Rhia⚡️

You sniffle softly, torn between the pain of the lost relationship and the pleasure of Clark in you. “I loved him,” you whisper, more tears falling despite your attempts at stopping them.

“He doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve you,” Clark assures you, grabbing one of your thighs and pulling it over his waist. “You deserve so much better.”

You sob, nails raking over his back, gasping as his thick head grazes your cervix. “I thought I'd marry him.”

Clark shakes his head. “Baby, look at me. This is how you deserve to be treated. With love.” He pecks your cheek. “With respect.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Like a goddess.” His lips find yours, tender, careful. He can taste your salty tears on his tongue.

He pulls away after a moment, kissing down your neck. You sob quietly, hips pushing against his to match the slow rhythm he's set.

“I really loved him,” you whisper.

“Don't think of him while I'm in you,” Clark says quietly, not unkindly. “Focus on me. Feel me,” he slides a hand down, pressing it over your womb, “in here. I'm right in here. Just focus on that, yeah? For me?”

You whimper, nodding softly, and stop talking about it. The tears still fall, though. Heart still raw with the pain.

Clark kisses your jaw. “I'll treat you better,” he promises, voice thick. “I'll bring you flowers every day, make you dinner every night. I'll fuck you like this, and I'll make sure you cum. You don't ever have to worry about anything, I'll do everything. You just have to be happy.”

He gently kisses the streaks of tears on your face, licking them up, wishing he could stop the pain. His lips move up to your forehead and they linger there.

“I'll love you like you deserve to be loved,” he promises. “You won't ever wonder about it with me.”

Still thrusting slow and steady, Clark's fingers find your clit and rub it gently, grunting when your pussy squeezes around him tight.

“Clark,” you gasp, back arching. “Oh.”

He smiles softly. “Let me take care of you, hon. Your only concern right now is to feel good. Don't worry about anything else.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling every inch of his skin against yours. He's warm, a little sticky with sweat, and smells of pine and musk and something uniquely him. You bury your face in his neck, feeling his pulse against your ear, the warmth in your womb spreading over your body, almost searing now.

You buck your hips against his, mewling when Clark angles his up so his cock presses against all the sensitive spots in you. His fingers don't relent their steady circles on your clit, and you're over the edge before you can warn him.

You come hard, legs shaking, breath coming in gasps. You can't do more than breathlessly murmur, “Clark, Clark, Clark,” like some mantra, and then you're falling back on the bed, limp.

He follows soon after. His own orgasm shakes his body, shoulders heaving as he groans, spilling his cum into you, his fingers digging into your hips. He takes deep, gulping breaths, summoning as much strength as he can to keep himself up and not squish you under his massive frame.

“There you go,” he says lowly in your ear, kissing your temple with what little energy he has left. “There you go. Good girl. See? All you ever have to do with me is let me take care of you. You'll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing

---

taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛

@booboobear-12 @savvysavsblog13 @donnadiddadog @akkahelenaa @tysukier @animegamerfox @absolutelybloodyhopeless @teenytinylilcrawdaddies @simpingreader @tezooks @justheretoreadmydear @lovexbunny @lahniii @dolleciita @tinawantstobeadoll @preciselyshifts @markiplex @kissmxcheek @buckyisveryhot @rayamaya @fae-dreamer-99 @heynanasposts @lahniu @paddockspookie42 @lilychristine01 @chronic-fangirl-222 @sunnyteume @take-it-on-the-run @ninikrumbs @smzyyx @shamlesslipzz @spn-reader @gettingprettyfvckintired @cherryresidence @mollymal @liebgotts-lovergirl @lowrisemiller @mingyuziiiii @opalesquegirl @hrtsforstrkysblog @inside--her--fantasy @kodzuminx @evie2435 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diseasedclitoris @for-smut @soggywhore @snowfall--sunrise @sunmooner @elijahhewsonswifelol 

---

When he gets out his truck and starts walking down the market strip to Bo’s store, his eyes land on you, standing near a produce stand, dressed in a faded yellow dress that’s hugging your curves just like he remembers. 

Smoke hasn’t seen you since he left for Chicago. He didn’t expect to see you here but since the opportunity to talk to you has introduced itself, he’s going to take it. 

Right when he’s about to make his presence known, greet you in a respectful manner, one that would make it seem like he’s happy to see you, you turn in another direction, giving him a full view of yourself.

There’s a baby girl on your hip, can’t be any older than two years old. She has big, bright eyes, curls wild across her head, and she’s gnawing on some candy like she didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

Smoke stops walking. He doesn’t say a word. He can’t even blink because then he’ll feel like his eyes are playing tricks on him. He just stands there, like his whole body has forgotten how to move.

You’re digging through a crate full of plums, slow and careful, talking soft to the baby. Something about the sweetness of the fruit and how you have to smell the bottom to know if it was ripe.

You look around, glancing at your surroundings and that’s when your eyes lock with Smoke’s, making your heart skip beat. Time doesn’t just slow down, for you it completely stops. You never thought you would see Smoke again, not after how he left you high and dry, not even leaving you any type of letter or explanation for his sudden disappearance. 

Your lips part, like you want to say his name but no words come out. After staring each other down, Smoke finally approaches you but not the way a gentleman should. He just stares at the child, then at you with a face expression cold as ice. “That baby yours?” 

Your arms tense around the girl, adjusting her on your hip before acknowledging Smoke’s presence. You blink at him once, tilting your head to the side, your attitude coming to the forefront while your lips curl with bitterness. “You ain’t seen me in almost a decade and that’s how you approach me? Don’t even ask how I been?”

Smoke’s jaw flexes, his hand twitching where it hangs by his side. He glances back at the little girl, eyes narrowing just enough to show the storm brewing behind them. “Is she yours?” he asks again, completely ignoring your previous words, voice much sharper than before, like he ain’t got time for you to give him the run around.

You press your lips together, not answering him right away. Instead, you sway the baby gently, rubbing her back like you didn’t feel his question hit you in the gut.

You wipe the sweat from your brows with the crook of your arm, letting his question hang in the air like smoke from a low-burning fire. “She eat like she mine. Sleep like she mine. Cry like she mine.” you say with an annoyed tone, looking at him as if he’s asking the dumbest question on Earth. “Now, what that tell ya’?”

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, sharp and quick, trying to push down the smart remark that’s burning his throat, not wanting to get smart with you. “She looks too young to be yours… sure as hell ain’t mine.” He mutters, averting his eyes from you and looking at the little girl who’s resting her head on your shoulder, ready for her afternoon nap. “So whose is she?”

“Ain’t none of your concern, Smoke.”

“The hell it ain’t.” 

“I ain’t yo’ woman no more, not since you left. You don’t get to ask me questions like that.” Your walls are up, that much is clear. Smoke’s looking right into your pretty brown eyes but he can only see a coldness in them, he doesn’t see that shimmer you always carried inside them before he left. 

“Whatchu want with me, Smoke? Why did you come ova’ here?” You ask, tired of standing in this smoldering heat talking to him when the only thing he cares about is if this child was your daughter, not even asking about your well being since he ran off in the middle of the night for Chicago.

Smoke doesn’t immediately respond, he just stands there, jaw so tight it looks like he’s gonna break it. His eyes flicker from the baby to your face, trying to piece together parts of your life that aren't none of his business anymore. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve to ask you things like this anymore, doesn’t deserve to know what's transpired in the last seven years since he left but that doesn't end his curiosity, it doesn’t make him not care about you. 

He shifts his weight, looking down before taking off his blue scalley cap, his eyes becoming a tad bit softer than before, looking as if your previous words hit a nerve. “Me and Stack openin’ up a juke joint. Down at the old sawmill.”

You don’t say anything. Just raise an eyebrow, bouncing the girl on your hip slowly, still swaying like the heat itself is keeping time with your movements. You hum softly, clearly unimpressed by this voluntary piece of information. “And you tellin’ me this ‘cause…?”

“Figured you’d wanna come, check out the place.”

You let out a breathy laugh, one with no joy in it, one that’s not in the mood to dance or drink in the same room with Smoke and act as if everything is alright between the two of you. “Well, you figured wrong.”

A silence between you and him, both of you just looking into each other’s eyes before Smoke breaks the quietness. “I ain’t know if I’d see ya’ again. Thought you woulda left the Delta by now.” 

“Well, you done seen me. Reckon you can go on ‘bout your business now.”  The little girl shifts against your shoulder, her candy-sticky fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You stroke her back soothingly, but your eyes don’t leave his. You want him to see what he ran from and how you haven’t let it break you.

Smoke swallows hard, not trying to be vulnerable in such a public place but not wanting you to think he’s just stone walling you. You can see him struggling, like he has a million things he wants to say but can’t find the right words. “Jus’ come by.” he murmurs. “That’s all I’m askin’. Nothin’ mo’.”

You stare at him a moment longer, letting out a puff of air before nodding once, not giving him a definitive answer. “We’ll see. Ain’t makin’ no promises.”

You don’t give him a goodbye, just turn on your heels and walk away, the hem of your dress swishing behind you, dust curling around your ankles. Smoke watches you go, not saying anything to try and keep you here, his hand still gripping the brim of his hat, heart caught somewhere in the hollow space behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t know if you’re going to show up tonight and if he’ll ever have the chance to apologize but he wants to make things right with you, even if you're going to chew him up in the process.

—

The juke is currently thriving and alive. Sweat dripping down walls and everyone’s backs. Men clapping dominoes on tables, Sammie’s guitar slicing through the cigarette haze, Delta Slim playing the hell out of the piano, and Pearline sings a song that has the crowd dancing across the wooden floor. 

Smoke’s leaned up against the wall, cigarette between his lips, watching the door like a soldier watching the tree line. He’s been eyeing the door ever since they opened, hoping that he’ll see you walking inside. He’s been trying to keep hope alive, but it’s been a few hours and he hasn’t seen you yet, making him agitated.

“She comin’?” Stack asks, sliding beside his brother, making sure he’s alright. Smoke doesn’t answer at first. He just takes a slow pull, eyes trained on the open door like if he stares hard enough, he might conjure you up outta thin air.

Stack follows his gaze, then huffs a little, shaking his head. “Man, we got a whole club full’a pretty women and you worried about her. Ones that ain’t cussin’ yo’ ass out in the middle of the market, too.” Stack jokes, elbowing him lightly, trying to make Smoke feel better but it ain’t working. Smoke gives him a look, stone cold and sharp, one that speaks for him, a look that says ‘don’t play with me right now’.

“Aight, Aight.” Stack mutters, hands raised in surrender, not wanting to make his brother feel any worse than he already does. “Just sayin’. Don’t burn a hole in the floor waitin’ on somebody who might not show, ‘specially after you fucked up.”

Smoke doesn’t respond, he just sucks his teeth and turns back toward the door, lips pressed tight, taking another puff, trying to keep himself from wringing someone’s neck… and deep down trying to hold himself together.

He doesn't care about other women, never did, even when he was in Chicago. Not when his mind still played memories of the time he’s spent with you. Memories of you laughing in the kitchen barefoot without a care in the world, or riding with him around town, hugged up in each other's arms, acting as if the world only revolved around the other. 

Seeing that baby on your hip today really shook him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. He's been standing around wondering if your her mother, if you were able to finally conceive a baby without him. Just the thought of it makes a pain strike his chest. It makes him feel sick to his stomach because that baby should be his, not some other man.

Smoke has gotten to the point where he’s ready to give up, to leave his post and make sure Club Juke is running smoothly, thinking that his little brother is right, but right when he’s about to go and find Stack, that’s when it happens.

The door creaks open, loud enough to cut through the swell of music. There you are, standing in the doorway, talking to Cornbread at the door, looking like heaven on Earth. You’re in a soft colored satin dress, clinging to your figure like a second skin, lips painted a soft berry shade, hair done up real pretty, with your earrings catching the low light as you assess the scenery. 

As your eyes dance around the room, that’s when you find Smoke, standing a few feet from the bar. You take a few steps inside, slow and deliberate, hips swaying easily beneath the satin material, like you aren't in a rush, like you know he’s been watching the door all night just hoping you’d show. Cornbread tips his hat at you as you pass, and a couple heads turn too, the men whistling as you pass by but you ain’t paying them no mind.

