Heyyy girl, I have a request for my main man Smoke! I was thinking of retelling Little Red Riding Hood & The Big Bad Wolf, but make it grown, kinky, nasty, breeding, biting, co*kwarming. A mean, possessive Smoke, in a cabin nestled in the mountains, and he's a werewolf. She lives there too. The OC(Messiah)was born premature, a loner with fewer friends, and has a soft, raspy voice because of her birth/backstory, she hates to explain. Smoke notices but doesn’t judge or question. They share many traits; she’s hesitant but not afraid. 😭😫
Beneath the Full Moon
Pairing: Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Majesty
Summary: After a cruel prank leaves Majesty abandoned in the mountains, she is found by Elijah, a mysterious man living deep in the woods with secrets as dark as the forest around him. What begins as protection slowly turns into possession, desire, and a bond neither of them can escape. Under the pull of the full moon, Majesty learns the truth about the man who claimed her, and discovers that being wanted by the wolf may be the first place she has ever truly belonged.
Warnings: 18+ only, dark romance, werewolf/shifter themes, possessive behavior, primal play, breeding kink, knotting, biting/marking, rough sex, outdoor sex, scent kink, predator/prey dynamics, mild fear play, emotional vulnerability, isolation, abandonment/prank cruelty, obsessive devotion, explicit sexual content, profanity, Black characters, “mine/yours” dynamics, and full moon claiming ceremony.
The mountain air bit at Majesty's exposed skin as she stumbled through the dense forest, tears blurring what little moonlight managed to pierce the thick canopy above. Her dress, once pristine and chosen carefully for the party, now hung in tatters around her thighs, shredded by thorns and branches that seemed to reach for her like skeletal fingers. Each gasp of breath came out in ragged puffs of white vapor, her soft, raspy voice useless for calling help in the vast wilderness.
They had left her there. Her so-called friends, laughing as they drove away, their cruel prank complete. "Let's see if Little Red Riding Hood can find her way back from the big bad woods," one had called out, their voice swallowed by the darkness. Majesty had always been the outsider, born too early, smaller than others, her voice a permanent whisper that made people lean closer then lean away when they realized she wouldn't explain why.
A branch snapped nearby. Majesty froze, heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every shadow seemed to coalesce into something menacing, every rustle of leaves a predator approaching. She wrapped her arms around herself, the thin fabric of her ruined dress offering no protection against the cold or her mounting terror.
Another sound—this one definitely not the wind or woodland creatures. Heavy, deliberate footsteps. Majesty pressed herself against the rough bark of a massive oak, trying to make herself smaller, invisible.
A figure emerged from between the trees, tall and broad-shouldered, moving with an unnerving silence despite his size. The moonlight caught his features, dark skin, and deep brown eyes that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. He was dressed simply in dark jeans and a thermal shirt that hugged muscular arms, but something about him felt wild, untamed, like the forest itself had taken human form.
"Lost?" The voice was low, smooth, yet carried effortlessly through the night air. Not a question, but a statement of fact.
Majesty couldn't answer, her throat tight with fear and unshed tears. She just nodded, pulling at the hem of her torn dress as if that could restore her dignity.
His eyes swept over her, taking in her disheveled state, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the way she shivered in the cold. There was no pity in his expression, no judgment—just a calm, unnerving assessment that made her feel both exposed and strangely safe.
"The name's Elijah," he said, taking a step closer. "Most folks around here call me Smoke." He shrugged off his jacket, revealing the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, and held it out to her. "You're freezing."
Majesty hesitated, then accepted the offering, pulling the heavy leather around herself. It smelled of woodsmoke, pine, and something musky and undeniably male. The warmth seeped into her skin immediately.
"Thank you," she managed, her voice barely above its usual whisper, rough with disuse.
Elijah's brow furrowed slightly at the sound, but he said nothing about it. "Party gone wrong?"
She nodded again, ashamed. "They thought it would be funny to leave me out here."
"Small town minds," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Small people with small imaginations." He gestured with his head. "My place is just through there. You can warm up, use a phone if you need."
Majesty should have been afraid—following a strange man deeper into the woods where no one could hear her scream—but something about his presence steadied her. The possessiveness radiating from him wasn't threatening; it felt protective, as if he'd already decided she belonged to him and therefore deserved his care.
They walked in silence, Elijah's footsteps sure while Majesty stumbled behind him. The cabin appeared suddenly, as if conjured from the darkness itself—solid wood construction with a stone chimney from which smoke curled into the night sky. It looked both ancient and newly built, an anomaly in the wilderness.
Inside, the space was dominated by a massive stone fireplace that currently held a roaring fire. The cabin was sparsely furnished but immaculate, everything in its place, from the stacked logs by the hearth to the hunting knives arranged on a wooden wall display.
"Sit," Elijah commanded, gesturing to a plush armchair facing the fire. Majesty obeyed, sinking into the warmth as he moved around the space with practiced efficiency. He poured something amber into a glass and handed it to her.
"Drink," he said. "Slowly."
The liquid burned down her throat, spreading warmth through her chest. Majesty watched him over the rim of the glass as he built up the fire, his movements economical and powerful. There was something primal about him, something that went beyond his physical presence.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice stronger now.
"Someone who doesn't play cruel games," he answered without turning. "Unlike your friends."
"They're not really my friends."
"No," he agreed, finally facing her. "I don't think they are." His eyes held hers, and Majesty felt a jolt of awareness that had nothing to do with fear. "You don't have to go back to them, you know."
"Where else would I go?"
A slow smile spread across his face, transforming it from handsome to devastating. "Here. With me."
The offer hung in the air between them, impossible and yet somehow inevitable. Majesty thought of her lonely apartment, her nonexistent social circle, and the constant feeling of being an outsider in a town that had never truly accepted her. Here, with this strange man in the woods, she felt more seen than she had in years.
"I don't even know you," she whispered.
"You will," he promised, his voice dropping to that low, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate through her entire body. "And I'll know you."
The fire crackled, casting shadows that danced across his face, making him seem both man and something else, something ancient and wild. In that moment, Majesty made her decision.
"I don't want to go back," she said, the words clear and firm.
Elijah's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a little too sharp in the firelight. "Good," he said simply. "Because I was going to make you stay anyway."
The possessiveness in his voice should have terrified her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body that had nothing to do with the warmth of the fire or the whiskey in her glass. For the first time in her life, Majesty felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
The town would talk, of course. They already talked about the mystery man who had appeared nearly a year ago, building his cabin deep in the woods where no one went. They whispered about what he might be hiding, why he kept to himself, and why animals seemed to avoid his property. Let them talk, Majesty thought, watching Elijah move around his space with the confidence of a predator in his territory. For the first time, someone saw her not as the girl with the strange voice and the sad past, but as something precious, something to be protected.
Something to be owned.
And as Elijah's dark eyes met hers again, Majesty realized that was exactly what she wanted.
The cabin perched on the mountainside like a creature carved from the forest itself, its massive logs and stone foundation blending so seamlessly with the surroundings that it seemed less built and more grown. From the large window that dominated the main living space, Majesty could see the entire valley spread below, the town a distant collection of lights that would begin to glitter as dusk settled over the mountains. She loved this time of day, loved watching the sun paint the sky in strokes of orange and purple, loved the way the light caught the dust motes dancing in the air of the cabin.
Three weeks she had been here now, three weeks since Elijah had found her crying and torn in the woods, three weeks since she had agreed to stay with this strange, intense man who had appeared in town almost a year ago and built his fortress away from prying eyes. In that time, they had settled into a routine that felt both comfortable and charged with unspoken tension.
"Tea's ready," Elijah's voice rumbled from the kitchen area, low and smooth as always. Majesty turned from the window, watching him move with that unnerving silence he possessed despite his size. He was broad-shouldered and powerful, his dark skin seeming to absorb the firelight rather than reflect it, his deep brown eyes missing nothing.
"Thank you," she replied, her voice emerging as its usual soft whisper, rough with the rasp that had been hers since birth. She hated how it sounded, had always hated it, the way it made people lean closer then pull away when they realized she wouldn't explain why.
Elijah, though, had never questioned it. From the moment they met, he had simply accepted her voice as part of who she was, never asking for explanations, never showing the pity or curiosity that had become so familiar from others. That acceptance alone had been enough to make her stay.
He handed her a steaming mug, his fingers brushing against hers. The contact sent a jolt through her body that had become familiar over these weeks. Every touch between them carried an electric charge, a current of awareness that Majesty tried to ignore but couldn't.
"The sunsets are different here," she said, moving toward the large window again. "In town, they always looked smaller."
"Everything looks smaller from a distance," he answered, settling into the armchair opposite the window. He watched her, his gaze intense and possessive in a way that should have frightened her but instead made her feel safe, seen.
Majesty took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth spread through her. The cabin was always warm, always comfortable, thanks to the massive stone fireplace and Elijah's constant attention to keeping it stocked. He took care of her in ways no one ever had before—cooking their meals, making sure she had warm clothes, anticipating her needs before she could voice them.
"What were you reading today?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her face.
She smiled slightly, setting her mug on the windowsill. "The same book as yesterday. The one about wolves."
Elijah's expression tightened almost imperceptibly, a change so subtle most would miss it. But Majesty had become attuned to his moods, to the tiny shifts in his demeanor that revealed his thoughts.
"Found anything interesting?" he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes remained watchful.
"They're very loyal," she replied, turning back to the window. "Mate for life. The whole pack protects the young, not just the parents."
"Animals are simpler than people," he said. "They don't complicate things with pride or fear."
"Maybe that's better," she murmured, watching as the first lights began to appear in the town below. "Maybe simplicity is what we all need."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. Majesty had grown to cherish these quiet moments with Elijah, the way they could sit together for hours without feeling the need to fill the space with words. She had always been a loner, born too early, smaller than others, her voice making her an outsider wherever she went. But with Elijah, her quiet nature felt natural, matched by his own tendency toward silence.
He rose from his chair, moving to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His reflection appeared in the window beside hers, dark and powerful, his eyes fixed on her rather than the view.
"The full moon's coming soon," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that seemed to vibrate through her entire body. "Three days."
Majesty nodded, her heart beginning to beat faster. "I've noticed you get... restless around that time."
His hands settled on her waist, pulling her back against him. The contact was both possessive and protective, a claim he made on her body daily without ever speaking of it.
"The woods call to me," he murmured against her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. "Something ancient in the blood that doesn't care about calendars or clocks."
Majesty leaned into his touch, her body responding to his proximity in ways that still surprised her. She had developed a crush on him; there was no denying it. How could she not? He was intense and observant, taking care of her without making her feel weak, seeing past her whispered voice to the woman beneath.
"What do you hear when they call?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"Things you wouldn't understand," he answered, his hands tightening on her waist. "Things you shouldn't have to understand."
The possessiveness in his voice had grown stronger in recent days, his touches more frequent, his gaze more intense. Sometimes she would catch him watching her with an almost pained expression, as if he were fighting some internal battle she couldn't comprehend.
"You should eat," he said, releasing her suddenly. "I made stew."
He moved toward the kitchen area, leaving Majesty feeling suddenly cold without his touch. She watched him as he ladled stew into two bowls, his movements economical and precise. There was something wild about him, something that went beyond his preference for solitude and isolation. Sometimes at night, she would hear him moving through the cabin, his footsteps unnaturally silent, and she would wonder what he did out there in the woods when he disappeared for hours at a time.
They ate in comfortable silence, the fire crackling between them. Majesty had her own room, just down the hall from his, and though she had wondered what it would be like to share his bed, she had never dared to cross that line. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that filled the spaces between their words and touches, but Elijah had never made any move to change their arrangement.
"Your friend called today," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "The one with the loud voice."
Majesty looked up, surprised. "Chloe? How did she get this number?"
"Information," he answered, his expression unreadable. "She wanted to know if you were okay. Said people in town are talking."
"Let them talk," Majesty replied, though her stomach tightened at the thought. "They've been talking about me my whole life."
"They're worried about you living out here with a stranger," Elijah continued, his eyes fixed on hers. "They think I might be dangerous."
"Are you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
A slow smile spread across his face, transforming it from handsome to devastating. "Only to people who try to take what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should have terrified her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body that had nothing to do with fear. For the first time in her life, Majesty felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said, her voice clear and firm.
"You should be," he answered, his smile widening slightly. "But you're not. That's what I can't figure out."
Majesty set down her spoon, her appetite suddenly gone. "Maybe because you don't hide what you are. You're intense and possessive, and you watch me like I'm something precious. But you've never lied to me."
"Yet," he corrected, his expression turning serious again. "I haven't lied to you yet."
The unspoken warning hung between them, but Majesty found she didn't want to question it. Whatever Elijah was hiding, whatever secrets he kept, she trusted him to keep her safe.
After dinner, they settled by the fire with their books. Majesty tried to focus on the words, but her attention kept drifting to the man opposite her. He seemed different tonight, more restless, his energy coiled and ready to spring. She had noticed this happening as the full moon approached, his movements becoming more fluid, his senses more acute.
Sometimes she would watch him listening to something she couldn't hear, his head tilted, his expression distant. Other times, she would catch him scenting the air as if detecting something miles away. These behaviors should have frightened her, should have sent her running back to town and the safety of her lonely apartment. Instead, they fascinated her, drawing her deeper into the mystery of who Elijah Moore really was.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, not looking up from his book.
"How did you know I was thinking anything?" she replied, genuinely surprised.
He finally looked up, his dark eyes holding hers. "I always know what you're thinking."
The statement was so matter-of-fact, so confident, that Majesty couldn't doubt it. There were times when it seemed like he could read her mind, when he would anticipate her needs or answer questions she hadn't yet voiced.
"You're very observant," she said, closing her book.
"It's more than that," he answered, setting his own book aside. "It's in the blood. My family has always been... attuned to things others miss."
"Your family?" she asked, intrigued by this rare glimpse into his past.
"Dead," he said simply, no emotion in his voice. "All of them."
The finality in his tone discouraged further questions, but Majesty sensed there was more to the story, much more. Something about his family, about why he lived alone in the woods, about the strange behaviors that intensified with the full moon.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"Don't be," he replied, his expression softening slightly. "Some things are meant to be left behind."
They sat in silence for a while longer, the fire casting dancing shadows around the room. Majesty could feel the tension building between them, a current of desire and restraint that seemed to grow stronger each day.
"I should turn in," she said finally, rising from her chair.
Elijah stood too, moving to block her path. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
"Majesty," he said, her name a low rumble in his chest. "Be careful in the next few days. Don't go far from the cabin. Don't wander in the woods."
The warning was clear, but the reason behind it remained mysterious. "Why? What's happening?"
"The full moon brings out the predators," he answered, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. "All of them."
His touch sent a shiver through her body, a mixture of fear and desire that had become familiar over these weeks. She knew she should ask more, should push for the truth about what he was hiding. But the look in his eyes told her now was not the time.
"Okay," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay close."
His thumb continued to stroke her cheek, his touch both gentle and possessive. "Good," he murmured, leaning closer until his lips were just inches from hers. "Because I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."
The kiss, when it came, was soft and questioning, a gentle press of his lips against hers that spoke of restraint and care. Majesty responded immediately, her lips parting beneath his, her body leaning into his touch. The kiss deepened, becoming more demanding, more possessive, as Elijah's arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his body.
When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing heavily. "Mine," he growled, the word a promise and a warning.
"Yours," she agreed without hesitation.
He released her slowly, his eyes holding hers for a long moment before he stepped back. "Go to bed, Majesty," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Lock the door."
She nodded, turning toward her room, her body still humming with awareness. As she reached the doorway, she glanced back to find him watching her, his expression intense and unreadable.
"Elijah?" she asked softly.
"Yes?"
"Whatever you are," she said, her voice firm. "I'm not afraid."
A slow smile spread across his face. "You will be," he answered. "But you'll stay anyway."
The confidence in his voice should have terrified her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body that had nothing to do with fear. For the first time in her life, Majesty felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
As she settled into bed that night, listening to the sounds of the forest outside, Majesty wondered what secrets Elijah was keeping, what truths he thought she wasn't ready to hear. She didn't know what would happen when the full moon came, what changes it would bring to their careful dynamic.
But she knew one thing for certain: whatever Elijah was, wherever this path led, she was his.
And she was beginning to suspect that was exactly what she wanted.
The moon waxed in the sky, a silver coin growing larger each night, and with it, something in Elijah changed. The calm, controlled man who had brought her into his home began to fray at the edges, his restraint wearing thin as the lunar cycle approached its peak. Majesty watched from the window as he moved around the property, his movements more fluid, more predatory than before. He was marking his territory, she realized, scratching rough gouges into the trees around the cabin's perimeter, urinating against the trunks in a display of primal ownership that should have disgusted her but instead fascinated her.
"The woods are getting restless," she said one evening as they sat by the fire. Elijah had been silent for hours, his body coiled with a tension that seemed to emanate from him in waves.
"They can sense it," he answered, not looking at her. "The moon. It calls to the wild things."
"Like you?" she asked, her dry humor a thin shield against the intensity of his presence.
His head snapped toward her, his eyes glowing in the firelight. "What makes you say that?"
Majesty shrugged, affecting a casualness she didn't feel. "Just a guess. You seem more... animalistic lately. Pacing, marking your territory. Should I start calling you Alpha?"
For a moment, she thought she had gone too far. His expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. But then, a slow smile spread across his face, transforming it from dangerous to devastating.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her entire body. "Jokes like that might get you bitten."
The promise in his voice sent a shiver through her, a mixture of fear and desire that had become increasingly familiar. Majesty found herself drawn to his darkness, to the raw power that simmered just beneath his skin.
Later that night, alone in her room, she picked up the wolf book again, flipping through the pages until she found the section on mating behaviors. The words seemed to leap out at her: possessiveness grows as the full moon approaches; the male becomes increasingly territorial, marking his boundaries and warning away rivals; the female is watched constantly, her movements tracked and monitored until she accepts the male's claim.
Majesty closed the book, her heart racing. It was ridiculous, of course. Elijah wasn't a wolf. He was just a man, an intense, solitary man who preferred the wilderness to the company of others. But the similarities were uncanny, too precise to be a coincidence.
Three days before the full moon, Majesty began to feel the walls of the cabin closing in around her. The promise she had made to stay close to the property felt like a cage, and the call of the forest grew stronger with each passing hour. She needed to move, to explore, to breathe air that wasn't thick with Elijah's watchful presence.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the trees as Majesty slipped out of the cabin, moving quietly so as not to alert Elijah to her departure. She told herself she wouldn't go far, just a short walk to clear her head, but the forest seemed to pull her deeper, each step leading her further from the cabin and deeper into the wilderness.
An hour later, she stumbled upon it—a hidden grotto nestled between moss-covered rocks, steam rising from the water's surface. A small waterfall cascaded down the rock face, creating a natural curtain that shimmered in the dappled sunlight. Without hesitation, Majesty shed her clothes, leaving them in a pile on a dry rock before slipping into the hot spring.
The water enveloped her in liquid warmth, easing muscles she hadn't realized were tense. Majesty sighed, leaning back against the smooth stone, letting the heat seep into her skin. For the first time in weeks, she felt completely alone, completely free from the weight of Elijah's intense presence.
Unknown to her, she was being watched.
Elijah had returned to the cabin to find it empty, her scent trail leading away from the property and into the deep woods. Something primal had snapped inside him at her disappearance, a rage so intense it nearly overwhelmed his control. He had shifted without fully meaning to, his senses sharpening, his body moving with the speed and silence of the predator he truly was as he tracked her through the forest.
Now, hidden in the shadows of the trees, he watched her. The sight of her naked body glistening in the steam, her head thrown back in pleasure as the waterfall cascaded over her shoulders, made his mouth water. His dick hardened instantly, pressing against the confines of his jeans with a painful urgency. The urge to claim her, to mark her as his in the most primitive way possible, was overwhelming.
Mine. The thought echoed in his mind, a possessive growl that was more wolf than man. She was his. Had been from the moment he found her crying in the woods, from the moment she stepped into his cabin. And now, seeing her like this, so vulnerable and beautiful, the wolf inside him howled with need.
Majesty sensed something—a change in the air, a feeling of being watched. She turned her head, scanning the trees, but saw nothing. Still, the sensation persisted, a prickling awareness that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. She wasn't alone.
"Elijah?" she called, her voice barely above a whisper.
No response. Only the sound of the waterfall and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Shaking her head, Majesty dismissed the feeling as paranoia. She was alone in the wilderness, miles from anyone. Of course she was on edge.
But Elijah was there, hidden in the shadows, his body trembling with the effort of maintaining control. The wolf wanted to burst forth, to claim her then and there, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh and make her scream his name. But the man, the part of him that had grown to care for her, held back. It wasn't time yet. She wasn't ready.
Still, he couldn't resist marking his territory in a smaller way. With a silent movement, he approached the edge of the grotto, careful to stay hidden in the trees. There, he scratched a series of deep gouges into the bark of an ancient oak, a clear message to any other males who might pass this way: this female is mine. This territory is mine.
Majesty remained in the hot spring for another hour, unaware of the primal drama playing out in the shadows around her. When she finally emerged from the water, her skin rich umber and glistening, she dressed slowly, savoring the feeling of freedom.
The walk back to the cabin felt different. The forest seemed alive around her, every sound magnified, every shadow potentially concealing something—or someone. Majesty found herself looking over her shoulder, the feeling of being watched returning with renewed intensity.
Elijah was waiting for her when she returned, standing in the center of the main room, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression thunderous.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"I just went for a walk," she replied, trying to sound casual. "I found a hot spring."
His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over her as if checking for injuries. "I told you to stay close to the cabin."
"I wasn't far," she insisted, though she knew it was a lie.
"You were far enough," he growled, closing the distance between them in three long strides. His hands gripped her arms, his touch firm but not painful. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there? Alone?"
Majesty met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I can take care of myself."
"Not against what's out there," he answered, his voice dropping to that low register that signaled danger. "Not against what comes out during the full moon."
"What comes out?" she asked, her heart beginning to pound. "Elijah, what are you hiding from me?"
For a moment, she thought he might tell her that the tension between them might finally break. But then his expression hardened, his control snapping back into place.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, releasing her arms. "As long as you do as I say."
The possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable, primal. This wasn't about her safety; it was about ownership, about control. And something in Majesty responded to that, a part of her she hadn't known existed until she met him.
"Or what?" she challenged, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'll bite me?"
His eyes darkened, his lips pulling back in a snarl that revealed canines just a little too sharp to be human. "Don't tempt me."
