BBW

“Blunt loaded like a full clip Swag sauce on full drip Miss me with the bullshit Miss, miss me with the bullshit Looking like "Who this?" Talk about it but they never gon' do shit Miss me with the bullshit Miss, miss me with the bullshit”

Leikeli47 – “Miss Me”

N’Jadaka flexed his hands by his side and drew in a deep relaxed breath.

Content Warning: Distress, terminal illness

Motherhood, Annie had long ago decided, was essentially an unpaid, highly volatile internship in hostage negotiation.

Ten minutes ago, she had successfully talked seven-year-old Maya out of flushing a decapitated Barbie down the toilet to "give her a sea burial," while simultaneously preventing eight-year-old Leo from feeding the dog a fistful of glitter. Baby Sam had aggressively rejected his pacifier, opting instead to spit up on Annie’s favorite cashmere cardigan.

it was absolute, unmitigated chaos. And as Annie poured herself a desperately earned glass of Cabernet at the kitchen island, she wouldn't have traded a single second of it.

She took a sip of the dark wine, leaning back against the cool marble counter. The house was finally quiet, the dishwasher humming a low, steady lullaby. She pulled up her laptop, scrolling through the excursion options for their Cabo trip next week.

Sunset catamaran cruise? Yes.

Couples massage? Absolutely.

Tequila tasting? A mathematical necessity.

They needed this trip.

Smoke had been working so hard lately, taking on extra contracting jobs, coming home exhausted with dark circles under his eyes. Even this morning, he had seemed miles away, distracted and tense. But a long weekend in the Mexican sun, with endless margaritas and a king-sized bed, was exactly the prescription they needed to reset.

The heavy front door clicked open, followed by the familiar, heavy thud of Smoke’s work boots hitting the entryway rug.

"In the kitchen!" Annie called out, a bright smile automatically taking over her face. She smoothed down her leggings and walked around the island to greet him. "Please tell me you brought tacos, because if not, your gorgeous wife is going to have to eat a sleeve of stale saltines for dinner."

Smoke stepped into the arched doorway of the kitchen.

He didn't laugh.

He didn't even smile.

He just stood there, his massive frame rigid, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked violently near his ear. He looked exhausted, yes, but there was something else. A profound, hollow emptiness in his eyes that made Annie’s teasing smile falter.

"Hey," she said softly, setting her wine glass down. The playful energy instantly drained from the room, replaced by a sudden, heavy static. "Baby, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen at the site?"

He didn't move toward her.

He stayed perfectly still, keeping his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Nothing happened at the site, Annie."

His voice was dead. Flat. It sent a cold, warning prickle down the back of her neck.

"Okay..." She took a slow step toward him, her brow furrowing in concern. "How was the urgent care? Did they give you muscle relaxers for your neck?"

"My neck is fine."

Annie closed the distance between them, reaching out to rest her hand against his chest. His heart was beating frantically a wild, panicked rhythm that completely betrayed his cold exterior. She looked up into his eyes, searching for the man who had loved her into a puddle of absolute bliss just twenty-four hours ago.

And then, she smelled it.

Annie froze. She blinked, her brain misfiring as it tried to process the sensory input. It was sharp, synthetic, and overwhelmingly sweet. It smelled like cheap gardenias and vanilla alcohol. It was a scent that didn't belong in her house, on her husband, or in her life.

Her hand slowly dropped from his chest. "Elijah... what is that smell?"

He didn't flinch. He looked down at her with a blank, unreadable mask that terrified her more than if he had started screaming.

"It's over, Annie," he said.

The words hung in the air, heavy and absurd. Annie let out a short, breathless laugh—a pure, unfiltered reflex of disbelief. "What? What are you talking about? What's over?"

"Us."

Smoke pulled his left hand out of his pocket. It was trembling slightly, but his grip was firm as he pulled out a folded piece of paper and dropped it onto the pristine marble of the kitchen island.

Annie stared at the paper. She didn't want to look at it. Her stomach free-fell into a dark, bottomless pit, the Cabernet suddenly turning to acid in her throat. She slowly reached out with a shaking hand and unfolded the receipt.

The Grand Orchid Hotel. Downtown Miami.

One King Suite.

Date: Three weeks ago.

The weekend he told her he was at a fishing cabin in the mountains with the crew.

"No," Annie whispered, stepping back, shaking her head. "No, this is a joke. Is this a joke? Because it isn't funny, Smoke."

"It's not a joke," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, quiet whisper. "Her name is Elena. I've been seeing her for six months."

"You're lying."

Annie’s voice cracked, tears springing to her eyes with absolute, violent force. "You are lying to me! You love me! We literally made love last night! You held me and told me you loved me more than life!"

"I lied," Smoke said.

The two words hit her like a physical blow to the sternum. Annie gasped, wrapping her arms around her own stomach as if he had literally gutted her with a hunting knife.

The room spun.

The hum of the dishwasher suddenly sounded like a roaring train.

"Why?" she sobbed, the tears spilling over her cheeks, destroying her makeup, destroying her dignity, destroying her entire world. "Why, Elijah? What did I do? Am I not enough? After fifteen years... after three kids... you just... threw us away for some cheap perfume?"

Smoke’s jaw tightened. He looked away from her, fixing his gaze on the dark window above the sink. If he looked at her weeping, broken form, he knew he would shatter. He knew he would fall to his knees and confess everything.

I'm dying. I'm saving you. Please forgive me.

"I'm suffocating here, Annie," Smoke forced out, injecting every ounce of venom he could muster into his tone. "I'm tired of the kids screaming. I'm tired of the mortgage. I'm tired of... you. I just want out."

Annie let out a guttural, wounded sound. She lunged forward, hitting his chest with her open palms, pushing him backward toward the door. "Get out!" she screamed, her voice tearing through her throat, loud enough to wake the dead. "If you want out, then get out! Get the hell out of my house!"

Smoke stumbled back, letting her hit him. He deserved it. He deserved so much worse.

"I'll have a lawyer send the papers," he muttered, turning his back on his sobbing wife.

He turned his back, every instinct in his body screaming in active, violent revolt, and forced his heavy legs to carry him out the front door.

The heavy oak clicked shut behind him, the deadbolt snapping into place with the finality of a gunshot. But the wood wasn't thick enough to muffle the sound of the aftermath.

He heard her hit the floor.

It wasn't just a cry. It was a breathless, guttural wallow the agonizing sound of a soul being ripped violently in half. The sound bled through the door and sank directly into his bones, stopping Smoke dead in his tracks.

His hand instinctively flew back to the brass doorknob. Go back, his mind screamed, panic and love suffocating him.

Go back in there. Pick her up off that floor. Tell her the truth. Tell her you’re terrified and you’re dying and you need her.

His fingers gripped the cool metal, trembling so violently the latch began to rattle. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving as tears finally burned hot tracks down his face. He was one simple twist of the wrist away from undoing it all. One twist of the wrist to have his wife back.

But the glioblastoma made the choice for him.

A blinding, white-hot spike of agony suddenly detonated behind his left eye—a brutal, sickening reminder of the rotting clock inside his head. Smoke choked on a gasp, his knees instantly buckling under the sheer force of the pain.

He let go of the doorknob.

He stumbled backward, retreating from the door as if it were made of fire, until his broad shoulders hit the siding of his beautiful, perfectly manicured house. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his eye, fighting through the physical torture of the tumor while Annie’s muffled, broken sobs continued to tear through the night air.

Annie woke up with her cheek pressed against the cold hardwood floor of the living room. Her body was stiff, her throat raw and coated in the metallic taste of grief. For three blissful, hazy seconds of semiconsciousness, she forgot. She thought she had just fallen asleep on the rug watching TV after folding laundry. She thought Smoke was upstairs, sprawled diagonally across their king-sized bed, waiting for her to crawl under his arm.

Then, she opened her eyes and saw the crumpled hotel receipt lying like a discarded weapon near the baseboard.

The memory of the night before crashed over her like a freezing tidal wave. Her name is Elena. I've been seeing her for six months. I don't love you anymore.

Annie squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh, agonizing sob tearing its way up her throat. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling into a tight ball on the floor. The physical pain in her chest was so acute it felt like she was actively having a heart attack. Her mind obsessively replayed the last six months, desperately hunting for the cracks she had missed.

Every late night at the construction site. Every time he had been distracted at dinner. Every time he had pulled away from her touch, blaming it on exhaustion. He hadn't been building their future. He had been dismantling it. He had been with her.

"Mommy?"

Annie flinched. The small, sleepy voice drifted from the top of the stairs.

he forced her eyes open. Seven-year-old Maya was standing on the landing, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her oversized pajamas, her dark curls sleep-mussed and tangled.

"Is it time to wake up?" Maya mumbled. "Is Daddy making pancakes again?"

The name was a jagged knife twisting in Annie’s ribs.

Daddy is gone. Daddy left us for someone else.

Annie’s breath hitched in panic.

She couldn't do this. S

he couldn't look into her daughter’s innocent eyes and tell her that the man who hung the moon and the stars in their sky had just burned their universe to the ground. She was entirely empty, entirely broken.

But as Maya took a step down the stairs, looking so incredibly small and vulnerable, a different instinct flared in the back of Annie's mind. It was fierce, primal, and deeply protective. Smoke might have abandoned them, but she would die before she let his betrayal destroy her children.

"Hey, baby bug," Annie rasped. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to sit up, swiping the heels of her hands violently under her swollen eyes. "Come here."

She pushed herself off the floor, every muscle aching, and met Maya at the bottom of the stairs. She pulled her daughter into her chest, burying her face in those warm curls, drawing strength from the little girl's steady heartbeat.

"Daddy had to go to work super early today," Annie lied, the words tasting like ash. "So it's just you, me, the boys, and Eggos this morning. How does that sound?"

Maya frowned, disappointed but easily bribed. "Can I have extra syrup?"

"You can have all the syrup you want," Annie whispered, kissing the top of her head.

The next hour was a masterclass in compartmentalization. Annie moved through the morning routine like a ghost possessing her own body. She packed lunches, broke up a fight over a missing sneaker between Leo and the dog, and fed baby Sam his bottle—all while her heart bled out quietly onto the kitchen floor.

She purposefully avoided looking at the island. She avoided looking at the spot where Smoke had stood just twelve hours ago and murdered their marriage.

By 7:45 AM, the older kids were ushered out the front door toward the bus stop. Annie stood on the porch, holding Sam on her hip, waving until the yellow bus disappeared around the corner.

The forced, bright smile held on her face until the exact moment the bus was out of sight.

As the quiet of the neighborhood settled around her, Annie’s eyes dropped to the porch floorboards. Right where Smoke had been standing the night before, there was a faint, dark smear on the white painted wood.

She slowly knelt down, shifting Sam’s weight on her hip, and touched it.

It was a tiny speck of dried blood.

Annie frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. It hadn't been there yesterday.

Had Smoke hurt his hand at the site?

Why hadn't he said anything?

The memory of his hands suddenly flashed in her mind

The way he had kept his left hand shoved deep into his pocket during the entire brutal fight.

The way he had seemed so rigid, so intensely tightly coiled, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

A cold, strange unease rippled through her veins, temporarily breaking through the suffocating fog of her grief.

She stood up slowly, her thumb rubbing the dried flake of blood. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. The man who had looked at her with such dead, empty eyes last night was not the man who had loved her with such desperate, consuming passion the night before.

I lied, he had said.

Annie looked down the empty street, her jaw tightening.

She was shattered, yes.

She was devastated.

But as she walked back inside and locked the heavy oak door, the tears finally stopped falling. Annie had spent fifteen years studying every square inch of Smoke Moore's soul.

She knew his tells.

She knew his shadows.

And something in the dark didn't add up.

Room 114 of the Sunburst Motel smelled like stale cigarettes, mildew, and despair.

It was a violent downgrade from the sprawling, coastal luxury of the home Elijah and Annie had designed. The wallpaper was peeling, the AC unit rattled like a dying engine, and the mattress felt like it was stuffed with cinderblocks.

Smoke sat at the wobbly laminate desk in the corner, staring at the paperwork spread out before him.

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

His lawyer, a sharp, no-nonsense guy named Miller, had emailed them over at 8:00 AM. Miller had been utterly baffled on the phone.

“Smoke, you’re admitting to infidelity on paper? California is a no-fault state. If you put this in writing, she is going to take you to the cleaners. She’ll get the house, full custody, and maximum alimony. You won't have a dime.”

“That’s the point,” Smoke had replied, his voice dead. “Give her everything.”

He picked up the cheap black pen the motel had provided. He needed to sign the bottom line. He needed to make it official so he could file it by tomorrow.

He pressed the pen to the paper.

Twitch.

His left hand violently seized.

The pen violently scratched a harsh, jagged black line across the pristine legal document before snapping out of his grip and rolling onto the floor.

Smoke stared at his empty hand.

The fingers were curled inward, stiff and trembling, entirely refusing to obey his brain’s frantic commands to straighten.

A wave of pure, white-hot fury crashed over him. He grabbed his left wrist with his right hand, gritting his teeth, and forcefully tried to pry his own fingers open.

"Stop it," he hissed to the empty room, his chest heaving. "Just stop it. Not yet."

But the glioblastoma wasn't taking orders.

As he fought his own body, the familiar, blinding spike of pain detonated directly behind his left eye.

It was worse today.

It felt like a physical drill boring into his skull. The peeling wallpaper swam in and out of focus, a loud, high-pitched ringing drowning out the hum of the AC.

Smoke dropped his hand, letting out a raw, agonizing groan. He blindly reached for the orange pill bottle on the desk—the high-dose steroids Dr. Aris had prescribed to manage the brain swelling. He fumbled with the child-proof cap, his uncooperative fingers failing twice before he finally popped it open. He dry-swallowed two pills, his throat burning, and slumped forward until his forehead hit the cool laminate of the desk.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the medication to dull the absolute torture in his head.

Through the pain, his phone vibrated on the desk.

Smoke slowly turned his head, opening one bloodshot eye to look at the screen.

[Incoming Call: Annie]

His heart violently slammed against his ribs. For a fraction of a second, the urge to answer it—to hear her voice, to beg her to come pick him up, to tell her he was so incredibly terrified of dying alone in this filthy room—was completely overwhelming.

He stared at her name until the screen went dark.

Missed Call.

Smoke let out a ragged breath, the tears finally tracking sideways across the bridge of his nose. He picked up the pen with his right hand, awkwardly gripping it in his non-dominant fist.

Slowly, messily, like a child learning to write for the first time, Smoke traced his signature on the divorce papers.

Three miles away, Annie was standing in the center of Smoke’s walk-in closet, completely surrounded by the ghosts of her husband.

Baby Sam was finally down for his morning nap, giving Annie her first uninterrupted moment of silence. She hadn't called Smoke to beg him to come back. She hadn't called him to scream.

She called him because she was standing in front of his meticulously organized side of the closet, staring at his row of gym bags.

He had taken a duffel bag last night. But he had left behind his favorite worn-out leather weekender—the one he always took when he traveled. He had left behind his expensive electric razor. He had left his favorite boots.

Annie reached out and grabbed the gray hoodie he had worn two days ago, pressing the fabric to her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

It smelled like sawdust, heavily roasted coffee, and the musky cedar of his cologne. That was it.

She grabbed the flannel he had worn to the grocery store on Sunday. Same scent. She grabbed the t-shirt he wore to bed on Monday. Nothing.

Annie dropped the shirts to the floor, her heart pounding a strange, frantic rhythm.

Her name is Elena. I've been seeing her for six months.

If her husband had been sleeping with another woman for half a year, why was last night the very first time she had ever smelled that cloying, cheap gardenia perfume? Smoke was meticulous, yes, but no one was that perfect. Scent transferred. It lingered on car seats, on jackets, in hair. For six months, there hadn't been a single trace of another woman on him.

Then, magically, on the exact same night he breaks her heart, he walks in smelling like he bathed in a bottle of it?

"You're an idiot, Smoke," Annie whispered to the empty closet.