Smoke straightens off the wall, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ash tray, while his eyes boring into you like a wolf watching if it’s prey is brave enough to run. He doesn't move toward you right away, doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he damn sure ain’t letting you walk in without sparking up a conversation.

You cut across the room slow, graceful, while Smoke is already making an effort to meet you halfway, the heat between y’all thick as molasses. Folks move out the way without even thinking about it, sensing something in the air, like some drama is stirring up.

Once Smoke is in front of you he takes in a small whiff of your scent, the smell of gardenias and honey filling his nostrils, making his heart settle at the familiarity of it. His eyes drag over your face, pausing at your lips, then finally settling in your eyes. “Ain’t think you was gon’ come.” 

“Ain’t think I was either, but my sister convinced me to show my face. Thought it would be good fuh’ me.”

You both stand there a moment, just taking in each other's presence, both of you secretly happy to see the other, even if your trying not to show it. “You look good,” his voice comes out rough like sandpaper but soft at the edges, his eyes gazing over each curve of your hips and the deep cut in your dress, accentuating the plumpness of your breasts. “Real good.”

You hum, trying to repress the smile that’s trying to creep onto your lips from the compliment, not wanting to let him off the hook so easily. “Ain’t gotta butter me up, Elijah. I’m here now but me showin’ up doesn't mean I forgot how we got here in the first place, how you jus’ up and left.”

His jaw ticks at the sound of his birth name in your mouth again, he ain’t heard it sound that pretty in years. And hearing it now, even with the sharpness behind it, it still makes his heart flutter. 

A flash of frustration passes through his eyes, he already can tell where this conversation is headed. You showed up looking like sin wrapped in silk, just to remind him of all the ways he failed you and your relationship and ready to rip him a new one.

He doesn’t wanna do this down here, not with all these nosy folks watching and trying to catch a whisper of y’all business, wanting to have something they can gossip about come tomorrow morning. He steps in closer, close enough that his voice dips into something just above a growl. “Come upstairs.” It’s not in the form of a question or a plea, just a demand.

And you blink, slightly taken aback since you haven’t heard him use that tone with you in years, the one that’s sprinkled with dominance. It’s the boldness, that edge in his voice, it’s what cuts through your self proclaimed armor. 

Still, you aren’t about to make it easy for Smoke, not after what he’s put you through. You tilt your chin up, squaring your shoulders like you’re thinking about telling him no, wanting him to sweat a little bit. After a few moments you nod slightly, lips parting as you murmur, “Lead the way.” 

He doesn’t respond, just turns and walks, weaving through the crowd without looking back, knowing you’re going to trail right behind him. While you’re walking you feel holes burning into your skull, knowing people are watching. You just ignore the eyes that follow y’all path, ignoring the hum of whispers and curious glances. Folks always did love a good reunion, especially a messy one like this.

You follow him up the creaky stairs, heart hammering louder with every step. The music fades behind you, replaced by the low thump of your own pulse and the sound of your heels clicking against the old wood. The second-floor hallway is dim and hot, lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He leads you down the hall and opens the door to a small room. It’s private, clean, and it’s far enough away so your voices won’t be heard downstairs. The room is just a table, chair by the window, a trunk full of the twins' guns and ammo, and a safe for their valuables. A fan clicks lazily overhead, doing little to fight off the heat but it does help. 

Once you both are inside, he shuts the door and leans against it for a beat, while you stand in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight over your chest. He watches you. Watches the way you shift your weight from one hip to the other, your expression trying to stay hard but your fingers twitching like you aren’t as composed as you pretend to be. “Why now, Elijah?” you ask softly, wanting some answers from him. “Why you come back here, after all this time?”

Smoke’s never been the type to show much emotion. But right now, the weight behind his eyes is heavier than you’ve ever seen it. When you talk to him in that tone, look at him with those hypnotizing eyes, he can’t help but become vulnerable, allowing you to break down his walls and get him to open up. “I ain’t know how to stay,” he says, pushing off the door and coming towards you. “I ain’t know how to look at you every night, wantin’ somethin’ I couldn’t give you.”

“You think leavin’ fixed that?” you ask, voice cracking in the process. “You think disappearin’ made the ache go away?”

“I ain’t know how to handle it. Felt like I failed you. Watchin’ you in that bed cryin’ and couldn’t do nothin’ but hold your hand. I felt like shit, like I was less of a man.”

The time y’all were together before he left for Chicago, your days were filled with doctor visits, herbs, prayers, and tears soaked into your cotton sheets. You cried yourself hoarse each time you found out you weren’t pregnant.

You and him were trying to conceive for a long time, trying to fill your womb with a child, wanting to bring a life into the world that was a mixture of you and him, but for some reason it never happened.

Any method you learned about in books or from talking to the neighborhood midwives who delivered more babies than you can count, you and Smoke tried and yet you could never become pregnant. You and Smoke tried to keep each other lifted up, tried to keep hope alive but after months turned into years it started weighing on both of you.

You both were at your breaking point so when Smoke had the opportunity to leave for Chicago, he was gone on the first train smoking, leaving you to deal with the pain of not being able to conceive alone.

“You was my man, Elijah.” you snap, your voice sharp and trembling, not being able to hold back the storm of emotions that’s been brewing inside you all these years. “I never wanted perfect. I never wanted you to fix the problem, I wanted you but you ran. Like it was easier to vanish than stay and hurt wit’ me.”

Smoke swallows thick, chest rising with a breath, like he doesn't know how to hold right. “I didn’t know how to sit in that pain, not with you lookin’ at me with that hurt in your eyes. I felt useless to ya’.”

“You think I felt useful?” you spit, stepping toward him now, eyes flashing with anger. “Every month, bleedin’, gettin’ another reminder that I ain’t having your baby. Every time somebody else in town got pregnant and I had to smile like it didn’t feel like I was dyin’ inside? Having to see my friends take care of their kids and pretend I wasn’t jealous. All those times I needed you here, not runnin’ around Chicago like you ain’t got a woman at home.”

The silence between you crackles, heavy with grief, fury, and years of love stretched too thin because of sorrow. You’re both breathing hard now, standing in the middle of the room like two hurricanes about to collide. He doesn’t speak, not because he doesn’t have anything to say, it’s because you’re right.

After watching Smoke just stand there in silence, seeing the hurt in his eyes and feeling the sting of his actions in your own heart, that’s when you break.

You try not to, try to stay hard and proud, but the pain rips through you anyway. “You left me with nothin’ but an empty bed. You ain’t send me a letter, try to get a call to me, nothin’. I ain’t hear from you in seven years, Smoke. Seven damn years.” you whisper, voice raw and tired, tears starting to spill freely down your cheeks. “I hated you for it. I hated you so much, but I couldn’t stop lovin’ you either.”

At this point in your life, your tired of crying over Smoke, tired of the pain you just can’t shake no matter how much you try, but that’s what happens when you truly love someone. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t let them go, even if what they did is unforgivable.

He doesn’t ask permission, just crosses the room in large strides and pulls you into his chest like he’s been dying to touch you since the moment he saw you at the market. His arms wrap around you tight, and your fists beat against his chest once, then twice, then a third.

You try to fight his embrace, not wanting to weaken under his touch but after a few moments your arms fall limp, clutching his vest, resting your head against his shoulder while your tears soak his clothing.

Silence stretches like wire strung too tight before your voice cracks just enough to show the emotional bruise on your heart, showing the true wound that’s been hurting you for years, the thought that’s been plaguing your mind since he left. “I thought I wasn’t enough for you anymore. That without being able to give you a baby I was less of a woman, that I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

Smoke’s breath stutters against your temple, your words splitting him clean down the middle. His voice is so low you barely hear it over the creak of the fan above but you catch every single word. “Don’t you ever say that, aight? You always been enough fuh’ me.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, tilting your head up at him and then pressing his fingers into your waist like he’s trying to make you feel every word before it even can leaves his lips. “You the only thang in this world that makes me feel whole. I left ‘cause I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, not ‘cause you ain’t.”

“Then why you aint jus’ say that? Why you ain’t tell me you was hurtin’ too?”

His jaw flexes again, and you can see it, shame, writing all over his face. It rolls off him in waves, thick as Mississippi fog. You can tell he’s ashamed of how he left things, how he practically abandoned you just because things were overwhelming. “I ain’t know how,” he confesses, his voice soft and vulnerable, a side of him you don’t see often but when you do it makes butterflies flutter around your stomach.

His way of being open, honest, and raw has always had that affect on you, even when you were kids. “Wasn’t raised to talk ‘bout no feelings. Wasn’t raised to sit in pain. All I know is how to survive, and I thought leavin’ was survivin’, tryin’ to find another way to provide for us. Tryin’ to forget the pain.”

And that’s when your breath catches, because you can tell he means every word. You can see it in his eyes. All the self-loathing, all the love, wrapped up in one tortured look. Your lips part, but nothing comes out, lost for words at the moment. 

He lowers his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath brushing your face, making your skin prickle. And for a second, it’s just the two of you, truly seeing each other past the masks you put on for other people. You see the pain brewing inside, the hurt of your past, and the ache of your love, weighing on both of you like a stone.

For a while Smoke just holds you. His arms don’t shake, no tremble in his hands, but his breath does, hitching in his chest as he leans into you, a single tear rolling down his cheek, another expression of his vulnerability and how apologetic he is about the whole situation, filling in the gaps where his words couldn’t. 

The fan creaks overhead, spinning slow and lazy, the outside noise muffled through thick walls and heavy heat, but none of it matters. In this room, it’s just him and you, buried under years of silence and heartbreak, finally getting things off your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice full of conviction and thick with regret. “sorry fuh’ how I left ya’. I’m sorry I made you carry all that weight alone. I ain’t askin’ for your forgiveness ‘cause I don't deserve it. But I wanna make things right, get back in your good graces.”

You stare at him, your hands still clutching his clothing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. You’re quiet for a moment, like you’re testing the truth of his words by the rhythm of his breath. It’s clear to you that he means what he says, that he isn’t just telling you what he assumes you want to hear so you decide to give him some truth as well.

You pull back to look him in the eye, telling him the thing that’s been burning him up inside since he first saw you. “That baby you saw me with earlier…” you begin softly, brushing a tear from your cheek before wiping the one that’s cascading down his. “She ain’t mine. She’s my sister’s little girl.” you explain. “I was jus’ babysittin’ her cause she had to run some errands, is all.”

You didn’t tell him your true connection to the baby at the market because you wanted to see him hurt, wanted him to think you could just move on and sleep with another man, wanted his blood to run hot with jealousy. You had to give him a reality check, make him realize that the world doesn’t revolve around Smoke, that what he does hurts people, hurts you.

Smoke blinks slowly, shoulders drop in the kind of relief that’s so heavy it almost knocks the wind out of him. “Shit,” he murmurs, running his hand down his face, wiping the beads of sweat that’s surrounding his brows. “I thought—” he shakes his head, letting out a thankful sigh. “thought you moved on. Thought I came back too late.”

You shake your head, lips curling into something too tender to call a smile, followed by a bitter laugh coming from your lips. “I ain’t moved on, Elijah. Been stuck right where you left me.” Your voice cracks just a little, but this time with something softer. “I tried to forget you but no matter what I did, I still wanted you. Still do, even with all we been through.”

That does something to him. Smoke’s whole frame seems to shift, like his heart just lifted back into place within his chest. His jaw unclenches, his brow eases, and the way he’s looking at you now,  like he would fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness if you asked. 

He cups your face with one calloused hand, thumb dragging slow across your cheek, wiping away the last wet trace of tears staining your skin. “I was a damn fool.” he says quietly, voice thick with grief, his tone apologetic. “But I ain’t finna be one no more. I’m gon’ spend every day tryin’ to prove to you that I still know how to love you right. That I’m worthy enough to be with ya’.”

You exhale softly, the heat in the room no longer stemming from the Mississippi heat or from Club Juke being packed from wall to wall with people. It’s the air between you, charged with years of everything unsaid, thick with all the thirst and longing for the others touch. Your fingers tighten around the front of his shirt, playing with the buttons. “Then show me, ‘lijah. Prove that you mean what you say.”

