𝓙𓍼

𝐵𝑒𝓎’𝓈 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[joyylakiell]

𝕵𝖔𝖞’𝖘 𝕵𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖒 ㅤ⋆˚꩜｡

“𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁”

𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧|𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧|𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐧𝐢

𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐜é, & 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

Drunk In Love- Beyoncé x Reader •smut

Never Leaving You- AnniexSmoke •smut

Rocket- Beyoncé x Annie• smut

Dirty Work- Annie x fem reader•smut

[graysthecoolest]

"Im twice your age sweetie"

yeah and Im twice as much on my knees so whats your point

[cherxwine]

I have a mom so idrk what my problem is

[thebumblebeesworld]

THROUGH • THE • YEARS

part one • annie x smoke

summary: the moores have had a long life together, full of ups down, trials, and tribulations—but never once did their love wane.

cw: smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, tensionnn, mentions of war & childhood trauma, annie grandmama don't play!!, lil stack x mary but more later on, they're cute babies here

a/n: so this mini series (?) is a collection of micro stories about my favorite loversss. it spans the entirety of their relationship as imagined by me, but i'm reimagining the vampire storyline. i also took some liberties on the timeline as given to us in bits and pieces by wunmi, michael, and ryan. and pearline is a friend of theirs from their young years!

this was fr gonna be a one shot to get me back in the groove (annie x reader x smoke is kicking my ass y’all) but things happen! part two already writtenn

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

may 26, 1919

The air was damp as the girl who was new to the town walked back to her grandmother's home. Dirt and rocks kicked up, dusting the hem of her dress, only adding to her taut emotions. Her eyes squinted in faux anger. Her back tensed subtly.

“I’m not lookin’ for no boy to be in my way,” Annie churned out smoothly and full of attitude. The basket on her arm—full of the herbs her grandmother had sent her into town to retrieve—swung with each sway of her hips. The pursing of her lips—full of annoyance from being followed by the eager young man—intrigued the onlooker more than it should have. He loved her attitude, the bite in her voice that got stronger and more accented the longer he stayed at her side. But he never pushed too hard. He was a constant, a warm eye that she couldn’t deny the feeling of capturing.

He grunted at her side, hands in his pocket, feet kicking up more dust as he followed.

“I’m a man,” Smoke corrected gruffly but with no real heat, “not no boy.”

“Yeah, sure,” she rolled her eyes, stuffing down a chuckle. In the distance, her grandmother’s home came into view, but her stomach churned because despite the annoyance the man could be, she didn't want her walk to be over just yet. She scoffed to remind herself how to act, adding fire to her words. “Whatever you is, you gettin’ on my nerves,” she breathed with her lips in a straight line.

“Oh, please, woman,” he laughed under his breath. The eighteen year old’s eyes shined down at her, captivated by everything she was. He shook his head once. “You know you want me,” Smoke goaded. He bumped her shoulder to provoke her to which she reacted dramatically as if he’d pushed her toward the nearby bush. The stumble caused him to roll his eyes and laugh, only moving in closer. “You let me walk wit’ you ‘cause you like me. If you didn’t, you’d have that grandmama of yours set fire under my ass before I could even get away good.”

She had no real comeback because it was true. It was true, and he wasn’t supposed to know that. Moving her basket from one hand to another, she cocked her head at the man, eyeing him up and down.

“I’m still debatin’ it honestly,” she lowered her voice to appear menacing. But she couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across her face when he leaned in once more and matched her smile with a soft one himself.

~~~~~

may 30, 1919

Annie Laveau was only in Clarksdale for the summer. With hurricane season fast approaching, she was encouraged by her mother and father to spend time with her only living grandparent. She'd finished schooling not too long ago, and with not many prospects, she had nothing to lose by learning a new place. What she didn't realize was that she had so much to gain.

The young woman had quickly found a friend, Pearline, and with Smoke always in her face, she'd also had the pleasure of meeting his twin, Stack.

Outside of her small social circle, she'd also grown closer to her grandmother in such a short span of time. She'd taken to watching the older woman as she worked in the small home that converted into her shop during work hours. Hoodoo wasn't something that her family back home practiced so intently, so she found joy learning by watching, always sure never to over step.

Her grandmama was a hardy lady. She'd been through a world of experiences that added to her solidity and grandeur. Annie admired her uprightness, how the woman moved with a grace she only hoped to possess one day.

"Alright," the older woman announced, dusting her hands off on her apron before turning quickly on her feet. She faced her customer head on, and Annie watched with astonished eyes as she relayed the notes for the man. "When you get home," she continued, words firm, "you pour this oil over a burnin’ candle. Say what you need over the flame and leave it to burn. Then you rest, ya' hear? No unnecessary movin' or yard work. Just rest."

“Yes ma’am,” the customer replied with a sharp nod of his head. He departed with a shake of the older woman’s hand and an acknowledgment to Annie, and the shop returned to quiet at once.

“You’re good at this,” Annie whispered, rising from her seat to help tidy up the work surface. She put oils back where she learned they went, tossed cloths into a hamper. Behind her, her grandmother hummed in affirmation.

“A woman always gotta find something she good at,” she sighed, a smile playing on her lips. “It helps the tough days feel a little lighter.”

The young woman took a deep breath as the words penetrated her heart. She was newly a woman—able to go long journeys without her parents at her side, able to make decisions for the life that she wanted. But she had no clue what her future held, and she had no idea what she was good at. She didn’t know much about life outside of Louisiana, and Clarksdale had been it’s own shock to her system—though welcomed.

The older woman watched with an amused gaze while anxiety grew over Annie’s body. And with one smooth look and a gentle tone full of care, all her worry was taken away.

“I know you ain’t here for long,” she sighed regretfully, already so used to the younger woman being around, “but I’ll teach you some of what I know. Maybe you’ll find something that you’re good at, huh?”

~~~~~

june 4, 1919

Smoke Moore hadn’t had an easy life; He was young with a world of trouble on his shoulders. A dead mother. A dead father. A brother he had to keep out of trouble. Trauma from a war he shouldn’t have fought in. Oftentimes, his life felt bleak, like it wasn’t going anywhere. But then he met her.

Smoke couldn't deny the fact that Annie had somehow crawled into his chest. The sight of her alone was enough to have his heart beating erratically. The sound of her voice, her laugh, her humming when she got comfortable on their walks, it all made him melt for her.

She was unlike any person he’d met before, somehow possessing the qualities that allowed him to get out of his own head. With her, he saw himself as more than the boy with no parents, the boy who’d brought the end to his father’s life before fleeing the only place he knew for war overseas. He saw himself as more than the boy who stole other folks hard-earned money to make a living for himself and his brother.

He found himself envisioning a life with Annie, how they'd get married and have babies and create a home where only love, care, and dedication reside. He wanted her, but somehow, on their walks together, he’d fallen into more of a playful friend type of role. It didn’t matter how hard he flirted, how much he cared for her, how frequently he walked her home—Annie gave him no energy back.

The man sighed begrudgingly, folded his arms across his chest as discontent made itself known on his face.

“What’s wrong wit’ you now,” the younger twin chirped out, rolling his eyes at his brother’s moodiness.

“It’s Annie,” Smoke huffed, bringing a sly grin to Stack’s face.

“You still ain’t locked that down,” he laughed incredulously, tossing his head back and smacking his knee. When Stack had first met the young woman and saw how much his brother wanted her, he’d told him, That’s the kind of woman you get by bein’ in her face all day. Fine as she is, I ain’t got time for all that. And while Stack allowed his eyes to linger between the various women he dated, Smoke had taken those words to heart.

Whenever he got the chance, he made sure Annie knew he was around. The younger of the two couldn’t believe his brother’s dedication, but he deeply respected it nonetheless.

“She different,” Smoke grunted as an excuse for how hard it had been to hold himself back. He bit the inside of his cheek when remembering the other, more real excuse. He shrugged, words raw in his throat. “And she only here for a few more months anyway. So it don't matter.”

Stack watched the emotion pass over his brother’s face, and his grin dropped to something more sincere. He shook his head in disagreement.

“It do matter,” he reasoned. “Even more reason to get y’all locked in.” Upon his declaration, he smacked his brother on the back of his shoulder. His eyes shined, sincerity quickly bleeding into hilarity. "And yo' ass ain't never had a girlfriend, so I gotta make this happen," he belly-laughed. Annie had been the only woman the older twin ever found interest in. Girls would fall all over themselves for either of the Moore brothers, but Smoke always casted his eyes aside. Of course his brother just had to go for the first girl that didn't want him bad enough to beg.

As Stack's mind went wild around an idea to get the girl of his brother's dreams, Smoke's thoughts ran to Annie.

I bet she lookin' real pretty right now, he thought to himself with a soft smile. It was nearing night, so he knew that she was home. She probably cookin' wit' her grandmama, he breathed. Or sittin' out on the porch. Or roundin' the chickens up. Or bathin'. That last thought made him flustered, mind holding on to the image much longer that he thought it should've, but he couldn't push the need to wonder away.

His thoughts of the woman didn't lead there often, but when they did, they overcame every bit of his function. Annie was beautiful, anybody with eyes could see that.

When he retired to his bed for the night, Smoke allowed his body to be lulled to sleep by the thought of her—ever prominent at the front of his mind.

~~~~~

june 15, 1919

It was a blazing night in mid summer, but every young person was itching to get out the house and into some real fun. The twins—the younger one in all honesty—we’re throwing a li’l shindig a few miles out of town. It was on an open plot of land they’d been scoping out for weeks, and Stack, propelled to assist his brother in winning Annie’s affection, finally bit the bullet and started spreading word of the party. The news went everywhere. From plantation to plantation. To Mound Bayou to Jackson. To church pews and grocery store aisles. Everybody was ready for a night of fun, and Annie had been successfully convinced by Pearline to sneak out of her grandmother’s home.

The young woman respected authority, especially her grandmama’s. Annie knew that the older woman didn’t play games and her household had rules, but when Pearline had let loose that she’d heard a couple girls talking about scooping up Smoke, she didn't even fight herself on it before caving.

Since she arrived in Clarksdale, the man had been in her face and on her ass about giving him a chance, and not once had he backed down. He was committed to whatever game she was playing. He wanted her—they both knew it—and she wanted him. For some reason, she hadn’t allowed herself to have it. Part of it could have been that she was only supposed to be in Mississippi for the summer due to hurricane season. Part of it could have been that her grandmother didn’t always have the nicest things to say about the twins. But either way, she was beginning to feel herself tear down those high ass walls brick by brick.

And she wasn't about to let some other girl have what was meant to be hers.

Stack combed the gel through his brother’s hair, both sets of eyes locked forward on their reflection in the mirror. The style was simple and polished with a practiced ease that came from years of doing the same matching hair doo every time. Their attire was similar but specific to each brother.

“When you see her, you ask her to dance,” the younger twin coached with a seriousness locked up in his cadence. “I don't care what you got goin' on. There don’t need to be nothing more important tonight than her, got it?”

“Got it,” the older twin nodded, eyes low as he tried his best to envision the night ahead.

Dress skirts and bare legs trudged through ankle height grasses to get to the function’s center. There was a bonfire, adding more heat to the night air, and around it were folks dancing to guitar strumming and low singing. Loud voices filled the scene with something messily warm—like the consequences of the night didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Annie and Pearline moved like sin. The Louisianan allowed the music to move through her just as her friend did, shoulders back and chin high, but there was an unease to her. Annie kept her head on a swivel because she was here for one reason only. While Stack was by the fire with three women hanging off his arms—all ranging in shape and color like he was in a damn wet dream—the older twin was nowhere to be seen.

Smoke could often be located in the back of rooms or off in a lone corner, but they were outside with nothing but open field around them. He could be anywhere—doing some of anything.

“You gon’ stress yourself out over that man,” Pearline crooned, voice like velvet against soft skin. Her hips moved with a tantalizing roll from her dancing.

“I ain’t worried ‘bout Smoke,” Annie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms to feign annoyance. She tried to appear like the reason she snuck out wasn’t because she’d been worried about other girls getting their hands on the man, but she found it hard to conceal the truth. Smoke had already begun to grow beneath the surface of her skin, planting himself in her system. The thought of losing that felt like a lifeline being stripped away.

She tried her best to control her emotions, but when the young woman heard an uptick in flirtatious laughter behind her, her eyes narrowed.

A woman stood close, too close, while smoke from a cigarette billowed around the man’s face. He was unamused, not giving the girl any bit of his attention, but whether it was a grunt or a low hum, she continued to find something to chuckle at. She continued to find a reason to lean into his side just a bit more.

Annie was partially right in her assumption; Smoke was off to the side of the fire where he could watch a majority of the land. He was keeping his eye on every person, every laugh, every stomp of someone’s foot as the music picked up. When she shifted her position, dancing a little deeper now that he was near—now that she knew that he could see her—their eyes met through the tall flame, blazing a hello only they could understand.

Pearline snickered because in her words, It’s only a matter of time before you give that man a chance, Annie-girl. And she was right. Because every walk on backroads was weighing her down. Every nudge to her shoulder. Every harsh word he softened just for her. Every look across a room.

The woman at his side looked appalled when the man pulled away from her. Smoke muttered something about having something to take care of because though troubled, he was never not polite. Each step worked to bring himself closer to Annie, and as he moved in, his heart thudded. Anticipation and unfettered joy mingled as one, an emotion he only experienced when in the woman’s presence. Since she’d moved into town, his body had been overwhelmed by it, but he had no complaints as he realized all he needed in life was her and the feeling she brought him.

Annie gulped at how heavy his eyes were on her. It was like he was stripping her with his gaze. Stripping away her barriers. Stripping away her clothes. She met him halfway—body hot beneath the surface because of his eyes, because of how he looked so damn good in his clothes.

His stride was long, eating up the space between them until he was standing in front of her, and Annie closed the rest of the space. Her chest pressed into his, head tilting in a question she wasn't ready to ask just yet.

~~~~~

june 16, 1919

Eighteen years old and only living with her grandmother for the summer, Annie understood the reality of things. They were young and would have miles between each other in just a few months, but she didn’t want to believe it. Last night, she’d let her guard down. The music filled her as they danced as one, her arms around his neck and his holding her closely at the waist. Their bodies melded together, sticky from the heat and open from their shared emotions. They had leaned in, Smoke more than Annie, of course, but the kiss they’d shared was mutual. It was full of want. Full of desperation. Full of months spent getting closer to the inevitable.

When the man had whispered against her lips, asking her to stay longer, she couldn’t say no. And now, he was walking her home in the early morning air. Beneath their feet was the dirt road they’d traveled too many times to count. The sun threatened to rise behind their heads, but it was still dark, too late for two young people who cared so rawly to be out alone together.

“Thank you,” Smoke whispered against the dewed morning. His eyes were looking out into the distance, Annie’s grandmama’s house coming into view. A smile sat on her face, and when the young woman looked his way, she was taken away from how soft he looked.

“For what,” she questioned, brows drifting closer together. Their arms brushed each other continuously, their bodies not knowing how to be apart anymore.

“For puttin’ up with me mostly,” he huffed out a laugh, pressing in closer. Their words were quiet to not disturb the waking world too much, but Annie’s confusion only settled deeper. “I know what people think of me,” he continued in answer. “Doin’ crime to get by. Daddy gone missin’. Goin’ to war off forged documents and too young to even have my own thoughts. My life ain’t pretty. Ain’t what I think you deserve neither—”

“I’m the only one who can say what I deserve, Elijah,” she cut in, using his given name for the first time aloud. It took him aback, the sound of it, the softness, how her voice curled around the syllables in a way that left no room for judgment.

“I’m just sayin’,” he continued exasperatedly. “When I first saw you, you was like a dream I just realized I’d been envisionin’. You been puttin’ up with me for months now, and last night was better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Yeah,” Annie whispered breathlessly, agreeing too deeply with his words. The smile on her face was enough to make Smoke’s heart explode in his chest. Neither of them could stop picturing a future where they got to do this every day—walk, talk, dream.

But then reality struck as they approached the home.

It was early, too early for Annie’s grandmother to be awake, but there on the porch, the woman sat in her rocker. Eyes bored into the two young people. The slow, steady sound of the rocker built their fear.

“Annie,” the man breathed, terrified at the way he was being watched. He’d never met the older woman, had only seen her in passing, keeping his head down because she meant business and he respected that. But now, she was watching and judging, and he was walking her granddaughter home in the near dark morning after she’d snuck out the night before.

“Just follow my lead,” she whispered, breath growing heavier as if she’d just ran a lap around the whole of Clarksdale.

Their steps faltered the closer they got, bodies grazing just once more before separating for good. The older woman had already clocked it all from afar anyway, and when they stood at the bottom of the porch steps, she’d already made her mind up.

“Go inside, Anna Mae,” her grandmother growled. Attention locked on Smoke, she sized him up, just waiting for him to back down. But his eyes never wavered. He stood before her with a straight spine, soft shoulders, head forward.

Annie was terrified for the man. Her eyes grew wide, hands flailing as her words came out broken and strangled.

“But grandmama—”

“Inside,” she hurled, finally breaking eye contact with the young man to give Annie a stern and threatening glance. The younger woman stomped her foot—just once in discontent—sending dirt into the air as she crossed her arms under her ample bosom. She turned toward Smoke, face shifting from pissed to apologetic—remorseful. Moving a step closer, she engulfed him in a hug. She squeezed tight as if it were going to be their last chance to do so, and he held on even tighter, amazed that she’d come around to him in a night. He promised himself that he’d make sure this hug wasn’t their last no matter what happened once she inevitably followed her grandmother’s instruction.

“Thank you for walkin’ me home, ‘Lijah,” she whispered in his ear, lips soft against his skin. “And thank you for last night.” The appreciation came out torn, each syllable punctuated with fear. She’d deceived her grandmother and had returned with a man she knew was deemed unsavory, but the feeling of him and his presence was too real to give up. Smoke shivered at the feeling of her breath against his ear, fingers twitching at the young woman’s sides from the feeling of her grandmother’s eyes on him.

“Oh—Of course, Annie,” he breathed, shock floating through his body.

And in a second, she was gone, disappearing into the home with a defiant stomp of her feet when passing the older woman. All light softness had been snuffed out of the morning as the two people stared at each other. The young man stepped forward, hands at his side pulling at his pants in anxiety. He cleared his throat, and his mouth fell open. But before he could get a word in, she interrupted.

“This is a household with rules,” she began.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered.

“And we do things in a particular manner,” she breathed sternly.

“As you should,” he affirmed hesitantly.

The older woman stood from her seat, and as she shifted her weight to one foot, pursed her lips, and settled her arms under her chest, she looked far too much like the young woman that had trampled into the house all angry. Her eyes took him in once more, mind thinking loudly as she weighed the consequences of her next words.

“What yo’ intentions wit’ my Anna Mae,” she wondered aloud, cadence dipping sweetly at the young girl’s birth name. And Smoke smiled to himself because he’d never actually spoken his wants aloud in such a manner. He’d been quiet in his affection—verbally only—because when people saw him walking with Annie or dancing with Annie or kissing Annie near a roaring fire, they knew his care for her. But this was different. Honesty coursed through him, the need to convey his heart’s desires helping him speak his truth.

"I have plans to court her, ma'am," Smoke choked out. And the woman's brow raised, and her face contorted into skepticism, and out of fear, he immediately continued his train of thought. "I was goin' to ask if that was okay with you," he nodded truthfully, words ripping through the morning air, "but I wasn't entirely sure she liked me very much."

"She likes you plenty," the woman bellowed, hands moving to her hips. She was ready to rip him a new one—something about how he hadn't yet made the effort to introduce himself, how she'd see him in town ducking and dodging, how he was trouble personified and her Anna Mae didn't need no trouble—but when the man's eyes drifted toward the front window and softened at the pair of eyes he met on the other side, all she could do was take a deep sigh. "Come back in the morning," she commanded, body settling back into her rocker. The sound of wood against wood filled his ears, and his expression brightened. "I wanna see you bright an' early. 'Fore my rooster crow and the world wake up. Then maybe we can talk about it."

She nodded once, keeping her face stone, not allowing the man to know what was running through her mind.

All he could think about was Annie standing at the window, curtains drawn and face red with embarrassment and adoration at the same time.

"Yes ma'am," he smiled delicately, hopefully. Just before he turned back to the road to travel in the direction of the place he laid his head, he sent a nod to the front window, and the young woman's heart swelled.

~~~~~

july 23, 1919

Smoke had come back the next day as told by Annie's grandmother, and since then, he'd been given permission to court her. That bright, early morning, the older woman had put him to work; Every one of her chores had to be completed in an extremely particular manner as she watched, noting if he huffed or sighed in annoyance—although he never did—paying attention to if his body relaxed when Annie brought him a cup of ice water—which it always did. There was no negating the fact that he had deep affection for her, so she allowed the relationship to bloom, even with the knowledge of Annie returning back home to Louisiana once hurricane season was over.

The pair of young people laid near a row of magnolias and pines, taking in the late summer breeze that worked to cool their hot skin. Annie was wearing her favorite color, blue, a color Smoke had grown fond of in his months knowing her. The dress dipped off one shoulder as she looked up at the sky through the leaves above them, taunting the man to lean in impossibly closer.

"You love to stare, don't you, Smoke," she teased, giggling to herself when he jumped at the sound of her charming voice. The young man grunted familiarly, joining her with his back to the blanket he'd brought along with their light lunch. And still, his head turned in her direction, eyes meeting her face like always.

"I told you 'bout callin' me that," he drawled in that thick accent the woman swooned for. Her smile softened in acknowledgement—because yes—he’d told her too many times to count that after he heard her utter his given name, he never wanted to be called anything else. She’d been added to a short list of individuals who could know him so deeply. She saw him for who he was past the war scars and trauma. Past the looting and destruction.

Annie hummed thoughtfully as her head turned in his direction. Fingers caressing his open palm, she considered how summer was drawing to a close and home was calling her name. But here in Clarksdale, she had a young love that was beginning to feel impossible to live without.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," she enunciated, smile bright, eyes wetting near the corners. She turned over, scooting in real close. Her head rest atop his chest, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt, and she fully rested her body next to his. The feeling of him, strong and sturdy beneath her, had her pulse droning in a soothing beat.

Then Elijah pulled her closer.

Her leg swung over his, straddling him on both sides. Their faces were inches away, so close that their breaths mingled, tickling the edges of their mouths.

"I like seein' you above me," the man flattered, hands drifting up the young woman's outer thighs.

"I like you beneath me," she blushed. She ghosted her lips against his in a teasing manner, and when he moved forward to capture her mouth in a kiss, she pulled back with a laugh. "Tell me why you deserve it," Annie purred, hips settling down against his pelvis. Elijah groaned, teeth gritting, hands gripping the fabric of her dress.

"Because I'm good to you, baby," he swooned, jaw relaxed. He was ready to beg for it, to submit to the woman because he needed it just that much—and who was he to not submit for a woman like Anna Mae Laveau.

The young woman above him hummed, ease taking over her features, and then she leaned down, capturing him in a kiss, and he conceded.

~~~~~

august 3, 1919

When Annie met Cornbread, Grace, Bo, and Mary for the first time, her heart filled out even more.

That day, she had been in town with Pearline, checking out some fabrics at the tailor’s, when the two women stumbled upon the twins. They both looked freshly shaven and crisp, identical but with their own unique flares. Stack had a wide smile plastered on his face, taking in the sight of her and Pearl with a greedy eye. The quieter man, though, tipped his head at the young women, polite and friendly.

“Stack,” Annie greeted with a nod. She turned toward the other man, lips lifting into a knowing smile. “Elijah,” she nearly purred, voice so decadent that the man blushed, casting his eyes away in an effort to calm his beating heart.

“You two look beautiful,” Smoke commented, only looking into Annie’s eyes. Beside them, Stack and Pearline chuckled, shaking their heads.

"Thank you, Smoke," Pearline hummed, paying close attention to the way her friend gazed at the man. "What y'all up to today?"

"We havin' a li'l get together tonight," the younger twin disclosed, grin getting larger. He moved into Pearline's side, bumping her shoulder while looking her up and down. His teeth tugged on his bottom lip, head tilting to the side. "Y'all wanna come?"

"I ain't tryna be no where wit' you if you gon' be flirtin' with me, Stack," Pearline turned her nose up. "Especially if Mary there," she added, crossing her arms.

The man huffed, moving back toward his brother who was too concerned with making eyes at Annie—who was too concerned with imagining having Smoke all to herself.

Elijah raised an eyebrow, quietly questioning the woman. A feeling crept into his body, a flutter in his stomach, an expanding in his chest. When he was around her, Smoke felt like he was constantly having to hold himself back. His adoration for her was a consistent emotion that only wanted to make itself know. He was eager and desperate for more time with her, greedy for her attention.

And Annie was willing to give it to him. She didn't allow their eye contact to waver. Her fingers twitched at her side. Her feet itched to move in his direction.

"We'll be there," she answered aloud for both of the young women, cheesing at the man who was overjoyed by her answer.

The young girl didn't have to sneak out this time around. Since Elijah had been in her grandmother's good graces—helping around the house and speaking each time he walked Annie home—she felt that he was to be trusted. And aside from that, Annie had promised to not be out late. Promised to stay near Pearline. Promised not to come home pregnant.

“Well, you must be the girl Smoke be spendin’ all his time daydreamin’ ‘bout,” Annie heard as she and Pearline entered the lively farmhouse. The voice belonged to a man who was tall and sturdy with a way about him that easily pulled laughter from the back of her throat. And his words didn't even bring her pause. She drifted her eyes to the man behind him, quiet as always and staring with that usual brooding need.

"I think I might be," she chuckled, paying close attention as Smoke's face grew a bashful smile. "Annie," she greeted with a hand out, learning that the man's name was Cornelius—though everybody called him Cornbread.

She met Bo and Grace next, a young couple around her age who were falling all over each other in love. She couldn't help but to envision being like that—carefree.

Then she met Mary. She was slightly younger, spry and with her nose wide open for Stack who seemed to enjoy every ounce of attention she gave him. The girl's mother owned the farmhouse they were hanging out in, and as Annie eyed her curiously, she understood a lot from what was not being said.

The night was fun—so fun that she forgot what the future held. Those moments—laughing with new friends, dancing with a man that was becoming tangled in her heart—made her feel alive in a way she hadn't experienced before.

But soon, reality would come crashing in.

~~~~~

august 21, 1919

“My mama wrote to me a few days ago,” Annie announced, cadence slow like the words themselves were not ready to leave her mouth. Her body language was taut, less inviting with the onslaught of emotions. She cleared her throat. “She said the worst of the weather is over. That I can come back home.”

The man said nothing. He just simply looked ahead, face dejected.

“I’m leavin’ at the top of the month, ‘Lijah” the young woman concluded, eyes on her hands. She pulled at her fingers, twisting a ring around one of them to give herself anything to keep her focus on. If she thought about it too long, she’d say something she regretted—three words that felt inappropriate and somehow inadequate for the moment. Her emotions were too big, and Elijah still hadn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed eventually, and instead of opening his mouth, the man reached over, tangling their fingers together.

~~~~~

september 1, 1919

Dust filled the air of the train station to the point that it felt like their lungs were coated in grit. Their mouths were dry, eyes wet.

Smoke stood off to the side as Annie said her goodbyes, hugging her grandmother and her friends—Stack and Pearline. She’d said farewell to Cornbread, Grace, Bo, and Mary yesterday, and that was filled with just as much emotion as now. The man was wiping his face when the young woman pulled away from Pearline’s hug, and their eyes met on instinct.

“You just gon’ stand there,” Annie questioned in a lilt, head cocked to the side, hands meeting her hips. And Elijah didn’t respond with words; He simply engulfed her, arms circling her torso, face landing in her neck. As Annie held him close, it felt like they were the only two people that mattered, that everybody else who was leaving their loved ones didn’t exist.

“Elijah,” the young woman’s voice cracked. She felt tears wet her skin and the fabric of her dress the deeper the young man sank into her, but she just held him closer, her cries matching his.

~~~~~

october 4, 1919

Being apart for just one month, Smoke felt he was spinning off his axis.

He remembered the day clearly: waking up at the ass crack of dawn, trudging over to Annie’s grandmother’s, knocking on the door with sad eyes, walking her, her grandmother, Pearline, and Stack to the train station, and sending her off with tears in his eyes. He had kissed her after, after crying in her neck, and he had promised to write to her. But he wasn’t the best writer—or reader, for that matter. With his upbringing and joining the war so young, school was never a stable environment for him. He did what he could, got by ‘cause that’s how a lot of people lived in Clarksdale. But he committed to doing it for her, to learning.

It seemed the man was writing every damn day once he got the hang of it. He’d tell her all about his day, how he still helped her grandmama with chores, how he committed himself to visiting her everyday, how Stack was still planning his elaborate parties with dreams of making it a career someday. And she wrote him back just as much as he wrote her. Annie’s letters were full of stories about the bayou and what city life was like on the weekends. She’d send him kisses pressed to paper with incantations written in the margins—all of it flooded with her love.

It wasn’t practical, but it was necessary, and it worked for them. For now.

Annie was doing her own spinning and spiraling because since she’d gotten back from Mississippi, home just hadn’t felt like home. She thought of her grandmother often—her soft sternness that meant well, her lessons in hoodoo that had become incorporated in her everyday life now. She thought of her Elijah—his gruff delicate nature that soothed every part of her being, his kisses beneath magnolia trees that still blazed against her lips.

She stared at his most recent letter, full of pressed flowers and his words of love. He wrote of how he missed her and her eyes and her smell and her body and her kisses. The casualness of it made her chest burn, lower stomach sizzling right alongside it as she remembered the last time their bodies had been close. She missed him—terribly. But even then, there was more to Clarksdale than Elijah Moore.

She had friends there, Pearline specifically. She had connections to the people and the land that she couldn’t give up. In the summer she’d been there, she and the town had become woven in a way. There was no going back to how her heart beat before she knew Clarksdale.

~~~~~

october 16, 1919

The young woman writhed against her bedsheets. She tossed and turned and fought herself to find a comfortable position to lay, but there appeared to be none. The air was damp and hot, the space between her legs meeting the feeling head on.

In her attempt to sleep, she allowed herself to picture Elijah, and in picturing him, she got real imaginative. The pair hadn't done anything obscene together. Their interactions had been marked by chasteness, but beneath it all, need clawed to be let out.

Annie's hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown, toying with the idea to seek her own body out. Fingers light and curious, she felt at the fabric of her panties, gasping in surprise at what she found. And after that first touch, she was unable to deny herself any longer.

The pads of her fingers circled her clit, tight swirls driving her crazy. She imagined them to belong to Smoke. In her mind, he was being all gentle to make sure she was okay, but when her fingers pressed into her button in indecent need, she imagined him to have become greedy by the small cries she was letting out.

She whispered his name—in her head only because she couldn't imagine what would happen if she said it aloud. Like a spell or a chant or a cry laced with intent.

She worked herself to the edge, and when she was ready, she imagined Elijah breathing a command into her ear: a small let go for me.

And she did.

~~~~~

october 28, 1919

The longer Annie spent in Louisiana, the more she dreamed of Clarksdale. Her body was attuned to the spiritual world, and every night—when she wasn't thinking about fucking Elijah—she fell into elaborate dreams about the lives of people in the town she missed dearly. The man's letters were certainly helping her in doing that. Not once had they slowed in frequency or dipped in quality.

In his most recent letter, though, the man had expressed concern that he was holding up her life, that she could do better than him—because Elijah always thought that she could do better than him. He told her that he wouldn’t crucify her for entertaining another man, and he couldn’t be mad because he felt like he was wasting her time.

And the letter had propelled Annie into a heap of dreams about Sad Ole Elijah, crying and writing letters just to pass the time before he heard from her again. And Sad Ole Elijah seeing Annie return after five, ten, fifteen years apart with a new man on her arm. And Sad Ole Annie foolishly trying to fill an Elijah shaped hole in her heart.

There was no one for her but him, no one for him but her, and she resented him for thinking so.

She expressed as much in her next letter, how she don’t need no man but you and how you selfish to just push me off on somebody else ‘cause you feel bad. It wasn’t fair, but it was how she felt, and Annie never held back her feelings for no man.

~~~~~

november 1, 1919

Smoke received it one early November morning, right after visiting with Annie’s grandmother and right before he went to run the streets with his brother. He felt his heart pitch, confusion and dread mingling with his fear. He was just trying to do what was right. Never once did he plan to stop being there for her. Never once did he plan to stop his care for her—what had turned from care and into love right before his eyes—but she was pissed, and he honored that.

His hand crumpled the page's edge, her words of anger splayed there in all their honesty.

He didn’t write back all at once. He gave himself time to think—the length of the rest of the day—and when the sun dipped, he got to spilling every crazed emotion just for her.