She turned on her heel and marched downstairs to his home office. She locked the door behind her and sat down in his heavy leather desk chair, pulling his iPad toward her. She knew his passcode—it was the date of their wedding. He hadn't changed it. Mistake number two.

She unlocked the screen and immediately opened their joint banking app.

She scrolled down to the date on that crumpled hotel receipt.

Three weeks ago.

The receipt was for $450.00 at the Grand Orchid Hotel.

Annie scoured the transactions.

There was no charge for $450.00.

Okay, she thought, her pulse quickening. He paid cash to hide it.

She looked for ATM withdrawals leading up to that weekend. Nothing. Smoke hadn't pulled out a single dollar of cash from their joint accounts in over two months. His personal business account for the contracting firm was linked as well. She checked it.

Zero withdrawals.

Where did he get four hundred and fifty dollars in untraceable cash?

Annie picked up her own phone. Her hands were shaking, but her mind felt razor-sharp for the first time in twelve hours. The paralyzing, suffocating grief from this morning had slowly morphed into a hot, dangerous adrenaline.

She searched for the number of the Grand Orchid Hotel and hit dial.

"Grand Orchid, guest services, how can I direct your call?" a polite voice answered.

"Hi," Annie said, forcing her voice to sound breezy and professional. "My husband stayed with you guys three weeks ago, and his accounting department lost the folio for his expense report. I was wondering if you could email me a copy? The last name is Moore. First name, Elijah."

"Of course, ma'am. Let me pull up that weekend," the receptionist typed for a few seconds. "Moore... Moore... Ah, here it is. Elijah Moore. One King Suite."

Annie’s breath caught. He was there.

"Can you confirm the payment method for the accounting department?" Annie asked, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the phone.

"Yes, it looks like he paid in cash at the front desk," the receptionist confirmed. "It was a walk-in reservation at 2:00 PM on that Friday."

"Great. Thank you," Annie swallowed hard. "And did he charge anything to the room? Room service, drinks?"

There was a pause.

More typing.

"No, ma'am," the receptionist sounded slightly confused. "Actually... the system shows the electronic keycard for that room was never used. He checked in and paid, but the door was never opened."

The air completely vanished from the room.

Annie sat frozen in the leather chair. The silence in the house was suddenly deafening.

The keycard was never used.

He hadn't slept with anyone in that room. He had walked in, handed them cash he had likely hidden from a side job, taken the receipt, and walked out.

He had manufactured the evidence.

Annie slowly lowered the phone from her ear. She looked at the framed photo on Elijah’s desk—a picture of him holding a newborn Sam in the hospital, tears of absolute joy streaming down his rugged face.

The blood on the porch.

The trembling hand.

The sudden, brutal personality shift.

The faked receipt.

He wasn't having an affair.

He was running away.

"What the hell is going on with you, Lijah?" Annie whispered, the hot tears finally returning to her eyes—not out of heartbreak this time, but out of absolute, bone-chilling terror.

Adrenaline is a terrifyingly efficient fuel.

He faked the receipt.

He faked the affair.

But why? Smoke was a fiercely loyal, terrifyingly protective man. He would step in front of a moving train for her and the kids. The only reason—the only conceivable reason—he would intentionally destroy her and run away was if he believed staying would hurt her more.

Annie opened a new tab on his iPad. Her fingers flew across the glass screen, pulling up the FordPass app they used to monitor the maintenance on his F-150.

She clicked on the Vehicle Location tab.

A tiny blue dot appeared on the map. It wasn’t parked at a luxury high-rise downtown with a twenty-six-year-old named Elena. It was parked ten miles away at the Sunburst Motel—a notorious, run-down dive off the interstate that rented rooms by the hour.

A millionaire contractor, voluntarily hiding in a roach motel.

"What are you doing, Smoke?" she breathed, her mind racing.

She closed the app and stared blankly at the screen, desperately hunting for the missing puzzle piece. Her mind violently rewound the last forty-eight hours. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way he avoided looking at her. The weird, rigid way he had held his left hand in his pocket during the fight.

Then, a memory slammed into her with the force of a physical blow.

"I’m going to run by an urgent care clinic down in West Palm just to make sure I didn't tear anything."

He had said that yesterday morning after dropping his coffee mug.

Annie’s hands started to shake.

She opened the web browser and typed in the URL for their Blue Shield health insurance portal. As the primary policyholder, her login granted her access to the entire family’s medical claims. She typed in her password, her breath hitching in her throat as the little blue loading circle spun.

The dashboard loaded.

She immediately clicked on Recent Claims.

There was a new, pending authorization from yesterday afternoon.

Annie leaned closer to the screen. It wasn't an urgent care clinic in West Palm. It was a Level II Hospital in West Palm Beach.

Patient: Moore, Elijah

Department: Neurology / Neuro-Oncology.

Services Rendered: MRI Brain W/WO Contrast.

Diagnosis Code: Pending Final Report.

Annie stopped breathing.

The air in the office was instantly sucked into a vacuum. She stared at the word Neurology. The letters seemed to detach from the screen, floating in her vision, sharp and jagged and dripping with venom.

MRI Brain.

You don't get a STAT MRI of your brain with contrast for a pinched nerve in your neck. You don't go to a neurologist for a strained muscle from lifting weights.

"No," she whispered, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

The trembling hand. The dropped mug. The blinding headaches he tried to hide in the dark. The blood on the porch from where he had likely collapsed or dug his nails into his own skin in agony.

He wasn't having a midlife crisis.

He wasn't cheating on her.

There was something terrifyingly wrong inside his head.

“I’m suffocating here,” he had lied last night, looking at her with those dead, empty eyes. “I just want out.”

He had taken her hatred, fully absorbing the blow, just to set her free.

"You stupid, beautiful, arrogant idiot," Annie sobbed, a fresh wave of tears pouring freely down her face as she clutched the iPad to her chest.

She didn't collapse this time.

The despair was entirely eradicated by a fierce, blinding, maternal fury. Smoke was used to carrying the weight of the world on his massive shoulders. But he had fundamentally underestimated the woman he married.

Annie shoved the chair back and sprinted out of the office. She grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter and hit her mother's contact name.

"Mom," Annie said the second the line connected, her voice trembling but forged in absolute steel. "I need you at my house. Right now. Sam is asleep in his crib, and the older two get off the bus at three."

"Annie? Honey, what’s wrong? You sound—"

"Smoke is sick, Mom," Annie choked out, grabbing her car keys from the hook. "I don't know what it is yet, but it's bad. And he's trying to run away so I don't have to deal with it."

"Oh my God. I'm leaving right now. I'll be there in five minutes. Go get him."

Annie hung up. She ran out the front door, not even bothering to lock it, and threw herself into the driver's seat of her SUV. She jammed the car into reverse, the tires screeching against the pavement as she backed out of the driveway.

Smoke wanted to play the tragic martyr. He wanted to sit in the dark in a cheap motel room to spare her the pain of whatever was coming.

But as Annie merged onto the highway, slamming her foot down on the gas pedal toward the Sunburst Motel, she made a vow of her own. She was going to kick down the door of that filthy room, grab the love of her life by his stubborn collar, and demand the goddamn truth.

For better or worse. In sickness and in health.

She wasn't just words on a paper.

She was his wife.

And he was about to find out exactly what that meant.

Smoke sat at the edge of the motel bed, staring blankly at the divorce petition. He had finally managed to sign it. His signature looked like the jagged scrawl of a stranger, but it was legally binding. It was done.

He reached for the bottle of high-dose steroids on the desk, intending to take another dose to fight off the heavy, suffocating pressure building behind his left eye.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sudden, violent pounding on the motel room door sounded like a SWAT raid. Smoke flinched, his left hand instinctively jerking. He knocked the orange pill bottle over, scattering little white tablets across the sticky laminate floor.

"Smoke!" a voice screamed from the other side of the cheap hollow-core door. "Smoke, open this goddamn door right now!"

Smoke’s heart stopped.

The blood entirely drained from his face, leaving him cold and paralyzed. It was Annie.

How the hell did she find me?

"I know you're in there!" Annie yelled, pounding so hard the wood groaned in the frame. "I tracked your truck! Open the door before I have the manager bring the master key!"

Panic, sharp, wild, and utterly terrifying, clawed at his throat.

He wasn't ready. He hadn't built his walls high enough yet.

The mask he had worn last night was cracking under the weight of the agony in his skull. If she saw him like this, if she looked into his eyes, she would see the truth.

He had to hold the line.

He had to be the monster.

Smoke stood up, his massive frame tight with manufactured fury. He crossed the small room in three strides, unlocked the deadbolt, and yanked the door open.

Annie stood on the concrete walkway. She looked terrible, her eyes were swollen, her dark hair was a mess, and she was wearing the same leggings from yesterday. But beneath the exhaustion, her eyes were burning with a fierce, absolute fire.

"What are you doing here, Annie?" Smoke demanded, his voice a low, hostile rumble. He blocked the doorway with his body, making sure she couldn't see the scattered pills on the floor behind him. "I told you I’d have the lawyer send the papers. You have no right to track me."

Annie didn't flinch.

She stepped forward, practically pressing her chest against his solid chest, forcing him to look down at her.

"The Grand Orchid Hotel," she said, her voice shaking but razor-sharp. "You paid cash. But the electronic keycard was never used. You never opened the door to that room, Smoke."

Smoke’s jaw locked. He stared down at her, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Dammit. She checked.

"I stayed at Elena's place," he lied smoothly, without missing a beat. "I just bought the room to have an alibi if you checked the accounts. It doesn't change anything."

"Elena doesn't exist," Annie snapped, her voice rising. "Stop lying to me! I know you didn't go to an urgent care in West Palm. I logged into Blue Shield, Smoke. I saw the claim. Neurology. Brain MRI."

The world tilted on its axis.

The high-pitched ringing in Smoke’s ear suddenly turned into a deafening roar. His chest tightened so violently he could barely pull air into his lungs. She knew. The one thing he had sacrificed his marriage to hide from her, the one thing he was terrified of her finding out—she held it in her hands like a loaded gun.

Deny it. Push her away. Break her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Smoke said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. He crossed his arms over his chest, burying his trembling left hand beneath his right bicep. "The urgent care referred me for an MRI because of a pinched nerve in my neck. The machine happened to be in the neuro wing. That’s it."

"A pinched nerve?" Annie repeated, letting out a wild, breathless laugh of sheer disbelief. "You expect me to believe you walked out on fifteen years of marriage, faked an affair, and moved into a roach motel because of a pinched nerve?"

"I walked out because I don't want to be married to you anymore!" Smoke roared, stepping out of the doorway to tower over her on the walkway. "Why is that so hard for you to understand? I’m done, Annie! The MRI was nothing! It was negative! I'm perfectly healthy, and I still don't want you!"

"You're a liar!" she screamed back, tears finally spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. She shoved his chest with both hands. "You're a coward! You're trying to protect me from something, but I am your wife! I took a vow! You don't get to unilaterally decide to shut me out because things get hard!"

"It's not about protecting you!" he shouted, the lie tearing his throat raw. "I don't love you! Look at me, Annie! Look me in the eye and listen to me! I don't love you!"

He stared down at her, forcing every ounce of venom and cold hatred he possessed into his gaze. He needed her to believe it. He needed her to feel the absolute, irrevocable rejection of the man she loved.

Annie stared back up at him, her chest heaving. She searched his dark eyes, looking for the warmth, the adoration, the familiar safe harbor she had known since she was a teenager.

She found nothing. Just a cold, impenetrable wall.

"Fine," Annie whispered, her voice finally breaking. The fight completely drained out of her body, leaving her hollow and defeated. "If you really don't love me... if you really want this divorce... then sign the papers right now. In front of me."

Smoke didn't hesitate. He stepped back into the room, leaving the door open. He picked up the signed petition from the wobbly desk and walked back to the doorway. He shoved the papers roughly into her hands.

"Already done," he said coldly.

Annie looked down at the paper. Her eyes scanned the document, landing on the signature line at the very bottom.

The breath completely left her lungs.

She stared at the ink. It wasn't Elijah’s signature. Elijah had beautiful, sharp, architectural handwriting. The signature on the paper was a jagged, barely legible scrawl. It looked like a young child had violently dragged a pen across the paper.

She slowly looked up from the paper, her tear-filled eyes dropping from his face to his arms.

He was still standing with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. But beneath his right bicep, his left hand—the hand he had used to sign the paper, the hand he had been hiding in his pocket for two days—was violently, uncontrollably trembling.

Smoke saw where she was looking.

He immediately dropped his arms, shoving his left hand deep into his jeans pocket, his face pale and stricken.

But he was too late.

Annie looked up into his eyes, the absolute, horrifying truth finally clicking completely into place.

"Elijah" she whispered, her voice trembling with absolute terror. "What is wrong with your hand?"

A/N:

I hope you all enjoyed this! This is a pretty short series- maybe one or two more chapter. As always, Let me know in the comments how y'all feel! Until Next time 💝

Tag List:

Beneath the Full Moon

Pairing: Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Majesty

Summary: After a cruel prank leaves Majesty abandoned in the mountains, she is found by Elijah, a mysterious man living deep in the woods with secrets as dark as the forest around him. What begins as protection slowly turns into possession, desire, and a bond neither of them can escape. Under the pull of the full moon, Majesty learns the truth about the man who claimed her, and discovers that being wanted by the wolf may be the first place she has ever truly belonged.

Warnings: 18+ only, dark romance, werewolf/shifter themes, possessive behavior, primal play, breeding kink, knotting, biting/marking, rough sex, outdoor sex, scent kink, predator/prey dynamics, mild fear play, emotional vulnerability, isolation, abandonment/prank cruelty, obsessive devotion, explicit sexual content, profanity, Black characters, “mine/yours” dynamics, and full moon claiming ceremony.

Michael B. Jordan x Black!Reader

Genre: Forced Proximity. Age Gap. Arranged meeting.

Synopsis: After winning big this past award season, Michael celebrates with everyone who’s been there throughout his entire career. Until his mama mentions the promise he made her: to meet the woman of her choosing.

Enjoy ~ S.

Thursday, 1:45 pm. Family Gathering.

The house is filled with warm laughter and familial joy. Everyone discussing random topics: news, relationship gossip, successes and more.

Michael stands in the center of it all. A glow around him after enduring a strong award season. He was once a kid trying to make it big in the industry. Now?

He’s a certified Academy Award Winning Actor. A Black one at that.

His first Oscar win for his role in Sinners opened up several doors in his career. He had everything he wanted.

Fame. Status. Recognition. Money.

Yet, the question on everyone’s mind is: when is the Academy Award Winner gonna finally settle down?

“Michael, boy are you listening to me?” that soft, maternal voice echoing from the side of him. Michael glances over and sees his mama staring at him. An annoyed look on her face.

“Huh, ma? Yeah. Yes, I’m listening.” Michael clears his throat as he gives his full attention.

“Mhmm. I said, she’s coming today. She should be here soon. You’re gonna love her,” Mrs. Jordan, or Donna, exclaims with a smile. “Be nice to her. She’s younger, but she’s smart. Has a good head on her shoulders. Very respectable young woman.”

Michael nods along as he processes his mamas words. If he were to be honest, he isn’t exactly sure about this meeting. Not because his mama set it up, no. He trusts her judgement. It’s because he doesn’t know what to expect of the woman he’s meeting.

He mostly doesn’t want to mess up anything, or come off as being too much. He wants whoever she is to see him as himself. Not just ‘Michael B. Jordan’ the actor. But as a man. A regular person.

“Yo Mike! Come join us for this pool game bro!” One of his cousins shouts from outside.

2:15 pm. Backyard.

It’s packed and busy in the large yard. Kids running about. Elders at the table drinking and reminiscing about their childhood and experiences.

However, what has most of the adults attention is the Photo Booth that’s set up on the right side of the yard. Placed with intention. For memories to be made and shared.

“Mike, we still waiting on your pictures. Hurry up and gon on to that photo booth baby,” one of his aunts ushered him to the left side of it.