You barely finish the sentence before his lips are pressed against yours. It’s not gentle, at least not at first. It’s desperate, seven years of silence, hurt, desire, and love pouring out into a single kiss. His mouth claims yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers again if he waits too long, and you don’t resist. You part your lips leaning into him like your body remembers this rhythm, this man, the one it’s been waiting on all this time.

His other hand slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him, allowing you to feel the bulge growing in his slacks. The second your mouth parts and your tongue brushes his, everything changes. The kiss grows hotter, deeper, like you both just realized how much you missed this. You break the kiss long enough to whisper against his lips, “Lock the door.”

Smoke’s already two steps ahead of you. He pulls you backwards with him and he reaches behind blindly and turns the lock, the soft click making your pulse stutter with anticipation. Once it’s locked he’s back on your body, kissing you like he’s been starving for years, because he in fact has.

You start taking off his vest, taking loose the few buttons before taking it off him and starting the whole process over with his dress shirt. After fidgeting with one that’s giving you trouble, you just rip the shirt open and throw it on the floor once his arms are free, along with his gun holster.

Smoke doesn’t even flinch when you rip open his shirt, he doesn’t care about the buttons scattering across the floor like dice, he just lets it happen and allows you to take the lead. 

You pull up his white t-shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and once you see his body glistening before you, a small smirk curls at your lips.

His body is just as you remember, broad chest, taut muscles beneath his brown skin, a few faded scars and wounds carved into his skin, a reminder of everything he’s endured over his thirty-ish years of walking this Earth. You press your palms flat against his pecs, like you’re trying to memorize the feeling of him again after all this time.

You trace your fingers down the slope of his shoulder, down to the scar that runs over his ribs, a scar you remember from a fight with some hotheads back in 1923, a fight he got into because the men were catcalling you, saying some filthy things he ain’t appreciate being spoken about you. 

Smoke watches your hand move, eyes half-lidded with heat and memory, like the feel of your fingers on his skin brings him back to every piece of who he used to be when he was with you. Your touch is gentle but there’s a certain fire behind it, a look in your eye that tells him you want to swallow him alive.

“Ain’t nothin’ changed,” you murmur, dragging your hand back up to his jaw, tracing the stubble that has grown thick and rough around his lip and chin. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing the faint trail of hair leading into his slacks.

His breath hitches when you reach the waistband, your nails scraping against his skin, sending a shiver across his skin. “I still know every inch of you.” you whisper, lips trailing his neck, moving up his to his ear and swirling your tongue around his lobe, making him close his eyes and let out a groan. 

“Goddamn.” Smoke’s eyes flutter closed for just a second, jaw tightening as your tongue teases his ear, that sweet, warm breath of yours sending a bolt straight down his spine. He lets out a low grunt, deep, guttural, the kind of sound that vibrates from somewhere low in his belly, a sound he hasn’t let out in years, a sound only you can pull out of him. 

Your fingers keep tracing slow paths across his skin, like you’re relearning him, mapping out all the places you used to kiss, used to bite, used to hold when the nights got too heavy. His breath hitches with every pass of your hands, his body coiled tight like he’s only hanging on by a thread. 

You pull back just a little, your lips still brushing his throat, your voice coming out sounding like honey but your tone stern like you mean business. Asking him a question that’s been burning a hole in your mind since you heard through the grapevine he was living it up with Al Capone. “You let any women touch you while you was up there in Chicago?”

Smoke opens his eyes slow, looking down at you, holding your gaze steady like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. “No.” He says smooth as butter, without a stutter or crack in his voice. “Ain’t nobody touched me but myself. Ain’t want nobody else.”

You stare at him for a second with a raised brow before allowing a pleased smile to dance across your lips. “Good,” you mutter, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach again, teasing the waistband of his pants before pulling the loops out of his belt. “’Cause if you did, I woulda cut yo’ ass too thin to fry.”

That pulls a small smirk out of him, half amusement, half awe, but full of lust. “Shit, I believe ya’.” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, eyeing your full hips and pretty physique, licking his lips while he looks you up and down, feeling you pull his belt from around his waist and opening his fly, leaving only one more step before you see the part of him you missed the most.

In one swift motion, he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you without warning, walking over and laying you down flat on the wooden table towards the back of the room.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a soft gasp, the wood cool against your back, your dress bunched up around your hips, thighs parted just enough for his body to slide between them. His hands slide down your waist, rough palms catching on the satin of your dress. 

You slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting them fall before pulling the dress over your head, with some assistance from Smoke, helping you avoid messing up your hair even though he’s about to sweat it out.

Your body is now on full display, your full breasts sitting pretty in your brassiere, plump against your chest while your sex is being covered by your cotton panties, keeping the part of you Smoke desires the most hidden.

Smoke takes his time admiring your body, especially since he hasn’t seen it in years. His eyes move slowly, as if he’s savoring the moment, like every inch of you is a hymn he forgot the words to but still knows the rhythm of. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, chest rising and falling with something too heavy to simply be called desire. 

What Smoke currently feels is hunger. Not the kind that lives in his stomach, but the kind that’s rooted in his veins. The kind that started the moment he walked away all them years ago and never died. Just sat there. Festering. Waiting for this very moment.

He leans over you, big hands dragging up your thighs, prying them open as he lowers his mouth to your belly, pressing slow and purposeful kisses against your skin. One kiss. Then another. Then one more just above the waistband of your panties. “You still the prettiest thang I eva’ seen.” he murmurs against your skin, voice raspy and raw, like it burns his throat as the words pass through.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hand reach up, thumb grazing the swell of your breasts, his lips trailing higher, brushing the valley between them. He doesn’t unclasp your bra just yet, he cusps them like he’s trying to mold a piece of clay, reminding himself what it’s like to have his hands on a woman’s body after having no intimacy for seven years.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look in your pretty eyes. “Then come get what’s yours.” And those words are all it takes for Smoke to finally unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor with all the other clothing that no longer matters. 

Your nipples harden under the air and his harsh gaze, and he leans down to wrap his lips around one, sucking slow and precise, his tongue swirling while his hand kneads the other, making you moan softly as your back arches off the desk. “Missed this mouth.” you whimper, running your hands along his arms, gripping onto his muscular arms.

He hums against your breast, switching his attention to the other side without missing a beat. “Missed you.” He mumbles while his hand slides down your belly, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down your thick thighs, the same thighs he loves putting his head between whenever he gets the opportunity. 

He watches your body the whole way down like it’s some kind of sacred text he’s not worthy of reading but refuses to look away from. He lets out a sharp breath when he sees you bare. When his eyes fall into your wet core, seeing how your is slick smeared across your sex and how it makes your puffy folds glisten in the warm lighting, he can’t help but curse. “Damn, this pussy sexy.”

You grin through your blush, biting your lip while looking at him with darkened eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him worshiping your body again like the way he used to but also missing the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clitoris until you see stars. “Stop starin’ at it an’ do somethin’ then.”

And that he does. Smoke sinks to his knees, spreading your legs wider and planting wet kisses to the inside of your thigh that makes your breath stutter. Within a few minutes his mouth is attached to your pussy, tongue moving meticulously, licking long, lazy stripes up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it soft and steady.

Your fingers run across his coarse hair as your head falls back, a whimper escaping your throat. His hands grip your thighs tight, keeping you in place while he eats you like he’s been starving for years, and in a way, he has. He moans into your heat, like tasting you is the first time he’s been able to breathe since he crossed state lines out of Mississippi.

You grind your hips up into his face, one hand tugging his hair, and the other gripping the edge of the table, your chest heaving as your mind starts to become fuzzy. “Shit, Elijah…” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

“Baby, I wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He says as he comes up for air before diving back into your heat. He sucks harder, tongue circling and flicking your shining pearl until your thighs begin to twitch. His nose presses into the mound of your pussy, his warm breath causing your skin to prickle.

The more he devours your sex, the more your whimpers and moans bounce off the wooden walls of the room. Smoke wants to warm you up as best as possible for what’s to come, so he places his fingers at your folds, scissoring them open and allowing your slick to collect on his digits and once there’s a good amount he slowly pushes them into your pussy, making you gasp from the sudden insertion.

You arch off the table, thighs tightening around his head like your body’s trying to trap him there, and honestly, he doesn’t mind one bit. You could be suffocating him and he would still be happy, knowing that he has the opportunity to taste your sweetness on his tongue.

Smoke grunts low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your wetness as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow at first, but picking up rhythm with every moan that spills from your lips.

His mouth never stops showing your clit attention, tongue flicking simultaneously with the curl of his fingers, still remembering how you like your body caressed and touched after all these years you’ve been apart.

You’re singing for him now: soft gasps, whispered curses, the kind of sounds that echo with the ghost of every lonely night you spent wishing his mouth was between your legs instead of your own fingers. Your voice comes out broken, barely hanging on, like the coil in your stomach is only a few moments, or a few kitten licks from snapping.“I’m so close, baby…” 

That “baby” unravels something in Smoke. It makes him groan deep and double down in your heat, making a sharp gasp spill from your lips. He adds a third finger, stretching you nice and wide, thumb rubbing circles where his mouth used to be so he can look into your pretty eyes while you fall apart from his touch.

“That’s it, baby.” he murmurs, looking down at you with those deep brown eyes that always make you buckle and listen to his every command when he speaks. “Gon’ ‘head and give it to me, mama. Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

And you do just that. Your back bows off the table, legs quivering as they rest on his shoulders, a cry ripping from your throat so sharp it could make a mirror shatter. Your pussy clenches around his fingers like it’s trying to keep him inside, slick gushing down his hand and past his wrist as your orgasm rolls through you like a Delta heatwave.

Smoke doesn’t stop massaging the sweet spot inside you until your body jerks from the sensitivity, and your hand weakly pushes at his head, telling him you can’t take it anymore. He obeys this time, deciding not to push you past your limit just yet. 

He pulls away, pulling his fingers out of you slowly, making you whimper once you feel him exit. “Tastes better than I remembered.” He states, his voice thick with heat while he licks your juices off his digits. “Sweeter, too.” His lips curl into a soft smile, something he doesn’t flash often but when he does it warms your heart… and your pussy.

You blink up at him, chest still heaving, a lazy smile spreading across your lips. “That’s ‘cause I been waitin’ on you.”

Smoke’s gaze lingers on your face, soft now, as he leans over you, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, making your toes curl at the sensation. “I ain’t ever gon’ make you wait like that no mo’.” he murmurs against your mouth.

“You better not, not after all this time.” you breathe, placing your hands around the base of his neck.

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You gon’ punish me if I do?” Smoke has never been the type of man who would openly admit he likes a woman who’ll dominate him, but there've been multiple moments in your relationship where you had Smoke right under your finger, submitting to your every move so you punishing him sounds like music to his ears.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Damn right I will.” Your hands move down his body, running down his chiseled frame until you reach his slacks, pulling them down towards the floor, removing the last piece of clothing keeping him from being close to you as humanly possible. 

Once his pants are at his ankles, you take him in your hand, watching his brows knit when your palm wraps around his heavy length. His breath catches, head tilting back as you stroke him slow, feeling his thick, aching dick throb against your palm as his pre-cum leaks down your fingers.

He was already painfully hard from eating your pussy but feeling your hands wrapped around him, he’s hard as concrete. “Told you I ain’t let nobody else touch me,” he says,. “Ain’t want nobody else, ‘cause nobody else makes me this goddamn hard.”

You grin at that, slow and satisfied, eyes flicking up to meet his while your hand keeps moving in smooth, steady strokes. “Good,” you murmur, voice thick with pride that your soul ties so deeply to Smoke that he can’t even look at another woman sexually or romantically.  “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now that you back.” You grab him by the chin and pull him closer to you, putting your lips right against his ear, wanting him to hear every word. “ I’m gon’ keep ya’ so deep in this pussy, that you won’t ever wanna leave the Delta again.”

Smoke bites his lip and feeling your fingertips glide over his protruding veins, making him groan. Your words hit him just as hard as your precious touch. He watches you like he’s starving, like every inch of you is something he’s been fighting to survive without. 