Annie, I ain't never meant to offend ya'. I just want the best for ya'. I want you to have a good life. If that's with me, then thank God. If it's not, then I just want you happy, healthy, safe. You mean the world to me, Ann. You my friend. You my heart. You my love. You my comfort. And you will always have me in yo' life no matter what. I love you Anna Mae. Yours 'til death, Elijah M.

~~~~~

november 18, 1919

Annie didn't write back, and Elijah didn't stop writing.

He isolated himself, spent weeks with his nose to the paper. He didn't want to overwhelm her, so the most heartfelt letters were kept to himself, but the others were sent back to back—day after day. He wrote of his day: what he had planned and what he'd already done; what he'd eaten and what he wished he could eat—usually her cooking; what her grandmother was up to and what crazy chores she had him doing to keep him out of trouble. He kept things light—but personal—and she still didn't write him back.

For more than a week, he felt his chest caving in. An agonizing feeling was making its way into his system, and he felt that without her, he would simply become a husk of himself.

That morning, he stayed in bed past sunrise—past the rooster call and the rising of day. He didn't eat—couldn't; Half the time, it barely felt he could breathe at all. His heart grew heavy as he willed himself out of bed, the afternoon sun already high, but he knew he had to go to the woman's home eventually. His body was riddled with last night's sleeplessness. He was a vision of exhaustion and sadness and hopelessness and lovesickness. And when he walked out into the sun, he was blinded by the crisp day.

Each step to Annie's grandmother's house felt like dread. He'd missed the morning chores without notice, and since he'd been visiting with the woman daily, he could already imagine the mix of worry and disappointment on her face when she saw the state that he was in. He had worked to conceal his hurt while around her. He didn't want to appear pathetic, though he felt he was.

Every thought he had was of Annie.

Every dream he dreamt was of Annie.

And he felt that he had ruined it with an ease he didn't quite understand yet.

The walk reminded him of when he'd stroll beside the young woman with a grin and a brush too close to her arm. He remembered her rough exhales when pretending to dislike his advances, her light laughs when she allowed herself to give in just once. The house stood in the distance, and the closer he got, the more he felt like falling apart.

Annie's grandmother was in her rocker, as always, the steady sound of wood against wood flitting past his ears. She worked at something in her hands: a beaded necklace—white and blue in color. His breath caught in his throat before she even met his eyes, and just as she did, the screen opened to a view of the woman he'd missed dearly.

Annie stood there, glass of sweet tea passing between her hand and her grandmother's hand. Then she turned to him, fists settling on her waist as she cocked her hip to the side.

Smoke felt sick in the best way.

He could reach out and touch her.

He could smell her.

He could taste her—if she allowed.

Months apart began to feel like they hadn't been a thing at all because here she was—in the flesh, looking all pretty in their favorite color. Blue.

Smoke wasted no time in speeding from his spot in the road to where she stood on the porch. He engulfed her, hugging her deeply and scooping her body up in his arms. He lifted her from the ground, pulling a surprised squeal from her throat and not even caring about it. He held her like she was his lifeline, and she accepted it, burying her face in the side of his neck while tears weld up in her eyes.

~~~~~

november 21, 1919

"You don't get to tell me what I need, Elijah," Annie reprimanded, finally allowing the man to know why she decided to come back, why she decided to stay in Clarksdale for good. "That letter pissed me off because you are good enough for me. You are perfect for me, and there ain't nobody on God's green earth that can take the place you've made in my heart." She shook her head, eyes wild in confusion and hurt. Smoke bit back a whine, emotion building in his chest.

"I feel the same way 'bout you," he admitted, moving forward and attempting to touch her waist. But the young woman moved away, holding her hand up between them.

"Then why did you write the letter," she questioned. "Why do you keep actin' like better is waitin' for me when you right here?"

"Because, Annie," he breathed, throat tight, "I ain't shit. I don't have nothing to offer you. No money. No real job 'less you count the bullshit me and Stack do."

"I don't want no money, Elijah," she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, "I want you. The good and the bad. No matter what that means."

"Baby—"

"I wouldn't have come back if I didn't want that with you," she tried again, words strangled. "I know about yo' mama and daddy. I know what you did. I know why you had to leave. And I know how you and Stack gotta get by. That shit don't scare me."

"Annie—"

"I want you, Elijah," she interrupted once more. "I love you. Nobody else."

And that cemented it—because there was nothing he could do to change her mind because when Annie made a decision, she was sticking to it. And even then, there was no way he could deny her wants when he needed the same thing just as bad.

~~~~~

december 7, 1919

Tension grew as the pair got closer.

There was no longer the impending doom of Annie returning to Louisiana. She was in Mississippi to stay—for good now—and they used that knowledge to their advantage.

Nearly every moment was spent at each other's side.

At Annie's home. At Smoke's.

There was no logical reason to hold back. So their hands explored each other's bodies. And their fear bled away into yearning—a craving for the other person and a drive to meet that need.

~~~~~

december 17, 1919

“Elijah,” the woman cried, voice straining around his name in a way it hadn’t before. It made the man’s body unfurl, emotions spiking deep in his gut. He kissed along the side of her neck, holding her close because even with the wood stove warming his small home, it was freezing. They removed layer after layer of clothing, settling under thick blankets in a hurry. She whispered his name against his forehead when he moved between her legs, and he whimpered hers back when he felt like her warmth and sweetness was going to be the death of him.

Neither of the two young adults had ever been in this position, this bare and close to another person. Their chests heaved at the thought of coming undone at the hands of another. They writhed at the novice touching of fingers to trembling skin. Annie trailed her hand down Elijah’s chest, spurring the man to move his hand to her hip. He let her touch, let her explore, and when her hand slipped from his stomach to the dense patch of hair between his legs, he moaned spiritly.

“Baby,” he gasped, nails piercing her skin. His pelvis flinched into her palm, sparking a gentle curious laugh out of the woman. And she followed her instinct to track the line of his body. Smoke’s face was in her neck when Annie wrapped her hand around his length. She squeezed gently, stroked it just once before guiding him to her folds.

The delicate, wet feeling of her meeting the throbbing, harsh feeling of him had their minds spiraling beautifully. When Annie directed him toward her entrance and nodded for him to continue, that was enough to have them both holding onto each other for dear life.

“Annie,” he spoke her name like it was the only word he knew. “Annie,” he spoke her name like she was capable of saving him from himself. His stomach clenched at the feeling of her soft walls surrounding him, and he wasn’t even all the way in, and he wasn’t even moving yet.

The young woman laid beneath him, eyebrows scrunched because what was this pressure?

She’d never felt anything like, and, sure, she’d touched herself before—often to the thought of the man above her—but she’d never felt something so intrusive yet inviting at the same time. She felt herself pulse around him, hips raising curiously only to recoil from the pain. Elijah was immediately moving to correct the harm he felt he’d done to his lover, palms coming to each side of her face before he attempted to shift away, but Annie halted him.

“Don’t move,” she whispered into the cold two room home. The whine came out before she could stop it, arms reaching around the man’s neck and pulling him down to lay flush against her body. “I want you here. Right here,” she demanded softly, rolling her hips to find comfort where the man had landed.

“O-okay,” Elijah trembled, trying his best to keep himself in tact. But his chin brushed the tops of her bare breasts and his hands sat at the sides of her ass and his dick just barely penetrated her walls.

They stayed like that. Just like that. Unmoving until they were both ready for more.

~~~~~

december 31, 1919

The pair rang in the new year together with a small group of family and friends. Stack, Mary, Cornbread, Bo, Grace, Pearline. They all piled over to Annie’s grandmother’s house because she and the older woman felt a hankering for a big meal. Greens, black eyed peas, and cornbread were the most important dishes to any New Year’s feast. They brought fortune, good luck, and money, so the two hoodoo women made sure that the people they cared about most were taken good care of.

Everyone sat around the dinner table, laughing bright and loud like they didn’t know no other way of being. But Elijah and Annie were in their own world. Their hands grazed under the table, bodies existing as one. Smoke would lean in real close, nudge Annie’s shoulder or whisper in her ear, and the woman would giggle bashfully and fight to hide her smile.

Across the table, the elder’s face held a grin. She nodded to herself, hopeful for the young couple’s future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~9,000

a/n: this is successfully revitalizing meeee

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GETTIN’ • IN • THE • WAY

part one • 1920s!au annie x reader x smoke

summary: elijah belongs to annie, but what will she do when she finds out that her man is splitting his time with another woman? tension boils over into lust, and bodies crumble as bonds forge themselves.

cw: smut, domme!annie, sub!smoke, domme!reader, knife!wielding!annie, lil mommy!annie, sweet!soft!whining!smoke, edging, deception, degradation, fight for power/dominance, alcohol/smoking, use of the nword

a/n: hey y'all! i been lowkey MIA recently-- i'm gonna be moving soon to start grad school in the fall, so i've been doing a lot of traveling and preparation for that! this is gonna be in two parts because it was starting to get rreallyy lengthy. also! this was adapted from a request + subsequent comments by @nysrevenge. this is also inspired by jill scott's gettin' in the way! ok bye-

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hips swung with might through the aisles of Maybelle’s General Store. Cans clattered around the shop, babies wailed as mothers consoled their tears, folks shouted for the items they needed from the back; Feet landed heavily against wooden floorboards, and right outside the front door, some old fool sat whistling a tune only the elders could recall now.

To anyone else, it would have seemed like a regular day. The sun was high in the sky, clouds lightly streaking the pale blue with that early spring ease. But something was brewing in the swing of those hips.

The woman was tall and thick in that nubile way. Beads sat tucked between her cleavage and underneath the neckline of her blue and white gingham dress. It was slightly wrinkled from the leather utility belt she took off before making the walk into town, but nothing about her appearance gave unkempt. She looked astonishing: lips rosy, eyes bright in mischief, hair tucked away into delicate day-old plaits that swept her shoulders.

A bushel of greens occupied her right hand. A brown paper bag of cornmeal in her left.

She didn't really need anything today. She had enough cornmeal to last the season, and she got greens two days ago when Cornbread stopped by her home. She was on his rotation for a monthly trade. She'd give him salves for when he was working the fields during the hot months, and he'd bring her whatever crop was doing well at the time. So she had plenty of greens.

But it was ironic, because even though her kitchen was fully stocked, Cornbread was the reason she was here.

Her old friend had a nasty habit of running his mouth—especially when she'd successfully play off being coy. The woman would flirt and laugh at jokes and nudge him on the shoulder. It was never serious—from either party the woman supposed—but it always resulted in the answers she needed regarding the man she was actually serious about.

Smoke Moore had been in her life on and off for nearly a year now. He'd trample through her home on cold nights, lay up in her bed, feast on her body and allow her to ruin his—then he'd leave. It was routine, and if Smoke wasn't the one doing the leaving, then it was her. The arrangement was a no commitment sort of thing. They'd dance at jukes and flirt with their eyes across rooms and lay up under each other when they needed a taste of something familiar, but that was it.

Until she saw Smoke talking with another woman just last week.

It had been in town, at this very general store. She'd been in town to pick up an order from the Chow's when she saw Smoke Moore and some woman in the alleyway between Maybelle’s General and the tailor’s. His face was in her neck. Her hands were gripping at his back. Their bodies were far too close and far too familiar. It made her pulse react, picking up speed while her fists clenched tight. She and Smoke Moore were not serious, but she’d be damned if she was made a fool of in public. The seething woman wasn't sure who the girl was, but she saw the flash of a bracelet—gold-plated with a ruby gem—and committed it to memory.

Seeing as though Smoke, his brother, and Cornbread ran in the same circles, the woman buttered her friend up, batted her eyelashes, and readied herself for the truth to rain in.

She found out easily that you worked for Maybelle: cashier—and errand girl when needed. You were new in town but had very quickly wound yourself around Smoke Moore's finger. According to Cornbread, the two of y'all were smitten. He'd gone on and on about how pretty you were and how sweet—the sweetest besides you, Miss Annie, Cornbread had remarked with red-tinted cheeks. But she got a li'l dangerous side to her. I'm startin' to think Smoke got a type.

He'd laughed it off because he knew in grave detail about the pair's relationship. He knew that Smoke couldn't get enough of his Annie and all the sweetness she would give him, but the gruff man played it off as best as he could by being obtuse and indifferent. It had shocked Cornbread to find out about you for that very reason, but it wasn't his business. Smoke wasn't tied down to one woman, and as far as he knew, neither of the women thought that themselves either.

But Annie was fired up nonetheless.

She eyed you from behind a shelf, eyes trained on the way you moved. Your smile was bright and earnest yet dark in a way that stirred something inside of her: jealousy but not, intrigue but different. Your hips moved as wild as hers did, determined in each step to reach your destination. She couldn't seem to stop herself from admiring your body, her hairline breaking out into a sweat that she falsely attributed to the Southern heat. She pushed the feeling down as far as she could, but it held onto her in the form of a ringing in her lower belly.

She was supposed to be angry right now—not eyeing another woman’s body with what could only be described as lust.

Greens and cornmeal in tow, she strode up to the counter. The customer in front of her had just left, causing the door to open and that blaring whistle-tune to grow in volume before the slam of it dampened the noise. She tried to let her anger and determination lead her, but it just morphed into something she promised herself was only curiosity.

As the customer drifted away from the counter and out of the front door, you allowed your aching shoulders to drop. A huff parted your lips, and you couldn’t stop imagining the clock striking the hour you were set to get off work. It had been a long, hot day, and your body ached. For rest. For reprieve. For something delicious and sinful to replace your fatigue with satisfaction. But there was work to be done, and as you saw a figure move in the corner of your eye, you locked back into your task.

"How my I help you," you smile softly, head rising as you felt the woman advance. Your eyes squinted as you eyed her body in the same way you didn't realize she'd done with you. You traveled from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet, taking your time appreciating her beauty and unknowingly raising her heart rate. Her hair was neat, edges curling from the humid air. Her beaded necklace worked to grab your attention, shifting as she set her items on the surface in front of you. Her gingham dress swayed with ease, thighs moving against the fabric from her wide gait.

You hadn't seen a woman this easily provocative in ages, and as much as you wanted to keep indulging in her presence, you knew you had to put your wayfaring eyes away for now.

"This all I got," she answered lowly, trying her best to push harshness out with her tone. But her accent fought against her. The distant essence of Creole rang like a song in your ears, drifting sweetness into your body even despite her shortness. Heat rose to your ears as you imagined hearing more words from her mouth, and when you met her eyes with a curious look, that was enough for you to know that you were done for.

She was staring into your soul, expression tight but eyes shining around the edges. The corner of her mouth twitched in a pout, and when her gaze drifted down your arm, landing on your gold-plated bracelet, her jaw clenched in an emotion you couldn’t yet name.

"That'll be 45 cents," you stated, moving behind you to retrieve a bag. You could hear the coins being slid across the counter, and when you turned back around, those big, brown eyes were locked on you once more. The woman's glare was narrowed taking you in in a way that felt full of both judgement and intrigue. Her gaze kept snapping back to your bracelet as you bagged her two items, and when you were done, she craned her neck to the side, looking at the swell of your breasts.

It felt like the two of you had been locked away in your own room, time seemingly frozen around you. You couldn’t pick up on the usual general store hustle and bustle—which was surprising to be accomplished because Maybelle’s was always loud. The rest of the world didn’t matter, just those eyes watching you like you held secrets that she was desperate to know. The look you gave her back was one of a lifted eyebrow and a slick smile that said you’d read her too well.

"I hope you have a wonderful day, beautiful," you hummed, sliding the bag toward her. You could hear the breath catch in her throat, and for a flash of a second, it looked like she had forgotten where she was—just as you had. Her chest rose quick. Her fingers twitched. Her throat bobbed as her mouth opened to let not even one sound out. You released a giggle at the look on her face, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

And before you knew it, she was gone.

The whistle from outside grew loud again as the door opened then shut. A baby cried somewhere distantly. A mothered shushed it soothingly. Cans scraped shelves at an incessant pace. The beautifully loud chorus of Maybelle’s returned to your burning ears, and the woman who had been in front of you just seconds ago loomed in the air and on your mind.

As you rang up customer after customer, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her skin was a deep brown, dress a dusty blue, cheeks flushing a dark red in the heat. You could have swore that she looked familiar in some minute or grand way. Maybe you’d seen her in town or somewhere with the younger crowd, but it bugged you for the entire rest of the day and long into the night.

Laying on your back in bed now, your gaze bore through the ceiling. Forehead scrunching and eye twitching in the dark, your mind ran wild.

I know her from somewhere, you thought to yourself, but it never fully landed no matter how long you envisioned her face and those big, brown eyes. Could be ‘cause of Messy’s, you pondered. Or Ada’s salon. Or from the train station.

It’s not like you had a large wealth of knowledge when it came to Clarksdale or the people who lived there. You’d moved into town a few months back, snagged a job from the owner of the local general store, went to work in the day and the occasional juke at night when things weren't too busy. But you hadn’t met many people aside from the twins.

The pair crossed your mind—hot as always.

Smoke and Stack were the first two people around your age who actually attempted to make your acquaintance in the small town. You were terribly new with nothing but working on the horizon, but when they walked into Maybelle’s one random Thursday morning, their attention locked hot on you. Stack was the most forward, talking your head off about how pretty your skin was and how feisty your personality was and how your eyebrow raising to question his motives had his heart thumping in his chest. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, the man was charming. But it was the other twin that brought you true intrigue.

Smoke was different from any man you’d met before. His solidity frightened you. His silence brought interest to the front of your mind. His eyes held a world of trouble—of secrets and pain—but when you flashed him a smile while his brother talked your ear off, you couldn’t deny the flash you saw behind them. It was a softness, a vulnerability, an offering of something that you wanted to dive into, and it didn’t take long to figure it out. A juke here and there, a kind word when he’d step into Maybelle’s—it all worked to break the air and space between you. A few nights later when he attempted to fold you up inside the backseat of his truck, he released a soft, wet gasp when you took control. And when your hand tightened around his throat and your body managed to over power his submissive one, those eyes flashed in the same exact way.

You didn’t often find a man that solid to the rest of the world but so soft under your dominant hands, so you fed the connection, brushed off the other twin who swore you wanted him, held Smoke close when he came to you in need.

But that still doesn’t tell you who that woman was. She was a beauty, and you could tell—even in her flustered state—she was a woman after your own heart: breathing with a dominance you wanted to meet head on. Those brown eyes stayed hot in your mind, and the view of her beaded necklace infiltrating her dress kept your body awake. You committed yourself to finding out who she was because whether you were familiar with her or not, she was definitely somebody you really wanted to get to know.

~~~~~

Come Friday, it was time for a night spent out on the town. Some fancy Blues singer was coming through the Delta and Messenger’s had snagged a couple of songs out of the musician. Clarksdale was abuzz with the news, and everybody and they mama had plans to dance so hard that they smelled like sweat, sex, and corn liquor. Folks put on they best dresses and dancing shoes, combed their hair into elaborate styles that would be ruined by the end of the night. But the most important part of the whole show was what you looked like when you walked in the building and who’s eyes would drift in your direction first.

You were going at it alone tonight. Stack had mentioned the function offhandedly, mumbling something about saving him a dance before the night was through, but Smoke had just nodded his head politely, eyes communicating more than words ever could.

You loved the casualness of your situation with the man. He was a friend—someone you loved to sneak off with and tell all of your business to about life before Clarksdale, someone you loved to hear tell his own stories when he was in the headspace to talk about the past. He was a lover—in many ways—someone who knew your body as you knew his, someone who caved under the weight of your control, someone who gave of themself in service of your needs, someone who trusted you to take care of all of theirs as well.

Everything was easy with Smoke. You didn’t care what he did outside of the time you saw him, and that worked better than anything could.

When you walked into Messenger’s, the heat of the building immediately engulfed you like a firm handshake or a hug from somebody too eager. It surrounded you on all sides, making you immediately grateful for your dress of choice. Heels landing heavy on hard floors, dress silks swaying with each dangerous switch of your hips, you commanded the room's attention. Heads turned your way as the piano thrummed in the background, and the smirk on your face only settled as you moved toward the bar.

"Lookin' mighty fine," Stack cooed in your right ear, leaning into your side as you took your seat.

"Thank you, Elias," you purred in his direction, bumping your shoulder against his.

The room hummed behind you, and with a drink in your hand now, you turned to face him. His eyes were dragging along your body, taking you in like he had every right to do so.

"When you gon' give me a chance, girl," he shook his head, licking his lips as he watched you down the contents of your glass. The chuckle you expelled showed just how ridiculous his question was, but he still didn't allow it to deter him.

"You know that ain't never happenin'," you giggled, looking behind you at the rest of the room. Folks were already dancing. Already gossiping. Already kissing. Your eyes almost immediately met Smoke's, and they blazed at you, shining in his special way. He raised his chin, greeting you subtly, cigarette between his lips clouding the air, and you smiled at him, short and knowing. "I don't fuck with family," you added on, facing Stack once more.

"Oh, please," he exhaled in hilarity, "Smoke wouldn't care, and I damn sure wouldn't mind."

"Stop playin'," you rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself—because if Stack was going to be anything, it was going to be funny.

"I'm not playin'," he assured. His eyebrows raised and shoulders shrugged the more he went on. The dimples on his face deepened as he grew determined. "Between you and Annie, he get plenty of lovin'. You don't wanna share none of yo' time wit' me?"

"Stack," you warned with a glare, and the man just held up both hands, knowing you'd willingly tear into his ass if you were provoked enough. You liked Stack, as a friend only. He was fun and cute and a good time, but not in a romantic or sexual way. As fine as he was, he played too many games, and you liked your partners to have a certain decorum to them, and Stack Moore wouldn't know decorum even if it knocked him over the head.

After the initial annoyance wore off, your mind focused on what he'd said: between you and Annie... You didn't think Smoke was only fucking with you, you never had, but this was the first time anyone had ever mentioned another person's name to your face. Your stomach tightened in understanding. Your chin rose as the words settled. Annie, you thought, mind locking on each letter.

"Who's that," you wondered aloud, eyebrows knitted.

"Who's who," Stack countered, confusion written all over his face.

"Who's Annie, nigga," you sighed heavily, rolling your eyes.

"Oh," the man slapped his knee, laughing like was in on some joke that you weren't. His dimples grew impossibly deeper as you watched his mind run wild. When he rose his head and took an observant look around the room, there was no mistaking the way his eyes lit up quickly. His hand raised, finger pointing to a far corner, smile turning wicked. "That's Annie."

When your eyes followed the extension of his finger, you saw exactly the woman he was talking about.

Dark blue velvet enrobed deep brown skin, hugging curves and smoothly down her backside. Woolen hair sat delicately atop her head, swirled in a french roll and pinned in place. Jewelry flashed your eye, lamp light bouncing off of gold and beaming in your direction.

She was a beauty, and when she turned in your direction, swaying her body into the arms of the man you spent too many nights with to count, heat rose to your face.

Annie, you thought to yourself, reciting her name like a prayer for bright days. That woman from Maybelle's who moved like sin, spoke harsh like she believed the way it came out of her mouth, and flushed a deep red when you pressed her on it. She was the woman who you split time with loving on Elijah. It made your heart race in excitement, and your mind swirled with fantasies. She was grinding against Smoke in a corner of the room, back to his chest, head thrown behind and against his shoulder.

But just then, her eyes drifted open, and her head turned toward you, and a smirk brightened her face.

"She sexy ain't she," Stack whispered, too loud for it to actually be effective, but still, your head nodded affirmatively. As the woman's hand reached around Smoke's head, settling on the back of his neck, you could tell by the expression on her face that she was trying to show off. She looked smug, jealous, angry—and too damn sexy for you to tolerate.

Smoke's face was in her neck now, breathing her in. He appeared soft—softer than you'd ever seen him in public, even with you. His eyes were shining. His smile was bright. And that was what made your heart calm down its erratic nature, thrumming delicately, lovingly, in your chest.

"So," you hummed suggestively, stepping into the man's personal space. Your hand landed on his chest. Your chin rose toward him. "You and Annie," you began, causing a shy, goofy grin to take over his face, "y'all was real cute over here dancin'," you laughed, biting your lip as your stomach churned in excitement. "I ain't know big bad Smoke Moore could be all soft like that. She looks good on you."

"Yeah," he sighed breathily, gazing in the woman's direction with those soft eyes. She was at the bar now, waiting on her drink to be poured. When she had walked away, you took your chance, parading over to his lovesick side. He’d tried to hide it behind the smoke of a cigarette, but you could tell—of course you could.

Near the front of the room, the band kicked up into a new song, that fancy Blues singer taking center stage: dress hiked high, sweat barreling down her chest, voice coming out as a wailing groan from her belly. You nodded along to the music, hips tossing to each side.

“She means a lot to you,” you responded—more as a statement than a question, but the man answered with a slow nod. He took in your body at the same time, face growing hot as his eyes landed near your collarbone.

“You’d like her,” he whispered gruffly, barely rising over the height of the music and laughter around you. His eyes dragged between yours and Annie’s backside as she waited for her drink.

“And why do you think that,” you tossed your head back into a laugh, hoping to get him caught up, but the man quickly responded.

“Y’all similar in ways,” he shrugged like he hadn't thought about it before, looking down into your eyes like he wanted to engulf you—or wanted you to engulf him. Things always had a natural way of winding themselves up there between you two. “But y’all different in a lot of ways,” he continued. “I know you want more friends ‘round here. She’d be a good one.” His attention landed on a wall behind your head, bashful and unable to hold eye contact for much longer lest he cave too quickly.

“I believe you,” you smiled softly, deciding not to mention his shyness. You couldn’t resist taking another step into the man’s arms, one hand remaining on his chest as the other moved to the nape of his neck. His eyes closed at the sensation of your nails against his skin, and it made the most delicate whimper leave his lips. “I love you like this, baby,” you cooed, lips near his jawline. “She made you all soft for me.”

Smoke allowed his tongue to dart out and wet his lips as his hands tightened around the fabric of your dress. Head nodding in affirmation, he groaned delightfully. And at that, you couldn’t hold back your need to kiss the man any longer. His eyes had fluttered shut. His body had gone slack against yours. Leaning in, you edged yourself closer, hoping to land a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

But you were halted—something sharp poking you at the base of your spine.

“I’d hate to cut up this pretty dress,” Annie crooned in your left ear, pressing her chest into your upper back, “but you pushin’ up on my man, baby, and I don’t take too kindly to that.”

The way she said the words—all honeyed and seductive—made your pulse increase in desire, but the knife to your back made your heart pound in fear. The dichotomy was delicious. Pain and pleasure flooding you at once.

In front of you, Smoke's eyes snapped open, immediately shocked out of his dreamlike state. He saw Annie pressed against you, mouth to your ear hurling sweet threats; And he saw you, eyes rolling back at the feeling of the woman's dangerous temptation. He couldn't even allow himself to dwell on it as he grew worried about what Annie's anger would move her to do. He opened his mouth, hoping to stop her.

“Annie, don’t—”

“Your man?”

The question wasn't meant to be malicious, but it came out that way, followed by a chuckle of your own as you leaned further into her hold. You moaned quietly at the feeling of her knife, at how you could just imagine her seething face. In front of you, Smoke was wide-eyed and terrified in the best way, but you soothed him by that hand on his neck, toying with his hairline.

"Your man loves to spend his time up under me, beautiful," you provoked, gasping at the sharpness against your spine, back arching. The statement was proven when Smoke opened his mouth to whine beautifully, forcing Annie to deliver a shaky breath in your ear. "He mine, too, but I've always been one to share."

Around you, sickly sweet Blues rose the vibrations of the room. Piano keys fluttered. Guitar strings strummed. Singers delivered to onlookers songs about danger and sex and money and drinking. But the three of you were in your own bubble: Annie fighting against your easy dominance, you pressing against every bit of control she had, and Smoke falling victim to the both of you.

You turned in her hold, grabbing her wrist. Your back went into the man's chest, and as you fell backward into him, you brought Annie forward.

"Dance with us," you whispered temptingly, tone sensual and cadence dripping in a slow arousal.

From the time Annie had grinded her ass against Smoke to when she swayed over to the bar to when she pulled her blade out and pressed it into your skin, she could feel your energy. It was unmistakable: control, allure, and passion packaged up real pretty. She knew you were watching her, and that attention made her parade her body around just for you. Emotion prickled her skin—jealousy, hunger, and carnal need in a way she didn't fully understand. But she wanted to jump in, play with you, see just how far you would let her go.

That's why she rolled her hips a little harder into her man, pulling him into her neck to show you how badly he needed her. That's why she took extra long at the bar, sipping her drink nice and slow. And that's why her blade switched out, landing against your pretty back as she dared you to break.

But you didn't—wouldn't allow her that pleasure—and that's what intrigued her the most.

The three of you moved to the music in tandem. Smoke had found himself comfortable in your neck, head resting against your shoulder as you both faced Annie. Her eyes were blown with lust, only growing as her titties pressed into yours. She'd put the knife away for now, quickly falling into your ease. As dominate as she was, she couldn't help the need to obey, to please, to be good. Your disapproval-streamed face had done something to her body, made her fall in line.

Her pelvis rocked against yours, wide hips just as sultry as the song being sung. Every few seconds, she’d meet Smoke’s eye over your shoulder. With an eyebrow raised and a sharp nod of her head, she decided just how she would deal with him later. But in the arms of you two, she couldn't help but soften.

You hummed along to the tune with your eyes shut, but you could still feel the way Annie and Smoke stared at each other and all the emotion it evoked. Annie was angered yet trilled;Smoke was terrified yet hopeful; They were both aroused—all three of you were. Then you felt their holds on you tighten. They leaned forward over your shoulder, capturing each other’s lips in a kiss, and you couldn’t help but to allow your eyes to flicker open.

The sight had you throbbing, panties dampening the more Annie squeezed your waist and Smoke pulled you back against his growing need, softly rutting into your ass. Everything about it was vulgar. To have three people dancing and kissing on each other in public. But this wasn’t too terribly unusual for the setting. Folks loved to indulge. To relax. To have their heart’s desires met.

You continued to watch in awe as one of the woman’s hands captured Smoke’s throat, pulling the prettiest whine out of him. His cheeks reddened, but when she commanded him to kiss you, you both obeyed.

The night had been entertaining to say the least, but when it was over and the liquor had been poured and the music was played out, you landed a kiss to the corner of Annie’s mouth—the same one she'd stopped you from gifting Smoke what felt like forever ago—and you pulled yourself away from their hot bodies. The man's eyes were dazed, drunk off of the control and tension between you and the woman. But Annie looked angry, upset that you would dare stop her enjoyment so abruptly.

Amusement coursed through you, and a hand wrapped around hers to soothe her worry.

"Don't worry, beautiful," you chuckled, "we'll see each other again soon."

Before you drifted away into the night and back to the boarding house up the street, you kissed Smoke—full and on the lips like always. Because he was yours. And Annie was going to have to accept that fact.

Smoke was on his back, Annie with her knees pressed harshly into the mattress as her jaws opened wide to take him. His length slid over her tongue with each bob of her head, causing the man to thrash in the sheets. She’d been going like this for nearly an hour, guiding him to the edge of pleasure before completely pulling back to start the build up all over again. And he allowed it each time because who was he to complain?

Annie had complete control over his body, his pleasure, his pain. She decided when he’d get to feel that goodness wash over him, and until then, his nails were going to continue piercing the bedsheets while she took him down.

“I’m sorry, Annie,” he cried, moaning from her delicious torture. Her eyes remained locked on his, and as they stared into each other’s souls, Smoke could only feel the guilt fill him quicker. “I didn’t know she was gonna be there tonight, baby. I swear.” And that was a lie if ever Annie had heard one. Smoke knew—had known since Stack had asked you to save him that dance before the older twin’s eyes met yours. From that moment, he planned his night in detail. All he wanted was to get the two of you in one space and let the chips fall where they may.

As a result, he got to dance alongside you both and go home with Annie to allow her to wreck him.

But as he uttered the tall tale, the woman didn’t speak. Her mouth stayed wrapped around his dick, torment only increasing the more false information he let out. She knew him—inside and out—so she could tell the game he was trying to play. And before she allowed him to win, she had to at least deliver the cost of deceiving her—and you.

"I-I ain't mean to keep no secrets! I promise," he continued to avow, back arching himself off of the bed. Annie focused only on his tip, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing. The sight of it was vulgar and obscene, so much so that the man had to shut his eyes to not cum. "She's a friend," he tried again, limbs shaking.

"A friend that you fuck, Elijah," Annie hurled his way. Her hand fisted his length, never allowing the pleasure to wane. The domineering woman shook her head in disbelief at the way his body was breaking in half. It made her want to lean in because as angry as she was, this is exactly how she wanted him: crumbling and crying—but begging for more at the same time. "You better be glad that I'm goin' light on your punishment, my love. I can't be too mad at you ‘cause she sexy as hell. And I want me a piece of that."