“Okay, okay. I’m goin’.” He mutters as he steps inside the Photo Booth. The space not too small, but not quite big either for his large frame. “Alright, let’s see what we got here..” he scans the screen, looking at the different frames and filters.

Michael selects the desired frame and filter, and prepares himself to do his poses.

Then the unexpected happens.

“Mrs. Jordan! Why are you pushing me- ah!” A voice laughs until it’s cut off by a shocked gasp. Michael stumbles back into the chair behind him. His hands out to catch whoever just fell through the Photo Booth.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry! I wasn’t tryna-“ your voice cut off when your eyes meet his.

A silence filling the space instantly. Michael stares back in shock for several reasons. One being the fact his photos were interrupted. Another being the fact they’re interrupted by one of the writers he met this award season.

“Y/n?” His voice comes out gruffly as he adjusts his grip around your waist. His hands placed firmly.

“Hi..Michael..” you whisper.

The energy between you both climbing up. It all starts to make sense now. Why his mama was so adamant about meeting you.

It’s because he already has. He remembers instantly mentioning your name at a dinner he had with his family a few weeks back.

Little did he know, his mama was paying attention to how he said and talked about you. That familiar sparkle in his eye when someone has deeply intrigued him.

Click

Both of you turn towards the sound instantly. Bewildered and surprised by the fact the camera just snapped a picture of you two in black and white.

The countdown happens again. Click.

Another picture taken of your faces.

A soft laugh erupts from you as you cover your mouth with your manicured hand. Michael cuts his eyes over at you. The sound of your laughter addictive and all too familiar.

A grin appears on his face. Click. The third picture taken.

“Oh my god. How do you stop this thing?” You ask as you search around at the screen.

“Hold up, look at me real quick,” Michael says right when the counter starts. His right hand coming up and guiding your face back to his. You hold his gaze for moment before your eyes flicker over his features.

They land on his jaw. A piece of fuzz sitting in his beard. Unconsciously, your hand raises up touching his jaw to remove the random bits. The gesture causing his heart to pick up in pace.

“There you go, you had lint or something in your beard.” You explain slightly nervous from the way he’s looking at you.

Click. The camera captures the last image. It happens to be the best one out of all of them.

“How long you staying?” He asks abruptly.

“Oh? Uhh.. until the event ends.” You brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we’re gonna need better pictures together,” he exhales with a slight nervous smile. That causes a giggle to come out your mouth.

“Agreed. I think I blinked too hard in the second one.” You admit while looking over at the screen and camera.

“And I was wondering if we could finally have a proper conversation. To know each other better. Away from all the noise and chaos of the events. If that’s cool with you.” Michael rambles on while scratching the back of his head.

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah? Good, good.

A pause happens for a moment.

“You know your mama slick right? She told me to come here because she said she made me a cake and had ribs for me.”

“A cake and ribs? Oh my..” Michael mutters under hush breath.

“Yes! A cake and ribs! She knows I’m a big back. Especially after the way I tore up that cupcake at the Golden Globes.” You snort while clapping your hands together in amusement.

“That cupcake ain’t stand a chance against you. I thought I was bad when it came to food.” He chuckles when he glances over at you. “Guess I met my match, huh?”

“I guess you did.”

Meanwhile…

“Donna, you set them up? I gotta give it to you girl. That was good.” One of the other women spoke up while watching from the window.

“What? These kids needed a push. You should’ve seen Michael when he talked about her,” Donna explained while she wiped the counter down. “Especially at the Oscars when they talked. He was very attentive with her. I’m not sure if either of them noticed the spark they had.”

“They fit together. You can tell just by looking at them.” An uncle chimes in.

“Donna expect a wedding and grandkids soon.” A cousin jokes which causes everyone to chuckle as well.

“Oh trust me, I’ve already been planning for both.”

⚠️Content Warning: gore, pregnancy-related anxiety, trauma, flooding, life-threatening situations, graphic survival distress

READ WITH CARE | READ WITH CARE | READ WITH CARE

Smoke shoved his massive arms back under Annie, preparing to lift her. "I’m carrying you out. Stack has the rig outside. We can pack you in ice—"

"No!" Miss Veda snapped, her hand clamping down hard on Smoke’s thick wrist. "Look at her! Her heart is beating at a hundred and sixty beats a minute. Her body is cooking itself from the inside out. If you pick her up and try to run through a mob of ten thousand panicked people right now, the stress will stop her heart before you ever reach those glass doors."

"I can't let her have a baby on this concrete floor!" Smoke roared, the desperation finally cracking his stoic foundation. "It's filthy!"

"It’s too late for clean!" Miss Veda yelled back, pushing him down by the shoulder. "The baby is in the birth canal. She's crowning. You sit down, fireman, and you hold your wife, because she is going to need every ounce of strength you have to get this child out into the world!"

Smoke looked down. Annie was gripping the heavy canvas of his turnout coat so hard her knuckles were splitting. Her eyes were rolled back slightly, her chest heaving with shallow, ragged, dry breaths.

He didn't argue. He shifted his massive frame behind her, pulling her back against his chest, letting her rest between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, creating a physical shield between her and the dark, chaotic hall.

"I'm right here, Annette," Smoke whispered fiercely, pressing his cheek against her burning forehead. "I'm your wall. Lean on me."

"It burns, Eli," she sobbed, a weak, desperate sound. The unnatural heat was consuming her.

"I know, sunflower. I know. I got you."

"Okay, baby," Miss Veda said, kneeling at Annie’s feet, her voice dropping into a rhythmic, commanding cadence that had delivered hundreds of babies in the Charity Hospital wards. "When the next one comes, you bear down. You don't scream. You push that energy down into your hips."

Annie nodded weakly against Smoke’s chest, her dark hair plastered to her face with sweat and river water.

Tighten.

The final contraction hit her like a freight train. It wasn't just an ache; it was an explosive, involuntary bearing down of her entire physical being.

Annie threw her head back against Smoke’s collarbone. She didn't scream. She squeezed her eyes shut, bared her teeth, and pushed.

Smoke held her tightly, his massive arms acting as a brace. He could feel the terrifying heat radiating off her skin through his thick coat. He could feel the erratic, frantic fluttering of her heart against his own ribs. It felt like a bird trying to batter its way out of a cage. She was giving the absolute last reserves of her life force to the child.

"Good, Annie, good!" Miss Veda encouraged, her hands positioned in the dark. "I have the head! One more. Give me one more big push for Ruby!"

"I can't," Annie gasped, her body going completely limp against Smoke. The fever had taken everything. Her vision was nothing but gray static. "Eli, I can't."

"Yes, you can," Smoke wept, his tears falling freely now, landing on her feverish cheeks and mixing with the plaster dust. "You chopped through a roof, Annie. You fought the ocean in the dark. You can do this. Bring our little girl here. Please, baby. Bring her to me."

Annie opened her eyes.

She looked up at the dark, cavernous ceiling of the Convention Center.

She thought of the black water rising in her foyer. She thought of the hot sun blistering the asphalt shingles. She thought of the torn yellow dress. She had not survived the end of the world just to fail at the finish line.

She took a shallow, rattling breath, her bloody hands gripping Smoke's forearms with sudden, terrifying strength.

She pushed with the soul of a Ninth Ward woman.

She pushed until her vision went completely black.

A sharp, piercing cry shattered the heavy darkness of Hall H.

It wasn't a weak, dehydrated click. It was a loud, angry, vibrant wail of new life.

Smoke gasped, his entire massive frame shaking as the sound hit his ears.

"She's here," Miss Veda whispered, her voice choked with tears. She quickly wiped the baby's face with a relatively clean piece of her own slip. "She's beautiful, Annie. A little girl."

Smoke looked over Annie's shoulder. In the weak, ambient glow of the flashlight lying on the floor, he saw her. Ruby. She was tiny, covered in vernix and blood, her little fists waving furiously in the hot, humid air.

"Annie," Smoke cried, laughing a broken, wet laugh. "Look. Baby, look at her."

But Annie didn't move.

Her head rested heavily against his chest. Her arms, which had been gripping his coat so fiercely just a second ago, had gone completely slack, falling uselessly to her sides.

"Annie?" Smoke whispered, the smile dying on his face instantly.

He shifted his weight, looking down at her.

Her eyes were half-open, staring blankly out into the dark hall. The agonizing, unnatural heat of the fever was still there, but the rapid, frantic beating of her heart against his ribs... had stopped.

"No," Smoke breathed. "No, no, no. Nette. Hey."

He shook her gently. "Sunflower. Hey. Look at Ruby."

Miss Veda looked up from the baby. She saw the slackness of Annie’s jaw. She saw the sudden, terrifying stillness of the young woman.

The old nurse dropped her head to her chest.

"Eli..." Miss Veda whispered softly, the ultimate tragedy breaking her voice.

"Shut up!" Smoke roared. It was a sound of such pure, visceral agony that the people lingering in the shadows of the hall physically stepped back.

He pressed two large, trembling fingers against the side of Annie’s neck, right where her pulse had been racing a minute ago.

Nothing. Just stillness.

Her heart, pushed past the absolute limits of human endurance by the flood, the dehydration, the severe infection, and the violent trauma of unmedicated labor, had simply given out the moment she knew her daughter was safe. Her body had served its purpose as a vessel, and then it had shut down.

"Come back," Smoke begged, his massive chest heaving as he pulled her lifeless body tight against him, rocking her back and forth on the concrete floor. "Please, God, don't take her. Take me! Put me in the water! Put me in the water, just give her back!"

He buried his face in her matted hair, sobbing uncontrollably. The giant firefighter, the man who couldn't be broken by burning buildings or toxic floods or live electrical wires, was entirely destroyed on a piece of wet cardboard.

Miss Veda carefully wrapped the crying newborn in a torn piece of yellow fabric—the cleanest part of Annie’s ruined dress.

She crawled over to the giant, broken man. She gently nudged Smoke's arm.

He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to let Annie go. He wanted the Convention Center roof to collapse and bury them both. But the baby was wailing, demanding the world.

Smoke slowly lifted his head, his face a mask of absolute, world-ending tragedy.

Miss Veda placed the small, warm bundle into his massive, calloused hands.

Smoke looked down at Ruby. She had Annie's nose. She had Annie's stubborn chin. She was wrapped in the yellow sundress that had survived the storm.

He pulled the baby to his chest, resting her right against his silver FDNO badge, while his other arm remained wrapped tightly around the lifeless body of his wife.

Smoke sat paralyzed on the concrete floor, trapped in a horrific liminal space. In his left arm, tucked against the heavy canvas of his turnout coat, was the frantic, squirming, hot weight of his daughter. In his right arm, resting against his ribs, was the slack, cooling weight of his wife.

The wails of the newborn bounced off the high concrete walls of Hall H, a sharp, piercing sound of life that felt entirely out of place in the mausoleum of the Convention Center.

"Lieutenant," Miss Veda said softly.

Smoke didn't hear her.

He was staring at Annie’s face.

The harsh lines of pain and fever that had contorted her features for the last forty-eight hours were gone. In death, her face had relaxed into a profound, devastating stillness. She just looked tired.

"Lieutenant Moore," Miss Veda repeated, her voice firmer this time. She reached out with a pair of trauma shears she had salvaged from a discarded first-aid kit. "I need to clamp the cord. Give me room."

Smoke blinked, pulling his gaze away from Annie’s lifeless eyes. He shifted slightly, his movements rigid and robotic, allowing the old nurse to access the space between the mother and the child.

With practiced, grim efficiency, Miss Veda tied off the umbilical cord using a torn, thin strip of Annie's yellow sundress, then snipped it. It was the final, physical severing. Annie and Ruby were no longer one entity.

"There," Miss Veda whispered, her hands shaking slightly as she wiped the shears on her skirt. "She's free."

In the shadows of the aisle, the dynamic of the crowd was shifting.

The cries of the baby had drawn attention. In a place where people were dying of thirst and despair, the sound of new life was a dangerous magnet.

Desperate faces began to appear at the edges of the flashlight beam. Hollow-eyed men, weeping mothers, and teenagers stepped closer, staring at the giant fireman, the dead woman, and the crying infant.

Leon saw the movement. The mechanic stepped forward, planting his boots firmly between Smoke and the encroaching shadows. He gripped the heavy iron tire iron with both hands, raising it slightly.

"Back up," Leon growled, his voice a low, territorial warning. "Show some respect. Back away."

Smoke looked up at the shadows. He saw the hungry, desperate eyes looking at his daughter. He saw the feral reality of the Convention Center closing in around them.

The paralysis broke. The grief didn't leave, but it hardened, compressing into a cold, diamond-sharp armor of pure survival.

He was a father now. And he was not going to let his daughter die in the same dark hole that had taken his wife.

Smoke gently laid Ruby against the center of his chest, securing the small, squirming bundle inside the heavy folds of his turnout coat. He zipped the heavy canvas jacket up halfway, creating a makeshift, insulated pouch. Only the baby's tiny face was visible, resting securely against his silver NOFD badge.

Then, he looked down at Annie.

He couldn't leave her here. He would burn the entire city to the waterline before he left her on this cardboard.

Smoke reached out with a massive, trembling hand. He brushed the matted, plaster-caked hair away from her face one last time. With his thumb, he gently stroked her cheek, committing the texture of her skin to memory.

"I'm taking you home, sunflower," Smoke whispered.

He slipped one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. With a deep, shuddering grunt, the giant firefighter stood up.

He rose to his full height of six-foot-four. The physical toll of holding a newborn tight to his chest while carrying the dead weight of an adult woman was staggering, but Smoke didn't waver. The muscles in his massive arms locked into place like steel cables.

He looked at Miss Veda. The old nurse was wiping her eyes, looking up at the tragic, towering figure.

"She fought like hell, son," Miss Veda said, her voice cracking.

"I know," Smoke replied, his voice completely devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a ghost. "Thank you. For not letting her be alone."

He turned to Leon. The mechanic lowered the tire iron, stepping aside to clear the path.

"Stack is outside," Smoke said to Leon. "Heavy rescue rig. We have room. Both of you. Come with me."

Miss Veda looked at the dark hall, listening to the moans of the sick and the dying. "I can't leave them, Lieutenant. There's more babies in here."

Leon looked at the tire iron in his hands, then at the old nurse. He let out a long, heavy sigh. "I'll stay with her. Make sure nobody bothers her while she works."

Smoke nodded once. A silent pact of respect between men who knew what duty cost.

He turned toward the front of the hall. It was a half-mile walk through pitch-black darkness, surrounded by ten thousand people who had lost their minds to the heat and the abandonment.

Smoke clutched his dead wife tightly in his arms, felt his living daughter breathing against his heart, and stepped into the dark sea.

The walk back to the doors was a half-mile journey through the belly of a dying beast.

Smoke walked with a slow, deliberate, heavy gait. He couldn't use his flashlight; it was left behind on the floor. He navigated by the faint, gray pre-dawn light bleeding through the distant glass facade of the building, and by the horrific crunch of debris under his heavy rubber boots.

Inside his coat, Ruby was wailing.

It was a sharp, high-pitched siren that cut through the low, buzzing murmur of the hall. It was the sound of a full belly and healthy lungs—a sound that did not belong in this place.

As Smoke walked, the shadows began to shift.

The people of Hall H had been abandoned for days. They had watched their elders die in wheelchairs. They had watched their children stop sweating. Now, a giant in a fireman's uniform was marching through their tomb, carrying life in his coat and death in his arms.

"Hey!" a man’s voice echoed from the dark, raw and raspy. "Where you going? You leaving us?"

Smoke didn't answer. He kept his eyes locked on the distant glass doors.

"Take my boy!" a woman screamed, throwing herself into the aisle right in front of him. She was holding a limp toddler. "He ain't had no water since Sunday! Take him with you!"

Smoke stopped.

He looked down at the weeping mother. The firefighter inside him—the man who had sworn an oath to save the citizens of New Orleans—screamed to put Annie down and take the child. But the widower, the father whose world had been reduced to the fragile, beating heart tucked against his chest, couldn't move.

