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Author's Note: I'm not 100% sure what this is actually, I don't imagine it evolving into something serious (don't tempt me), I just like when Smoke annoys Annie, ... yeah... please enjoy and as always, let know what you think <3 please excuse any errors.
wc: 2.3K
Annie waved goodnight to her date, Terrell, from her porch one last time as she got her apartment door open. She sighed as she shut the door behind her, locking it before taking her coat off. The date was fun, cute and Terrell wasn’t boring, but he wasn’t… we’re not gonna go there.
It's been a while since she split from Smoke, long enough that everybody around her had stopped asking when they were getting back together and Pearline had finally stopped making excuses for why she kept turning down every man who showed interest.
It had been even longer since Annie had actually dated anybody besides him.
So, this getting dressed up, sitting across from another man, learning the rhythm of somebody else's conversation, felt unfamiliar but Terrell had been nice, cute and funny enough to keep her laughing without trying too hard. He'd pulled out her chair, remembered that she didn't like sweet drinks, and somehow kept the conversation moving without making her feel like she was being interviewed.
It had been a good date, at least, she thought it had been. Annie unlocked her apartment door, and the second she stepped inside, the silence felt different. She kicked her heels off by the door and sighed, slipping her coat from her shoulders.
Get out there, get somebody new and get under somebody new. Pearline's voice played in her head almost perfectly as she rolled her eyes to herself.
“Shut up, Pearline,” she muttered, though her friend wasn't in her apartment to hear it. She'd tried and that was what mattered.
Her phone buzzed from inside her coat pocket.
Annie pulled it out as she crossed her living room to her kitchen, expecting a text from Pearline asking how the date went. Instead, an unsaved number had sent her a picture, so she opened it and her stomach dropped.
It was her, at Roosters steakhouse. Terrell's back was toward the camera, but Annie was completely visible, caught mid-laugh with her head tilted slightly back. Her dress was low across her chest, fitted enough to show every curve, and her smile was wide and genuine.
“what the fuck?” She mumbled as she examined the picture, the same number called mid exam for a FaceTime, her thumb hit accept before her common sense could stop it and Smoke appeared on the screen, her throat went dry.
He was sitting somewhere dark, cigarette dangling lazily from the corner of his mouth. The glow from whatever light was above him caught the sharp edges of his face. There was nothing amusing in his eyes and he looked annoyed and relieved to see her, typical Smoke.
“Hello?”
She leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing one ankle over the other. “Yeah..”
“Why the fuck I hear you at Roosters with a nigga?”
“Sm-”
“And you had your titties out,” he continued getting more upset at the picture he received.
Annie blinked “Who took that picture?”
Smoke's jaw flexed.
“You had somebody spying on me?”
“Oh, please don't flatter yourself.”
Annie stopped, she narrowed her eyes as she really thought about it.
“Roosters do oyster specials on Thursday nights…”
Smoke said nothing as she continued putting two and two together.
“Stack was there with one of his girlfriends.” She knew her ex's brother's love for oysters and women.
“Maybe he was,” Smoke said, “but that ain't the point.”
“You had Stack spying on me?”
“No!”
“Then why the hell did he send you a picture?”
“He ain't send it to me.” Annie's eyebrows lifted.
Smoke shifted in his seat. “He said he looked over and saw you over there in a nigga's face and ruined my night.”
Annie's mouth curled. “Awwww.”
Smoke's eyes narrowed.
“You jealous?”
He scoffed. “Never.”
“You called me because you're jealous.”
“That nigga looked lame.”
Annie laughed. “You didn't even see him.”
“Don't need to.” Smoke took the cigarette from his mouth. “He looked like a loser from the back.”
She rolled her eyes. “That's ridiculous.”
“What's ridiculous is you sitting across from some nigga smiling like that.”
“So you were watching me.”
“I wasn't watching you.”
“You're literally studied a picture of me.”
“Because somebody sent it to me.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it ain't.” he fired back.
Annie shook her head, fighting the smile trying to creep onto her face, she hated that he could still make her laugh when she was irritated.
“You have fun?” The question came softer.
Annie studied him. “Why you care?”
“I don't.”
“Then why'd you ask?”
Smoke shrugged. “I wanted to know if you had any fun.”
“It was fun.”
Smoke smacked his lips, “No it wasn't.”
“S-”
“You don't even sound like you had fun.”
She sighed. “He was nice.”
He scoffed, “I didn't ask if he was nice.”
“He was funny.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.” Smoke scoffed again.
Annie's eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
“I said nothing.” She stared at him before setting the camera against her toaster and walking to her fridge for water, leaving him with an angled view of her kitchen.
Smoke took a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes narrowing as she bent slightly to pull a bottle from the bottom shelf.
“Fine ass,” he mumbled.
Annie couldn't hear him from across the kitchen, she twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink before closing the refrigerator with her hip.
Smoke was still staring at the screen when she picked her phone back up. “What are you mumbling about.”
“Nothing.”
“You said something.”
“I ain’t said nothing.”
“You definitely said something.” Smoke smirked, tapping ash into the ashtray beside him.
“I said your dress ugly.”
Annie looked down at herself, the dress fell mid thigh, the black fabric fitted neatly along her figure and the off-the-shoulder neckline left her collarbones and shoulders bare, flattering every curve without swallowing her in fabric. “Liar.”
“I'm serious, who told you to wear that?”
“You was just complaining about my dress being too low earlier.”
“Yeah, because it was too low.”
“So now you think it's ugly?”
“Nah.” He paused. “Just shouldn't have been wearing it around that nigga.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “He didn't seem to have a problem with it.”
“He ain't got no sense.”
She laughed. “You don't even know him.”
“I know enough.”
“You saw the back of his head.”
“Exactly and I could tell from then.”
“How?”
“...He got loser posture.”
Annie burst out laughing. “Loser posture?”
Her laughter made him smile despite his attitude. “Yeah.”
“You're ridiculous.”
“I'm serious, look at the picture Stack sent me. Nigga sitting there looking like he ask his mama permission to stay out past ten.” Annie covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
“You such a hater.”
“I'm not hating. I'm observing.” Smoke takes another drag from his cigarette.
“He buy you that bouquet you like?”
“No.”
“He walk you to the door?” he asked.
“Didn't need him to.”
Smoke tilted his head. “What kind of lame-ass date did you have?”
She sighed “Smoke.”