"Oh, fuck," he sputtered, jaw trembling. "Yes, please. I need that, Mama. I need that so bad."

"You gotta be a good boy to get that, 'Lijah, and I don't know if I can trust you." Rising from the spot she’d found herself, Annie leaned over the man's quivering form. Her face infiltrated his line of sight, eyes boring into him. "Can I trust you, baby?"

"Yes! Yes, you can trust me," he answered quickly, emphatically. Every part of his body felt like it was caving in and exploding all at once. Annie always knew how to hand out punishments, but with you at the forefront of both of their minds, something about this hit harder. He choked around his whine, begging for her mercy. "I can be good, Mama," he assured, and when he let the tear slip from his eye, the woman couldn’t help but to let him have it.

As his abs flexed and trembled, she planted kiss after kiss on his sweat-slicked skin. Lips traveling back toward his throbbing need, she whispered against the glistening tip before taking him again.

"Give it to me, baby," Annie cooed into the dim room, and Smoke's climax was quick to follow her command.

~~~~~

Maybelle’s General Store was packed. A shipment had come in a few days back, and it seemed like the whole Delta had caught wind of it. Folks from all over the county—and the neighboring ones—had traveled into town to get everything from dry goods to farming supplies. You worked from the top of the morning to way past the time that the sun was setting, but you did what you had to do to ensure that everything ran as smoothly as it possibly could. You had a bill at the boarding house to pay and a tab at Ada's salon that was calling your name.

Huffing deeply enough to stir the air, you wiped your hands on your apron. The last customer for the night was finally gone after perusing the shelves for what felt like hours but was only probably ten minutes. Everything felt more time consuming when you were this tired. Everything pissed you off when it got this dark and you were alone at work. Your coworkers had families, obligations outside of Maybelle's, so you kindly offered to close down. But every few seconds, your eyes rolled when thinking over the rest of your duties.

Your hands were deep in a shelf of canned vegetables, rearranging the mess that had been left, when you heard the front door open and shut swiftly. Out of view of the front, you immediately sighed at whoever foolishly thought Maybelle's was open at this time.

"We're closed," you shouted out, moving one last can. Footsteps pounded against the floorboards, slow and tempting—and annoying as hell. You couldn't tell what direction they were coming or going, and the person still hadn't uttered an apology and announced their leave, so you repeated your words again. This time, they were far more forceful, leaving little room to disobey. You didn't feel like putting up with anybody's shit tonight. You could feel your bed becoming far more tangible, and this person was keeping you from it.

"Did you not hear me," you grumbled once more. You trotted away from the shelf and down the aisle. The closer you got to the main area of the store, something in your chest grew. Something aching. Something tantalizing. Something familiar.

"Is that any way to talk to a payin' customer," the sweet, sultry voice spoke, and immediately you came face to face with none other than Annie. Her smile was smug, and she had a playful glint in her eye that made you want to indulge.

Sighing while dropping your tense shoulders, you moved to finish your duties behind the counter.

"Store's closed, beautiful," you remarked listlessly. Now that you knew who you were talking to, your body was able to calm down from its moment of anger. Your tiredness returned full force, and as much as you wanted to challenge Annie's energy, you just didn't have enough of yourself to give.

You worked in silence for a moment, the woman watching each of your exhausted movements. You were sluggish in a way she couldn't deny, and it caused her to grow sympathetic. You were yawning while counting money, sighing when you closed drawers, huffing at every turn.

All day, she worked up the nerve to travel into town. She had buttered up Cornbread again, successfully finding out which boarding house you were staying at, and in her mind, all she had to do was knock on your door and attack you as soon as you opened it. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about you: the time she’d seen you and Smoke outside of Maybelle’s; and that time she had you pressed between her and the man. When she wasn't focused on work herself, her time was split between thinking of you and Smoke. She didn't want to admit it, but it was true, and only becoming more factual with time.

With a pep talk to boost her confidence, she'd gained the courage to continue what the two of you had started that night at Messanger's, but when she saw you through the front window of Maybelle's, her plans shifted on the spot.

"How long you been here," she questioned softly. Her eyebrows worried, forehead creasing in a way that made you want to kiss her distress away. Even through your tiredness, you wanted her stress free.

"Since dawn," you answered anyway, knowing she wouldn’t let you slide with a lie. The confession was followed by another sigh as you remembered just how long it had been since you left your bed or had any good rest and food in your stomach. At this time of night, most shops and diners were closed, so you'd probably have to scrounge around for a small meal before bed. You had a can of beans in your room, a few scraps of cornbread from the night before. At the thought of eating, your belly made its frustration known, hunger peaking; The sound only made Annie's concern strengthen.

"Yeah, nah," she shook her head, already figuring the plans out in her head. She advanced closer, giving you your space while ensuring you understood her seriousness. "You comin' home with me," she insisted, not caring for the time of night or what she had original intended to do with you. "You’re starved and I can get some good food in ya'."

"Annie," you exasperated. You turned completely in her direction, hands falling atop the counter in your fatigue. "I'm ready to get in the bed. And by the time I get done eatin,' I'm not gonna be comfortable walkin' back alone. And don't you hate me for takin' yo' man?" You cocked your head to the side in a weird mix of confusion and annoyance and adoration. Annie responded to your look with one of her own, looking at you like are you finished now?

"First of you,” the woman replied with a groan, “you can stay with me tonight. I got a cot in the front room with your name on it if you want it—" And there’s space in my bed if that won’t do, she thought to herself, wanting to add it on to the tail end of the statement, but she refrained, hoping the night would play out organically. "And second of all," she breathed from her gut, "I don't hate you."

"Mhm," you pursed your lips, ignoring the earlier comment about staying over. You doubted the truth of her words because there’s was no way she hadn’t despised you. After realizing the mysterious customer was the same woman Smoke spent time with, you fully understood why her behavior had interested you so. She’d come into Maybelle’s that day because she knew who you were, finding out about you before you found out about her. Whether she intended you harm or whatever was still left up for debate. But you could still feel the tip of her blade piercing your back in the best way.

"I don't hate," she insisted anyway, moving to lean against the counter. Her voice dipped in seriousness, conceding her honest feelings. "You annoy me because you’re sexy and confident and make Smoke lean into you in a way he’s only ever done with me. I was upset about you gettin' in between me and my Elijah, but it is what it is. We ain't in no real relationship, and I don't like bein' settled with just one person anyway."

She shrugged like nothing mattered, like her words hadn’t told you more than she originally intended them to.

You could see right through her. She was needy, desperate, holding onto her control long enough to see if your dominance could revitalize hers. You had disturbed something deep inside of her. Whatever you helped to stir up gave way to a new understanding of herself. For years, she claimed that she would never be open to a real relationship. She liked to explore, to play the field, to have fun, but something about you and Smoke made her want to lay her old ways to rest.

"Oh, yeah?" Your question was rhetorical, full of sarcasm as you traversed the open floor of the store. You closed in on her. Your tired eyes stared into her embarrassed ones, but she didn’t shy away. She wanted you to know that she could go toe to toe with the best of them—and she definitely thought you were the best.

Annie cleared her throat.

"Yeah," she huffed with a roll of her eye, just ready for the smug smile to be wiped from your face. She shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms under her hefty chest to put more distance between the two of you. Her throat bobbed, and it caused you to chuckle wickedly, only adding to the heat in her body. "Are you comin' with me so I can feed you or what?"

The walk to the woman’s home was treacherous. It wasn’t because of the haints that loved to watch from behind the tree line. It wasn’t because of the devilish klan or because of any foul man. It was dark—pitch black—and the landscape was loud with the sounds of crickets and toads and your humming: that tune from the juke nights ago. But it wasn't treacherous because of that—or how Annie’s heart hadn’t stopped beating rapidly since before she stumbled across you in the general store, or how your exhaustion had only settled deeper as your stomach growled harshly and the moon moved your body toward sleep.

The walk wasn’t treacherous because of any of those things.

As you hummed, the woman allowed her stroll to become more rooted in her body and the earth. Her hips churned. Her arms swayed. Despite her nerves, her eyes took a look in your direction—teasing and domineering. It had your pussy throbbing, but never once did you stop humming. Instead, you shuffled closer, lowering your hum to her ear. Your arm surrounded her waist, fitting her body into your side, and you finished the rest of your walk with Annie in your hold.

There was an ease to it that made both of you want to howl toward the night sky, ripping each other’s clothes off to provide a momentary pleasure while laid atop blankets of grass and dew. With each step, the two of you had to resist the urge. But resisting only increased your need. The anticipation heightened, and as Annie’s small, tree-cloaked home came into view, she hurried herself closer into your arms.

She fed you as promised, cooking up the best plate of fried okra, black-eyed peas, and salt meat you’d ever had. As you ate, eyes drooping in that full belly with sleep on the horizon way, she worked at her bottom lip. Annie moved to tidy up her kitchen, but every few minutes, she’d throw a look over her shoulder, just to check on you—and to make sure she wasn’t over-exaggerating the way you made her feel.

And she never was. You had her pussy soaked, her thighs quivering, her nipples scraping against the fabric of her dress. You hadn’t even touched her, but she could fully imagine what it would be like: all harsh and sweet, soft and commanding. As she looked at you again, now preparing for bed, rinsing your body at the wash basin, she thought of Smoke and his sweet moans. She knew without a doubt that you could pull some delicious sounds from him. With the way he’d laid so comfortably against you in the middle of town and Messenger’s, there’s no way he wasn't beautifully submissive with you.

You could feel the woman looking as you peeled your dress off. She had directed you toward the basin in the corner of the front room, and as you moved toward it, she shifted her position in the kitchen. To watch. To lust.

And you allowed her to, putting on a show of washing your tired body, just imagining the gaping mouth she had at your curves.

“You got something I can wear to bed,” your voice rose above the deafening quiet of the home. You still refused to look in her direction, and you didn’t need to because she hadn’t broken her appreciation of your form once. Annie’s eyes were trained on you—unapologetic now as she crossed the space.

Her hips moved in that violently commanding way, each step causing your body to betray itself. Your heartbeat quickened, and your thighs clenched inconspicuously. There was no mistaking the other woman’s motives, but when her burning palm landed on your bare waist, you still shuttered at the sting. Her dress and beaded necklace scratched at your back when she leaned into you, lips to the shell of your ear.

“I think I prefer you like this,” Annie lulled into your right ear, words skating down the side of your neck and toward your spine. She giggled at the shiver she had evoked, how the dragging of her nails against your damp skin made every part of you break out in chills. Your jaw was wide open, lips parted in a groan of need. Something inside you was shattering, breaking beneath her to give in. You stood before her naked, uncaring of where her eyes land or where her hands wandered.

You found your head nodding without thinking about it, and Annie’s fingers followed the silent invitation. Trailing over your hip and down the front of your stomach, she felt at the softness of your skin, humming at ever shiver and confident grind into her palm.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this since I walked up in Maybelle’s that day,” Annie sighed dreamily into your neck. “I came there to tear into yo’ ass about bein’ all over my man. But I found myself growin’ jealous of him. Spent my nights imaginin’ what you felt like under his fingers, how you broke him in two so easily, how I wanted to break you back.” She hummed as she smacked the side of your thigh, a moan erupting from your lungs. “Who knew you’d be a whimperin’, moanin’ li’l slut for me.” Her tone was harsh but somehow honey-coated.

Annie felt she’d succeeded in conquering you. With her hands now traveling between your thighs, she smiled filthily when you trapped her there. Tremors sounding, you rutted into her hand. Each grind of your hips sent your clit against her palm, a wave of pleasure through your system, and a moan to the woman’s ears. You felt wild with carnal desire, but you weren’t going to allow any of that to cloud your judgment too much.

The woman had one hand draped across your stomach to stabilize your movements while the other worked at your pussy. She whispered insults and praise into the air.

“Don’t confuse this for what it’s not,” you growled after a sharp moan, head tilted back on her shoulder. “You ain’t in charge of shit, pretty.”

“Oh, please,” Annie laughed. She pulled you closer to her chest, fucking you with two eager digits. She moaned at the way your eyes fluttered shut, body slackening while you let out a silent cry. “These fingers ‘bout to have yo’ ass sleepin’ good in my bed and you want to act like you got any say so right now?” She chuckled at the audacity, finding it hilarious that you were still fighting despite how good she was fucking you. Your moans increased exponentially—fast, loud, incessant—and Annie watched you crumble with twinkling eyes. “You’re losin’ your control, baby,” she pouted, kissing her jaw.

The woman knew this was going to come back to bite her in the ass because your dominance was just like hers. She was fucking you this hard as retaliation for overpowering her at Messanger’s, so there was no way you wouldn’t retaliate against her for this: fucking you while standing and making you shake so hard that your knees buckled. She reveled in the sight of you like this while it all lasted. She indulged in every whining moan and how your hand wrapped around her wrist for comfort because she knew she wouldn’t have you like this for much longer. You fought as much as you could, but when your eyes opened in an attempt to prove her wrong, your attention landed on a smoking pipe. It was hung on the wall and stared back with a familiarity that drove your senses wild.

The man popped up in your mind—almost as if his tobacco-smoking self was watching the scene unfold. You were in Annie’s arms like you belonged there, and her fingers were raking through your folds like she’d had a lifetime to learn your needs. As much as you wanted to fight, it was all too much goodness to not allow your body to bend.

But in no world were you okay with breaking.

Leaning your back into her chest with a renewed energy, you fucked yourself on her hand. Hips wild and thrusting, you took back as much control as she’d allow. As she hurled both insults and praise, you bit your tongue. But when you finally came right there in the front room—completely bare against her fully-clothed body—you couldn’t help but to thank her profusely for her handling of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~8,600

a/n: more smoke in the next one because i wanted to set up the ladies' connection!! talk to me in the commentss

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @nifniffy @nuttyinternetprincess @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[thebumblebeesworld]

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[thebumblebeesworld]

AIN’T • ONE • OF • THEM

part three • finale • 2000s!au annie x smoke • smut

preview: ...Annie let her eyes shift into a roll. Her arms crossed beneath her chest. Her weight shifted to one foot. Her attitude was coming up quick, beginning to take over her function the more he hammered his points home.

If this nigga say one more thing I’m gon’ go off on his ass, she thought to herself. She was sick of the interrogation and how it felt she was standing on trial for capital murder. She’d been out because she was trying to be a good person. If he can’t understand that, then that’s his problem, she continued in her mind while the man stood tiredly in front of her. Her eyes shifted once more, leaving his to look down past his chest.

cw: daddy!smoke, lil mean!smoke, mostly sweet!smoke, older!smoke, younger!annie, good!girl!annie, she still stressin his ass out lmao, praise + degradation, light spanking, hair pulling but he stay doin that, use of the nword

a/n: yea so this really ended up being a mini series lmaooo. this is gonna have to be the final part because i have some good stuff planned, but i love these sweet babies so muchhhh. i used this series to really play with different settings/situations, and that's been really fun! i hope y'all enjoyyy

part one; part two.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been nearly a month since Smoke returned from his trip and spent nearly the entire night setting Annie's ass straight, and for almost 30 days, things were peaceful. Truly peaceful. Somewhere between being pushed against the side of his Cutlass and being thrown on top of the hood and denied orgasm after orgasm, something clicked into place in the woman's brain. Something had clicked for Smoke, too.

It had gotten too hard for either of them to deny the way they felt. In the haze of everyday life with its expectations and work obligations and shady business deals, they only wanted to end the day with each other.

Smoke had stopped complaining about how far out in the country Annie lived. When he'd show up at her home—now at a more reasonable hour—he'd rev the engine just once, faintly, then he'd climb her steps and knock, lightly. And Annie would answer the door with a soft smile before ushering him in. Sometimes he came with take out. Sometimes she'd cook. But they always wound down together, debriefed their days, held each other close until night had claimed their bodies.

It was easy in a way neither of them knew a relationship could be.

Smoke didn't know what peace was, but Annie had always been that for him—even more so now.

And Annie hadn't known how to accept peace into her life—but she worked on being able to welcome it one day at a time. She wasn't fighting him as much anymore. She would smile politely when he'd slide her money. She would mutter a thank you when he held her hand on busy sidewalks. She would watch as he fixed her Chevy: starting with those new tears, then fine tuning things steadily with his shirt off in her front yard.

He hadn't had to get rough because of her behavior in a long time, and it had eased something in both of them. Now his roughness was something they got to choose—something Annie got to be rewarded. Smoke was sweet when she needed to be fucked real slow and passionate. But when she needed to be reminded of the thrill his danger brought to her system, he was quick to turn rough, quick to whisper filthy words in her ear.

~~~~~

It was night once again, but this time, the wind was swirling something fierce, pulling heat high in the air and cooling it too quickly. The temperatures mixed dangerously—diametrically opposed but wanting so desperately to become one.

A tornado formed before most people had a chance to prepare, and when the older man arrived at the young woman’s home, she was nowhere to be found. Smoke pounded on the door frame, yelled her name through the wood, but it was no use. Her car was gone, and he had absolutely no idea where she could be.

Pacing the length of her porch, he pulled out his flip phone. He clicked her contact with ease—the first one saved—and as it rang, the sky turned a deep purple. He’d come by because she hadn’t been answering her phone. The tornado warning had flashed across his television screen, interrupting the 9 o’clock news, and when he had called her while pacing the length of his living room: Nothing.

The same thing was happening now. He dialed her over and over and over again with no response, and there was no mistaking the panic in his heart. Fear set in, and as the man who practically ran every aspect of his world took a deep breath in, it came out shaky and broken and nearly a sob.

The clouds raged.

The sky shifted through colors.

The wind blew the woman’s wind chimes.

The rain pelted the metal roof.

I gotta do something, the man thought to himself, terrified that his girl was somewhere out there unsafe in the middle of a storm. He bounded down the steps, taking two at a time. Shivering rain hit his hot, stressed skin when he crossed into the yard. Soggy grass squished beneath his feet, and when he swung the driver’s side door of the Cutlass open, he was shook by what he saw out of the corner of his eye. Down at the end of the driveway, he watched that old ass Chevy making its way around the bend. Headlights shaking. Windshield wipers moving rapidly. He couldn’t see the woman just yet, but he could feel her.

Pure shock and disbelief entered his system. His head shook rapidly in his confusion, and he stood there with his car door half-cranked open while watching the Chevy slow its pace. When Annie got out, she bounded toward the porch, windbreaker thrown high over her head because the man had paid to get her hair done just days ago.

And Smoke stood there was his mouth wide open.

Ran hit his body as the storm moved past the little house. It still raged—it raged horridly—but it moved on in the distance now and up toward the city. The sky turned from purple to green then softened into a sea foam blue. When the bewilderment was done running itself through his body, the older man took a look in the direction the young woman disappeared to. The porch was empty—Annie nowhere to be seen, again—but she’d left the front door open for him.

The man turned his body completely, shutting his car door and saving the clean up for another time. The rain was lighter, but as he walked toward the porch, little droplets stuck to his eyelashes. It worked to cool his anger, but it made sure that his confusion lingered. Because even though the storm was passing through, he still didn’t understand why the woman hadn't been home.

Each step he took was weighted.

Each sway of his arms made his heart swell with emotion. Fear. Anger. Confusion. Relief.

He almost didn’t care where she’d been because at least she was safe. But he wasn’t about to let her off that easy. The remnants of the storm dripped off his body—wet and wild with emotion. The first step into the home, however, caused the wild feelings to settle into one sharp direction.

Smoke was a hardy man. He didn’t show fear. Didn’t let it consumed him or rule his thoughts or actions. He thought clearly in everything: when he ran the streets, when deals went bad, when he had to handle a nigga for playing with his money. He always rose to the occasion, but with Annie, he was terrified. When she didn’t answer his banging on the door or his million and one phone calls, his stomach had dropped in fear, and the feeling of that was unsettling.

Wired eyes searched the home for her. The door was shut now, locking out the unpredictability of the outside world and creating a bubble around the pair. Annie came running out of one of the back rooms, warm towels in her hands and a pep in her step.

“I’m so sorry,” her words tumbled out, mouth moving miles a minute as she apologized while reprimanding him about being out in that rain. She shook her head, ran her eyes all over him as she toweled his skin dry, but her eyes never met his. Her nimble fingers drifted to his clothes next in an effort to get him out of the wet fabrics. They clung to him—tight at his biceps and around his thighs. She could see every fine detail that she loved about him most. The plains of his chest. The delicate shape of his stomach. The soft bulge in his pants.

Annie’s fingers grew quick as she fought to quiet her brain. She was on a mission to get this man out of his wet clothes not ogle him. Her fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers and clothes too heavy now that water had touched them, but he was finally bare from head to toe. Her wandering eyes quickly darted away from the sight of his thick length, deciding instead to do a once over elsewhere before tightening a towel to his waist.

“You scared me,” she heard the man croak at a low volume. His voice came out strained and tired, and for the first time all night, she met his gaze. It broke her apart just like she expected it to because Smoke’s eyes always did something to her soul. Becoming soft at the edges, her own eyes held his—unwavering. She placed a hand on his chest, mouth opening and shutting. Not to say something slick. Not to get rude or disrespectful or to come up with some lie. Annie apologized deeply, explaining the situation.

“I went to check on Ms. Ethel down the street,” she choked out, words wet from the rain and her emotions. “Her grandson Jimmy don’t get home ‘til late, and I ain’t want her to be alone. So I sat with her ‘til he got there.”

“That don’t explain why you ain’t answer my phone calls,” he began heatedly, voice clear and harsh. The roughness made her body shake. The look on his face made her lean in. “Or why you ain’t tell me you was goin’ out. Or why yo’ ass was drivin’ back in that storm when you could have stayed where you was at.” Smoke listed off every truth there was, standing bare in the woman’s living room. The towel did little to shield his naked body.

Annie swallowed thickly at the heft in his voice; But when he was right, he was right.

She rattled off something about her phone being dead.

He responded by pointing at the charger in her wall.

Then she muttered off about feeling it was safe to drive back.

And he looked at her like she was insane. Because she was. The storm was gone now, but she had driven back in the thick of it, not expecting him to be there. Not expecting to be cornered the way she was now. He continued to spill his thoughts, voice rough and loud.

At that, Annie let her eyes shift into a roll. Her arms crossed beneath her chest. Her weight shifted to one foot. Her attitude was coming up quick, beginning to take over her function the more he hammered his points home.

If this nigga say one more thing I’m gon’ go off on his ass, she thought to herself. She was sick of the interrogation and how it felt she was standing on trial for capital murder. She’d been out because she was trying to be a good person. If he can’t understand that, then that’s his problem, she continued in her mind while the man stood tiredly in front of her. Her eyes shifted once more, leaving his to look down past his chest.

“Anything could have happened to you, woman” Smoke breathed, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. “What would you have done if that Chevy gave out on you in the middle of that drive? Huh?” He got close to her face, waiting for an answer she wouldn’t give him. Her lips twisted in anger, trying not to let her attitude slip out and ruin things more. She so badly wanted to lay every bit of her brattiness on him—say something stupid about how she’d flag somebody down or make the trek home through the storm—but that look on his face halted her.

He really was scared—terrified even. His eyes were wide. Fists clenched. Muscles bulging. Feet tapping as if all they wanted to do was pace across the floor.

Annie softened as she took him in. Her lips twitched again, not from her anger or attitude but from her guilt. Reaching down, she grabbed one of the man’s trembling hands. She tightened her hold, running her thumb in soothing circles.

She couldn’t help the way her eyes went to the edge of his towel.

“I should have charged my phone,” the young woman admitted softly. “I should have told you where I was at and stayed there ‘til the storm passed. I wasn’t bein’ safe. And I scared you. And I’m sorry.” Giving his hand a squeeze, Annie took a step forward. Her chest pressed against his bare one, the soft, dry cotton of her shirt mingling with his damp skin. Her eyes stared into his, and simultaneously, their gazes shifted. “Can you forgive me, baby,” she questioned hotly, tone turning sweet and low with a different emotion now. Her lips drifted toward his neck. She landed light kisses to his skin—heavier ones near the edge of his ear—and her breath caught when he grabbed her hips roughly.

Annie’s head swirled when Smoke turned her head to the side and began planting his own lips to the surface of her skin. It was heated and angry yet full of care and that beautiful softness she couldn’t get enough of now. Over the past month, she’d really grown to appreciate his sweet moments. They reminded her in a different way of his care, and every time she saw that calm wash over his face, she rededicated herself to making sure he felt that as often as possible.

She wanted to be his peace. She wanted to be where he found comfort. She recognized the fact that she had brought him worry tonight, but she vowed to help soothe that in her own special way.

Kissing her neck and chest softly, Smoke palmed Annie’s ass while guiding her back. He massaged her in a way that pulled needy moans from the back of her throat. Cries of apology and consideration for his stressed system. But he was already on the mend because his girl was safe, and above anything else in the world, that was what he needed most.

Since the couch was the closest surface for their bodies to land, that was exactly where Smoke guided them. He stepped gently into the woman, holding her body with ease like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Each foot forward sent one of her feet back. And each kiss to her body dragged a moan out of her mouth.

"Smoke," Annie purred when her ass hit the arm of the couch. He hoisted her up gingerly, beginning to suck on her skin. She tasted sweet, just as sweet as he remembered her being, but it still managed to cloud his mind. The man nipped marks into her skin. He groaned against her body. He pulled her legs up in his hold, towel dropping to his feet. Annie was still fully clothed—leggings and a tee being the only things stopping the man's rush.

He moved to kiss her full on the mouth, swallowing every exhale and moan like they gave him life. His lips made her eyes roll back and the way his dick rutted against the fabric of her leggings made her cry out in need. But when he had successfully pulled her shirt over her head and had begun to work at her waistband, she halted his movements.

"Wait," she demanded breathily, scrambling off of the couch. Her knees immediately sunk into the hardwood floors in front of her man, and with one look up at him, she saw his face settle in understanding. "I wanna make you feel good, Daddy," she sighed, taking his length up in her hands and staring in awe. She sat back on her haunches, starry-eyed at how thick and long he was, at how his tip was swollen and dripping in precum.

Annie took an experimental lick, circling the head of his dick just once. Then she blew cool air on it, indulging in the man's shiver.

"Stop playin' games," Smoke belted in anticipation because Annie didn't get down on her knees for him very often. When she did, she normally took it as a punishment, but now, she was giving it to him like a gift.

Laughing, the woman made an offhand comment about him being so uptight, but then she leaned back in and did exactly as he said. Annie wasted no time in fitting her jaws around him. She took him down the back of her throat, gagging as she let him move through her slowly, and when he bottomed out, she pulled him back out to eye his soaking length. She continued the move: taking him to the extent of her throat, choking, gagging, then slurping at his tip on the way back out.

Above her, Smoke's head rolled back, eyes on the ceiling and blinking rapidly because he had no idea how he was meant to last long with her in this position. She was speeding up her assault now, choking purposely just because she noticed the way the sound had his dick jumping and thighs clenching hard. Annie sucked him in, moving her head back and forth with control. She'd had one hand at the base of his dick the entire time, but now she was moving them to rest on his thighs. She used nothing for leverage—just pure strength and determination.

Her eyes shot up to see the way he was facing the ceiling, and the laugh she let out around him was filthy.

"You can't take it, Daddy," she questioned aloud, stroking his throbbing length. Her hand twisted from base to tip, then back down again, and her mouth engulfed him once more.

Smoke gritted his teeth at her words, absolutely appalled.

"Watch that mouth, li'l mama," he growled, snatching her hair up in his right hand. He guided her head, forced her to take him deeper, met her head with his own harsh thrusts. Her gags became honest, each stroke he gave her encouraging her to choke around him. He was too thick, too long, but she couldn't get enough of the way he filled her so wonderfully. Sitting further back on her calves, Annie fully slackened her jaw, relaxing her throat as he forced her head down on him.

Reaching low between her legs, the young woman landed her hand to her clothed pussy. The man's efforts toward pleasure had increased her own, and her entire body felt like it was on fire. Fingers rubbing her clit through her leggings, Annie couldn't push down the moan for long, and by then, Smoke had already realized what she was doing.

"There goes my pretty li'l slut," the older man cooed after her cries had vibrated around his length. He watched the tremble of her thighs, slowly pulling his dick out to the tip before thrusting back in harder than he had so far. He continued the motion of fucking slow then harsh, and when her moans became consistent and her own fingers quickened their pace, he started going fast.

Annie was foaming at the mouth, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth and falling down her chin. It dripped down on her chest, shining beautifully on her skin. She slurped at his length, tongue dragging along the vein at the underside of his dick. She felt her pulse increase suddenly, light flashing behind her eyes as her clit thrummed beneath her fingers. She couldn't verbalize her need to cum, but she knew what he'd do to her if she didn't ask for permission.

The woman continued her pursuit, sucking his dick while rubbing at her clothed pussy, but her eyes bore into his. She communicated everything she need with just one long, labored look. Her body needed its release, and it was coming fast.

"No," Smoke bellowed, pulling his dick from her mouth. He bent forward, pulled her hair roughly while she heaved. Annie breathed heavily, trying to regain function after taking the man as severely as she had. She'd moved her hand away from her pussy, saddened by the fall in her peak, but wanting to obey the man's words. She leaned into his direction, hoping for a kiss, but he pulled her back by her hair once more. "I wanna eat that pussy 'til you cum baby," the man grumbled into her ear, air dense with arousal.

Annie was sat on the arm of the couch again before she knew it, and her leggings were laid on the floor beside the man's towel in a flash of a second. Panties hugging her wet center, the man looked past it as if he could see her heated flesh through them. And when he began to eat her pussy, he didn't even attempt to move the obstruction to the side. He ate her through the fabric, chewed at her folds, swallowed her arousal, sucked her clit off the bone. For his Annie, the man was insatiable, and his avid need for her was what guided every encounter.

Arms shivering as she held her body up on the unstable surface, Annie looked upon the wild hunger Smoke exhibited. She always loved when he ate her pussy because his thirst for her overcame all of his function. His left hand softly kneaded at one thigh. His moans softly nudged at her folds. But everything else was rough: how he took her up in his jaws; how he sent a teasing spank to the side of her ass; how has right hand clawed at her other thigh without thinking about it.

Every now and then, he'd come up off of her to mutter something soft and rough at the same time—praise and degradation mingling. He called her his filthy baby, his pretty li'l bitch, his perfect slut. And Annie took every title like it came alongside an award-winning trophy. He always made sure to emphasize that she was his, and as he muttered mine into her parted thighs, the young woman almost let herself fall over the edge.

"Pl-please, Daddy," Annie begged, beginning to make her petition. "I need it so bad, baby," she whined unapologetically, completely lost to her body. Her hips rocked into his face. Arousal coated his chin. "You make me feel so good, Daddy. Make my pussy wanna cry."

Her thighs were shaking violently and her belly was in a full on flutter by the time he looked up. His eyes stayed locked on hers as she pleaded, light at the corners while his forehead stayed scrunched—that delightful mix of soft and rough.

And he let her have it, pulling back from her clothed pussy to answer her solemn request.

Annie came with a loud shudder. Smoke's name was at the tip of her tongue as she held onto his face with one hand and kept her body from falling back with the other. Thighs shaking around his head, she praised him for every ounce of kindness he'd delivered unto her.

Annie's back was against the wall as Smoke held her in his arms, thrusting dick up into her. His pace was fast, breathing labored because she just felt too good around him. Every time he pulled out, she chased him, pussy pulling him back in before he had even had time to stabilize himself. She fluttered, and he moaned. He tap lightly against that soft spot, and she whined in delicious pleasure.

"I love this fuckin' dick," the woman slurred. Her body was fully relaxed as she had the wall behind her and the man in front of her. He held her up, fucked her too damn good, and it had her eyes in the back of her head.

"Yeah," he breathed huskily, strokes steady. "You like bein' fucked with this dick?"

"I love it," she admitted. "God, I love it so much."

"I know you do," Smoke growled. "You drunk on this dick. You love this good ass dick." His forehead fell to her shoulder, back hunched as he kissed her heated skin. The man was losing his cool. Each drag against her walls had his knees buckling. Each time he pulled out to the tip, he wanted to weep. "And I love this pussy, babygirl," he whimpered, words etched in emotion.

"Yeah," she asked, the whine only increasing.

And the older man could only possibly respond with an uptick in his pace. He fucked her walls fast and with the renewed spirit of a man overtaken with adoration. He cared so deeply for Annie. He wanted the world for her—past the money he could give her or the experiences he could ensure she'd have. He wanted her to have the world and every dream she had ever possessed—and he wanted to move through that idealized life right alongside her.

"Cum with me, baby," he breathed against her temple. He kissed her there with all of the love he'd kept silent, and he lingered—softly. "Pl-please. I need you to cum with me."

The plea was pure—an honesty that resulted in tears being brought to Annie's eyes. She held the man's face in her hands, looking into his teary brown eyes with her own. And she nodded, completely unable to respond with words.