The air between them crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desire and the danger of a storm about to break. Majesty felt herself drawn to him, to the darkness he represented, to the wildness he tried so hard to contain.
"Why can't I go too far?" she asked, her voice firm despite the trembling in her limbs. "What's out there besides us?"
Elijah's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something ancient and predatory in their depths. "The woods are full of things that bite, little girl. Things that don't like trespassers."
"Things like you?" she countered, her head tilting. "Or something else?"
His control wavered for a moment, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "What makes you think I'm the only thing to worry about?"
"You're the only thing that matters," she replied, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "But you're not telling me everything. Who else is out there, Elijah? Who else shares these woods with you?"
He captured her hand, his grip firm but not painful. "Why so many questions? Didn't your mother ever warn you about wandering too deep into the forest? About asking the big bad wolf about his business?"
Majesty's breath hitched at his deliberate reference, at the way his lips pulled back in a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "I'm not afraid of the woods."
"Maybe you should be," he murmured, his thumb stroking the pulse point in her wrist. "There are wolves out here that would love to find a little red riding hood all alone and far from the path."
"Are you one of them?" she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Go to your room," he said, his voice strained as he released her hand. "Lock the door."
Majesty nodded, turning to obey. As she reached the doorway, she glanced back to find him watching her, his expression intense and unreadable.
"Elijah?" she asked softly.
"Whatever you're hunting out there," she said, her voice firm. "I hope it doesn't catch you."
A slow smile spread across his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm not the one who should worry about being caught," he answered.
That night, as she lay in bed listening to the sounds of the forest, Majesty thought about the scratches she had seen on the trees around the hot spring, deep gouges that seemed too deliberate to be random. She thought about the way Elijah's eyes seemed to glow in the firelight, the sharpness of his canines when he smiled, the uncanny way he could track her movements through the dense forest.
She thought about the book on wolves, about the parallels between their mating behaviors and Elijah's actions. It was impossible, of course. Ridiculous.
But as she drifted off to sleep, Majesty found herself wondering what it would be like to be mated for life, to be claimed so completely, so irrevocably, that no one would ever dare question her place again.
And she wondered, with a mixture of fear and anticipation, what Elijah would become when the moon was full.
The morning of the full moon eve dawned crisp and clear, the air sharp with the promise of autumn. Majesty found Elijah in the kitchen, cleaning a hunting knife with methodical precision, his movements economical and fluid. He had been watching her all morning, his gaze more intense than usual, a predatory glint in his dark eyes that sent shivers down her spine.
"You're coming with me today," he said, not looking up from his task. The statement was delivered as fact, not a question.
Majesty's heart skipped a beat. "Where?"
"Hunting," he answered, finally meeting her eyes. "There are things you need to see. Things I need to show you."
The unspoken meaning behind his words hung heavy in the air between them. This was it, she realized. The moment he would finally reveal some part of the truth he had been hiding.
"What will we be hunting?" she asked, her voice barely above its usual whisper.
"Whatever crosses our path," he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Though I'm hoping for something substantial. Deer, preferably. They're more satisfying."
The possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable, a claim staked not just on the forest but on her as well. Majesty found herself responding to it, her body humming with anticipation despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.
An hour later, they were deep in the woods, far from any path Majesty had traveled before. The forest seemed different here, wilder, more primal. Elijah moved with an economy of motion that spoke of long familiarity with the wilderness, his senses attuned to every rustle of leaves, every snap of twig.
"Stay close," he commanded, his voice low. "And quiet. The forest doesn't forgive mistakes."
Majesty nodded, falling into step behind him. The tension between them was palpable, a current of awareness that seemed to grow stronger with each step deeper into the wilderness. She could feel something building, a shift in the energy around them that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
They had been tracking for perhaps two hours when Elijah stopped suddenly, his head tilted as if listening to something she couldn't hear.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
"Deer," he answered, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. "A buck. Good-sized."
Majesty followed his gaze but could see nothing but trees and shadows. "How can you tell?"
"Listen," he murmured, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, faster than normal but still controlled. "The forest speaks. You just have to know how to listen."
They moved forward silently, Elijah leading with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. Majesty struggled to keep up, her breathing ragged in the cold air. Just as she was about to ask for a break, Elijah stopped again, raising his hand in a gesture that clearly meant wait.
"There," he whispered, pointing.
Majesty followed his finger and saw it—a magnificent buck, its antlers spread wide as it browsed among the ferns. The animal was beautiful, majestic, and for a moment, Majesty hoped it would escape.
Elijah raised his rifle, his movements smooth and economical. But then he hesitated, lowering the weapon slightly.
"Watch," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the buck. "Really watch."
As Majesty stared, transfixed, she noticed something strange happening to Elijah. His body seemed to shimmer, to waver like heat rising from pavement. His features shifted, becoming more angular, more predatory. For a breathtaking moment, his eyes glowed with an amber light that seemed to belong more to an animal than man.
The buck's head snapped up, its eyes wide with terror as it caught Elijah's scent. It turned to flee, but Elijah was faster, moving with an impossible speed that defied human capability. He closed the distance between them in seconds, his body coiling and releasing with the fluid grace of a predator.
What happened next was both brutal and beautiful. Elijah's transformation was partial but undeniable—his face elongating slightly, his canines extending, his nails lengthening into claws that gleamed in the dappled sunlight. He took down the buck with a swift, efficient motion that spoke of countless hunts, of a predator born to the kill.
Majesty watched, mesmerized, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and fascination. She should have been horrified, should have screamed and run. Instead, she found herself rooted to the spot, drawn to the raw power he displayed, to the primal beauty of the hunt.
When it was over, Elijah stood over the fallen buck, his chest heaving, his body still partially shifted. He turned to face her, his eyes glowing with that amber light, his face a mask of predator and man.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, his voice deeper, rougher than normal.
Majesty considered the question carefully. She was afraid, yes, but not of him. Not really. The fear was for herself, for the changes she felt happening inside her, for the way this revelation seemed to awaken something dormant in her own nature.
"No," she answered, her voice surprisingly steady. "Should I be?"
A slow smile spread across his face, transforming it from dangerous to devastating. "Most would be."
"I'm not most people," she replied, taking a step toward him.
Elijah's body began to shift back, the transformation as fluid and graceful as the hunt itself. Within moments, he was fully human again, though his eyes still held that amber glow, his canines still slightly extended.
"No," he agreed, his voice returning to its normal pitch. "You're not."
They worked together to field dress the buck, Elijah teaching her with a patience that contradicted his earlier intensity. He showed her how to remove the organs, how to preserve the meat, how to honor the animal that had given its life for their sustenance. Majesty found herself fascinated by the process, by the matter-of-fact way he handled the death, the reverence with which he treated the body.
"Back home," he said, shouldering the dressed carcass. "We'll feast tonight."
The walk back to the cabin was different from the journey out. The tension between them had shifted, transforming from anticipation into something more intimate, more knowing. Majesty found herself watching Elijah differently, seeing the man and the wolf as two parts of a whole, two aspects of the being who had claimed her as his own.
So this is what he is, Majesty thought, her gaze fixed on the broad expanse of his shoulders as he navigated the forest path. Not a man hiding a secret, but both things at once. The calm, controlled Elijah who cooks for me and makes sure I'm warm, and the predator who moves with the grace of death itself. She had always been drawn to his intensity, to the darkness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. Now she understood it wasn't a mood or a temperament; it was his nature, as intrinsic as the color of his eyes or the deep timbre of his voice.
She watched the way he moved, silent and sure-footed, carrying the weight of the buck as if it were nothing. There was a fluidity to his motions that went beyond human capability, a sense of connection to the forest around them that spoke of something ancient and wild. He wasn't just a man in the woods; he was part of the woods, a predator in his natural habitat, and she was his chosen mate.
He didn't just find me that night, she realized with a jolt of understanding. He was hunting me. The way he hunted that buck. The thought should have terrified her, should have sent her running back to the safety of her lonely life in town. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body, a primal response to being claimed by someone so powerful, so possessive.
All this time, she thought, I thought I was the stray he took in, the lost little girl he felt sorry for. But I was never a charity case. I was prey he decided to keep. The distinction was important, a revelation that changed everything she thought she knew about their relationship. He hadn't saved her out of pity; he had claimed her out of desire.
As they emerged from the dense forest into the clearing around the cabin, Majesty felt a sense of coming home that had nothing to do with the physical structure of the building. This was their territory now, their den, the place where the man and the wolf would claim his mate. She was no longer just a guest in his home; she was the intended partner of his soul, the female he had chosen to stand by his side, to share his life, both human and wild.
And I want it, she thought with a certainty that settled deep in her bones. I want all of it. The man and the wolf. The tenderness and the danger. The possession and the protection. She had spent her life feeling like an outsider, like someone who didn't quite fit in anywhere. Now she understood why. She hadn't been looking for a place in the human world; she had been waiting for the predator who would see her as his equal, who would claim her not despite her differences but because of them.
As Elijah shouldered open the cabin door, his eyes meeting hers across the room, Majesty knew with a certainty that settled deep in her bones that there was no turning back now.
That evening, as they prepared the meat for cooking, Elijah's possessiveness intensified. He moved around the kitchen with an easy confidence, his touches becoming more frequent, more deliberate. Each brush of his hand against her skin sent a jolt of awareness through her body, each glance filled with a hunger that went beyond appetite.
"You handled yourself well today," he said, his voice low as he stirred the stew. "Most humans would have run."
"I'm not most humans," she replied, echoing her words from the forest.
"No," he agreed, turning to face her. "You're not. You're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable, a claim staked not just on her body but on her soul as well. Majesty found herself responding to it, her own desire rising to meet his.
"Elijah," she began, uncertain how to voice what she was feeling.
"Shh," he murmured, capturing her face in his hands. "Don't speak. Just feel."
His lips claimed hers, hungry and demanding, a kiss that spoke of ownership and desire. Majesty responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more primal, as Elijah's hands roamed her body, claiming every curve, every hollow.
When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing heavily. "I want you," he growled, his voice rough with emotion. "All of you. Body and soul. I want to claim you as my mate."
The words hung between them, raw and honest, a confession that went beyond mere desire. This was about bonding, about joining, about becoming something more than two separate individuals.
"Is that what this is about?" she asked, her voice trembling. "The hunting, the showing me... you're claiming me?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I've been waiting for the right time, for the full moon. But I can't wait anymore. I need you to be mine in every way."
Majesty searched his eyes, seeing the conflict there—the desire to protect her warring with the need to claim her. She understood then that this was as difficult for him as it was for her, that revealing his true nature had cost him something, had made him vulnerable in a way he hadn't been before.
"How did you find me?" she whispered, the question shifting the tension between them. "That night in the woods. I was miles from anywhere, no path, no direction. How did you know I was there?"
Elijah's expression softened, his thumb stroking her cheek. "I was already out there. Hunting."
He paused, his gaze growing distant as he remembered. "I caught your scent on the wind first. Fear, mixed with something else... something wild that called to me. I followed it, tracking you through the dark. I could hear your heartbeat, too fast and too weak. I could smell your tears."
His voice dropped lower, rough with emotion. "When I found you, torn and crying, something inside me shifted. The wolf saw you and knew. Knew you were mine. Not just to protect, but to claim. To mate."
Majesty's breath hitched, her body trembling with his confession. "So you didn't just stumble upon me."
"No," he answered, his eyes meeting hers. "I was drawn to you. The way a wolf is drawn to its mate. I've been waiting for you to catch up, to see what I already knew."
"I've been yours since the moment you found me in the woods," she whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I just didn't know it."
Elijah's eyes closed, his body trembling with emotion. "Majesty," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "You don't know what you're agreeing to."
"Then show me," she replied, her voice firm. "Let me see all of you. Let me be with all of you."
His eyes opened, the amber glow returning, brighter this time, more intense. "Tomorrow night," he said, his voice rough with promise. "When the moon is full. I'll show you everything."
The anticipation in his voice sent a thrill through her body, a mixture of fear and desire that had become increasingly familiar. She didn't know what tomorrow night would bring, what changes it would make in their relationship, in her understanding of herself.
But she knew one thing for certain: whatever Elijah was, wherever this path led, she was his.
And she was ready to be claimed.
As they settled down to eat, the stew rich and savory, Majesty found herself watching Elijah with new eyes. She saw the man and the wolf, the provider and the predator, the gentle caretaker and the possessive mate. She saw the complexity of his nature, the duality that defined him, and she found herself drawn to both aspects, to the whole of who he was.
The night passed in a haze of anticipation, the air thick with unspoken desire. Majesty found herself wondering what tomorrow would bring, what the full moon would reveal, and how her life would change once she was fully claimed as his mate.
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about the hunt, about the raw power Elijah had displayed, about the way her body had responded to his dominance. She thought about the promise in his eyes, the hunger in his voice, the possessiveness in his touch.
She was his.
And tomorrow night, he would be hers.
The morning broke with an eerie stillness, the air thick with anticipation as the full moon loomed on the horizon. Majesty woke to the sound of Elijah moving through the cabin, his footsteps unnaturally silent, his presence a weight that pressed against her even through the closed door of her room.
He's different today, she thought, her heart beginning to pound. More wolf than man. She could feel it in the air, in the way the forest seemed to hold its breath, in the way her own body responded to his nearness with a mixture of fear and desire.
They moved through the morning in a dance of avoidance and attraction. Elijah prepared breakfast with his usual efficiency, but his hands lingered on her as he passed her a plate, his fingers brushing against hers with deliberate intent. Majesty found herself watching him, noting the way his eyes seemed to glow with an amber light, the way his movements became more fluid, more predatory as the day progressed.
She knows, Elijah thought, his senses heightened to an almost painful degree. She can feel it too, the pull between us, the need that's been building since the moment I found her. He could smell her desire, sweet and intoxicating, even from across the room. It took all his control not to claim her then and there, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh and make her his in the most primal way possible.
The afternoon passed in a haze of tension. Majesty found herself unable to focus on her book, her eyes constantly drawn to Elijah as he moved around the cabin, marking his territory in subtle ways. He would run his hands over the furniture, leaving his scent behind, or pause at the doorway, his head tilted as if listening to something she couldn't hear.
This is what it means to be claimed, she realized, a thrill running through her body. To be so thoroughly possessed, so completely owned, that every movement, every glance, every touch becomes a declaration of ownership. She should have been frightened, should have resisted this primal display of dominance. Instead, she found herself responding to it, her own desire rising to meet his.
As the sun began to dip toward the western peaks, the tension in the cabin became almost unbearable. The moon's ascent was a physical pressure against Elijah's skin, a gravitational pull that set his teeth on edge and made every nerve ending spark with restless energy. He prowled the length of the cabin, a caged animal in a space that had suddenly become too small, his movements sharp and agitated. The wolf was clawing at the inside of his ribs, demanding release, demanding blood, demanding mate.
Majesty settled on the couch, the book in her lap a forgotten prop as she watched him. The air was thick with his agitation, a force that made her own heart beat faster. Something was building, something primal and inevitable, and she was at the center of the storm.
"Come here," he said suddenly, his voice rough with emotion, the words torn from a throat tight with restraint.
Majesty looked up, her heart beginning to pound. "Elijah?"
"Now," he commanded, his eyes glowing with an amber light that seemed to belong more to an animal than a man. The wolf was right there, staring out at her from behind his eyes.
She rose slowly, crossing the room to stand before him. He reached out, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, but the touch was anything but gentle. It was desperate, a man drowning.
"I need to smell you," he breathed, his voice barely audible, ragged.
"What?" she asked, confused by the raw need in his request.
"Your scent," he clarified, his hands moving to the waistband of her pants. "The real you. Untouched by soap or perfume. It's... It's like a cigarette to a man dying for a smoke. It's the only thing that calms the beast when it's like this."
Before Majesty could fully process his words, he had undone her pants, sliding them down her hips along with her underwear. She stood before him, exposed and vulnerable, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and a dawning understanding of his need.
Elijah dropped to his knees before her. He buried his face against her inner thigh, his stubble rough against her soft skin, and inhaled deeply. A shudder ran through his entire body, a visible release of tension as the scent flooded his senses.
"God," he breathed, his voice rough with need. "There it is. That's it. That's the scent of my mate. It's... peace. It's the only damn thing that quiets the noise in my head."
He moved higher. Majesty gasped, her hands gripping his hair as he inhaled again, deeper this time, his tongue darting out for a single, deliberate taste of her folds.
"Elijah," she moaned, her body responding to his touch with an urgency that surprised her, a primal answering call to his need.
"Not yet," he growled, pulling back slightly, though it clearly cost him. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck corded with the effort of restraint. "Not until the moon is full. But I needed this. I needed a hit. Just to get through the night."
He rose to his feet, his eyes holding hers, the amber glow still bright but tempered now, banked by her essence. "Soon," he promised, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her entire body. "Very soon."
The sun had set completely now, the moon rising in the sky, a silver coin that seemed to pulse with energy. Elijah took her hand, leading her out of the cabin and into the clearing in front.
"I've prepared something for us," he said, his voice low and intense.
In the center of the clearing, he had laid out a thick blanket, surrounded by candles that cast flickering shadows across the forest floor. It was both romantic and primal, a setting for a ritual as old as time itself.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Our claiming ceremony," he answered, his eyes glowing in the moonlight. "The beginning of our life together."
He led her to the blanket, settling her on his lap as they faced the rising moon. The air was crisp and cool, but his body was warm, a furnace of contained energy that seemed to seep into her skin.
"The moon calls to the wolf," he murmured, his arms wrapping around her waist. "But you call to the man. Both parts of me respond to you, Majesty. Both parts need you."
Majesty leaned back against his chest, her body humming with anticipation. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I know," he answered, his hands beginning to roam her body, claiming every curve, every hollow. "That's what makes this so perfect. You're here by choice, not by force. You're choosing me, choosing this life."
"Is it a choice?" she asked, her head turning to meet his gaze. "Or is it fate?"
"Both," he replied, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. "Fate brought us together, but choice keeps us here."
The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding as the moon climbed higher in the sky, a silver witness to their impending union. Elijah's hands grew bolder, his touches more intimate, as he began the process of claiming her body as his own. He broke the kiss only to pull her shirt over her head, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra before his hands returned to her skin, mapping the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist.
"I want to breed you," he growled against her lips, his voice rough with primal need. "Fill you with my litter, make you round with my child. Mark you so completely that no one will ever doubt who you belong to."
"Then do it," she whispered, her voice firm despite the trembling in her limbs. "Claim me."
Elijah's eyes darkened, his control wavering for a moment. "Not yet," he breathed, his hands tightening on her waist. "Soon, but not yet."
With deliberate slowness, he undressed them both, their clothes falling away until they were bathed in the moon's silvery light. He guided her to straddle his lap, facing him, her knees bracketing his hips. With deliberate slowness, he entered her, his thick length stretching her.
A gasp escaped Majesty's lips as her body adjusted to his size, her inner walls clenching around him. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and possession that left her breathless.
"Just feeling you around me," he murmured against her ear, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. "Knowing you're mine. This is the first part of the claiming."
They sat like that for a moment, joined but still, the only movement the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed each other's air. The moon climbed higher in the sky, its silver light bathing them in its glow, sealing their bond even before the final claiming had begun.
"When the moon is full," he continued, his voice rough with emotion, "I'll take you completely. I'll breed you like the wolf in me needs to, make you my mate in every way possible."
His hands roamed her body. "I'll mark you," he promised, his teeth nipping at her shoulder. "Leave bite marks all over your body so everyone will know you're mine."
As if to prove his point, he leaned in, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder. Majesty cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through her body as he marked her, his tongue soothing the sting of the bite.
"I'm going to cum inside you," his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Again and again, until it takes. Until you're swollen with my child, your body forever changed by mine."
He bit her again, this time on the other shoulder, his teeth leaving a matching mark on her skin. The pain was sharp, immediate, but it was followed by a wave of pleasure so intense it made her dizzy.
"Mine," he growled against her skin, his hands tightening on her waist. "All mine."
"Yours," she agreed without hesitation, her body arching against his as another wave of pleasure washed over her.
They sat like that for what seemed like hours, his body joined with hers, his hands claiming her, his words promising a future that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The moon climbed higher in the sky, its silver light bathing them in its glow, sealing their bond even before the final claiming had begun.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice rough with need.
"Ready," she answered, her body trembling with anticipation.
As the moon reached its zenith, Elijah began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that was both ancient and new. The claiming had begun, and there was no turning back now.
They were mates. Bound by blood and desire, by moonlight and fate.
And as the forest watched in silent approval, they began the journey that would unite them forever, two souls becoming one under the watchful eye of the full moon.
The moon hung heavy and silver in the obsidian sky, a perfect orb that pulsed with ancient energy. On the blanket, Majesty lay beneath Elijah, their bodies still joined, his heat a furnace against her skin. The air around them hummed, vibrating with a power that made the hairs on her arms stand erect. Then, the change began.
It started not with a sound, but with a vibration deep within Elijah's chest, a low rumble that seemed to shake the very earth beneath them. His body, still sheathed inside hers, began to convulse, muscles coiling and releasing with impossible force. Majesty watched, mesmerized, as his form wavered, the lines of his humanity blurring like heat rising from asphalt. His skin shimmered, dark fur erupting from his pores like a dark tide. His face elongated, jaw stretching forward into a muzzle, his teeth elongating into ivory daggers. His hands, still gripping her hips, shifted, fingers thickening, nails curving into black claws that dug into the blanket, and then, just slightly, into her flesh. It was a brutal, beautiful metamorphosis, a violent return to a more primal truth.
And Majesty was not afraid. Awe, yes, a bone-deep reverence for the power being unleashed before her. Fear, an instinct screaming at the base of her skull. But beneath it all, an undeniable, terrifying attraction. This was him. All of him. The man and the monster.
The wolf above her threw back its head, and a howl tore from its throat, a sound of untamed wilderness that echoed through the mountains. It was not a sound of pain, but of release, of becoming. Then, its amber eyes, burning with intelligence and hunger, lowered to meet hers. The wolf was larger than any natural creature, a phantom of shadow and muscle, its weight pinning her, its fur a soft, coarse blanket against her skin. Inside her, his dick felt impossibly thicker, hotter, the barbed ridges of his canine anatomy a new and overwhelming sensation against her walls.
He began to move. There was no gentleness in it, no human consideration. It was the rut of a beast, a deep, powerful rocking of his hips that drove him into her with breathtaking force. Each thrust was a statement of ownership, a physical claim that went beyond words. Majesty's body arched, a cry tearing from her throat as pleasure and pain merged into a single, exquisite sensation. Her hands, which had been gripping his arms, now flew to his shoulders, her fingers sinking into the thick fur of his ruff, holding on as he claimed her.