“I'm asking.”
“He was being respectful.”
He rolled his eyes “He was being a cheap-ass, funny-ass nigga.”
Annie laughed despite herself.
“Don't go out with that nigga no more.”
“You called me to tell me who I can't see?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then what you call for?”
“I called to check on you.”
Annie's smile disappeared. “Check on me?”
“Yeah.”
He leaned back in his chair. “How you been?”
She looked down at the phone. “I'm fine.” A pause. “How are you?”
“Good” Smoke shrugged. “Been doing what I do best, working…”
She cut him off “Let me guess 60 hour weeks,”
“You know how this goes mama,” he took another drag of his cigarette.
Annie’s mouth twitched, “Always working, never at home”
His expression changed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What I just said, you always working and NEVER at home.”
“Okay,” Smoke nodded slowly, “Lil shot I’ll take that, but at least our home was happy?”
Annie’s face went still “Was it?”
“Seemed like it.”
“How would you know?” Her voice wasn't loud and that made it worse.
“You were never home.”
Silence fell over the phone as reality hit and he did the one thing he hated doing most, let her words sit there, she watched his expression change. The irritation disappeared first and the smugness. His eyes dropped somewhere off-screen, cigarette burning between his fingers as he leaned back into whatever chair he was sitting in.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
Annie swallowed. “Yeah what?”
“You right.” She hadn't expected that.
Smoke looked back at her through the screen, his jaw tight. “I wasn't home enough.”
“No, you weren't.”
“I thought I was doing what I was supposed to do.”
“You were.”
His face scrunched “Then why you say it like that?”
“Because doing what you were supposed to do didn't mean you were doing what I needed.” His eyes stayed on hers.
Annie hated how easily they could still do this, one conversation, one sentence and suddenly they weren't two people who had spent months pretending they were better apart, they were just Smoke and Annie again.
“You know what your problem was?” she asked quietly.
He gave a humorless laugh. “You got a list?”
“You cared about everything after us.” His eyebrows pulled together.
“Your work, your family, money and everybody else's problems.” She paused. “You cared about me too, I know you did.”
“I still do.” The words came too quickly.
Annie went still and Smoke seemed to realize he'd said it out loud.
His eyes shifted away.
“You shouldn't.” She whispered.
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
“I tried.” She stared at him. He took another drag from his cigarette, but the cigarette had stopped looking like something he was enjoying, just something to keep his hands busy.
“You think I wanted Stack sendin me this shit?” he asked.
She smiled. “I think you would've found a reason to call me anyway.”
He smiled faintly. “Probably.”
“That ain’t funny.”
“Didn't say it was.”
Annie crossed her arms over her chest. “You don't get to be jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You don't get to interrogate me about who I'm seeing.” She continued.
“I haven’t.”
“You don't get to decide whether Terrell is good enough for me.”
Smoke looked directly into the camera. “He ain’t.”
Annie rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “There he is.”
He laughed under his breath. “You still got that attitude.”
“You still bring it out of me.” That wiped the smile from his face.
For a second, neither of them spoke. She could hear the faint noise coming from his side of the call, music somewhere in the background, people talking, a door opening and closing.
“You happy?” he asked.
The question was so quiet she almost missed it. “What?”
“With him.”
Annie looked down as she thought about dinner Terrell had been sweet, funny and attentive. He'd asked about her life, hobbies and dreams, remembered something she'd mentioned weeks ago, and made her laugh until her cheeks hurt.
He'd done nothing wrong and that was the problem.
“No,” she admitted.
Smoke's eyes lifted. “Why?”
“Because I'm comparing him to you.” she admitted before she even thought about it.
His face softened. “Baby…”
Annie closed her eyes embarrassed at her confession. “Don’t.”
He went quiet.
“Don't call me that,” she whispered, opening her eyes again.
“Why?”
“Because you know what that does.”
Smoke stared at her for a long moment, there was no use in fooling anyone, he did know. He knew that word belonged to quiet mornings and late nights, him finding her half-asleep on his chest while a cartoon blared in the background on the couch, to arguments that somehow ended with her curled into his side. How easily one little word could make her forget why they weren't together anymore.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I won't.”
Annie nodded, looking down at the counter, but neither of them hung up.
“You still wear that necklace?” he asked.
Her fingers instinctively touched the small pendant resting against her chest; she hadn't even realized she'd put it on for her date.
“Don't do this.” she sighed.
“Do what?”
“Take us down memory lane.”
“I asked a question.”
“You know what you're doing.”
Smoke leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “I ain't trying to do nothing.”
“That's a lie.”
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe I am.”
Annie's heart thudded. “Why?”
“Because I don't like hearing you went on a date.” he admitted, “Don't go out with him again.”
She looked up sharply. “You really don't listen.”
Smoke laughed and unknowingly lightened the mood of the conversation. “I listen; I just don't like what you saying right now.”
she shook her head. “You're impossible.”
“And you still talking to me.” She opened her mouth, then closed it.
He was right, she could've hung up, blocked the number or ignored the FaceTime. Instead, she was standing barefoot in her kitchen at nearly ten o'clock at night, talking to the man she'd spent months convincing herself she was finally letting go of.
Smoke's voice softened. “You miss me?”
Annie looked away. “Goodnight boy.”
“That's not an answer.”
“I said goodnight.”
“Annie.” Her eyes returned to the screen.
She reached for the end call button. “I said goodnight.”
“Wait.” Her thumb hovered.
Smoke stared at her and for once, there was no arrogance in his face, no teasing, jealousy, just him.
“I miss you too,” he said.
Before Annie could answer, the screen went black. She stood there in her kitchen, staring at her reflection in the dark phone screen, then her phone buzzed.
A text.
Smoke: And don't let that nigga pick you up no more
Annie laughed despite herself, she typed back.
Annie: You are so damn annoying
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Smoke: And you still love me… Goodnight girl
Her smile faded, he knew what she didn’t want to say out loud.
Idk if you write for Erik (if not it can be a smoke fic too😛) but a mean Erik or smoke, where the reader teases him for “having a small dihh” and obviously he proves her otherwise 😛😛😛 super nasty plssss #ovulation
Still Think It’s Small?
You should’ve kept your mouth shut.
That was the only thought in your head the second Erik’s hand closed around your throat and shoved you back against the wall. His grip was firm, deliberate— not crushing, but tight enough that your pulse hammered under his fingers and every breath had to work for it.