Smoke’s eyes darken, the sound of you talking filthy tightens something in his gut. He places one hand behind your neck, the other stroking your cheek, his thumb dragging down to rest on your lip. “I’m gon’ fuck this pretty pussy so deep yo’ body ain’t never gon’ forget me, no matter how long I’m gone.”

As he mutters his last words, he takes his dick out of your hands and guides himself to your entrance, the tip of it dragging slowly through your slick-covered folds, making you moan at the feeling. 

He doesn’t rush. He teases, rubs, and takes in the way your pussy flutters and twitches for him, how it’s so wet and open, begging for his dick stretch you out. 

You whine, nails digging into his arms, tired of him playing around when he sees how much you’re aching for him. “Smoke, don’t play with me—”

He cuts you off with a roll of his hips, pushing into you slowly, creating a delicious burn to spread through your core. Your mouth falls open, back arching as you feel every inch of his cock fill you up. “Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, holding onto him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

The stretch burns at first, just like it always did but especially now since it’s been almost a decade since a man has been inside you. But it’s a welcomed pain, one you’ve missed more than you’re willing to admit. Your walls flutter around him, greedy and wet, clinging to every inch as he slowly thrusts inside you.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, brows furrowed, hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” As he thrusts his dick into your pussy, trying to reach that sweet spot before really doing some damage, he gets a moment of Deja Vu. 

The feeling of your walls tightening around him each time kisses your skin or mutters out compliments that are dripping in pure filth, he remembers when you and him were just teenagers, pressing your bodies against each other for the first time, trying to express your love for each other in the best way possible.

Smoke presses his forehead to yours, his chest heaving as he pushes deeper into your warmth. The sound of your breath catching, the way your mouth hangs open, and the way your walls squeeze around him like you want to stay connected like this forever, edges him closer to his orgasm.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this every fuckin’ night since I left.” He grits through a moan, starting to move once he bottoms out, slow at first, dragging his hips back just enough to feel some resistance, then pushing in deeply, making your breath hitch. “Ain’t just ‘cause I missed yo’ pussy… I missed how you sound. Missed how you smelled. Missed everythang ‘bout you.”

You whimper beneath him, legs trembling from the deep drag of his thrusts. One of your hands moves to cradle the back of his head while the other claws lightly down his back, leaving faint trails on his skin, one of your methods to claim him as yours. “Missed you too,” you breathe out, voice catching on a moan as he rocks into you again, deeper this time. “Missed feelin’ you like this...”

“Yeah?” he asks in a growl, jaw tight as he sinks deeper into you, giving you one long hard thrust, while the heat of you squeezing around him like a vice floods his veins. “Missed this dick fillin’ you up?” He presses against your lower body, hand against the bulge his cock makes each time he thrusts inside.  “Missed feelin’ me reach yo’ stomach?”

“Yes, missed it so much!” You yell out before crying out his name, tightening your grasp around the back of his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he starts thrusting into you at an agonizing pace.

Smoke grits his teeth at the way you cry out, like your moans and cries are chipping away at his self restraint, like your body is begging him to release all seven years of pent up sexual energy into this very moment. 

His mouth presses against your throat, licking and kissing and sucking your soft and supple skin while his hips grind into you deep and slow, thick strokes dragging every sound you can make right out your mouth. 

Even through the lust-fueled heat and haze of endorphins, there’s a softness in the way he holds you, a type of gentleness that only comes from your souls being tied to one another. “You want me to stay?” he pants, his voice low and husky in your ears. “Huh? Want me to stay right here… keep ya’ full’a this fat dick?”

You answer him right away, nodding frantically while a fire starts spreading through your body, throwing your legs around his torso, locking him in place, wanting him to stay deep inside. “Yes, Smoke—don’t stop, please—fuck—you strechin’ me out!”

The back and forth between you and him continues, your bodies locked in a rhythm older than memory. You and Smoke match each other in every way: body, rhythm, desire. Smoke touches you like a man who’s been lost, finally made his way back home, and hoping what comes next will make up for the time lost.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble harshly around his waist. “Damn, girl,” he pants in your ear. “You takin’ me so good… like this pussy know exactly who it belong to.”

“It belong to you,” you whimper, leaning more into his body, wrapping your arms around his back to hold him even closer, like you can pull him into your soul, like if you hold him close he’ll become fused with your body. “Always did.”

Hearing that makes his eyes flutter closed for a second. You feel the tremble in his arms, the way he slows his pace just enough to look at you again, to really look into the windows of your soul. He can see everything your feeling, even the things you haven’t voiced yet. 

He can feel a yearning in your spirit, not for him, but something else, something you’ve wanted for years, even since you were a little girl and honestly what he’s been wanting since the day he met you. 

Smoke opens his mouth and speaks low, almost like it’s a secret between just you, him, and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding. “Still want that baby?” Smoke asks softly, like he’s scared of what your answer will be, like he’s in some type of uncharted territory. 

He knows he’s been gone for years, and he knows that trying to have a child is one of things that put a strain on your relationship but he can’t stop thinking about bringing a beautiful baby into the world with you. 

The question makes your breath hitch, makes your eyes snap open at the mention of a baby. Even in the midst of his thick dick continuously pushing against your womb, sweat dripping down your skin, and insides being rearranged, the question still lands heavily in your mind. 

It takes you by surprise for sure, you weren’t expecting this conversation so soon, let alone in the middle of sex but you aren’t opposed to talking about it since you know it’s one conversation that has to be discussed.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy with tears you refuse to shed, overwhelmed by the feeling of finally having him in your arms again and what could be if you become pregnant. Your hands cup his face as you repress a moan, your voice a little breathy from all the physical activity but still clear as day. “You still wanna give me a baby? You… you still want that wit’ me after everything?” 

Smoke’s eyes searched yours, raw and honest in the dim light, holding every ounce of hope and fear tangled inside the pit of his stomach. “‘Course I do.” he whispers with a strong tone, gliding his thumb across your skin and whiping the tear you finally allowed to roll down your cheek. “I still want that baby. I want our baby. Never wanted anything else.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing against your chest, flooding you with a mix of longing and cautious hope. You’ve dreamed of this moment many times, but hearing it spoken from his lips and not your imagination makes your heart swell in a way you hadn’t expected. 

“I want it too, Elijah. I always did. Ain’t never stopped wantin’ a baby with you.” Your fingers trace slow, delicate circles on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his facial hair beneath your touch. “I wanna get round with yo’ baby. Carryin’ somethin’ of us both inside me.”

Smoke’s eyes soften even more, like a weight lifts off his shoulders once he hears that you and him are on the same page. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours, breath and saliva mingling with yours. Smoke starts thrusting again but this time his hips jerk into you a little harder than before. 

“Then I’ma give ya’ one. Gon’ make you a mama jus’ like you want.” he promises, voice shaking as he starts to lose control, his need of wanting to breed you taking over. “Gon’ make sure my seed sittin’ deep. You gon’ walk outta here wit’ it drippin’ out of ya’.”

Before responding to him vocally, you place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in for another kiss, sliding your tongue so far down his throat you can taste a mixture of yourself and the beer he was drinking earlier. 

The kiss is full of fire, passion, love, and all the above. 

In the beginning, this escapade was just full of hot passion but now, talking about trying to make a baby, it quickly turns intimate, making both you and him soften up.

Your lips part from his, swollen and slick from the kiss, and you keep your forehead pressed to his, eyes fluttering shut as your hands rest on his shoulders. His weight, his warmth, it’s all wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, it feels like you can finally breathe again.

Smoke rolls his hips into you at a delicious pace, each thrust deeper than the last, but not rushed. It’s slow and sensual, something both of you have been craving since you and him were apart. 

His hands slide under your back, holding you delicately like the diamond you are. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the kind born from years of loving each other, of knowing every scar, every mole, and every inch of skin by heart.

“God, I missed you.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, your voice breaking as you feel the tip of his dick pressing against your cervix.

Smoke groans low, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest. “Missed you too, baby. Gon’ stay right in the Delta with you. I swea’.”

He buries his face into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin like intoxicates him every time he inhales. His breath is shaky, warm against your throat, causing your skin to prickle. The gentle rocking of his hips turns more deliberate and forceful, and you can feel the difference almost instantly.

Every stroke is intense, every moan and whimper he pulls from you feels like a prayer. Your fingers thread through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and his arms tighten around you like he is trying to mold your body to his. 

You whisper against his ear, voice trembling as your words become vocal, “So deep, baby… feel so full.” He lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweat glistening along his brow, jaw tight from the effort of holding back, not wanting to completely wear you out. “I love you,” he says in between kisses against various areas of your body. “And this pussy.”

Your eyes fill again, tears catching in your lashes, but you don’t blink them away. You allow him to see it, see how much he still moves you. How much you still love him. He brushes a kiss over each cheek, then your lips, then your chin. His mouth lingers everywhere and each place his lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind.

Soon he starts to tremble. Hips stuttering, breath going ragged, while you feel your own release stirring inside you, slow and consuming your body and soul. It wraps around your spine, makes your toes curl and your walls tighten around him. “I’m close,” 

“Me too,” he grits through another surge of pleasure, hands slipping down to hold your hips steady. “ Let it happen, baby. Come wit’ me.” His speed doesn’t lessen, it only rapidly increases, making it feel like his dick is reaching the depths of your soul. 

Every drag of his hips feels like he’s trying to make up for every night you cried and every moment you thought he forgot you. And with every moan you make, arch to meet his movements, and whispers of praise, you let him know that never stopped wanting him. 

Your second orgasm hits hard: tighter, deeper, it makes your body quiver as your walls convulse around him. Your mouth parts in a moan that sounds like his name, your legs trembling around his waist, as your juices splash against his pelvis and your cream surrounds the rim of his dick. 

And that’s all it takes for Smoke to follow, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep, groaning into your neck as he spills his seed into the depths of your womb, not wanting a drop of it to escape because every droplet counts when trying to have a baby.

Once he releases he doesn't pull out right away. He just stays buried inside you, allowing his seed to travel inside you to its rightful place. Both of you are breathing hard, bodies tangled, skin slick with sweat, and your hearts pounding in sync. He runs his fingers along your jaw and gently kisses you, like a man who’s finally at peace. 

You run your fingers along the strong line of his back, the soft curve of his nape, eyes closed and body humming with the aftershock. “I hope it took.” you whisper, gliding your hand against the back of his head.

Smoke doesn’t respond right away, first he kisses the curve of your shoulder, then soft of your cheek, and lastly he looks in your eyes. “That baby already on the way,” He mumbles, reassuring you while moving a few strands of your hair out of your face. “I can feel it.” He places his hand on your stomach, rubbing your skin like he already feels something growing there. 

You laugh softly, feeling a flutter in your chest when you feel him acting as if you’re full of his child already. “Don’t play. Once you get me pregnant, you stuck with me fuh’ good.”

Smoke lifts his head, eyes locked on yours with a serious expression on his face. “Wanna be stuck. Wanna have a house full of kids,” he murmurs while his hands still linger against your skin. “Want all of ‘em lookin’ jus’ like you.” You smile when you hear him say that, Smoke has always had a way of saying the words that make you feel all mushy inside. 

You pull him in for another kiss, allowing your lips to linger against his before pulling away. After you and him take a few moments to gather yourselves, you find yourself tangled together once again but this time you're on top, you can’t let have Smoke have all the fun of being in control.

For the rest of the night it's just you and him in the little office. Rekindling your love, fucking each other senseless, while the scent of sweat and love lingers in air. For the first time in a long time, both of you are right where you want to be, in each other’s arms. 

—

ONE MONTH LATER….

The morning started slow, like most have lately. You’re sitting at the small wooden kitchen table, sunlight slipping through the curtains and beaming on the tablecloth your mama gifted you years ago. The smell of frying pork fat still hung in the air, and the biscuits you made sits half-eaten between you and Smoke.

You’re wearing one your many nightgowns, cotton thin and soft against your skin, while your feet are propped on the edge of his chair, knees bent. He’s eating quietly, calm as always, big hands steady as he sopped up syrup with a piece of biscuit. 