The room filled with heavy breaths, sharp whines, and the vulgar yet delicate sound of wet skin meeting wet skin.

They breathed their love faintly—between the tears and thick huffs.

They broke apart airily—like the calm that hit after a Mississippi storm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~4,250

a/n: the end—fr this timeeee :3

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

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[thebumblebeesworld]

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[thebumblebeesworld]

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[joyylakiell]

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[thebumblebeesworld]

AIN’T • ONE • OF • THEM

part two • 2000s!au annie x smoke • smut

preview: “Calm down,” she sighed, moving off the four-wheeler like a pro. Her walk toward the older man was calculated—her hips switching dangerously because she knew he liked it, her eyes locked on his because one look between them communicated a million words. When she was stood in front of him, her arms went around his neck, completely unconcerned with the eyes watching. Her friends held in their giggles now—terrified yet intrigued. Everyone else turned away because Annie was Smoke’s girl, and that dangerous walk had their eyes wanting to wander. “It was innocent,” she purred, kissing the edge of his mouth. “I just wanted a ride.” Her lips moved toward his jaw. Then his neck. Then his hoodie, leaving a glare of lip gloss on the fabric. “Lighten up, Daddy.”

cw: daddy!smoke, mean!smoke, older!smoke, younger!annie, bratty!annie, public!sex, outside!sex, car!sex, edging, choking, praise, light degradation, light spanking, it's nastyyy, use of the nword

a/n: this is for everyone who begged for this part two and @brownskincheyenne specifically for leading me toward this idea!!

part one

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Again, Smoke Moore was not a man to be played with, but for some reason, Annie loved to do the playing: pissing him off, raising his pressure, bringing him close enough to the edge that he couldn’t do anything other than fuck her ass up. Her toxic ass loved that side of him, thrived in being the target for his aggression. The older man’s roughness warmed her insides so much so that she tended to lose herself in the feeling.

When he left her home after that night, ripping through the early morning air like a man the world waited for, he sat a wad of cash on her dresser. Proceeding to peck her lips, he whispered something soft and possessive about being his good girl. And she so badly wanted it to be true, but her bratty side always won over the side that wanted to please him.

~~~~~

The sun crept low toward the horizon, swirling the air on its descent and bringing forth a sharp emotion. It smelled of a devious nature—destructive, dangerous, venomous—and the young woman couldn’t help but lean in for a whiff. It had been nearly a week since the man left on his trip, and she was getting antsy without him. Going from being laid out by the nigga of her dreams to laying in her bed with a too-big shirt on and no prospects was causing a pout to drift over her lips.

Every time she asked when he’d be back, he always responded with: “shit’s touch and go right now” or “it’s business, baby” or “when I get back” if she was already pushing him toward a pissy mood. Annie had honestly tried her best to keep her latest punishment fresh in her mind as a reminder of how far her man could push her, but when her friends called, every bit of training went right out the window.

Trail ride. 20 minutes south. Where trees blocked the Sun—even if She wasn’t already flirting with idea of night.

Smoke had prevented her from going to trail rides with this particular set of friends before. They were reckless women who encouraged her to disobey him because they knew Annie wanted to get him riled up. They lived for the thrill, lived for the drama, lived for whatever they’d hear once Annie filled them in after a night of punishment. But Smoke was hundreds of miles away now, and that only added to the young woman’s excitement. She could practically see it now: Smoke Moore would inevitably find out that she was running the streets; his brother would probably be the one to tell him with a sly grin on his face; and the man would scowl and grit his teeth and come home just to fuck her past the point of no return.

Annie swooned as she dressed, mind swirling around all the thoughts of her in various positions. She looked over her appearance one last time. She’d chosen a pair of dark wash booty shorts, a pink camo crop top, and some boots—dusty from the last trail ride or horse show she’d been to. She looked delicious. Titties high. Thighs full. Braids sweeping down her back in a way that made her remember how Smoke had wrapped his hand around them tightly and pulled.

Danger flirted with Annie, and she flirted right back when she jumped into the backseat of her friend’s car and drove through the fresh night.

A groan slipped from the man’s lips as he allowed himself to wash the day from his body. It had been a long one filled with stupid negotiations and even stupider people that needed to be handled, but everything was back in place; And his trip was over. He had touched back down in Jackson just hours ago, heading straight from the airport to home. From there, he’d had things to check up on at his businesses—one errand being to see if that order of tires had come in Annie's beat up old Chevy—and he was hoping to make the young woman the final thing on his agenda.

He had missed her dearly, more than he knew she’d let him admit, but he was itching to see her, to feel her, to taste her.

He smiled lowly as the water ran over his tired skin, shoulders relaxing from the heat, muscles unclenching themselves in the safety of the bathroom. For a man always on high alert, he hardly ever got this level of calm. Eyes closed, he let the shower head run along the plains of his back. Tawny skin glowing, he hummed and stretched and moaned before reaching to turn the faucet off.

Stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, all he could think about was getting back to his Annie. It had been too long, and his nerves were wound tight. Rifling through his chest of drawers, his hands paused at a sound.

His phone was ringing across the room—loud and annoying and making the floor practically shake. When he answered it, his nerves only spun up around each other even more.

“Aye, bro,” he heard the moment he flipped the device open. Stack’s voice cranked over the loudness and music and laughter going on on his side of the phone. It made Smoke scrunch his face up, one—from the loudness, and two—because the twins had just been together not even hours ago.

“What’s up,” he growled. He was at the ready because even though Stack was the playful one of the two, he could always hear that seriousness in his voice, an urgency to act on something.

“Yo’ girl out here wildin’,” the younger twin shouted clearly.

“What,” Smoke questioned, head rearing back like he’d heard something completely off the wall—and he had.

“Annie,” Stack clarified. “She out here caked up with some young nigga. Sittin’ on the back of his four-wheeler and everything!” The man was appalled, and the brother who was across town could hear it in the strain of his voice. Teeth grinding against each other and fingernails piercing his palm, Smoke hung up. His chest was heaving, anger crossing through him thickly.

“All she had to do was listen,” he mumbled under his breath, throwing on a hoodie and a pair of sweats. “All she had to fuckin’ do was not piss me off, but here we go.” Smoke hated repeating himself, hated having to make the same point over and over again, but it seemed that Annie loved having to relearn the cost of his anger and exhaustion. She kept pushing him too far, but tonight was different. Caked up with another nigga when she had him? Nah, that wasn’t gon’ fly.

The young woman could still feel the way the night air had ripped through her braids. It had been ages since she got to ride a four-wheeler, but, of course, some man had to offer when he saw them thighs and that ass in those little bitty shorts. She’d been bent forward in a cooler when he tapped her on her shoulder, and when Annie looked back, it was Mookie—a li’l fling from before Smoke entered the picture.

But he definitely didn’t appear little right now.

Mookie was tall, and the night air hit so right and heated that he’d thrown his shirt over the handles of his four-wheeler. Sweat flanked his chest, down his stomach and toward the waistband of his boxers—peaking out from his bootcut jeans. He looked good as fuck, but now that she had Smoke, a man like Mookie wasn’t her type. She liked 'em older, liked 'em only if they were her man. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still have fun though. When he asked her to take a ride with him, her friends answered for her, pushing her into the man’s sweaty chest and dazzling smile. She said yes; And he helped her swing her leg over the seat, watching the way her jean shorts shifted unapologetically.

Mookie rode her through hills and valleys, past cow fields and thick lines of trees, and the wind had her braids flowing behind her, wrapped around the humid air. And she thought of Smoke—she always did. By the time they returned back to their little corner of the function, Annie’s heart was beating fast. The adrenaline of the ride coursed through her veins, but her memories of Smoke were doing all the heavy lifting.

And she didn’t even know that she’d already been spotted. That the younger of the two Moore men had already informed the man that she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Annie stayed sitting on the back of the four-wheeler. Both of her legs were swung to one side, but to avoid the heated plastic from how intense the drive had been, her calves brushed Mookie’s to reach a cooler spot. And he welcomed her, nudged her with his sweat-covered shoulder before flashing that white smile.

“Ain’t seen you in ages,” he laughed breathlessly, trying to pull her into his orbit. But all Annie did was hum and nod her head and utter an is that right. “Yeah,” he muttered back, scooting in closer. “I heard you gotta nigga now. That true?”

The young woman’s attention snapped toward her friends as they snickered. She watched them whisper things under their breaths, and she could just imagine the answers they were giving to his question. Something about Smoke or something coy or something sly and full of half-truths, but she simply answered his question with another question.

“Why you wanna know that?”

“‘Cause I need to know who I gotta get in the ring wit’,” he chuckled like she was playing games, but the woman was truly uninterested and trying her best not to roll her eyes in the man’s face.

“Yeah, okay,” she raised her eyebrows mockingly, laughing when she looked across to her friends. They were cackling, falling all over each other because he really thought he’d win a fight between him and her nigga. But he didn’t know she was with Smoke—which was a feat of its own because everyone around was looking at him with pity while he looked googly-eyed at the girl who belonged to Smoke Moore.

“You sayin’ I can’t do it,” Mookie scoffed, scrunching his forehead.

“I’m sayin’ you ain’t even on my radar, baby,” Annie scoffed back, shaking her head. She was about to tell him to cut his losses before something bad happened, but then she heard it—an engine revving. His engine.

Above the height of the music and laugher and horses trotting and four-wheelers stirring up dirt, she could hear the man coming. It sparked that rush in her heart once more. It reinvigorated the humming in her lower body. She didn’t know whether to stay or run, but the sound rang again and she knew he was getting closer. Time was limited. When Mookie spoke again, the young woman jumped in shock, having been lost in her mind.

“Huh,” she slurred, leaning close to hear him over the various noises around her.

“I said, who yo’ nigga,” he shouted above the music. The revving had stopped and even despite the loud ass music and laughing, something else had begun to penetrate. It was a sense of danger and unease. Stomachs churned as it approached, but no one had words to describe what it meant or had a means to escape it. Annie’s mouth opened in an attempt to come clean, but then a voice boomed over the height of hers and everything around them.

“I am. You got a problem with that?”

It was almost as if the air was sucked out of the outdoors. Heads turned. Mouths hushed. Conversations stalled in the middle as everyone zeroed in on the burly man.

Smoke’s eyes were hot with fire was he looked upon Mookie, completely ignoring Annie who was trying to quiet the way smoke and flames filled her system. All she’d been able to think about was him, and now he was here; She couldn’t deny the way it felt like she had conjured him up herself. Behind him was Stack—a shit-eating grin taking over his face—and the young woman couldn’t help the roll of her eyes. Of course he’d been there, but it pissed her off more to know that she hadn’t been aware of his presence, that she’d already been in trouble much longer than she thought.

“I-I—naw, Smoke,” Mookie stuttered, scrambling to get off of the four-wheeler. Grabbing his shirt from the handle bars, he threw it over his head in an attempt to look more decent. Sitting half-clothed beside another man’s woman was never a good look, but the attempt didn’t help his case any. “I was just catchin’ up with an old friend,” he laughed nervously, looking back to Annie for an assistance she wasn’t ready to lend. “Didn’t know y’all was foolin’ around.”

The young woman’s ears became fogged as her man hurled threats. She was barely listening as her eyes took in his appearance. Tired from work and travel but refreshed in a way only she could tell. His sweatpants were sitting low on his hips—a filthy ease she couldn’t get enough of. Between the haze of her arousal, she could pick up on bits of the heated conversation: Mookie vowing that he meant now harm; Smoke pressing hard anyway ‘cause the nigga must have been living under a rock to not know Annie ran with him.

Everyone knew Smoke, so everyone knew Annie belonged to him. It was simple. It made sense.

But the man in front of him was acting stupid, and the eyes around them were growing larger with anticipation. A Moore man insulted—especially this publicly—was not something anyone wanted to be on the receiving end of. Moving in closer, Stack watched, eyes low and at the ready for whenever he was called upon to act. Annie’s eyes watched the scene—Stack’s stalking, the twitch of Smoke’s hand before his head began to drift toward the younger twin. She jumped into action just before that look that would cement everything could be sent from brother to brother.

“Calm down,” she sighed, moving off the four-wheeler like a pro. Her walk toward the older man was calculated—her hips switching dangerously because she knew he liked it, her eyes locked on his because one look between them communicated a million words. When she was stood in front of him, her arms went around his neck, completely unconcerned with the eyes watching. Her friends held in their giggles now—terrified yet intrigued. Everyone else turned away because Annie was Smoke’s girl, and that dangerous walk had their eyes wanting to wander. “It was innocent,” she purred, kissing the edge of his mouth. “I just wanted a ride.” Her lips moved toward his jaw. Then his neck. Then his hoodie, leaving a glare of lip gloss on the fabric. “Lighten up, Daddy.”

She laughed when his breath hitched, catching in his throat.

“Annie,” Smoke growled, hand meeting her hips and holding on tight. His anger was only growing steadily, increasing as he took in her appearance. He tried to think logically, but her ass was hanging out of those shorts, and that crop top made her look good enough to eat. Shaking his head once and huffing in annoyance, he nodded in an off direction before completely turning away. “Get yo’ ass in that car,” he mumbled, pushing her hip where he wanted her to go.

And Annie huffed, grinding her teeth; But she obeyed because she was already in a world of trouble. Saying goodbye to her friends and accepting their prayers and well wishes, she looked back just once before doing as told.

She watched Smoke send that look, finality filling the air as Stack moved to action. Her eyes flashed as Smoke crossed his arms and Stack snatched Mookie up before dragging him off to meet his Maker.

Annie's walk toward the Cutlass had been filled with a tension she couldn’t comprehend. She was scared and aroused and full of guilt all at once. She could have tried to help Mookie more, but it probably would have just made it worse for him. She could have just stayed with her friends, said no to the ride. She could have stayed home like Smoke would have told her to. But where was the fun in all of that?

Each step brought let her closer to her demise and a night full of getting fucked through the mattress—or that’s what she thought. Smoke was gaining on her, gait wide and long. She’d been taking her sweet, precious time making it to his car, and the longer she walked the better she realized just how far away from the function he had parked.

When the Cutlass came into view, it was tucked away near a line of trees, and the music from the trail ride was just a distant thump. Her heart pounded, pussy purring as she took a look back. There he was, anger held up in his expression.

Her feet sped up.

His did, too.

But he still made it to the car at the same time that she did, halting her attempts to get into the passenger’s seat by placing a hand over the door handle.

“I’m gettin’ real tired of yo’ shit, woman,” Smoke’s voice rumbled, penetrating her system. Annie felt crazy because no matter what, Smoke always got her hot and bothered. She felt it was only a matter of time before she folded, and she hoped to God that time would come soon.

“It was just innocent fun,” she played off, leaning her ass against the pale blue car. She arms crossed under her chest, and her weight shifted beautifully.

“Innocent,” he laughed mockingly. “You know exactly why I don’t let yo’ ass come to these damn trail rides. Out here in the middle of nowhere like you ain’t got no home trainin’.”

“You ain’t my daddy, Smoke,” she growled, rolling her neck at him, and the man’s eyebrows raised in shock.

“Oh, so you don’t remember cummin’ all over this dick less than a week ago? Screamin’ my name like it was the only word you knew?”

“That’s not fair,” she scoffed like the words were crude. Her eyes drifted toward her feet, unable to handle looking at him for too long. There wasn’t much fight in her this time around. She knew she was in the wrong, knew her punishment would be much worse if she resisted. The young woman’s simple need for the man pushed her brattiness away—for the time being.

Lips twitching into a pout, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Smoke,” Annie whimpered, leaning into his body like it would save her. And he scoffed but allowed it to happen nonetheless. “I won’t do it no more,” she vowed, words coming out strained and desperate. “I’ll be good from now on! I promise—”

“Nah,” he cut her off, shaking his head cause he’d heard those words too damn much. She was always sorry, always gonna do better, always gonna change her ways and be his good girl—but she never honored her promises. She pushed and pushed and pushed until he broke each and every time, using her sweetness to win him over, but he wasn’t falling for it again. Not when she had taken things to the extreme. “I be easy on you, baby,” he started, moving his hand to her waist. “I’m soft with you—softer than I’ve ever been. I let you off easy. I let you get yo’ licks back. But I think I give you too much grace because you be knowin’ better.”

The woman choked, trying to get a word in but he wouldn’t let her. She was sorry, truly this time. Her body needed him, desperate to be filled and fucked and taken control over. She needed him, and each of his heavy words was making her legs tremble harder and more consistent. She pressed her thighs together and moved to speak once more—but again, he cut her off.

“I want to be sweet with you, woman,” he spoke strained, tightening his hold on her waist. “But you make that shit hard.”

At that, the man turned her around, pressing her front into the side of his Cutlass. Hot skin meeting the cool surface of the car, Annie moaned while a shiver ran straight down her spine.

“Daddy,” she cried when he pressed his body against hers. In the seat of his sweatpants, she could feel how hard he was—thick and throbbing as he watched her tremble against his car.

“This little ass outfit,” he growled, pulling at the waistband of her shorts. She was tempting as hell, and that only made him more upset. Niggas had been looking at what was his all damn night. He grunted once, smacked the side of her ass. “Who you wear this for?”

“I was gon’ take pictures for you,” she lied, biting her bottom lip at the sting. The memory of nights ago still lingered in the faint marks and bruises on her backside.

“I’m sure you was,” he breathed sarcastically because he didn’t believe a word she said. She wasn’t supposed to be at a trail ride to begin with, so she definitely wasn’t going to share any of the evidence with him. Reaching around her body, the man’s hands drifted lower. “Who you belong to,” he questioned in her ear, humid air swirling as his tone dripped in dominance.

“You,” she whined, pressing her ass against the bulge in his pants. His fingers were pulling at the zipper of her shorts, popping the button open before pulling the zipper down low and slow.

“Say it right,” he demanded, hands pulling her shorts down an inch. His fingers ghosted the outside of her panties, waiting for her to obey his order.

“I belong to you, Daddy,” she corrected with a moan. “Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore.”

The man let out a satisfied sound, not yet allowing her to hear the praise she so desperately wanted. He watched her nails claw at the car, trying to find something to hold on to as his fingers drifted below the band of her underwear. She was soaked, dripping arousal all over the place. From the moment she’d heard the revving of his car, she was instantly ready for the man, and since then, the need had only increased exponentially. Annie was damn near crying by the time his middle finger reached her clit, but when it did, he pulled away.

“Tell me why you deserve it,” he roared down the back of her neck, keeping her body in place. He played with her folds, teasing the pleasure she so badly wanted. He hadn’t seen this side of her in a long time—the side that would say and do anything just because she needed it just that bad. She was always desperate, but this was pure and carnal at the same time.

Annie racked her brain for reasons why. She’d been horrible as of late, mean and rude and disrespectful. She didn’t deserve it, and they both knew that. This was a form of punishment she hadn’t experienced before—straight torture. The party thrummed on behind them, but neither of them cared. They were in their own world. Nothing else mattered.

When the words fell from her mouth, they were timid and shy. But above all, they were honest.

“I don’t deserve it, Daddy,” she cried, resting her forehead against the car and pushing her body into his hand. “I don’t deserve it, but I want to. I promise I do.” Her hips rocked slowly, testing the leash she’d been given, testing his dominance while simultaneously surrendering to it because there was no other way to possibly live. She needed him. Craved him.

Dragging herself against his palm and trembling in his hold, Annie's pussy cried in his hand.

Smoke was done talking.

He was done with words and lies and pleas for more.

Pressing a hand against her back, he made sure her chest stayed flush with the car. Then he started fucking her with his fingers, not even allowing her to adjust to the intrusion.

“Oh, fuck,” Annie moaned loudly, fluttering around his thick fingers. He filled her so beautifully. So perfectly. Like he was created to fill her. Like she was molded to fit around him. Her hips kept up their rocking, grinding back into his hand with a soft quiver. “D-Daddy,” she cried, jaw dropping when he shifted the pressure, dragging slower, fucking deeper.

“You try to run shit, but we both know I’m in charge ‘round here,” the man barked. “I got you wit’ yo’ shorts down against the side of my car where anyone could see you.” It was true, and the truth made her moan filthily. “You my slut, Annie,” he continued. “My perfect girl.”

His pace turned rough, fucking her so deep in an attempt to break her. He hated having to prove the same point over and over again, but if he had to, he would. Fingers flexing inside of her, he began pressing against that soft spot against her walls. The woman cried, moaned, yelled for more. The hand against her back made her chest feel like it was caving in against the car. His pressure was rough—just like she needed it to be—and just as the man expected, her legs began to give out, folding in on themselves as he stroked her walls.

“Stand that ass up,” Smoke yelled through gritted teeth. He watched her try. Watched her fail. Watched her body begin to burn from the inside out. “You want it,” he questioned darkly in her ear. The hand at her back moved around to the front of her. He held her body close to his, thrusting his fingers with more fervor now that she was stable again. He could feel her on the very edge. “You want that fuckin’ nut?”

Annie moaned brokenly, leaning her head back against his shoulder. When she looked up at him, her eyes were wet around the edges, and the sight of his tight expression didn’t help any. One hand moving to the back of his head, she watched him while he took control of her. The other helped him to support her, pressing against the back of his hand that held her body together.

“I want it so bad, baby,” she whimpered, looking through his soul.

The man’s face stayed tight—still angry—but his eyes flashed in recognition. An idea popped into his head; One that was cruel and sure to get his point across. He kept his pace steady, shifting his hand subtly so the heel of his hand grazed her clit. When her mouth opened and her eyes rolled back, his mouth fluttered against hers.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” he cooed against her lips, laughing darkly as she broke apart.

The orgasm thrusted the woman into a state of shock. She forgot where she was. She forgot who she was. She forgot what she was even doing. But she couldn’t mistake the easily recognizable aura of Smoke Moore. He was tantalizing. Controlling. More dominant that she’d ever experienced before. And it was beautiful. Annie had surrendered to him with an ease that she absolutely was not ashamed to have exhibited. He was the type of nigga who deserved that side of her—the soft, pliable, easy side. He was the type of nigga who deserved easy after dealing with all the shit he did.

When she came to, she’d been thrown up on the hood of the man’s car, head flung back and spine arched as he swallowed every ounce of her cum. Her shorts were long gone. Her panties were slung over the side mirror like a trophy the man wanted every passerby to see. He sucked her dry, ate her off the bone, brought her to the edge of a second orgasm like the professional eater he was.

Annie raked her hands down the side of his face, holding him in place as she rocked against his tongue, but the spank to her thigh made her jump.

“Hands to yourself,” Smoke rumbled, quickly returning to his task, and she obeyed without any hesitation or protest. It was hard not to touch him because all she wanted was to feel his skin against her palms. The man’s thick lips surrounded her clit. He sucked harshly, pulling the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around it. The sound was obscene. The sight made her fingers twitch. Every couple of seconds, he’d pull back and spit at her folds before swallowing her and starting all over again. The feeling was addictive, but when she was mere seconds away from cumming, the older man slowed his efforts.

The young woman’s eyes fluttered in confusion. She looked down, eyebrows creased together as she took in Smoke's state. The man was quiet, too quiet, but then he started up again, and she hushed up the protest that was vying for its chance to fall from her mouth. He picked up right where he left off.

It was just as harsh.

Just as nasty.

Just as full of sweat and spit and tears.

Annie found herself getting lost in it again, completely overtaken by his ability to fuck her so delightfully.

But then he slowed once more—right when she reached the top of her peak.

Annie’s thighs trembled in his hold. Her throat grew wet in frustration, but then—he continued.

Fast. Hard. Filthy. Dangerous.

Her face tightened in need. Her body trembled atop the car's hood. Every muscle in her body flexed, waiting for that beautiful breaking moment.

But again, the man slowed.

Then he stopped all together.

“Daddy,” Annie released breathily, sitting up on her elbows to get a better look at the man. All she could see clearly in the darkness that surrounded them were his bright, hooded eyes and his tongue that sat outstretched toward her clit, waiting. She shook her head, confused beyond belief, but then he raised his eyebrow, and she got the message.

Her hips raised experimentally, clit swiping at his tongue and making her lips fall into a deep pout.

“Please,” she cried, failing to keep a steady rhythm as the feeling of his rough tongue spread across her pussy with no help from him at all. She worked as best she could, bucking up then down, swirling her hips when it got too hard to keep up one constant motion. But it all felt impossible. She was so close to an orgasm, but the closer she got, the further she felt the goal post was moved. Smoke was playing with her heart because every time her body shook, he pulled back. No tongue on her. No hands at her hips. No orgasm in sight.

When he’d come back to her clit, he’d lean in harder just to piss her off. And it worked every time no matter what.

Her frustration was exactly the effect Smoke wanted it to have. He was having too much fun watching her get annoyed as he forced her to get off on his tongue. She’d completely lost herself in him, and not once did she seem concerned with her surroundings. She was happy to be fucked silly, and the fact that she wasn’t given her second orgasm yet made her feel insane.

“Why you doin’ me like this,” she groaned, the bass in her voice making the words land with a bite. She couldn’t understand what was happening, and instead of an answer, all she got was Smoke taking over control again. She sighed with exhaustion and excitement as he pulled her body into his mouth. He massaged the fat of her ass while she grinded her hips against his face.

Relief was the only thing she wanted in this moment, and she could feel it quickly approaching. Her hips snapped. Her hands fell to his head. Her thighs locked him in place. Moans turning loud and incessant before slipping into soft whines of pleasure, she felt the warmth begin to spread.

Then Smoke stopped.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

Annie shouted the words without thinking, raised her voice knowing she was on thin ice. The man was breathing heavily in her face within seconds, pressing her into the car with damn near all his force. The hood was cool against her flushed, fucked skin, but his words were what sent a chill down her spine.

“Who you talkin’ to, li’l mama,” Smoke wondered aloud, looking at her like he’d ruin her right then and there. And he would—was going to very shortly.

“Nobody,” Annie quipped. She attempted to lower her eyes to look away, but the man was quick. He scooped up her throat in the palm of his hand, noting the way her pulse spiked.

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he muttered against her lips, choking her and making her eyes flutter up at him. He tested the pressure—going hard then soft then hard again—and each iteration made her thighs quiver. “You must have thought I’d just let yo’ ass have whatever you wanted tonight? But this a punishment,” he reminded smoothly. “I gave you that first one so you could have something to aspire to, babygirl. But you gotta work to deserve that again.”

Annie's words were coming to bite her in the ass. She’d told him she didn’t deserve it. His kindness. His care. His sex. But he gave it to her anyway and in the worst possible manner.

In an instant, he was between her thighs, pants and briefs around his ankles while his dick stroked her walls. He tapped at the back of her pussy, flirting with the idea of ruining her function. With the way his hand stayed at her throat, and his hips moved with intention, she knew she'd leave tonight unable to walk, knew she'd have stories to tell tomorrow, knew the evidence would be riddled all over her body.

The pace was steady, mimicking a Mississippi second as he rocked into her smoothly. Smoke was a calculated man. He had planned every aspect of this night in his head. From the moment he got that call to now, he knew he'd end up buried deep inside of her and showing no mercy. The specific details changed and adjusted as he went, but one thing stayed constant, and that was the fact that he was going to fuck Annie's ass up.

The man began to mutter into her ear every issue he'd had with her recently: her attitude, her slick ass mouth, her disrespect, her lying, her disobeying his rules, her entertaining another nigga. She was his and his only.

Each time he added a new grievance, his hand tightened its hold. And each time that happened, Annie apologized—deeply, honestly, reverently. She made sure he knew she was sorry, that she'd do better because, God, did she want to believe it. His roughness was addictive, but his sweetness made her body just as hot. She knew she brought him stress, knew he was going to care for her no matter how she badly behaved. But right then and there, she dedicated herself to doing better—even if that was done bit by bit, day by day.

The young woman's hands were thrown over her head as he stroked her walls in time. Her moans had turned greedy, deep howls that sounded more animalistic than anything else. Smoke was growling right alongside her, body succumbing to that delicious flutter of her walls. Her orgasm was approaching quickly, but she knew he wouldn't let her have it, so she learned to enjoy the way her body felt. She payed attention to the spike of her pulse, the flutter of her pussy around his length, the twitch of his dick. And when he pulled out sharply and came all over her thighs and the hood of the Cutlass, she watched in renewed awe.

Chest rising and falling fast, Smoke fought to recover his breath. He hadn't intended to cum in the middle of her punishment, but he'd be lying if he said that pussy wasn't reckless. His heart was pounding, breath ragged. Eyes meeting Annie's he saw an emotion in them that he hadn't seen before—awe and wonder. Then her hands moved from their place above her head and fumbled toward the white, hot streaks he'd left on her thighs.

She raked it off of her skin. Brought it toward her face. Stuffed her mouth with the remnants of his climax. Then she moaned like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted, like his cum was an oasis in the middle of a desert and she just couldn't help but take a drink.

Smoke groaned at the display, dick immediately hardening again when she dipped back in a second time. She swallowed his cum with reverence in her eyes, and that was what finally made him believe she deserved to feel relief.

He was marveled, folding inside of her while their eyes locked in on each other. They moaned into each other's faces, made promises that neither of them knew how to keep, but they would—somehow. In the middle of trees and wide open land with a party going on hundreds of feet away, they committed themselves to each other in the form of a carnal act. But it went beyond the moment they were in, beyond any knowing.

Annie's heartbeat shifted, taking the shape of Smoke's and vice versa. They melded into one, both fucking with the same goal in mind. Annie wanted to help him reach his climax, and Smoke wanted to do the same for her. His lips glided up the side of her neck, molding themselves to her jaw before fitting to the edge of her mouth. He kissed her there—softly, with purpose. And Annie damn near cried.

"Smoke," she breathed densely. The air was clouded, humid and wet like any other Mississippi night. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and as she pulled him close, and he allowed it.

"That's my good girl," he groaned against her face. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And all Annie could do was nod and press herself into his neck for refuge as her body began to unfold itself.

When they both came, they came together: bodies slick, minds far off, thighs trembling, souls rested for the first time in a long time. The feeling of Smoke painting her walls with such force worked to pull one last orgasm from the woman, and as she clamped down tight, she milked her lover dry.

Laid atop the hood of a pale blue Cutlass in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a Mississippi night, two souls became one, two hearts opened themselves up for more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~6,550

a/n: the end :3

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @nifniffy @nuttyinternetprincess @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[joyylakiell]

oh yessss ma’am!!!! Actually I need them both.

[thebumblebeesworld]

AIN’T • ONE • OF • THEM

2000s!au annie x smoke • smut

preview: “This what you wanted, huh,” he threw back hotly. His cadence was slow. Tone thick and heavy with the heat that had entered the room. “See you be fuckin’ wit’ them young niggas,” he roared, anger beading off of him in the form of sweat and his palm to her ass, “but I ain’t one of them, baby. This real grown nigga shit ‘round here, and it’s time you fully get a taste of who you fuckin’ wit’.”

cw: daddy!smoke, mean!smoke, older!smoke, younger!annie, bratty!annie, masturbation in the presence of another, edging, spit, degradation, he’s realll mean, spanking, belt to assss (literally), use of the nword

a/n: INSPIRED BY BBB BY JUVENILE FT MEG!!! that shit been stuck in my head since it came out lmaoooo. as soon as i heard i just knew it was only a matter of time before the writing bug caught me smh

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoke wasn’t a nigga to be fucked with, and everybody in and around Jackson, Mississippi knew that to be a fact. He ran shit—had been running it since he and his brother left Clarksdale for something deeper South; and way before then, too. Everywhere he went, his name was known, felt in the way it penetrated a heart like a bullet to soft flesh. Most notoriously, folks knew the twins by the businesses they’d run for decades: Auto body shops as covers; Laundromats to clean the money they earned off doing illegal shit; Towing companies because multiple streams never hurt. Kept the cops from poking around in they business—but everyone knew.

As a result, the man was well respected, and his success was looked at as something to attain. But it didn’t come by with luck. It was strategy, planning, real hands-on, back-breaking, soul-cursing work—but he did it anyway because he had real shit to handle.

When people saw Smoke coming, they moved off sidewalks to clear his path or dapped him up real polite-like. Some people would watch as he strided with a head held high, shoulders back, and jaw clenched. And they’d wonder what was circling around in the head of a man like that—giant as he. He was mystique personified—quiet, hearty, confident, edged with something raw and dangerous.

The only person who didn’t give a shit about his reputation, though, was Annie Laveau.

She was a young thing he’d been fucking around with—just by a few years. She was slick at the mouth and thick in the thighs with pretty brown skin that shined brighter than any piece of jewelry a reckless nigga like Smoke had ever bought. She’d turned his head without trying too hard, and she had him keeping tabs on her before she even allowed him to hear the sound of her name fall off her lips.

But, of course, she knew Smoke Moore; She had to be living under a rock to not have heard of the SmokeStack Twins, but he didn’t need to know all that, didn’t need to know she had always dreamed of the care he gave her: older man putting money in her pocket and checking her when her mouth breathed too hot a fire. It made her insides blaze to see that flashing in his eyes. When he’d have just enough of her disrespect, she could always tell the instant when she’d go from flat on her feet to laid on her back.