“Say it again.” His voice was low, almost calm. “Go on. Loud enough for me to hear it this time.”
You swallowed against his palm. The teasing had started light— sitting on the edge of the bed in just his shirt, swinging your legs, smirking while he peeled off his hoodie. You’d looked him up and down, lingered on the bulge in his sweats, and dropped it like a joke.
“Damn, Erik. For all that shit you be talkin’… you packin’ something real small under there, huh?”
He’d gone still. Dangerously still.
Now you are pinned, his body caging yours, thigh forcing your legs apart so you could feel exactly how hard he already was.
“I—”
“Say. It. Again.”
You should’ve stopped. Instead the bratty smile curled back onto your mouth.
“What? You mad I called your shit small? Look at all that attitude for a nigga with a little di—”
The rest of the word never made it out.
Erik’s free hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back hard, forcing your face up toward his. At the same time his grip on your throat tightens just enough that your vision flickered at the edges. Not enough to black out. Just enough that every breath was shallow and controlled by him.
“Keep talkin’ yo’ shit,” he muttered, already dragging his sweatpants down. “Keep running that fuckin’ mouth like you don’t know exactly what happens when you do.”
He let go of your throat just long enough to shove his sweatpants down his hips. Then he spun you, shoved you face-first onto the mattress, and climbed over you in one fluid motion. One hand locked back into your hair, pinning your cheek to the sheets. The other wrapped around your throat from behind again, thumb and fingers pressing in just under your jaw so you could feel every heartbeat.
You felt him then… thick, heavy, hot against your bare ass. Not small. Not even close. The head dragged through the wetness already coating your folds and you bit back a sound that was half surprise, half need.
Erik noticed.
He always notices.
A dark, mean little chuckle left him as he notched himself against your entrance and pushed in just enough to stretch you around the tip.
“Still think it’s small?”
You tried to answer. The only thing that came out was a shaky, restricted breath when he snapped his hips forward and buried every thick inch inside you in one brutal thrust.
Your back arches. A broken moan tears out of your throat with what little air he is allowing you.
Erik doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a punishing pace immediately— deep, hard strokes that forces the air from your lungs every time he bottoms out. The wet slap of skin fills the room. His hand in your hair never loosened; every thrust was accompanied by a sharp tug that kept your neck arched and your face pressed into the mattress. The hand on your throat stayed steady, controlling how much air you got, keeping you right on the edge of dizzy without ever letting you slip under.
“Look at you,” he growled against your ear. “Takin’ it like a good little bitch, yet you still had the nerve to talk shit. You feel that? Feel how deep I’m in you while I’m cuttin’ off your air?”
You try to nod. The movement only makes his grip in your hair pull harder.
“Use your words.”
“Y-yes—” The word comes out strained, almost choked.
“Yes what?”
“It’s not—Daddy—ah—fuuuck—it’s not small—”
Erik’s grin turns sinister. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in so hard the headboard cracks against the wall. At the same time his fingers tighten around your throat just a fraction more. Your vision swims. Your pussy clenches hard around him.
“Say my name.”
“Erik—”
His hand squeezes harder. Not enough to take you under, but enough that your next breath is thin and desperate.
“Bitch, you know my name.”
Your voice comes out broken, almost a sob.
“Killmonger—”
“Louder.”
“Killmonger—oh my god—”
“Is my shit small?”
“No—it’s not small—aaah—Killmonger—”
He lets go of your throat just long enough to hook an arm under your hips and yank them higher, folding you tighter under him. Then his hand is back around your neck, reclaiming your air as he drives even deeper. The new angle punches a broken cry out of you.
Every thrust drags against that perfect spot until your vision starts to blur for real. The combination of the relentless stretch, the sharp pulls on your hair, and the controlled restriction of air has you shaking apart under him.
“That’s what I thought,” he rasps. “Talkin’ all that shit like you weren’t already drippin’ for it. Next time you wanna run your mouth about my dick, remember this.” Another hard snap of his hips, another sharp tug on your hair. “Remember how it feels when I’m stretchin’ this tight little pussy open while I’m decidin’ how much air you get to breathe.”
You were past coherent answers. Just gasps and broken moans and the desperate clench of your walls around him every time he bottoms out. Erik fucks you like he’s proving a point—unforgiving, deep, vicious— until the coil in your belly snaps and you come with a choked sob, pulsing around him while his hand stays locked on your throat.
He doesn’t stop.
Even while you are still clenching and shaking around him, he keeps driving into you at the same hard pace. The pleasure turns sharp fast. You whimper and try to twist your hips away, but his hand in your hair yanks you right back into place and the one on your throat tightens just enough to make your head swim.
“Uh-uh. Don’t run from it now.” His voice was low and ruthless against your ear. “You was just talkin’ all that shit. Now you gon’ take it.”
You make a broken little sound and try to push up on your elbows. He shoves you back down flat and fucks you harder, grinding deep like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint.
“Look at you. Five minutes ago you was callin’ my shit small, now you can’t even take the dick you asked for.” He gave a dark, breathless laugh when your walls flutter around him again. “Pussy so fuckin’ greedy it don’t even know when to quit. Stay still, bitch.”
You are visibly squirming now—overstimulated, oversensitive, trying to close your legs. Erik just forces them back open with his weight and keeps going, every thrust punching little punched-out moans out of you that he cut short with the pressure on your throat.
“That’s what you get for talkin’ reckless. Take this shit! Take every fuckin’ inch like the slut you is.”
Only when your whimpers turn into actual desperate little sobs does he finally pull out, flip you onto your back, and climb between your thighs again. He slams back into you in one hard thrust, then fists one hand in your hair and wraps the other back around your throat, pressing in just enough that your eyes water and every moan comes out thin and desperate.
“Still got jokes?” he asks, voice rough with effort. “Still think it’s small while I’m rearrangin’ your fuckin’ guts and controllin’ every breath you take?”
You shake your head as much as his grip allows, moaning helplessly.
“That’s right.” He leans over you, chest pressed to yours, mouth at your ear. “You take this dick like it was made for you. And next time you even think about talkin’ shit…” He thrust particularly deep, grinding against your cervix until you cry out, the sound cut short by the pressure on your throat. “…I’m bendin’ you over the nearest surface, wrappin’ this pretty neck in my hand, and remindin’ you exactly how wrong you are.”