"I can't," Smoke rumbled, his voice thick with a crushing, suffocating guilt. "I have no water. I have no radio. I can't save him."

"You're a fireman!" she shrieked, clawing at his heavy canvas pants. "You're supposed to help us!"

More figures stepped into the aisle. They were closing in. It wasn't a coordinated attack; it was a mob driven by the sheer, primal instinct to survive. Hands reached out from the dark, grabbing at Smoke's sleeves, pulling at the hem of his coat, trying to reach the crying infant hidden inside.

"Give us the baby!" someone yelled. "They'll send a chopper for a baby!"

The mob pressed closer, the smell of sour sweat and desperation washing over him. A hand brushed against Annie’s lifeless, hanging arm.

The grief that had been crushing Smoke's chest suddenly inverted, snapping outward into a blinding, violent rage.

Smoke threw his massive shoulders back. He didn't drop his wife. He didn't reach for a weapon. He simply drew in a massive breath of the foul air and let out a roar that shook the plaster dust from the ceiling.

"GET BACK!"

It was a sound so guttural, so filled with absolute, feral menace and unhinged violence, that the mob physically recoiled.

"DO NOT TOUCH HER!" Smoke screamed, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, murderous fire in the dim light. "I will kill the first person who puts a hand on my wife!"

The crowd froze. The terrifying, sheer physical mass of the man, combined with the pure, suicidal authority in his voice, broke their frenzy. They looked at the dead woman in his arms. They saw the blood on his coat. They recognized that the giant standing before them had nothing left to lose.

Slowly, the hands dropped. The people backed away, melting back into the shadows, parting like the Red Sea to give the monster room to pass.

Smoke lowered his chin. His chest heaved violently. He tightened his grip on Annie, tucked his chin over the top of his coat to shield Ruby’s head, and marched forward.

No one else stepped in his way.

The heavy glass doors of Hall H were chained shut, but there was a six-inch gap where the heavy metal links had slacked over the weekend.

Through the grimed, heat-cracked glass, the pre-dawn sky over the Mississippi River was beginning to bruise purple and gray. It wasn't the mockery of a beautiful day anymore; it was the color of a fresh internal injury.

Stack was standing on the outside of the glass.

He had his face pressed flat against the pane, his hands cupping his eyes to see into the suffocating darkness of the lobby. He had been waiting exactly twelve minutes. He was three seconds away from swinging a twenty-pound sledgehammer through the tempered glass to get to his brother.

Then, the sweep of his flashlight beam caught him.

Stack froze on the sidewalk.

Smoke emerged from the dark concourse. But he wasn't walking like the invincible lieutenant of Engine 42. He was dragging his boots, his massive frame hunched forward, curling protectively around the burden in his arms.

Stack dropped the heavy Maglite. It hit the concrete sidewalk with a sharp, hollow clack, the beam rolling away, illuminating only the garbage in the gutter.

Through the chain gap, Stack saw her.

He saw the matted hair hanging free, caked in white plaster dust and dried mud. He saw the unnatural, absolute gravity pulling her head back against Smoke's bicep. Her arm swung rhythmically with Smoke's heavy strides, the back of her hand brushing against the thick, wet rubber of his firefighting boots.

But it was the color that stopped Stack’s heart.

Wrapped around her, dark with river water, mud, and the unmistakable, heavy stain of blood, were the torn pieces of the pale yellow sundress.

Smoke reached the doors.

He couldn't use his hands.

He didn't ask for help. He turned his body sideways, and with a low, agonizing groan that sounded like tearing metal, he slammed his massive shoulder against the frame.

He forced the chained doors apart, wedging his body through the six-inch gap. He moved with an excruciating, terrifying gentleness, contorting his own massive spine so that not a single inch of Annie’s cold skin would scrape against the rough chain or the glass.

He stepped out of the tomb and onto the littered sidewalk.

Smoke stopped.

He didn't look at Stack.

He looked down at the lifeless woman in his arms.

"We're outside, sunflower," Smoke whispered. His voice was a broken, raspy plea, completely detached from reality. He gently nudged his chin against the top of her cold head. "I told you I'd come. You can breathe now, baby. We're outside."

Stack stood ten feet away, his chest heaving. The professional first responder in him saw the gray pallor of her skin and the blue tint of her lips. The brother in him felt his soul tear in half.

"Eli..." Stack choked, the tears spilling over his cheeks in hot, rapid rivulets. "Eli, she's..."

"She's just tired, Stack," Smoke interrupted, his voice dropping into a frantic, protective whisper.

He shifted his weight, rocking her slightly. "She fought the water. She chopped through the roof. She's just so tired. Don't yell, you'll wake her up."

The absolute, shattering delusion broke Stack.

Stack took a step forward, his hands trembling violently as he reached out.

He wanted to take the horrific physical weight from his twin.

He wanted to lay his sister-in-law down with dignity.

"Let me help you, Eli," Stack sobbed, his fingers brushing the wet, bloody fabric of Smoke's turnout coat. "Please, let me lay her down—"

Smoke’s grief inverted instantly into blinding, feral violence.

"DO NOT TOUCH HER!"

The roar was so raw, so filled with unhinged, murderous panic, that Stack physically stumbled backward into the gutter. Smoke twisted his body away, clutching Annie so tightly against his chest that her limp arm swung wildly. His wide, bloodshot eyes locked onto his twin with the terrifying glare of a cornered animal defending its dead.

"Nobody touches her!" Smoke wept, his massive chest heaving, the denial finally shattering under the weight of the morning light. "She's mine! She's my wife!"

The silence that followed was absolute. The noise of the thousands of displaced people surrounding the Convention Center faded into a dull, echoing blur. Smoke stood trembling in the street, the giant brought to his knees by a flood he couldn't fight.

Then, the silence broke.

"Waaaaaah!"

Stack froze.

His tear-filled eyes darted around, looking for the source of the sound.

He looked at Smoke.

The sound wasn't coming from the crowd. It was coming from inside Smoke's jacket.

Stack’s eyes dropped to the V-neck opening of the heavy canvas turnout coat, just above the silver FDNO badge. Poking out from the thick collar, pushing against the heavy fabric, was a tiny, dark, bloody fist.

Stack stared at the fist. Then he looked at dead Annie. Then he looked at the blood soaking the front of his brother's uniform.

The tragedy was a math problem the human brain couldn't survive.

Life and death were touching, separated by a millimeter of canvas, contained entirely within the embrace of one broken man.

A high, thin whimper escaped Stack’s throat.

His knees gave out.

He fell back against the massive front tire of the heavy rescue truck, burying his face in his hands, his body wracked with soundless, devastating sobs.

He was mourning the woman he loved as a sister, and he was mourning the soul of the twin brother he knew was never coming back.

Smoke didn't console him. He didn't have the space.

He looked down at the tiny fist waving blindly against his badge. He felt the frantic, fluttering heartbeat of his daughter against his chest, right next to the crushing, empty silence where his wife's heart used to be.

"Open the rig, Stack," Smoke commanded. His voice was completely hollowed out, the sound of a man speaking from the bottom of an ocean.

Stack forced himself up. He wiped his face, grabbing the heavy metal handle of the fire engine and yanking the passenger door open.

Smoke climbed into the massive cab. He refused the passenger seat. He sank down onto the metal floorboard, pulling Annie’s lifeless body into his lap, wrapping his arms around her one last time, while the wailing infant remained secured inside his coat.

Smoke leaned his head against the heavy steel door. He closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Annie's cold, plaster-dusted forehead.

"Charity Hospital," Smoke whispered to the empty cab as Stack put the massive rig into gear.

"Drive until the water stops us. And then we walk."

A/N: This chapter was a difficult one to write. I understand it may stir strong emotions, and that’s not something I take lightly. I chose not to soften or reshape reality for the sake of comfort—especially when this story is rooted in experiences that so many have truly endured.

Thank you for continuing to read, reflect, and stay with me through it all.

Your support means more than you know.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Stay Tuned

Tag List

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A Night to Remember

WARNINGS: 18+ only, SMUT, oral sex, dirty talk, etc.

PAIRINGS: Micheal B. Jordan x Black OC

SYNOPSIS: On the night Michael wins Best Actor at the Oscars for Sinners, the celebration doesn’t end on the red carpet or at the glamorous after-parties. When he finally makes it home to his wife Y/N, what starts as a simple night of pride turns into something far more intimate.

This is a long one, enjoy 😉

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The sleek black Escalade glided through the LA streets toward the Dolby Theatre, the city lights streaking past like golden ribbons. Michael sat in the back row, thigh pressed against Y/N’s, his custom black military styled tux impeccable except for one telltale sign. His right knee bouncing like it had its own nervous rhythm.

In the middle row his mom was quietly humming an old tune smoothing the edge of her elegant crimson skirt. His dad sat beside her, one hand resting on her knee and the other tapping the armrest in time with Michael’s bounce. Up front, his sister and brother were scrolling through the live red-carpet feed on their phones whispering predictions and cracking jokes to keep the energy light.

Y/N felt the vibration of Michael’s leg against hers. She glanced sideways. His jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on the window, but she could see the faint pulse jumping in his temple.

She reached over without a word, sliding her hand over his, fingers threading through his until their wedding bands clicked softly together. The bouncing stopped almost instantly.

He exhaled through his nose.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he answered too quickly flashing a smile. “I’m good, baby.”

Y/N tilted her head studying him the way only she could.

“Michael,” she said again, softer this time, squeezing his hand. “Talk to me.”

He looked down at their joined fingers thumb brushing over her knuckles once, twice.

“I’m… a little nervous,” he admitted finally almost embarrassed. “This ain’t just another award show. This feels… different. Like everything we’ve been building toward is right there.” He gave a small laugh. “And what if I trip on the stairs or forget half my speech?”

Y/N’s heart jumped. She lifted his hand to her lips pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“You won’t trip,” she said firmly. “And if you forget a word, the whole world already knows what’s in your heart. You’ve got this, babe. And even if the envelope says someone else’s name tonight…” She leaned in closer, forehead brushing his. “You’re still coming home with me. Still my Oscar-winning man in every way that matters.”

Michael’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little . He turned his head studying her face like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Thank you,” he stated.

Then he closed the small distance between them and kissed her. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he pulled back.

“Love you,” he whispered against her lips.

“Love you more,” she whispered back.

The light turned green. The Escalade rolled forward again carrying them closer to the Dolby’s red carpet. The flashing lights were already visible in the distance. Michael’s knee stayed still now with his hand still locked in hers.

The Escalade eased to a smooth stop at the edge of the Dolby Theatre’s red carpet. Thousands of voices layered over the constant pop of flashlights and music pulsing from hidden speakers. A handler in a crisp black suit opened the door.

Michael’s parents stepped out first. His mom emerged waving modestly to the crowd as Micheal’s dad followed close behind, hand protective on her lower back. Jamila and Khalid came next.

The door stayed open. Michael took a slow breath, squeezed Y/N’s hand one last time, then slid out of the car. He turned immediately offering both hands to help her. She stepped down carefully in her heels. As soon as her feet hit the carpet he pulled her close before lacing their fingers again and stepping forward together.

The second they crossed onto the carpet the volume doubled. “Michael! Michael B. Jordan!” “Over here, Mike!” “You got this tonight!” Screams rolled in waves and cameras flashing so fast it looked like lightning. He kept his smile visible, but Y/N felt the slight tighten of his grip on her hand.

His assistant appeared at their side almost instantly. “You’re up first solo shots, then family, then couple,” she said.

Michael nodded before glancing at Y/N. “You good, baby?”

She squeezed his hand back. “I’m perfect. Don’t worry about me, this is your night. Go shine.”

He searched her eyes for a second before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her temple before letting go. The photographers went wild at the small gesture.

He stepped into the solo line first posing with that effortless charisma, the tailored suit hugging every line of him. The crowd chanted his name louder. Then he waved his family over all of them beaming as shutters clicked in a frenzy.

Finally Michael reached back for Y/N. She stepped into frame beside him, his arm sliding around her waist pulling her against his side. They posed with him looking down at her with that smile only she ever got to see, her gazing up like he was the only person in the world. The flashes felt endless.

While Michael did one last round of solo shots, Y/N hung back near the velvet rope. His assitant appeared at her elbow.

“ET wants a quick word with you,” She said already steering Y/N gently toward a small interview setup just off the main carpet. “They’re asking for the wife’s perspective. You got this?”

Y/N’s stomach flipped, but she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

The ET correspondent was warm, mic already live. “Y/N Jordan, hi! Michael’s big night, how proud are you right now?”

Y/N smiled. “Beyond proud. He’s poured everything into Sinners and all of his work. Seeing him here, nominated for Best Actor… it’s surreal. He deserves every bit of this.”

“And how are you feeling about the possibility of him winning tonight?” the interviewer pressed, camera tight on her face.

“Honestly? I’m just happy he’s getting recognized for the artist he is. Win or not, he’s already won in my book. But yeah, I’m rooting hard for that gold statue to come home with us.”

The questions were quick and kind. Before Y/N could overthink it his assistant swooped back in. “Sorry, we’ve gotta move, we’re already running behind.”

Y/N thanked the interviewer and let his assistant guide her back through the crowd. She found Michael again near the theater entrance still posing but looking a little more tense now that the initial rush had settled. His smile was still there, but she knew him too well.

She slipped up beside him, sliding her hand into his again. He turned immediately, relief flickering across his face.

“Babe, you ok?” she asked softly.

He exhaled, thumb brushing her wrist. “Yeah. Just… it’s real now.”

Y/N leaned in, her body angled for the cameras while her lips brushed his ear.

“Win or lose, you’re getting some tonight. You smell and look good as fuck in that tux. Been wet all night just watching you.”

Michael’s grip flexed hard on her hand before he eased it back for the flashes around them. His eyes darkened instantly.

He dipped his head, lips grazing her temple on the way to her ear.

“Keep talking like that, baby, and I’m dragging you to the nearest bathroom right now. Fuck the ceremony.”

She let the tiniest smirk ghost across her lips all innocence for the photographers still snapping away.

The roar of the red carpet began to fade as they approached the grand entrance of the Dolby Theatre. Security parted the velvet ropes and his assistant fell behind them tablet glowing in her hand.

She leaned in close to Michael and Y/N. “Quick heads-up, seating’s tight tonight. Unfortunately, only one plus-one can sit with you in the nominee section. The rest of the family will be in the section right behind.”

Michael’s brow furrowed for a split second, but before he could respond Y/N spoke up immediately.

“Mrs. Donna should sit with him,” she said turning to his mom with a soft smile. “This is your baby’s moment. You deserve to be right there beside him.”

Donna Jordan shook her head gently. She reached out and took Y/N’s hands in both of hers.

“No, sweetheart,” she said. “This is y’all’s night. You’ve been holding him down through everything. You sit with my boy. I’ve been to plenty of these award shows over the years, I know how they go. And I’m sure this won’t be Michael’s last one. Not by a long shot.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she managed a small laugh. “You sure?”

“I’m positive.” Donna pulled her into a tight hug, one hand smoothing down Y/N’s back like she was comforting her own daughter. “You’re family. Go be with your husband.”

Y/N hugged her back just as fiercely breathing in the faint scent of Donna’s sweet perfume.

Michael watched the whole exchange standing just a step away. His two favorite women in the world wrapped up in each other loving on one another without a hint of competition, just pure support. It hit him square in the chest melting away another layer of the night’s nerves. His eyes glistened before he blinked it back, jaw working as he swallowed hard.

Donna patted Micheal’s cheek. “Go on now. We’ll be right behind you cheering the loudest.”

Y/N slipped her hand back into Michael’s lacing their fingers tight. He gave her hand a squeeze then nodded toward the open doors.

———————————————————————-

The golden glow of the Dolby Theatre auditorium wrapped around them as Michael and Y/N stepped inside, ushers guiding them down the wide aisle toward the front row. There was soft orchestral music drifting and celebrities murmuring greetings. Heads turned as they passed. A few quiet claps and “Congrats, Mike” whispers followed.