~~~~~

The pale blue Cutlass blazed through the city, cutting the air in half as it rode low and controlled. A veined hand gripped the wheel taut while the other settled around a pre-roll. Smoke curled in the dusky air—of the man’s namesake—brushing past his knuckles as he urged the vehicle toward the edge of town.

The young woman had always been an anomaly to him, especially when he learned of how far out she lived. Most of her time was spent in Jackson—working, hanging with friends, running the streets—but the rest of the time, she was at home, 20 minutes away from all the noise in the middle of the woods. And Smoke didn’t care. It only peaked his interest and made him want to know more about her, what about quiet pulled her to live where sound hardly penetrated.

The woman didn’t know he was coming, but she could sense it. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, her thighs clenched tight. Smoke always had that effect on Annie. Even now with a tight nightgown on, her hair wrapped up, and her body begging for a sleep it wouldn’t be awarded for hours to come. When she finally heard the road of his engine, she sat up quick, hand fumbling for the remote to turn off the newest episode of that one Wayans Brother show ‘bout the wife and kids.

Her skin prickled in heat and desire, and no matter how hard she fought to push it away, nothing worked. He was revving that engine, testing her affinity for quiet—though he shared the same characteristic. Her eyes drifted toward the full-length mirror across the room, raking over her appearance and satisfied with what she found.

This nigga can’t never come at an appropriate time, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes as she crossed her bedroom. Spraying perfume in the places his nose gravitated toward the most—her neck, titties, wrist, ankles, the back of her knees—the woman heaved a nervous breath. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d been on edge recently, increasingly needy for a feeling only Smoke could give her. Her lower body thudded with each engine cry, and her fingers pulled at each other in anticipation.

Suitcases thudded around in the backseat as the rugged man traded pavement for rock and dirt roads. He could just barely make out the glow of her home beyond the trees, so he revved to announce his presence. Revved again to let her know that he expected the door to be open for him when he got there. He wasn’t in the mood for games tonight. He needed his soft place to land, but in the backseat, the suitcases reminded him that he didn’t have much time to be idle.

Business trip. Few states west. Normal for a man like him with his hand too deep in foul shit.

Rolling his shoulders back, Smoke pulled the car to a slow stop outside Annie’s home. He surveyed. Made sure everything was as he left it. When he walked toward the front door, he shifted toward her car. He slow-walked it, head tilted to the side as he eyed the rear driver’s side tire—nearly flat.

“This woman,” he huffed, annoyed but never uninvested in assisting her. He was back at the Cutlass in three short steps, throwing the trunk open and fishing for his air compressor. It took two seconds—would have been quicker if it wasn’t dark outside—but the tire was reinflated with ease. He filed the instance away, marking up a mental todo list so he could get her a new set of tires when he was back in town. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an issue with her and that old ass car. She refused to let him buy her something new, refused to listen to him about keeping it checked up on, refused to let him do the checking.

While his auto body shop was a cover, the man was still passionate about vehicles, and she knew that. But Annie always had to be right no matter the situation or argument.

Attention restored to his original task, Smoke bounded up the steps. Hands on the knob, he readied himself to open the door that should have been unlocked, and when he tried?

Nothing.

No turn. No push open.

The grunt couldn’t keep itself down, because he knew for a fact she’d heard him coming, and if she hadn’t, she for damn sure heard him opening and closing his trunk, filling her tire, and walking up them steps. It was dead quiet, the only sound being cicadas and toads, and she was on the other side of that door playing with him.

“You betta’ bust a move and open this door, woman,” he shouted through the wood, not even caring to knock. He could practically hear her snicker, could see the smirk growing on her lips. “Yeah, you laughin’ now,” he gritted his teeth, speaking under his breath. His eyes drifted to the doorknob and remained there—locked in. “You laughin’ but just wait til I get my hands on you.”

The threat was clear, too damn clear, and across the house in her bedroom, Annie’s heart pitched in fear. She always loved pushing him, but it was late and he was tired. She knew he’d have her ass hanging off the side of the bed with no mercy if she didn’t act fast, and even though she’d probably end up in that position anyway, she at least wanted a chance at seeing the sweeter side of him tonight.

But, God, did she like it rough.

And Smoke's rough wasn't like any other roughness she could have found out in the wild. He laid hands better than any preacher in the Delta; He spoke truth to life better than any church mother this side of the Mississippi. When she needed to be handled, his roughness did the talking; But his sweetness was one of a kind, too. The man cared for her, kept her safe, kept money in her pocket, took her on dates and made everyone know she was his—though she fought him on that fact—and he knew how to fix her grandaddy's beat up Chevy Caprice like he'd manufactured it himself.

Keeping that in mind, her legs swung over the edge of her bed once more, and her feet carried her to the door of her bedroom. Through the doorframe and down the hallway she went to answer the man's call, and when she swung the front door open, he appeared to be that perfect, beautiful roughness right there in front of her.

"Who the fuck you think you talkin' to like that, Smoke," she sassed immediately, not letting him hear the way he made her feel. But he could see it in her eyes, how they lit up as his jaw clenched.

"I'm talkin' to the woman that can't keep that damn Chevy in workin' order," he growled, pushing his way into her home. His shoulders brushed hers, causing her heart to race at the feeling of his body in such a close vicinity. But her head spun when he kept walking, feet on a mission to her kitchen. She loved the way he took up space like he owned it, loved his unapologetic nature that came with an ease she had worked to understand.

Annie followed behind him, watching his upper back take over her home, the slight sway of his arms, the soft swirl of his hips.

"I don't know why you won't let me get rid of that thang for you," Smoke mumbled, washing his hands clean of the slick oil that coated his fingers. "It's too much trouble, and you deserve somethin' nicer."

"That thang is my granddaddy's car," she bit back with a nasty attitude. “I don’t need anything else ‘cause if it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.”

“That’s dumb logic.”

She rolled her eyes when he turned around just so he could see her annoyance. And in retaliation, he wiped his hands on her good towel just like she’d told him not to plenty of times before.

"What you doin' here anyway," she wondered aloud, confusion between her brows. "It's late, and I was on my way to bed. Then here you come bein’ loud in that Cutlass, tryin' to wake the dead."

"Oh, so you did hear me comin'," he griped. His veins bulged, forehead taut.

"Smoke," she sighed, rolling her eyes so hard that the man thought they'd get stuck.

"Nah," he refuted, shaking his head and stepping into her personal space. When he took a step forward, she took one back. "You knew I was outside and you ain't have that door open?"

"Smoke—"

"You testin' my patience, baby," he spoke strained. His neck craned to the side, taking in the way she kept backing up away from him. "I came all the way out here to get a piece of you 'fore I go on this trip, and now you wanna cut up?"

"How you know I wanna give you a piece," Annie questioned breathily. She was at the end of the line, back hitting the wall as he only increased his speed toward her. Her chest rose quick, protest in her throat but body completely caving already. She wanted it, needed it: that sweet roughness. She could hear the jingle of his belt, and her throat jumped at the thought of it wrapped around her neck like last time. Her eyes drifted down, the memory pulling her away for a moment too long.

Following her stare, Smoke took a long look at his belt, too. The memory burned just as hot for him, and the grin that blazed on his lips showed that the woman was in for it tonight. He reached a hand up, ghosting the nightgown and comparing the fabric to her skin. Her breath hitched each time he ventured off, and when his hand found purchase on her throat, she was about ready to call an audible.

"Baby," he breathed, voice dusky and raw. It made her insides churn and her head drift just a tad bit closer. But the man had her locked in place, grip constricting her movement—and breathing—bit by bit. "You ain't gotta want to do a damn thing. That’s my pussy, and she know it, too. Now fix that attitude before I gotta do it for you."

"Whatever," Annie mumbled, lips tight. She tried to face away but it was no use. At her lower body, her thighs were pressing together. A little further up, her arms were crossed beneath her breasts.

"You lookin' real pretty," Smoke complimented. His eyes were on her chest, the way her cleavage spilled out of the dress. "Think that's 'bout the best purchase I've ever made." It was a gift from weeks ago, but she hadn't let him see it on her body yet, and he was completely done pretending like the sight didn't make him want to pounce. It fit just right: having her titties high, her belly prominent, and her thighs flushed. It ended well before her knee, and barely covered anything, and she looked good as hell.

"Thank you," the woman blushed, throat still in his grip. He moaned at the sound, sweetness finally making its way through her brattiness—for now.

"You gon' be a good girl for me," the man asked darkly. He guided her body away from the wall with the palm to her throat and another at her waist. Each step brought her closer to her bedroom, each second that passed without a response brought her closer to a danger she couldn't live without.

Annie had been with a plethora of men, but none of them had been like Smoke. Where he was confident, they were insecure. Where he was a nigga driven by determination, they had no drive—no vision. Where he was a man that could dick her down for hours on end, they could only last minutes in her softness. And where he was dominant, they simply allowed Annie to walk all over them. But not Smoke; He was solid, and they both knew she needed that.

"I asked you a question, babygirl," he near growled as they passed through her bedroom door, but her mouth was still shut, mind clouded by her need to be put in her place. When he tsked, it was only a matter of seconds before he had her turned in the opposite direction, back to his chest. The older man worked his jaw, trying to reel in some of the aggression in his system, but it was no use; Annie was laughing.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny,” he barked, pulling her into his chest. His hand wrapped around her wrists, holding them at the top of her ass.

But she didn’t stop.

She just kept laughing. Louder and more insistent.

Smoke had had enough. Enough of her disrespect. Enough of her bratty behavior.

Bending Annie over the edge of her bed, he dared her to move, and she didn’t. But she did laugh—cackle even. It baffled the man and pissed him off past the point of being able to cope. The sound of metal flashing against leather filled the air, instantly replacing the hilarity in her throat. The young woman’s laugh died down into a fit of giggles, rumbling in her chest as she waited for her punishment to arrive. She wanted it, needed it, and when his belt rained down on the skin at the back of her thighs, she began to hiccup.

The pain was sharp, cutting at her deep brown skin and settling heavily. It lingered between the time he raised the belt above his head and brought it back down again. Livid was just one word to described the man. Aroused was a word that described them both. The grip of his palm around the leather brought heated friction to his skin, sparking up the emotion in his belly just as much as the bounce of the belt off her backside did. He became transfixed by the sound and sight. Annie was moaning, hiccuping around the giggles she wouldn't give up, and her thighs kept drifting closer to his hand, in need for more. Between her legs, her pussy throbbed.

"You like this shit," he accused with strain in his voice. His body was rumbling, belt raining down violently in the most perfect way. The accusation caused Annie to moan deeper. Her fingers tangled in her silk sheets, clawing for something to settle the rapid beating of her heart. He was taking her through the motions, completely unrelenting the entire time. “You fuckin’ slut,” he groaned, sweat prickling his forehead.

“Yes,” she moaned, rubbing her thighs together for more friction, and it only made him go harder.

The belt traveled higher—going from her thighs to the fat of her ass. Her gown had rode up high, exposing her skin and the black thong barely covering her pussy. Welps the color of red wine rose on she body, and down her face, tears as salty as the sea mingled with sweat just the same.

“Da-Daddy,” she choked. Her giggles were fully gone now, no more laughs filling the room. Just cries. Just pleads. Just calls of the man’s title she’d learned through experience only. The sound of her cry only made him scoff, so she reached back in search of the hand that had remained planted at her lower back. “Please, Daddy,” she begged once more, pulling at his wrist, not even knowing what she needed from him.

“You wanted this, remember?” The question was mocking, cutting through her and leaving her whimpering. “You wanted this when you heard me down that road. When I pulled up and you sat in this room like you wasn’t expectin’ me. When I had to fix that fuckin’ tire again. When you was mouthin’ off. I’m just givin’ you what you beggin’ for.”

The anger in his tone did nothing to quell her arousal and pain. She needed him—just like this—and she’d gotten that. But now she needed more.

Each time the belt landed, her body shook. She broke more every second. Annie could feel her heart stopping and her frame giving out from all the heavy pressure. Her stomach curled, and it felt like she was going to die—heaven flashing behind her eyes. But then, one last swipe of his belt hit her ass, and she came right there: on the edge of her bed with her gown up past her hips and her face buried in the sheets.

It was a full body breaking. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, everything tightened before the pull snapped in half. She convulsed all over, crying in a pleasure she couldn’t possibly describe.

Smoke was appalled. His arm was reared back high in the air, paused as he watched her climax rip through her. She’d never come this prematurely, never came without direct permission.

“The fuck,” he mumbled in disgust and disbelief and delight all at once. She looked damn good, pussy leaking through her panties, all over her thighs, and down on the silk sheets. She seemingly had a talent that they’d both just discovered together; But this was already a punishment, and now she was blatantly disobeying his rules.

Smoke’s belt clambered to the floor, landing in a heap as he pulled his pants and briefs down his legs. His shirt was next to be torn from his body, ripped over his head quickly so his attention could stay locked on Annie who was clawing her way up the bed. The young woman knew what was coming, but she was still trying to save herself. In the midst of her climax—pussy still constricting, clit still throbbing—she could sense his anger, could feel it towering over her trembling frame.

“Turn that ass over,” he demanded while following after her. He grabbed her feet, flipping her body with a quickness so that her back met the cool temperature of the sheets. She was yanked down just enough, panties ripped off, gown tossed over her head, legs cranked open, and knees pushed into her chest.

Then he devoured her.

Locking his mouth around her dripping arousal, Smoke swallowed every drop of her cum. He sucked hard, lapped like a madman on his way to the electric chair. And Annie still hadn’t recovered from her orgasm. She was running from his tongue and praying to the Lord above for a calvary that wouldn’t come. She was at the older man’s mercy, and she had rightfully earned her punishment.

His hands stayed at the back of her thighs, pressing against the deep purple and red bruises to ensure that her legs stayed right where he wanted them. Her next orgasm was approaching fast. He could feel it in the flutter she was trying to conceal, and her moans and cries had evolved into gasps and chirps—one of the prettiest sounds.

Tongue working overtime, he swirled her clit, drawing more of her arousal from her entrance before dipping his tongue there. He drank from the source and moaned at its sweet and savory tang.

“Best pussy and nigga like me don’ ever had,” he groaned into her parted legs. Annie squealed from the vibration of his words, hands falling to his shoulders for stability. Then he smacked the side of her ass, growling deeply as he pushed her further into the bed.

“Smoke,” she gasped, throat raw. “I can’t ta-take it, Daddy!”

“Yes, you can,” he persisted roughly, palming her ass where his belt had landed the hardest. It stung just right. “You my good girl, ain’t you?”

While he uttered the words, he never once pulled off of her. He kept going, speaking between laps at her clit, eyes boring into hers and beckoning her to speak. He was still pissed about everything, but she had a way with him. Annie was the only person who could cause him to forget every lick of sense he had, but the night was still young.

“Ye-yes,” she replied, shaking on his tongue. Satisfied, the man fully dove back in, eyes now locked on the way her belly folded, the way her titties bounced, how her thighs were warm to the touch from her punishment.

Outside, suitcases sat at the ready for the trip he needed to take—somewhere far off and dangerous. But inside, he had his favorite and only girl ready to break open for a second time, and he hadn’t even begun to fuck her properly yet.

Pulling away from her with a pop, the man stood back, stroking his dick from base to tip while he watched her gain her bearings. Annie was locked up in shock, confused why her pleasure had been so suddenly stopped, misunderstanding that she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying herself in the first place. When her eyes fluttered open, her breath caught in her throat. The veins in Smoke’s hand bulged as he pumped his length, biting his bottom lip while getting off to the sight of her. It was too much, and it was too late at night, and she felt too open—but her legs didn’t close. She let him watch and indulge in her deliciousness: thighs coated in his anger and her cum, the two mingling perfectly.

Her hands drifted over her body, fingers ghosting skin softly. She pulled at her nipples, pressed her titties together—all while he watched and jerked off.

“You like that, Daddy,” she whispered into the air, dying to hear his answer to her question, though she already knew it. Of course he liked it—the man fucking loved it. She was putting on the prettiest show, flaunting her wet, tired, fucked out body just for him.

Smoke’s hand sped up as an answer to her question, but his mouth stayed closed. Then Annie got up on her knees; And winked; And turned around; And moved to all fours before arching her back, and the man had to stop himself from cumming then and there. His fist paused mid stroke, tightening around his dick and locking like a vice. She knew how much he adored her ass: when she switched her hips; when her too-little dresses rode up her thighs; and, especially, when she was bent over like this with nothing obstructing his view.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed dreamily, taking one step in her direction. He pushed through the rough heat in his throat as she commanded his attention with ease. His fist worked his tip, keeping the head swollen as he noted the way she clenched around nothing. Her pussy was gaping, begging for attention. He shook his head like he’d been daydreaming. “You make it so hard to stay mad at you.”

“I know it,” she chuckled earnestly. Her head was thrown to the side of her body, watching how he stood behind her with his eyes held up in admiration. Biting the tip of her nail, she reached back with the other hand, ghosting her pussy lips. “Just put the tip in,” she whined, circling her clit lazily as she watched. She knew he was trying not to cum so early, but they both needed just a little bit more sensation.

Smoke felt his lower body spark from the persuasive tone. Annie was always good at ushering him in whatever direction she wanted him to go. It always started slow—in this instance with her arching in front of him—then it ramped up to her calling his name sweetly or full on pouting over what they both wanted.

He took another step forward, and his dick was just inches from her drooling center.

“Just the tip?”

His question was full of sarcasm, exasperated laugh tumbling into the room. He shook his head again, once, then he persisted.

When he penetrated her velvet walls, they both had to refrain from pressing any closer together. Smoke’s hands found Annie’s hips, and the woman’s eyes moved to stare at the wall directly in front of her. She needed the distraction because all that man’s thickness being behind her had her wanting to do something reckless. And she had just stepped back into his good graces. Annie fluttered around his head, still pulsing from her earlier orgasm and the denial of her second one. The feeling of him—raw and hefty—had her mind reeling.

Palms now cupping her ass, the man couldn’t stop imaging her riding his shit, taking control in the way he allowed before pulling her back in. Her arch deepened at the same time that she tightened her grip around him, and his fingers twitched in recognition. She always got him this way seemingly without much effort, but he didn’t mind it. Annie didn’t have to do anything special to make Smoke cave. Captivated by the feeling, the man couldn’t help but to give in and start fucking her fully and completely.

“Fuck that shallow shit,” he grunted, reaching over her arched back. His fingers wrapped around her headscarf that was tilted in one odd direction. Then he pulled until it came fluttering off. Her hair now revealed to him, Smoke wrapped the long braids around his fist, using the tension to provide stability while he continued to pummel her with dick.

“Oh—fuck—Smoke,” Annie moaned, each sound in time with his steady thrusts. He pounded with a purpose, set a pace that had her hiccuping again. Everything came flashing back into his mind again. Every annoyance. Every indiscretion. Everything she’d done to piss him off. Smoke still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she had cum without his permission, and on top of that, she had expected him to forget about it. She was almost successful in throwing him off, but with her attention only on how her body felt in this moment, she missed the trouble the man was plotting.

His pace quickened, hips snapping violently. It forced a greedy scream from Annie’s throat because that was exactly how rough she liked it. He pulled her hair tight, arching her back deeper. He smacked her ass, leaving handprints alongside the belt marks. But then it just kept getting quicker, harder, deeper to the point that her insides felt deliciously bruised.

“Daddy,” she slurred, hips falling back into him in an effort to lighten the blow. Her stomach was on fire. Her legs burned in exhaustion, but he wouldn’t stop. Smoke fucked her through the pain and filled her with more pleasure than she honestly needed it. When she began to scream bloody murder, his words got reckless.

“This what you wanted, huh,” he threw back hotly. His cadence was slow. Tone thick and heavy with the heat that had entered the room. “See you be fuckin’ wit’ them young niggas,” he roared, anger beading off of him in the form of sweat and his palm to her ass, “but I ain’t one of them, baby. This real grown nigga shit ‘round here, and it’s time you fully get a taste of who you fuckin’ wit’.”

Annie was overcome by sensation. Overstimulation had become one with her body making her ears ring and her toes curl and her pussy flutter and her mouth water and her thighs clench. She knew who Smoke Moore was—always had—but this was different, and she feared he was going to put her into her place for good. His punishments compounded all at once: the pounding and ass smacking and hair pulling—and those filthy ass words that stung in their own beautiful way. He called her his slut and his bitch, made her understand that she was the only woman he’d have folded up and fucked through the mattress.

Drooling on the silk sheets, she felt her body beginning to surrender once more as she slackened everywhere. Smoke being the attentive man he was saw it happening, so he pulled her up by her hair. Her back met his chest again while he continued to pull her by her braids. He brought her eyes to him, and with her mouth wide open in a moan, he spat in it—rough, honest, possessive.

“Yeah,” he growled, teeth bared in an ugly scowl. “You finna take all this dick. You mine, baby. Mine to fuck. Mine to bend over. Mine to command. My Woman. My Bitch. My Fuck Toy.” Annie’s eyes watered as she swallowed him, nodding her head profusely as his spit slid down the back of her throat—because, yes, she indeed was all those things.

For him and him alone.

The glide of him warmed her body on its way down. Something in the disrespect that was spitting in another person's mouth drove her crazy. She was practically sat in his lap now as he fucked up into her, and regaining a bit of her mind, the young woman started fucking him back. She did it as diligently as she could, throwing her hips back every couple of thrusts.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she pouted, bouncing closer to his rhythm now—not running but surrendering. “I’ll be good I promise.”

“You mean that shit?” He whispered in her ear.

“Yes! Yes, I swear!” She shouted back at him.

“Well, prove it then.”

The invitation was sent, the door open for her to do her very best. She fought back, head reeling but body staying right where she was. She met him thrust for thrust, and never once did she back down. The ache was glorious, and the stretch was taking her over the edge. When she felt her orgasm rising again, Annie couldn't help the way her body screamed for a release only Smoke could allow. Greedy, desperate, and hungry, she begged him for it. Pleaded. Negotiated her rights.

And he let her have it.

For the first time all night, she could come without guilt, and the moment he said yes, she took it and ran with it.

“Fuck, yes,” she cried, crumbling forward into the sheets. She fell flat as the orgasm wrecked her body, but Smoke chased behind her, continuing to overfill her with dick. “I’m sorry, Daddy! I swear—I'll be good!” Her words were hardly coherent, things about how she was thankful for his kindness and would listen from now on, but they both knew she'd be back on her bullshit soon enough. Annie thrived in pissing the man off. It was like foreplay for them, forcing their bodies toward each other.

“Ride this fuckin’ dick,” the older man barked, back propped against the bed frame as he put Annie to work. Smacking her ass. Pulling her hair. Forcing her hips into a steady bounce.

The time between positions had faded into a haze of pleasure followed by orgasm after orgasm. Annie had lost count of how many times the man had pushed her to the brink. Smoke had cum twice himself before quickly recovering. His trip was long forgotten, obligations left outside the woman's home as he succumbed to her body time and time again. He had kept calling her names—roughness being one of the only things he knew—but he was also soft with her. When she'd get tired, he'd do the thrusting for her. When she whined too deeply, he'd lean over and plant a kiss to the edge of her hairline to quiet the ache. He stayed right there through it all, and right now, Annie was trying to show him that she could hold herself together and talk him through the motions too.

She started riding deeper, slowing her grind as she fluttered around his length. Inner thighs pressing into his outer ones, she looked into his eyes—stare longing and persistent. She could almost see his point of breaking: when his rough exterior got fully broken down by his adoration. There was no mistaking that Annie had him hooked, and as much as he hated to admit it for the sake of an argument, there was nothing she couldn't do to ruin him.

"You feel so good," the young woman cooed against his lips, teasing him with the prospect of a kiss. Smoke hissed when she dragged her pussy up to his tip and just clenched around him. Then her hips snapped back down with haste. The sound reverberated as she continued the action, and her words just continued to get sweeter. "That dick make me so greedy, Big Daddy," she whimpered. "Make me lose my mind sometimes."

Her lips were breathes away from his, and how slow she was riding made his own eyelashes flutter shut on occasion.

"Baby," Smoke swooned, ecstasy taking over his body. The feeling of her wrapped around him combined with the scent of their oversexed bodies had his eyes rolling back. And Annie was beyond proud of the effect she had over him. She worked the lower half of her body into his, pressing her titties against his chest, and when his mouth opened in a delightfully gruff moan, she took him in for a kiss.

Her mouth engulfed the man's, swallowing both of their moans. Her tongue raked his. Her hands fussed with the hair at the nape of his neck. And when he came, she held him close while he painted her walls white and hot with his euphoria. And directly behind him, she fell apart for the last time, milking him dry as she collapsed into his spent body.

They were both fucked in numerous ways.

Their bodies were beyond tired, in desperate need of rest and sleep and energy. But there was no mistaking the way their hearts beat rapidly when they met each other’s gazes in the now quiet bedroom. They hid it behind arguments, money, and rough sex, and they weren’t going to stop that any time soon. But in that flash of time when all was said and done and they were both fucked thoroughly, each of them felt something oddly close to love thrumming beneath the surface.

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word count: ~6,150

a/n: do we like the idea of a preview more than a summary?? i couldn't make my brain work enough to to come up with one this time around lmaoo

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

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[thebumblebeesworld]

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[thebumblebeesworld]

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[joyylakiell]

Need an Annie in my life! Love this!!!

[thebumblebeesworld]

LET’S • CELEBRATE

part two • wunmi x michael • smut

summary: for over a year, they’ve kept their relationship private, and with an award in tow and a baby on the way, they can’t think of a better time to let the world in on their secret.

cw: smut, pregnant!sex, messy talk show host lol

a/n: i been ripping and running these past fews weeks, but my life is settling back down now! i'll have a smoke x pregnant!annie fic out in a few days :3

part one

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The headlines had been the one thing they didn’t prepare for: Scrutiny packaged as care; Ogling branded as consideration.

The Vanity Fair Oscar Party ended up being just like any other celebrity event. Fake smiles. Fake money. Fake people. It was exhausting and tiring on anybody, but for the pregnant actress, it was much worse. She’d been miserable behind the dazzling smile and bright camera lights, aching all over and refusing to address the issue. She hid the pain well, concealed it as she waded through droves of questions about the future of her acting career and what the nature of her and Michael’s relationship was. She smiled and put on a brave face when she knew she didn’t have to.

The actor was across the room doing a very similar thing: networking, taking pictures with his award, laughing off jokes he didn’t understand, confessing his love for the actress. Everybody seemed to want him in some way, and it was hard for him to even breath without another person in his space. But through the hectic nature of it all, he never let his eyes leave her for too long. That resulted in him picking up those small cues. He saw each sharp wince and shudder of her breath. He saw the way she shifted her weight to one foot when talking to someone who didn’t deserve her time.

His request had been simple: When you start feeling bad, you let me know and we’ll go home. Those were the words he’d whispered in her ear before giving her hand a squeeze and parting after their first lap around the room together. He wanted to remain at her side, but he understood the importance of her talking about her career with the influential people around them. They had a power that he didn’t know how to exercise just yet, and he wanted her to have the world. The man ultimately decided against policing her into taking a seat, but he could tell all along that she wasn’t going to honor his wishes. She was trying to power through it, to be a superwoman who could have it all. But she and the baby needed rest above anything else.

When Michael wasn’t at her side, one of her friends was. Jayme was nearby the entire night, telling her to slow down and urging her to rest. Ryan had brought her more cups of ice water than she could count. And Zinzi, Miles, and Delroy watched over her when they could get a second to breathe themselves. But she continued to deny the pain—and how she felt too eyes beaming down on her to properly think.

When the pair left the party, the world was already abuzz with the news of their well-kept secret. Their faces were plastered everywhere from TheShadeRoom to E!News. Everyone wanted in on the drama and a chance for an exclusive interview with the newly out couple, but the only thing on Michael’s mind was getting his woman home.

When they pulled up to the man’s house, Wunmi was nearly passed out, eyes fluttering open and closed every few seconds. Her limbs were heavy, but the man was at her side, helping her to stand and make it through the front door. The first thing she did was kick her shoes off and stumble down the hallway. The second thing she did was mumble an I love you to the man propped against the door frame. And lastly, she fell into bed, fully clothed and overly ready to dream the sweetest of dreams.

The actor chuckled under his breath as light snores filled his bedroom, bouncing off the walls and to his ears. She hadn’t even attempted to take her gown off. Her number one priority was sleep. She was tired—the baby was tired—and she didn’t have the extra energy it took to pull the uncomfortable number from her body.

Dress shoes softly thudding against the floor, Michael crossed the room, fingers itching to help her. He rolled her to her side a little more, tugging the lilac dress off her skin. He pulled it down slowly, and every tug revealed more of her softness—delicate brown skin shining and flushed with heat and exhaustion. The dress was hung on a hanger before it was even allowed to wrinkle; and shoes, accessories, and jewelry were the next things to go before a scarf was tied delicately around her hair.

The next morning, love rang before they even thought to look at the headlines.

The actor had the actress on her back, legs over his shoulders and head thrown back. It had been the best way she'd waken up in ages: her pain from the night before immediately alleviated by the mouth of the man she loved dearly. He poured his care into her, humming at the taste—strong, sweet, salty with the lingering of sleep. He held her tightly, like she'd disappear if he let go.

Wunmi writhed in the sheets, nails piercing fabric before drifting to his head between her parted thighs. She traced his faint waves to work and keep her body planted to the Earth, but there was no use. He was making her feel too good, causing her mind to drift too far. All she could focus on was his mouth—and how she needed more of it.

"Michael," she cried, whimper falling from her mouth and into the crisp morning air. He hummed her name in response, palms pressing against her inner thighs. He sought her out deeper, plush lips wrapped around her clit, beckoning moans from her throat. "I can't see you," she groaned in frustration, hands moving to his shoulders. She attempted to push him back, but he latched on. He could hear the tears in her eyes, could see them flashing in his head before they even fell. Her words were wet—lower body even wetter. "I can't see!"

Her belly was in the way, obstructing her view, and it was pissing her off—blowing the high he was giving her.

But he jumped into action, pulling away from her body. He leaned over her and planted solid kisses to her lips, sharing the taste of her. The woman moaned in response. Her tears halted briefly. Protest waned as she swallowed the joint taste of her arousal and his satisfaction. Before she knew it, he was propping her up. Pillows placed beneath her back, she could now get a clearer view—not fully visible but significantly better.

Then when he returned where she needed him most, his worship began again—loud, insistent, firm yet soft.

It wasn't long before the actress was falling apart. Delightful tears streamed down her face as she watched him, thighs shaking as she began to constrict his head between them. Then she came with a heightened breath, a sigh, and a cry.

Soft sighs filled the room as they came down from their moment of euphoria. The scent of love swirled in the air. The sight of glory filled their eyes.

Then their phones rang.

And the moment was interrupted.

And the rest of the world came creeping back in.

Sinners Co-Stars Turned Lovers? Here’s what we know about the relationship between actors Wunmi Mosaku and Michael B. Jordan

The Kiss Seen Around The World, But Are They Really An Item?

Amid Her Loss, Oscar Nominated Actress Wunmi Mosaku Celebrates Her Celebrity Baby Daddy’s Win -- More on Wunmi and MBJ here

Each headline was more invasive than the last, each one seemed to get some minute or massive detail wrong, each one insinuated things about lies and deception: Did Sinners producers know? Was MBJ’s longtime friend and Sinners Director Ryan Coogler in on it? Things about family and future work opportunities and Wunmi’s loss—always Wunmi’s loss. It had to be thrown in there somewhere, had to be sprinkled in amongst the bullshit they were trying to platform, the story they were trying to spin.

The actress huffed as she sat with her back pressed against the pillows the actor had fluffed for her. Blankets falling softly at the base of her round belly, she stared at the phone in her hand.

“We have to do something,” she urged, looking over at him with those big round eyes, and he couldn’t say no—not that he would. He knew they had to get control of the narrative and ensure people didn’t think they were sneaking behind everyone’s backs. Yes—they had fallen in love on set, but they hadn’t lied to their family and the people most important to them. They wouldn’t have been able to make it as far as they had if that were the case. They’d needed their support system in order to feel normal and safe and loved. They’d been there with them every step of the way, cheering them on.

Michael also wanted to make things clear as far as Wunmi’s “loss”.

He hated that they were making it seem like the woman wasn’t one of the greatest actors of their generation, that she didn’t deserve that win, that she didn’t lose because of the Academy’s obligations to another actress. Wunmi was talented, and he knew that the whole world had seen that in action. The attempt to rewrite history was not something he was going to allow to happen.