He comes with a low, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing deep inside you while his hand stays firm on your throat and his fist stays tight in your hair. Hot. Thick.
Claiming.
For a long moment the only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard— yours still slightly restricted until he finally eases his grip.
Then Erik slowly pulls out, watched his cum leak from you, and gives your ass another sharp slap.
“Still think it’s small?”
You can only manage a shaky, wrecked little laugh, voice hoarse.
“…No, Killmonger.”
Erik’s low chuckle is pure satisfaction. He gives your hair one last deliberate tug, forcing your eyes up to his.
“Good girl.”
He releases you completely. No lingering touch. No soft words. Just that single, final claim.
You stay where he’s left you— legs still spread, thighs trembling, his cum already starting to drip down onto the sheets— and you watch him.
Erik stands, rolls his shoulders once, and walks out of the room without looking back. The bathroom door clicks shut behind him a few seconds later.
You can still feel the phantom pressure of his hand on your throat and the dull ache in your scalp where he’d held you. All you can do now is lay there and listen to the sound of the shower starting.
End Note: I hope you liked this, Anon, and that I gave you what you wanted! I've NEVER written Erik or a " x Reader" fic before. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed it. 🤭 But if you didn't like it... blame @lizbehave for forcing me to write this. 😜😂 Seriously, tho... thank you for this request because it really did get me out of my comfort zone and pushed me to try something completely different.
Ok... now I'm going back to my little Smoke x Annie corner of the world! 🫶🏾
Divider by: no clue...I found it when I was scrolling Tumblr one day.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
POV: You are about to head to brunch when your man Smoke calls but you hang up in his face... Huge mistake.
A/N: Okay y’all… we’re officially diving deeper into the chaos that is Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Y/N. 😭
This one shot is giving attitude, tension, stubbornness, and two people who swear they don’t need each other while clearly being obsessed. Smoke may have the reputation, the intimidating presence, and the “don’t play with me” energy that makes everybody else fall in line…
But Y/N?
Yeah… she’s different.
She’s the one person who isn’t scared to check him, challenge him, and remind him that he’s not always in control. And honestly? That’s exactly what drives him crazy about her.
Get ready for more back-and-forth, more drama, more chemistry, and the kind of love that comes with a little bit of fire. Because when these two get together, peace was never really an option. 😏
Enjoy the ride. ❤️
Warning: Angry!Boy Modern Smoke, rough sex. SMUT. Impregnation.
Word Count: 5054
Pairing: Elijah 'Smoke' Moore x Black!Female Reader
Elijah "Smoke" Moore.
His name alone was enough to make grown men lower their voices and rethink their decisions. People feared him. Respected him. Avoided him.
Everyone...
Except you.
Which was exactly why you got under his skin.
You were halfway out the door, sliding into your shoes, when your phone lit up for what felt like the twentieth time in the last ten minutes.
Elijah.
You sighed dramatically before finally answering, tapping the speaker button.
"Yes, Elijah," you deadpanned. "What could you possibly want?"
A loud kiss of his teeth echoed through the speaker.
"Girl, why the fuck you ain't been answerin' ya phone for?"
Smoke was already pacing the hardwood floors of his penthouse, phone pressed against his ear, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. Anybody looking at him would've thought somebody had robbed him blind.
You froze in the middle of your living room, one brow raised.
"I told you I was going to brunch with my girls."
Silence.
"You remember? Tonya got promoted last Monday, so we're celebrating."
...
"Elijah."
Nothing.
"You were literally sitting next to me while I was on Zoom with all the girls making these plans."
The silence somehow got louder.
A slow smirk spread across your lips.
"Yeah... that's what I thought."
Smoke dragged a frustrated breath through his nose.
You rolled your eyes so hard they almost disappeared into the back of your head.
"Look, I should've been gone. The only reason I'm still standing here is because you keep blowing my phone up like somebody got shot."
One hand settled on your hip while the other adjusted the strap of your purse.
Your reflection stared back at you from the hallway mirror.
A buttery-yellow cropped jacket hugged your curves perfectly, paired with a matching pleated tennis skirt that showed off just enough leg. Your honey-blonde French-curled braids cascaded down your back, half-up, half-down, framing a face that looked entirely too good to be arguing with a hardheaded man before brunch.
Meanwhile, Smoke was still talking.
Talking...
Talking...
Talking.
You honestly tuned him out somewhere between 'you need to answer' and 'what if something happened?'
"Are you done?" you interrupted, your voice dripping with enough attitude to sour milk.
The line went dead quiet.
"...Girl."
His tone dropped.
"Who you gettin' smart with?"
A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.
"Ain't nobody getting smart. You just doing the absolute most."
"You always got a mouth—"
"And you always got a problem."
Another beat of silence.
You smiled sweetly... the kind of smile that usually came right before somebody got cussed out.
"My ride's here."
"You better not—"
Click.
You hung up.
Across town...
Smoke slowly lowered his phone from his ear.
His eyebrows knitted together.
"...Did this girl just hang up on me?"
Nobody...
Nobody hung up on Elijah "Smoke" Moore.
His boys sitting around the living room exchanged cautious glances before immediately finding something else to look at. Nobody was volunteering to comment on that.
Meanwhile, you were already locking your front door, sliding your phone into your purse with a satisfied grin.
Finally.
A peaceful brunch.
No drama.
No interruptions.
No Elijah.
Your phone vibrated.
Then again.
And again.
You sighed before pulling it back out.
Smoke: Don't hang up on me.
Another vibration.
Smoke: Are you out ya fuckin' mind?
Then another.
Smoke: Answer the phone.
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost gave you a headache.
"He's so damn dramatic."
You tossed the phone back into your purse without another glance.
If only you knew...
Elijah "Smoke" Moore wasn't finished.
Not even close.
You made it all the way to the restaurant before you realized one very important thing.
You should've known better.
Because when it came to Elijah "Smoke" Moore...
Peace was never really an option.
You stepped out of Lyft, smoothing your yellow skirt down as you walked toward the entrance. The sun hit your skin perfectly, your girls already waiting outside with wide smiles and phones raised.
"Okayyyy!" Tonya shouted the second she saw you. "Look at you! Miss Sunshine herself."
You laughed, pulling her into a hug.
"Girl, it's your celebration. I had to show up cute."
"Baby, you always show up cute," one of your friends teased.
