofs. Squat family homes huffing smoke in the air fell further and further apart as they slipped deep into the countryside.

“Almost there,” Simon’s voice rumbled in the quiet. His shoulders swayed from side to side with the cart. “Another ten minutes or so.”

Now she paid more attention to the roads. To the houses and taverns where people milled about, staring with interest at the blonde haired man who passed them by before quickly looking away.

The townspeople didn’t like Simon’s work, necessary as it was. Death seemed to cling to him, to his dark clothes and dark eyes. Even the scarf he so often wore above his mouth to protect from dust made him look grim and skeletal. The limestone chalk kicked up from carving gravestones would settle around his mouth, forming a strange toothy smile against the black fabric.

Only one man waved as they passed. A priest as long and willowy as a stalk of spring grass standing in front of a modest church.

Simon leaned down to Y/n’s level, gesturing with the reins. “That’s Father Hughes. He was the one who put the advert in the paper for me.” Y/n remained quiet, much to Simon’s displeasure. “I’ve much to thank him for.”

At the far edge of town gravestones began cropping up, some filed down to nubs from weather and time like molars. Others were new, shining and tall with angels pointing to the heavens with their downy wings. But all were well kept. The grass was trimmed short. Not a weed was to be found.

Simon dropped down to the ground first, wiping his palms clean on his trousers before helping Y/n. “This is it. Home.”

Her breath stuttered to a stop in her throat. She hadn’t been expecting something so… pleasant. It was a small cottage that no city-goer would ever envy — a few small rooms, a modest kitchen, and just enough tilled land in the backyard for some herbs and hearty vegetables before the forest began creeping in. Two goats milled around the front yard, snacking on greens and staring with boredom at the new arrival.

But as she walked through the rooms, she marveled at how clean and well-kept everything was. The walls had been washed recently, smelling of lemons and salt. The floors swept and windows cleared of any grime. But it was also lonely. Blank, empty spaces sat in rooms sparse with furniture. There were no pictures. No trinkets. Only the occasional bone half-trapped under chairs and the bedframe.

“I’ll have to go return the horse and cart now to the neighbors.” Simon left the carpetbag at the foot of his bed — her bed — and put his cap back on. “The vanity and wardrobe are all yours.” What a strange word — yours. Hers. “I’ll leave you to get settled.”

He walked to the threshold of the room then paused, glancing back. Y/n stood in the middle of it all, still as a corpse, like if she so much as breathed something would break. He wished she would sit on the bed. Maybe riffle through the drawers and examine the contents of his home and his heart. But she did nothing, only stared at the two pieces of furniture he had declared hers.

Then she blinked as though waking up from a dream. “What would you like done while you’re gone?”

“What?”

She hesitated. “The chores… what would you have me do today?”

Something in Simon’s stomach twisted horribly. “Nothing.” He was almost offended by the question. “Cleaning’s done. There’s reserves in the kitchen and in the cellar if you’re hungry.” He took off his cap, wringing it in his hands, then walked forward, gently kissing Y/n’s forehead. He was so slow and gentle Y/n thought his lips were butterfly wings. “Rest. You can put your things away today if you’d like or wait until tomorrow. Get cleaned up. Get settled.”

He didn’t want to leave her. Not when she was looking at him with so much careful suspicion in her eyes. So much apprehension and fear. Like a stray cat ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

“I’ll be back soon. Promise.” Then he hurried out the room. He needed the horse and cart returned as fast as he could.

Y/n put her clothes away in the wardrobe, cramming everything as tight as she could to one side. She took up only one drawer and — after much consideration — put away her hair brush and the few personal affects she possessed into the vanity. Then she folded up her carpet bag and hid it in the far back corner of the wardrobe.

There was the matter of her pin money. She didn’t know what Simon would think of it, but her husband (former husband, she reminded herself), never liked her having her own coin. After some digging around the house she could find no suitable hiding place.

But there were the woods.

She hiked up her skirts, tying them off above the calves with string from the kitchen, then found old tins empty of tobacco lying forgotten in the cellar. She shoved what little money she had into a tin, wrapped it tightly in scraps of fabric, and put that into another tin box. Then another. It wasn’t much, but she knew how to survive on little.

She hurried to the woods, searching for old squirrel holes or abandoned fox dens to hide her treasure. There was a slip in the trunk of a tree she could just barely reach while standing on a log, moss-laden and dry. She dug around carefully, opening the slip until it was wide enough to hide her money box and all her hopes, then covered it again. She marked the spot with a stone, recognizable only to her, then ran back home, praying that Simon had yet to return.

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #historical au #arranged marriage

228 notes · View notes

brownsugarcoffy · 21 days ago

Text

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.

#sinners fanfiction #elias stack moore #stack x oc #stack x black reader #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan x oc #elias ‘stack’ moore #elias stack moore x black oc

205 notes · View notes