Sitting comfortably, Wunmi watched the thoughts cross his mind—always thoughtful, always determined.

The actress never went into anything with expectations. She didn’t take the role as Annie expecting to be nominated for an Academy Award—or for any award of merit. She didn’t go into awards season expecting to win anything at all. She lived in the moment, enjoyed herself at every turn without the weight of a perfect outcome. And that’s exactly how she had tackled this situation. She loved Michael—had adored him from the start—and at no point did she think it would end up with them together with a baby on the way and people practically banging down their door for more information on their relationship. She lived in the moment, but she also was a very pragmatic woman.

People had questions, so it was time to deliver some answers.

By the time they got their spot on the talk show, the world had already come to its own conclusion. To most people, the two had been sneaking around, being reckless and winding up pregnant because of their lack of care and precaution. A lot of people—their peers included—didn’t understand how a relationship could be formed genuinely under their circumstances, so they scrutinized them, looked upon their relationship as if it were a thing to be purged.

But the two actors wouldn’t allow their names to be tarnished because they dared enough to love each other and create a life where happiness was at the center of everything.

When they stepped onto the stage, they hid their anxiety behind solid smiles and calm demeanors, things they’d picked up from decades of acting. They needed the world to see them and truly understand the level of depth between them. Sweaty hands wrapped around each other, they moved into the line of cameras as a united front. The host shouted their names; The live audience applauded; Everyone at home sat in the edges of their seats—ready to get all the tea firsthand. It had been radio silent for days following the Oscars Party. The couple had posted their outfits and a singular picture together: collaborated post, hands held, a purple heart for the caption. That was it.

The actor helped to move the actress toward the dark brown leather couch. With one hand wrapped up in hers and one on her waist, there was no denying the care he had for her. His face was strong, dimples prominent as he smiled through this new air he had. It was solid—what you’d expect of a father; or husband. Wunmi was bright—eyes shining, skin glowing. Her genuine happiness spoke through the anxiety she was trying desperately to conceal because even through the uncertainty, she’d had a wonderful pregnancy thus far. Michael was attentive, and her baby was healthy. Besides red carpets, filming, and press, it had been smooth sailing.

But now a weight was settled over them, one they were determined to lift.

The host heaved a deep breath, clapping twice before signaling for the crowd to calm down.

"I know we're all excited," she'd said, "but we gotta get down to the nitty gritty." That had made everyone laugh, full-bellied and condescending. Michael didn't let go of Wunmi's hand once. He wanted to ground her, but if he were honest, it was mostly for the selfish reason of his own calm.

The host met his eyes.

"First of all," she began, smile taking her face higher than it needed to be, "congratulations on your win at the Oscars! We've all been ready to see you flaunting around that award." She laughed—tightly, ready to attack.

"Thank you," Michael chuckled, one fist coming up to cover his mouth's laugh as the other squeezed Wunmi's hand. His eyes tracked hers, and they shined at him, telling him he was safe, that she was right there with him. "It's been a crazy few weeks," he admitted with a sigh, turning back to the host. "I mean with all these award shows back to back, flights we been taking, interviews, photoshoots. It's been hard to get back settled into our everyday lives. Our routine." Each time he uttered the words, he emphasized us and we. He hammered it home, looked at the actress for confirmation.

"Oh, I can imagine," the host exhaled dreamily, chin in her hand as she leaned in for more. "I think we've all just been so impressed with the Sinners run this past year as well. And you Wunmi," she pointed toward the actress, "you've just been killing it on these red carpets! From the Sinners premier to now with your cute baby bump. You've been working it, girl!"

That made Michael clap along with everyone, smile taking over his face as pride filled his chest for how strong she'd been.

"I appreciate it," Wunmi laughed brightly. "It's been hard, but it's been worth it. I never expected to be in a place like this a year later. I never go into a project expecting anything out of it, so the surprise of merely being accepted into these spaces has been enough for me." As she talked, her hands moved throughout the air, and everyone couldn't help but to be amazed by her eloquence.

"That's beautiful," the host concluded, but then her smile shifted into something sly. With the formalities over, she was ready to excavate, and she wasn't planning to dig shallowly either.

"Let's just confirm this now," she leaned in, eyes low. "We've all gotten a good look at those pictures from the Vanity Fair Oscar Party last week, and I just gotta know, are you two in a relationship?"

"Yes," Michael confirmed with ease, taking less time to answer the question than it took to ask it. His solidity caused everyone to hoop and holler, but in the midst of it, his attention snap back toward Wunmi like always. She was squeezing his hand, fright and excitement breathing between their palms, and he couldn't help but to place a delicate kiss at the corner of her smile.

Inside, the woman was screaming. It was something about her anxiety melting away into adoration for the way the man had handled things. His kiss lingered on her face, and as he retreated, she couldn't stop the need to chase after him for a proper kiss on the lips. Awws erupted around them, and at home, tears were brought to eyes.

"Oh, y'all are in love love," the host commented after a breath, making them all laugh wetly. "Wunmi, you gotta tell us how you locked this man down,” she shouted, but Michael was instantly shaking his head.

"You need to be asking the opposite question," the actor cut in, "'cause she is the prize in this relationship."

An I know that's right rang out from the crowd as folks applauded, and the actress just shooed his words off, brushing the comment away like it wasn’t true—although it was. They’d both fallen too deeply to even consider any facts like that. It had been abrupt and obvious from the very beginning. When she spoke, her words were thoughtful.

“I think the nature of our roles allowed us to get to a really deep place with each other very quickly. We talked through so many things in those early months. Saw so many sides of each other that we hadn’t allowed many people to see before.”

"But there was also just this initial spark, I think," Micheal added. "I was astonished by her from the moment I saw her. Like, you don't just get offered a role in the room if you're not one of the best actors in the world, but there was something beyond her talent. And that feeling I got is what I chased, and it's where I found love."

There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t give the woman her flowers. He needed everyone to understand how amazing she was in every way, and they felt it. There was no denying it.

They talked timeline—when they started dating, who all knew, how when they told their friends, none of them were surprised. They confessed just enough to keep their relationship private and personal in the way they both needed. They let the public in just enough without crossing a line they couldn’t redraw.

“I also want to confirm...” the host moved on, “is Michael...” Her eyebrows were raised as she pointed toward Wunmi's belly, words fading out and allowing the question everyone wanted to know linger in the air. The actress laughed, hand under her belly. Then the other palm went to Michael's face, holding his chin and turning his smile toward her.

“Yes,” she breathed softly, “Michael is the father of our child.”

The words were airy—full of love and light and care and pride. It was the first time she’d gotten to speak the truth that boldly. Outside of her small circle, she’d concealed most things regarding the baby, and this was one less thing that had to be kept secret. Everyone could see the relief settle over her—her heart lightening, their worlds expanding.

Beside her, Michael beamed: a proud father finally able to let the world know.

And around them—and at home—folks rose to their feet, applause held up in hands, smiles carried on faces. Everything was laid out there, and in the best way, they found comfort in the reactions they were given. The opportunity to speak candidly had shifted the tides. People saw them for who they were—the love, the hope, the future ready to take place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope you all enjoyyyyy

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

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[thebumblebeesworld]

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[thebumblebeesworld]

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[zzbaee]

𝒟IARY🪽by me

Sometimes I wanna read you like a diary.

I know you won’t allow because a page could make me weary.

Or I could have an inquiry.

But nonetheless I’d skate through your words like an Olympic medalist on the slopes.

I’d nod and hum like an old English teacher looking for something in nothing.

Only I know that’d never happen because you won’t even allow me a glance at the cover.

(Thought I’d start posting my poetry here 🌝)

[raysul454]

Michael telling Wunmi that he’s proud of her after her bafta win

[thebumblebeesworld]

AMERICAN • SCANDAL

part two • 1980s!au president!annie x secret!service!agent!smoke

summary: a woman never satisfied; a man determined to meet every one of her needs. when lust comes with danger and the fear of being caught, obligations get thrown to the wayside. stolen moments become frequent and a looming threat becomes inevitable.

cw: smut, bossy!annie, protective!smoke, cheating, longingggg, drama and dialogue heavy, #sexgate, use of the nword

a/n: i hadddd to run this back! i was really into american crime story when season three came out so i got into my bag with this frrrr. story requested by @joyylakiell and part two requested by @blue4everrsworld <333

part one

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How was your day, Anne,” the man squeaked, watching as the woman emerging from the en-suite bathroom. She was clothed in a silk nightgown that fell below her knees, pink in color, light and airy. It was different from her work attire, soft where her suits were stiff, fluid where her skirts held everything neatly in place. She looked like heaven, like something he wanted to touch but knew better than trying. The scowl on her face said just as much.

“My day was tiring, Theo,” she sighed, peeling back the covers and settling in. She was telling the truth; From yelling at folks through the phone to yelling at her advisors and confidants to yelling at Elijah, she was beyond spent. She was tired, yes—but her body was still humming with the remnants of her multiple orgasms at the hands of a man she never thought she’d run back to. An emotional weight had settled over her, a cloud of guilt but not in the way she had imagined it would be.

She didn’t feel bad about cheating on her husband—she never did. Theodore was a horrible husband, a nag who followed her around everywhere when he wasn’t off fucking bitches in closets and back rooms. He was always on her ass about intimacy while seeking it out from other people, so she had no care for how he’d feel about Elijah. He had his shit, and she had hers.

Annie’s guilt was rooted in her job. She was the highest government official in the country, and fucking in her office was beginning to become a regular occurrence that she just couldn’t stop. Elijah was like a drug she never dreamed of quitting. She wanted to do him anywhere and everywhere and at any time of the day. In the moment, the pleasure clouded her feelings—buried the guilt down deep—but it was always after the lust waned that it came springing back to the front of her mind.

She felt guilty, but Annie would be lying if she said she didn’t adore Elijah with all of her heart. She loved to know he was watching from somewhere in the room, loved to know that when everyone left it would be just the two of them.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the man at her side cleared his throat.

“Yeah, my day was tiring, too,” Theodore groaned, craning his neck and making a popping noise loud enough to increase the irritation in her chest. Head against her pillows, she closed her eyes and prayed for a good night’s sleep featuring a dream with Elijah Moore and some peace and quiet. “I missed you real bad, sweetheart,” her husband whispered, scooting toward her under the covers. Annie had positioned herself right on the edge of the bed—far, far away from the man. He traveled all the way toward her, ignoring her obvious need for distance.

“I can’t with this right now, Theo,” she sighed, moving the man’s hand away from her when he placed it on her hip. She could still feel Elijah’s fingernails pressed into her skin, and she didn’t want that tainted by a man who never attempted to learn her needs.

He tsked at the rejection.

“A man can’t miss his wife?”

“Not when his wife has more important things to be concerned about right now.”

“Wow,” the man chuckled, the sound coming out strained and exasperated. It hit him like a punch, and if Annie hadn’t been turned completely in the opposite direction, she would have scoffed at the sight of his face. He put on a hurt smile, the one he’d use to manipulate her into spending more time with him and apologizing for the necessary work she was doing. He reached forward again, this time, landing his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be in your office all hours of the night, and when you come back, you won’t look at me, won’t touch me, won’t speak to me unless I speak first. What’s that about?”

“I’m not in the mood, Theodore,” she growled, covering her eyes with her palms. “What are you not getting about that?”

“Nah,” he shook his head, chuckling darkly. “You gon’ tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I ain’t gon’ tell you shit,” she whispered into the charged air. She bit her tongue, pulled back as much as she could without compromising her dignity.

Annie had learned a long time ago that her husband lived to rile her up to the point of becoming too angry to hold her words back. He got off on draining her emotionally, fulfilled himself by ruining her resolve. She wouldn’t let him win this time. Elijah was still in her mind, in her body, and she’d focus on that as an escape if necessary.

He let out a huff, watching at the woman zoned out and shut down for the night. Working his jaw, he decided to give it a rest, but he wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily.

“You may not want to tell me now,” his voice rumbled, tone growing in darkness, “but I will find out,”

~~~~~

Heels echoing down the hall, the president moved with heavy steps, dreading the start of her day. Each landing of her foot brought her closer to her office, closer to fax machines and clipboards shoved in her face, closer to people asking her questions she didn’t have the answers to, closer to Elijah.

She’d succeeded in thinking about him most of the night. After her husband left her alone, her mind wandered off to the near-silent man, tucked into a corner before she beckoned him to move in. She adored his obedience, how giving he was when she needed it most.

When she opened her office door, he was the first set of eyes she met—solid, confident, beautiful. Then came the litany of obligations.

“The governor of Mississippi is on line one—”

“Don’t forget you have that photo op in the Rose Garden—”

“Madam President? Your meeting is at two o’clock—”

“The speaker of the house confirmed your concerns—”

It was all too overstimulating of a way to start her morning, but she’d grown used to the struggle. She’d trained for this her whole career. She had fought for this position, and she was going to push through the challenges and make it to the other side. Secret service agents flanked the sides of the room. They always started the morning in her office as she tended to work with the door open. By lunch time, the number of agents would drop off, and by nightfall, the door would be closed and it was just her and Elijah—all on their own.

She threw herself into her work from sun up to sun down, and when she finally rested back in her chair, the only person in the room was the man who’d been on her mind all day.

“I don’t think I’ve been this tired in ages,” she laughed off, placing a hand to her chest to measure her breathing. She fluttered her eyes shut for the first time that day. She hadn’t had a real break since the morning, and with Elijah here, her mind felt comfortable in the quiet of the room. The man’s energy always calmed her, providing security.

“I thought last night would have given you some reprieve,” Elijah questioned, worry settled into his jaw. He’d been paying attention all day. Every scrunch of her forehead. Every heavy sigh from her lips. Every curse under her breath. He knew that something had to happen between the time he left her loose and grinning up at him last night to when he saw her that morning. He paid attention to the way her throat bobbed.

“I had a great time last night,” she admitted, hands in her hair as she worked to ease a headache that had been building all day. She rubbed at her temples, well aware that the man was eyeing every move she made and was noting everything she said and didn’t say. “I had a wonderful time,” she continued, exhaling in exhaustion, “and I felt great until I had to spend my night with Theodore.”

The sound of her husband’s name snapped the moment in half. Elijah jumped into action without even realizing it.

“What he do this time,” he interrogated seriously, anger rising in his chest.

“Nothing,” Annie brushed off, keeping her eyes cast to the side. She wanted to lie, to conceal what her heart was feeling, but Elijah knew every part of her. No matter how well she lied about the truth, he was going to figure it out. Using her chair to provide her body the stability she lacked, the president heaved a breath and began to confess. “He can just be so pushy sometimes, you know? He expects things from me that I can’t give. He wants me to be someone I haven’t been in a really long time. It’s so hard being married to someone you don’t relate to anymore, and I’m not sure if I ever really did.” The two sat in the moment, not speaking, barely breathing, trying to quell what their bodies and hearts were telling them. Annie shook her head, looking into the man’s eyes. “And in the midst of all that bullshit, I think the funniest part is that we’re both lying to each other.”

The woman had grown tired of the marriage that honestly felt more like a contractual obligation than anything. There was no intimacy, no desire, no fulfillment, no love. They operated completely independently from each other until it was time to play the happy married couple—the president and her husband.

“I’m sick of the way that nigga treat you,” Elijah bellowed, rumbling in a mix of anger, annoyance, and protectiveness. He hated Theo for the man that he was, his lack of integrity, his lack of care. Behind her desk, the woman scoffed out a laugh.

“And what you gon’ do about that? Storm upstairs and demand better treatment—or else? Ask him to be better understanding of what I endure every day? We ain’t even supposed to be this close, Elijah. The relationship between presidents and their secret service agents was completely nonexistent for decades. You’re just supposed to make sure nothing bad happens to me. We’re not supposed to talk. We’re not supposed to be fucking. And you’re not supposed to be demanding shit of my husband and putting your input where it doesn’t belong.” She shook her head, completely giving up on her attempt to push the headache away. The agent was looking at her with those dark, thoughtful eyes, pulling emotion from her as she tried to fight it off.

The room went quiet—void of sound.

They stared into each other’s eyes—overwhelmed by the truth of their connection.

“But we are that close,” Elijah breathed.

“We are,” Annie remarked, jaw tight.

“I know you’ve made sacrifices to be here,” he pressed, feet moving slowly toward her, approaching lowly as if she were a cowering animal. He thought over their time together—the past year of overflowing desire and unveiled secrets. “I’ve known you long enough and deep enough to understand everything you’ve had to let go of to be right here in this moment, and I don’t take that lightly. You still with him because you have to be with him. And you with me cause you wanna feel something.”

And that was how it always happened. Annie would be stressed, tired, annoyed, frustrated, joyful, excited—and Elijah would say something that would break her whole heart open. He’d see her for the complex woman that she was. He’d honor that complexity. Looking up at him, the president let down her guard. She spoke softly into the dizzy air.

“I want to feel you.”

This time was slower than the night before.

Elijah still had the same amount of time to indulge, but he needed Annie to feel him in a different way—just as deep and intentional but more intimate than they ever let themselves be. Picking the woman up from her chair, he placed her full weight in his arms. Carrying her toward the couch, he laid her down on her back, watching as she got comfortable, plotting over her quietly.

Elijah moved to kiss her neck while his hands pulled and tugged at her body. He sought out every inch of her, squeezing her sides where she was soft and plush, nails piercing her ass cheeks as he spread her legs apart. The skirt dragged up her hips, giving him full access to her center.

“I’ve always wanted to care for you,” he offered, voice thick in arousal. “Outside of my job being to protect you, I’ve always wanted you happy in every way you deserve.” His fingertips ghosted along the edge of her panties, teasing the woman and pulling cries from her throat, and he kept going—with his words, with his hands. “You deserve someone who knows what it means when your cries turn wet like that. You deserve someone who’ll give you the entire world without demandin’ that you change for them first.” He growled his declaration, anger beginning to rise from the thought of Theodore being half the man he was, but he let it go. For now, he focused on Annie. Her whines increased in intensity—needy, desperate—and Elijah answered accordingly.

Fingers dipping below the waistline of her panties, he sought out her clit. It throbbed against his fingertips, hot and angry in arousal. The president had been wound tight all day, and she needed this release more that she needed air to breath. Attempting to grind her hips into his hand, President Laveau was shocked when the man’s other hand paused her attempts. He pressed her hip into the couch cushion, and when she was about to bark her anger, she was hushed by her clit finally being toyed with.

The agent circled the button with two fingers, paying close attention to her face. When her eyebrows raised, he pressed harder. When her lips pursed, he rubbed to the left. When her tongue peeked out, he went feather light, drawing the largest amount of moans from her mouth.

Seeing her up close and this hungry for relief was affecting him. His pants grew tight to where he had to adjust himself every few seconds, but this was about her. He was determined to take this step-by-step.

“You always make me feel so good,” she whimpered, head thrown into the cushions. Her hair was going to be a mess after this, but for right now, all that mattered was the two of them in this position. Elijah’s fingers raked through her folds, collecting her arousal and spreading it across her lips. The woman’s eyes clouded over when he took his hand out of her panties and stuffed his fingers in his mouth. Open-mouthed, she watched as he moaned around the taste. Eyes rolled back. Cheeks hollowing. Muscles tensing all over his body.

“You always taste divine, baby,” he praised, drunk off the taste. His mind was swirling with too many loud thoughts of her at once, but the one that prevailed was the one that told him what to do next.

Hurriedly, her skirt and panties were completely pulled off and left to lie on the floor. Her suit jacket and blouse were thrown open to reveal her lace bra. And Elijah was overwhelmed by the woman’s beauty. Over the past year, their interactions were slow to start and quick to finish. He never got to see her this bare, never got to experience Annie in this way. He moved his hands along her body, seeking out her breasts first before moving to her stomach. He was astonished.

“You know we don’t have much time, ‘Lijah,” the president uttered, forcing her body to still itself. The man was touching her all over, drinking the sight of her in a way she hadn’t allowed before, but she didn’t want him to stop just yet. She could see that swelling adoration in his eyes. He cared for her—beyond this moment.

“I know,” the agent confirmed, working a thumb over her clit while his eyes focused on the rise and fall of her chest. “I just want to enjoy you like this for a little longer.” He breathed deeply—honestly—body completely attuned to hers. Annie couldn’t deny him that, not when she needed it just as much, so with a crumbling resolve, she spoke.

“Okay,” President Laveau cooed, face building in heat.

She laid there with needy patience, watching the effort the man made to watch her. He paid attention to every shaky breath and shudder of her spine, every sharp whine and plea that died in her throat. Annie was never this soft for him before her first orgasm. She never allowed either of them to be this close for fear of how hard they’d fall. But there was no use in stopping what needed to happen.

His thumb circled tighter, harder, and the steadying pressure made her entire body tremble against the cushions.

“Fuck,” she cried, breaking in the man’s hold. She moaned his name, begged for more, thanked him for his effort and ability to make her cum with such ease. The orgasm was unlike any she’d experienced before. It started in her mind with knowing how much he cared for her well-being, and as she observed his focus, it spread throughout her body, taking over her function. Elijah knew how to handle her. It wasn’t control. It was care.

In a dark room, a shadowed figure pressed play on one of the ten tape recorders that had been hidden about the office of the President of the United States. The rest were still there, collecting the sweet sounds of the president's cries as she broke apart with minimal effort, but this one was place on a table in a closet-sized room, prepared to be listened to by wanting ears.

Hours of silence were listened to, hours of her yelling at staff and being interrupted with nonsense, hours of confidential information about the state of affairs. The shadow grew bored quickly. They’d been at this mission for weeks, but the president seemed to have a very strict routine that she never strayed from. She was squeaky clean in all the ways that mattered. She was strict about her job and serious about maintaining deadlines and making everyone satisfied. But just as the shadow was ready to give up, something sparked a renewed interest.

“You get no where when your anger takes over the conversation. You and I both know that,” a voice rumbled, deep and steady.

“I'm overwhelmed,” the president excused tiredly. “There's just too much going on... And don't even get me started on that man.”

The shadow sat up, notepad at the ready, time stamps already notated, ears locked in on every word. The president let out a harsh groan full of resentment. The shadow could pick up on shuffling, movement, the swivel of a desk chair.

“That man is your husband.”

The president chuckled in hilarity mixed with disbelief.

“Need I remind you what things are like in the bedroom?…A woman has needs, Elijah.”

And it was there that the deep voice was confirmed to be Elijah Moore, head of the Secret Service. Eyebrows lifted in interest.

“…I can't fuck a man who doesn't know my body."

The shadow’s hand curled around their pen, face drifting closer to the recorder.

Silence.

Then movement.

Then muffled words that made no clear sense.

Secret service agents weren’t known to be a talking bunch. They didn’t converse with presidents or officials. They minded their business and secured areas, but this was completely different from the norm.

The shadow’s mind ran with thoughts of what possibly could have been happening in that room, but then they heard it.

Moaning. Slow breaking. Relief.

They huffed in disbelief, chuckled in a win on the verge of victory. Finally resting back in their seat, the shadow thought of all the filthy ways this information could be distributed—the tabloids, the news outlets, the gossip over coffee. Thinking about how they’d let this play out, the tape kept running in the background: the President of the United States fucking the man meant only to protect and serve.

~~~~~

Nights later is when it all went down.

The shadow had allowed the president and her lover to have a few more days of bliss and a few more nights to provide the evidence that would be used against the two of them soon enough. An unknown threat was looming over the pair, but they were all naive.

Annie.

Elijah.

The shadow.

As the clock struck 9, President Laveau finally gave working a break. She was tired as always and had been put through the ringer very uniquely because it seemed that at every turn, something went awry.

To begin with, the day had started off peculiarly.

When Annie woke up, her husband was not beside her, and while she didn’t particularly care for his whereabouts, it was strange. Then when she stepped out of her bedroom, the hall was quiet with no secret service agents ready and at attention. Later, when she walked past the kitchen, her staff was in a frenzy about a small grease fire. When she stepped out into the Rose Garden, crows littered the yard in droves. When she passed the vice president’s office, the man’s energy was low and unkind where it was normally inviting. And when she made it to the Oval Office, there was already a mountain of work to be completed, more than she’d seen in a long while.

Annie thought it all strange that so many out of place things could happen in one morning. But it truly was a coincidence that the day had started so horribly—a bad omen if anything—though the woman would soon learn why the day was never meant to go in her favor.

“You did good today,” Elijah affirmed as Annie began to put items where they belonged. She stuffed pens in drawers and papers in filing cabinets, trying to free up her space and her mind in one fell swoop.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pulling what parts of her felt whole back together. She needed a long, warm bath. She needed the man’s comfort and attention. Nighttime was always her favorite part of the day, and now that she was finally allowing herself to enjoy the thorough pleasure Elijah could give, she at least knew her exhaustion would be rewarded in some way.

Sensing her need, a smile broke out onto the agent’s face, and his feet began to eagerly move in her direction.

But he stopped when a sound was heard down the hallway.

Footsteps.

Heavy.

Confident.

Full as they eased closer to the office door.

Elijah stood at attention because he knew for a fact that everyone was gone or asleep for the night. At this time, no one was even meant to be in this wing of the house. As the doorknob began to turn and the door hinges creaked, his hand fell to his holster for a sense of security. When the door fully opened and he saw who was on the other side, reluctantly, he backed down.

“What the fuck are you doing down here, Theo,” he watched Annie groan. Her face contorted in discontent and annoyance, and he settled in his stance, hands behind his back and head slightly raised. He returned to the solid, quiet agent he was meant to be, but he paid close attention to the couple, ensuring the woman was still safe.

“I can’t come visit my wife at work,” Theodore laughed in faux-disbelief. He knew how Annie felt about that. The president refused for her personal life to mingle with her work, so he wasn’t allowed in the office unless otherwise stated—and she never asked for him to be there. To barge in without knocking was a whole separate thing that she was ready to tear into his ass about, but he halted her speech, holding his hand up to hush her. “I have something to show you,” he thundered, moving toward her desk without asking. Annie’s head spun wildly.

“What are you—”

She had no clue of what to do.

Confusion was the only tangible thing on the woman’s mind because never had she experienced such a thing. Theodore was a mostly mousey man. He whined and cried and tried his best to force her hand, but she controlled every situation between them. Now that she was in a room full of secrets with him and the man she would have been fucking if he hadn’t barged in, she didn’t know how to act. Turning toward Elijah, she opened her mouth to speak the only words that could come to mind.

“Can you give us a second, please,” she begged with her eyes as she felt her confidence beginning to wane. The agent tilted his head, willing himself to walk toward the door, but her husband stopped him before he got the chance.

“It’s probably best if you stay,” he snarked, looking at the man with disgust and contempt, and Elijah had to gather every part of himself in order to not react outwardly. He despised everything about Theodore. He was shoddy when it came to Annie—dismissive and dishonest and disrespectful. She didn’t deserve to have such a horrible man in her life, and he didn’t deserve to have a woman as good as her. Balling his fists, Elijah looked toward the president, but she couldn’t even speak as she eyed the tape recorder Theo had placed on her desk.

“Go ahead,” her husband coaxed, pointing at the device. “Press play, baby.”

Shaky fingers moved toward the device.

Uncertain eyes dragged between both of the men.

Annie tried her best to remain confident—to not let her cool slip—but Elijah saw it in the rising of her heartbeat.

Theodore was none the wiser.

The sound of the woman’s muffled moans filled the room. She knew exactly what night that was. The night when she decided to give up trying to push the man she wanted away. The night she gave in. They could both picture it clearly. It was almost as if they were thrown back in time to when he was fucking her atop her desk, rough and unguarded. They’d allowed themselves to feel, and now it was laid out before them on full display: Annie whining his name, Elijah breaking her in two.

“What do you want,” she asked her husband coldly. She knew he had an agenda. He wasn’t going to secretly record her for no good reason. He had a plan, and she just hoped it wouldn’t result in her downfall.

“I want you ruined,” Theodore growled. Walking toward the edge of her desk, the man leaned into her personal space, face etched in menacing and undeserved anger. His fists were clenched—body drifting too close to hers—and that’s what made the agent rejoin the conversation.

“I think you need to back on up,” he grunted, staring the man down as Theo's face slowly turned toward him.

“Or what,” the husband goaded. “You gon’ take my wife? Gon’ make her your whore again?”

“Theodore,” Annie shouted, standing up from her chair in a flash. She knew how this would end. Elijah did not play about her, and Theo was a man who loved to throw around fighting words without backing them up. Her jaw trembled—not in fear but anger. She couldn’t believe he’d done something like this to her. While it was true that she deeply resented him, they had been through too much together for their relationship to end up in a position like this. She shook her head, swallowed the bite in her throat. She asked him the question once again: “What the fuck do you want?”

She gritted as the man laughed darkly. He threw his head back, shuffled his feet, crossed his arms over his chest. He attempted to frighten the woman with his eyes, to intimidate her, but Annie just looked at him with pity and repulsion.

“I want this scandal to be plastered all over the world, sweetheart. I want you to crumble under the weight of every disgusting thing you’ve done in this office. You’ve been cheating behind my back, and I think an affair between America’s perfect President and her glorified security guard might make good media. Don’t you think so?”

Behind them, Elijah scoffed, but neither of them moved. Annie mirrored her husband's stance—weight shifted to one foot, arms crossed, face emotionless.

“How long you been recording me?”

“Long enough,” Theo shrugged like it meant nothing. He felt that he was on the verge of making her break, but in his several attempts to ruin the woman, he’d failed miserably at learning anything about the type of woman she really was. Still, he continued. “You held out for a long while,” he chuckled, pretending like Elijah wasn’t even in the room. “I almost had nothing on you, but then you got real exhausted. And you know how needy you get when you’re tired.” The agent’s jaw tightened at the familiarity her husband tried to impose. He watched her face for discomfort or a sign to step in, but her eyes lit up in amusement, so he watched silently—on the ready. “And you’ve been rejecting my advances,” her husband continued, “so I guess you had to go back to your little fling.”

“And what makes you think anyone will actually care?”

Theodore scoffed in confusion, an exasperated and bewildered giggle erupting from his lips.

“It’s an affair, Anne—”

But the woman was ready to talk now. She stepped forward, speaking as she got in his face.

“Just like the one you’re having,” she prodded in a sickly-sweet tone. Her hand settled on her hip, her head craned to the side, her bottom lip fell into a pout as she watched him begin to scramble. He looked frightened and completely unsure of what to say next, so he said what everyone says when they’re caught red-handed.

“I-I ain’t cheating—”

“Yes, you are,” she shut him up. Her tone was definitive as she took back the power he’d tried to drain. She knew he hated her authority, how easily she could command a space—how she could command him. His anger flushed across his face, but she couldn’t have cared less how he felt. “You are having an affair, and you have been for at least five years with that real pretty blonde. Cute baby by the way.”

“Ann—”

“You’re so goddamn stupid sometimes,” she snapped, the rant that had been building for years finally spilling from her lips. “I give you everything you need. You have a roof over your head, food on your table, clothes on your back because of me. I even pay for you to have that side family and your many girlfriends that I’m sure blondy don’t know anything about, but I haven’t said anything because I don’t give a damn. There’s more important things going on in the world, and you certainly aren’t one of them. But I will not allow you to ruin this thing we have, this thing you have only because I allow you to.

“And need I remind you,” she quipped, lowering her voice and speaking to him as if he were a child, “the District of Columbia follows a one-party consent law, dumbass. You would have had to be a part of our conversations or have had consent from one of us to even get those tapes legally. Not to mention the hours of footage I’m sure you have of my staff and advisors speaking on very confidential information. You’d be facing jail time if these tapes were to ever get out, sweetheart.”

“Th-That’s a lie—”

“It’s not,” she deadpanned, and it wasn’t. Annie knew the law like the back of her hand because she was serious about her job. It offended her that he didn’t believe her, but she also knew he was growing increasingly afraid of what she’d do to him—of what she’d let be done to him. Disdain settled onto her face, and as she cut her eyes at her husband one last time, she began to move across the room to stand at Elijah’s side. “I advise you to get rid of that shit so we can all move on with our lives,” the president grumbled. She looked over to the agent, noticing his need to speak his mind, so with little direction, he spoke for the first time since the man attempted to assert dominance he hadn’t earned.

“Go ahead and show me where them other recorders at too ‘cause I know there’s more,” he barked, scaring the small man so much that he jumped at the force in his voice. “I give your wife what you can’t,” the agent chastised, “and if you were man enough, maybe she wouldn’t need me. I know where the bodies of this place are buried, Theodore, so I warn you against ever tryin’ some stupid shit like that again.”

Like always, the office settled back into quiet.

After recorders were collected and all ten were handed over to Annie, the president sent her husband away with a scowl. She was sick of his face and the fact that she had ended up tethered to a man that idiotic in the first place. Years ago, she was certain that has was a decent enough partner to have at her side while achieving all of her dreams. He was the right type of man needed for the American public to see legitimacy in her campaign. He was outwardly passive and quite attractive, but he had a side to him that didn’t manifest itself fully until she began to win at life. She intimidated him when he should have been proud of the woman he had married.