You smiled, rolling your eyes as everyone walked inside.
For the first twenty minutes, everything was perfect.
Mimosas.
Laughing.
Gossip.
Complaining about work.
The usual.
You finally relaxed, leaning back in your chair as Tonya told the story of how her boss surprised her with the promotion.
"See, this is why I love us," you said, lifting your glass. "We really be showing up for each other."
Your phone buzzed.
You ignored it.
Buzz.
Again.
Ignored.
Buzz.
Your friend across from you looked at the table.
"Girl..."
You already knew.
"No."
"That man is blowing your phone up."
You sighed.
"He's being dramatic."
Tonya laughed.
"Elijah Moore? Dramatic?"
You gave her a look.
"Yes. Don't let that scary act fool you. That man is the biggest baby when he doesn't get his way."
Your friends burst into laughter.
Because everybody knew.
The same man who could make an entire room go silent with one look...
Was completely powerless when it came to you.
Your phone buzzed again.
This time you looked.
Smoke: Pick up the fuckin’ phone, Y/N.
You stared at the message.
Then another one came through.
Smoke: I'm not asking twice.
Your eyebrows lifted.
"Oh, he really thinks he's somebody."
Your friend shook her head.
"Girl, answer before he shows up."
You laughed.
"He would not."
A beat passed.
Then your phone rang.
You looked down.
Elijah.
Your smile slowly disappeared.
Because the annoying thing about Elijah was...
He absolutely would.
You answered but didn't say anything.
For a few seconds, all you heard was his breathing.
"Wow."
You took a sip of your drink.
"What?"
"That's how you answer me now? You just gonna sit there quiet?"
You smiled to yourself.
"You called me."
"You hung up on me."
"You deserved it."
A low chuckle came through the phone.
And somehow that irritated you more.
Because Elijah only laughed like that when he knew he was about to get on your nerves.
"You really got an attitude, huh?"
"You really got control issues, huh?"
Silence.
A dangerous kind of silence.
Your friends immediately picked up on it and started watching you.
Because everybody knew that tone.
The two of you could turn a simple conversation into a full-blown war in under thirty seconds.
"You know what your problem is?" Smoke asked.
You leaned back.
"Oh, please enlighten me."
"You think because I let you get away with shit, you can do whatever you want."
You laughed.
"Baby, I don't think that. I know that. Let’s be for real, baby."
Your friends covered their mouths trying not to laugh.
On the other end, Smoke rubbed his forehead.
"You are something else."
"And you're obsessed."
"Obsessed?"
"Yes."
You looked around the table.
"Because no normal person panics because their girlfriend doesn't answer for twenty minutes."
"I wasn't panicking."
You scoffed.
"Elijah."
"What?"
"You called me seventeen times."
"..."
"That's literally the definition of panicking."
He went quiet.
And you smiled because you knew you had him.
Then his voice lowered.
"Where you at?"
Your smile faded slightly.
"Why?"
"Just answer the question."
"No."
A pause.
"No?"
"No."
You took another sip.
"I'm having brunch with my friends. Remember? The thing I told you about three times?"
"I remember."
"Do you?"
"Yeah."
You narrowed your eyes.
Something about his voice had changed.
It wasn't the playful Elijah.
It wasn't the annoying, teasing Elijah.
No.
This was the Elijah that made grown men straighten their backs when he walked into a room.
The one who didn't like being ignored.
"I know one thing," Smoke said, his voice dropping lower. "You hang up on me again... that fine, thick ass of yours gonna regret it. You hear me?"
You stared at your phone with the biggest eye roll of your life.
"Uh huh. Sure, Elijah."
Before he could respond, you ended the call.
Click.
You placed your phone face down on the table and picked up your mimosa like nothing happened.
Your friends stared at you.
"What?" you asked.
Tonya blinked.
"You really just hung up on Elijah Moore?"
You shrugged.
"Yes. And?"
"And you are either the bravest woman alive or absolutely insane."
You smiled.
"Both can be true."
Across town...
Smoke stared down at his phone.
The call had ended.
The woman actually hung up on him.
Again.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then a slow smirk pulled at his lips.
Because that was the thing about you.
Anybody else would've been nervous.
Anybody else would've apologized.
Anybody else would've tried to calm him down.
But you?
You challenged him.
And somehow that only made him want to bother you more.
Smoke ran a hand over his jaw before dialing another number.
The phone rang twice before someone picked up.
"What's up, brotha? You need something?"
Stack's voice came through the speaker, resulting in a smirk from Smoke.
Meanwhile...
You were having the time of your life.
The conversation had moved on, the drinks were flowing, and for once you weren't thinking about Elijah.
You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt while Tonya reenacted a conversation with her boss.
"Girl, I swear, when he said 'we see leadership qualities in you,' I almost cried."
"You better not cry today," you teased. "This is your celebration."
Everyone laughed.
Then suddenly...
Tonya stopped.
Her expression changed.
Her eyes moved past you.
Slowly.
Confused.
And slightly terrified.
You noticed immediately.
"What?"
She pointed behind you.
"Uh..."
Her voice lowered.
"Y/N."
You looked at her.
"What?"
"Is that Elijah?"
Your smile dropped.
You almost choked on your mimosa.
"What?"
You slowly turned around.
And there he was.
Walking through the restaurant like he owned the entire building.
Elijah "Smoke" Moore.
Dressed in all black.
Black jeans.
Black shirt.
Black watch.
That same unreadable expression on his face.
The kind that made people move out of his way without him saying a word.
Every step he took toward your table made your friends sit up straighter.
You stared at him.
He stared right back.
And the audacity of this man...
The absolute audacity.
You placed your glass down slowly.
"Elijah."
He stopped beside the table, looking down at you.
"Y/N. Ladies."
Your eyebrows lifted.
"Are you serious right now?"
A small smirk appeared on his face.
"Get up."
Your friends exchanged looks.
Because this was no longer brunch.
This was entertainment.
You leaned back in your chair.
"I ain't doin' shit."
Smoke crossed his arms.
"You sure about that?"
"Yep."
Smoke stood there for a moment, staring at you like he was waiting for you to test him.
And knowing you...
You probably would.
You lifted your chin, crossing your arms.
"What?"
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Nothing."
"Exactly. So why are you standing here?"
Your friends tried their best not to laugh.
Because everyone knew this was the same Elijah "Smoke" Moore who had half the city nervous...