He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world but your mind has been running wild all week. Something in your body has been feeling off. You’ve been nauseous almost every morning, tired all the time, snapping at Smoke for no good reason, and your breasts have started to to become tender. 

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. A stretch behind your ribs, a mysterious heat low in your belly. You’ve been trying to brush it off. Tell yourself it’s too early to get your hopes up, reminding yourself it will take a while before your in the family way. But this morning you can’t hold it in anymore. “Elijah?”

He glances up, chewing slow, then wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Hm?”

You hesitate at first, fidgeting with the food on your plate, pushing the scrambled eggs around with a fork, before speaking. “I… I think somethin’ goin’ on wit’ me.”

His brow crease as he straightens up in his seat. “What kinda somethin’?”

“I don’t know. I jus’ feel different. Been tired, sick in the mornin’, and my body been achin’. I think i’m comin’ down with somethin’.”

You look up at him for the first time since sitting across from him, searching for any sign of emotion in his face. At first Smoke doesn’t blink. He just stares for a beat, then his face softens just a little, making your heart flutter. “I been watchin’ you.” he says, voice low and still filled with sleep. 

Smoke is an attentive man, his eyes are always on you no matter what. So when he noticed you moving slower, how you could no longer stomach certain foods, and how your emotions have been all over the place, his mind started to spin with his own ideas of what could be going on. “Baby, ion think you sick.” He looks down at your belly, then back at you. “I think you pregnant.”

Your heart clenches at the mention of a baby possibly forming in your womb. You set down the fork and rest your hand on your stomach, feeling your nerves begin to get the best of you. “You think so?”

He nods, standing firm in his statement. “Don’t jus’ think it. I feel it.”

“I ain’t wanna get my hopes up. Not after all we been through…” You express to Smoke. Everything you and him went through years ago, all the emotions it brings out of you and the strain it can cause on your relationship, you don’t want to go through that again. You know you won’t be able to handle it a second time and Smoke knows that too.

“I know.” Smoke says as he takes a deep breath, reaching across the table and lays his palm over your hand that’s tapping nervously against the wood. “But this time feels different. You feel different.”

You sigh sharply, feeling yourself calm down just a little when you see how confident Smoke is about you being pregnant even though there’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you it’s impossible after you’ve only been trying for a month plus all the prior failed attempts. “You think Annie would come by? Check me out?”

“She’ll come,” Smoke reassuringly tightens your hand before standing up, reaching for his tweed jacket thats hanging off the back of his chair. “I’ll go get her myself.” Before he walks out the door, he places a kiss on your temple, making a soft smile come across your lips.

After almost thirty minutes, Smoke shows up with Annie trailing behind him inside the house, basket in hand with all of the supplies she needs for a full exam, her haint blue dress hugging her full figure. Annie is your closest friend, and you trust her to guide you through this journey more than any backwoods doctor or midwife. 

She’s caught babies all across the county and laid hands on sick folks so long, folks say her touch can pull a fever right out the skin. Her first love is hoodoo but her second is bringing new life into the world. She sets her basket down with a thud and gives you a look, letting you know that something sassy is about to roll off her tongue. “You gon’ make me dig around or you gon’ tell me what’s goin’ on first?" 

“I’m late,” you say quietly, fidgeting with the lace pattern along your dress that you changed into before she arrived. “Been sick, tired. I jus’ wanna see if I’m...”

Annie knows how hard it has been for you and Smoke to conceive, and how long you’ve yearned to become a mother so she understands the weight of this moment, and how its hard for you to allow the word “pregnant” to slip through your lips until you know for sure. She flashes you a soft smile and gives you a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s see what’s goin’ on.”

You lead her to the back of your home where your bedroom resides and you lie down on your bed, with Smoke right by your side. Most men don’t want to be around for exams like this, thinking it’s just “womanly work” or gross but Smoke is far from that mindset, he wants to be included in every phase. Plus, you don’t want him far. You’ve separated from each other for far too long and you need him right by your side holding your hand, whether it’s good or bad news.

Annie’s touch is gentle as she presses and prods your body, asking you a series of questions, humming under her breath while her eyes are half-closed like she’s feeling more with her spirit than her fingers. She uses a series of instruments, including a Pinard Horn, searching for a fetal heartbeat to fill her eardrums.

After what feels like hours of long silence and tension so thick it can be sliced with a knife, she completes her routine exam. When she first looks up at you and Smoke, her face is neutral, not really showing any sign of emotion until she flashes a smile. “Honey, you with child.”

Your throat closes and it feels like you can’t breathe for a second. The air leaves your lungs in a rush, chest heaving while tears immediately fill your eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand, trembling all over. “Really? I’m… I’m pregnant?” The word finally emerges from your throat, your tone sounding like you barely believe what Annie despite her many years of expertise.

Annie nods, her smile growing even wider. “Yes, y/n. You pregnant. Belly’s already startin’ to swell. You ain’t too far along. Maybe five, six weeks, but it’s a baby in there, no doubt.” She says, rubbing your belly softly. “Baby strong too. I heard that heartbeat clear as day.”

The tears fall freely now, spilling down your cheeks as you turn your face into Smoke’s shoulder. He’s already there, leaning down, wrapping you up in his arms before you have the opportunity to fall apart. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs against your temple, voice calm despite his own brewing excitement, soothing you in the moment. “You hear that? You carryin’. We gon’ have a baby.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, fingers clutching at his jacket, holding on like you might drown in your own of tears and waves of emotion. “we tried for so long. I thought— I thought it would never—”

Smoke tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are wet too, though he hasn’t allowed a single tear to fall. He just looks at you with his usual brooding intensity, but much softer now. “Believe it. I told you. I felt it. From the night I put it in ya’, I knew.”

You choke on a laugh, even through the tears, not believing he said that right in front Annie without a care. “You so sure of yo’self.”

Annie clears her throat gently, gathering up her things, wanting to give you and him some time alone to reflect on the joyful news. “I’ma leave y’all to it. Let her rest, Smoke. Don’t you let her lift nothin’ heavy, and make sure she eat good.” She gives you a wink, letting you know that you and her will be talking later, before slipping out the door, leaving the two of you wrapped in silence.

When she’s gone, you lie back against the pillows, still trembling, your hands covering your belly as if you could already feel something moving inside. Smoke gets in the bed with you, pulling you close to him until your skin presses against his own. 

His hand rests on yours, circling his thumb against your very slightly swollen belly while a warmth spreads through him that he’s never felt before. Since that night in Club Juke he believed you would become pregnant, he just didn’t know exactly when but now that the day has come he is the happiest man on Earth. 

He can now become a “Papa” to little boy or girl. “Thank you,” he whispers with a vulnerability you haven't heard from him since that long talk you and him in his office. “Thank you for givin’ me a second chance. For givin’ me this baby.”

You run your fingers through his hair, caressing the strong line of his nape, then smoothing over the crown of his head, something you know he loves, something that always makes him melt a little no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Smoke’s hand never leaves your belly, he just rubs gently against your skin in a way that calms your soul. His head dips towards you, his full lips pressing against your temple, your damp cheek, and then the curve of your jaw. Your tears quickly turn into sniffles, chest still hitching as you let out a trembling laugh while Smoke’s lips continuously press against your skin. “You gon’ smother me, Smoke.”

“I ain’t smotherin’ you. I’m lovin’ on you.” he corrects, wrapping both of his arms around you while giving you one last kiss. “You, me, and this little one. We gon’ be alright.” Despite Smoke’s seven year absence, he’s a good man, you know that. One thing he’s always been is devoted to you, even hundreds of miles away.

Now that Smoke is going to be a family man, his devotion and love for you will only grow stronger, he’ll never cross over state lines without you by his side.

One thing Smoke loves about you is how nurturing and loving you are, how strong you care for the people you love. In his eyes, you have all the qualities to be a perfect mother to your baby boy or girl. “You gon’ be a good mama.”

“And I already know you gon’ be the best papa.” When he hears that he can’t help but smile. With all the trauma he experienced with his own father, he’s always vowed that once he had children he would treat his children with love, kindness, and most of all respect. 

He leans down and kisses for the millionth time, slow and sweet, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than by your side. “We gon’ have a house full of babies. Jus’ like I told you.” The words run off Smoke’s tongue so easily, like he’s already planning future pregnancies before you can even complete your first trimester.

You giggle softly, shaking your head at the seriousness in his tone. “One thing at a time, Smoke. Lemme give birth to this one first before we talk about havin’ more.”

In this moment, with Smoke’s warmth around you and the spark of new life growing inside your womb, you feel like all the trials and tribulations that you and Smoke went through in your relationship is worth it. 

Everything you’ve ever wanted in life has now fallen into place. Smoke has come back into your life, your womb has been filled with a child, and your relationship couldn’t be better. In the end, all the pain, crying, longing, and tearing was worth it. Your heart is now complete.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg @li-da-savage @minyara-kun @st4rrdrexm @rose-bliss @sajoi @plan3tch1ld @queenofklonnie22 @n-ae-vis @3tallions @weirdwhimsicalblackgirl @avatar4eva @d1gitalb4rbie @deexoxomuah @tnychellee @moundbayou @sweet13aby @whammyy @n-ae-vis

The summer air was heavy with heat, humming cicadas echoing across the fields, the scent of cut hay drifting in through the open windows of the farmhouse. You leaned against the kitchen sink, glass of cold lemonade sweating in your hand, and stared out toward the paddock. And there he was. Clark.

Your husband. Your impossibly broad, sun-tanned, maddeningly handsome cowboy of a husband, shirtless, of course, because he swore working without one “kept him cool.” Though you weren’t sure it was his comfort he was thinking about when he tugged that fabric off and tossed it aside.

His back muscles flexed as he adjusted the reins on the chestnut mare, the sunlight catching the sheen of sweat that had started to bead along his shoulders. Jeans slung low on his hips, boots scuffed from years of work, hat tipped just enough to shadow those impossibly blue eyes. You bit your lip, heat curling low in your stomach.

“Lord help me,” you muttered under your breath, setting the glass down before you dropped it. He was unfair. Too much. The kind of sight that made you forget what you were supposed to be doing in the first place.

And then he bent, tightening a cinch strap, the muscles in his back rippling as he worked. That was it. You grabbed the pitcher, filled another tall glass with lemonade, and slipped on your sandals. If you were going to combust, you might as well do it up close.

The grass was warm beneath your feet as you crossed the yard, the sound of your footsteps finally catching his attention. Clark turned, hat tipping back as he spotted you. A grin tugged at his lips, slow and devastating.

“Well, ain’t this somethin’,” he drawled, voice low and honeyed, that Kansas accent thicker out here in the open air. “My pretty little wife bringin’ me somethin’ sweet.”

Your heart skipped. “You look like you could use it.” You held up the glass, teasing. “All hot and sweaty out here.”

He chuckled, taking the lemonade from you with one big, calloused hand, his fingers brushing yours on purpose. He tipped the glass back, throat working as he drank, a drop of condensation sliding down to his chest. You followed it with your eyes before you could stop yourself.

Clark noticed. Of course he did. His smirk deepened as he handed you back the empty glass.

“Was it good?” you asked, your voice a little higher than usual.

“Best thing I’ve had all day,” he said easily, though his gaze stayed locked on you like he was talking about something, or someone else.

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. “You should really put a shirt on before the neighbors start staring.”

“Now why would I do that,” he murmured, stepping closer until you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, “when I know you like starin’?”

Your lips parted, heat rising all the way to your ears. “Clark Kent,” you scolded, though it came out softer than you intended.

He grinned, that boyish, troublemaking smile that always left you breathless. His thumb brushed along your jaw, slow and affectionate, before he tipped his hat off his head and set it right on yours. The brim dipped over your eyes, far too big, and you couldn’t help laughing as he adjusted it carefully with both hands.

“Looks better on you,” he said, voice low, sweet.

“You know I’d work twice as hard if it meant you’d come out here lookin’ at me like that.”

Your heart fluttered, knees nearly weak. “You’re insufferable,” you whispered, but you leaned into him anyway, catching the scent of sweat, leather, and sunshine.

His chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he kissed your forehead, lingering. “And you love me for it.”

Before you could pull away, Clark's hands slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you toward his old pickup truck parked nearby. "Darlin', you've been teasin' me all damn day with that look in your eyes," he growled, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that sent shivers straight to your core.

He hoisted you up effortlessly onto the tailgate, your ass hitting the warm metal with a thud, legs dangling as he stepped between them. You gasped, hat still perched crookedly on your head, but he didn't give you time to adjust.

His mouth crashed against yours, hot and demanding, tongue plunging in like he was starving for you. Rough hands roamed under your sundress, yanking it up over your thighs, fingers hooking into your panties and ripping them clean off with a sharp snap that made you yelp into his kiss.

"Fuck, you're already so wet for me," he muttered against your lips, his thick fingers sliding between your folds, rubbing your clit in rough circles that had you arching off the tailgate.

You clutched at his sweat-slicked shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as he unzipped his jeans with his free hand, freeing his dick; hard, throbbing, and veined like the rest of his perfect fucking body.

He didn't wait, didn't tease. Clark grabbed your hips, yanking you forward until your ass was right on the edge, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself balls-deep inside of you. You screamed, the stretch burning so good it made your vision blur, the truck rocking under the force of it.

"That's it, take all of me, baby," he grunted, pounding into you relentlessly, his hips slapping against yours with wet, filthy sounds echoing across the empty fields. The hay scratched at your back as he shoved you down onto the truck bed, climbing up after you and flipping you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing.

He spread your legs wide, spanking your ass hard enough to earn a moan, before thrusting back in, deeper this time, hitting that spot that made you sob into the blanket he'd tossed back there.

"Goddamn, your cunt's gripping me so tight, fuckin' milk me, baby," he snarled, one hand snaking around your neck, pulling your head back, the other clamping on your hip as he fucked you raw, the truck creaking and groaning under the rhythm.

You came hard, pussy clenching around him like a vice, juices squirting out and soaking his balls as he kept fucking you through it, not slowing down for a second. "Shit, yeah, come all over my dick," he hissed, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself deep with a groan, flooding your insides with hot, thick cum that leaked out around his shaft as he ground against you.

Panting, he pulled out slowly, watching his seed drip from your wrecked hole, then flipped you over again to kiss you, sloppy and possessive. "Mine," he murmured, smirking like a cocky bastard, before helping you down on shaky legs.

As your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled like jelly, your body still trembling. Clark caught you instantly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist with that effortless strength, pulling you flush against his sweat-damp chest.

"Easy there, darlin'," he murmured, voice softening now, all the rough edges gone as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "I got you. Fuck, look at you, so beautiful."

You leaned into him, head lolling against his shoulder, too spent to even speak, your pussy still throbbing and leaking his cum down your thighs. He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you, before scooping you up bridal-style like you were nothing more than a feather.

"Can't have my girl collapsing out here in the dirt," he said, his drawl thick with affection as he carried you toward the farmhouse, boots crunching on the gravel path.

The screen door creaked as he nudged it open with his elbow, carrying you straight through the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom without breaking a sweat. He laid you down on the soft sheets, careful not to jar your sore body, then disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom.

"Spread those pretty legs for me one more time, sweetheart," he said gently, but there was still that wicked glint in his eyes as he cleaned you up, wiping away the mess between your thighs with tender strokes that made you whimper softly.

"There we go," he whispered, tossing the cloth aside and crawling into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His big hand stroked your hair, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as he held you close.

"You did so good for me, takin' all that like a champ. Rest, sweetheart, I've got you." He kissed your forehead again, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket, and you drifted off in his embrace, safe and utterly fucked-out.

Elias then rips the door open, and the sight before you makes you feel sick.

A dead man, right in front of the door’s threshold, with blood pooling from his neck’s bitten arteries.

Then you see her—

Mary.

But now, she has crimson coating her lips down to the low collar of her dress. She has countless bullet holes in her body, yet she still stands as strong as a statue. Elijah stands a few feet in front of her alongside Sammie; the twin heaves and a mixture of frustration and anger is radiating from him.

Mary snaps her head in your direction and smirks as if nothing had even happened. You notice the glowing of her eyes, making you shrink even more behind Elias—if that’s even possible.

She does a double take between you and the Moore’s before speaking. “We gon’ kill every last one of ya,” she then sprints out of Club Juke faster than a jackrabbit.

The joint is empty, save for Annie, the Chows, Pearline, and Delta Slim, who run over to the scene.

“What the hell happened?” Annie exclaims. Sammie stutters out the events that occurred, but you find yourself tuning it out.

Mary had killed a man. But not with a weapon—no knife, no gun—but with her own teeth. That glow—that agility even after being shot up more than a hunted deer in the woods.

“We?”…She said "we?” Annie mutters. The thought makes you shiver.

More of those evil souls, with glowering gazes and monster-like movements.

How many were there? Were they just as strong as Mary? Stronger, even?

Your mind was going a mile a minute, as you pondered the endless possibilities of what these people things may have in store.

As if he could read your thoughts, Elias fully turns to you and grabs your upper arms. “Nobody gon hurt’chu, I’ll make sure o’ it,” he murmurs tenderly; he’s still firm and sure.

Elias has kept you towards the back of the joint, sitting pretty on the stage while everyone clambers about. You tried to explain to him that you weren’t some little girl who needed to be guarded, but Elias wasn’t hearing a word. His overprotectiveness both made your eyes roll and your heart flutter in your chest.

After sitting there long enough to make your butt hurt, you faintly hear a voice coming from outside the joint. You see Elias and Elijah share a look, before heading to the doors. Sammie almost immediately follows, holding onto Pearline’s hand; Slim, Grace, Bo and Annie reluctantly follow along.

The doors open and you hear Elijah talking to whoever resides on the other end of the threshold. You decide that sitting down isn’t in your best interest.

You’re getting up to stretch your legs—not because you can’t fight the urge to be nosy.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

The closer you get to the door, the more you start to pick up on the voice of the unknown individual.

You can tell it’s a man by the riveting baritone waves of sound. For some reason, his voice resonates within you. The familiarity of his tone nestles deeply between your bones and echoes inside of your skull, all you can feel now is pure, and utter confusion.

After finally getting close enough to peer out the door through the small herd of bodies, your breath catches in your throat. Your heart begins to pound wildly, and you press a hand to your frame in hopes of taming it.

The way that his eyes dart to you makes you feel as if he had a sixth sense dedicated to you. You knew that face all too well.

You almost missed the way that the pupils of his bright blue eyes flickered from a radiant red, back to their normal black shade.

Keyword: almost.

What you didn’t miss, however, was how his shirt, suspenders, and his chain were all caked in blood.

Fuck—was he one of them?

Your thoughts are interrupted once he speaks, “Mo ghrá..” He murmurs. The group parts like the red sea, making it so that you could see him clearly. You’d be lying if you said that hearing his sweet, breathy tone didn’t make your knees weak.

“My love..”

“Remmick..” You murmur, your voice not louder than a whisper in the wind. Your gaze is set on the Irish man, and you miss the confused, yet almost pained look written on Elias’ face.

Remmick’s grin grows tenfold, “I-I knew we’d cross paths again, darlin’.” Your face feels as if it were on fire as everyone looks between both you and Remmick, as if the two of you had grown two heads.

“Chaill mé thú, mo chuisle,” he murmurs, yet it sounds so much louder amongst the silence.

“I missed you, my pulse,”

You shake your head frantically, “No—no, you—you were gone, Remmick.”

Remmick tilts his head at you slightly and furrows his brows, “An-and I missed ya every damn day, darlin’. Believe me when I say that.” He puts his hands out as if he were trying to calm a startled animal.

You lip quivers and your eyes start to burn, your vision grows blurry, but you quickly blink your tears away.

“You’re the one I came for,” he chuckles breathily. “Yeah—yeah, you, a-and...” Remmick pauses once Sammie steps beside you, “Sammie,” he drags out sinisterly, his eyes shining red yet again.

You can’t help but shift and bring yourself in front of Sammie, almost as a way to protect the younger boy.

“I sensed you—I sensed you both. I want to see my people again.” It’s like Remmick was boring into your soul as he spoke. “I’m trapped here…But your gifts can bring them to me.”

Your gaze shifts to Elias, who stands next to his brother as they both keep a hand on their respective weapons. Remmick claps his hands together, diverting your attention back to him.

He did it on purpose.

“Y’all give ‘em to me, now,” Remmick’s tone feigns innocence, “Just give me a lil’ Sammie, and my lass—we’ll let y’all live.” His pleading sounds more threatening if anything. Elias tightens his grip on his dagger and looks at you both wearily and fiercely. It’s sure as hell not because his life was just threatened, and Remmick seems to take note of this.

Remmick cocks a brow at Elias and smirks, “Oh…You ‘n her?” He trails off, pointing his finger between you and Elias. He averts his attention back to you and chortles, “You done replaced me, baby?”

You furrow your brows with a sudden wave of anger, “No–don’t give me that. You were gone for years! Y-you left me!” Your voice grows, your agitation wraps around your words and seeps into the night sky.

“Yet my undead heart still beats for you, and you only.” He speaks slowly and squints his eyes at you, almost in disbelief at your defiance. His smile quickly returns to his face, but instead of making you feel warm, and fuzzy as it once did, it makes you feel nervous, and even scared.

“Y’know what? That’s alright, darlin’. Yeah…I hope he been lovin’ you the way you needed,” he pauses and damn near giggles. “‘Cause ole’ Rem is back now, baby. ‘N once I getcha, I ain’t fixin’ to leave ya, ever again.”

“That’s enough,” Elijah grumbles, before stepping in front of you. Your chest feels tight, and you hide yourself within the back of the group as they all stand next to Elijah, before you eventually walk back to the end of the juke joint.

“They belong to us—they belong with us,” you hear Slim state firmly.

“‘N I ain’t gonna let that happen.” Elijah spit.

There’s a tremble in your step as you inch closer to the wooden platform. You can practically feel Elias’ anger radiating all the way from the barn’s opening to where you sat—a jittering mess.

Would Elias think of you differently now?

In all honesty, you know you did no wrong. I mean, did he expect you to only keep yourself company while he was off doing God knows what with dozens of women every day in Chicago for seven whole years?

It’s not like you shared a bed with Remmick; the thought had crossed your mind once or twice, but no matter what, your heart still belonged to Elias.

A part of you truly wishes that you could’ve pushed your feelings aside to allow Remmick to love you in ways nobody had. He was one of the kindest spirits you’ve ever encountered, and you had always fancied his promises of eternal love and life.

You couldn’t stray too far from Elias, despite how hard you tried, your soul wouldn’t allow it.

The commotion dies down, but the sound of heavy, quick footsteps does not—unfortunately for you. You don’t even know why you’re worried, but your heart’s restless beating doesn’t falter for a minute.

You look up at him and his face shows more than just mild irritation. You can’t tell if Elias is mad at you—for whatever reason—or at the fact that his first night back in the Delta was ruined…Maybe it’s both?

“Y’told me I was the only man you been with? What–so you was lyin’ t’me?” Elias wastes no time in interrogating you. You can see the group looking your way behind Elias, but once they meet your gaze, they disperse. Elias clears his throat once he notices your attention diverted.

You scoff, “No, ‘Lias! When I said I only been with you, I meant it!”

“So what was that? He over here callin’ you baby ‘n shit for no reason, then?” He throws his hands up in disbelief, letting them then slap the sides of his thigh.

“Okay–yes I dated him! But me ‘n him didn’t do nun, believe me when I tell ya, Elias.” You say with a sigh of irritation.

Elias’ face darkens, you can both see and sense the new-found tension pulsing. “So..He ain’t ever touch this body of yours? That’s whatcha sayin?” He inches closer to you, making you stand up on the stage to somewhat match his height.

You look down at him slightly as your faces remain close together, “I ain’t a liar,” you whisper.

And with that, Elias grabs you by your waist, hoisting you off of the stage and over his shoulder. You paw at his back as you let out a squeal, which sounds more like a screech.

Nobody seems to acknowledge the pair of you heading back to the very same room you were in earlier in the night, or at least they choose not to speak on it.