She found out he was cheating around the time she began campaigning for President. It started when she found a gas station receipt for an area he should not have been near in the first place. Confusion swirled, betrayal rooted itself in her heart, and Annie immediately hired a private investigator who found out that on top of cheating, Theo had a child on the side.

She didn’t let it affect her. She was a big girl, and she understood that if she wanted to win, she had to swallow the pain and move forward. So she did while knowing about his little family and the other women he allowed in their marriage, and that’s when she began to pull back. She used work as an excuse to never see him: obligations that weren’t entirely real until she succeeded in her campaign, becoming President of the United States.

Her first day on the job is when she met Elijah Moore, and since then, she got back at her husband everyday by having an affair with the best man she’d ever met.

“I see you,” Elijah whispered softly. They were stood beside each other, facing the now closed office door that Theodore had just walked through. Their shoulders touched, breaths moved together, souls intertwined. He wanted her to understand that she didn’t have to be anything other than the real person she was. She never had to diminish herself or change or quiet the fight in her body. He saw her for who she was.

“I know,” the president breathed, and this time, instead of turning to sex for connection or reprieve, she reached over and grabbed his hand. Her touch held apology for what her husband had done. It held understanding and care and love, but they didn’t need to speak all of that into the air right now. The crisis had been averted, and tomorrow was going to be a new day with its own struggles and work to be completed, but at least they had each other and the quiet of the Oval Office.

Feeling her chest rise in emotion, Annie turned toward Elijah. When he snapped his face toward hers, there was no mistaking the adoration he held behind his eyes. He squeezed her hand, and Annie squeezed back; And the woman couldn’t help but lean in for the kiss she’d spent a whole year refusing to let them have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~6,100

a/n: i love how annie be talkin to them niggasss! she be puttin them in they place and loving on them when they deserve it!! i love this fic so muchhh

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @princesstar655 @captaincalypso2 @sleepysquishe @nuttyinternetprincess @lolimblack @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[joyylakiell]

I LOVEEEE

[kkbeauty86]

Alexa play Usher Trading Places. 😂😩😍🥰

[thebumblebeesworld]

AMERICAN • SCANDAL

1980s!au president!annie x secret!service!agent!smoke

summary: a woman never satisfied; a man determined to meet every one of her needs. when lust comes with danger and the fear of being caught, obligations get thrown to the wayside. stolen moments become frequent and a looming threat becomes inevitable.

cw: smut, dominant!annie, bossy!annie, rough!sex, #sexgate——

a/n: *cough cough* my forever favorite lovers no matter the situation or circumstanceee. requested byyy @joyylakiell

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The entire White House was on edge.

Anxiety coursed through everyone’s veins.

Fear settled into their hearts.

Exhaustion made itself one with their bodies.

The president had been on one as usual, dictating the vibe of every person who worked beneath her whether she intended to or not. The woman was known widely as being Type A and extremely high strung. While she was a truly considerate person, she still took almost everything in life seriously. It was how she was able to achieve a position such as the one she’d found herself in. No matter how good things were going, she left a perpetual state of fear over the building, a need to do better and be better. Improvement was necessary. Everyone was expected to be on their Ps and Qs. Everyone needed to be ready for whatever came their way.

Yesterday, they received the public’s approval rating, and while it should have been cause to celebrate because her constituents approved of her at 73%, the woman couldn’t let go of that other 27%. She thought it was beneath her, and in her mind, she knew that she could gain more of the country's approval. She’d only been in office for one year, but she’d made a lot of changes, and had perfectly woven herself into American society. She’d been told that it was impossible, that she’d end up like any other woman or Black person who had previously attempted to make history. But this was a new era.

The president paced the width of her office, leaving indents from her heels on the carpet behind her desk. The structured navy blue skirt brushed her knees, providing her just enough movement while still keeping her both professional and feminine. The white roll-neck sweater provided her warmth in the drafty room. And the navy suit jacket topped the look off—padded shoulders, oversized fit.

She was the picture of authority and uprightness, but her unstable energy was wafting onto every person in the room.

“I know somebody has a goddamn idea,” the woman spat, throwing eyes at every man and woman in the room. The sound of clipboards, notepads, and pens filled the space. Nervous coughs, quiet mutterings, and fearful thoughts built the energy. President Annie Laveau had hand-crafted her team of the best advisors, interns, and confidants. When she needed something, they were always there, and right now, she needed someone to put their brain to work and come up with an idea for how to raise her approval rating. But there didn't seem like much that could be improved. She’d done everything possible. Every campaign promise had been met or was swiftly on its way to completion. She was one with the American people, fulfilling their needs, making society livable—enjoyable. But she couldn’t crack that last thirty or so percent for the life of her.

She cocked her neck to the side, craned her head around the room.

But all their mouths remained shut, eyes cast down.

“Um—M-Mrs. President,” an intern croaked out from behind a row of trusted officials. In terror, everyone’s eyes grew large despite the multiple attempts to quell the immediate shock. Bodies turned in the direction her name had come from, and as the intern stood to full height, they all sent prayers up for him. He cleared his throat, stepping forward once with shaky feet, speaking when she directed him to with a raise of her brow. “I just think the American people weren’t ready for a Black woman president. You keep trying to appeal to people who never wanted you in this role to begin with. I-I think we all have to be okay with the fact that that last 30% isn’t going to move in your favor.” He cleared his throat, swallowed his anxiety, and spoke one last sentence as clearly as he could muster. “They will never be satisfied.”

The room fell to a hush.

Murmurs rose octaves and eyes bounced between the gusty intern and the affronted president.

When it came to speaking with President Laveau, it was always best to be upfront. She didn't appreciate people beating around the bush or holding up her time by being apprehensive, but this was downright disrespectful. She’d heard the criticism before—far too often to take it from someone so beneath her. Everyone held their breath when they saw her hand clench into a fist at her side. Apprehensively, they watched as the woman’s jaw stiffened, face taut.

“If the American people did not want me,” she offered roughly, stepping forward as the words came out steady even in their anger, “I wouldn’t be here in this goddamn office, now would I?” Her voice was cold, tone dead-set on being the only person heard. She’d had people criticize her from the very beginning. Before she could even fix her mouth to say she wanted to be president, people were putting her in her place and telling her that a Black woman couldn’t do it. And the people that trusted that she could achieve the position believed her integrity was on the line, that she’d be swayed by the ways of millionaire money and policy. It grinded her gears and made her feel like absolute shit.

And she wasn't in the mood to be talked down to in her own office.

Annie stared the intern in the eyes, heat rising to her ears and traveling throughout her entire body. She'd known lividity well, and the room could tell she was ready to make this everyone's problem.

But the young man scrambled swiftly, mouth moving and words not coming out just yet. He was terrified—rightfully so. You don't offend a woman that powerful without landing flat on your ass when she decided she was done with you.

Still, he moved to apologize.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that, ma’am! I swea—”

“Everybody out,” she shouted, the command echoing even in the densely carpeted room. She held her hand toward the door, and they all stared in shock, scared to move, scared to stay. When the instruction clicked in, they moved with a quickness, papers rustling as they rose from their seats to shuffle out of the door. She shouted after them, anger morphing into exhaustion. A headache was beginning to move its way up her spine and around to her temples. Her feet were beginning to ache. “And when I call for you again, I want real solutions, not that same bullshit Capital Hill gives me about identity politics!”

The intern was on the latter end of people to leave the room, and when Annie saw his eyes directed at his feet and his back hunched over in shame, she scoffed in disgust. She was so close to firing him, to letting his direct supervisor know of her frustration. But she had larger problems to combat.

As the door slammed shut, the fax machine roared behind her, and the groan she let out was sure to have been heard down the hall.

Measured silence filled the space, and the president could only pray that it would last. She was beyond tired, and a lot of it was her own fault. Annie never gave herself time to rest, hardly even let her victories be celebrated before she moved on to the next task to be accomplished. She had earned a break—even if it was only for a few hours—but she was never going to let herself have it on her own.

“You know you ain’t gotta yell so much, right,” the shadow in the corner spoke up, the force cutting through the tense quiet of the office. His hands were crossed in front of his body. His feet were set wide apart. His shoulders were broad as he stood at attention. If anyone knew the president well, it was him. He'd seen her in every mood since she'd taken this position. Angry. Depressed. Overwhelmed. Joyful. He'd been there through it all: a shadow in the corner that rarely spoke unless spoken to.

The woman was sat behind her desk now, shoes long forgotten to her left side as her scowl deepened at the sound of the man's voice.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to, Elijah,” she reprimanded, practically growling her discontent. She rolled back in her chair, rolled her neck as she watched his jaw clench like he was going to fight her on it. He knew his place, but out of everyone, he was probably her most trusted confidant. He was always there. And knew everything. In the now empty office, she stared at the man who’d been standing vigilant in the corner all night. “Ain’t you supposed to be quiet unless spoken to? A shadow that’s to be seen and not heard? I can yell ‘cause I got shit to yell about!”

“You and I both know that I have no issue speakin’ my mind,” he gritted his teeth. He may have only been the highest secret service official at her side, but the man always spoke his mind when he needed to. He remained silent when the moment called for it, but he never let his grievances die in his throat. Elijah shook his head, disbelief settling beneath his skin as he recalled the scene from just moments ago. “Those people respect you because you’re a damn good president,” he began, voice low in acknowledgment. “They respect you and they trust you, but you can’t talk down to them just because you upset. You get no where when your anger takes over the conversation. You and I both know that.”

He punctuated each word sharply, ensuring she felt the seriousness within them. Patiently, he waited for her response, for more yelling, for anger, for a call for his dismissal, but it never came.

Annie heaved a sigh, sinking back into her chair. The arms held her tired body up. Everything felt like too much. There was the ringing of a corded-phone down the hall, the fax machine was grinding away behind her, her clothes felt too tight. When her eyes got big and round, there was no use in keeping her true emotions concealed for long. The man had seen her like this too many times to count.

“I’m overwhelmed,” she whined out, holding her palms over her eyes to block out the harsh light. Across the room, Elijah was standing firm on the soles of his feet, but his hands were itching to reach for the woman. He tilted his head as her throat became raw in defeat. “There’s just too much going on. I have back-to-back meetings for the next two weeks, trips to neighboring countries I can’t back out of, annoying fucking press conferences to hold. Congress can’t seem to get their shit together. My approval rating keeps teetering in the seventies. And don’t even get me started on that man.”

She huffed loudly, the sound morphing into a groan as she leaned fully back against her chair.

As the itching feeling carried itself down from his hands and to his feet, Elijah finally glided halfway across the room. There was still plenty of space between them, room enough for the feelings to remain at bay, but they were playing a dangerous game by being alone in the first place. He looked over her body: the soft curls framing her face, the fitted sweater brushing over her curves, the slight parting of her thighs as she sank into the chair.

“That man is your husband,” he cleared his throat. He didn’t mean the words to come out aggressively or like he was blaming her for feeling any type of way, but it was the truth. She was a married woman. The President of the United States.

Blinking up at him, she laughed in amusement.

“Oh, please,” she chuckled, face cracking into a smile. “You know exactly how I’m feeling. Need I remind you what things are like in the bedroom? If he ain’t pissing me off by being all whiny about needing attention then he’s pissing me off ‘cause he can’t fuck worry a damn. He always wants to spend time with me, but I’m tasked with all these obligations. And when I do give him a chance, he disappoints me over and over and over again. A woman has needs, Elijah,” she confessed gruffly, fatigue washing over her face again. “I can’t run the damn country with all this pent up energy, and I know he’s upstairs just waiting for me to finish working so he can annoy the hell out of me, but I can’t fuck a man who doesn’t know my body.”

Elijah didn’t speak first. He let her words settle in, let his mind wrap around them. The truth of them. The honesty. The vulnerability.

When he began to nod his head along to the memory of her words still hanging about in the room, his feet had started to finish their walk toward her. He crossed the open space—slowly, languidly. He stood at the corner of her desk.

“I see you,” he whispered, eyes never leaving hers. It had been a while since they’d been this close when no one else was around. He normally stayed at her side in public spaces when the threat of violence came with their job titles. But this wasn’t the public. No one was watching or listening in. No one was waiting by the door. It was late at night now. The woman’s assistants were gone, and the house was beginning to grow quiet around them as maids and chefs and butlers finished their duties.

His soft words were ghosting over her body, warming her skin from the care they exhibited. She hardly felt seen, but Elijah was always there, always watching, always knowing, always seeing her for the woman that she was outside of her marriage to her husband and this country.

The president rose to the man’s height, bare toes spreading through the shagged-rug. When she was just a breath away from him, her body rang out at a need to control herself—but she wanted Elijah more than she wanted anything else. Her husband was upstairs—waiting—and she wanted another man.

Hand resting on his chest, she toyed with the fabric of his suit jacket.

“We don’t have any business doing this again,” she warned, but she made no effort to move back or forward. She remained there—waiting.

“You said that last time,” he grumbled, taking half an inch forward. He watched her breath catch, and only then did he feel accomplished enough to continue. “And the time before that. And the time before that. There’s no use in denyin’ it. You got a need I can fill, and if I can keep you from screamin’ folks heads off and worryin’ yourself half to death, then I’ll do that.”

His lips were close, and each time he opened his mouth, she swore she could feel them ghosting over hers. She didn’t have enough fingers to count how often they’d ended up in a position like this. After meetings. Between press. After a helicopter ride. After saying there’d be no next time. But it was inevitable with them—a risk neither of them were truly concerned about.

If this was to be her scandal, then so be it—but she knew no one would ever find out. Elijah Moore was a professional in all the ways that mattered, a Sinner in all the ways she needed.

Annie reached toward him, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck. She leaned in, pulled him forcefully toward her, and just when he thought she’d finally bless him with the kiss he’d been waiting a whole year for, the president pulled away.

He knew his place, but he couldn’t beat the groan that rose in his throat.

Clambering back against the desk, the woman hoisted herself up on the dense wood. Structured skirt pulled over thick thighs, she raised a sculpted brow at the man’s spent expression. This was always her favorite part: when she denied him a kiss just before allowing him access to the rest of her body.

Her lips parted, sweet sound wrapping around her harsh demand.

“Come eat this pussy then.”

He dropped to his knees quick, always eager to do as the woman told him. His hands gripped her calves, climbed up her shins, rested at her thighs like every other time they’d made themselves home on her body. She moaned when his palms kneaded her inner thighs, grasping at tender and tired skin. And when she sighed in relief, he couldn't keep his mouth from going to her heat.

“Just like that,” Annie groaned, holding onto the desk with one hand and the back of Elijah’s head with the other. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, but damn did it feel good to have her panties thrown to the side while a man who wasn’t her husband fucked her atop her desk in the highest office in the country. She lived for the thrill of it, her ego bleeding out and into the room with each filthy groan he delivered her way. His tongue was helping to replace her earlier anger. He worked through her folds—caressing them through the tremble of her thighs—and when he knew she was ready, his tongue laid flat across her clit.

He’d watched over the president so intently that even in the slightest flutter of her eyes, he could tell she was ready to take a little more of the pleasure. Flat and heavy, his tongue pressed against her, applying pressure without friction. He stayed there without any thought of moving. He was only concerned with watching her stress drip away slowly—intently—as she throbbed against his mouth.

President Laveau sank into the feeling, upper body relying more on her hand that was pressed into the desk. Her head fell back, her eyes fluttered shut, her bottom half clenched—and when she was ready, she tightened her grip on the back of his head and put her hips to work.

“Fuck yeah,” Elijah growled into her briefly, hands moving to her hips to provide her extra stability. He loved when she got like this, when her dominance took over when she needed to reach that first orgasm in exactly the way she wanted to. It made the rest of their time go by in a blur. After she got off on him, her body was always looser, malleable in a way they both adored too much. It usually took her a second to get there, but when she did, she always felt at her best.

The agent’s nails dented her soft flesh, grounding themselves in the side of her ass as she rocked hurriedly. There was no use in being gentle. They both liked it rough.

When Annie bucked her hips forward, Elijah let out a moan. When she rolled her hips to the left, he let out a moan. When she pulled back for just a second, he let out a moan. The man couldn’t keep the sound in, couldn’t hold back the emotion that being forced into a position by the woman made him feel, but Annie wasn’t fucking with that.

With a heavy hand, the president slapped the agent in the back of the head—just once and no where near gentle. And the message landed. He understood what that hit meant: Shut the fuck up. So he listened. He lowered his eyes, pressed his nails in harder, let her use him, and he shut the fuck up.

“Good boy,” she whispered darkly, watching as his eyes clouded over from the praise. When he was at her mercy, her favorite part was to watch everything settle onto his face. He could never hide his emotions from her. He loved being told what to do just as much as he loved taking control. Annie’s hips snapped forward, rhythm unsteady but persistent. She refused to stop even as her thighs ached from the exercise of it all. And as the orgasm rose to its head, she finally felt that breaking that she’d needed for weeks now.

She quivered on the man’s tongue, holding a hand over her lips to reduce the sound of her climax. It hit her hard after weeks of mediocre sex, too much stress, and loads of work to push through. She’d denied what her body needed from Elijah for too long, and tonight, she was gonna let herself have it.

When she calmed down from the height of her orgasm, Elijah was standing above her—ready to pounce, ready to please.

Forcibly, he pulled her panties off, nearly ripping them in two to get her bare for him, he stuffed them in his pants pocket before he dragged them down his legs. Annie sat, eyes half-lidded, on the desk as his pants and boxers pooled at his ankles. Elijah was thick as always, hard from watching her across the room while he acted as a shadow, hard from seeing her yell and rant and threaten, hard from how she'd fed him pussy.

He needed her to feel what she’d done to him. The effect was physical—pounding, throbbing, painful in the most beautiful way. They could never stay away from each other even when they tried. They were like magnets, drawn in the other’s direction by a strong, unseen force.

The agent buried himself fully inside her—rough, heavy, intense. And Annie loved every fluttering second of feeling him so strongly. There was no need for easing in or taking their time. They had to be quick yet intentional, and Elijah wanted to show the woman how to allow herself to be lost.

Pace set quick and furious, he thrusted into her body, knocking the wind from her lungs. He’d pull out to the tip before slamming back in, bottoming out before doing it all over again. It made the president’s head spin in pleasure—an escape she didn’t realize she’d been needing this bad. All of her problems were lifting from her shoulders. She wasn’t concerned about the press or addresses to the country or approval ratings or even her husband who was upstairs waiting for her like a sad puppy. All she could care about was her lead secret service agent giving it to her like he’d spent time learning her body.

And he had.

“Since you like all that damn yellin’,” the man grunted, hoisting her legs up into his arms, “yell at me then.” He taunted her with the snap of his hips and how deep he could reach now that her legs were practically in the air. Daring her to yell, to fight back, he chuckled as her mouth slowly dropped open and her eyes fluttered shut. There was no fight left in her, just pure pleasure guided by their shared lust.

Elijah could feel her pulsing around him every time he bottomed out, and when he went to drag his tip backwards, he felt her grip, heard her whimper.

“Please, ‘Lijah,” President Laveau slurred. She gave up on propping herself up in the desk. Her arms were shaky, growing increasingly more unstable as he stroked her. She let her upper body rest on the cool wood, and as she fell back, the man followed.

“You look so pretty when you let yourself go,” he affirmed, kissing her neck where the sweater did not obstruct his access. He sucked gently to not leave a mark, but his lips still took in all of her and captured her breath. “So pretty when you let that stress go and all them obligations and all them people who expect too much from you. So pretty.” The pounding never stopped—even when he was talking sweet. It only got more intense—changing rhythm, speed, and the force used to pull that sweetness from her.

Annie felt folded up. Her legs were in the man’s arms and he was leaned fully atop her body. After a foolish attempt to try and slow her body’s increasing pleasure, she felt the climax start quickly. It was a full body breaking that started in her stomach and spread throughout her entire body. Her abs clenched beneath where the man was pressed into her chest. Her thighs trembled in his hold. Her chest fluttered in emotion that made her want to cry. Her toes curled up in the air, grasping for sanity. And her jaw quivered, eyes locked tight, eyebrows drew in.

She was succumbing after what felt like an eternity of stress and strain on her body, and Elijah recognized it all. He followed her slow breaking, keeping his pace unchanged but adding to the force bit-by-bit. And after the orgasm finally came to a head, he stuffed a hand over her mouth to muffle the strained cry.

“There you go, baby,” he guided her, watching as she contorted herself as his strokes never seized. “You doin’ so good. Give it all to me.” His own body trembled against hers, and sweat beaded on his forehead and near his collar. He could feel himself growing tired, could feel his own climax rushing forward, but never once did he stop giving her what she needed. He powered through it until she fully recovered from it—then he slowed, and he stopped, and he dragged out to the tip, and he stayed right there.

“Look at you,” he tumbled out, voice thick with a need for release. His eyes trailed her body—hair a mess, fucked out and sweaty.

“Keep goin’,” Annie slurred, intoxicated by the feeling of his head keeping them both right on the edge. The woman was never satisfied. She always needed more, always wanted better. And she always expected him to give it to her. Clenching around him, she drew a sharp moan from his throat, and at her request, Elijah pulled out and turned her over on the desk.

“You want this dick,” he questioned, forcing her face into the hard surface. He pressed so harshly that she could barely move, mouth wide open in shock and enjoyment. Her skirt was tossed over her ass, and each of his hands laid heavy spanks to her backside, waiting for her response.

“Fuck yes,” she moaned, grinding her hips back into his pelvis. She searched for his length, in need of being filled again and knowing he couldn’t resist her for long. He dragged the tip through her folds, drawing the moment out. When he was ready, he reached around and covered her mouth with a hand.

They went for longer than they should’ve, fucked deeper than they had to date. And they got lost. Lost in the pleasure. Lost in the continuous fight for power. Lost in the feeling of finally allowing themselves to give in after another time of saying never again. They lived in the moment and completely blocked the rest of the world from their minds—but they had no idea the situation that was soon to unfold or the consequences they’d have to face for their actions.

Beneath the president’s desk, in a lamp in the far right corner, behind a couch, and tucked in a feathered-pillow, tape recorders captured every sharp moan and honest whimper. Every one of the president’s lustful demands were recorded, and there was no mistaking the sound of the agent’s hand to her ass. There had been an infiltration, and up until now, nothing surprising had gone down in the office. It had been normal every day procedures for weeks. But now, the President of the United States was giving in, fucking the head of the secret service because she just couldn’t operate without it any longer.

Somewhere miles away, people were plotting on the woman’s downfall, hoping this would result in her end.

But Annie and Elijah continued on, blissfully unaware, ruining each other atop her desk while darkness crept in.

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word count: ~4,700

a/n: idk if i dived into the au enough idkk but i enjoyed this a lot! i hope y'all did as well~

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @princesstar655 @captaincalypso2 @sleepysquishe @nuttyinternetprincess @lolimblack @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[joyylakiell]

OMGG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS🤭this was amazingggg and the plot twist 100000/10

[joyylakiell]

Give me ideasss

[thebumblebeesworld]

LADIES • NIGHT • IN

sinners valentine’s challenge • bonus #3

pairing: modern!au annie x reader x pearline • song: morning by teyana taylor & kehlani

cw: smut, domme!annie, domme!pearline, sub!reader, emotional!reader, annie running shit fr tho, lil degradation vibe (not explicitly stated)

a/n: don't yell at me cause i know how late this is!!! this is my last update for this challenge, but i'll probably still use some of the songs for inspo! if you have any songs that you wish i had written to, let me knoww :33. also! i stole this idea from @cravemyhoney and i really hope i did it justicee! enjoy, my lil freakies :33

valentine’s masterlist • general masterlist • valentine's challenge created by @thebumblebeesworld

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The foyer of Annie’s home immediately wrapped you in the holiday spirit. There were heart shaped balloons all over, cute little messages left on sticky notes, and red lip prints on a nearby mirror. Candles made sure the atmosphere felt cozy, and from the kitchen, you could hear laughter, light music, and something cooking on the stove. A smile lifted your face. Every time you were with your girls, it felt like this: love, care, joy, home. You wouldn’t want to spend tonight any other way.

Two weeks ago, you and your best friends planned to spend Valentine’s Day together with a movie night and sleepover. It felt like a no brainer. Pearline was between suitors. Annie was juggling too many women and men than she honestly needed. And you hadn’t felt inclined to accept anyone’s advances in a hot second. You were satisfied with the way life was going for you. Work was amazing, and you were surrounded by so much love from friends and family. So spending Valentine’s with your girls seemed like the perfect holiday weekend.

Annie had offered to host. Her home was the biggest, and she was the best cook of the three of you. So with the date set, matching pajamas bought, and the itinerary laid out, y’all were ready for a night to remember.

You quickly slipped your shoes off and hung your coat up in the closet, revealing your red silk shorts and tank top with pink hearts all over them. It fit your body heavenly: tight around your breasts, giving you the perfect amount of cleavage; smooth around your hips, giving you the perfect shape. With a light smile on your face and even lighter steps, you gravitated toward the kitchen in search of the two women whose laughter was warming your heart from the inside, and the sight you were met with only added to that feeling.

“Hello, ladies,” you sing-songed, dancing over to the two women who were singing into imaginary microphones and twirling their hips to whatever was playing from the speaker. They were beautiful, both wearing pajamas similar to yours with full smiles on display. They looked free of any care in the world, happy beyond words. When their attention snapped toward you, your breath caught in your throat at the way their faces brightened even more.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Annie greeted first, moving away from the stove to give you a hug. She pulled you in and held you in place, relaxing fully into you. One of her hands drifted down your lower back and caused a shiver to ring throughout your body. Melting into the woman, you couldn’t get enough of her warmth, how her chest felt pressed firmly into yours, how her silk pajamas rubbed against your skin. And when she inevitably had to pull away, you had to gather every inch of your dignity to keep the pout and whine at bay.

Pearline moved in next, voice light yet commanding, tone low and sultry.

“Dance with me, baby girl,” Pearl all but demanded. She threw her arms around your head and swayed you both back and forth with a full laugh. If the whine was still attempting to come out because of Annie pulling away, Pearline had fully squashed it. It was always like this: one of them would pull back before you were ready to let go, and the other would fill in the gap, showing you the attention that you so desperately craved. The system worked beautifully, and even though it was rarely spoken aloud, all three of you understood it without any issue.

They always gave you what you needed. Always showered you in affection. Always made sure you knew you were wanted.

You danced with Pearline, giggling into her neck and holding on tight while the scent of her perfume hit your nose like a punch. You adored closeness—their closeness specifically. As your body went slack against the woman’s, you missed the way Annie and Pearline's eyes met across the room, the way they smirked darkly as the shared thought settled in the air between them.

And you just smiled goofily like a fool while one woman held you close and the other finished the dish she was preparing on the stove.

The living room was just as decked out as the entryway had been. Pearl showed up early to help with most of the decor, and the rest was finished with the help of you. Pink and red dusted every surface. Balloons. Candles. Blankets. Pillows. The home was done up, and the array of snacks and foods Annie had made helped to top everything off.

Love was in the air. In the quiet moments. In the flicker of candles lights. In the light touches as some body passed another. The three of you were surrounded by a budding energy—one that was slowly ripping itself through your chest.

On the living room floor was a pallet of blankets and pillows used as cushions. It was soft and far too comfortable for how early in the night it was, but the three of you cuddled up close after most of the food was eaten. Soft laughs erupted as Annie shuffled into the left side of you and Pearline into the other. As the movie played in the background—some romance movie about friends turned lovers that you had successfully convinced them to watch—you all talked nonstop.

“So, Annie,” Pearline goaded, raising her eyebrows in an all too suggestive manner, “how’d your li’l friends react when you turned them down for tonight.” Her voice had shifted coolly. Not upset—but not fully pleased either. She was amused and picking fun in a way that worked well to conceal whatever she really felt, but the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

You were certainly holding yours.

You usually made jokes about Annie’s many suitors. It wasn’t that you thought her foolish to entertain so many people at once. You applauded it; You were happy for the attention she received because she deserved it. But they didn’t deserve her. Not your Annie. Holding your breath for dear life, you and Pearline watched Annie shake her head and laugh incredulously.

“They know their places,” the woman shrugged with a wicked grin. She had all 32 teeth showing, and you could just imagine how much fun she had telling them all off for the night. Annie was ruthless with most people—besides you two—and her strict demeanor had a large effect on many of her suitors. You continued to watch her cock her head to the side and sigh lovingly. “My girls will always come first,” she softened her smile, looking between the both of you with sincere eyes. “They knew that tonight was about y’all. And ain’t none of them wifed me up yet, so they can’t complain even if they wanted to.”

The statement made your face heat up, made your head snap forward to half-focus on the movie, made your body needy and your jaw clench all at once. Even though you weren’t looking at her, you could hear the smug smile on her face. Your chest burned with an emotion you fought against tooth and nail. Your energy shifted quickly.

“Yeah, sure,” you pursed your lips, sinking back into a pillow and pretending to watch the movie unfold on the screen. Your eyes glazed over however, and your mind wandered off to whatever that strange feeling was every time your friend talked about her dating life.

Pearline quirked an eyebrow, amusement bubbling below the surface as she watched Annie slowly turn her head toward you. You both knew the woman didn’t play games—Pearline didn’t either, but it was always a sight to see when you got in your feelings and Annie got you out of them.

“What’s that supposed to mean, suga’,” she prodded with a dark voice, scooting closer to your side. She propped an elbow up and looked down at your horribly-faux unbothered face. You didn’t want either of them to know how much the conversation effected you. You weren’t supposed to feel any type of way. Annie was your friend. Pearline was, too.

But your heart was aching.

And your face was on fire.

And the heat behind your eyes was unbearable.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, but your voice cracked and a shiver tingled it’s way down your spine. You could feel Annie’s eyes on you, could hear her mind trying to decipher how to respond. But then Pearline spoke up on your right side, filling in where the other woman’s mind went blank.

“Ah, I see,” she giggled, tipping her head to the side to get a good look at you. She squinted her eyes as if she was excavating something deep, something you had tried to keep buried. You felt your cheeks flush at the thought of being caught, knowing the secret wouldn’t be allowed to stay buried. Hurriedly, you jumped into defensive mode.

“You don’t see shit,” you snapped, voice turning in scold. Your head turned toward Pearline’s, and the smile on her face only increased your heart rate. “Shut up, Pearl,” you tried again when her lips began to part, but there was no use. Annie watched the scene unfold from beside you, intrigue causing her to momentarily forget your little attitude.

“Nah,” Pearline laughed brightly. “I know exactly what your problem is.” She met Annie’s gaze before letting her smile spread even more when worry dripped off of you. She was having far too much fun exposing you, far too much fun seeing you aching for the other woman and not knowing what to do about it. Her face only inches away from yours, she let the secret out into the air. “I think somebody’s a little jealous.”

Instantly, it felt like the room began to hold on for dear life. Waiting for you to say something. For Annie to say something. For Pearline to explain more of what she meant. But it wasn’t needed. The signs had been there for a while: in how you joked too brazenly and stared at her like she—and Pearline—was the world in human form.

How could you not be jealous?

There were other people getting to touch your Annie, other people who she put her hands on in ways you never got to experience and never would. It made you feel sick to think about, and in the background was a movie about friends turned lovers. How desperately you wanted that to be your life.

Throwing a blush pink pillow against your face, you hid yourself from the two women. You needed a second to compose yourself from the feeling of Annie’s eyes all over you as she was waited for you to speak and make sense of things; And just as much, you needed to calm yourself from how terribly Pearline’s interrogation made your body ache—the bite in her voice that made your lower body throb.

Like always, the women gave you their undivided attention. They didn’t look away—but they didn’t press too hard. They knew you needed time to think and that bombarding you all at once could be too much. So they sat back and watched as you took slow breaths into the pillow. Your breathing was shifting from heaving inhales to shaky breaths out, and they stayed there with you for all of it.

When they touched you, it happened at the same time.

Pearline’s hand laid lightly against your back, rubbing against the silk material of your tank top. She toyed with the hem—tugged your closer. Annie’s hand went to your thigh, squeezing it to ensue you knew she was there and that she wasn’t upset. The connection made the breath catch in your throat, and your eyes snapped up to meet Annie’s soft, brown ones.

Only then did she open her mouth to speak.

“Is that true, baby,” Annie softened her tone exponentially. Her eyes dragged down at the corners in a solemn manner, and the truth of it all caused your bottom lip to quiver.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think about anything other that all those people who got to have your Annie. Couldn’t stop the feeling of what Pearline’s words did to you. Their hands were light on your body, caring and loving, and the combination of it made you sink into the two of them.

“It’s so hard,” you began, choking around a sob that you fought to keep down. You wanted them close and to feel their bodies against yours, but you weren’t supposed to want that. It was eating you up inside.