And yet here he was arguing with you in the middle of brunch.
Smoke shook his head before reaching into his pocket.
He pulled out a thick roll of cash, peeling through the crisp bills while his eyes never left yours.
"How much the food?"
Tonya blinked.
She looked around at the girls.
Then back at you.
Then at Smoke.
Because she wasn't stupid.
She knew better than to answer the wrong way.
"I... I ain't sure, Elijah."
Smoke didn't say anything.
He simply counted out a few bills before pulling out five crisp hundred-dollar bills.
Your eyes widened.
"Elijah."
He ignored you.
Instead, he handed the money to Tonya.
"Y'all have a good brunch."
Tonya stared at the cash in her hand.
"Elijah, this is too much—"
"Nah. It's good."
His eyes stayed locked on you.
"We headin' out."
Your jaw dropped.
"I'm sorry... we?"
Smoke gave you that look.
The one that said he had already made up his mind and there was no point arguing.
Which, unfortunately for him...
Only made you want to argue more.
"No, sir."
You grabbed your purse.
"I am not leaving my brunch because you decided to have a surprise appearance."
Smoke raised an eyebrow.
"Surprise appearance?"
"Yes."
"You mean the brunch you told me about?"
"Yes."
"The brunch where you ignored my calls?"
You narrowed your eyes.
"Don't start."
A few of your friends were silently watching, trying not to laugh.
Because the tension between you two was ridiculous.
Smoke stepped closer.
"Come on."
"No."
"Y/N."
"Elijah."
The two of you stared at each other.
A silent battle.
Neither one willing to back down.
Then Smoke sighed.
"See, this right here..."
He shook his head.
"You always gotta make things difficult."
You smiled sweetly.
"And you always think you can just show up and take over."
Before you could say another word, Smoke reached down, pulled your chair back, and grabbed your handbag from the table.
Your eyes widened.
"Elijah!"
Your friends immediately started laughing.
"Girl..."
"Not him picking you up!"
"You better call somebody!"
But before you could react, Smoke easily lifted you up and threw you over his right shoulder.
"Excuse me?!"
You lightly smacked his back.
"Put me down!"
"Nope."
"Elijah Moore!"
"Yeah?"
"You are embarrassing me!"
He started walking toward the exit like you weighed nothing.
"You embarrassed me when you hung up."
"You are so dramatic!"
"And you're still coming with me."
You looked back at your girls, completely betrayed.
They were no help.
They were crying laughing.
Tonya waved.
"Girl, call us later!"
"TONYA!"
But it was too late.
You were already halfway across the parking lot.
Your girls' laughter echoed behind you, making your embarrassment ten times worse.
"TONYA!" you yelled, still thrown over Smoke's shoulder.
The only response you got was more laughter.
Traitors.
All of them.
You started hitting his back lightly.
"Elijah, put me down!"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
You gasped.
"Did you just tell me no?"
"Yep."
"You are unbelievable."
"And you're stubborn."
"I am not stubborn!"
Smoke let out a low laugh.
"You arguing with me while I'm carrying you proves my point."
You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it.
"People are watching!"
"Let them."
"Elijah!"
You soon arrived at the curb of your home, your arms folded tightly across your chest.
You hadn't said a word the entire ride.
Not one.
You'd spent most of it staring out the passenger window, cheeks still warm from the embarrassment of being carried out of a restaurant like a damn child while your friends laughed their asses off.
And the mimosas definitely weren't helping.
You weren't falling-over drunk, but you were pleasantly—and unfortunately—tipsy enough that your emotions were sitting right on the surface.
Smoke pulled the truck to the curb and put it in park.
The second the engine cut off, you reached for the door handle.
Smoke got out first.
You stayed put.
He walked around the front of the truck and opened your door.
"Come on."
You looked up at him.
"No."
His eyebrow lifted.
"No?"
"No."
You folded your arms tighter.
"I'm still mad at you."
"I figured."
"And embarrassed."
"I figured that too."
"And annoyed."
Smoke nodded slowly.
"Definitely figured that one."
You stared at him.
"Then why are you standing there looking so damn calm?"
He leaned against the open door.
"Because you drunk."
Your eyes widened.
"I am not drunk."
"You had how many mimosas?"
You pointed a finger at him.
"That's none of your business."
He fought back a smile.
"Exactly."
You scoffed and finally climbed out, immediately swaying just a little when your heels hit the pavement.
Smoke's hand instinctively reached for your waist.
You slapped it away.
"Don't touch me."
"Okay."
He raised both hands.
You started walking toward your front door.
One step.
Two.
Three.
You fumbled with your keys.
Smoke stood a few feet behind you, watching.
"You need help?"
"No."
You tried the key again.
Wrong one.
You sighed.
"Stupid keys."
Smoke pressed his lips together.
"Keys ain't the problem."
You slowly turned around.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"That's what I thought."
You turned back around and tried again.
Still wrong.
Smoke finally stepped forward.
"Move."
"No."
"Y/N."
"I got it."
"You've been fighting that lock for thirty seconds."
"Because you are distracting me."
He laughed under his breath.
That did it.
You spun around.
"You think this is funny?"
His smile faded.
"No."
"Because I'm not laughing."
"I know."
"You embarrassed me in front of everybody."
"I know."
"You didn't even let me say goodbye."
"I know."
"And then you just—"
Your words stumbled over each other.
You stopped, frustrated, blinking hard.
Smoke's expression softened.
"You done?"
You looked away.
"No."
Your voice came out quieter.
"I'm still mad."
"I know."
"You always do this."
"Do what?"
"You act like you can just decide what's happening and everybody else has to go along with it."
Smoke was quiet.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the alcohol and the day's emotions crashing down on you.
"I just wanted one day with my girls."
There it was.
The real thing underneath all the attitude.
Smoke looked at you for a long moment.
Then he stepped closer.
"I know."
You shook your head.
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, I do."
His voice was calmer now.
"I just wanted to see you."
You scoffed.
"You could've waited until I got home."
"I could've."
"Exactly."
"But I didn't."
You rolled your eyes.
"Obviously."
Smoke reached past you and gently took the keys from your hand.
This time, you didn't fight him.
He unlocked the door.
You stepped inside, immediately kicking off your heels.
"Never again," you mumbled.
Smoke closed the door behind you.
"What's that?"
You pointed at him.
"You."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Me?"
