The 'Sinners' star and first-time Academy Award nominee fused her love of bold colors and standout fabrics with her needs as a mom-to-be.
marieclairemag
For #Sinners star, Best Supporting Actress nominee, and soon-to-be mother of two @wunmimosaku, the 98th Annual #Oscars red carpet continued her longtime tradition of spotlighting the cultures and creatives behind her looks.
part one • 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.
a/n: *cough cough* my forever favorite lovers no matter the situation or circumstanceee. requested byyy @joyylakiell
part two
masterlist
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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~