Nobody but Elijah.

He saw the grip that Elias had on you as he walked, his stride oozing both confidence and exasperation.

‘One track mind, that boy’, he thinks to himself.

As much as Elijah wanted to scold his brother for fooling around at a time like this, he thinks that maybe it’d be best if Elias got some weight lifted off of his shoulders. Maybe then he’d be more willing to come up with a plan with the group rather than going outside and trying to fight some haint and his army.

So, Elijah glares at his twin brother’s back before shifting his focus onto his gun in need of loading.

You watch as Elias kicks the door shut, before suddenly, you’re laying on your back once again. You gasp at his abruptness, but Elias doesn’t utter a word.

“Elias,” you sound as if you’re begging, but you don’t exactly know what it is that you’re begging for.

He lowers himself down, resting on one knee as he pushes your dress up, similarly to how he did a few hours prior.

“Baby,” you whisper, trying to push his head away from in-between your legs.

“This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me,” Elias finally utters. “I wanna taste what he couldn’t have.”

And with that, Elias plunges his warm, hot tongue inside of you; he doesn’t tease, which is unlike how he behaved with you earlier.

Elias’ filthy actions are unabated, and your efforts in pushing him away by his shoulders never cease.

‘This ain’t f’you, it’s f’me’

Elias’ words echo throughout your damn-near empty mind.

And he wasn’t lying, because no matter how much you cry out to him for mercy and even forgiveness, he doesn’t let up.

You’re breathless as he continues to fuck your cunt with his tongue. You beg him for a second to regain your bearings, but you know that even if he’d attempt to stop, you wouldn’t let him.

“Mmf—‘Lias, please!” You mewl. “Please—please, please! Have m-mercy!”

The way his finger swirls around your sensitive bud sends your body into what feels like shock. You don’t even notice you’re crying until you feel the hot tears trail down your puffy cheeks.

You sniffle and babble weakly, and Elias chuckles. His rhythm feels ingrained into your brain; the way his tongue flutters in and out quickly as his finger pad rolls even quicker.

The heat between your legs is ever-growing, as well as the pulsing ache that ripples throughout your core. Your back muscles arch instinctively off of the table; you think your bellybutton might just touch one of the twinkling stars in the dark night sky.

It doesn’t take long for you to start reaching your climax, you couldn’t even hold it if you tried due to Elias’ earlier endeavors.

“‘Lias please—I can’t! I—” You hiccup through your sobs, “I can’t take no more!”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you start to see colors circulating through the darkness. You sniffle and cry feebly as you lie helplessly on the table.

“That right?” Elias questions you, and it’s the first words that he’s spoken to you in minutes.

You nod your head up and down vigorously as you continue to cry, and then

Elias stops.

You let out a broken gasp once the warmness of Elias’ face is replaced with an icy chill that you didn’t even think you’d feel in Mississippi.

“No! Nonono—‘Lias please, m’beggin’ ya!” Another sob rips violently through your chest, which feels like it’s been caved in.

Elias peers at you, his expression unreadable, “Thought’cha couldn’t take it?” You try to speak but all Elias can make out are jumbled words and sharp inhales. Elias sits you up, and for a second, you think he’s going to walk out.

But then he sits on the edge of the table and slides you onto his lap.

More specifically: one of his thighs.

You look at him teary-eyed as another droplet trickled down your face. He notices this, and slightly sticks his glistening tongue out, licking the teardrop clean from your face. He does it with little force—such little bite compared to how he obnoxiously slurped against you minutes before. You barely felt his tongue, but his breath fanning over the side of your face made you heat right up.

Elias kisses your neck, lightly, but still present. “I ain’t givin’ you nun else,” he murmurs as he trails up to your chin.

“Why?” You whisper meekly. “What’d I do, ‘Lias? Talk t’me.” Despite your given situation, you still spoke to him with such tenderness.

If he wasn’t trying to prove a point, Elias maybe would’ve even swooned, which is so unlike him.

You make him feel like a different man entirely. You don’t throw yourself at him like the other women he’s encountered—the ones that give themself away for cheap. Despite how shy you were around him, you still held yourself with so much confidence, never arrogance.

It made Elias want to chase you.

He would’ve if he hadn’t been away.

He would’ve if there wasn’t underlying fear in his heart. Fear that you moved on with someone else, someone different than him.

Or maybe you wouldn’t even want him.

God, that’s why he can’t even begin to describe the pure rage that surged through his heart once Remmick started speaking to you.

Such familiarity in his tone and even his eyes, he spoke about you like you were his.

Elias missed so much—missed so many birthdays and life-changing moments.

But that man—Remmick, he experienced who knows how many.

Elias Moore isn’t scared of much, but he’s scared of losing you. And that’s enough to kill him.

“If y’want it, take it.” Elias ordered.

You stare at him for a beat, beady eyes flickering left and right, mouth agape, and hands finding their place on Elias’ shoulders.

You roll your hips on his thigh, and he tightens the hold he has around your back. Your head feels so fuzzy, like it was filled to the brim with the purest pearly feathers. But Elias’ very presence kept you grounded in ways you didn’t know he could.

You roll yourself against his thigh again, finding your own rhythm. Elias didn’t press; didn’t make you go faster, didn’t force you to release.

He wanted you to take what you wanted from him.

Because he’d give you everything you’d ever want and more.

He knows this, and you’re starting to learn it.

You heave through your nose as you ride him, your hands wrap around his neck, if they’re clammy, he doesn’t mention it.

With a surge of confidence flowing through your veins, you clamber into Elias’ lap, grinding down on his growing erection.

“Mmn—hah, you feel so good, ‘Lias,” you whimper, your voice picking up in pitch.

You swear you hear something from outside, but you can’t find a reason as to why you should worry about that when you’re on top of the man you love—grinding on him so filthily.

Elias groans softly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to see the effect that you have on him. “Fuck baby..Yeah that’s it.”

Your clit bumps against Elias’ zipper, and you let out a throaty moan. His hands come down to slap your ass as you continue to press down on him. You feel his toned muscles underneath his shirt as your hands glide up and down his torso.

Elias’ belt buckle feels cold against your lower stomach; it’s such a stark difference from the warm pressure that resonates within you.

Your legs are sore and twitchy and your hip muscles start to tighten, you whimper at the slowed pace you have to push through.

“I gotcha, don’t you worry,” Elias pants, before quickly rocking you back and forth on his slacks. His tip prods at your inner thigh, you notice that he’s leaked through his pants. Neither of you seem to care.

His grip on you tightens, as he starts to bounce you onto his clothed cock, then rolling your hips into a circle.

“‘M so close—please don’t stop,” you rasp as a new wave of tears streams down your cheeks.

“I know—I know, honey, let go f’me.”

Your plans to stifle your moans are out of the window now as your bottom half starts to tingle in ways you’ve never felt before.

“W-wait! ‘Lias! I-I gotta pee!” you gasp in horror. “M’sorry! ‘M’so sorry!”

Elias’ eyes light up, and he bites his bottom lip as he bucks his hips up into you. “C’mon, sugar. ‘S’all right, gimme whatcha never gave him.” He smiles at you genuinely. Only Elias could grin at you so sweetly while thrusting through your’s and his clothing.

You pat at his chest desperately, “No! ‘Lias please! Y’aint listenin’!” You weep.

“Nah—‘M listenin’ baby, ‘n it sounds like this pussy’s ready to cum.”

Your jaw drops as you slam yourself against Elias’ cock, riding your high as your voice gives out. Your ears ring, and you can barely even hear your own cries.

“F—uck!” The yell rips from your throat.

Elias just watches you in awe, no doubt cumming in his pants at the sight of you.

His lap is soaked and his laughter makes you pinch your eyes open. Speaking of: your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you look at the mess you’ve made.

“Oh God—‘Lias ‘m sorry. I tried to hold it, I swear!” You frown at him, but Elias is beaming, his rosy cheeks are nearly touching his bottom lashes.

“Wh-what? Why’re ya smilin’? Elias I just-“

“Y’just squirted on me, sugar,” Elias marvels.

You pause, cocking your head to the side and furrowing your brows, like you’re trying to decipher his words.

“I-I ain’t ever done that before…Is it good?” You ask softly.

“Best thing I’ve ever seen in m’life,” Elias says through cheerful laughter.

You readjust your dress and roll your foot in your heels, making sure they’re snug. Just in case you need to run from something

“What’d we miss?” Elias boasts, receiving a sharp glare from Annie.

“Well, if you two weren’t foolin’ ‘round, you’d already know that we’re up against vampires.” Annie scolds the both of you; you can see Elias’ poorly-hidden smirk in the corner of your eye, making you bite down a grin. It quickly leaves your face once you notice Bo’s absence.

“They gotta be killed one by one.”

Delta Slim pipes up, “‘N how the hell we do that?”

“Sunlight—a wooden stake to the heart.”

“Why tonight?” Elijah asks angrily.

Sammie takes a step forward, “‘Cause of me.” You frown at him, but before you’re able to speak, he continues. “My daddy told me—he said the devil was comin’ on account of my music.”

“Now, Sammie, that is not true—“ you say with conviction.

“I had a gal once—vampire. She was light skinneded, too.” Slim smiles as you look at the twins in confusion. “Gal bit me everywhere but my neck,” he chuckles.

Then, his smile fades and is replaced with something far more serious. “Sammie…You don’t worry about a thing, hear?”

Sammie’s posture shows his guilt and his fear taking a hold of him. Slim holds his gaze as he speaks, “Devil done came for me plenty of times. If he come knockin’ tonight…He gonna have to go through his old friend Delta Slim ‘fore he get to you. That go for everybody in here—you too.” He says as he turns to you. You smile sweetly at him despite the shake in your knees.

Unfortunately, it’s not from your intimacy with Elias.

Everyone looks at one another, solidifying Slim’s words of protection.

You keep your place next to Elias as everyone disperses. “‘Lias..” You whisper. He turns to you as you speak. “W-what if they get me—what if he gets me? I-I don’t wanna turn—“ Your voice rises as panic takes over your features.

His warm hand goes up to cup your face, stretching from your ear to the side of your neck. “Lemme tell y’sum, sugar,” he murmurs. “Nobody is takin’ ya away from me. Not him, not anybody—ever. Understand?”

You inhale deeply as you nod your head up and down timidly. His thumb presses to the side of your eye, wiping the tear that you didn’t even know had fallen.

Looking into his eyes feels as if you’re in a trance, and you think back to the electrifying moment you had when you were dancing on stage for him.

A scream rips through the building and interrupts your thoughts. “Sammie! Smoke! Stack!” The voice—who you figure out is Pearline—yells.

Everyone gathers to where Pearline stands, and there lies a man pooled in his own blood.

“Well, this had to have been Mary, right?” Grace asks apprehensively.

“Nah. She ran straight out. You saw them.” Sammie says breathlessly.

“Well who bit him then?” You and Grace ask simultaneously.

Elias turns to his brother, “We gotta get him out before he wakes up.”

The twins quickly drag the man to the door, heaving him through the dirt and gravel. You peer out from inside the joint with Sammie, almost as if you both were on look-out.

“C’mon.” Elijah beckons Elias as he starts to head inside, but he stays still.

Elias holds his hand out, motioning for Elijah to stop. “You don’t hear that?” You can’t see his front, but you know for certain that he’s scrunching his face up. You look at Sammie as you both listen to the sounds intertwined with the wind.

That’s when you hear it

Hear him.

“Leave where I was born,” you faintly hear Remmick singing.

“They playin’ music,” Sammie mutters.

“I cut a stout blackthorn.” Thunder rumbles and shines in the sky as he sings.

It leaves a bad feeling in your chest.

For to banish

Ghosts and goblins

You see a circle being formed, full of those vampires, but Remmick’s eyes are clearest as he stands in the middle of the forming ring.

A brand-new pair of brogues

To rattle over the bogs

His song seeps deep within your bones—words flowing through your rib-cage.

And frighten all the dogs

“Hey—hey.” Elijah taps Elias on his chest as he alerts him with a lowered tone. “Let’s get back inside.”