They reached their row near the front. Michael’s family had already settled in the seats in the section behind. Donna was waving with a proud smile, Micheal’s dad gave them a thumbs-up, and Jamila and Khalid were snapping discreet photos for the family group chat.

Zinzi Coogler spotted them first. She stood up from her seat a few rows over and hurried over with Ryan right behind her. Ryan’s tux was sharp, his energy calm but buzzing with the same mix of pride and nerves Michael carried.

“Man,” Ryan said, pulling Michael into a firm dap-hug. “You made it. We made it.”

Michael grinned clapping Ryan on the back. “Couldn’t have done it without you, bro.”

Zinzi hugged Y/N tight then stepped back to look at her. “Girl, you are glowing tonight. That dress? Fire.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Coming from you? Thank you. You look incredible.”

Ryan leaned in. “Y’all ready for this? They’re saying it’s neck-and-neck, but I got a good feeling.”

Michael exhaled glancing at Y/N. “We’re ready. Or as ready as we’re gonna get.”

The conversation drew a small cluster of familiar faces from nearby seats. Miles Caton approached first.

“Mike! Y/N!” He dapped Michael up then gave Y/N a respectful side hug. “This is wild, right?

Michael studied him for a second, then leaned in a little. “Yeah, it is. You good though? They got you performing tonight. You ready for that stage?”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “Nervous as hell, honestly. Ryan’s been texting me all week like ‘you got it,’ but… damn, that’s a lot of eyes.”

“You got the voice and the soul for it,” Michael said clapping him on the shoulder. “Just breathe. You’ll kill it.”

Miles nodded, exhaling. “Appreciate that, man. Means a lot.”

Delroy Lindo drifted over next. He shook Michael’s hand with both of his. “Proud of you, man. Whatever happens up there, you carried this film.” Then to Y/N with a nod, “And you, keeping him grounded like always. Good to see you both.”

Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Delroy. Means everything.”

Wunmi Mosaku and her husband joined last. Wunmi moved carefully, her emerald gown beautifully tailored around her very pregnant belly with her husband’s hand at her lower back. She hugged Michael first, then Y/N lingering a second longer.

“You two are glowing,” Wunmi said softly. “Michael, we’re rooting hard for you tonight.”

Her husband gave Michael a solid handshake. “Big respect, bro. You earned this.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to Wunmi’s bump. She reached out gently, palm resting lightly on the curve for a moment. “How you holding up, mama? You look absolutely radiant.”

Wunmi laughed quietly covering Y/N’s hand with hers. “Kicking like crazy, feels like this one wants to watch the show too. But I’m good. Just happy to be here.”

Y/N gave a soft squeeze before pulling back. “You’re gonna be the most amazing mom. Again.”

The small circle broke up naturally as ushers began motioning people toward seats, the house lights flickering once in polite warning that the pre-show countdown was about to start.

Y/N slid into the seat beside Michael, their thighs brushing as they settled in. She smoothed her gown over her lap with a slow exhale.

Michael caught the gesture. His eyes flicked down, then up to her face.

“You ok?” he asked under his breath.

She turned to him a small smile tugging her lips. “Better than ok.”

He laced their fingers together on the armrest between them, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles. The orchestra swelled into the opening fanfare. The lights dimmed further. The show was about to begin.

The show unfolded around them in waves of applause, laughter from the host’s jokes, and the occasional swell of music. But her focus narrowed to a pinpoint.

The ticking clock toward the Best Actor category.

Her stomach bubbled with anticipation, a low constant churn that made it hard to sit still. Every time the envelope was opened for another award she felt the tension coil tighter in her chest. She was already nervous for Michael but watching the results roll in only amplified it.

When Wunmi’s category came up, Y/N squeezed Michael’s hand without thinking. The presenter read the winner’s name, and it wasn’t Wunmi. Y/N’s jaw tightened. A flicker of anger sparked low in her gut, not at the winner, but at the machine of it all. If they could overlook Wunmi after the unforgettable work she had done, what chance did Michael really have?

Then Delroy’s category flashed on the massive screen. Same story. Another name called, another round of polite applause while Delroy sat tall, expression unreadable. Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose, a quiet frustrated sound only Michael would catch. He gave her fingers a small squeeze, thumb brushing her skin in silent acknowledgment. She leaned her head against his shoulder for a second trying to breathe through the rising worry. If the Academy was playing these games with legends like Delroy and rising powerhouses like Wunmi, what would they do to her husband? The thought gnawed at her.

It wasn’t until the Original Score category that the knot in her stomach loosened just a fraction. Ludwig’s name was announced, and the theater erupted. Ludwig stood, beaming and hugging the cast before heading to the stage. Y/N let out a relieved breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then, Ryan won best screenplay. His win felt like a small victory for the whole Sinners family.

Like proof that the film wasn’t being shut out entirely.

Michael’s shoulders eased beside her. He clapped hard and gave genuine grin for the first time in minutes.

Then the lights shifted, the stage transformed, and Miles Caton was introduced. The young actor stepped out under the spotlight, guitar in hand, voice steady despite the nerves Y/N knew he must be feeling. For those few minutes, the auditorium faded. She felt like she was in the theater watching the montage scene for the first time again.

She felt tears prick her eyes, not from nerves this time, but from the sheer beauty of it. Michael’s thumb kept tracing slow circles on her hand, but his gaze was locked on the stage too with pride and something deeper written across his face.

The performance ended on that final, lingering note, and the theater erupted again. The standing ovation rolled through the rows like a wave that refused to break.

Y/N exhaled shakily, clapping until her hands stung before finally let them drop to her lap. The nerves that had receded during Miles’ song came rushing back in the sudden quiet. Her stomach twisted again. Beside her, Michael let out a low breath and squeezed her hand once before loosening his grip.

During the break he leaned in close, voice pitched low so only she could hear over the murmur of the crowd and the distant chatter of other nominees.

“Still breathing over there?” he whispered, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist.

She managed a small laugh. “Ask me that again after Best Actor.”

He studied her face. “You’re shaking, baby.”

“Am not,” she lied, even as her free hand trembled slightly against her thigh.

Michael lifted their joined hands to his lips pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Whatever happens up there… we walk out of here the same way we walked in. Together. You and me.”

Y/N swallowed, nodding. “I know. I just… I want this for you so bad.”

“I know you do.” He leaned his forehead against hers for a second breathing her in. “Love you for that. For everything.”

“Love you more,” she whispered back.

The red light on the camera rig blinked off which meant commercial break over. The host returned to the stage and the show rolled on.

A few minutes later, Best Cinematography flashed on the screen. The presenter read the nominees and the clips came rolling in. The winner was announced and Autumn name rang out clear as the theater cheered warmly. Autumn stood accepting hugs from her team before heading to the stage. Y/N clapped hard, genuine pride cutting through her anxiety. Another win for the film. Another crack of light.

Michael’s smile was small but real as he applauded. “That’s my girl,” he said under his breath.

Then the lights shifted again. The announcer stepped forward, envelope in hand.

“And now… the Academy Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role.”

Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought the people around her could hear it. The massive screen above filled with the playback montage of Micheal acting as the Smokestack twins. Clips of the other nominees followed, but Y/N barely registered them. Her vision tunneled to Michael on screen then back to the real man beside her.

She was trying so hard to keep it together. Chin up, breathing steady, smile fixed like she had practiced in the mirror a hundred times. But inside she felt like she might be sick. Nausea rolled in waves as her legs were trembling under the gown. She squeezed Michael’s hand, a silent I’m here, I’m here.

The presenter smiled into the camera. “And the Oscar goes to…”

The envelope tore.

“…Michael B. Jordan, for Sinners.”

The theater exploded.

Y/N jumped up instantly, a raw sob tearing out of her as tears streamed down her face. Pure joy crashed through her. Her man had won. An Oscar. Right there.

Michael stood slowly, eyes wide like he couldn’t quite process it. Then he turned to her.

Y/N launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as he caught her pulling her in hard. Their lips met in a deep kiss. The crowd around them cheered louder, but for those few seconds it was just them.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “We did it, baby.”

“You did it,” she choked out, laughing through the tears. “Go get it, babe.”

Michael nodded, kissed her once more then turned. Ryan was already on his feet, grinning wide as he pulled Michael into a tight hug. Delroy was next wrapping Michael in a firm hug and murmuring something low in his ear.

Michael stepped onto the stage amid thunderous applause, the gold Oscar clutched firmly in one hand as he made his way to the microphone. The Dolby Theatre was on its feet and cheers echoing off the walls. He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning the room. Then his gaze found Y/N, still standing near their seats with tears streaming freely down her face.

He exhaled a shaky laugh into the mic.

“God is good. God is good.”

The crowd quieted just enough for his voice to carry.

“Yo, Mama… thank you. For everything. For raising me right, for believing in me when nobody else did, for every prayer, every sacrifice. I love you more than you know. Pops—hey, Dad, where you at? You came all the way from Ghana to be here tonight. Thank you for showing me what strength and love look like. My sister Jamila, my brother Khalid… y’all been riding with me since day one. Through the highs, the lows, the long nights. I wouldn’t be standing here without my family holding me up. I love y’all.”

He paused, letting the words settle, then continued.

“I want to thank Warner Brothers. I want to thank Mike and Pam for believing in this dream, this vision of Ryan Coogler, and betting on a culture and betting on original ideas and original artistry. Ryan, you’re an amazing, amazing person. I’m so honored to call you a collaborator and a friend. You gave me the opportunity and space for me to be seen, and I love you, too, bro. Love you to death.”

He glanced down at the Oscar, then back out.

“I stand here because of the people that came before me; Sidney Poitier, Denzel Washington, Halle Berry, Jamie Foxx, Forest Whitaker, Will Smith. To be amongst those giants, amongst those greats, amongst my ancestors, amongst my guys… thank you.”

His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through.

“Thank you everybody in this room and everybody at home for supporting me over my career. I feel it. I know you guys want me to do well, and I wanna do that because you guys bet on me. So thank you for betting on me, and I’m gonna keep stepping up, and I’m gonna keep being the best version of myself I can be.”

He took a breath, eyes finding Y/N again across the sea of faces. A private smile curved his lips meant only for her.

“And to my wife, Y/N… baby, you’ve been my rock through every doubt, every long night, every win and every loss before this one even happened. You believed in me when I didn’t always believe in myself. Your love, your strength, the way you hold me down… that’s what carried me here. I love you more than words can say. This is ours, forever.”

He lifted the Oscar slightly.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The orchestra began its gentle cue as the applause swelled again. Michael stepped back from the mic eyes glistening, and made his way offstage with Oscar in hand and heart full.

————————————————————

The night had been a beautiful blur. After the Oscars ceremony ended, Michael and Y/N first stopped at the Vanity Fair Oscar after-party. The place was packed and loud with bright lights and people constantly coming up to congratulate Michael. He carried the Oscar casually in one hand, smiling and dapping folks up while trays of food and champagne moved through the crowd. They posed for a few photos together, his arm around her waist.

Later they headed to the Gold Party, Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s exclusive after-after-party. It was more intimate than Vanity Fair which made everything feel even more special.

They arrived around 1:45 a.m. and spent the first twenty minutes mingling. Michael got pulled into a conversation with Ryan Coogler near the bar.

Y/N stood beside him, sipping on a fresh glass of champagne and chatting lightly with Zinzi about how unreal the whole evening felt. She mostly watched Michael proud at how grounded he stayed even after winning his Oscar.

After a while Michael gently pulled Y/N aside to a quieter corner.

“Come here for a second, baby,” he said as he opened the camera on his phone. He wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her close. “Let’s get one just us. Smile for me.”

She leaned her cheek against his, both of them grinning as the Oscar gleamed between them in the frame. He took a few shots — one silly, one sweet, and one where she looked up at him with pure love while he looked back the same way.

He checked the photos and smiled. “This one right here,” he said posting it to his story with no caption, just the image and a single gold heart emoji. “You look so good tonight, baby. Real good.”

Y/N smiled resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re the one who just won an Oscar. I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

He turned to face her. “Nah. You supported me through everything. You never let me quit. That’s why tonight feels so right.”

She reached up brushing her fingers along his waves. “You did all the work, Michael. I just loved you through it.”

The DJ switched to a slower track with deep bass and a familiar slow jam. Y/N’s face lit up. “Dance with me. Just one.”

He smiled and took her hand, leading her onto the open dance floor. She turned so her back pressed against his chest and started rolling her hips slowly. His hands settled on her waist, holding her gently as they moved together. Just for a few minutes the rest of the world faded away.

“Damn, baby,” he whispered against her. “You keep moving like that and we’re gonna have a situation right here.”

She laughed softly tilting her head back against his shoulder. “Maybe I want you to have a situation.”

He let out a quiet breath, his grip on her hips tightening just a little as he pulled her closer. “I already got one. Been thinking about taking this dress off you the whole night. You know that, right?”

She pressed back against him. “Then enjoy your party so we can leave sooner.”

They danced through a couple more songs, bodies swaying close together. Michael stole soft kisses to her temple while they moved whispering little things in her ear that made her smile and blush. It felt like almost an hour had passed when Y/N finally slowed and turned in his arms. She placed a hand lightly on her stomach and spoke softly so only he could hear.

“Baby… I’m not feeling the best,” she said. “The champagne is hitting me harder than I thought. My stomach feels a little off. I think I need to head home.”

Michael’s expression changed instantly. He cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb gently brushing her skin as he studied her face with real concern. “We can leave right now if you want. I don’t care about staying.”

She shook her head and gave him a small smile. “No, it’s not that bad. I just need to get home, drink some water, and lie down for a bit. You should stay and enjoy the rest of your night. This is your Oscar win. People are still coming up to you. Have fun, celebrate with everybody. I’ll be fine once I’m home.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he thought it over. His hand stayed on her cheek. “Nah, I don’t like the idea of you going back alone if you’re not feeling right. I can come with you. We can leave together.”

“I promise I’m okay,” she said gently placing her hand over his. “Stay. Soak it all in. I want you to enjoy every second of this. You deserve it tonight. I’ll text you the second I walk through the door.”

Michael still looked hesitant for a long moment, his jaw tight like he was fighting the urge to leave with her anyway. But he finally nodded slowly though the worry stayed in his eyes. “Alright… but if you start feeling worse, even a little bit, you text me and I’m coming straight home. No hesitation. I mean that.”

“Deal,” she said leaning up to kiss him softly.

Unbeknownst to him, she wasn’t planning on just lying down and resting when she got back to their house. The red lace lingerie she had laid out was waiting for him. She was going to make sure he ended this historic night winning in more ways than one.

He walked her out to the waiting Escalade himself, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist while the other held her hand. Two security guards flanked them closely as they moved down the driveway. Paparazzi had gathered near the gate, flashes popping like crazy, but Michael and the security team formed a tight shield around her blocking most of the cameras as they reached the car.

He helped her into the back seat then leaned in close. “If you need anything, anything at all, you text me and I’ll be home immediately. I’m serious.”

Y/N nodded and pulled him in for one more kiss before settling back into the seat.

The door closed and the Escalade pulled away smoothly into the LA night.

The Escalade pulled up to their house about 30 minutes later. Y/N thanked the driver quietly and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. The house dark except for the soft city glow coming through the large windows. She let out a long breath, the intensity of the night finally settling down.

She pulled out her phone and typed a quick text.

<Made it home safe baby.

A couple minutes later her phone buzzed. Michael had sent a selfie of himself pouting dramatically.

<Missing you already 😔

Y/N smiled at the screen.

<You are too cute. Stop worrying about me and enjoy your night. You deserve it.

She added one more message.

<I love you.

His reply came quickly.

<I love you more.

She slipped off her heels, the cool floor a relief on her tired feet. The dress came next. She unzipped it slowly and let it slide down her body stepping out of the pool of fabric. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the warm water run over her for a long time washing away the makeup, the hairspray, and the long hours of the night. When she stepped out, she dried off carefully and reached for her favorite scented lotion. She took her time moisturizing every inch of her skin until it felt soft.