The world dissolved into a symphony of sensation. The rough texture of the blanket against her back, the cool night air on her heated skin, the overwhelming scent of musk and pine filled her lungs. The sound of their bodies meeting, a wet, rhythmic slapping that was the only music in the moonlit clearing. Her own moans, high and breathless, mingling with the low, guttural growls that rumbled in the wolf's chest. The feeling of him inside her, a relentless, possessive pressure that built a fire deep in her belly, a tension that burned higher and higher with each powerful stroke.
He shifted, a fluid movement of muscle and fur, and without breaking their connection, he flipped them. Suddenly, Majesty was on her hands and knees, the wolf looming over her, his massive body covering hers completely. One clawed hand pinned her shoulder to the blanket while the other gripped her hip, holding her steady for his assault. Her arms gave way, her upper body collapsing onto the blanket, leaving her ass raised high, completely vulnerable to his primal taking.
The feeling of being mounted, of being taken from behind by this magnificent, terrifying creature, was a surrender so complete it was liberating. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body rocking with the force of his thrusts. The feeling in her belly tightened to an almost painful degree, the pleasure building to a crescendo. The wolf's growls grew more frequent, his breath hot and ragged against the back of her neck. She could feel his knot swelling at the base of his dick, stretching her further, locking them together in the most intimate of embraces.
He slowed his pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, deeper, more deliberate. With a final, powerful lunge, he buried himself deeper inside her. A sharp, piercing pain shot through her shoulder as his teeth sank into her flesh, a claiming bite that was both brutal and final. The pain was the catalyst. The coil snapped. A wave of pleasure, more intense than anything she had ever known, crashed over her, ripping a scream from her throat.
As he neared his peak, something impossible and primal happened inside her. The base of his dick began to swell, a thick bulb of flesh that expanded until it pressed against every sensitive spot within her, locking him in place. It was a biological anchor, a mythical knot that latched onto her inner walls, ensuring not a single drop of his essence would escape. The feeling of being stretched, of being so completely and irrevocably held, was the final trigger.
Her body unraveled, a dissolution of self, a complete surrender to the overwhelming sensation. There was no conscious thought, no active pursuit of pleasure, only a blinding wave that obliterated everything else. Her vision blurred, the sounds of the forest and their own bodies fading into a distant hum. All that existed was the feeling of being filled, of being marked, of being utterly possessed. Her muscles seized, a violent, involuntary clench around the thick knot locked inside her, a physical manifestation of her surrender.
At the same moment, the wolf let out a muffled growl against her skin, and she felt a hot, powerful surge deep within her as he spilled his seed. The pulsing of his release against her sensitive walls prolonged her pleasure, drawing out her orgasm until she melted beneath him.
He remained locked inside her, his weight a comforting pressure. He shifted again, rolling them onto their sides, his body still spooning hers, his dick still buried deep, his knot ensuring they stayed connected. His tongue, rough and wet, laved at the bite mark on her shoulder, a gentle, soothing gesture that contrasted sharply with the violence of the act itself. Majesty lay panting in his arms, her body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, marked by his bites and his scent.
Sleep began to claim her, a heavy, sweet tide pulling her under. Her consciousness drifted, a boat unmoored on a calm, dark sea. The edges of the world softened, the moonlight bleeding into the shadows, the scent of pine and earth and musk becoming a single, all-encompassing perfume. She felt the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against her back, a steady, living metronome that anchored her to the earth.
But the wolf was not done. Even as her mind slipped away, his body remained awake, a guardian in the night. A low, deep vibration started in his chest again, a purr that was more felt than heard, resonating through her entire being. His hips began to move, a slow, shallow rocking that was not about seeking release but about reinforcing their bond. Each gentle push sent a residual wave of pleasure through her lax body, a faint echo of the storm that had passed. It was a subconscious claiming, a primal assertion of ownership that continued even in sleep.
He shifted inside her, the thick knot pressing insistently against her walls, a constant, full presence that prevented any thought of separation. His tongue continued its work, cleaning the wounds he had made, the rough texture a soothing balm against her tender skin. Majesty was lost in a haze between waking and sleeping, her body responding to his touch with soft, unconscious sighs. The line between pleasure and pain, between violence and tenderness, dissolved completely. There was only the feeling of being held, of being filled, of being his.
The last thing she was aware of before sinking completely into the darkness was the feeling of his teeth, not biting this time, but resting gently against the nape of her neck, a silent, possessive promise. And then, even the wolf seemed to succumb, his deep purr fading into the steady rhythm of sleep, his body relaxing against hers, locked together in the most intimate of embraces, under the silent, watchful eye of the moon.
The first light of dawn filtered through the canopy, painting the forest floor in shades of rose and gold. Majesty stirred, a deep ache in her muscles and a sharper sting on her shoulder. She was still on her side, but the heavy, furry weight of the wolf was gone. In its place was the solid, familiar form of Elijah, his arm thrown possessively over her waist, his legs tangled with hers. He was human again, his skin warm against her back, his breathing slow and even in sleep.
She shifted, a wince escaping her lips as the movement pulled at the bite mark on her shoulder and the tender flesh between her thighs. The sound, a soft, raspy puff of air, was enough to wake him. Elijah's arm tightened instantly, his body tensing around hers.
"Stay," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but edged with that familiar possessiveness. "Don't move."
Majesty stilled, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. His eyes were open, watching her with an intensity that was both comforting and unnerving. The amber glow of the wolf was gone, replaced by the deep brown of the man, but the possessiveness remained, a constant in his ever-changing nature.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his hand moving to trace the bite marks on her shoulder gently.
"Sore," she answered, her voice emerging as its usual soft whisper, rough with disuse. "But... good."
A slow smile spread across his face. "Good," he rumbled, his hand moving from her shoulder to her hip, pulling her back against him. "I like hearing you like this. All marked up. All mine."
His dick, already hard against her lower back, seemed to thicken at the sound of her voice. "That voice," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Last night, when you were screaming... that was good. But this... this is mine. This is the sound of my mate, worn out from being claimed."
He rolled her onto her back, his body hovering over hers, his eyes taking in the network of bite marks that covered her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. "Look at you," he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Covered in my marks. Everyone will know who you belong to."
Majesty reached up, her hand cupping his cheek. "I want them to know," she said, her voice firm despite its softness. "I want everyone to know I'm yours."
Elijah's eyes darkened, his hips pressing against hers. "You'll be round with my pups soon," he growled, his voice dropping to that low register that seemed to vibrate through her entire body. "Belly swollen, tits heavy with milk. My seed took last night. I can feel it."
The possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable, a claim staked not just on her body but on her future as well. Majesty found herself responding to it, her own desire rising to meet his, her body already preparing for another round of his primal possession.
"Then breed me again," she whispered, her legs parting in invitation.
Elijah's control snapped. With a growl, he slid into her. There was no gentleness in his taking, no consideration for her soreness.
But this time, Majesty was not a passive participant. She met his thrusts with her own, her hips rising to meet his, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. She was no longer the hesitant girl who had wandered into his cabin, lost and afraid. She was his mate, his equal, a woman who had embraced the darkness within him and found her own strength in the process.
Their coupling was fierce, primal, a dance of dominance and submission that blurred the lines between pleasure and pain. When it was over, they lay tangled in the blankets, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing ragged in the quiet morning air.
"Stay here," Elijah said, rising to his feet. "I'll start breakfast."
Majesty watched him walk toward the cabin, his body a study in masculine perfection, all muscle and power. She felt a surge of pride, of possessiveness, a feeling that was mirrored in the way he glanced back at her, his eyes dark with desire.
Later that morning, as they sat by the fire, Elijah reached for her hand, his thumb stroking her palm. "There will be rituals," he said, his voice low. "Things we'll need to do to manage the wolf."
"Like what?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Like marking," he answered, his eyes meeting hers. "Leaving my scent on you, especially before the full moon. Like sleeping together, my body wrapped around yours, to keep the wolf calm."
"And the breeding?" she asked, her voice soft.
A slow smile spread across his face. "That's not a ritual," he answered, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "That's a promise."
The days that followed settled into a routine that was both comfortable and charged with unspoken desire. Majesty found herself initiating their encounters, surprising Elijah with her boldness, her willingness to explore the darker aspects of their relationship. She discovered that she enjoyed his possessiveness, that she thrived under his dominant touch, that she found a strange sort of freedom in her complete submission to his will.
Elijah, in turn, found his possessiveness softening into a protective love, a fierce devotion that was no less intense but was tempered with a tenderness that surprised them both. He was still the wolf, still the predator, but he was also the man who cared for her, who provided for her, who loved her with a depth that went beyond words.
They established their own rituals around his transformations, their own ways of managing the wolf that lived within him. Majesty learned to read his moods, to anticipate his needs, to soothe the beast when it grew restless. Elijah, in turn, learned to trust her, to rely on her, to see her not as his possession but as his partner, his mate, his equal.
The ending came weeks later, on a crisp autumn afternoon. Majesty walked through the woods with Elijah, her hand tucked into his, her body marked with his bites, her soul branded with his love. The forest, which had once seemed so threatening, now felt like home, a sanctuary where they could be themselves without fear of judgment or rejection.
"You're happy," Elijah said, his eyes studying her face.
"I am," she answered, her voice soft but clear. "I'm home."
He stopped, turning to face her, his hands cupping her face. "You are," he agreed, his voice low and intense. "You're home with me."
The kiss was gentle, tender, an affirmation of the love they had found in each other, in the darkness of the forest, under the light of the full moon. It was a promise of a future filled with passion and possession, with love and loyalty, with the wild and the tame, the wolf and the man.
And as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Majesty knew with a certainty that settled deep in her bones that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Genre: Forced Proximity. Age Gap. Arranged meeting.
Synopsis: After winning big this past award season, Michael celebrates with everyone who’s been there throughout his entire career. Until his mama mentions the promise he made her: to meet the woman of her choosing.
Enjoy ~ S.
Thursday, 1:45 pm. Family Gathering.
The house is filled with warm laughter and familial joy. Everyone discussing random topics: news, relationship gossip, successes and more.
Michael stands in the center of it all. A glow around him after enduring a strong award season. He was once a kid trying to make it big in the industry. Now?
He’s a certified Academy Award Winning Actor. A Black one at that.
His first Oscar win for his role in Sinners opened up several doors in his career. He had everything he wanted.
Fame. Status. Recognition. Money.
Yet, the question on everyone’s mind is: when is the Academy Award Winner gonna finally settle down?
“Michael, boy are you listening to me?” that soft, maternal voice echoing from the side of him. Michael glances over and sees his mama staring at him. An annoyed look on her face.
“Huh, ma? Yeah. Yes, I’m listening.” Michael clears his throat as he gives his full attention.
“Mhmm. I said, she’s coming today. She should be here soon. You’re gonna love her,” Mrs. Jordan, or Donna, exclaims with a smile. “Be nice to her. She’s younger, but she’s smart. Has a good head on her shoulders. Very respectable young woman.”
Michael nods along as he processes his mamas words. If he were to be honest, he isn’t exactly sure about this meeting. Not because his mama set it up, no. He trusts her judgement. It’s because he doesn’t know what to expect of the woman he’s meeting.
He mostly doesn’t want to mess up anything, or come off as being too much. He wants whoever she is to see him as himself. Not just ‘Michael B. Jordan’ the actor. But as a man. A regular person.
“Yo Mike! Come join us for this pool game bro!” One of his cousins shouts from outside.
2:15 pm. Backyard.
It’s packed and busy in the large yard. Kids running about. Elders at the table drinking and reminiscing about their childhood and experiences.
However, what has most of the adults attention is the Photo Booth that’s set up on the right side of the yard. Placed with intention. For memories to be made and shared.
“Mike, we still waiting on your pictures. Hurry up and gon on to that photo booth baby,” one of his aunts ushered him to the left side of it.
“Okay, okay. I’m goin’.” He mutters as he steps inside the Photo Booth. The space not too small, but not quite big either for his large frame. “Alright, let’s see what we got here..” he scans the screen, looking at the different frames and filters.
Michael selects the desired frame and filter, and prepares himself to do his poses.
Then the unexpected happens.
“Mrs. Jordan! Why are you pushing me- ah!” A voice laughs until it’s cut off by a shocked gasp. Michael stumbles back into the chair behind him. His hands out to catch whoever just fell through the Photo Booth.
“Oh my god! I am so sorry! I wasn’t tryna-“ your voice cut off when your eyes meet his.
A silence filling the space instantly. Michael stares back in shock for several reasons. One being the fact his photos were interrupted. Another being the fact they’re interrupted by one of the writers he met this award season.
“Y/n?” His voice comes out gruffly as he adjusts his grip around your waist. His hands placed firmly.
“Hi..Michael..” you whisper.
The energy between you both climbing up. It all starts to make sense now. Why his mama was so adamant about meeting you.
It’s because he already has. He remembers instantly mentioning your name at a dinner he had with his family a few weeks back.
Little did he know, his mama was paying attention to how he said and talked about you. That familiar sparkle in his eye when someone has deeply intrigued him.
Click
Both of you turn towards the sound instantly. Bewildered and surprised by the fact the camera just snapped a picture of you two in black and white.
The countdown happens again. Click.
Another picture taken of your faces.
A soft laugh erupts from you as you cover your mouth with your manicured hand. Michael cuts his eyes over at you. The sound of your laughter addictive and all too familiar.
A grin appears on his face. Click. The third picture taken.
“Oh my god. How do you stop this thing?” You ask as you search around at the screen.
“Hold up, look at me real quick,” Michael says right when the counter starts. His right hand coming up and guiding your face back to his. You hold his gaze for moment before your eyes flicker over his features.
They land on his jaw. A piece of fuzz sitting in his beard. Unconsciously, your hand raises up touching his jaw to remove the random bits. The gesture causing his heart to pick up in pace.
“There you go, you had lint or something in your beard.” You explain slightly nervous from the way he’s looking at you.
Click. The camera captures the last image. It happens to be the best one out of all of them.
“How long you staying?” He asks abruptly.
“Oh? Uhh.. until the event ends.” You brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Why do you ask?”
“Because we’re gonna need better pictures together,” he exhales with a slight nervous smile. That causes a giggle to come out your mouth.
“Agreed. I think I blinked too hard in the second one.” You admit while looking over at the screen and camera.
“And I was wondering if we could finally have a proper conversation. To know each other better. Away from all the noise and chaos of the events. If that’s cool with you.” Michael rambles on while scratching the back of his head.
“I’d like that.”
“Yeah? Good, good.
A pause happens for a moment.
“You know your mama slick right? She told me to come here because she said she made me a cake and had ribs for me.”
“A cake and ribs? Oh my..” Michael mutters under hush breath.
“Yes! A cake and ribs! She knows I’m a big back. Especially after the way I tore up that cupcake at the Golden Globes.” You snort while clapping your hands together in amusement.
“That cupcake ain’t stand a chance against you. I thought I was bad when it came to food.” He chuckles when he glances over at you. “Guess I met my match, huh?”
“I guess you did.”
Meanwhile…
“Donna, you set them up? I gotta give it to you girl. That was good.” One of the other women spoke up while watching from the window.
“What? These kids needed a push. You should’ve seen Michael when he talked about her,” Donna explained while she wiped the counter down. “Especially at the Oscars when they talked. He was very attentive with her. I’m not sure if either of them noticed the spark they had.”
“They fit together. You can tell just by looking at them.” An uncle chimes in.
“Donna expect a wedding and grandkids soon.” A cousin jokes which causes everyone to chuckle as well.
“Oh trust me, I’ve already been planning for both.”
Smoke shoved his massive arms back under Annie, preparing to lift her. "I’m carrying you out. Stack has the rig outside. We can pack you in ice—"
"No!" Miss Veda snapped, her hand clamping down hard on Smoke’s thick wrist. "Look at her! Her heart is beating at a hundred and sixty beats a minute. Her body is cooking itself from the inside out. If you pick her up and try to run through a mob of ten thousand panicked people right now, the stress will stop her heart before you ever reach those glass doors."
"I can't let her have a baby on this concrete floor!" Smoke roared, the desperation finally cracking his stoic foundation. "It's filthy!"
"It’s too late for clean!" Miss Veda yelled back, pushing him down by the shoulder. "The baby is in the birth canal. She's crowning. You sit down, fireman, and you hold your wife, because she is going to need every ounce of strength you have to get this child out into the world!"
Smoke looked down. Annie was gripping the heavy canvas of his turnout coat so hard her knuckles were splitting. Her eyes were rolled back slightly, her chest heaving with shallow, ragged, dry breaths.
He didn't argue. He shifted his massive frame behind her, pulling her back against his chest, letting her rest between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, creating a physical shield between her and the dark, chaotic hall.
"I'm right here, Annette," Smoke whispered fiercely, pressing his cheek against her burning forehead. "I'm your wall. Lean on me."
"It burns, Eli," she sobbed, a weak, desperate sound. The unnatural heat was consuming her.
"I know, sunflower. I know. I got you."
"Okay, baby," Miss Veda said, kneeling at Annie’s feet, her voice dropping into a rhythmic, commanding cadence that had delivered hundreds of babies in the Charity Hospital wards. "When the next one comes, you bear down. You don't scream. You push that energy down into your hips."
Annie nodded weakly against Smoke’s chest, her dark hair plastered to her face with sweat and river water.
Tighten.
The final contraction hit her like a freight train. It wasn't just an ache; it was an explosive, involuntary bearing down of her entire physical being.
Annie threw her head back against Smoke’s collarbone. She didn't scream. She squeezed her eyes shut, bared her teeth, and pushed.
Smoke held her tightly, his massive arms acting as a brace. He could feel the terrifying heat radiating off her skin through his thick coat. He could feel the erratic, frantic fluttering of her heart against his own ribs. It felt like a bird trying to batter its way out of a cage. She was giving the absolute last reserves of her life force to the child.
"Good, Annie, good!" Miss Veda encouraged, her hands positioned in the dark. "I have the head! One more. Give me one more big push for Ruby!"
"I can't," Annie gasped, her body going completely limp against Smoke. The fever had taken everything. Her vision was nothing but gray static. "Eli, I can't."
"Yes, you can," Smoke wept, his tears falling freely now, landing on her feverish cheeks and mixing with the plaster dust. "You chopped through a roof, Annie. You fought the ocean in the dark. You can do this. Bring our little girl here. Please, baby. Bring her to me."
Annie opened her eyes.
She looked up at the dark, cavernous ceiling of the Convention Center.
She thought of the black water rising in her foyer. She thought of the hot sun blistering the asphalt shingles. She thought of the torn yellow dress. She had not survived the end of the world just to fail at the finish line.
She took a shallow, rattling breath, her bloody hands gripping Smoke's forearms with sudden, terrifying strength.
She pushed with the soul of a Ninth Ward woman.
She pushed until her vision went completely black.
A sharp, piercing cry shattered the heavy darkness of Hall H.
It wasn't a weak, dehydrated click. It was a loud, angry, vibrant wail of new life.
Smoke gasped, his entire massive frame shaking as the sound hit his ears.
"She's here," Miss Veda whispered, her voice choked with tears. She quickly wiped the baby's face with a relatively clean piece of her own slip. "She's beautiful, Annie. A little girl."
Smoke looked over Annie's shoulder. In the weak, ambient glow of the flashlight lying on the floor, he saw her. Ruby. She was tiny, covered in vernix and blood, her little fists waving furiously in the hot, humid air.
"Annie," Smoke cried, laughing a broken, wet laugh. "Look. Baby, look at her."
But Annie didn't move.
Her head rested heavily against his chest. Her arms, which had been gripping his coat so fiercely just a second ago, had gone completely slack, falling uselessly to her sides.
"Annie?" Smoke whispered, the smile dying on his face instantly.
He shifted his weight, looking down at her.
Her eyes were half-open, staring blankly out into the dark hall. The agonizing, unnatural heat of the fever was still there, but the rapid, frantic beating of her heart against his ribs... had stopped.
"No," Smoke breathed. "No, no, no. Nette. Hey."
He shook her gently. "Sunflower. Hey. Look at Ruby."
Miss Veda looked up from the baby. She saw the slackness of Annie’s jaw. She saw the sudden, terrifying stillness of the young woman.
The old nurse dropped her head to her chest.
"Eli..." Miss Veda whispered softly, the ultimate tragedy breaking her voice.
"Shut up!" Smoke roared. It was a sound of such pure, visceral agony that the people lingering in the shadows of the hall physically stepped back.
He pressed two large, trembling fingers against the side of Annie’s neck, right where her pulse had been racing a minute ago.
Nothing. Just stillness.
Her heart, pushed past the absolute limits of human endurance by the flood, the dehydration, the severe infection, and the violent trauma of unmedicated labor, had simply given out the moment she knew her daughter was safe. Her body had served its purpose as a vessel, and then it had shut down.
"Come back," Smoke begged, his massive chest heaving as he pulled her lifeless body tight against him, rocking her back and forth on the concrete floor. "Please, God, don't take her. Take me! Put me in the water! Put me in the water, just give her back!"
He buried his face in her matted hair, sobbing uncontrollably. The giant firefighter, the man who couldn't be broken by burning buildings or toxic floods or live electrical wires, was entirely destroyed on a piece of wet cardboard.
Miss Veda carefully wrapped the crying newborn in a torn piece of yellow fabric—the cleanest part of Annie’s ruined dress.
She crawled over to the giant, broken man. She gently nudged Smoke's arm.
He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to let Annie go. He wanted the Convention Center roof to collapse and bury them both. But the baby was wailing, demanding the world.
Smoke slowly lifted his head, his face a mask of absolute, world-ending tragedy.
Miss Veda placed the small, warm bundle into his massive, calloused hands.
Smoke looked down at Ruby. She had Annie's nose. She had Annie's stubborn chin. She was wrapped in the yellow sundress that had survived the storm.
He pulled the baby to his chest, resting her right against his silver FDNO badge, while his other arm remained wrapped tightly around the lifeless body of his wife.
Smoke sat paralyzed on the concrete floor, trapped in a horrific liminal space. In his left arm, tucked against the heavy canvas of his turnout coat, was the frantic, squirming, hot weight of his daughter. In his right arm, resting against his ribs, was the slack, cooling weight of his wife.
The wails of the newborn bounced off the high concrete walls of Hall H, a sharp, piercing sound of life that felt entirely out of place in the mausoleum of the Convention Center.
"Lieutenant," Miss Veda said softly.