"You are never kidnapping me from brunch again."
A faint smirk appeared.
"Kidnapping?"
"Yes."
"You got in the truck."
"You carried me to it!"
"You walked into the house."
"Because I am independent."
Smoke shook his head, amused.
You narrowed your eyes.
"Don't laugh."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Maybe a little."
You groaned and dropped onto the couch, covering your face with both hands.
"I cannot believe you."
Smoke stood in front of you.
For once, he didn't tease.
Didn't argue.
Didn't push.
He simply looked at you.
Then quietly said,
"I'll make it up to you."
You peeked through your fingers.
"You better."
His mouth twitched.
"And tomorrow?"
"What?"
"We're gonna talk about that seventeen missed calls."
You stared at him.
"Absolutely not."
He laughed.
You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.
"Get out."
He caught it easily.
"Nah."
"Elijah."
"Go to sleep, trouble."
You crossed your arms again, glaring at him.
"I'm still mad."
"I know."
"And I don't forgive you."
"I know."
You looked away, fighting a sleepy smile.
"Good."
Smoke watched you for a moment before shaking his head.
"Still got an attitude."
You mumbled under your breath.
"Still got a problem."
And somehow...
Neither of you was ready to let the argument end.
You were still sitting on the couch, arms folded, staring at the television like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
Smoke stood across the room.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
You glanced at him.
He wasn't smiling anymore.
His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on you.
"What?" you mumbled.
He shook his head.
"Nothing."
You rolled your eyes.
"There you go again."
"There I go doing what?"
"Looking at me like you wanna say something."
Smoke let out a slow breath through his nose.
"Yeah. I do."
You looked over at him.
"Then say it."
He stepped closer.
"You hung up on me."
You blinked.
"Here we go..."
"Nah. Don't 'here we go' me."
His voice was low now.
"I can deal with you going to brunch. I can deal with you having drinks with your girls. I can deal with you ignoring me for a little while."
He pointed toward you.
"But hanging up in my damn face?"
You scoffed.
"You were threatening me!"
"I wasn't threatening you."
"You literally said my thick ass was gonna regret it!"
"Because you kept playing with me!"
You stared at him.
"And you think that's okay?"
Smoke dragged both hands down his face, visibly frustrated.
"See? This is what I'm talking about."
"What?"
"You always find a way to flip the shit around."
Your eyebrows lifted.
"Because you were wrong."
"I called you because I couldn't get ahold of you."
"You called me seventeen times!"
"Because you weren't answering!"
"Because I was with my friends!"
"I didn't know that!"
"NIGGA, I TOLD YOU!"
"I KNOW!"
His voice echoed through the room.
You went quiet.
Smoke stood there breathing heavily, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.
For a few seconds, neither of you said anything.
Then he spoke again, quieter.
"I don't give a damn about you having brunch."
His eyes locked onto yours.
"I give a damn about you making me feel like I don't matter."
That caught you off guard.
Your expression softened slightly.
But Smoke wasn't finished.
"You hung up on me like I was some random dude."
He shook his head.
"You don't do that to me."
You swallowed.
"Elijah..."
"No."
He held up a hand.
"Let me finish."
You nodded slowly.
"I ain't asking you to stop having your own life. I ain't asking you to sit by the phone all damn day waiting on me."
He stepped closer.
"But when I call you, answer me. And if you can't answer, tell me that."
His jaw tightened.
"Don't hang up on me like I'm nothing."
You looked down at your hands.
"I wasn't trying to make you feel like that."
"I know."
His voice softened for half a second.
"But that's how it felt."
You were quiet.
Then you muttered,
"You still embarrassed me."
Smoke gave a short laugh with no humor in it.
"You embarrassed me too."
Your head snapped up.
"How?"
"You had me calling your phone seventeen damn times."
You rolled your eyes.
"Oh my God."
"And then you hung up on me."
"You are never letting that go, are you?"
"No."
You stared at him.
He stared right back.
Then he leaned down slightly, his voice dropping.
"Because you need to understand something, Y/N."
You waited.
"I can handle your attitude."
A pause.
"I can handle your mouth."
Another pause.
"I can even handle you being mad at me."
His eyes narrowed.
"But don't ever make me feel like you don't give a damn."
Your anger faltered.
Because underneath all that frustration...
You could hear the fear.
The concern.
The attachment.
You sighed.
"You're still an asshole."
Smoke's eyebrow lifted.
"And you're still drunk."
"I'm tipsy."
"Whatever helps you sleep."
You grabbed the pillow beside you.
"Don't start."
He smirked.
"There she go."
You threw the pillow at him.
He caught it.
And for the first time since the restaurant...
The tension cracked just a little.
But neither of you apologized.
Not yet.
Because you were still mad.
And Smoke?
He was still pissed about that damn phone call.
Smoke didn't throw the pillow back. Instead, he tossed it aside with a careless flick of his wrist, his eyes darkening as he watched you.
The brief moment of levity vanished, replaced by a heavy, suffocating heat. The anger hadn't left him; it had just shifted, morphing from a shouting match into something far more primal and possessive.
He stepped into your space, his large frame looming over you on the couch. The smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of raw frustration.
Before he claimed you on the couch, Smoke’s rage hadn't fully burned out; it had just shifted into a need for total submission. He didn't just want your body; he wanted your breath, your voice, and your pride. With a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head forward, forcing you down onto your knees on the hardwood floor. You let out a startled gasp, but it was cut short as he stepped closer, his heavy dick pulsing and leaking pre-cum just inches from your face.
"Since you love using that mouth to talk back to me," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "let's see how you use it for something useful."
He didn't wait for you to open up. Smoke gripped the back of your head and slammed his thick head into your mouth, forcing his way past your lips in one aggressive shove.
You gagged instantly, your eyes watering as he buried himself deep in your throat, hitting the back of your windpipe with a brutal thud.
He didn't care that you were choking; he liked the way your throat clamped around him in a desperate struggle for air. He began to fuck your face with a ruthless, rhythmic intensity, his hips snapping forward to drive his dick deeper and deeper into your gullet. Each thrust was a punishment, a silent command to shut up and take it.
He held your head firmly, controlling the pace, forcing you to take every inch of his girth until you were sobbing and gagging around him, your hands clawing uselessly at his thighs.