Then she slipped into the red lace lingerie she had laid out earlier. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, turning slowly from side to side. A playful grin spread across her face. She gave her hips a little shake doing a quick mini twerk in the mirror and watching the way the lace moved with her.

“I’m about to get some dick tonight,” she said out loud to her reflection laughing softly at herself.

Finally, she pulled on the short silk robe and tied it loosely at the waist.

She moved through the bedroom lighting a few candles that filled the room with a glow.

Y/N climbed onto the big bed and propped herself up against the pillows. She picked up her phone and opened Instagram, then switched over to X, curiosity getting the best of her.

The internet had gone absolutely wild.

Clips of her reaction to Michael winning were everywhere. The moment she jumped out of her seat the second his name was announced had blown up.

The comments poured in:

“the way she jumped up crying 😭 I felt that in my soul”

“couple goals fr”

“that’s real love right there, she was HYPED”

“Y/N Jordan is a real one, protect her at all costs”

People were calling it one of the sweetest Oscar moments in years.

Michael’s speech was trending just as hard. Fans kept replaying the part where he looked straight at her and thanked his wife.

The comments under those clips were nonstop:

“the way he looks at her… I’m actually crying”

“Black love winning tonight”

“this speech just hit different because you can tell it’s real”

Y/N kept scrolling with a soft smile on her face. Then she found the In-N-Out videos and photos. There he was sitting at the table with the Oscar standing proudly beside a red tray. Her favorite picture was the one where he was smiling mid-bite of his burger, cheese dripping, eyes crinkled in pure joy while the golden trophy gleamed next to him. He looked so happy and so… him.

Without thinking twice, she saved the photo and posted it to her Instagram story with the simple caption:

my baby 🥹❤️

She stared at the picture a little longer, a deep feeling of love spreading through her chest. The red lace felt nice against her skin as she shifted on the bed, the candles flickering quietly around the room.

She was more than ready for him to come home.

Y/N’s eyes were starting to feel heavy as she lay on the bed. She had been scrolling through her phone for a while smiling at all the sweet comments and videos from the night when she heard the low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway.

Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly shifted on the bed propping herself up on one elbow so the short silk robe rode up just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the lingerie underneath.

The front door opened and Michael’s voice carried up the stairs a little tired from the long night.

“I’m home, babygirl. Where you at?”

Y/N smiled to herself and called back softly, “I’m in the bedroom, baby.”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs. As he climbed he kept talking, his voice getting closer.

“I stopped by the store on the way home and grabbed you some medicine. And mama made you some soup. She said it’ll help settle your stomach…”

He pushed the bedroom door open, still mid-sentence, but the words died on his lips the moment he saw her.

Michael stopped in the doorway eyes widening slightly as he took her in. She was laid out on the bed in just the short silk robe that had slipped open enough to reveal the red lace bra hugging her chest, the high-cut panties, the garters, and the sheer thigh-high stockings. The candlelight danced softly across her skin making the whole moment feel intimate and a little unreal.

He stood there for a moment completely paused the plastic bag with the medicine and the container of soup forgotten in his hands while the Oscar remained tucked securely under his arm. His gaze slowly traveled over her taking in every detail.

“Damn…” he breathed, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slow smile. “What’s all this?”

Y/N bit her lip, heart racing as she watched the way his eyes darkened. She pushed herself up a little higher on the bed then slowly crawled toward the middle of the mattress on her hands and knees. The short silk robe slipped further open.

“I wanted to give you a little award of my own tonight,” she said softly.

Michael’s gaze followed every movement she made. He finally set the plastic bag and soup container down on the dresser before he carefully placed the Oscar on the nightstand beside the flickering candles. The golden statue caught the light as he turned back to her.

He walked toward the bed slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. When he reached the edge, he leaned down and wrapped one large hand gently but firmly around her throat. His other hand slid down her body, fingertips tracing over the red lace bra then lower across her stomach until he reached between her thighs.

“Fuck, baby…” he stated. “You really been waiting for me like this?”

Y/N’s breath hitched at his touch, her hips shifting toward his hand instinctively.

He kept his hand around her throat, thumb stroking soothing circles while his fingers pressed more firmly against her feeling how wet she already was.

“You look so fucking good,” he said leaning in closer so his lips brushed her ear. “All dressed up just for me.”

Michael’s fingers found the loose tie of her robe and tugged it open with one pull. The silk fell away from her body pooling around her on the bed and leaving her fully exposed in the lingerie. His eyes darkened even more as he took her in.

He leaned down pressing his lips to the side of her neck. The kiss started soft then turned hungry as he sucked gently on her skin, his tongue tracing the sensitive spot just below her ear. He moved lower sucking a little harder leaving a faint mark that made her gasp.

“Michael…” she breathed tilting her head to give him better access.

Michael’s lips stayed on her neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers rubbed slow circles on the outside of her panties. The pressure was teasing, just enough to make her hips twitch toward his hand.

Y/N let out a shaky breath before whispering, “Stop.”

He pulled back immediately with concern flashing across his face. His hand froze on her thigh and he looked at her.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” he asked. “You okay?”

Y/N smiled softly reaching up to cup his face. “I’m fine. More than fine. I just… I want to take care of you tonight.”

Michael searched her eyes for a second still a little thrown off. “You sure? You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Let me do this for you.”

He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips as the worry melted away.

Y/N sat up and reached for him. Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt one by one, pushing it open to reveal his chest. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the center of his sternum before moving lower, undoing his belt and pants. Michael helped her kicking his shoes and pants off until he was standing in just his boxers.

Y/N hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down his legs letting them fall to the floor. He was already hard and she took a moment to appreciate the sight of him completely bare in front of her.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” she told him.

Michael obeyed.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress his eyes locked on her as she moved closer.

Y/N knelt between Michael’s legs. She wrapped her hand around the base of his dick and leaned in dragging her tongue slowly up the underside before swirling it around the head.

Michael let out a shaky groan, his hand sliding gently into her hair. “Fuck… baby…”

She took him into her mouth, lips stretching around him as she sucked gently at first then deeper. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside while she bobbed slowly taking more of him each time. One of her hands slipped between her own thighs pushing the lace panties aside so she could rub slow circles over her swollen clit.

Michael’s breath hitched hard. “Shit… look at you,” he managed. His hips twitched slightly as she took him deeper, the warmth of her mouth making his head fall back against the pillow. “Feels so fucking good…”

Y/N moaned around him, the vibration traveling up his shaft and making his grip tighten in her hair. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, while her fingers moved faster between her legs sliding two inside herself. The sounds filled the room with her sucking mixed with the slick noise of her fingers pumping in and out of her pussy.

Michael’s thighs tensed under her hands. “Baby… fuck…” He was breathing harder now, words breaking apart between moans. “Your mouth… so warm… goddamn…”

She looked up at him through her lashes, eyes watery but locked on his and took him even deeper until he bumped the back of her throat.

“Shit… just like that… don’t stop, baby…”

Y/N kept going, bobbing faster, sucking with more pressure while her fingers curled inside herself hitting that spot that made her moan louder around his cock. Spit dripped down her chin and onto his shaft making everything messier and wetter.

Michael’s free hand gripped the sheets. His moans grew more desperate. “Fuck… I’m close… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that…”

She didn’t pull away. Instead she sucked harder, tongue working the sensitive head every time she drew back while her fingers moved quicker between her own legs. Her own pleasure was building fast, but she focused on him . She enjoyed the way his dick throbbed against her tongue and the broken sounds falling from his lips.

Michael’s hips stuttered, his hand tightening in her hair. “Baby… oh fuck… I’m gonna—”

His words cut off into a deep moan as he came hard in her mouth. His warm liquid hit the back of her throat. Y/N swallowed around him taking everything he gave her without pulling back. She kept sucking gently through it milking every last drop while her fingers kept moving between her thighs.

Michael’s whole body shuddered, a long groan escaping him as the last waves rolled through. His hand stayed in her hair. He looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Damn…” he rasped. “Come here, baby.”

Michael pulled her up gently by the hand until she was straddling his lap before he cupped her face and kissed her. His tongue slid against hers tasting himself on her lips and he groaned softly into her mouth.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him breathing hard. “I want to ride you” she whispered. “Right now.”

Michael’s eyes darkened. He ran his hands down her sides gripping her hips. “Whatever you want baby. Take it.”

She didn’t waste time. She reached between them, pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, and lined him up with her soaked entrance. With one slow roll of her hips she sank down taking every inch of him in one motion. The stretch made her moan loudly as her head fell back.

“Fuck…” Michael groaned hands tightening on her waist. “So wet… so tight… fuck me.”

Y/N started moving rolling her hips in deep circles at first before she started lifting and dropping faster. Her breast bounced heavily in the bra with every thrust. She braced her hands on his chest and rode him harder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room along with her moans.

Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Look at you” he rasped. “Riding me so good… shit baby… your breasts look so fucking pretty bouncing like that.”

He reached up and tugged the cups of her bra down freeing her plump breasts. He leaned forward mouth latching onto one nipple sucking hard while his tongue flicked over it. Y/N cried out her pace faltering for a second before she picked it back up grinding down on him even harder.

“Daddy…” she moaned the word slipping out as she rode him faster. “Fuck you feel so deep.”

Michael groaned against her breast, sucking harder before he switched to the other one. He kept one hand on her hip guiding her movements as the other slid up to squeeze her free breast.

“Keep riding me just like that” his voice muffled against her skin. “You’re doing so good baby… taking all of me… look how wet you’re making my dick.”

Y/N’s moans grew louder. She was bouncing on him now. The headboard started to knock softly against the wall with every downward thrust. Her breasts bounced wildly in his face and he couldn’t get enough, sucking and licking at them leaving wet marks on her skin.

“I’m gonna cum” she gasped. “Daddy… I’m so close…”

Michael pulled back just enough to look up at her eyes. One hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit and rubbing tight circles.

“That’s it baby” he said even though he was breathing hard. “Cum for me. I want to feel you squeezing my dick. Let it go… come on ride me through it. You’re so fucking close I can feel it.”

Y/N’s hips stuttered and her walls started to flutter around him. She cried out as the orgasm hit her hard.

Michael thumb never stopped rubbing her clit. “There you go… good girl… just like that. Let it all out on me. I got you baby… cum all over my dick… fuck you feel so good squeezing me like that…”

Her whole body shook as she came, loud moans spilling from her lips while she kept riding him through the waves. Michael groaned deeply holding her hips tight to help her keep moving until she finally started to slow.

He kissed her chest softly, then her collarbone, then her lips murmuring against them “That’s my baby… so fucking perfect.”

—————————————————————-

Michael kissed her, still buried inside her as the last tremors of her orgasm faded. His tongue tangled with hers, tasting himself on her lips, and he groaned softly into her mouth.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Can I fuck you from the back, baby?” he asked against her lips. “I need to see that ass while I’m deep in you.”

Y/N shivered at the question, a fresh wave of arousal rushing through her. “Whatever you want, Daddy,” she whispered.

She didn’t wait for him to move. She slid off his lap, turned around, and got on all fours in the middle of the bed. She arched her back deep pushing her ass up high and spreading her knees wider so the panties framed everything perfectly.

Michael let out a low curse behind her. “Fuck… look at you.”

He smacked her ass hard, the sound echoing in the room. Y/N gasped and gave her hips a little playful shake making her cheeks jiggle for him.

“Damn,” he groaned.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back toward his face. Without another word he buried his mouth between her legs from behind, tongue sliding through her soaked folds. He licked her slow sucking on her clit before pushing his tongue inside her. Y/N moaned loudly pushing back against his face.

Michael groaned against her pussy, the vibration making her thighs shake. “Taste so fucking good,” he stated. “All wet for me.”

He ate her like he was starving — deep licks mixed with sucking and gentle bites on her ass cheeks. His hands spread her wider, thumbs pulling her open so he could bury his tongue deeper. Y/N’s moans filled the room as her fingers gripped the sheets tight.

After a few minutes he pulled back. He stroked his dick once before lining himself up and pushing inside her in one thrust. Y/N cried out at the sudden stretch, her back arching even more.

“Shit, baby…” Michael groaned gripping her hips as he bottomed out. “So fucking tight like this.”

He started fucking her hard, hips snapping forward with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with her loud moans and his low grunts. He kept one hand on her hip the other sliding up her back to press between her shoulder blades pushing her chest down into the mattress so her ass stayed high in the air.

“Take it just like that,” he rasped. “This is how I celebrate my win… fucking my wife raw after I bring home that Oscar.”

Y/N moaned louder pushing back to meet every stroke. “Yes… fuck me, Daddy.”

Michael smacked her ass again then gripped both cheeks and spread her open so he could watch himself disappear inside her.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” he growled pounding into her faster. “Tell me, baby. Who owns this wet little pussy?”

“You,” she gasped. “It’s yours… all yours, Daddy.”

He groaned deep. “That’s right. This pussy belongs to your Oscar-winning husband. Only me.”

He fucked her even harder, the headboard banging against the wall now. One hand reached around to rub her clit in circles while the other kept her ass spread wide. Y/N’s moans turned into broken cries, her whole body shaking as another orgasm built fast.

Michael leaned over her back lips brushing her ear. “You gonna cum on my dick again? Let me feel it, baby. Squeeze me while I fuck you through it.”

Y/N’s walls started fluttering hard around him. “I’m cumming… Daddy, I’m cumming—”

“That’s my good girl,” he groaned never slowing down. “Cum for me. Let it all go. I got you.”

Her orgasm crashed over her hard. She cried out loudly pushing back on him as her pussy clenched and pulsed around his dick. Michael kept fucking her through it moaning her name under his breath, his own release getting closer with every tight squeeze.

“Fuck… you feel so good when you cum like that,” he panted. “Gonna fill you up, baby… you want that?”

Yes,” she moaned still trembling from her orgasm. “Cum inside me, Daddy. Please.”

Michael groaned deep. He gripped her hips tighter pulling her back onto him with every thrust. His pace turned rougher, more urgent, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“Shit… I’m so close,” he rasped. “This pussy is mine… all fucking mine.”

He leaned over her back one arm wrapping around her waist to hold her close while he drove into her harder. His breathing grew ragged, moans turning into broken grunts with every deep stroke.

Y/N pushed back to meet him, still sensitive but wanting every inch. “Cum for me,” she whispered. “Fill me up.”

That was all it took.

Michael’s hips stuttered. He buried himself deep inside her with a moan. “Fuck… baby… I’m cumming—”

His dick pulsed hard as he came, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside her. He kept thrusting through it, milking every last drop while his body shook against hers. A broken “Shit…” escaped his lips as the pleasure rolled through him, his forehead pressing to her shoulder.

He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, breathing hard, his hand gently stroking her side. Finally he kissed the back of her neck.

“Damn… I love you.”

Michael stayed buried inside her for a few long moments, both of them breathing hard and trembling. He finally pulled out slowly, a soft groan escaping him as he watched his cum leak from her. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder gently.

“Stay right here, baby,” he murmured.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and came back with a damp washcloth. Y/N stayed on her stomach too tired to move. Michael climbed back onto the bed and gently wiped between her legs cleaning her up with careful strokes. He took his time making sure she was comfortable and he occasionally pressed soft kisses to her lower back and the curve of her ass.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhm,” she hummed.

Once he was done he tossed the cloth aside and pulled her into his arms. Y/N curled against his chest, one leg thrown over his as he wrapped her up tight. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then the tip of her nose, holding her close while their breathing slowly evened out. His hand rubbed slow circles on her back.

Michael chuckled quietly after a minute, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“You know… you didn’t have to lie and say you were sick just to sneak home and surprise me,” he teased. “I was worried about you the whole time at the party. Kept checking my phone like a fool wondering if you were okay.”

Y/N lifted her head and gave him a playful glare poking his chest. “I told you not to worry about me. I said I was fine.”

He grinned pulling her closer and kissing her forehead again. “Yeah, well, I’m your husband. Worrying about you is part of the job description. Can’t help it.”

She smiled and rested her head back on his chest listening to his heartbeat. Her fingers traced lazy patterns over his abs as she spoke softly.