Smoke didn't hear her.
He was staring at Annie’s face.
The harsh lines of pain and fever that had contorted her features for the last forty-eight hours were gone. In death, her face had relaxed into a profound, devastating stillness. She just looked tired.
"Lieutenant Moore," Miss Veda repeated, her voice firmer this time. She reached out with a pair of trauma shears she had salvaged from a discarded first-aid kit. "I need to clamp the cord. Give me room."
Smoke blinked, pulling his gaze away from Annie’s lifeless eyes. He shifted slightly, his movements rigid and robotic, allowing the old nurse to access the space between the mother and the child.
With practiced, grim efficiency, Miss Veda tied off the umbilical cord using a torn, thin strip of Annie's yellow sundress, then snipped it. It was the final, physical severing. Annie and Ruby were no longer one entity.
"There," Miss Veda whispered, her hands shaking slightly as she wiped the shears on her skirt. "She's free."
In the shadows of the aisle, the dynamic of the crowd was shifting.
The cries of the baby had drawn attention. In a place where people were dying of thirst and despair, the sound of new life was a dangerous magnet.
Desperate faces began to appear at the edges of the flashlight beam. Hollow-eyed men, weeping mothers, and teenagers stepped closer, staring at the giant fireman, the dead woman, and the crying infant.
Leon saw the movement. The mechanic stepped forward, planting his boots firmly between Smoke and the encroaching shadows. He gripped the heavy iron tire iron with both hands, raising it slightly.
"Back up," Leon growled, his voice a low, territorial warning. "Show some respect. Back away."
Smoke looked up at the shadows. He saw the hungry, desperate eyes looking at his daughter. He saw the feral reality of the Convention Center closing in around them.
The paralysis broke. The grief didn't leave, but it hardened, compressing into a cold, diamond-sharp armor of pure survival.
He was a father now. And he was not going to let his daughter die in the same dark hole that had taken his wife.
Smoke gently laid Ruby against the center of his chest, securing the small, squirming bundle inside the heavy folds of his turnout coat. He zipped the heavy canvas jacket up halfway, creating a makeshift, insulated pouch. Only the baby's tiny face was visible, resting securely against his silver NOFD badge.
Then, he looked down at Annie.
He couldn't leave her here. He would burn the entire city to the waterline before he left her on this cardboard.
Smoke reached out with a massive, trembling hand. He brushed the matted, plaster-caked hair away from her face one last time. With his thumb, he gently stroked her cheek, committing the texture of her skin to memory.
"I'm taking you home, sunflower," Smoke whispered.
He slipped one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. With a deep, shuddering grunt, the giant firefighter stood up.
He rose to his full height of six-foot-four. The physical toll of holding a newborn tight to his chest while carrying the dead weight of an adult woman was staggering, but Smoke didn't waver. The muscles in his massive arms locked into place like steel cables.
He looked at Miss Veda. The old nurse was wiping her eyes, looking up at the tragic, towering figure.
"She fought like hell, son," Miss Veda said, her voice cracking.
"I know," Smoke replied, his voice completely devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a ghost. "Thank you. For not letting her be alone."
He turned to Leon. The mechanic lowered the tire iron, stepping aside to clear the path.
"Stack is outside," Smoke said to Leon. "Heavy rescue rig. We have room. Both of you. Come with me."
Miss Veda looked at the dark hall, listening to the moans of the sick and the dying. "I can't leave them, Lieutenant. There's more babies in here."
Leon looked at the tire iron in his hands, then at the old nurse. He let out a long, heavy sigh. "I'll stay with her. Make sure nobody bothers her while she works."
Smoke nodded once. A silent pact of respect between men who knew what duty cost.
He turned toward the front of the hall. It was a half-mile walk through pitch-black darkness, surrounded by ten thousand people who had lost their minds to the heat and the abandonment.
Smoke clutched his dead wife tightly in his arms, felt his living daughter breathing against his heart, and stepped into the dark sea.
The walk back to the doors was a half-mile journey through the belly of a dying beast.
Smoke walked with a slow, deliberate, heavy gait. He couldn't use his flashlight; it was left behind on the floor. He navigated by the faint, gray pre-dawn light bleeding through the distant glass facade of the building, and by the horrific crunch of debris under his heavy rubber boots.
Inside his coat, Ruby was wailing.
It was a sharp, high-pitched siren that cut through the low, buzzing murmur of the hall. It was the sound of a full belly and healthy lungs—a sound that did not belong in this place.
As Smoke walked, the shadows began to shift.
The people of Hall H had been abandoned for days. They had watched their elders die in wheelchairs. They had watched their children stop sweating. Now, a giant in a fireman's uniform was marching through their tomb, carrying life in his coat and death in his arms.
"Hey!" a man’s voice echoed from the dark, raw and raspy. "Where you going? You leaving us?"
Smoke didn't answer. He kept his eyes locked on the distant glass doors.
"Take my boy!" a woman screamed, throwing herself into the aisle right in front of him. She was holding a limp toddler. "He ain't had no water since Sunday! Take him with you!"
Smoke stopped.
He looked down at the weeping mother. The firefighter inside him—the man who had sworn an oath to save the citizens of New Orleans—screamed to put Annie down and take the child. But the widower, the father whose world had been reduced to the fragile, beating heart tucked against his chest, couldn't move.
"I can't," Smoke rumbled, his voice thick with a crushing, suffocating guilt. "I have no water. I have no radio. I can't save him."
"You're a fireman!" she shrieked, clawing at his heavy canvas pants. "You're supposed to help us!"
More figures stepped into the aisle. They were closing in. It wasn't a coordinated attack; it was a mob driven by the sheer, primal instinct to survive. Hands reached out from the dark, grabbing at Smoke's sleeves, pulling at the hem of his coat, trying to reach the crying infant hidden inside.
"Give us the baby!" someone yelled. "They'll send a chopper for a baby!"
The mob pressed closer, the smell of sour sweat and desperation washing over him. A hand brushed against Annie’s lifeless, hanging arm.
The grief that had been crushing Smoke's chest suddenly inverted, snapping outward into a blinding, violent rage.
Smoke threw his massive shoulders back. He didn't drop his wife. He didn't reach for a weapon. He simply drew in a massive breath of the foul air and let out a roar that shook the plaster dust from the ceiling.
"GET BACK!"
It was a sound so guttural, so filled with absolute, feral menace and unhinged violence, that the mob physically recoiled.
"DO NOT TOUCH HER!" Smoke screamed, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, murderous fire in the dim light. "I will kill the first person who puts a hand on my wife!"
The crowd froze. The terrifying, sheer physical mass of the man, combined with the pure, suicidal authority in his voice, broke their frenzy. They looked at the dead woman in his arms. They saw the blood on his coat. They recognized that the giant standing before them had nothing left to lose.
Slowly, the hands dropped. The people backed away, melting back into the shadows, parting like the Red Sea to give the monster room to pass.
Smoke lowered his chin. His chest heaved violently. He tightened his grip on Annie, tucked his chin over the top of his coat to shield Ruby’s head, and marched forward.
No one else stepped in his way.
The heavy glass doors of Hall H were chained shut, but there was a six-inch gap where the heavy metal links had slacked over the weekend.
Through the grimed, heat-cracked glass, the pre-dawn sky over the Mississippi River was beginning to bruise purple and gray. It wasn't the mockery of a beautiful day anymore; it was the color of a fresh internal injury.
Stack was standing on the outside of the glass.
He had his face pressed flat against the pane, his hands cupping his eyes to see into the suffocating darkness of the lobby. He had been waiting exactly twelve minutes. He was three seconds away from swinging a twenty-pound sledgehammer through the tempered glass to get to his brother.
Then, the sweep of his flashlight beam caught him.
Stack froze on the sidewalk.
Smoke emerged from the dark concourse. But he wasn't walking like the invincible lieutenant of Engine 42. He was dragging his boots, his massive frame hunched forward, curling protectively around the burden in his arms.
Stack dropped the heavy Maglite. It hit the concrete sidewalk with a sharp, hollow clack, the beam rolling away, illuminating only the garbage in the gutter.
Through the chain gap, Stack saw her.
He saw the matted hair hanging free, caked in white plaster dust and dried mud. He saw the unnatural, absolute gravity pulling her head back against Smoke's bicep. Her arm swung rhythmically with Smoke's heavy strides, the back of her hand brushing against the thick, wet rubber of his firefighting boots.
But it was the color that stopped Stack’s heart.
Wrapped around her, dark with river water, mud, and the unmistakable, heavy stain of blood, were the torn pieces of the pale yellow sundress.
Smoke reached the doors.
He couldn't use his hands.
He didn't ask for help. He turned his body sideways, and with a low, agonizing groan that sounded like tearing metal, he slammed his massive shoulder against the frame.
He forced the chained doors apart, wedging his body through the six-inch gap. He moved with an excruciating, terrifying gentleness, contorting his own massive spine so that not a single inch of Annie’s cold skin would scrape against the rough chain or the glass.
He stepped out of the tomb and onto the littered sidewalk.
Smoke stopped.
He didn't look at Stack.
He looked down at the lifeless woman in his arms.
"We're outside, sunflower," Smoke whispered. His voice was a broken, raspy plea, completely detached from reality. He gently nudged his chin against the top of her cold head. "I told you I'd come. You can breathe now, baby. We're outside."
Stack stood ten feet away, his chest heaving. The professional first responder in him saw the gray pallor of her skin and the blue tint of her lips. The brother in him felt his soul tear in half.
"Eli..." Stack choked, the tears spilling over his cheeks in hot, rapid rivulets. "Eli, she's..."
"She's just tired, Stack," Smoke interrupted, his voice dropping into a frantic, protective whisper.
He shifted his weight, rocking her slightly. "She fought the water. She chopped through the roof. She's just so tired. Don't yell, you'll wake her up."
The absolute, shattering delusion broke Stack.
Stack took a step forward, his hands trembling violently as he reached out.
He wanted to take the horrific physical weight from his twin.
He wanted to lay his sister-in-law down with dignity.
"Let me help you, Eli," Stack sobbed, his fingers brushing the wet, bloody fabric of Smoke's turnout coat. "Please, let me lay her down—"
Smoke’s grief inverted instantly into blinding, feral violence.
"DO NOT TOUCH HER!"
The roar was so raw, so filled with unhinged, murderous panic, that Stack physically stumbled backward into the gutter. Smoke twisted his body away, clutching Annie so tightly against his chest that her limp arm swung wildly. His wide, bloodshot eyes locked onto his twin with the terrifying glare of a cornered animal defending its dead.
"Nobody touches her!" Smoke wept, his massive chest heaving, the denial finally shattering under the weight of the morning light. "She's mine! She's my wife!"
The silence that followed was absolute. The noise of the thousands of displaced people surrounding the Convention Center faded into a dull, echoing blur. Smoke stood trembling in the street, the giant brought to his knees by a flood he couldn't fight.
Then, the silence broke.
"Waaaaaah!"
Stack froze.
His tear-filled eyes darted around, looking for the source of the sound.
He looked at Smoke.
The sound wasn't coming from the crowd. It was coming from inside Smoke's jacket.
Stack’s eyes dropped to the V-neck opening of the heavy canvas turnout coat, just above the silver FDNO badge. Poking out from the thick collar, pushing against the heavy fabric, was a tiny, dark, bloody fist.
Stack stared at the fist. Then he looked at dead Annie. Then he looked at the blood soaking the front of his brother's uniform.
The tragedy was a math problem the human brain couldn't survive.
Life and death were touching, separated by a millimeter of canvas, contained entirely within the embrace of one broken man.
A high, thin whimper escaped Stack’s throat.
His knees gave out.
He fell back against the massive front tire of the heavy rescue truck, burying his face in his hands, his body wracked with soundless, devastating sobs.
He was mourning the woman he loved as a sister, and he was mourning the soul of the twin brother he knew was never coming back.
Smoke didn't console him. He didn't have the space.
He looked down at the tiny fist waving blindly against his badge. He felt the frantic, fluttering heartbeat of his daughter against his chest, right next to the crushing, empty silence where his wife's heart used to be.
"Open the rig, Stack," Smoke commanded. His voice was completely hollowed out, the sound of a man speaking from the bottom of an ocean.
Stack forced himself up. He wiped his face, grabbing the heavy metal handle of the fire engine and yanking the passenger door open.
Smoke climbed into the massive cab. He refused the passenger seat. He sank down onto the metal floorboard, pulling Annie’s lifeless body into his lap, wrapping his arms around her one last time, while the wailing infant remained secured inside his coat.
Smoke leaned his head against the heavy steel door. He closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Annie's cold, plaster-dusted forehead.
"Charity Hospital," Smoke whispered to the empty cab as Stack put the massive rig into gear.
"Drive until the water stops us. And then we walk."
A/N: This chapter was a difficult one to write. I understand it may stir strong emotions, and that’s not something I take lightly. I chose not to soften or reshape reality for the sake of comfort—especially when this story is rooted in experiences that so many have truly endured.
Thank you for continuing to read, reflect, and stay with me through it all.
WARNINGS: 18+ only, SMUT, oral sex, dirty talk, etc.
PAIRINGS: Micheal B. Jordan x Black OC
SYNOPSIS: On the night Michael wins Best Actor at the Oscars for Sinners, the celebration doesn’t end on the red carpet or at the glamorous after-parties. When he finally makes it home to his wife Y/N, what starts as a simple night of pride turns into something far more intimate.
This is a long one, enjoy 😉
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The sleek black Escalade glided through the LA streets toward the Dolby Theatre, the city lights streaking past like golden ribbons. Michael sat in the back row, thigh pressed against Y/N’s, his custom black military styled tux impeccable except for one telltale sign. His right knee bouncing like it had its own nervous rhythm.
In the middle row his mom was quietly humming an old tune smoothing the edge of her elegant crimson skirt. His dad sat beside her, one hand resting on her knee and the other tapping the armrest in time with Michael’s bounce. Up front, his sister and brother were scrolling through the live red-carpet feed on their phones whispering predictions and cracking jokes to keep the energy light.
Y/N felt the vibration of Michael’s leg against hers. She glanced sideways. His jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on the window, but she could see the faint pulse jumping in his temple.
She reached over without a word, sliding her hand over his, fingers threading through his until their wedding bands clicked softly together. The bouncing stopped almost instantly.
He exhaled through his nose.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he answered too quickly flashing a smile. “I’m good, baby.”
Y/N tilted her head studying him the way only she could.
“Michael,” she said again, softer this time, squeezing his hand. “Talk to me.”
He looked down at their joined fingers thumb brushing over her knuckles once, twice.
“I’m… a little nervous,” he admitted finally almost embarrassed. “This ain’t just another award show. This feels… different. Like everything we’ve been building toward is right there.” He gave a small laugh. “And what if I trip on the stairs or forget half my speech?”
Y/N’s heart jumped. She lifted his hand to her lips pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.
“You won’t trip,” she said firmly. “And if you forget a word, the whole world already knows what’s in your heart. You’ve got this, babe. And even if the envelope says someone else’s name tonight…” She leaned in closer, forehead brushing his. “You’re still coming home with me. Still my Oscar-winning man in every way that matters.”
Michael’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little . He turned his head studying her face like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Thank you,” he stated.
Then he closed the small distance between them and kissed her. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he pulled back.
“Love you,” he whispered against her lips.
“Love you more,” she whispered back.
The light turned green. The Escalade rolled forward again carrying them closer to the Dolby’s red carpet. The flashing lights were already visible in the distance. Michael’s knee stayed still now with his hand still locked in hers.
The Escalade eased to a smooth stop at the edge of the Dolby Theatre’s red carpet. Thousands of voices layered over the constant pop of flashlights and music pulsing from hidden speakers. A handler in a crisp black suit opened the door.
Michael’s parents stepped out first. His mom emerged waving modestly to the crowd as Micheal’s dad followed close behind, hand protective on her lower back. Jamila and Khalid came next.
The door stayed open. Michael took a slow breath, squeezed Y/N’s hand one last time, then slid out of the car. He turned immediately offering both hands to help her. She stepped down carefully in her heels. As soon as her feet hit the carpet he pulled her close before lacing their fingers again and stepping forward together.
The second they crossed onto the carpet the volume doubled. “Michael! Michael B. Jordan!” “Over here, Mike!” “You got this tonight!” Screams rolled in waves and cameras flashing so fast it looked like lightning. He kept his smile visible, but Y/N felt the slight tighten of his grip on her hand.
His assistant appeared at their side almost instantly. “You’re up first solo shots, then family, then couple,” she said.
Michael nodded before glancing at Y/N. “You good, baby?”
She squeezed his hand back. “I’m perfect. Don’t worry about me, this is your night. Go shine.”
He searched her eyes for a second before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her temple before letting go. The photographers went wild at the small gesture.
He stepped into the solo line first posing with that effortless charisma, the tailored suit hugging every line of him. The crowd chanted his name louder. Then he waved his family over all of them beaming as shutters clicked in a frenzy.
Finally Michael reached back for Y/N. She stepped into frame beside him, his arm sliding around her waist pulling her against his side. They posed with him looking down at her with that smile only she ever got to see, her gazing up like he was the only person in the world. The flashes felt endless.
While Michael did one last round of solo shots, Y/N hung back near the velvet rope. His assitant appeared at her elbow.
“ET wants a quick word with you,” She said already steering Y/N gently toward a small interview setup just off the main carpet. “They’re asking for the wife’s perspective. You got this?”
Y/N’s stomach flipped, but she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
The ET correspondent was warm, mic already live. “Y/N Jordan, hi! Michael’s big night, how proud are you right now?”
Y/N smiled. “Beyond proud. He’s poured everything into Sinners and all of his work. Seeing him here, nominated for Best Actor… it’s surreal. He deserves every bit of this.”
“And how are you feeling about the possibility of him winning tonight?” the interviewer pressed, camera tight on her face.
“Honestly? I’m just happy he’s getting recognized for the artist he is. Win or not, he’s already won in my book. But yeah, I’m rooting hard for that gold statue to come home with us.”
The questions were quick and kind. Before Y/N could overthink it his assistant swooped back in. “Sorry, we’ve gotta move, we’re already running behind.”
Y/N thanked the interviewer and let his assistant guide her back through the crowd. She found Michael again near the theater entrance still posing but looking a little more tense now that the initial rush had settled. His smile was still there, but she knew him too well.
She slipped up beside him, sliding her hand into his again. He turned immediately, relief flickering across his face.
“Babe, you ok?” she asked softly.
He exhaled, thumb brushing her wrist. “Yeah. Just… it’s real now.”
Y/N leaned in, her body angled for the cameras while her lips brushed his ear.
“Win or lose, you’re getting some tonight. You smell and look good as fuck in that tux. Been wet all night just watching you.”
Michael’s grip flexed hard on her hand before he eased it back for the flashes around them. His eyes darkened instantly.
He dipped his head, lips grazing her temple on the way to her ear.
“Keep talking like that, baby, and I’m dragging you to the nearest bathroom right now. Fuck the ceremony.”
She let the tiniest smirk ghost across her lips all innocence for the photographers still snapping away.
The roar of the red carpet began to fade as they approached the grand entrance of the Dolby Theatre. Security parted the velvet ropes and his assistant fell behind them tablet glowing in her hand.
She leaned in close to Michael and Y/N. “Quick heads-up, seating’s tight tonight. Unfortunately, only one plus-one can sit with you in the nominee section. The rest of the family will be in the section right behind.”
Michael’s brow furrowed for a split second, but before he could respond Y/N spoke up immediately.
“Mrs. Donna should sit with him,” she said turning to his mom with a soft smile. “This is your baby’s moment. You deserve to be right there beside him.”
Donna Jordan shook her head gently. She reached out and took Y/N’s hands in both of hers.
“No, sweetheart,” she said. “This is y’all’s night. You’ve been holding him down through everything. You sit with my boy. I’ve been to plenty of these award shows over the years, I know how they go. And I’m sure this won’t be Michael’s last one. Not by a long shot.”
Y/N’s throat tightened, but she managed a small laugh. “You sure?”
“I’m positive.” Donna pulled her into a tight hug, one hand smoothing down Y/N’s back like she was comforting her own daughter. “You’re family. Go be with your husband.”
Y/N hugged her back just as fiercely breathing in the faint scent of Donna’s sweet perfume.
Michael watched the whole exchange standing just a step away. His two favorite women in the world wrapped up in each other loving on one another without a hint of competition, just pure support. It hit him square in the chest melting away another layer of the night’s nerves. His eyes glistened before he blinked it back, jaw working as he swallowed hard.
Donna patted Micheal’s cheek. “Go on now. We’ll be right behind you cheering the loudest.”
Y/N slipped her hand back into Michael’s lacing their fingers tight. He gave her hand a squeeze then nodded toward the open doors.
———————————————————————-
The golden glow of the Dolby Theatre auditorium wrapped around them as Michael and Y/N stepped inside, ushers guiding them down the wide aisle toward the front row. There was soft orchestral music drifting and celebrities murmuring greetings. Heads turned as they passed. A few quiet claps and “Congrats, Mike” whispers followed.
They reached their row near the front. Michael’s family had already settled in the seats in the section behind. Donna was waving with a proud smile, Micheal’s dad gave them a thumbs-up, and Jamila and Khalid were snapping discreet photos for the family group chat.
Zinzi Coogler spotted them first. She stood up from her seat a few rows over and hurried over with Ryan right behind her. Ryan’s tux was sharp, his energy calm but buzzing with the same mix of pride and nerves Michael carried.
“Man,” Ryan said, pulling Michael into a firm dap-hug. “You made it. We made it.”
Michael grinned clapping Ryan on the back. “Couldn’t have done it without you, bro.”
Zinzi hugged Y/N tight then stepped back to look at her. “Girl, you are glowing tonight. That dress? Fire.”
Y/N laughed softly. “Coming from you? Thank you. You look incredible.”
Ryan leaned in. “Y’all ready for this? They’re saying it’s neck-and-neck, but I got a good feeling.”
Michael exhaled glancing at Y/N. “We’re ready. Or as ready as we’re gonna get.”
The conversation drew a small cluster of familiar faces from nearby seats. Miles Caton approached first.
“Mike! Y/N!” He dapped Michael up then gave Y/N a respectful side hug. “This is wild, right?
Michael studied him for a second, then leaned in a little. “Yeah, it is. You good though? They got you performing tonight. You ready for that stage?”
Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “Nervous as hell, honestly. Ryan’s been texting me all week like ‘you got it,’ but… damn, that’s a lot of eyes.”
“You got the voice and the soul for it,” Michael said clapping him on the shoulder. “Just breathe. You’ll kill it.”