He groaned, the feeling of your tight, wet throat squeezing him nearly pushing him over the edge, but he pulled out with a wet pop just as you were about to collapse, leaving you breathless and shivering on the floor before he hauled you back up onto the couch to finish what he started.
"You think you're so fuckin’ cute when you're act the fuck up," he growled, his voice vibrating in his chest. "Thinking you can just push me and then act like a brat."
You opened your mouth to snap back, but Smoke didn't give you the chance. He lunged forward, his hand gripping your jaw firmly, forcing your head back against the cushions. His thumb pressed hard into your cheek, pinning you in place.
"I told you that thick ass was gonna regret it," he hissed, his face inches from yours. "And since you like to ignore me so much, I'm gonna make sure you can't think about anything else but me for the rest of the night."
He didn't kiss you gently. He slammed his mouth onto yours in a bruising, demanding collision. It wasn't a request; it was a claim. He tasted of mint and rage, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, raiding it with a hunger that bordered on violent.
You moaned into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer even as you tried to fight for dominance.
Smoke groaned, a low, animalistic sound, and ripped your lips away. Without a word, he grabbed the hem of your skirt and yanked it upward, bunching the fabric around your waist. He didn't bother with finesse. He reached down and ripped your panties to the side, the fabric tearing with a sharp snap.
"You're mine," he muttered, his voice a rough rasp. "Every inch of you. You don't get to shut me out."
He stood up just long enough to shred his own clothes, his 8-inch-long, 3-inch-wide dick and springing free—thick, pulsing, and fully erect, your spit making it shine. He didn't use a condom. He never did. He didn't even ask. He just grabbed your thighs, hoisting them up over his shoulders, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air of the room.
"Look at me," he commanded.
You looked up, eyes hazy with lust and alcohol, and Smoke drove himself into you in one singular, brutal thrust.
"FUCK!" you screamed, your back arching off the couch. He had bottomed out instantly, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. The sheer size of him stretched you to the limit, filling every void, claiming your insides with a ruthless force.
Smoke didn't give you time to adjust. He began to hammer into you, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythmic, punishing thud. Each stroke was deep and violent, designed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. He wasn't just fucking you; he was marking you.
"Still want to hang up on me?" he gasped, his grip tightening on your thighs until his fingers left bruises. "Still want to play games, Y/N?"
"Smoke... please..." you whimpered, your head tossing from side to side.
"Please what? Please stop? Or please fuck you until you can't walk?" He sneered, leaning down to bite hard on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin. "I'm gonna put a baby in you.
I'm gonna fill you so full of my cum that you'll feel me leaking out of you for days. That way, every time you think about ignoring me, you'll feel my seed inside you."
The thought sent a jolt of pure electricity through your core. The possessiveness, the raw desire to be claimed and impregnated by him, made your pussy clench tight around him. Smoke felt the squeeze and let out a guttural roar, his pace becoming frantic.
He shifted his angle, digging deeper, hitting your cervix with every punishing drive. He was relentless, his breath coming in ragged heaves, his sweat dripping onto your chest. He was focused on one thing: total colonization.
"I'm filling you up," he groaned, his voice breaking. "I'm claiming this pussy. You're gonna carry my fucking child."
As the climax hit him, Smoke didn't pull back. He slammed himself in as deep as he could go, pinning you to the couch with his entire weight. He let out a long, shaking moan as he erupted inside you.
You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your womb, wave after wave of seed pumping deep into your depths. He stayed buried inside you, pulsing, ensuring that every single drop of his load stayed trapped within you.
He stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily against your neck, his heart hammering against your ribs. He didn't move, keeping you plugged and filled.
"Now," he whispered, his voice possessive and dark. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You, baby. You."
You sat there on the couch, breathing heavily, your mind still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened.
Smoke stayed close for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he leaned down, pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, and stood.
"Stay right here," he murmured.
You barely looked up at him.
"Where you going, baby?"
"Bathroom."
He turned and walked down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
A second later, you heard the bathroom door click shut.
And that's when the smallest smile appeared on your lips.
Because while Smoke thought he had finally gotten his way...
He hadn't.
Not completely.
You had known exactly what you were doing from the beginning.
The attitude.
The arguing.
The way you kept pushing his buttons.
Even hanging up on him.
It hadn't all been spontaneous.
You knew Elijah.
You knew exactly which buttons to press to get him riled up, exactly how far you could push before that calm exterior cracked.
And tonight?
You'd pushed every single one.
You slowly sat back against the couch, staring toward the hallway.
"Got you," you whispered under your breath.
The bathroom faucet turned on.
Your smile widened.
Smoke thought he was in control.
He had no idea he'd been walking straight into your plan the entire time.
He said the food overall was truly exceptional. And creative. He said the talent here is undeniable. That there's a scallop dish he hasn't been able to stop thinking about and the hospitality was beautiful. He said the room felt alive without being precious or try-hard.
They both HATED when this happened. Like this is the worst feeling of the day for them.
Syd is in legit grief. Carmy is sad but also very genuinely like "Babe it's just stuff we're fine, OK?"
But part of Syd has always believed that jacket was the maximum she would ever get from him, and now it's lost. What if their best days are behind them? He's not sentimental about it all, but it hurts a little and I think he suspects it hurts her a lot.
In their next scene, he's basically groveling to Do for her. He wants to get her out of her head. He wants a job. He wants an impossible task. He wants an opportunity to prove his devotion in another way.
Right then, she gets freaked out that everyone's expecting her to be the leader and bark orders, and in one of his better moves ever, he does what Syd usually does for Carmy. He reads her and interprets her for the others. "Too much staring? You need the spotlight off you for a minute? Of course. Whatever you need."
I think Chris Storer was too fearful of seeming "unoriginal" or maybe it was misogynoir, because THIS?!??!? He wasted this!!! We heard it said that Ayo and Jeremy were super tight on set and even in interviews they are cuter than a pair of quokkas. They have chemistry on and off screen! Ayo's body language and Jeremy's difficulty speaking are wild 🤣 The Bear was supposed to be a dramatic comedy and Chris spent too much time (like 80%) on the drama. It would've been hilarious if Carmy and Syd had a secret relationship that was a running joke for like 2 seasons with Richie trying to bust them. The whole time Pete's been keeping the secret but it is KILLING him and Nat knows something is off with him. Using her Berzatto powers she gets it out of him and agrees not to reveal it because she loves Sydney and wants her to be her sister-in-law.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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