“I’m so proud of you, Michael. I watched you put in all that hard work… the long nights on set, the early mornings, the times you doubted yourself. All those sacrifices you made. You deserved tonight more than anyone. Seeing you up there accepting that Oscar… it meant everything to me.”

Michael’s arms tightened around her. He kissed her forehead again.

“Thank you, baby. Couldn’t have done any of it without you. You’re my rock. Always have been. Every late night you stayed up with me running lines, every time you reminded me why I started… it all led to tonight. I love you so much.”

They stayed like that for a long while, tangled together under the soft candlelight. Michael kept rubbing her back in slow circles, Y/N nestled deeper into his chest with one hand resting over his heart.

pt.1

parings: elijah ‘smoke’ moore x oc (giselle bailey)

summary: (modern au) first grade teacher giselle bailey is done with relationships. she’s tried multiple times and has come to the conclusion that maybe there’s no one out there for her. until she meets elijah. but elijah is everything that she vowed she would never fall for.

mini series inspired by thang 4 u by coco jones

warnings: 18+ mdni, sensitive content, explicit language, guns and violence, suggestive situations

a/n: this is a one shot i started for smoke last year when sinners first came out but i never finished it until now.

divider by @/ pixopix

"Alright, class, one last thing. Who remembers one of our sight words from this week?"

Giselle stands in front of the whiteboard, eyes locked on her little first graders as they go over their sight words.

About half of the class raises their hands. Giselle looks into the crowd, giving them an animated thinking face before her eyes land on one of the students, and she points at the young girl.

"Malia"

"Again!"

"Yes again is one of our sight words. Ok, and now does anyone want to take a go at giving me a complete sentence with the sight word our friend gave us?"

She looks over the students before settling her eyes on the third row.

"Ok, Tyler, give me a sentence"

"Ms.Bailey, I don't feel so good"

Giselle walks over closer to the little boy, crouching down in front of him.

"What's wrong Tyler?"

"I ate some paper?"

Giselle sighs

"Tyler, we've talked about this. We don't eat paper sweetie"

"My tummy hurts"

"Ok, let's get you to the-"

But before she can finish her sentence, Tyler hovers over, holding his stomach as his lunch from earlier and paper come running out of his mouth. Giselle was able to step out of the way in time before the flood of vomit came. The whole class erupts in screams and "ews" as they all run to one side of the classroom.

"Shh shh, class it is ok. Tyler just has an upset stomach, it is normal"

"It's not normal to eat paper"

Ambre, one of the more outspoken kids, shouted out.

"Hey, we don't tease our friends"

"Just saying"

She hears the girl try to mumble under her breath. She cuts her eyes sternly at the little one. Ambre mumbles a "sorry".

"Come on Tyler, let's call and get you to the nurse so that we can get this cleaned up"

—

"I heard about your vomit flood today"

"Hi Ms.Bailey"

Kameron walks into the room with one of her students by her side. The little girl runs up to Giselle, attacking her in her seat with a big hug. Giselle laughs and hugs the little girl back.

"Oof, hi Emery"

After hugging Giselle, the girl runs over to the play section of the room, places her things on the table, and pulls a toy out of her backpack. Giselle turns her attention to her best friend and coworker.

"How'd you find that out?"

Kameron shifts her head down and looks over her glasses like that one Idris Elba meme.

"Ambre"

They say in unison. Giselle shakes her head.

"That girl there"

"Anywho, can you watch Emery for me? Her dad is running a little late today. He should be pulling in soon, though. I was just going to stand out in the front with her until he made it. I really have to potty bad"

"Yeah, of course"

"Emery, Ms.Bailey is going to take you to the front ok? Be good"

Emery looks up, mouth agape as if she's offended by Kameron's words. Giselle lets out a low chuckle.

"Ms.Felix, I am always good"

"Yes, you sure are"

"But I'll be extra, especially good for Ms.Bailey. She's my favorite"

Now it was Kameron's turn to look offended.

"Excuse me? I'm your teacher little missy. I'm supposed to be your favorite"

"You are second"

"I-"

"Ok goodbye. You heard her, you are second, get out of my classroom and take your hurt with you"

Giselle ushers her out of the room, laughing while doing so.

—-

"Daddy must have been really busy; he's never late"

Emery says, giggling to herself and skipping under the pavilion where the car riders wait.

"Yeah, sometimes adults get busy, therefore making them a little late"

"Ms.Bailey, are you late picking up your daughter since you are still here with me?"

Giselle lets out a small chuckle

"No, Emery, I don't have any children"

"So what do you do after school without children?"

Emery looks at the woman, puzzled

"Relax. I like to relax, watch a little tv and read"

"Ooh, I like to watch tv too! Mama makes me go to bed early. But my daddy lets me stay up all night! I love going to daddy's house"

"I bet you do"

Giselle shakes her head, smiling. Just then, a royal blue dodge charger srt pulls up in front of the school. Giselle wasn't a car person, and the only reason she knew the exact car type was because of the older students at the school.

"That's daddy!"

The car pulls up closer to them, and Giselle cranes her neck to see into the front window of the car and makes sure the number that is on the sign hanging from the rearview mirror is the same as the number on the clipboard that she is holding with Emery's name written next to it. It did.

The man inside doesn't turn the car off as he opens his door and steps out. Giselle lets out a small gasp as the man comes from the driver's side of the car. She gives him a once-over. She could tell he works out just by how his huge biceps bulge from the fresh crisp white tee he sported, which was about the color of whiteout. Two diamond chains hang around his neck, the diamonds matching the earrings that are in his ears. And she couldn't forget the way the diamond grillz in his mouth gleam against the sun when he smiles, spotting the little girl who's standing beside Giselle. His beard looked as if it had been shaped up recently. The man was fine, to say the least.

Giselle tries to play it cool as she quickly fixes her hair with one swift movement, playing it off as if she's scratching her ear. She's been running with, and after first graders all day, so she knew her hair didn't look as nice and smooth as it did this morning. The man stops in front of them as the little girl runs and jumps into her father's arms, hugging him.

"Daddy you are late!"

"I know, bubs, daddy is sorry. First and last time I promise"

He pulls back to look her in the face

"It's ok, Ms.Bailey says adults are a little late when they are busy"

Mentioning the woman's name brings the man's attention to Giselle. She gives a small smile and a wave.

"Hi I'm Ms.Bailey"

He nods his head her way, acknowledging her

"Is her teacher absent today or?"

"Ms.Felix asked me to look after her for a few minutes. She comes by my class all the time I love having Emery around"

She smiles at the young girl

"Ms.Bailey is the best!"

"Preciate it"

"No problem"

He puts the little girl down as they walk to his car. Emery jumps up and down.

"Daddy, can I sit in the front with you?"

"Aht backseat in the booster, you know that"

"But daddy"

She throws her head back, whining. He gives her what Giselle thinks is him trying to be stern and firm, but still a bit playful.

"Ok fine" Emery responds, getting into the backseat. "You gon' say bye?" The man says, nodding back towards Giselle. Emery turns around, waving her hands wildly at Giselle. "Bye Ms.Bailey. See you tomorrow" "See you tomorrow sweetie"

The man helps the little girl into the back seat and into her booster chair. Strapping her in and closing the door afterwards. He walks around the car to the driver's side, but as he does, he throws a glance Giselle's way, getting in and pulling off after he closes the door.

"Damn.."

She mumbles to herself, shaking her head as if trying to clear her brain. She takes the walk back into the building and down the hall to her classroom.

As Giselle walks in, she finds Kameron sitting at one of the round tables, phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media. Kameron looks up from her phone.

"How'd it go?"

"Girl, and where were you? I know it didn't take you that long to pee"

Kameron shrugs her shoulders, "I knew you had it, big dawg. You are her favorite, remember?"

"Can't stand you. You better be lucky, we are friends"

"Yeah yeah whatever"

Giselle walks back over to her desk, gathering her things up to go home. "You didn't tell me that Emery's dad is-"

"Fine as all fucks?" Kameron says, interrupting Giselle. Giselle giggles at her friend's choice of words

"Yes"

"Girl, the first time I saw him I had to remember we had little people around us. Almost made weekend Kam come out"

"Girl-" They laugh together

"I mean, Emery's a beautiful little girl. I just didn't expect him to be that fine"

"Mhm, who are you telling? He is a little off though. He barely wants to hold a conversation unless it's about Emery"

"He asked about you"

"He did what?" Kameron sits up in the seat so fast, placing her phone on the table

"He asked if you were absent or something. I guess seeing Emery with me and not her teacher had him a bit confused"

Kameron throws her arms up in the air "Oh girl, I thought he was actually checking for me"

Giselle walks from her desk over to Kameron, squatting down, grabbing both of her hands, and holding them within hers.

"Kam..I'm going to hold your hand when I say this"

She stares at her with a blank face before smacking her lips and pulling her hands from out of Giselle's grip.

"Don't do me bitch"

Giselle walks off laughing, continuing to put her things into her work bag

—

"I swear men are the messiest species on the planet, like I just confided in you about how I felt, and you go and tell your little friends? The fuck"

Giselle grabs her bowl of chicken and dumplings with rice and carries it over to the couch, sitting down and turning the tv up louder. Giselle and Kameron were currently on facetime and watching Love Island UK season 11. This was Giselle's first time watching the season, and Kameron was rewatching so that they could discuss it.

"Joey's old ass is still pissing me off so bad. Like, you that messy for what?"

"Girl– literally started that little drama between Ciaran and Harriet for no reason at all"

She shakes my head, taking a spoonful of her food into her mouth.

"Ugh, Kam, I don't know how they do it. If I'm coupled up with a man I really like, why the hell would you pull him for a chat? I don't even play like that forreal"

"Who are you telling? The viewers of love island would see a real crashout. I'm beating bitches asses in that villa"

Giselle almost choked on her food, doubling over laughing. Because she fully believed her friend would. "I fear we would both be kicked off the show"

"Mimii and Ayo are so cute. Need that"

"Don't get too excited, Ayo ain't shit either"

"Damn, you just going to keep spoiling me?"

"My bad, friend. But since we are on the topic of dating, how's the SweetHoney app going?"

Giselle placed her bowl on the coffee table, picked up her phone from the couch, and gave a straight, stale face in the camera.

"Oop, I guess that tells me everything I need to know"

"It's definitely been a miss on my end"

The SweetHoney app was a dating app that she'd been using for a few months. This was new territory for her. She had never used a dating app before, but with some encouragement from Kameron and her making an account along with the woman, she decided to give it a try. And a bunch of weirdos were on the app and not the good kind. They were either looking for a hookup, asking for weird ass requests, or just weren't what Giselle was looking for. The algorithm was not working in her favor.

"Sista, you've only been on it for what two months? Give it some time"

"Yeah, well, I ain't got time"

"Girl, you're acting like you're ninety years old. You're still young as fuck"

"As fuck is pushing it"

"See, this is why we need to go to Luckie's little birthday function at the club. Scope the scenery out and find the love of your life"

Luckie was a "friend" Kameron met not too long ago. She's been talking to him, and he has a birthday coming up next weekend, and he invited both Giselle and Kameron to the club he will be celebrating at. Luckie doesn't hang around the best crowd. Giselle wasn't one to judge anyone, but she loved her life and would hate to lose it in the name of "turning up" for the night.

"If the love of my life is spending all of his free time in the club, he can stay right there. I don't want him"

"Damn, he can't have a little fun and enjoy his weekend letting loose with his homies?"

Giselle gives her another straight face through the phone screen

"Alright alright damn"

"I'll think about it though"

Kameron claps her hands, smiling and doing a little twerk on the other end of the phone. Giselle shakes her head at her antics.

—-

Today, the first graders were putting on a community helpers play after school. And the first graders' family and friends showed out. It was packed and so busy. Giselle loved when parents and families showed up for the children. It's great to know that so many of the children had a village. No matter if the play was roughly only about thirty minutes long. That's thirty minutes that they took time out of their busy day.

Giselle and the other first-grade teachers helped out around the cafeteria by either talking with parents and students or starting the clean-up process of arranging the cafeteria back to how it was. 

Giselle had been pulled by two parents already. The parents thanked her for her hard work this school year, and for the part their child played in the play, or they just briefly asked how their child was doing. While talking to a student's parent, a small figure comes running up to Giselle, throwing their arms around her, hugging her tight. Giselle holds onto the small figure, smiling and trying to balance herself from the small but mighty force. She gives the parents a sympathetic look and mumbles a "sorry" for the conversation being interrupted. They smile and tell her it was ok and leave. Giselle looks down at the girl.

"Hi Emery"

"Ms.Bailey, Ms.Bailey, Ms.Bailey, guess what? Guess who–"

"Emery girl, you can't be running from me like that" a stern voice says

Giselle looks up and spots Emery's father. He's walking over, eyes trained on the little girl next to her.

"I saw Ms Bailey!"

The man's eyes trail over to Giselle. He raises an eyebrow at the woman. Giselle stretches a hand out for him to shake.

"Hi, I don't know if you remember, but we met last week. I'm Ms.Bailey, one of the other first grade teachers"

The man looks her up and down, smirking, taking her hand as he lifts it and brings it to his lips, placing a kiss on it. "Nice to meet ya"

"Oh!"

Caught off guard by the gesture, Giselle stares at the hand that he had just kissed. Emery's loud, uncontrollable giggles break her from the small trance. They both look down at the little girl.

"Ms.Bailey your so silly. That's not daddy, that's uncle Eli!"

She says animatedly and casually as if the woman was supposed to know.

"I'm sorry I–"

"Everything good?"

Another man walks up to them, and suddenly Giselle's eyes widen, and she snatches her hand back as if she's been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. The two men standing in front of her have the same face. One giving her a dimpled smile and the other staring at her with the straightest face ever.

"This is my daddy! Daddy say hi to Ms.Bailey. Ms.Bailey, their twins!"

The little girl jumps up and down, hugging her father and pointing between the two men. Giselle lets out a nervous chuckle, looking over to "Uncle Eli"

"Hmm I see. I thought you were who I met a few days ago"

"Ain't no problem. I'm Elias, Emery's uncle"

He gives her a wide, charming smile. Giselle smiles back at the man and gives him a polite nod.

—-

"It's packed to the brim in here"

Giselle and Kameron walk through the doors of Club Juke. Giselle had agreed to go out with Kameron to the club for Luckie's birthday. And boy was it packed. Outfit by Lil Baby and 21 Savage plays loudly from the speakers throughout the club. She could feel the bass thumping through her body.

"I swear! But this is good, we can look around and find you someone for the night. I know they're gonna be on you with this freakum dress you got on"

Kameron leans over and smacks Giselle on the ass lightly. She laughs and pushes the girl's hand away, pulling the dress down a bit. She decided on a maroon colored, tattered sweater backless dress, paired with some brown leather boot heels. And since the dress was a lot, she opted for a simple black bussdown for her hair and light makeup. It was April, so the weather in Mississippi wasn't bad. It was warm but not hot, and cool but not cold. The perfect weather for her to pull the dress out, and she did look fine as hell in it if she did say so herself.

Kameron takes Giselle's hand as they walk further into the club and towards the section where the celebration would be. Once they are over and in the section, Luckie comes over to them and pulls Kameron into a hug, making her hand fall to her sides.

"Wassup Kam"

"Heyyy, you remember my bestie Giselle right?"

Luckie looks over at Giselle, giving her a head nod. Giselle gives him a small wave

"Hey, happy birthday"

"Thank you, I preciate it"

He holds a hand to his chest, showing his thanks. He looks behind him and nods at a man who's standing over by the railing of the section. The man walks over and stands next to him.

Giselle gives him a once. He was light-skinned, tall, athletic build with a low cut short fade and trimmed goatee. His tattoos on both arms are visible through the sleeveless, simple black graphic t-shirt, a pair of light colored jeans, and a pair of air forces. The chains around his neck and wrist watches and bracelets around both wrists. Giselle wasn't too much into light brights, but this one did catch her attention a little.

"This my homie Mac, Mac, this is Giselle, Kameron's friend"

Mac smiles and reaches a hand out to shake Giselle's hand.