Miles nodded, exhaling. “Appreciate that, man. Means a lot.”
Delroy Lindo drifted over next. He shook Michael’s hand with both of his. “Proud of you, man. Whatever happens up there, you carried this film.” Then to Y/N with a nod, “And you, keeping him grounded like always. Good to see you both.”
Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Delroy. Means everything.”
Wunmi Mosaku and her husband joined last. Wunmi moved carefully, her emerald gown beautifully tailored around her very pregnant belly with her husband’s hand at her lower back. She hugged Michael first, then Y/N lingering a second longer.
“You two are glowing,” Wunmi said softly. “Michael, we’re rooting hard for you tonight.”
Her husband gave Michael a solid handshake. “Big respect, bro. You earned this.”
Y/N’s gaze dropped to Wunmi’s bump. She reached out gently, palm resting lightly on the curve for a moment. “How you holding up, mama? You look absolutely radiant.”
Wunmi laughed quietly covering Y/N’s hand with hers. “Kicking like crazy, feels like this one wants to watch the show too. But I’m good. Just happy to be here.”
Y/N gave a soft squeeze before pulling back. “You’re gonna be the most amazing mom. Again.”
The small circle broke up naturally as ushers began motioning people toward seats, the house lights flickering once in polite warning that the pre-show countdown was about to start.
Y/N slid into the seat beside Michael, their thighs brushing as they settled in. She smoothed her gown over her lap with a slow exhale.
Michael caught the gesture. His eyes flicked down, then up to her face.
“You ok?” he asked under his breath.
She turned to him a small smile tugging her lips. “Better than ok.”
He laced their fingers together on the armrest between them, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles. The orchestra swelled into the opening fanfare. The lights dimmed further. The show was about to begin.
The show unfolded around them in waves of applause, laughter from the host’s jokes, and the occasional swell of music. But her focus narrowed to a pinpoint.
The ticking clock toward the Best Actor category.
Her stomach bubbled with anticipation, a low constant churn that made it hard to sit still. Every time the envelope was opened for another award she felt the tension coil tighter in her chest. She was already nervous for Michael but watching the results roll in only amplified it.
When Wunmi’s category came up, Y/N squeezed Michael’s hand without thinking. The presenter read the winner’s name, and it wasn’t Wunmi. Y/N’s jaw tightened. A flicker of anger sparked low in her gut, not at the winner, but at the machine of it all. If they could overlook Wunmi after the unforgettable work she had done, what chance did Michael really have?
Then Delroy’s category flashed on the massive screen. Same story. Another name called, another round of polite applause while Delroy sat tall, expression unreadable. Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose, a quiet frustrated sound only Michael would catch. He gave her fingers a small squeeze, thumb brushing her skin in silent acknowledgment. She leaned her head against his shoulder for a second trying to breathe through the rising worry. If the Academy was playing these games with legends like Delroy and rising powerhouses like Wunmi, what would they do to her husband? The thought gnawed at her.
It wasn’t until the Original Score category that the knot in her stomach loosened just a fraction. Ludwig’s name was announced, and the theater erupted. Ludwig stood, beaming and hugging the cast before heading to the stage. Y/N let out a relieved breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then, Ryan won best screenplay. His win felt like a small victory for the whole Sinners family.
Like proof that the film wasn’t being shut out entirely.
Michael’s shoulders eased beside her. He clapped hard and gave genuine grin for the first time in minutes.
Then the lights shifted, the stage transformed, and Miles Caton was introduced. The young actor stepped out under the spotlight, guitar in hand, voice steady despite the nerves Y/N knew he must be feeling. For those few minutes, the auditorium faded. She felt like she was in the theater watching the montage scene for the first time again.
She felt tears prick her eyes, not from nerves this time, but from the sheer beauty of it. Michael’s thumb kept tracing slow circles on her hand, but his gaze was locked on the stage too with pride and something deeper written across his face.
The performance ended on that final, lingering note, and the theater erupted again. The standing ovation rolled through the rows like a wave that refused to break.
Y/N exhaled shakily, clapping until her hands stung before finally let them drop to her lap. The nerves that had receded during Miles’ song came rushing back in the sudden quiet. Her stomach twisted again. Beside her, Michael let out a low breath and squeezed her hand once before loosening his grip.
During the break he leaned in close, voice pitched low so only she could hear over the murmur of the crowd and the distant chatter of other nominees.
“Still breathing over there?” he whispered, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist.
She managed a small laugh. “Ask me that again after Best Actor.”
He studied her face. “You’re shaking, baby.”
“Am not,” she lied, even as her free hand trembled slightly against her thigh.
Michael lifted their joined hands to his lips pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Whatever happens up there… we walk out of here the same way we walked in. Together. You and me.”
Y/N swallowed, nodding. “I know. I just… I want this for you so bad.”
“I know you do.” He leaned his forehead against hers for a second breathing her in. “Love you for that. For everything.”
“Love you more,” she whispered back.
The red light on the camera rig blinked off which meant commercial break over. The host returned to the stage and the show rolled on.
A few minutes later, Best Cinematography flashed on the screen. The presenter read the nominees and the clips came rolling in. The winner was announced and Autumn name rang out clear as the theater cheered warmly. Autumn stood accepting hugs from her team before heading to the stage. Y/N clapped hard, genuine pride cutting through her anxiety. Another win for the film. Another crack of light.
Michael’s smile was small but real as he applauded. “That’s my girl,” he said under his breath.
Then the lights shifted again. The announcer stepped forward, envelope in hand.
“And now… the Academy Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role.”
Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought the people around her could hear it. The massive screen above filled with the playback montage of Micheal acting as the Smokestack twins. Clips of the other nominees followed, but Y/N barely registered them. Her vision tunneled to Michael on screen then back to the real man beside her.
She was trying so hard to keep it together. Chin up, breathing steady, smile fixed like she had practiced in the mirror a hundred times. But inside she felt like she might be sick. Nausea rolled in waves as her legs were trembling under the gown. She squeezed Michael’s hand, a silent I’m here, I’m here.
The presenter smiled into the camera. “And the Oscar goes to…”
The envelope tore.
“…Michael B. Jordan, for Sinners.”
The theater exploded.
Y/N jumped up instantly, a raw sob tearing out of her as tears streamed down her face. Pure joy crashed through her. Her man had won. An Oscar. Right there.
Michael stood slowly, eyes wide like he couldn’t quite process it. Then he turned to her.
Y/N launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as he caught her pulling her in hard. Their lips met in a deep kiss. The crowd around them cheered louder, but for those few seconds it was just them.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “We did it, baby.”
“You did it,” she choked out, laughing through the tears. “Go get it, babe.”
Michael nodded, kissed her once more then turned. Ryan was already on his feet, grinning wide as he pulled Michael into a tight hug. Delroy was next wrapping Michael in a firm hug and murmuring something low in his ear.
Michael stepped onto the stage amid thunderous applause, the gold Oscar clutched firmly in one hand as he made his way to the microphone. The Dolby Theatre was on its feet and cheers echoing off the walls. He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning the room. Then his gaze found Y/N, still standing near their seats with tears streaming freely down her face.
He exhaled a shaky laugh into the mic.
“God is good. God is good.”
The crowd quieted just enough for his voice to carry.
“Yo, Mama… thank you. For everything. For raising me right, for believing in me when nobody else did, for every prayer, every sacrifice. I love you more than you know. Pops—hey, Dad, where you at? You came all the way from Ghana to be here tonight. Thank you for showing me what strength and love look like. My sister Jamila, my brother Khalid… y’all been riding with me since day one. Through the highs, the lows, the long nights. I wouldn’t be standing here without my family holding me up. I love y’all.”
He paused, letting the words settle, then continued.
“I want to thank Warner Brothers. I want to thank Mike and Pam for believing in this dream, this vision of Ryan Coogler, and betting on a culture and betting on original ideas and original artistry. Ryan, you’re an amazing, amazing person. I’m so honored to call you a collaborator and a friend. You gave me the opportunity and space for me to be seen, and I love you, too, bro. Love you to death.”
He glanced down at the Oscar, then back out.
“I stand here because of the people that came before me; Sidney Poitier, Denzel Washington, Halle Berry, Jamie Foxx, Forest Whitaker, Will Smith. To be amongst those giants, amongst those greats, amongst my ancestors, amongst my guys… thank you.”
His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through.
“Thank you everybody in this room and everybody at home for supporting me over my career. I feel it. I know you guys want me to do well, and I wanna do that because you guys bet on me. So thank you for betting on me, and I’m gonna keep stepping up, and I’m gonna keep being the best version of myself I can be.”
He took a breath, eyes finding Y/N again across the sea of faces. A private smile curved his lips meant only for her.
“And to my wife, Y/N… baby, you’ve been my rock through every doubt, every long night, every win and every loss before this one even happened. You believed in me when I didn’t always believe in myself. Your love, your strength, the way you hold me down… that’s what carried me here. I love you more than words can say. This is ours, forever.”
He lifted the Oscar slightly.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The orchestra began its gentle cue as the applause swelled again. Michael stepped back from the mic eyes glistening, and made his way offstage with Oscar in hand and heart full.
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The night had been a beautiful blur. After the Oscars ceremony ended, Michael and Y/N first stopped at the Vanity Fair Oscar after-party. The place was packed and loud with bright lights and people constantly coming up to congratulate Michael. He carried the Oscar casually in one hand, smiling and dapping folks up while trays of food and champagne moved through the crowd. They posed for a few photos together, his arm around her waist.
Later they headed to the Gold Party, Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s exclusive after-after-party. It was more intimate than Vanity Fair which made everything feel even more special.
They arrived around 1:45 a.m. and spent the first twenty minutes mingling. Michael got pulled into a conversation with Ryan Coogler near the bar.
Y/N stood beside him, sipping on a fresh glass of champagne and chatting lightly with Zinzi about how unreal the whole evening felt. She mostly watched Michael proud at how grounded he stayed even after winning his Oscar.
After a while Michael gently pulled Y/N aside to a quieter corner.
“Come here for a second, baby,” he said as he opened the camera on his phone. He wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her close. “Let’s get one just us. Smile for me.”
She leaned her cheek against his, both of them grinning as the Oscar gleamed between them in the frame. He took a few shots — one silly, one sweet, and one where she looked up at him with pure love while he looked back the same way.
He checked the photos and smiled. “This one right here,” he said posting it to his story with no caption, just the image and a single gold heart emoji. “You look so good tonight, baby. Real good.”
Y/N smiled resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re the one who just won an Oscar. I’m just trying to keep up with you.”
He turned to face her. “Nah. You supported me through everything. You never let me quit. That’s why tonight feels so right.”
She reached up brushing her fingers along his waves. “You did all the work, Michael. I just loved you through it.”
The DJ switched to a slower track with deep bass and a familiar slow jam. Y/N’s face lit up. “Dance with me. Just one.”
He smiled and took her hand, leading her onto the open dance floor. She turned so her back pressed against his chest and started rolling her hips slowly. His hands settled on her waist, holding her gently as they moved together. Just for a few minutes the rest of the world faded away.
“Damn, baby,” he whispered against her. “You keep moving like that and we’re gonna have a situation right here.”
She laughed softly tilting her head back against his shoulder. “Maybe I want you to have a situation.”
He let out a quiet breath, his grip on her hips tightening just a little as he pulled her closer. “I already got one. Been thinking about taking this dress off you the whole night. You know that, right?”
She pressed back against him. “Then enjoy your party so we can leave sooner.”
They danced through a couple more songs, bodies swaying close together. Michael stole soft kisses to her temple while they moved whispering little things in her ear that made her smile and blush. It felt like almost an hour had passed when Y/N finally slowed and turned in his arms. She placed a hand lightly on her stomach and spoke softly so only he could hear.
“Baby… I’m not feeling the best,” she said. “The champagne is hitting me harder than I thought. My stomach feels a little off. I think I need to head home.”
Michael’s expression changed instantly. He cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb gently brushing her skin as he studied her face with real concern. “We can leave right now if you want. I don’t care about staying.”
She shook her head and gave him a small smile. “No, it’s not that bad. I just need to get home, drink some water, and lie down for a bit. You should stay and enjoy the rest of your night. This is your Oscar win. People are still coming up to you. Have fun, celebrate with everybody. I’ll be fine once I’m home.”
He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he thought it over. His hand stayed on her cheek. “Nah, I don’t like the idea of you going back alone if you’re not feeling right. I can come with you. We can leave together.”
“I promise I’m okay,” she said gently placing her hand over his. “Stay. Soak it all in. I want you to enjoy every second of this. You deserve it tonight. I’ll text you the second I walk through the door.”
Michael still looked hesitant for a long moment, his jaw tight like he was fighting the urge to leave with her anyway. But he finally nodded slowly though the worry stayed in his eyes. “Alright… but if you start feeling worse, even a little bit, you text me and I’m coming straight home. No hesitation. I mean that.”
“Deal,” she said leaning up to kiss him softly.
Unbeknownst to him, she wasn’t planning on just lying down and resting when she got back to their house. The red lace lingerie she had laid out was waiting for him. She was going to make sure he ended this historic night winning in more ways than one.
He walked her out to the waiting Escalade himself, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist while the other held her hand. Two security guards flanked them closely as they moved down the driveway. Paparazzi had gathered near the gate, flashes popping like crazy, but Michael and the security team formed a tight shield around her blocking most of the cameras as they reached the car.
He helped her into the back seat then leaned in close. “If you need anything, anything at all, you text me and I’ll be home immediately. I’m serious.”
Y/N nodded and pulled him in for one more kiss before settling back into the seat.
The door closed and the Escalade pulled away smoothly into the LA night.
The Escalade pulled up to their house about 30 minutes later. Y/N thanked the driver quietly and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. The house dark except for the soft city glow coming through the large windows. She let out a long breath, the intensity of the night finally settling down.
She pulled out her phone and typed a quick text.
<Made it home safe baby.
A couple minutes later her phone buzzed. Michael had sent a selfie of himself pouting dramatically.
<Missing you already 😔
Y/N smiled at the screen.
<You are too cute. Stop worrying about me and enjoy your night. You deserve it.
She added one more message.
<I love you.
His reply came quickly.
<I love you more.
She slipped off her heels, the cool floor a relief on her tired feet. The dress came next. She unzipped it slowly and let it slide down her body stepping out of the pool of fabric. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the warm water run over her for a long time washing away the makeup, the hairspray, and the long hours of the night. When she stepped out, she dried off carefully and reached for her favorite scented lotion. She took her time moisturizing every inch of her skin until it felt soft.
Then she slipped into the red lace lingerie she had laid out earlier. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, turning slowly from side to side. A playful grin spread across her face. She gave her hips a little shake doing a quick mini twerk in the mirror and watching the way the lace moved with her.
“I’m about to get some dick tonight,” she said out loud to her reflection laughing softly at herself.
Finally, she pulled on the short silk robe and tied it loosely at the waist.
She moved through the bedroom lighting a few candles that filled the room with a glow.
Y/N climbed onto the big bed and propped herself up against the pillows. She picked up her phone and opened Instagram, then switched over to X, curiosity getting the best of her.
The internet had gone absolutely wild.
Clips of her reaction to Michael winning were everywhere. The moment she jumped out of her seat the second his name was announced had blown up.
The comments poured in:
“the way she jumped up crying 😭 I felt that in my soul”
“couple goals fr”
“that’s real love right there, she was HYPED”
“Y/N Jordan is a real one, protect her at all costs”
People were calling it one of the sweetest Oscar moments in years.
Michael’s speech was trending just as hard. Fans kept replaying the part where he looked straight at her and thanked his wife.
The comments under those clips were nonstop:
“the way he looks at her… I’m actually crying”
“Black love winning tonight”
“this speech just hit different because you can tell it’s real”
Y/N kept scrolling with a soft smile on her face. Then she found the In-N-Out videos and photos. There he was sitting at the table with the Oscar standing proudly beside a red tray. Her favorite picture was the one where he was smiling mid-bite of his burger, cheese dripping, eyes crinkled in pure joy while the golden trophy gleamed next to him. He looked so happy and so… him.
Without thinking twice, she saved the photo and posted it to her Instagram story with the simple caption:
my baby 🥹❤️
She stared at the picture a little longer, a deep feeling of love spreading through her chest. The red lace felt nice against her skin as she shifted on the bed, the candles flickering quietly around the room.
She was more than ready for him to come home.
Y/N’s eyes were starting to feel heavy as she lay on the bed. She had been scrolling through her phone for a while smiling at all the sweet comments and videos from the night when she heard the low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway.
Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly shifted on the bed propping herself up on one elbow so the short silk robe rode up just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the lingerie underneath.
The front door opened and Michael’s voice carried up the stairs a little tired from the long night.
“I’m home, babygirl. Where you at?”
Y/N smiled to herself and called back softly, “I’m in the bedroom, baby.”
She heard his footsteps on the stairs. As he climbed he kept talking, his voice getting closer.
“I stopped by the store on the way home and grabbed you some medicine. And mama made you some soup. She said it’ll help settle your stomach…”
He pushed the bedroom door open, still mid-sentence, but the words died on his lips the moment he saw her.
Michael stopped in the doorway eyes widening slightly as he took her in. She was laid out on the bed in just the short silk robe that had slipped open enough to reveal the red lace bra hugging her chest, the high-cut panties, the garters, and the sheer thigh-high stockings. The candlelight danced softly across her skin making the whole moment feel intimate and a little unreal.
He stood there for a moment completely paused the plastic bag with the medicine and the container of soup forgotten in his hands while the Oscar remained tucked securely under his arm. His gaze slowly traveled over her taking in every detail.
“Damn…” he breathed, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slow smile. “What’s all this?”
Y/N bit her lip, heart racing as she watched the way his eyes darkened. She pushed herself up a little higher on the bed then slowly crawled toward the middle of the mattress on her hands and knees. The short silk robe slipped further open.
“I wanted to give you a little award of my own tonight,” she said softly.
Michael’s gaze followed every movement she made. He finally set the plastic bag and soup container down on the dresser before he carefully placed the Oscar on the nightstand beside the flickering candles. The golden statue caught the light as he turned back to her.
He walked toward the bed slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. When he reached the edge, he leaned down and wrapped one large hand gently but firmly around her throat. His other hand slid down her body, fingertips tracing over the red lace bra then lower across her stomach until he reached between her thighs.
“Fuck, baby…” he stated. “You really been waiting for me like this?”
Y/N’s breath hitched at his touch, her hips shifting toward his hand instinctively.
He kept his hand around her throat, thumb stroking soothing circles while his fingers pressed more firmly against her feeling how wet she already was.
“You look so fucking good,” he said leaning in closer so his lips brushed her ear. “All dressed up just for me.”
Michael’s fingers found the loose tie of her robe and tugged it open with one pull. The silk fell away from her body pooling around her on the bed and leaving her fully exposed in the lingerie. His eyes darkened even more as he took her in.
He leaned down pressing his lips to the side of her neck. The kiss started soft then turned hungry as he sucked gently on her skin, his tongue tracing the sensitive spot just below her ear. He moved lower sucking a little harder leaving a faint mark that made her gasp.
“Michael…” she breathed tilting her head to give him better access.
Michael’s lips stayed on her neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers rubbed slow circles on the outside of her panties. The pressure was teasing, just enough to make her hips twitch toward his hand.
Y/N let out a shaky breath before whispering, “Stop.”
He pulled back immediately with concern flashing across his face. His hand froze on her thigh and he looked at her.
“Baby? What’s wrong?” he asked. “You okay?”
Y/N smiled softly reaching up to cup his face. “I’m fine. More than fine. I just… I want to take care of you tonight.”
Michael searched her eyes for a second still a little thrown off. “You sure? You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Let me do this for you.”
He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips as the worry melted away.
Y/N sat up and reached for him. Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt one by one, pushing it open to reveal his chest. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the center of his sternum before moving lower, undoing his belt and pants. Michael helped her kicking his shoes and pants off until he was standing in just his boxers.
Y/N hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down his legs letting them fall to the floor. He was already hard and she took a moment to appreciate the sight of him completely bare in front of her.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” she told him.
Michael obeyed.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress his eyes locked on her as she moved closer.
Y/N knelt between Michael’s legs. She wrapped her hand around the base of his dick and leaned in dragging her tongue slowly up the underside before swirling it around the head.
Michael let out a shaky groan, his hand sliding gently into her hair. “Fuck… baby…”
She took him into her mouth, lips stretching around him as she sucked gently at first then deeper. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside while she bobbed slowly taking more of him each time. One of her hands slipped between her own thighs pushing the lace panties aside so she could rub slow circles over her swollen clit.
Michael’s breath hitched hard. “Shit… look at you,” he managed. His hips twitched slightly as she took him deeper, the warmth of her mouth making his head fall back against the pillow. “Feels so fucking good…”
Y/N moaned around him, the vibration traveling up his shaft and making his grip tighten in her hair. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, while her fingers moved faster between her legs sliding two inside herself. The sounds filled the room with her sucking mixed with the slick noise of her fingers pumping in and out of her pussy.
Michael’s thighs tensed under her hands. “Baby… fuck…” He was breathing harder now, words breaking apart between moans. “Your mouth… so warm… goddamn…”
She looked up at him through her lashes, eyes watery but locked on his and took him even deeper until he bumped the back of her throat.
“Shit… just like that… don’t stop, baby…”
Y/N kept going, bobbing faster, sucking with more pressure while her fingers curled inside herself hitting that spot that made her moan louder around his cock. Spit dripped down her chin and onto his shaft making everything messier and wetter.
Michael’s free hand gripped the sheets. His moans grew more desperate. “Fuck… I’m close… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that…”
She didn’t pull away. Instead she sucked harder, tongue working the sensitive head every time she drew back while her fingers moved quicker between her own legs. Her own pleasure was building fast, but she focused on him . She enjoyed the way his dick throbbed against her tongue and the broken sounds falling from his lips.
Michael’s hips stuttered, his hand tightening in her hair. “Baby… oh fuck… I’m gonna—”
His words cut off into a deep moan as he came hard in her mouth. His warm liquid hit the back of her throat. Y/N swallowed around him taking everything he gave her without pulling back. She kept sucking gently through it milking every last drop while her fingers kept moving between her thighs.
Michael’s whole body shuddered, a long groan escaping him as the last waves rolled through. His hand stayed in her hair. He looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Damn…” he rasped. “Come here, baby.”
Michael pulled her up gently by the hand until she was straddling his lap before he cupped her face and kissed her. His tongue slid against hers tasting himself on her lips and he groaned softly into her mouth.
Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him breathing hard. “I want to ride you” she whispered. “Right now.”
Michael’s eyes darkened. He ran his hands down her sides gripping her hips. “Whatever you want baby. Take it.”
She didn’t waste time. She reached between them, pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, and lined him up with her soaked entrance. With one slow roll of her hips she sank down taking every inch of him in one motion. The stretch made her moan loudly as her head fell back.
“Fuck…” Michael groaned hands tightening on her waist. “So wet… so tight… fuck me.”
Y/N started moving rolling her hips in deep circles at first before she started lifting and dropping faster. Her breast bounced heavily in the bra with every thrust. She braced her hands on his chest and rode him harder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room along with her moans.
Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Look at you” he rasped. “Riding me so good… shit baby… your breasts look so fucking pretty bouncing like that.”
He reached up and tugged the cups of her bra down freeing her plump breasts. He leaned forward mouth latching onto one nipple sucking hard while his tongue flicked over it. Y/N cried out her pace faltering for a second before she picked it back up grinding down on him even harder.
“Daddy…” she moaned the word slipping out as she rode him faster. “Fuck you feel so deep.”
Michael groaned against her breast, sucking harder before he switched to the other one. He kept one hand on her hip guiding her movements as the other slid up to squeeze her free breast.
“Keep riding me just like that” his voice muffled against her skin. “You’re doing so good baby… taking all of me… look how wet you’re making my dick.”
Y/N’s moans grew louder. She was bouncing on him now. The headboard started to knock softly against the wall with every downward thrust. Her breasts bounced wildly in his face and he couldn’t get enough, sucking and licking at them leaving wet marks on her skin.
“I’m gonna cum” she gasped. “Daddy… I’m so close…”
Michael pulled back just enough to look up at her eyes. One hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit and rubbing tight circles.
“That’s it baby” he said even though he was breathing hard. “Cum for me. I want to feel you squeezing my dick. Let it go… come on ride me through it. You’re so fucking close I can feel it.”
Y/N’s hips stuttered and her walls started to flutter around him. She cried out as the orgasm hit her hard.
Michael thumb never stopped rubbing her clit. “There you go… good girl… just like that. Let it all out on me. I got you baby… cum all over my dick… fuck you feel so good squeezing me like that…”
Her whole body shook as she came, loud moans spilling from her lips while she kept riding him through the waves. Michael groaned deeply holding her hips tight to help her keep moving until she finally started to slow.
He kissed her chest softly, then her collarbone, then her lips murmuring against them “That’s my baby… so fucking perfect.”
—————————————————————-
Michael kissed her, still buried inside her as the last tremors of her orgasm faded. His tongue tangled with hers, tasting himself on her lips, and he groaned softly into her mouth.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Can I fuck you from the back, baby?” he asked against her lips. “I need to see that ass while I’m deep in you.”
Y/N shivered at the question, a fresh wave of arousal rushing through her. “Whatever you want, Daddy,” she whispered.
She didn’t wait for him to move. She slid off his lap, turned around, and got on all fours in the middle of the bed. She arched her back deep pushing her ass up high and spreading her knees wider so the panties framed everything perfectly.
Michael let out a low curse behind her. “Fuck… look at you.”
He smacked her ass hard, the sound echoing in the room. Y/N gasped and gave her hips a little playful shake making her cheeks jiggle for him.
“Damn,” he groaned.
He grabbed her hips and pulled her back toward his face. Without another word he buried his mouth between her legs from behind, tongue sliding through her soaked folds. He licked her slow sucking on her clit before pushing his tongue inside her. Y/N moaned loudly pushing back against his face.
Michael groaned against her pussy, the vibration making her thighs shake. “Taste so fucking good,” he stated. “All wet for me.”
He ate her like he was starving — deep licks mixed with sucking and gentle bites on her ass cheeks. His hands spread her wider, thumbs pulling her open so he could bury his tongue deeper. Y/N’s moans filled the room as her fingers gripped the sheets tight.
After a few minutes he pulled back. He stroked his dick once before lining himself up and pushing inside her in one thrust. Y/N cried out at the sudden stretch, her back arching even more.
“Shit, baby…” Michael groaned gripping her hips as he bottomed out. “So fucking tight like this.”
He started fucking her hard, hips snapping forward with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with her loud moans and his low grunts. He kept one hand on her hip the other sliding up her back to press between her shoulder blades pushing her chest down into the mattress so her ass stayed high in the air.
“Take it just like that,” he rasped. “This is how I celebrate my win… fucking my wife raw after I bring home that Oscar.”
Y/N moaned louder pushing back to meet every stroke. “Yes… fuck me, Daddy.”
Michael smacked her ass again then gripped both cheeks and spread her open so he could watch himself disappear inside her.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” he growled pounding into her faster. “Tell me, baby. Who owns this wet little pussy?”
“You,” she gasped. “It’s yours… all yours, Daddy.”
He groaned deep. “That’s right. This pussy belongs to your Oscar-winning husband. Only me.”
He fucked her even harder, the headboard banging against the wall now. One hand reached around to rub her clit in circles while the other kept her ass spread wide. Y/N’s moans turned into broken cries, her whole body shaking as another orgasm built fast.
Michael leaned over her back lips brushing her ear. “You gonna cum on my dick again? Let me feel it, baby. Squeeze me while I fuck you through it.”
Y/N’s walls started fluttering hard around him. “I’m cumming… Daddy, I’m cumming—”
“That’s my good girl,” he groaned never slowing down. “Cum for me. Let it all go. I got you.”
Her orgasm crashed over her hard. She cried out loudly pushing back on him as her pussy clenched and pulsed around his dick. Michael kept fucking her through it moaning her name under his breath, his own release getting closer with every tight squeeze.
“Fuck… you feel so good when you cum like that,” he panted. “Gonna fill you up, baby… you want that?”
Yes,” she moaned still trembling from her orgasm. “Cum inside me, Daddy. Please.”
Michael groaned deep. He gripped her hips tighter pulling her back onto him with every thrust. His pace turned rougher, more urgent, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
“Shit… I’m so close,” he rasped. “This pussy is mine… all fucking mine.”
He leaned over her back one arm wrapping around her waist to hold her close while he drove into her harder. His breathing grew ragged, moans turning into broken grunts with every deep stroke.
Y/N pushed back to meet him, still sensitive but wanting every inch. “Cum for me,” she whispered. “Fill me up.”
That was all it took.
Michael’s hips stuttered. He buried himself deep inside her with a moan. “Fuck… baby… I’m cumming—”
His dick pulsed hard as he came, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside her. He kept thrusting through it, milking every last drop while his body shook against hers. A broken “Shit…” escaped his lips as the pleasure rolled through him, his forehead pressing to her shoulder.
He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, breathing hard, his hand gently stroking her side. Finally he kissed the back of her neck.
“Damn… I love you.”
Michael stayed buried inside her for a few long moments, both of them breathing hard and trembling. He finally pulled out slowly, a soft groan escaping him as he watched his cum leak from her. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder gently.
“Stay right here, baby,” he murmured.
He disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and came back with a damp washcloth. Y/N stayed on her stomach too tired to move. Michael climbed back onto the bed and gently wiped between her legs cleaning her up with careful strokes. He took his time making sure she was comfortable and he occasionally pressed soft kisses to her lower back and the curve of her ass.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Mhm,” she hummed.
Once he was done he tossed the cloth aside and pulled her into his arms. Y/N curled against his chest, one leg thrown over his as he wrapped her up tight. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then the tip of her nose, holding her close while their breathing slowly evened out. His hand rubbed slow circles on her back.
Michael chuckled quietly after a minute, the sound rumbling through his chest.
“You know… you didn’t have to lie and say you were sick just to sneak home and surprise me,” he teased. “I was worried about you the whole time at the party. Kept checking my phone like a fool wondering if you were okay.”
Y/N lifted her head and gave him a playful glare poking his chest. “I told you not to worry about me. I said I was fine.”
He grinned pulling her closer and kissing her forehead again. “Yeah, well, I’m your husband. Worrying about you is part of the job description. Can’t help it.”
She smiled and rested her head back on his chest listening to his heartbeat. Her fingers traced lazy patterns over his abs as she spoke softly.
“I’m so proud of you, Michael. I watched you put in all that hard work… the long nights on set, the early mornings, the times you doubted yourself. All those sacrifices you made. You deserved tonight more than anyone. Seeing you up there accepting that Oscar… it meant everything to me.”
Michael’s arms tightened around her. He kissed her forehead again.
“Thank you, baby. Couldn’t have done any of it without you. You’re my rock. Always have been. Every late night you stayed up with me running lines, every time you reminded me why I started… it all led to tonight. I love you so much.”
They stayed like that for a long while, tangled together under the soft candlelight. Michael kept rubbing her back in slow circles, Y/N nestled deeper into his chest with one hand resting over his heart.
The Oscar still sat on the nightstand gleaming quietly in the candlelight like a silent witness to their night.
parings: elijah ‘smoke’ moore x oc (giselle bailey)
summary: (modern au) first grade teacher giselle bailey is done with relationships. she’s tried multiple times and has come to the conclusion that maybe there’s no one out there for her. until she meets elijah. but elijah is everything that she vowed she would never fall for.
a/n: this is a one shot i started for smoke last year when sinners first came out but i never finished it until now.
divider by @/ pixopix
"Alright, class, one last thing. Who remembers one of our sight words from this week?"
Giselle stands in front of the whiteboard, eyes locked on her little first graders as they go over their sight words.
About half of the class raises their hands. Giselle looks into the crowd, giving them an animated thinking face before her eyes land on one of the students, and she points at the young girl.
"Malia"
"Again!"
"Yes again is one of our sight words. Ok, and now does anyone want to take a go at giving me a complete sentence with the sight word our friend gave us?"
She looks over the students before settling her eyes on the third row.
"Ok, Tyler, give me a sentence"
"Ms.Bailey, I don't feel so good"
Giselle walks over closer to the little boy, crouching down in front of him.
"What's wrong Tyler?"
"I ate some paper?"
Giselle sighs
"Tyler, we've talked about this. We don't eat paper sweetie"
"My tummy hurts"
"Ok, let's get you to the-"
But before she can finish her sentence, Tyler hovers over, holding his stomach as his lunch from earlier and paper come running out of his mouth. Giselle was able to step out of the way in time before the flood of vomit came. The whole class erupts in screams and "ews" as they all run to one side of the classroom.
"Shh shh, class it is ok. Tyler just has an upset stomach, it is normal"
"It's not normal to eat paper"
Ambre, one of the more outspoken kids, shouted out.
"Hey, we don't tease our friends"
"Just saying"
She hears the girl try to mumble under her breath. She cuts her eyes sternly at the little one. Ambre mumbles a "sorry".
"Come on Tyler, let's call and get you to the nurse so that we can get this cleaned up"
—
"I heard about your vomit flood today"
"Hi Ms.Bailey"
Kameron walks into the room with one of her students by her side. The little girl runs up to Giselle, attacking her in her seat with a big hug. Giselle laughs and hugs the little girl back.
"Oof, hi Emery"
After hugging Giselle, the girl runs over to the play section of the room, places her things on the table, and pulls a toy out of her backpack. Giselle turns her attention to her best friend and coworker.
"How'd you find that out?"
Kameron shifts her head down and looks over her glasses like that one Idris Elba meme.
"Ambre"
They say in unison. Giselle shakes her head.
"That girl there"
"Anywho, can you watch Emery for me? Her dad is running a little late today. He should be pulling in soon, though. I was just going to stand out in the front with her until he made it. I really have to potty bad"
"Yeah, of course"
"Emery, Ms.Bailey is going to take you to the front ok? Be good"
Emery looks up, mouth agape as if she's offended by Kameron's words. Giselle lets out a low chuckle.
"Ms.Felix, I am always good"
"Yes, you sure are"
"But I'll be extra, especially good for Ms.Bailey. She's my favorite"
Now it was Kameron's turn to look offended.
"Excuse me? I'm your teacher little missy. I'm supposed to be your favorite"
"You are second"
"I-"
"Ok goodbye. You heard her, you are second, get out of my classroom and take your hurt with you"
Giselle ushers her out of the room, laughing while doing so.
—-
"Daddy must have been really busy; he's never late"
Emery says, giggling to herself and skipping under the pavilion where the car riders wait.
"Yeah, sometimes adults get busy, therefore making them a little late"
"Ms.Bailey, are you late picking up your daughter since you are still here with me?"
Giselle lets out a small chuckle
"No, Emery, I don't have any children"
"So what do you do after school without children?"
Emery looks at the woman, puzzled
"Relax. I like to relax, watch a little tv and read"
"Ooh, I like to watch tv too! Mama makes me go to bed early. But my daddy lets me stay up all night! I love going to daddy's house"
"I bet you do"
Giselle shakes her head, smiling. Just then, a royal blue dodge charger srt pulls up in front of the school. Giselle wasn't a car person, and the only reason she knew the exact car type was because of the older students at the school.
"That's daddy!"
The car pulls up closer to them, and Giselle cranes her neck to see into the front window of the car and makes sure the number that is on the sign hanging from the rearview mirror is the same as the number on the clipboard that she is holding with Emery's name written next to it. It did.
The man inside doesn't turn the car off as he opens his door and steps out. Giselle lets out a small gasp as the man comes from the driver's side of the car. She gives him a once-over. She could tell he works out just by how his huge biceps bulge from the fresh crisp white tee he sported, which was about the color of whiteout. Two diamond chains hang around his neck, the diamonds matching the earrings that are in his ears. And she couldn't forget the way the diamond grillz in his mouth gleam against the sun when he smiles, spotting the little girl who's standing beside Giselle. His beard looked as if it had been shaped up recently. The man was fine, to say the least.
Giselle tries to play it cool as she quickly fixes her hair with one swift movement, playing it off as if she's scratching her ear. She's been running with, and after first graders all day, so she knew her hair didn't look as nice and smooth as it did this morning. The man stops in front of them as the little girl runs and jumps into her father's arms, hugging him.
"Daddy you are late!"
"I know, bubs, daddy is sorry. First and last time I promise"
He pulls back to look her in the face
"It's ok, Ms.Bailey says adults are a little late when they are busy"
Mentioning the woman's name brings the man's attention to Giselle. She gives a small smile and a wave.
"Hi I'm Ms.Bailey"
He nods his head her way, acknowledging her
"Is her teacher absent today or?"
"Ms.Felix asked me to look after her for a few minutes. She comes by my class all the time I love having Emery around"
She smiles at the young girl
"Ms.Bailey is the best!"
"Preciate it"
"No problem"
He puts the little girl down as they walk to his car. Emery jumps up and down.
"Daddy, can I sit in the front with you?"
"Aht backseat in the booster, you know that"
"But daddy"
She throws her head back, whining. He gives her what Giselle thinks is him trying to be stern and firm, but still a bit playful.
"Ok fine" Emery responds, getting into the backseat. "You gon' say bye?" The man says, nodding back towards Giselle. Emery turns around, waving her hands wildly at Giselle. "Bye Ms.Bailey. See you tomorrow" "See you tomorrow sweetie"
The man helps the little girl into the back seat and into her booster chair. Strapping her in and closing the door afterwards. He walks around the car to the driver's side, but as he does, he throws a glance Giselle's way, getting in and pulling off after he closes the door.
"Damn.."
She mumbles to herself, shaking her head as if trying to clear her brain. She takes the walk back into the building and down the hall to her classroom.
As Giselle walks in, she finds Kameron sitting at one of the round tables, phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media. Kameron looks up from her phone.
"How'd it go?"
"Girl, and where were you? I know it didn't take you that long to pee"
Kameron shrugs her shoulders, "I knew you had it, big dawg. You are her favorite, remember?"
"Can't stand you. You better be lucky, we are friends"
"Yeah yeah whatever"
Giselle walks back over to her desk, gathering her things up to go home. "You didn't tell me that Emery's dad is-"
"Fine as all fucks?" Kameron says, interrupting Giselle. Giselle giggles at her friend's choice of words
"Yes"
"Girl, the first time I saw him I had to remember we had little people around us. Almost made weekend Kam come out"
"Girl-" They laugh together
"I mean, Emery's a beautiful little girl. I just didn't expect him to be that fine"
"Mhm, who are you telling? He is a little off though. He barely wants to hold a conversation unless it's about Emery"
"He asked about you"
"He did what?" Kameron sits up in the seat so fast, placing her phone on the table
"He asked if you were absent or something. I guess seeing Emery with me and not her teacher had him a bit confused"
Kameron throws her arms up in the air "Oh girl, I thought he was actually checking for me"
Giselle walks from her desk over to Kameron, squatting down, grabbing both of her hands, and holding them within hers.
"Kam..I'm going to hold your hand when I say this"
She stares at her with a blank face before smacking her lips and pulling her hands from out of Giselle's grip.
"Don't do me bitch"
Giselle walks off laughing, continuing to put her things into her work bag
—
"I swear men are the messiest species on the planet, like I just confided in you about how I felt, and you go and tell your little friends? The fuck"
Giselle grabs her bowl of chicken and dumplings with rice and carries it over to the couch, sitting down and turning the tv up louder. Giselle and Kameron were currently on facetime and watching Love Island UK season 11. This was Giselle's first time watching the season, and Kameron was rewatching so that they could discuss it.
"Joey's old ass is still pissing me off so bad. Like, you that messy for what?"
"Girl– literally started that little drama between Ciaran and Harriet for no reason at all"
She shakes my head, taking a spoonful of her food into her mouth.
"Ugh, Kam, I don't know how they do it. If I'm coupled up with a man I really like, why the hell would you pull him for a chat? I don't even play like that forreal"
"Who are you telling? The viewers of love island would see a real crashout. I'm beating bitches asses in that villa"
Giselle almost choked on her food, doubling over laughing. Because she fully believed her friend would. "I fear we would both be kicked off the show"
"Mimii and Ayo are so cute. Need that"
"Don't get too excited, Ayo ain't shit either"
"Damn, you just going to keep spoiling me?"
"My bad, friend. But since we are on the topic of dating, how's the SweetHoney app going?"
Giselle placed her bowl on the coffee table, picked up her phone from the couch, and gave a straight, stale face in the camera.
"Oop, I guess that tells me everything I need to know"
"It's definitely been a miss on my end"
The SweetHoney app was a dating app that she'd been using for a few months. This was new territory for her. She had never used a dating app before, but with some encouragement from Kameron and her making an account along with the woman, she decided to give it a try. And a bunch of weirdos were on the app and not the good kind. They were either looking for a hookup, asking for weird ass requests, or just weren't what Giselle was looking for. The algorithm was not working in her favor.
"Sista, you've only been on it for what two months? Give it some time"
"Yeah, well, I ain't got time"
"Girl, you're acting like you're ninety years old. You're still young as fuck"
"As fuck is pushing it"
"See, this is why we need to go to Luckie's little birthday function at the club. Scope the scenery out and find the love of your life"
Luckie was a "friend" Kameron met not too long ago. She's been talking to him, and he has a birthday coming up next weekend, and he invited both Giselle and Kameron to the club he will be celebrating at. Luckie doesn't hang around the best crowd. Giselle wasn't one to judge anyone, but she loved her life and would hate to lose it in the name of "turning up" for the night.
"If the love of my life is spending all of his free time in the club, he can stay right there. I don't want him"
"Damn, he can't have a little fun and enjoy his weekend letting loose with his homies?"
Giselle gives her another straight face through the phone screen
"Alright alright damn"
"I'll think about it though"
Kameron claps her hands, smiling and doing a little twerk on the other end of the phone. Giselle shakes her head at her antics.
—-
Today, the first graders were putting on a community helpers play after school. And the first graders' family and friends showed out. It was packed and so busy. Giselle loved when parents and families showed up for the children. It's great to know that so many of the children had a village. No matter if the play was roughly only about thirty minutes long. That's thirty minutes that they took time out of their busy day.
Giselle and the other first-grade teachers helped out around the cafeteria by either talking with parents and students or starting the clean-up process of arranging the cafeteria back to how it was.
Giselle had been pulled by two parents already. The parents thanked her for her hard work this school year, and for the part their child played in the play, or they just briefly asked how their child was doing. While talking to a student's parent, a small figure comes running up to Giselle, throwing their arms around her, hugging her tight. Giselle holds onto the small figure, smiling and trying to balance herself from the small but mighty force. She gives the parents a sympathetic look and mumbles a "sorry" for the conversation being interrupted. They smile and tell her it was ok and leave. Giselle looks down at the girl.
"Emery girl, you can't be running from me like that" a stern voice says
Giselle looks up and spots Emery's father. He's walking over, eyes trained on the little girl next to her.
"I saw Ms Bailey!"
The man's eyes trail over to Giselle. He raises an eyebrow at the woman. Giselle stretches a hand out for him to shake.
"Hi, I don't know if you remember, but we met last week. I'm Ms.Bailey, one of the other first grade teachers"
The man looks her up and down, smirking, taking her hand as he lifts it and brings it to his lips, placing a kiss on it. "Nice to meet ya"
"Oh!"
Caught off guard by the gesture, Giselle stares at the hand that he had just kissed. Emery's loud, uncontrollable giggles break her from the small trance. They both look down at the little girl.
"Ms.Bailey your so silly. That's not daddy, that's uncle Eli!"
She says animatedly and casually as if the woman was supposed to know.
"I'm sorry I–"
"Everything good?"
Another man walks up to them, and suddenly Giselle's eyes widen, and she snatches her hand back as if she's been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. The two men standing in front of her have the same face. One giving her a dimpled smile and the other staring at her with the straightest face ever.
"This is my daddy! Daddy say hi to Ms.Bailey. Ms.Bailey, their twins!"
The little girl jumps up and down, hugging her father and pointing between the two men. Giselle lets out a nervous chuckle, looking over to "Uncle Eli"
"Hmm I see. I thought you were who I met a few days ago"
"Ain't no problem. I'm Elias, Emery's uncle"
He gives her a wide, charming smile. Giselle smiles back at the man and gives him a polite nod.
—-
"It's packed to the brim in here"
Giselle and Kameron walk through the doors of Club Juke. Giselle had agreed to go out with Kameron to the club for Luckie's birthday. And boy was it packed. Outfit by Lil Baby and 21 Savage plays loudly from the speakers throughout the club. She could feel the bass thumping through her body.