On the rocky road

To Dublin

‘C’mon.” Elijah ushers his brother inside.

One, two, three, four, five

Sammie side-steps Elijah as you reach out for Elias.

And with that: the door is slammed shut, the man is left outside, and Remmick begins to plague your mind.

Everyone looks around at one another without speaking.

“We all gonna eat this clove of garlic,” Annie says with persistence.

“No can do,” Elias shakes his head as he speaks.

“‘N why the hell not?” Annie nearly snarls at the brown-eyed man and his careless attitude.

Elias smirks, “Y’see now..Garlic don’t mix well w’pussy, aint that right Smo—“

You smack his chest with force, “Elias Samuel Moore!” You exclaim. Slim chokes out a laugh, and Grace turns her head, no doubt hiding a smile.

Annie sighs frustratedly, and Elijah doesn’t speak a word. His eyes just flicker between the group; you think he’s in his soldier-mode.

“..I don’t much like the taste of it,” Pearline peeps, glancing around wearily.

Annie snaps her head in Pearline’s direction, “Ain’t nobody saying y’all gotta like it.” She scoffs as she chews on the garlic clove, handing the jar over to Elijah. “We just gotta figure out if any of us left is one of them.”

Elijah passes the jar to Grace, who quickly grabs the garlic. “You ain’t get nun of the pickled ones?” She quirks a brow, voice somewhat muffled from the mouthful of garlic. Elias snorts beside you, and you nudge his arm in return.

Grace carefully hands the half-filled jar to you. You stick your thumb and index finger into the jar, plucking a clove out and handing the rest to Elias.

You grimace at the taste that floods your mouth, and now you do wish that Annie got the pickled ones. You turn your head to Elias, who almost looks apprehensive about eating one, but as soon as he meets your eyes, he flicks it into his mouth.

You blink at him before sticking your tongue out, showing him that you’re finished. It takes him a second to do the same; handing the jar to Pearline while still facing you.

“This is ridiculous,” Pearline blurts with annoyance. And without missing a beat, Elijah pulls his gun out and aims it directly at the girl’s head. You gasp, and Elias holds your arm, keeping you from doing anything you’ll regret. “Pearline.” You plead.

“Smoke—put the gun down,” Sammie nearly squeaks.

“Shut up.” Elias demands without even looking at his cousin. “Eat, or I’ll shoot.”

“Put the gun down Smoke, she ain’t no damn vampire,” Sammie contends.

“How the hell you know that?” Elijah deadpans.

“Just eat the damn garlic girl,” Grace warned.

You know Elias isn’t going to try and stop his brother, after all, Elijah’s just trying to protect his family in the best way he knows how. You admire it, but it also scares you knowing he’s damn-near just as reckless as Elias.

Elijah turns the safety off on his gun with a click, making Sammie panic, and everyone else observes in disbelief. Sammie butts in again, and his interruption unfortunately gets him hit in the nose with the butt of Elijah’s gun. He holds his nose in pain, and you cast a sympathetic glance in his direction, though he isn’t able to see it.

Elijah looks at Sammie for the first time, “Tryin’ to keep ya alive boy, you ain’t t’question me.” His southern drawl makes it all the more menacing as Sammie groans beside him.

You wait with baited breath, hoping that Pearline will just listen and pick from the jar in Elias’ hand.

“You a evil man,” She shakes her head and huffs. Pearline grabs the glass and pulls a piece out, almost sizing up Elijah. “No wonder the devil come f’us.” She chews reluctantly before giving the garlic to Slim.

He eats the clove and a tense wave of silence washes over the room. Suddenly, Slim covers his mouth and backs up coughing. Elijah points the gun in Slim’s direction as Annie inches behind him, and you’re no different with Elias as you grip Grace’s wrist.

“Slim—what’s goin’ on man,” Elijah says with simple directness.

Slim’s throat rumbles as he starts to thrash around, groaning and mumbling unintelligiblely.

“What’s goin’ on, Slim?” Elijah asks again, his voice raising into a yell as he now wields a thick wooden dagger. Slim pounds on his chest wildly and you continue to cower alongside Grace.

Slim’s head is down as he puts his arms out in a pleading manner, “I drank too much,” he grumbles. “That goddamn beer from Chicago—my nerves all fucked up, Smoke,” Slim rasps, gesturing to his face.

“Oh—fuck,” you sigh with relief, letting go of Grace; she still has concern written all over her face.

Everyone calms their racing hearts once Slim straightens up. “I’m fine,” he reassures. “See?” He holds his arms out almost triumphantly.

“You sure that was blood?” Annie asks Elijah, and you look at him, waiting for some sort of answer as to what Annie’s implying.

The group watches Elijah go over to the near-forgotten puddle of blood and gather it on his fingertips. He sniffs it, and you can’t help but recoil—and Elias can’t help but snicker it seems. Everyone waits for Elijah to speak, but he doesn’t. No surprise there, though But he does grab a seemingly empty beer bottle from under a table.

You hear the door rattle, and you quickly turn your body towards the noise. Elias walks in front of you just as quickly.

There’s banging on the door as someone shouts, “Hey—hey, Smoke, let me in, man.” Elijah looks up from his crouched position. “Smoke? Stack? Let me in!”

His muffled voice grows more desperate, as well as his knocking. “Smoke, I swear I paid my tab, man.” He pants. “That’s what this about?”

The knocking grows more frantic by the second, and you’re almost worried that the door’s hinges may falter.

“Stack! Hey, Stack! Whatever y’all need, man!” The man pleads. “Smoke! Some weird shit goin’ on our here, Smoke!” He begs helplessly.

The twins share a quick glance before inching towards the door. “Smoke, let me in! Smoke, let me in!” He hollers as he bangs on the door ferociously.

Elijah rips the door open, gun in hand, with Elias standing beside him with his dagger. Soon as the door opens though, the man is tackled to the ground.

He was tackled by Cornbread.

“What the—oh shit,” Smoke exclaims from his spot in the doorway as he now aims at the rustling heap on the ground.

“Get off me!” The man screams as Cornbread rips the skin from the side of his face clean off.

“Close the door, c’mon!” Annie yells over the loud squelching noise. But before everyone can clamber behind the door, Grace rushes to the frame.

“Wait!” She pants. “Bo.”

That’s when you see none other than Bo Chow, strolling up to the joint as if a man wasn’t being murdered a few feet away from him.

“Hey, baby,” he greets Grace, not even sparing a glance to anyone else. “Come on outside, I got the car started. Let’s go—c’mon.” He nods his head towards the parked car.

You place your hand on Grace’s upper arm as she examines Cornbread on top of the flailing man, your touch serving as an anchor for her.

“What is it, Grace?” Bo tilts his head at her, gathering her attention once more.

Her voice breaks as she speaks, “He’s killin’ him.” And that’s when Bo finally acknowledges the horrific scene in front of him.

“Oh, ya talkin’ ‘bout that?” He’s almost smirking at her. “Don’t worry ‘bout Cornbread—he’s just a lil hungry, ‘s all. Let’s go.” Cornbread growls before standing up.

Grace gasps as Bo presses her, “C’mon!” Cornbread snarls next to him. “C’mon ‘n go! I got the car all warmed up.” He grins and puts his hands on his hips before sighing once he notices Grace’s hesitation.

“Don’t do it, Grace,” you whisper to her, hoping to refrain her from going with him.

Bo strolls up to the door, “Or…” He puts his hand on the other side of the frame. “You let me back in there, and I’ll come in—we can grab our things..” He pauses.

You then notice his irises changing to a sinister silver color.

It wasn’t human.

“Don’t listen to him,” both you and Annie say firmly.

“Grace, we’re gonna find a way out of this, I promise.” Elijah declares, not lowering his gun from Bo’s chest for even a second.

“It’ll be okay,” Elias reassures her.

“I am your way out.” You flinch once you hear Remmick’s voice.

He walks up next to Bo as Elijah tightens the grip he has on his gun. “This world already left you for dead. Won’t let ya build. Won’t let ya fellowship.” He gestures with his hands.

“We will do just that,” he softens his voice—like he’s bargaining. “Together. Forever.” He tilts his head, feigning innocence.

Bo speaks up, “It’s better this way, baby. So why don’t ya go ahead—invite us in.” His smile is long-gone.

Remmick steps forward, “Y’should listen to ‘em, Grace. Or listen t’me. ‘Cause I know everything he knows now. And I want ya to let us in there.” His eyes shine red yet again, and a shiver crawls up your spine like a spider’s legs.

“Or we gon’ go to the grocery store—we gon’ pay little Lisa a visit.”

Grace yells as both you and Annie hold her back; she sobs as everyone holds her frantically. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Oh, yeah, Grace. I know everything now.” He smirks at her, beginning to speak Taishanese.

You have no idea what he’s saying, but you know for certain it’s nothing good with the way Grace crumbles in your arms and Remmick’s voice is now sweetly saccharine.

Then, you hear footsteps coming from the right, and you see Mary’s heels before you see her.

“You ain’t safe here. No matter how many guns, or how much money…They gon’ take it from ya when they want.” Remmick’s teeth are on display as he speaks.

“Ya built sum here tonight ‘n it was beautiful. But it was built…On a lie.” This catches both Elijah and Elias’ attention.

“Hogwood, well he’s the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. That’s his motherfuckin’ nephew.” He points to a man who has his arms around a woman, both covered in dried up blood. Speaking of blood: you feel yours run cold once you hear Remmick’s declaration.

You should’ve known it was too good to be true. Of course the twins were well known in the Delta, but being able to get a place like this so soon? You’re not surprised it came with a price.

If only Elias had told you sooner.

“‘N they was always gon’ kill you. I just happened to show up at the right place at the right time.”

Mary comes up from behind Remmick, standing next to him and gazing at Elias. “He’s tellin’ the truth, Stack. I can see his memories.”

Elias’ shoulders tense up as soon as she speaks to him, and you’re no different.

“Stack, that ain’t Mary.” Slim says wearily.

“This wasn’t no juke joint,” Mary smiles cockily, “No club. This here’s a…Slaughterhouse.”

“It’s a goddamn killin’ floor.” The white man from before says.

The woman in his arm finally speaks, “But what Uncle Hogwood don’t know is we’re gonna start ourselves a new clan—based on love.” She laughs, putting her hands in the air.

“Now that we got numbers, we’ll probably go over to that bigot ‘n rectify him, too.” Remmick sighs blissfully.

“Why can’t y’all just leave,” Annie begs.

“‘Cause we’re not leavin’ without y’all. We’re family—even you, sugar.” Mary chirps, turning her head towards you. Elias’ jaw tightens. “I know it sound crazy, but after we kill y’all..We gon’ have heaven right here on Earth.” The gaggle of vampires behind her let out hums of agreement.

The man that Cornbread killed groans from his position on the ground. Remmick chuckles and waves to him.

Mary steps forward, her sights set on Elias. “Hey—hey, look at me,” she smiles.

“The Mary I know ain’t fellowshipping with no goddamn devil,” you squint at her; as much as you didn’t like Mary, you weren’t dumb.

“Fuck you, it is me!” Mary barks. “‘N I’m talkin’ to Stack right now, sugar…So I’mma kindly ask you to shut the fuck up.”

As soon as the words leave her stained lips, you reach for the dagger in the holster under your dress.

“No—no.” Elias grabs you, tucking you into his chest and holding your arms close to you.

“We was never gonna be free. We been runnin’ around everywhere, lookin’ for freedom. You know damn well you was never gonna find it.” Mary chides.

“Until this—this is the way. Together. Forever.” Mary leers at Elias. “I ain’t doin’ this without ya. There is no me without ya.”

You freeze, hearing Mary’s declaration of love for Elias. She spoke to him like you weren’t even there.

And what makes matters worse?

Elias’ response determines everyone’s fate.

If he goes, there’s a chance they may leave you all alone, and you know for a fact: Elias is the type to sacrifice himself for his family.

That alone terrifies you.

Elijah and Annie close the door, you turn around in hopes of consoling Elias, but before you can get a word out, he brings you into his arms.

“Nobody’s takin’ ya away f’me, ‘n nobody’s takin’ me from ya.”

You just pray that he keeps his word.