Giselle and Kameron spend the night dancing with each other and eventually split up once Kameron is pulled away by Luckie, which makes Mac pull Giselle to the side.

Giselle didn't mind it because again, Mac was fine, so she was willing to have him entertain her tonight at the club. After throwing it back on Mac for two songs. They take their conversation to the sofa that's in the section.

"You having fun?"

Mac says, leaning over. Giselle shrugs her shoulders, sipping on a mixed drink.

"So far so good"

Mac nods. He looks over her body, licking his lips slightly.

"You look good as fuck"

"Thanks" Giselle gives the man a small smile

"So—" Mac is cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and silences the call

"You work at the schoolhouse with Kam?"

"Yup, first grade teacher just like her"

He nods his head

"That's what's up. Education where the money at"

Giselle pauses mid-drink as she eyes Mac. He tries to hide the smirk on his face by rubbing a hand down his chin.

"You think you're funny, huh?"

"A lil bit"

They both let out a small chuckle.

From the corner of her eyes, Giselle can see that a new group of men has moved into the section.

"Section getting a lil crowded ain't it?"

She says out loud, but more to herself. Getting a little antsy from just how crowded the section was starting to get. Mac looks up to where she's looking.

"Oh, that's the SmokeStack twins and a few of their people. They own the club,they cool people too"

"SmokeStack?"

Just then, the crowd of people spreads out, and then both of the men she had met a few weeks ago come into view. Emery's dad and uncle. She watches as they both take turns dapping up Luckie.

Giselle couldn't tell the twins apart from her first encounter, but as she watched them walk through the crowd, she could tell, clear as day, who was who. They both commanded the room. But whereas Elias is smiling and joking, bringing everyone into the conversation. Elijah strides along quietly and nods at others. Giselle was unable to take her eyes off his smooth demeanor. It didn't help that he looked good, too. The dark denim jean jacket and bottoms to match with a fresh white tee underneath fit his body well. The diamond cuban link chain and watch to match shine brightly in the dim club. It was simple compared to all the jewelry Mac and the others were wearing tonight. Giselle liked simplicity.

They both walk further into the section, but not before stopping right in front of Giselle and Mac. Elijah doesn't say anything; he turns his head towards Giselle and Mac, but with the dark shades covering his eyes, she's not sure if his attention is on her or Mac. But then he daps up Mac.

"Waddup Smoke"

"Sup" Elijah says

Elias takes the toothpick that's hanging from his mouth as his eyes roam Giselle's body before moving up to her face. Giselle shifts in her seat as she plays with the end of her strands out of nerves.

"I know this ain't Ms.Bailey"

Giselle looks up, giving out a sheepish smile

"Guilty"

Elias grins widely. His dimples are on full display

"You with him?" He says, gesturing towards Mac

"Actually, I—"

"C'mon Stack" Elijah says, cutting Giselle off mid sentence. Elias, or Stack gives a little nod before walking off with his brother.

"Rude ass" Giselle mumbles under her breath

Mac looks at her and laughs

"I wouldn't take it personally. That's just how Smoke is"

Giselle hums in response

"You know the twins?"

"No, well, not personally. His daughter goes to the school I work at"

"Smoke's little girl?"

"Yeah, I guess if that's what you call him"

They change the subject and dive into a different conversation. Mac flirts with her, and she responds to it. But when his phone goes off for the third time since they've been sitting together, Giselle gets a little annoyed. Mac pulls out his phone again, declining the call but mutes the phone this time.

"My fault, it's my baby mama calling me"

Baby mama? Giselle didn't have anything against baby mamas or baby daddies, but she most definitely didn't like dealing with them. She knew exactly how things could get when children were involved.

"Are you not going to answer it?"

"Nah, I'm chilling with you. Besides, it probably ain't even about my son. She be on bs" 

"Mmh, how old is your son?"

"He just turned two"

A baby mama with a child that just turned two, and she keeps blowing up his phone? Yeah no. Giselle thinks to herself

"Hmm interesting"

He lets out a light chuckle, shaking his head

"Nah, I know what you thinking. It ain't even like that. We ain't together forreal. I hate that bitch"

Giselle's eyes widen

"Even more interesting" 

His phone vibrates nonstop this time, and he pulls it out along with a heavy sigh. He tells Giselle he'll be right back. Giselle sips her drink with a roll of her eyes. Kameron walks over, lifting a questioning brow.

"I saw that eye roll. You good sexy?"

"I'm not feeling Mac"

"Aw why what happened?"

"First off, you didn't tell me he was somebody's baby daddy"

"He is?" She says, looking up towards the ceiling as if to recall if she knew the information or not.

"I didn't know that. This is like my second or third time meeting him tho"

"Well, yeah, he has a baby mama who has been blowing up his phone this whole time, and the baby? Just turned two"

Kameron's eyes widen

"Please don't tell me he told you he hates her?"

Giselle raises an eyebrow at her friend. Kameron blows out a breath and hangs her head in defeat.

"Dammit Mac"

It was simple. It's always the men who swear up and down that they "Hate their baby mama" that's still sleeping with them. And then with her blowing his phone up, but him saying it was "nothing"? Yeah right.

"Exactly, but it's whatever. It's getting a little crowded in here. I'm going to step outside real quick"

"K, I'll come with"

Kameron gets up following Giselle's lead

"No you don't have to. Go back over there with your man"

"Saying my man is crazy"

Giselle laughs

"I'll be fine, there's hella security outside too"

Kameron nods and watches Giselle as she walks away. Giselle walks through the crowd that's in the section and down the steps. Walking out of the door on the side of the building, she spots a few security guards huddled up in conversation with one another and laughing. She takes a deep breath of the fresh air. Going to her left, she stops in her tracks at the figure that's leaning against the brick wall.

"Ain't no way.."

Elijah, Smoke as they call him, casually pulls a drag of his blunt as he looks over towards her. Giselle pulls out her phone and ignores his stare. She had already set her mind on not dealing with the man. Not like he probably cared anyway, but she didn't even want to be around him if he was going to keep being rude.

"You smoke?" He holds out his blunt towards her

Giselle doesn't say anything. She doesn't look up from her phone right away, giving it a few seconds before she does. She puts a hand to her chest, feigning shock.

"Oh, are you talking to me? I didn't think you were capable of holding a conversation without being rude"

"Thought maybe that's why you came out here" he says, completely ignoring what she said.

Giselle eyes the substance in his hand, contemplating whether she should or not. It wasn't like she had to be friendly with him. It was just a little smoke.

He keeps the blunt angle out and towards her. After a few seconds, she grabs it from his hand and puts it to her lips. Elijah watches behind his shades as she wraps her glossy lips around the blunt, taking a puff.

"Ain't you like in a sworn commitment to the dare program or sum? You ain't pose to be doin' drugs" his thick southern drawl coming out

Startled by the comment, Giselle choked on the smoke, making her cough. Did he not ask if I wanted a puff? She thinks to herself.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm jus' sayin'," he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, taking the blunt from her, "The dare program visits schools all the time..kinda hypocritical to do the opposite of what you preachin' outside of school settings"

Giselle nods her head, "You just said it outside of school settings. Besides.." She rubs her lips together to rub in the gloss she had left on her lips evenly. "Let me know how you feel about that after you deal with twenty-seven first graders for eight hours and one hundred and eighty-seven days."

"Nah, you got it" he says, passing the blunt back her way. His lips twitched, but a smile didn't appear.

It falls silent between the two as they pass it to each other a few more times. Giselle declines the last rotation, already feeling the effect of the drugs settling in. Elijah drops the blunt onto the pavement and stomps it out.

"Elijah" he nods towards Giselle. She looks over at him, "What, no Smoke?"

"I feel like anyone round my baby girl that works at her school shouldn't know that name"

Giselle nods her head in agreement. "Hmm..right, well I'm—"

"Ms.Bailey" he cuts her off

"Giselle actually"

He finally takes the dark shades off his face. "I like Ms.Bailey" he says as he looks over at her. Eyes low and clouded.

Giselle twists her lips to the side, trying to fight the smile that was forming on her lips.

"You know, I'm actually surprised you even know my name. You were a little rude the first two times we interacted"

He shrugs his shoulders, "Emery talks about ya all the time," and he pushes his body off the wall. Walking a little bit closer to Giselle, which makes Giselle suck in a breath. She could smell the scent of his cologne. The scent of sandalwood mixed with weed hits her nostrils, sending goosebumps down her spine.

Elijah gives her one last look as he takes her in from head to toe. She's stuck in a trance. His eyes lock her into place as he looks into her eyes, "Nice to put a face to the name" and his shades are back on his face as he walks past her and into the club.

Giselle lets out an exasperated breath. A wave of warmth travels through her body. The same feeling she would get when she's sipping on her peppermint tea. She wasn't sure if it was the blunt or the way he looked at her.

*lowercase intentional*

* soft girl reader*

*little mature language *

"i know you hear me.”

you keep walking.

the gravel crunches softly under your shoes, your grip tightening just slightly around the purse on your shoulder. the mississippi sun blazing hot.

So intoxicating

pairing: modern!vampirestack x reader

author’s note: requests are open! there’s no use of Y/N. a slight angst. You do not have my consent to copy and paste my stories onto other platforms as your own.

Part 2

She tries to ignore those haunting shallow white eyes that tracking her every move through the dimly lit street.

Tries not to look.

But the short hairs on the back of her neck stand like soliders as her stomach turns in knots like Stack was twisting a knife in a her side but maybe that may feel lot painless than this…

pairing : vampirestack x human reader

part 1

warning: 18+ minors do not interact with this post, mention of blood, biting angst, tears, oral (female receiving), backshots

side note: request are open for short stories 

description: after a night of drinking, tonight is the night where Stack own up to his promise. Finally offering a life of eternity, but will she make it to the other side?

I also do not consent to my work being copied and paste it to other platforms/ being stolen 

His warm gigantic hands glides down my spine as he helps her take off her fitted dress.

Her breath hitched as her dress hits the floor with a soft thud and i feel his soft lips constantly peck at the skin on her shoulder near her neck..

Pairing: Erik x Syn

Summary: A casual day at the mall turns into something far more calculated when Erik and Syn run into one of her old “friends.” Gio’s invitation to dinner seems harmless—at least to Syn. Erik sees it for exactly what it is. What follows is a slow, deliberate unraveling of tension at a candlelit table, where conversation flows on the surface while something far more intimate unfolds beneath it. 

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, public teasing and under-the-table "intimacy", possessive dynamics, humiliation, voyeuristic elements.

Lessons Still Thinking About It For Research Purposes  Valentine’s Lessons

michael b. jordan

notes: MY MAN IS A OSCAR WINNER

warning: +18

The golden gleam of the Oscar statuette pulsed even brighter under the streetlights as the car glided down the road.

Inside the vehicle, the silence was filled only by the sound of kisses, Michael’s heavy breathing, and the rustle of his expensive tuxedo fabric against your silk dress. Thankfully, the car’s partition made it impossible for the driver to see what you two were doing.

He had won. The whole world had watched Michael B. Jordan walk up that stage, but only you knew how much he had trembled before hearing his own name. You saw how he had braced himself for loss, and how his soul seemed to leave and return to his body in the seconds after he was announced the winner.

It had been incredible to witness the process how Michael had dedicated himself to interpreting Smoke and Stack, the sleepless nights spent studying, and the long, deep conversations with Ryan.

That victory was more than deserved.

You were both drunk, not just from the expensive whiskeys at the after party, but from sheer adrenaline and happiness. When the car pulled up in front of your house, Michael could barely coordinate his feet. He held the statuette in one hand as if it were a newborn, while the other was wrapped firmly around your waist.

"I won... I can't believe it," he whispered against your neck as you walked through the yard toward the front door. "I really won this shit!" he suddenly shouted, starting to jump for joy, pulling you with him.

"You won, Mike. And you’re almost dropping it on the floor!," you laughed, trying to keep your balance and grabbing his wrist while he planted messy, damp kisses on your shoulder.

The moment the door opened, chaos ensued. Michael kicked it shut with his foot but accidentally hit the doorframe, making you both laugh even harder. With all the care in the world, he placed the statuette on a shelf in the living room and lunged toward you. His hands, large and warm, cupped your face with urgency.

"The way this dress makes you look even more beautiful is so unfair," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I’ve been struggling all day thinking about how much I wanted to fuck you."

"We have the whole night for that, don't we?" Your hands were already pulling at his tie, undoing the knot in a hurry.

"The whole night."

He kissed you with a hunger that left you breathless, a tangle of teeth, tongues, and the lingering taste of alcohol. His hands moved down to the zipper of your dress, struggling against the fine fabric with impaired motor skills but pure determination.

"Mike, wait, we’re going to fall," you managed between a moan and a laugh as he tripped over his own feet while trying to lead you toward the bedroom.

He managed to shed his jacket, tossing it somewhere in the hallway, while you tugged at his white shirt, popping buttons as you pulled it open. His skin was hot, his chest muscles defined and inviting. When you finally reached the bedroom, moonlight flooded the space, illuminating everything from floor to ceiling.

Michael laid you onto the sheets with a tenderness that was surprising for someone who could barely walk straight minutes before. He knelt between your legs, still in his trousers, watching you with an adoration that went far beyond physical desire.

"Thank you for being with me. Thank you for supporting me when I was being an idiot and doubting myself. Thank you for letting me be part of your life." he murmured, his kisses alternating between your neck and your bare breasts. "God, I’m the luckiest man in the world."

You pushed him back, making him lie on his back, and straddled him, grinding slowly.

"I love you so much."

You left a trail of kisses down his cheeks, his neck, and his chest where you gave him a light, playful bite, down to his waist. You unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers and underwear down while keeping eye contact.

He sprang free, hard and aching for you.

"I’ll always be here to remind you of the incredible man you are, even when you forget it."

You coated your hand and began to stroke him, moving from tip to base without any rush.

"Now, let me thank you my way..." As you leaned down to take him into your mouth, his hands tangled in your hair, gently pulling your head up to look at him.

"Babe, I love when you do that, but I need you now. I feel like I'm going to explode."

He looked at you with those needy, longing eyes and didn't even wait for an answer. He pulled you up to sit on him again. Michael was so desperate he didn't even take off your white lace panties; he simply pushed them to the side and, without ceremony, drove deep inside you.

He didn't need it; you were already completely wet for him.

Both of you groaned loudly at the same time, feeling the heat of the friction. His hands went straight to your hips, guiding your movements.

"Just like that... fuuuck!" he growled.

"I love seeing you like this," you whispered, your left hand wrapping around his neck, applying slight pressure.

Your rhythm quickened, the sound of skin hitting skin growing louder. You purposely squeezed around him, knowing exactly how much he loved the sensation.

"You're trouble " he said, smirking through the pleasure.

Suddenly, he stood up with you still clinging to him. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. He pushed open the bathroom door and walked inside, stopping in front of the vanity mirror. He set you down and turned you around.

Your hair was a complete mess, your lip liner was smudged, and your skin glistened with sweat.

"You're all mine," he rasped, massaging your breasts.

Michael leaned down to bite your ass, and as if it were nothing, he ripped you panties.

When he finally entered you again from behind, your eyes rolled back and you arched your spine, leaning against the counter for support. Michael moved with a raw intensity, his eyes fixed on yours in the reflection, chasing every reaction. The pace was frantic, matching the euphoria of the night. He whispered your name like a prayer, interspersed with dirty words that made your face flush and your body spark with pleasure.

Through the mirror, you watched him biting his lips, lost in the moment.

The climax hit you both like an overwhelming wave, leaving you trembling and breathless. Michael leaned his forehead against your back, both of you gasping for air.

When he finally pulled out, he lingered for a moment, admiring the cum drip.

"Look at what we did," he said, giving your ass a firm, playful swat before turning you around to face him.

"We are going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow." you murmured, closing your eyes as he lazily ran his hand through your hair.

"We definitely are, but it was worth it." he said, kissing the top of your head. "Everything was worth it today."