"I swear! But this is good, we can look around and find you someone for the night. I know they're gonna be on you with this freakum dress you got on"
Kameron leans over and smacks Giselle on the ass lightly. She laughs and pushes the girl's hand away, pulling the dress down a bit. She decided on a maroon colored, tattered sweater backless dress, paired with some brown leather boot heels. And since the dress was a lot, she opted for a simple black bussdown for her hair and light makeup. It was April, so the weather in Mississippi wasn't bad. It was warm but not hot, and cool but not cold. The perfect weather for her to pull the dress out, and she did look fine as hell in it if she did say so herself.
Kameron takes Giselle's hand as they walk further into the club and towards the section where the celebration would be. Once they are over and in the section, Luckie comes over to them and pulls Kameron into a hug, making her hand fall to her sides.
"Wassup Kam"
"Heyyy, you remember my bestie Giselle right?"
Luckie looks over at Giselle, giving her a head nod. Giselle gives him a small wave
"Hey, happy birthday"
"Thank you, I preciate it"
He holds a hand to his chest, showing his thanks. He looks behind him and nods at a man who's standing over by the railing of the section. The man walks over and stands next to him.
Giselle gives him a once. He was light-skinned, tall, athletic build with a low cut short fade and trimmed goatee. His tattoos on both arms are visible through the sleeveless, simple black graphic t-shirt, a pair of light colored jeans, and a pair of air forces. The chains around his neck and wrist watches and bracelets around both wrists. Giselle wasn't too much into light brights, but this one did catch her attention a little.
"This my homie Mac, Mac, this is Giselle, Kameron's friend"
Mac smiles and reaches a hand out to shake Giselle's hand.
Giselle and Kameron spend the night dancing with each other and eventually split up once Kameron is pulled away by Luckie, which makes Mac pull Giselle to the side.
Giselle didn't mind it because again, Mac was fine, so she was willing to have him entertain her tonight at the club. After throwing it back on Mac for two songs. They take their conversation to the sofa that's in the section.
"You having fun?"
Mac says, leaning over. Giselle shrugs her shoulders, sipping on a mixed drink.
"So far so good"
Mac nods. He looks over her body, licking his lips slightly.
"You look good as fuck"
"Thanks" Giselle gives the man a small smile
"So—" Mac is cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and silences the call
"You work at the schoolhouse with Kam?"
"Yup, first grade teacher just like her"
He nods his head
"That's what's up. Education where the money at"
Giselle pauses mid-drink as she eyes Mac. He tries to hide the smirk on his face by rubbing a hand down his chin.
"You think you're funny, huh?"
"A lil bit"
They both let out a small chuckle.
From the corner of her eyes, Giselle can see that a new group of men has moved into the section.
"Section getting a lil crowded ain't it?"
She says out loud, but more to herself. Getting a little antsy from just how crowded the section was starting to get. Mac looks up to where she's looking.
"Oh, that's the SmokeStack twins and a few of their people. They own the club,they cool people too"
"SmokeStack?"
Just then, the crowd of people spreads out, and then both of the men she had met a few weeks ago come into view. Emery's dad and uncle. She watches as they both take turns dapping up Luckie.
Giselle couldn't tell the twins apart from her first encounter, but as she watched them walk through the crowd, she could tell, clear as day, who was who. They both commanded the room. But whereas Elias is smiling and joking, bringing everyone into the conversation. Elijah strides along quietly and nods at others. Giselle was unable to take her eyes off his smooth demeanor. It didn't help that he looked good, too. The dark denim jean jacket and bottoms to match with a fresh white tee underneath fit his body well. The diamond cuban link chain and watch to match shine brightly in the dim club. It was simple compared to all the jewelry Mac and the others were wearing tonight. Giselle liked simplicity.
They both walk further into the section, but not before stopping right in front of Giselle and Mac. Elijah doesn't say anything; he turns his head towards Giselle and Mac, but with the dark shades covering his eyes, she's not sure if his attention is on her or Mac. But then he daps up Mac.
"Waddup Smoke"
"Sup" Elijah says
Elias takes the toothpick that's hanging from his mouth as his eyes roam Giselle's body before moving up to her face. Giselle shifts in her seat as she plays with the end of her strands out of nerves.
"I know this ain't Ms.Bailey"
Giselle looks up, giving out a sheepish smile
"Guilty"
Elias grins widely. His dimples are on full display
"You with him?" He says, gesturing towards Mac
"Actually, I—"
"C'mon Stack" Elijah says, cutting Giselle off mid sentence. Elias, or Stack gives a little nod before walking off with his brother.
"Rude ass" Giselle mumbles under her breath
Mac looks at her and laughs
"I wouldn't take it personally. That's just how Smoke is"
Giselle hums in response
"You know the twins?"
"No, well, not personally. His daughter goes to the school I work at"
"Smoke's little girl?"
"Yeah, I guess if that's what you call him"
They change the subject and dive into a different conversation. Mac flirts with her, and she responds to it. But when his phone goes off for the third time since they've been sitting together, Giselle gets a little annoyed. Mac pulls out his phone again, declining the call but mutes the phone this time.
"My fault, it's my baby mama calling me"
Baby mama? Giselle didn't have anything against baby mamas or baby daddies, but she most definitely didn't like dealing with them. She knew exactly how things could get when children were involved.
"Are you not going to answer it?"
"Nah, I'm chilling with you. Besides, it probably ain't even about my son. She be on bs"
"Mmh, how old is your son?"
"He just turned two"
A baby mama with a child that just turned two, and she keeps blowing up his phone? Yeah no. Giselle thinks to herself
"Hmm interesting"
He lets out a light chuckle, shaking his head
"Nah, I know what you thinking. It ain't even like that. We ain't together forreal. I hate that bitch"
Giselle's eyes widen
"Even more interesting"
His phone vibrates nonstop this time, and he pulls it out along with a heavy sigh. He tells Giselle he'll be right back. Giselle sips her drink with a roll of her eyes. Kameron walks over, lifting a questioning brow.
"I saw that eye roll. You good sexy?"
"I'm not feeling Mac"
"Aw why what happened?"
"First off, you didn't tell me he was somebody's baby daddy"
"He is?" She says, looking up towards the ceiling as if to recall if she knew the information or not.
"I didn't know that. This is like my second or third time meeting him tho"
"Well, yeah, he has a baby mama who has been blowing up his phone this whole time, and the baby? Just turned two"
Kameron's eyes widen
"Please don't tell me he told you he hates her?"
Giselle raises an eyebrow at her friend. Kameron blows out a breath and hangs her head in defeat.
"Dammit Mac"
It was simple. It's always the men who swear up and down that they "Hate their baby mama" that's still sleeping with them. And then with her blowing his phone up, but him saying it was "nothing"? Yeah right.
"Exactly, but it's whatever. It's getting a little crowded in here. I'm going to step outside real quick"
"K, I'll come with"
Kameron gets up following Giselle's lead
"No you don't have to. Go back over there with your man"
"Saying my man is crazy"
Giselle laughs
"I'll be fine, there's hella security outside too"
Kameron nods and watches Giselle as she walks away. Giselle walks through the crowd that's in the section and down the steps. Walking out of the door on the side of the building, she spots a few security guards huddled up in conversation with one another and laughing. She takes a deep breath of the fresh air. Going to her left, she stops in her tracks at the figure that's leaning against the brick wall.
"Ain't no way.."
Elijah, Smoke as they call him, casually pulls a drag of his blunt as he looks over towards her. Giselle pulls out her phone and ignores his stare. She had already set her mind on not dealing with the man. Not like he probably cared anyway, but she didn't even want to be around him if he was going to keep being rude.
"You smoke?" He holds out his blunt towards her
Giselle doesn't say anything. She doesn't look up from her phone right away, giving it a few seconds before she does. She puts a hand to her chest, feigning shock.
"Oh, are you talking to me? I didn't think you were capable of holding a conversation without being rude"
"Thought maybe that's why you came out here" he says, completely ignoring what she said.
Giselle eyes the substance in his hand, contemplating whether she should or not. It wasn't like she had to be friendly with him. It was just a little smoke.
He keeps the blunt angle out and towards her. After a few seconds, she grabs it from his hand and puts it to her lips. Elijah watches behind his shades as she wraps her glossy lips around the blunt, taking a puff.
"Ain't you like in a sworn commitment to the dare program or sum? You ain't pose to be doin' drugs" his thick southern drawl coming out
Startled by the comment, Giselle choked on the smoke, making her cough. Did he not ask if I wanted a puff? She thinks to herself.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm jus' sayin'," he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, taking the blunt from her, "The dare program visits schools all the time..kinda hypocritical to do the opposite of what you preachin' outside of school settings"
Giselle nods her head, "You just said it outside of school settings. Besides.." She rubs her lips together to rub in the gloss she had left on her lips evenly. "Let me know how you feel about that after you deal with twenty-seven first graders for eight hours and one hundred and eighty-seven days."
"Nah, you got it" he says, passing the blunt back her way. His lips twitched, but a smile didn't appear.
It falls silent between the two as they pass it to each other a few more times. Giselle declines the last rotation, already feeling the effect of the drugs settling in. Elijah drops the blunt onto the pavement and stomps it out.
"Elijah" he nods towards Giselle. She looks over at him, "What, no Smoke?"
"I feel like anyone round my baby girl that works at her school shouldn't know that name"
Giselle nods her head in agreement. "Hmm..right, well I'm—"
"Ms.Bailey" he cuts her off
"Giselle actually"
He finally takes the dark shades off his face. "I like Ms.Bailey" he says as he looks over at her. Eyes low and clouded.
Giselle twists her lips to the side, trying to fight the smile that was forming on her lips.
"You know, I'm actually surprised you even know my name. You were a little rude the first two times we interacted"
He shrugs his shoulders, "Emery talks about ya all the time," and he pushes his body off the wall. Walking a little bit closer to Giselle, which makes Giselle suck in a breath. She could smell the scent of his cologne. The scent of sandalwood mixed with weed hits her nostrils, sending goosebumps down her spine.
Elijah gives her one last look as he takes her in from head to toe. She's stuck in a trance. His eyes lock her into place as he looks into her eyes, "Nice to put a face to the name" and his shades are back on his face as he walks past her and into the club.
Giselle lets out an exasperated breath. A wave of warmth travels through her body. The same feeling she would get when she's sipping on her peppermint tea. She wasn't sure if it was the blunt or the way he looked at her.
"Lord..." Giselle looks up to the sky, "If you can hear me, please keep that man away from me." She shakes her head. "Because he's dangerous" she whispers the last part as she heads inside as well.
author’s note: requests are open! there’s no use of Y/N. a slight angst. You do not have my consent to copy and paste my stories onto other platforms as your own.
Part 2
She tries to ignore those haunting shallow white eyes that tracking her every move through the dimly lit street.
Tries not to look.
But the short hairs on the back of her neck stand like soliders as her stomach turns in knots like Stack was twisting a knife in a her side but maybe that may feel lot painless than this…
every time underneath his touch she tells herself she’s done for… this is it.. that she die in the hands of the man i love so deeply yet she opens her eyes again into another morning and looks to her empty bedside, dreading to start again.
Her hands wave through the cold light pink sheets like the cold water of a pond searching for him, but it was almost like he was never here.. like last night never happened.. like it was all a dream she refused to wake from.
But he’s here again. Watching her like prey as she walks through the foggy streets into a crowded bar. Like an invisible shield, following her with a safe distance but still enough to draw the impression that she’s alone.
She moves her way through the crowd of intoxicated people and finds a stool at the tail end of the bar, hoping to be unnoticed by lingering eyes. Only searching for white ones she craved. Looking to escaping the stress, ordering a-
“Soft Bourbon River on the rocks” a deep, familiar voice rings through her ears as her shoulders relax to the sound.
She looks up as he swiftly slips behind her, gently placing a hand on her lower back, taking a seat next her.
“I hear that it’s a house favorite, please make that 2 for me and the lady” he replied, giving the waiter a small nod. Their eyes met for the first time tonight and the warm notes of gin and cinnamon of his cologne fills her nose.
“you’re a little late” she manages to sneak out under her breath, though she is sure he can hear her. She is confident that he can hear her breath if he wanted to.
“Ouch” he jokes, he flashes his famous smirk that as killed thousands. His right hand reaches over his chest where his still heart should be. “I do apologize for keeping a pretty thing like you waiting,” he leans forward and offers his hand, desiring to feel her warm soft one.
She takes a glance at his hand and slowly slipping her hands into his, where he carefully bringing it to his soft plump lips. Her breath is caught in her throat again, her eyes watching him carefully, taking in every moment of his appearance, like it the last time.
Can’t we stay like this forever
“You keep staring at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?” She inquires.
“Like you don’t know if you should stop.” He says, slowly guiding both of their hands onto the surface of the table.
“Unfortunately, I can say the same for you, each day you become later and later, and the bed..” she lets her hand slips from his, as a sour taste rushes through her mouth.
His smile faded — just slightly.
“ The bed feels so hollow as if you were never there and I’m not sure if I can live a life like that anymore, Elias” She admits.
He looks down, disappointed that his actions made her feel this way. His name rolls off your tongue so smoothly like warm butter on bread. His heart aches to expect this to be the last time he hears it from you.
“ i see..” he trails off.
She looks down at the menu, pretending to search for the next item as the waiter comes back with their drinks
“Is there anything I can start you with?” The waiter asks as they places their drinks down, and quickly pulls their notepad out with pen ready.
“No,” she politely declines, “just the drinks for now..”
The waiter walks off to service the another table and her eyes met Stack’s low ones again.
“If I had my way, things wouldn’t be like this. Truly, it does pain me to leave your bed in the morning, but I know that it was for the best-“ he addressed.
“If I had it my way, I would join you. To walk the night with you. I’ll do it over and over again if it means not leaving your side.” She buds in, not taking another excuse from him.
Stack looks down at his drink, clears his throat, toying with the tooth pick in between his fingers as his leg repeatedly bounces up and down, feeling a little unease for once. He swiftly takes a swig of his drink, trying to cover the anxiety slowly creeping over his shoulder.
And now, the tension feels worse. Every breath she takes feels like the last one as if she’s gonna burst any minute.
“I would want that too.. please believe me-“ Stack starts, leaning forward to try to close the space but she takes a deep breath moving back slightly causing Stack to stop.
“Then why have we waited so long, this distance is killing me, i grow impatient, restless, i never wanted nothing more-“ she admits, her eyes are glossy.
“what is wrong with what we have right now, this life- i-“ he looks around, searching for an answer, but his eyes eventually land on yours.
He screwed his chair closer to hers side, and he rest his tender hands on her knee. He leans close into he ear and she feel the heat radiating off his body as the tension grows stronger.
Her eyes meet his completely vulnerable to whatever reality unfolds behind his words.
“ this life is never ending pain and your presence makes it painless… i’ve considered what you’re asking a long time ago, but I felt selfish cause I will be taking a lot more from you than just blood.” He takes a breath, “your friends, family, the life you built for yourself, I haven’t had any of that for a long time and you are the only thing of a warm peaceful life I have. You’re the only thing that makes this bearable. I don’t want to change you. I love you for exactly who you are, and I will be damned if anything happens to you. I’m trying not to ruin you… You’re making that difficult”
“That’s not fair,” you utter.
Your voice didn’t sound like yours. Too quiet. Too steady.
“Fair?” he repeated, almost amused.
“You don’t get to protect me from what I want.” She sternly states.
He should’ve let go a long time ago. Should’ve treated this as a one night but he refused.
He’s so hard headed.
He dug himself too deep and should’ve created distance. Given her space to breathe. To think a little longer about this decision.
He didn’t. His hand was still wrapped around here.
Loose.
But not leaving.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“Why?” Her eyebrows scrunched up.
His grip on her hand tightens. “Because I want to hear you mean it.” He says softly.
“Elias Moore, I am deeply in love with you and I am ready to start forever with you, tonight.” She admits.
He leans in slowly, she joins in as their lips slip in each other, his hand slides up her neck feeling her pulse under his fingertips. His fangs slightly graze her bottom lip and she softly moans for only for his ears to hear.
“Then you’re smarter than I thought… to do this in public, wearing this dress you know i grow weak for, those eyes are so mischievous.” He smiles. “if we are going to do this, let’s do this the right way, but first,” he raises his glass.
“A drink?” She asks, confused by the sudden request.
“To more life, to endless laughter, to endless sunsets, to warm sheets,” he lightly laughs and takes the chance to look to her, “to more life with the love of mine”
Stronger.
Like something is pulling them together and finally nothing else is more intoxicating.
warning: 18+ minors do not interact with this post, mention of blood, biting angst, tears, oral (female receiving), backshots
side note: request are open for short stories 
description: after a night of drinking, tonight is the night where Stack own up to his promise. Finally offering a life of eternity, but will she make it to the other side?
I also do not consent to my work being copied and paste it to other platforms/ being stolen 
His warm gigantic hands glides down my spine as he helps her take off her fitted dress.
Her breath hitched as her dress hits the floor with a soft thud and i feel his soft lips constantly peck at the skin on her shoulder near her neck..
The bedroom of his apartment being so dim and the only source of light is coming from the cinnamon candles Stack quickly lit to set the mood. Dark red rose petals scatter the hardwood floors with 2 glass of white wine waiting for the couple on the bedside table with a towel ready for any mistakes.
He mentioned alcohol helps with the pain.
A lacy pink lingerie underwear set is revealed to his eyes and he gently pulls her bra strap down her shoulder.
“You are so beautiful” He utters, sprinkles kisses down her arm, finally landing a final kiss at her soft fingertips. His eyes flash white orbs once as he takes a glance at her but blinks them away as her hand slips from his soft grip. “So intoxicating”, flashing a charming smile, laced with mischief and desire in every word he utters.
Walking away, her eyes never leave his brown ones as she takes a seat on the soft bed sheets. Taking a short sip of the white wine, watching him undress in front of her.
Never gets old.
His muscles just glistening before her eyes, abs good enough to lick. She groan under my breath and tilts her head backwards as her back gently lands on the cold mattress but he quickly leans over her body, closing the gap between them.
The lion over the defenseless lamb
He slips the drink from her hand and takes a sip himself as he stands between her legs.
He takes a second to take a deep breath, sniffing the aroma of the room,. Her sweet blood fills his nose, along with the cinnamon scent of the candles. He starts drooling a bit as he takes her panties off and lifts her leg over his shoulder.
Her eyes capture his every move as he lick his lips, kneeling at the edge of the bed and takes a lick between her folds. A soft moan escape from her mouth involuntarily.
“Elias” She breathed .
I’m not going to survive this, she thought to herself.
He hums in response, continuing to make a mess eating,while simultaneously taking his time making sure to get every drop of her cream.
“ I wanna try something.” he calmly speaks make sure not to scare her and his white eyes dart to her face, trying to scan for any uncertainty.
She slowly nods, trusting him and feels a slight pinch shortly after.
He lightly bites the inside of her thigh with his fangs and a tad bit of blood draws.
His eyes close in pleasure as he slowly licks the blood off her skin.
He was right the alcohol does help. She barely felt anything. He was fully in control of everything making sure not to bite too deep.
“Feel good baby?” he question as he returns back to her fold beginning to eat again.
“Oh Elias..” she groans, at the mix of pleasure and pain like his own special cocktail he whipped up just for her. “More bites please,” she pleads as she fastly approaches her peak.
Stack slowly nods, slightly surprised by her desire so he takes another bite on the inner part of her thigh.
Then another.
Then another.
Then-
“Ah” she hisses as the sharp pain on the last one makes her jolt backwards a bit.
Stack quickly pulls away, head perks up, looking at her for confirmation that she’s fine..
“I-I sorry angel. I might have hit a vein but are you okay? I can stop-“ he excuses himself while quickly starting to get up but pause his motion as her soft hands glide his shoulders.
“Please don’t stop, i need it” she utters breathlessly as her eyes lower a little, giving the notion that she’s drunk off the feeling of ecstasy and a bit of alcohol.
He slowly nods and continues to lick her up and down more often than biting her.
Their fingers intertwined with one another, hers tightly gripping his but he is unfazed by the tension.
“Fuck Stack, i am going to cum- fuck- ahh please-“ she cried out, as the worm sensation coats her body as her pleas fill the room over the low music.
“Just let it all out, I’m right here to catch every drop” he promises her and boy did he fulfill it
Her orgasm washes over her for the first time as stack lands one final bite to her inner thigh.
She probably marked up badly down there, but she doesn’t care.
He quickly grabs a towel and pets dry the parts that he bit, making sure that they’re not bleeding out.
She takes deep breaths, coming down from her high though she does look up at him as he undo his pants.
She quickly set up, eager to please him next, but he puts his hand up, stopping her in her direction leading her face to be scrunched up in confusion.
“I can’t?-“ she questioned.
“not tonight, darling. I want tonight to be all about you” Stack said having such a comforting smile that quickly ease her nerves.
She lays back down and Stack lifts her other leg on his other shoulder, positioning himself at her entrance.
He slowly enters, giving her a moment to adjust to his size.
Her back slightly arches at the slight discomfort, but she melts into the bed as she finally gets comfortable. Giving him a quick nod for him to keep going.
He starts to pick up speed, going at pace she can keep up with whilst the bed creaks with every thrust. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he groans lowly, hiding his face in the crook of her neck.
Their moans fill the room, “fuck, im not going to last” he groans, he slows down a bit and lands a hard powerful thrust.
He quickly pulls out and toss her on all fours. He enters again and things pick up again, hitting all her spots, leaving her breathless with nothing to do but utter moans under her breath. She feels herself letting go again being completely consumed by the mind numbing sensations washing over her mind and body like a powerful wave of water.
As he was hitting it from the back, he grips those hips, sending blows to her back. Her arch deepens as she takes it, he leans forward taking her neck in his grip and his lips mets her neck feeling her pulse under his finger tips.
His mouth salivating at the thought, but he tries to snap out of the animal instinct before he hears,
“Elias please ,” she is going through it, hair disheveled, sweat beads start to roll down her face, feeling Stack move her hair to the other side of her neck.
He takes the hint, biting his lip hesitating slightly before leaning closer to her ear, whispering, “I love you darling, I will see you soon”
With that, his bite was so gentle. The high of sex, mixed with alcohol makes the pain more tolerable. She groans softly as he holds her closer, one hand cup her neck as blood starts to spill onto the bed, the other hand cupping her breast.
A single tear runs down his cheek as his venom swims through her veins as they both reached their peaks together.
she starts to feel a little lightheaded, “Elias” she breathes and starts to grow a little weak, her grip on his arm loosen.
He quickly pulls out and pulls away from her neck with all the strength that is pulling him to keep going.
He grabs the towel, holding it to her neck, applying pressure to stop the bleeding but it continues.
His breath is caught in his throat as he listens in on her heartbeats start to slow down.