“What’s hard, baby girl,” Pearline worked to pull out of you, removing any sign of hilarity and playfulness from her tone. One of her main goals was to ensure that she met all yours needs. She made you laugh when you were sad. Held you close when you were stressed. She’d stop at nothing to give you the world, and this sight was breaking her apart.

Your lips parted to speak, but the words stalled.

You tried again—and same thing.

You couldn’t get past the mental block that these were friends. And at the same time, you subconsciously knew that they’d fulfill every need.

Annie always told you that you came before any of her lovers. Pearline always pulled you in to dance or made you so annoyed that you couldn’t help but laugh. And they both touched you with such adoration.

“It’s hard to sit here between y’all,” you tried again, voice raw and guarded yet open at the same time. You couldn’t keep it in any longer, but your heart had bound itself up. Somewhere in your body, you’d convinced yourself that they’d never feel the way you did. Even still, your confession cut through the room. “You both are my very best friends,” you continued. “You know more about me than I’ve told anyone. But we’re sitting here in matching pajamas and cuddled up in blankets and shit with a movie about best friends falling in love. And I can’t help but to think about the what if.”

The words had come out rushed but as honest as you could make them. And there was still more to divulge.

You moved back so that you could see both women at once, and you were met with faces of shock and intrigue and confusion. Annie spoke first, throat tight around the question.

“What if what,” she pondered, keeping her hands on your body even as you moved away. She closed the space again, palm on the top of your thigh. Pearline remained quiet, observing the moment from afar, but her leg stretched out, the top of her foot meeting the side of your thigh to keep the connection tangible.

You grew frustrated, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep your words from falling out now.

“What if y’all wanted me as bad as I want you? What if I didn’t have to hear about your love life? Or the guys Pearly might give a chance? The hookups and heart breaks and dumbass men and women who aren’t half as important to either of you as I am.” You looked between them, wild-eyed and needy for answers and something more. The room was shivering with anticipation as you continued to spill your heart out. “I can’t just act like I’m okay with the way things are when I know I want more. Y’all are my friends, but it’s so hard to pretend that I don’t feel the way I do.”

Heaving a breath, you shut your eyes. You couldn’t look at them, not right now, not when you were waiting for a response that was taking forever to come. It seemed that neither of them knew who should speak first. Pearline’s thoughts were tangled around how desperately you spoke, and Annie’s were focused on that look on your face and how she wanted to ease the worry that had settled between your brows.

“Baby,” Pearline cooed, shifting toward you. The blankets rattled beneath her, the sound increasing as Annie followed suit. They closed in on you, aura comforting in a way you hadn’t expected after such a confession. A finger lifted your chin, and you obeyed the direction by meeting the woman’s gaze. “What if we told you you didn’t have to worry about stuff like that?” She remained close, tone soft, eyes softer, smile smoothing out the previous worries she’d had.

“I wish we’d known you felt this way, sweetheart,” Annie breathed, hand on your waist. Her breath ghosted your cheek, causing your face to shift in her direction for only a second. The brief contact struck you deeply—just as deeply as the other woman’s had. Your lips remained shut as Annie poured her heart out. “We’ve felt just as strongly for you for longer than you could imagine. The feelings are nonstop, but the three of us are friends. We didn’t want to complicate things when we have a rhythm, you know?”

And you did know. It was exactly how you’d felt for far too long—helpless as you forced yourself into silence. You allowed their confessions to wash over you. Your heart throbbed and your mouth twitched in a small smile from how silly you’d all been. But you didn’t get time to live in that feeling for long.

Instinctually, the two women guided your body back onto the floor, allowing the pallet to cushion you as they did their part in easing your mind. Their hands went everywhere, massaging and pulling at your tense muscles. Their lips followed, sending open-mouthed kisses to brown skin, and your jaw went slack. You took in every bit of affection they were willing to give and let them work you into ease, comfort, and submission.

Your lower stomach burned because as your body relaxed, your ears were allowed the opportunity to tune back into your surroundings—the movie playing on the TV. It had gotten to that one scene you really wanted to see—the one where the friends fuck for the first time, still convinced that there’s nothing romantic about the thing they’re doing. The trailer for it was enough to rope you in—hot bodies tangled together, bare skin, heavy moans, dark music. Even without watching it now, the sound of it alone was affecting you.

The moans and deep huffs pouring from the speakers made your body writhe in need. Hips lifting up in search of friction. Heels planting themselves into the blankets. You tried to conceal it as their hands continued to envelop you, but your two friends—like always—picked up on it quickly. That shiver. That gaping ache. That trembling breath. They met eyes, quiet and confident. In a split second, without a need for words or deep contemplation, they made a decision that was sure to please everyone.

“Let us make it up to you,” Pearl assured, kissing along your collarbone. Her mouth trailed toward your neck as she moved slowly. She took her time with you, listening to every timid cry of pleasure and need and excitement, but there wasn’t one second where her eyes moved away from your face. She kept them there, kept herself locked in. Pearline had concerned herself with all things you a long time ago. She did everything in service of you, knowing you’d appreciate it, knowing it’d make your life easier. Right now, she was ensuring you felt good in every way you deserved, fingers itching to give you more.

Annie moved her kisses to behind your ear, effectively shutting your breathing off. She toyed with your ear while watching your expressions bloom with fulfillment when Pearline’s hand began to travel beneath the waistband of your silk shorts, teasing and hasty at the same time. Every smooth edge of a finger against your skin had you lit on fire, and the woman couldn’t get enough of how this type of pleasure manifested itself physically. Annie continued to lay her kisses thickly, giggling when your breath caught in your throat.

“You deserve to fully enjoy your Valentine’s, suga’,” Annie moaned in your ear, pulling your face to hers. She forced your eyes upon her so she could get a full view of what Pearline was doing to your body—every emotion that passed behind your eyes. Just as the other woman’s hand found its way beneath your panties and atop your throbbing clit, Annie’s lips found their way to yours—and the multiple layers of stimulation had your body levitating.

“Oh, please,” you moaned into her mouth, allowing her to engulf you in the kiss. She tugged at your bottom lip, practically devouring you, and Pearline smiled widely at the scene. Circling your clit tightly as she watched Annie take easy control like always, the woman couldn’t stop her grin. After years of fantasizing, she never thought she’d get to have either of you like this, but she was wrong, and she was glad about it.

Fingers dragging down to your entrance, lips engulfing yours in heavy kisses, and hands pulling at your top to free your breasts, you were at the mercy of two women. Confident women. Dominating women. Women who knew you like the back of their hands.

Annie palmed your titties, feeling the weight of them and rolling your nipples between her fingers. She swallowed every moan and every cry while your hips rose and fell with the rhythm of Pearl’s fingers. The other woman was fucking you deeply, silk shorts and panties still obstructing her view, but she only cared about the view of you and Annie above her: tongues down each other’s throats; hands grabbing at every bit of skin possible. When one of the Annie’s hands moved from your chest to your neck, Pearline quickly moved in to ensure no warmth was lost. Her tongue lapped at your nipple, testing your sensitivity, and when she heard the uptick of moans and felt you clench around her fingers, she gave it her full effort.

“This is crazy,” you moaned out, throwing your head back against the pillow. You were being stimulated from too many directions, and that was even before Annie stuffed her hand into your pants right alongside Pearline. She circled your clit, teasing and harsh and soft all at once. While Pearl stroked along your walls—nails piercing you in the most addicting manner—they both made sure your eyes stayed rolling back.

“You can call us crazy all you want, sweetheart,” Annie purred, kissing your throat and humming when she could feel the vibration of your moans. You could feel her touch all over, body attuned to her and Pearl now that they finally got to have you this way. Annie’s eyes turned dark as you cried her name. “You been drivin’ us crazy for too many years,” she groaned, looking over at Pearline and smirking at the woman with her mouth still full of you. “Now we have our hands on you properly, and we ain’t never lettin’ you go.”

Neither of them slowed down. They stopped teasing and just let you have it, let you enjoy the feeling of your body being taken care of by people who wanted the best for you. When you were on the verge of cumming, Pearl noticed it first. You were fluttering on her fingers, pulling her deeper, fucking yourself on her. With a smooth sigh, she looked down at you.

“If you’re gonna cum, sweet girl,” she began, breathing ragged as her fingers maintained their pace, “we gon’ need you to ask permission first.”

“Can you do that for us, baby,” Annie continued in question. She was quick to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth when a pout was beginning to form, and she soothed you with a litany of praise about how well you were doing, how you could handle the both of them with ease. Her words did their job, and as they fucked you and filled you with praise, you began singing like a canary, begging for every little thing you needed.

“Please let me cum,” you cried, hips lifting off the pallet to reach Pearline’s fingers better. You wanted to hold her steady, but you knew both of the women would have it out for you. They were letting you slide with all the movement you were doing, but they had it in mind that they’d train you up properly at a later date. You thrashed against the blankets, whined their names, moaned like you had only ever known that one sound—and eventually, they rewarded you with what you needed most.

“Cum for us, sweet girl,” Pearline giggled darkly in your ear. She stayed close, watching every breaking emotion pass over your face. She couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you around her fingers. Couldn’t get enough of the way she and Annie were working together in service of you. Every time her fingers inevitably touched the other woman’s, a shiver ran through her body, and a moan began to build in her throat.

Annie was continuing to encourage you as you came violently. Her words were soft but edged in need. Her fingers at your clit were following every cry you muttered. When she came to a stop—eyes glued on your breathing, fingers paused at your button to make sure you didn’t become overstimulated so early into the night—she was shocked when a hand grabbed her chin harshly.

You watched through lidded eyes as the two women kissed passionately, fighting for dominance and neither of them conceding. Pearline had one hand wrapped around Annie throat while the other glistened with your arousal. She fought the other woman’s lips as best she could, swallowing the shared moans and climbing into her lap to take a seat. When she was ready, she pulled Annie back forcefully, looking into her eyes with lust and years of holding back. The relief sat heavy in their hearts.

“I’m not an easy mark, baby,” Pearl cooed, kissing the corner of Annie’s mouth at the same moment that she tightened her grip on her neck. The mix of softness and dominance made the other woman’s bottom lip quiver. “I can be just as dominant as you, and I will put up a fight.”

You laid back, blankets surrounding you, pillow under your head, joints aching, and muscles tired. Your eyes were beginning to close, but you saw flashing of the two women kissing. Of Annie pulling Pearline further into her lap. Of the fight for control that neither was willing to concede. Of Pearline stuffing her fingers covered in you down Annie’s throat. They were delicious together. The yearning, the fight, the excitement, the relief of finally getting to have someone you’ve wanted forever.

Just as your eyes shut for a long rest, you felt both women approaching.

“Ain’t no tappin’ out this early, suga’,” Annie laughed.

“We just gettin’ started,” Pearline growled.

Within seconds, clothes were off—bodies bare and touching like they’d done it a million times over. The three of you moved in a rhythm, similar to when Annie was cooking and you and Pearline would assist in the small ways she’d allow, similar to when you’d be in need of comfort and both women would easily provide it, similar to when Pearline would dance with you and Annie would laugh brightly.

Years of knowing each other deeply facilitated the ease, and as the two women took you through the paces, you allowed the pleasure to be provided, shared, and sustained the entire night.

“Please,” you whined for what felt like the hundredth time. Annie had forced you to sit on the couch and watch as she and Pearline fucked each other. You’d cum more times than you could count, but there was certainly more left in you. As the two women rutted against each other—legs tangled, heads thrown back, fingers threaded, pussies touching and leaking on each other—you cried from the lack of attention they were giving you. You were always the center of everything, but now they were just forcing you to sit and wait til they were done with each other.

But Annie had made Pearl come two times in this one position. She seemed a natural at control, at ensuring her clit hit the other woman’s just right. Her hand was around Pearline’s throat now, pulling her down into her face.

“What was all that shit you was talkin’, baby,” Annie breathed against her lips. She cocked her head to the side, grinning wickedly when she ground down harder and pulled a moan from the woman’s throat. “Come on, Pearly,” she laughed when the woman was unable to speak. She was getting off on the struggle, from knowing her dominance couldn’t be easily overcome. “What were you sayin’ about puttin’ up a fight, huh?” The question landed hotly, the other woman taking full offense.

“Fuck you, Annie,” Pearline choked out, thighs quivering. She mustered every ounce of strength she could to grind through her own trembling. She wouldn’t allow Annie to beat her, but it was proving itself difficult. The more they continued, the more Pearline’s body wanted to give in from how good it all felt.

“Guess I’m gon’ have to show both of you who’s really in charge here,” Annie tsked. She pulled her body away from the other woman’s, allowing Pearl to collapse into the blankets and surrender her body to Annie’s pursuits. Her head pounded in her ears, her pussy throbbed from the overstimulation, whines tore from her throat, and when Annie came into view, her eyes followed her every movement. “I’ll share control with you, sweetheart,” she began, softly landing kisses along the exhausted woman’s upper body, quieting her cries, “but don’t expect me to not fight back and win.”

Her voice turned ice cold, settling beneath you and Pearline’s skin heavenly. Annie handled you both well, and she wore control like a badge of honor. As you watched them from the couch, your body only increased in its need for more, but the protest had died in your throat. You resigned yourself to being agreeable—both of their good girl before being anything else. Thighs clenching and mouth shut, you waited until it was your turn again. When their eyes looked upon you, the attention was undivided.

“Don’t think I forgot about all that beggin’, sweetheart,” Annie gestured, crawling toward the edge of the couch. She pulled your legs closer to her, parted your thighs, and devoured the sight of you. Behind her, Pearline was drunk off of the euphoria she’d just received, delight mingling throughout her entire body as she fought to bring herself back to earth.

Annie’s mouth was one you before you could realize it, tongue dragging through your folds and lapping at your clit. And Pearl’s hands were on you before you could process it. Holding your legs down to the couch, the woman taunted you while the other woman fed. She laughed at your trembling, made fun of your cries of more and less all at once. Her harsh words brought your mind back to earlier in the night—when she’d cracked your secret wide open, resulting in you being put in this very position.

Your head reeled back as Annie began to suck on your clit, head bobbing to the rhythm of your groans. Heat rising in your stomach and toes beginning to curl, you felt yourself on the verge of cumming. But that’s when she pulled away from you, leaving you writhing under the other woman’s hands that were still holding you open. Throat raw with emotion and frown settled deep onto your face, you looked over to see her and Pearline’s lips locked in a filthy kiss. They shared the taste of you, devouring each other with you lingering there between them.

While they shared moans, you let yours out into the air freely. You couldn’t get enough of the fact that the taste of you was turning them on, that even as you sat there waiting, legs open, you were the center of attention in some small way.

You almost couldn’t take it anymore when they returned to finish you off. Indulging on you simultaneously, the women took ownership of your body. They sucked on your pussy at the same time, ate from you like you were an ever-flowing plate of food, and they just couldn't get enough. Your climax was building steadily, body climbing toward another delicious release, but you knew this wasn't the end for you tonight. After years of lying to yourselves and each other, all three of you were uninterested in stopping before morning.

You rocked your hips against their faces, moaned and cried like the good girl they wanted you to be for them. And when you were ready, they demanded for you to cum before you could ask.

Your body surrendered once more, bracing itself to hold on until the morning.

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word count: ~5,550

a/n: i thought this was going to be the death of me fr- i hope y'all enjoyeddd

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[joyylakiell]

DELICIOUS OMGG

[thebumblebeesworld]

RIDE • OR • DIE

sinners valentine’s challenge • song #13 + bonus #4

pairing: 1970s!au annie x smoke • song: ride or die by megan thee stallion (ft. vickeelo) & part ii (on the run) by beyoncé, jay-z

cw: smut, violence, use of the nword

a/n: happy valentine's day, my lovessss. whew this right hereeee!! it’s a different vibe and style than usual, so let me know how y’all feel!

valentine’s masterlist • general masterlist • valentine's challenge created by @thebumblebeesworld

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We been on the run for 84 days. 84 days of drivin' on beat up back roads. 84 days of robbin' banks and dodgin' cops. 84 days of lovin' in the midst of the Hell we create. Smoke say we gon' keep this for as long as we can. Gon’ steal as much as our hands can hold. Gon’ make sure Power becomes a word our future children are born already knowin’. It belongs to us anyway.

It’s somethin' so liberatin' 'bout runnin' and lovin' each other through it all. We creatin' a future while livin' in the present and sayin' fuck you to the past. I can only half remember the woman I used to be—before I met him and became a woman who thrives in chaos. But life been so good to me since my Elijah.

I wouldn't want it any different.

We started out in Clarksdale—hit a couple banks here and there before running through Jackson like a freight train. I’ve never experienced somethin’ so freein’, and I can safely say that no matter where Smoke and I end up, I’m just happy it’s the two of us together.

~~~~~

february 7, 1973 • jackson, ms

The couple had been on a spree for months. Robbing. Looting. Killing. They had no real care for the lives they were interrupting and the damage they were doing; The only thing on their minds was each other.

Clarksdale had run out of anything good for them ages ago. They'd tried to be upstanding and commit themselves to an honest life, but bills became something that they couldn't run from unless it was done physically, and when they finally got on the road, there was no turning back.

Deciding they needed to lay low for a couple of days, the pair found a beat up motel. They could definitely afford more at the rate they were going, but they couldn't risk getting caught up for the simple luxury of large thread-count sheets.

"Ain't seen money this damn fresh in years," Annie laughed brightly as she thumbed through a fresh stack of hundred dollar bills. "Shit! I ain't never been more happy to see a white man. Benjamin lookin' real good right about now." The high of their latest expedition was still running through their veins, and their adrenaline was high—Annie's in particular.

First Magnolia Bank had been the perfect victim. Right off a busy road on a corner with businesses flanking it on both sides, the establishment had looked like candy to them. They spent days casing the place, finding out that early morning was the best time of day. The manager who opened up the bank was always too damn tired to do his job right. When he didn't have his coffee, the security system always remained off until around 11 o'clock, and every teller started off the morning slow because they didn’t want to be there in the first place. With sluggish bank tellers and poor management, they had their target, and after a clean getaway with no one hurt and a sack of cash slung over their arm, Smoke and Annie reveled in their victory.

"They ain't even get a chance to see us comin'," the man raised from his chair. The freshly-rolled cigarette hung from the side of his mouth as his eyes roamed his wife's body. He stepped confidently toward her with the haze and smoke wafting through the air. Then he groaned. Annie was clad in only a matching set of bra and panties. She always emphasized the importance of getting out of whatever garments they'd had on while on a job. Something about the energy. Something about freeing themselves.

He didn’t care why. He just listened.

Annie sat there with all that money around her, wide-eyed and ecstatic and half-naked, and Smoke couldn't help but want to take her right then and there.

"You have no clue what you do to me," the man breathed gruffly like he had a problem with how obsessed the woman made him feel. But there was no way he'd trade that feeling for anything else. He worshipped Annie—did every foul thing in the world just to make her happy. He knew she craved danger just as much as she craved him, so he provided it all. He leaned over her body where she was still sat, bringing her chin toward his face with a hand on her jaw. The woman let go a wicked smile.

"Oh, I definitely do, papa," she grinned. Her hands trailed up the man's thighs, and with greedy fingers, she palmed his growing need. Her teeth settled into her bottom lip as she watched the way his head fell back. Arousal drenched the room, and when their eyes met again, everything happened too fast to note.

One second the woman was holding stolen cash in one and hand and her husband in the other, and in the next second, she was on her back with 100s and 50s spread out beneath her. Smoke didn’t care about ruining those bills. The way he saw it, all money came with blood and dirt and sex—and it all spent just the same.

His mouth moved fast over her body, pulling and tugging at her bra straps and waistband to get her fully bare. And Annie just threw her head back in a filthy laugh as he de-clothed her. It came from her gut—the same place her craving for danger came from, the same place where her insatiable need for her husband resided.

She enjoyed every bit of his assault on her body. How he seemed to devour her with greed. How he knocked her body clean out the frame. How he put her back together with every single thrust of his hips. As she was laid out on all that money, her mind couldn’t help but to slip off. Bits and pieces of every train robbery and bank heist flashed behind her eyes. And when Smoke’s strokes deepened, she remembered every single time they got away successfully and how she’d look over at your husband to see his rare dimpled smile.

The woman reached up, hooking a hand behind her husband’s neck. He was towering over her body, stroking confidently and watching the emotions pass over her face. When she called his name—his birth name—his thrusts faltered, and when she moaned it with intention, he damn near came right there.

“You fuckin’ this pussy so good, ‘Lijah,” she moaned, opening her legs as wide as she could make them go. The man filled that gap with his quickening strokes, rutting into the woman like it was his full time job. With one of her hands, Annie grabbed a wad of cash. She brought it to her face, inhaled deeply, eyes rolling back at the scent of fresh money.

That was all it took to throw them both over the edge.

~~~~~

february 13, 1973 • vicksburg, ms

The 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo dashed through the streets, ripping through traffic and past cop cars in streaks of navy blue and headlights. The pair had just hit a casino, knowing that they could disappear over state lines and into Louisiana with ease—when things inevitably went south.

Their plan had been simple: scope out the biggest winners of the night, lay low until it was time to move in, rob the winners at gunpoint after they cashed out, and dip in the stolen getaway car—the Monte Carlo. Everything was going fine until the group of winners cashed out and parted ways, causing the couple to split up to get as much money off of them as possible.

Annie went one way—the parking garage, 3rd floor, near the elevator. They had parked the Monte Carlo close by in an alleyway, so as she closed in on two women and a man toting heavy stacks of cash on their person, all she could think about was how Elijah was headed in the complete opposite direction.

The group they’d been watching was seven people deep, and while three of them parked in the garage, the other four were in the main parking lot outside of the casino. It was too open, too risky, but if Smoke could pull this off, he and Annie would be up $76,000. It was a risk they were both willing to take.

The man closed in on the group—two women and two men—face covered by a black stocking cap, gloved hands wrapped around the trigger. He could tell they were approaching their vehicle because the man in the front of the group reached into his pocket. He fumbled around his wad of cash to get to his car keys, but just as he wrapped his fingers around them, Smoke put the man in a chokehold from behind.

“Drop yo' shit on the ground,” he grumbled lowly, gun pointed toward the man’s head as his eyes burned into the other members of the group. They were frightened, shocked beyond help, and he used that to his advantage. He shoved the gun deeper into the man’s forehead, finger at the trigger. That’s when he saw movement on his left side.

The other man was getting ballsy.

Smoke could tell that he was trying to will himself to play Captain Save-A-Hoe since there were two ladies in their midst. So when he reached inside of his suit jacket with hardened eyes, Smoke knew he wasn’t about to pull out any money.

“Aye,” he directed his way, eyes on his hands. “Let’s keep shit copacetic, nigga. Drop yo’ money, wallets, and jewelry on the ground, and I’ll be out y’all hair.”

In the parking garage, Annie was taking her group down with ease. When she saw them, she opted to keep her gun where to was—strapped under her skirt and to her thigh. She followed them stealthily, trying to be as quiet as possible, but she didn’t duck or dodge. She simply pulled her black stocking cap over her face, made sure her gloves were secure, and flashed out her switch blade.

The group was close ahead, and as she closed in, Annie reached out toward the man, kicked him in the back of the knee, and forced his body to the ground in a kneeling position. It had been simple and low effort, but it was always effective. That knife to his neck did the rest of the work to keep him in place. She’d sharpened it just last night, and his skin was on fire the deeper her pressure went.

“Evening, folks,” she greeted with a tilt of her head toward the women in front of her. They were shivering in their heels, trying their best to communicate with their eyes, and it made a laugh erupt from her chest. “Ain’t no point in tryin’ to get yo’self outta this one, sister,” she directed toward the shorter of the two women. “All I need is that money y’all just won and that pretty necklace on yo’ friend’s neck. And let’s go ahead and throw in this watch, suga’.”

Her eyes glided toward the silver-faced asymmetrical watch on the man’s wrist as her knife hit deeper. She’d seen it in a catalogue and just knew she had to get it for her husband. Her eyes scanned it, brain doing the math: Vacheron Constantin, 1972 Prestige, limited edition, silver-framed, mahogany brown leather, asymmetrical build, retails at $26,000.

It was perfect—exactly what her man deserved—and when her victim started to pull that watch off, she could have leapt for joy.

The victory carried itself all the way to the car as she ran with tens of thousands of dollars in her bag and jewelry that valued at just as much. The smirk on her lips was unbeatable. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins couldn’t be stopped on its own. She needed her husband. Needed his lips. His hands. His body. His dick.

But when she got to the car, Smoke was nowhere to be seen.

She usually expected him to be behind the wheel of the car or at least hot on her heels, but they hardly split off like this. Her heart pounded in her chest, and it felt like she was drowning. The love for danger was competing against her love for her husband, and in that moment she realized nothing could be more important to her than her Elijah.

She jumped into the driver’s seat and cranked the car. As the engine roared to life, she put a few words out into the air. Elijah’s okay, she mumbled, hands on the wheel and head down. He’s on his way to me, and he’s safe.

It felt like she’d been waiting for hours for him to come back, and she knew he’d be mad. Smoke always told her to leave him behind if necessary, that if they lost each other, she needed to save herself first—it was their rule. But Annie would never be able to do such a thing. She loved that man to the ends of the Earth. Their souls were tangled up together, and she’d never known another person as deeply as she knew him.

So she waited and prayed and kept the tears from falling for as long as she could.

“Let’s go, woman,” the man shouted as soon as he entered the car. Fumbling with his side and the bag full of cash, his hand hit the dash in a quick rhythm. “Go! Go! Go!”

Annie wasted no time. She put her foot to the gas pedal, ricocheting out of their parking spot in the alleyway and down the city streets. They didn’t have far to go. She could see the Vicksburg Bridge in the distance, and she swore she could smell the difference in Louisiana air as they approached it.

With pedal to the medal, her life flashed before her eyes.

When I was a girl, I’d dip my toes off in the Mississippi River that separated the state I used to call home from the one I grew up in. I used to imagine a life outside of Louisiana. Somewhere in Mississippi. Somewhere out North. Somewhere with a man that I loved and a family I created.

But now I’m runnin’ back to that—Or toward somethin’ else I guess.

I look toward ‘Lijah. He’s holdin’ his side and huffin’ in pain, and as much as I want to help him, I can’t do nothin’ but drive right now. I just gotta pray. Ask the ancestors for our safe keepin’. But I can hear them sirens behind us, and I can see the lights flashin’ bright. There’s blood all over.

But we just gotta make it ‘cross the bridge.

~~~~~

february 14, 1973 • killeen, tx

“I’m sorry,” the man gritted his teeth as Annie pressed fresh gauze over the wound. Her pressure was heavy, too heavy for what he really needed, and the line across her forehead showed how pissed she was. She hadn’t talked to him since she was certain that he wouldn’t die. Hadn’t opened up her mouth to do anything but grunt at him.

“Mhm,” she responded with pursed lips and a roll of her eyes.

They’d driven all night—through Alexandria, Louisiana and to Texas when that didn’t feel safe enough—Houston, Austin, and now Killeen. They ditched two cars since Vicksburg and were now held up in the middle of the woods sitting in the back of a beat up Volkswagen Squareback. The car looked like it had become one with nature, and somewhere in Annie’s heart, a part of her was still left in that alleyway, wondering if her husband was coming back to her.

Smoke knew what she was feeling—betrayal. They’d been through enough Hell together for him to understand what her body and silence were saying. They had rules they were supposed to adhere to, and he hadn’t listened. What he’d done was worse than her not leaving him behind when she was supposed to, and he could feel her hurt in his gut as if it were his own.

“You gotta talk to me sometime, baby,” Smoke continued, pulling at her thigh when she started to turn away from him. The seats were down, giving them space to lay back, but Annie was still upright, angry and annoyed.

“I ain’t gotta say shit, nigga,” she damn near yelled, “but since you wanna hear me talk so bad, why don’t you chew on this?” Her whole body was facing him now, face set in a scowl, lips ready to spew hate. “I should’ve left yo’ Black ass to fend for yo’ damn self. We have rules, Smoke. You don’t fight back when I’m not there. If a nigga draw his gun, you don’t have an all out brawl by yo’self.” She shook her head like the thought of the scene alone pissed her off.

When they had made it to Alexandria, the man came clean: Everything was going fine until that one man reached into his suit; He’d pulled out a gun; Didn’t fire just yet; Threatened to use it if he had to; And Smoke sent off a warning shot right into his foot.

Smoke was usually less trigger-happy. He liked to use his gun and thought it was the most effective means of de-escalating or escalating a situation, but he was never stupid about it. In that moment, all he could think about was getting back to his Annie. He knew she was waiting, worrying. So with his mind elsewhere and his eye staring down the barrel of another man’s gun, he mistakenly started a shoot out.

Wounds littered his body—down his right side and along his thigh, all tended to by the healing hands of his wife—and he just couldn’t be more happy for the opportunity to hear her nagging now.

“I did what I had to do, woman,” he groaned in defiance, knowing she was always right. He pressed the issue, fought her on it tooth and nail. “We got an extra $76,000 to our names. Ain’t that what you wanted?”

The woman looked at him like he was a complete idiot. Annie tilted her head, bit the inside of her cheek, shook her head in confusion. When she opened her mouth again, the question came out raw.

“Yeah, but at what cost, Elijah?”

He couldn't answer that. What was he supposed to say? At the cost of his own life? That would just be even more ammunition for why they should have never split up like they had that night. Annie liked danger and liked taking risks for the fun of it, but she hated doing things halfway and unplanned.

“Come here,” Smoke waved her over. His tone had softened, voice churning low in the way he knew she enjoyed. It soothed her worry on a good day and made her feel closer to him on the worst of nights. She fell into his good side, laying her head to his chest and her hand near his heart. “I should have listened to our rules,” he began, rubbing a hand along her back. “I shouldn’t have thought I was bigger than the program. This about us. Not just me and what I feel like I can accomplish. I wasn’t right to do that to you, and I apologize.”

After each word he uttered, the inside of the car began to brighten and lift in tension. All Annie wanted was a real apology because she understood Smoke's true motivations without him even having to disclose them.

They were just that close.

“You forgive me,” he wondered aloud, immediately prompting his wife to chuckle. She moved her head from his chest to look him directly in the eyes. Her smirk ran deep, the first real smile he'd seen all day.

“I’ll forgive you tomorrow,” Annie jested, pressing a full kiss to his neck. She laughed when she felt his breath hitch beneath her lips. Swinging her leg over his body, and fumbling with his boxers, the woman's voice dropped an octave. “Right now, I got a lesson to teach ya’.”

It happened just as fast and reckless as it always did between them. When they fucked, nine times out of ten, it was done disrespectfully. They left room for love and care and all that good shit, but Annie liked danger and Smoke liked to supply her needs.

With her skirt around her hips, the woman rode the man beneath her like she had a point to prove. She had no care for his wounds or how her thighs were pressing in against his bandaged leg. When he winced, it fueled her. When he cried out in painful pleasure, it made her go harder. The time she spent not talking to him made her feel crazy. She'd already been needy from the rush danger gives her, and she'd been expecting Smoke to fuck her with the memory of their last heist fresh in her mind.

After waiting a day, Annie's need had skyrocketed.

She rode the man quickly, the car rocking every time she bounced, groaning every time she dragged her body up to his tip and dropped back down with force.

“I don't think you realize something,” she moaned without restraint in her husband's ear, hips continuing their assault. “I don't care if we on the run, baby. You just better make sure I'm at yo' side. Ain't no doin' stupid shit without me there.” Her hips snapped down punishingly, tearing broken moans from the man's lips. But he wouldn't want it any other way.

He was obsessed.

“I'm ridin' wit' you always baby,” he affirmed after a sharp groan tore through his chest. He grabbed her ass, supporting her body as she fucked him relentlessly. With the sounds they let out, you wouldn't even assume they were outlaws. They didn't have a care if they were found fucking in the back of a car in the middle of nowhere. They were surrounded by their own love and the danger they thrived in. “Til death do we part,” he professed. “On some ride or die shit.”

Each word he spoke made her lower stomach burn in pleasure. They talked their shit at each other, fucking and making the rest of the world wait. In the distance, they could just barely hear sirens sounding, but that didn't bring them pause. They kept going, just as loud, just as dangerous. They kept going even when they both felt like they were about to give out.

And when they were finally ready to get up off of each other, they sped out of Killeen in a freshly stolen car. They weaved through the streets, windows down, hands waving in the chill Texas air, bodies waiting for the next bit of danger to creep in.

But their hearts hummed with love, knowing that no matter what Hell awaited them, there was always going to be somebody sitting right next to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~3,850

a/n: i didn't think i was gonna be able to get this one to y'all in time cause i been giving and getting some gooddd extra lovin-- i hope you all enjoyyy thoo~ talk to me!

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