#(mix)

Kaori Sakamoto: Japan's first 3-time Olympian and most decorated athlete in women's figure skating

Beijing 2022: Team 🥈 Individual 🥉

“I'm a supporter of gay rights. And not a closet supporter either. From the time I was a kid, I have never been able to understand attacks upon the gay community. There are so many qualities that make up a human being… by the time I get through with all the things that I really admire about people, what they do with their private parts is probably so low on the list that it is irrelevant.”

merry crisis ™

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you’re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

The heat outside was disrespectful. Sun glaring off the concrete, your thighs sticking to the driver’s seat, and not a single breeze in sight. Still, you parked outside Lo’s Beauty Supply—their mama’s shop—with a brown paper bag in your lap and sweat beading at your collarbone.

The bag was nothing major. Just some coconut oil their mama had asked for from your auntie’s store across town. Said she liked your family’s blend better than what she had. You told her you’d swing by and drop it off. Easy. Casual. No problem. What you didn’t expect was for both Stack and Smoke to be inside when you walked through that door.

The bell above the entrance gave a lazy jingle, announcing you before your presence could.“Be right wit’chu,” called a voice from the back—Ms. Moore, no doubt, still doing somebody’s scalp in the back room like she always did.

Your eyes adjusted from the sunlight to the store’s warm haze, and that’s when you saw them. Stack, posted up on the edge of the checkout counter, legs spread, head tilted back, puffing on a cigar like he had zero business being fine and full of himself.

And Smoke, leaned back in the folding chair just behind him, tapping ash into a red Solo cup. One foot propped against the wall. His eyes already on you.

The smell of burning tobacco, hair grease, and old incense hit you in the chest. Thick, nostalgic, weighted. This place always felt like somebody’s house and a little bit like a trap spot. Especially when the boys were there.

You stood in the doorway for a half-second longer than you meant to, blinking—and that was enough.

Stack’s mouth curved.

“Ain’t you look like you tryna be seen today,” he drawled, eyes skating from the band of your crop top down to the stretch of your brown thighs. “You knew I was gon’ be here, huh?”

You didn’t answer that.

Instead, you walked forward, hips loose, chin high, the brown paper bag crinkling in your hand. You placed it on the counter between them—right where Stack was leaned, and right across from Smoke’s shadow.

“This what your mama asked for. Tell her I dropped it off.” Smoke hadn’t said a word yet. But his gaze lingered like a hot palm on your skin.

He wasn’t disrespectful like Stack was. He didn’t flirt with words. But his eyes? His whole presence? That was a different type of heat. Where Stack looked at you like he remembered what your moans sounded like, Smoke looked at you like he was imagining them.

Slowly. Without apology. You felt it. The flicker in your stomach. The ache in your thighs you couldn’t chalk up to the weather.

You turned slightly, letting the breeze from the weak AC hit the side of your neck. Your baby hairs were already curling from the sweat, your lip gloss sticking sweet to the corner of your mouth.

“Tell her I’ll be back later in the week. She said she wanted more but I ain’t have enough on me.”Stack chuckled under his breath, lighting his cigar again like he needed something to distract himself.

“You always comin’ ‘round with not enough,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Shit, you did that with me too, huh?” That made Smoke lift his head—not fully, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Like he wasn’t even tryna get involved. But his eyes were still on you.

“I had enough for who needed it,” you replied sweetly, not even turning around. “Wasn’t my fault you ain’t know how to keep your hands to yourself.”

That earned a short, cold laugh from the corner.

Stack sucked his teeth, but you didn’t stay long enough for him to talk back. You turned, braid swinging over your shoulder, and gave a little wave toward the back room.

“Tell Ms. Moore I said ill be back.”

And just as you hit the door, your hand barely grazing the cool metal handle, Smoke finally spoke. “I will,” he said. Voice deep like gravel. Heavy. Final.

Then quieter: “And next time, don’t rush out. You stay longer.” The door creaked behind you, but you caught the way Stack looked at him. Tight-lipped. Sharp. Like this was the first time it happened, but maybe not the last. Outside, the sun didn’t feel as hot.

But something in you was burning. You weren’t supposed to like the way he said that. You weren’t supposed to think about him watching you from that chair. And you sure as hell weren’t supposed to want to test how far Smoke would let this go.

But you did.

And deep down?

You hoped next time, he’d make you stay.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers.

Fwd: M😮RENA del CADERÓN!

New Years Party DJ Set by @389 (DJ HYPRFNK) @ BLUNDERDOME TRACKLIST