“Babe” he utters, quickly gets under the covers with her holding her in his arms. “Hey.. hey i am right here. I am not going anywhere” his voice cracks as the tears start to pool in his eyes. Anger slowly starts to creep up through the tears.
As he did understand that she wanted this just as badly as he did, seeing her in this state was something he used to have nightmares about.
Hurting her.
Being the cause of her pain.
Him ruining her chance to have a future, have kids, getting old, all that taken away with one bite.
“Elias” her voice cuts the noise of his overthinking.
“Yes! Yes babe… I’m not leaving” Elias pleas, he lands a kiss in her forehead, shaking slightly, trying to keep himself composed, but the tears leak out.
The first time she’s seen elias cry.
Her vision gets blurry and hearing goes in and out as she is losing consciousness.
“I love you” she breathes out for only him to hear, a single tear runs down her cheek, as her eyes don’t close steering to the blurry stack and everything faded to black.
Let me know how you like it/ if you want part three etc..
Summary: A casual day at the mall turns into something far more calculated when Erik and Syn run into one of her old “friends.” Gio’s invitation to dinner seems harmless—at least to Syn. Erik sees it for exactly what it is. What follows is a slow, deliberate unraveling of tension at a candlelit table, where conversation flows on the surface while something far more intimate unfolds beneath it.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, public teasing and under-the-table "intimacy", possessive dynamics, humiliation, voyeuristic elements.
Lessons Still Thinking About It For Research Purposes Valentine’s Lessons
The mall was loud in the way weekends always were, full of movement and layered noise that never really settled. Music spilled out from storefronts in clashing rhythms, kids darted past in bursts of laughter, and conversations overlapped into a constant hum that filled every inch of space. The air smelled faintly of pretzels, perfume, and something fried. It was chaotic, but alive.
Syn walked beside Erik with a soft, easy smile on her face, a small shopping bag looped around her wrist. Every few steps, her fingers brushed against his like it was instinct, like she needed that quiet reassurance of contact even in a crowd this big.
“Do we need anything else?” she asked, glancing up at him, her voice light.
Erik shrugged, hands tucked into his pockets, moving through the crowd with the kind of ease that made space for him without him asking. “You the one with the list.”
“I didn’t have a list,” she laughed, the sound soft and warm. “I just wanted to get out the house.”
“Mm. So we just spendin’ money for fun.”
“Exactly.”
She bumped her shoulder into his lightly, playfully, and he let out a quiet huff of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to show he enjoyed it. His hand brushed hers again, this time lingering a second longer before he let it drop.
They moved past a group gathered near a sneaker store, turned the corner toward the food court, and that was when someone called her name.
“Syn?”
She paused mid-step, brows pulling together for a split second before her face lit up in recognition, bright and genuine. “Gio?”
He approached fast. Too fast.
Like he had been waiting for her to appear.
His smile stretched wide, eager, his eyes locked on her like the rest of the mall faded into the background. There was an energy to him that felt a little too sharp, a little too focused.
“Damn, I ain’t seen you in forever,” he said, closing the distance quickly and pulling her into a hug before she could fully react.
Syn laughed, surprised but still warm, always kind. “It’s been a minute. How you been?”
“Better now,” he said without missing a beat.
When he pulled back, he didn’t step away right away. His hands lingered just a second too long at her sides, his eyes moving over her like he was taking inventory. The smile stayed, but there was something underneath it now.
Erik stayed a step behind her.
Silent.
Watching.
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t step in. Just stood there, eyes steady, taking in everything Gio was doing and everything he wasn’t.
Gio still hadn’t acknowledged him.
“So what you been up to?” Gio asked, attention fixed on Syn like she was the only person in the space.
“Just work, life… you know,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then, remembering, she glanced back and reached for Erik’s hand, pulling him slightly forward. “This my boyfriend.”
Erik stepped into view fully now, his presence immediate even without movement. His expression stayed neutral, unreadable, but his eyes didn’t leave Gio’s face.
Gio nodded.
Quick. Dismissive.
“Yeah, that’s what’s up,” he said, like it was an afterthought, already turning his attention right back to Syn. “You look good though. Like… real good.”
Syn smiled, a little bashful, not catching the weight behind it. “Thank you.”
Erik’s jaw tightened just slightly.
It was small. Easy to miss.
But it was there.
Gio leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice like they were sharing something meant just for them, even with Erik standing right there.
“I actually just opened a spot downtown,” he said. “Restaurant. Real nice. You should come through tonight. I’ll take care of you.”
The way he said it made it clear.
This invitation wasn’t meant for two.
It hung in the air for a second too long.
Gio reached into his pocket, already pulling his phone out like this part was expected. “Lemme get your number, I’ll send you the address,” he said, holding it out toward her.
Syn didn’t think twice about it. She shifted her bag up her arm and took her own phone out, stepping just slightly closer as she read her number off. Her tone stayed light, casual, unaware of the weight Erik felt settle behind her.
Gio typed it in quickly, then sent a text to her phone. Syn’s screen lit up in her hand a second later.
“There,” he said, satisfied. “Now you got it.”
Syn smiled. “Okay, thank you.”
Behind her, Erik’s expression didn’t change.
But his eyes dropped briefly to the phone in Gio’s hand.
Then back to his face.
“We’ll be there.”
His voice was calm.
Smooth.
Certain.
Not loud, not aggressive, but final in a way that didn’t leave space for argument.
Syn turned her head toward him, surprised by how quickly he answered for her. “Oh—okay.”
Gio hesitated.
Just for a second.
The smile on his face tightened at the edges before he forced it back into place. “Yeah… yeah, that’s cool. Tonight then.”
But now he was looking at Erik too.
Really looking.
Erik nodded once, already done with the interaction, already bored with the energy Gio brought into the space.
Syn gave Gio another soft smile, still sweet, still unaware. “It was really good seeing you.”
“Yeah,” Gio said, but his tone had shifted, just slightly. His eyes flicked between them now, something unsettled creeping in where confidence had been a second ago. “You too.”
They walked away, folding back into the crowd as the noise of the mall swallowed the moment whole.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.
Syn adjusted the bag on her wrist, still smiling faintly, replaying the unexpected run-in in her head.
Erik stayed quiet.
But the silence wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Heavy with thought.
The way his hand came to rest at the small of her back wasn’t absentminded this time. It was firm. Grounded. Deliberate. His fingers spread slightly against her, guiding her forward through the crowd, keeping her close without needing to say a word.
His eyes moved once over his shoulder, brief but intentional.
Then forward again.
He had seen everything.
Every look.
Every word.
Every intention Gio hadn’t bothered to hide.
And he wasn’t about to ignore it.
The parking lot was quieter than the inside of the mall, but the noise still followed them out in pieces. Car doors slammed somewhere down the row. Distant music leaked from open windows. Engines turned over with a low hum while tires pressed against the pavement. The air felt cooler, but it didn’t settle anything.
Syn walked beside Erik with an untroubled ease, her shopping bag looped loosely around her wrist. A soft smile lingered on her lips, like the encounter still sat warm in her chest. Her demeanor hadn’t shifted. If anything, she seemed lighter, replaying the interaction without overthinking it.
Erik unlocked the car with a quiet click. He didn’t move right away. Instead, he paused, his attention fixed on her. He watched the curve of her smile, the absence of concern in her expression, the ease with which she stayed unaware.
Syn noticed the pause when she turned toward him. “What?” she asked, her tone gentle, her expression open.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was trying to understand how she didn’t see it.
“That nigga want you.”
The statement landed plain.
She blinked, more surprised by the certainty than the words. “Who?”
Erik let out a soft breath, something between disbelief and amusement. “Gio.”
Her response came quickly, instinctive. “No he don’t.”
There wasn’t any hesitation, no second thought. Just dismissal.
Erik held her gaze a second longer, like he was giving her a chance to reconsider. She didn’t.
He opened her car door anyway. “Aight.”
Syn slid into the passenger seat, smoothing her skirt as she settled in, still carrying that same lightness. He closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side at an unhurried pace.
Once inside, the car filled with a different kind of silence. It wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t easy either. It sat somewhere in between, shaped by what had been said and what hadn’t.
Syn buckled her seatbelt and turned slightly toward him. “He’s just my friend. We used to work together.”
Erik started the engine, one hand steady on the wheel while the other adjusted the mirror. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s just a nigga that want you.”
She laughed softly, brushing it off. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being accurate.”
She leaned back into her seat, still amused. “You jealous?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just pulled out of the parking space, movements smooth, controlled.
“Should I be?” he asked after a moment.
Syn turned her head, studying his profile more closely. “No.”
“Then I’m not.”
The calm in his voice made her pause.
It wasn’t defensive. Wasn’t dismissive. Just steady. Too steady.
She watched him for another second, then shook her head lightly. “You don’t even know him.”
“I know his type.”
She shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “And what type is that?”
Erik glanced at her once, quick but sharp. “The kind that ignore a nigga standin’ right there while he talkin’ to somebody else’s girl.”
Her instinct to respond stalled.
She thought about it.
Just briefly.
The hug.
The way Gio hadn’t really acknowledged Erik.
The way the conversation centered around her.
Then she shrugged it off. “He was just excited to see me.”
Erik let out a low hum, not agreeing, not arguing.
“She gave him her number,” he said, quieter now.
“I gave him my number so he could send the address,” she corrected, turning more fully toward him. “You said we’re going.”
“We are.”
The certainty in his voice made her blink.
She studied him more carefully now. There was something under his calm she hadn’t clocked at first. Not anger. Not irritation.
Intent.
“What are you planning?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.
He didn’t look at her. Just kept driving, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift.
“Nothin’.”
She didn’t believe that.
“You’re plotting.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You gon’ have fun tonight.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He glanced at her again, calm, knowing. “You trust me?”
She held his gaze for a second, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then relax.”
Syn positioned herself before the mirror, rotating incrementally as she assessed the drape and contour of her outfit with deliberate attention. Her movements suggested not vanity, but precision. The room itself held a controlled warmth, dimly illuminated, with low music diffusing through the space from Erik’s speaker. The atmosphere existed in a suspended state, neither fully silent nor actively conversational, but charged with a quiet presence that neither of them acknowledged directly.
“Do I look okay?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Erik did not respond immediately.
He remained leaning against the dresser, already dressed, his posture relaxed but his attention anything but. His gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, tracing her form with a level of focus that extended beyond casual observation. The silence itself functioned as a response, though not one she was willing to accept.
Syn caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled, a subtle awareness shaping her expression. “That’s not an answer.”
He pushed off the dresser and closed the distance between them with measured steps, his presence asserting itself before he spoke. “You know you look good.”
“I asked for confirmation,” she replied, turning fully to face him, her tone lightly challenging. “Not a vague statement.”
He exhaled softly and reached toward her, adjusting a minor detail at her waist. His fingers brushed against her with intention, lingering just long enough to register. “You look good,” he repeated, quieter now, the statement more grounded.
Syn tilted her head slightly, her attention sharpening as she studied him. “You’re already in a mood.”
“I’m not in a mood.”
“You are,” she countered, her tone light but assured. “You been like this since the mall.”
Erik maintained eye contact briefly before his gaze shifted downward, a controlled redirection that suggested restraint rather than disengagement. The tension in his jaw was minimal, but present.
Syn stepped forward, reducing the space between them until her hands rested lightly against his chest. The contact was familiar, grounding. “Be nice tonight,” she said, her voice carrying both playfulness and intent.
He raised a brow. “I’m always nice.”
She let out a quiet laugh. “No you’re not.”
“Depends on who I’m talkin’ to.”
“Erik,” she said, drawing out his name slightly, “he’s my friend.”
He looked down at her, his expression unchanged. “Yeah.”
She pressed her lips together, containing a smile. “You're not even trying to pretend.”
“Don’t need to.”
The response was not forceful, but it was fixed, indicating a position he had no intention of softening.
She stepped back just enough to retrieve her bag, though her attention remained on him. “You’re about to be on your bullshit all night, I can feel it.”
A restrained smirk formed at the corner of his mouth. “You said you trust me.”
“I do,” she replied immediately. “That doesn’t mean I trust your attitude.”
A low, brief laugh escaped him.
She slipped into her shoes, adjusting the strap before standing upright again. Her tone softened slightly. “Just… behave.”
He reached for his keys, rotating them once around his finger in a small, habitual motion. “I will.”
Syn narrowed her eyes, assessing him with the same scrutiny he had applied to her earlier. “That sounded like a lie.”
“It wasn’t.”
She remained unconvinced but chose not to pursue it further.
The restaurant was situated in a quieter section of downtown, its exterior understated but deliberate. Warm amber light spilled outward from its windows, pooling onto the sidewalk in a way that suggested invitation without spectacle. The design did not rely on excess. It relied on control.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately.
The lighting was low, calibrated to soften edges and draw attention inward. Music played at a restrained volume, and the ambient sounds of dining, glass, cutlery, and muted conversation merged into a consistent, unobtrusive background. The space encouraged proximity. It encouraged lowered voices, sustained eye contact, and the illusion of privacy.
Syn entered first, her expression opening into visible appreciation. “Oh, this is nice,” she said, her tone genuine.
Erik followed behind her at a slower pace, his attention moving analytically through the room. Where she responded emotionally, he evaluated structurally.
He registered the lighting design.
The spacing between tables.
The intentional narrowing of personal space.
The way the environment facilitated intimacy without explicitly announcing it.
And then—
The corner booth.
Positioned with slight separation from the surrounding tables.
Isolated, but not entirely removed.
Candles already lit.
Two seats aligned on one side.
A single seat across.
The arrangement was not incidental.
It was constructed.
Purposefully.
He said nothing.
But he understood it.
Gio emerged from the back moments later, his expression immediately brightening upon seeing Syn. The reaction was immediate and unfiltered. “There you are,” he said, approaching with a pace that bordered on urgency.
His attention was fixed on her.
Then shifted.
Briefly.
To Erik.
The adjustment was minimal, but perceptible.
“Oh—yeah, you came,” Gio added, attempting a casual tone that did not fully stabilize. His posture recalibrated in real time.
Erik gave a small nod. “Told you we would.”
The response was controlled, direct, and complete.
Syn stepped slightly forward, her attention still warm. “This place is really nice, Gio.”
He visibly relaxed, his focus returning to her with immediacy. “I’m glad you like it. I've been workin’ on it for a minute.”
“It shows.”
“Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the back. “I got a table set up.”
Erik’s gaze returned once more to the booth before they approached it, confirming what he had already deduced.
This was not coincidental.
It was prepared.
Syn slid into the inside seat without hesitation, selecting comfort over awareness of implication.
Erik followed, positioning himself beside her.
Closer than necessary.
Deliberately so.
The contact between them, subtle but constant, established a boundary without verbalizing it.
Gio paused briefly before taking the seat across from them. The hesitation, though brief, carried significance.
The table felt smaller than its dimensions suggested.
The candles flickered steadily.
The atmosphere condensed.
Anticipation layered with discomfort.
An unspoken tension threading through each of them in different ways.
And in that contained space—
Dinner for three began.
The initial moments settled into a rhythm that appeared structured on the surface but remained unsettled underneath, like something carefully arranged that hadn’t quite locked into place. Menus circulated, water was poured, and small talk began where it was expected to begin, yet the balance of the table had already shifted before a single order was placed. The change was subtle, carried in posture, attention, and the way each of them occupied the space.
Gio leaned forward slightly, directing his attention toward Syn with an ease that felt practiced rather than spontaneous. “So how long you been back in the city?” he asked, his tone light, conversational, but narrowed in focus.
Syn mirrored the posture without thinking, open and receptive in a way that came naturally to her. “A few months now,” she said, then glanced briefly toward Erik, intentionally looping him into the response. “We moved back a couple of months ago. It’s been nice, though. I missed it.”
Erik remained beside her, posture relaxed, one arm resting along the back of the booth behind her. From a distance, it read as casual. Up close, it functioned as something else entirely, a quiet placement that marked proximity and boundary without language.
Gio nodded, smiling. “Yeah, it suits you. You always been… I don’t know, you just fit here.” The compliment lingered a fraction too long.
Syn smiled politely. “Thank you.”
Erik didn’t speak, but his attention recalibrated, measured, and observant, tracking rather than reacting.
Gio continued, encouraged by the absence of resistance. “You still doin’ the same work? Or you switched it up?”
“I’m still in the same field,” she said. “I freelance now, though. Programming. I work from home, set my own schedule. It’s better, honestly. Less stressful.”
“That’s good,” he replied quickly. “You deserve that.” The phrasing carried a level of familiarity that exceeded the distance between them now.
Erik’s fingers tapped once against the edge of the table, a small, controlled motion that didn’t break his composure but marked an internal shift.
Syn didn’t notice. She leaned slightly forward, engaged in the rhythm of the exchange. “What about you? I didn’t even know you were opening a restaurant.”
Gio straightened as he stepped into something he could claim. “Yeah, it’s been in the works for a while. I wanted something that felt… personal, you know? Not just another spot.”
Syn nodded. “It definitely feels like that. You can tell.”
He held her gaze a beat longer than necessary. “I was actually hoping you’d come see it.” The implication was clear to Erik, though to Syn it registered as sincerity.
“I’m glad we did,” she said, genuinely. The inclusion of we landed unevenly across the table.
Gio’s expression flickered, then smoothed. “Yeah. Me too.”
Erik finally moved, minimally but with intent. His hand shifted from the back of the booth to rest lower along Syn’s side, fingers brushing lightly through the fabric before settling. The gesture didn’t call attention to itself, but it wasn’t accidental.
Syn’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, a brief disruption before it steadied again. She didn’t react outwardly or break the conversation, but she felt it.
Gio didn’t. “You always liked places like this, right?” he continued. “Lowkey, but still… nice.”
“Yeah,” Syn said, her voice steady despite the subtle change beneath the table. “I do.”
Erik’s gaze fixed on Gio, unbroken. Not confrontational in posture, but directive in effect.
Gio adjusted in his seat, the first visible sign of discomfort threading into his posture. His hand moved toward his glass, then paused, as if his body were recalibrating without fully understanding why.
“So,” he said, redirecting, “how’d y’all meet?” The question was framed as inclusive, but his attention stayed on Syn.
She smiled, glancing briefly at Erik before answering, that glance carrying more weight than she realized. “He used to come into this juice spot I was working at,” she said. “I was bartending there, and his gym was down the street. He kept showing up, so… that’s how we met.”
Erik’s thumb moved once along her side, slow and deliberate, reinforcing the earlier gesture.
Syn’s tone softened at the edge of her next sentence. “It just kind of… happened.”
Gio nodded, but his attention no longer held steady. It was split between her words and the subtle shifts in her tone and posture. “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes that’s how it goes.” The confidence that had structured his approach thinned, not gone, but compromised.
Erik leaned back slightly. His posture looked unchanged, but the space around him felt different. He wasn’t reacting; he was regulating the pace, the temperature, the direction.
The conversation continued in form, but its function had already transformed. Gio could feel it, even without language to define it. The balance he thought he had when they first sat down was no longer his.
The change came without warning. It moved the way Erik preferred to move, subtle and controlled, threaded beneath the surface where it couldn’t be immediately named, only felt. It wasn’t something that demanded attention. It was something that waited for it.
Above the table, nothing changed. Conversation continued in its expected rhythm, glasses clinking softly, plates arriving and being acknowledged with polite thanks. Gio spoke, Syn responded, and the structure of the evening held together well enough to pass for normal.
Underneath it, everything had already changed.
Erik adjusted his hand. What had started as a quiet placement at her side became something more deliberate, his fingers tracing a slow, absent path along the curve of her hip before continuing lower, slipping with quiet intention between the line of her thighs beneath the table. The movement was measured and exploratory, like he was mapping a response he already understood, confirming what he already knew, settling there with a certainty that removed any ambiguity about where his attention had shifted.
Her breath faltered. Just once. Quick enough to hide. Slow enough for him to register.
She kept her posture intact, shoulders relaxed, chin lifted slightly as she listened to Gio continue speaking about the restaurant, about suppliers, about long nights and early mornings. She nodded at the right moments, asked the right questions, her voice steady enough to pass. But her awareness had split. Part of her remained present at the table, anchored in conversation, in politeness, in the expectation of being seen and heard. The rest tracked every movement beneath it, every shift, every pause, every inch of intention.
Erik didn’t rush. There was no urgency in what he was doing, no need to escalate quickly. Control, for him, had never been about speed. It was about timing, about pressure applied in increments, about knowing exactly when to pause and when to continue, when to let anticipation do the work for him.
His thumb pressed lightly, then eased back. A test. A question. A reminder.
Syn shifted in her seat, subtle enough to pass as an adjustment, her legs crossing and uncrossing as she tried to ground herself in something neutral. Her fingers curled loosely around her glass, condensation cooling her palm and giving her something to focus on.
“Yeah, I mean, I wanted the space to feel intimate,” Gio was saying, leaning forward again. “Like somewhere people actually want to stay.”
“It does,” Syn replied, her voice steady though softer at the edges, like something underneath it was pulling at her control. “You did a really good job.”
Erik’s hand moved again. This time lower. Still controlled. Still unhurried. But no longer exploratory.
The contact was intentional now, his fingers settling with quiet certainty as if the space belonged to him, as if there had never been any question of that. Syn inhaled slowly through her nose, her lips pressing together for a fraction of a second before she relaxed them again. Her composure held, but it wasn’t effortless anymore. It required attention.
She didn’t look at him. She didn’t dare.
Erik leaned slightly closer, just enough that his voice didn’t have to travel far. He murmured, low enough that it didn’t carry beyond her. “He talkin’ to you.”
The irony sharpened everything. Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass.
Gio paused mid-sentence, something in her expression catching his attention now, something just slightly off from before. “You good?” he asked, curiosity threading into his tone.
Syn nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She smiled. It almost held.
Erik’s thumb moved again, slow and deliberate, unapologetic. Her composure fractured at the edges. She shifted again, this time less controlled, her knee brushing against Erik’s thigh before she stilled it. Her breathing had changed now, subtle but noticeable if someone was paying close enough attention.
Gio was. Not enough to understand, but enough to feel the disruption, enough to recognize that something in the dynamic had slipped out of his reach.
Erik, meanwhile, remained composed. His other hand rested on the table, fingers tapping once against the side of his glass before he lifted it, taking a slow sip like nothing about this moment required urgency, like everything was unfolding exactly as it should. He watched Gio over the rim, calm, unbothered, in control.
Syn tried to follow the conversation, but it slipped in and out of focus, words losing shape as sensation pulled her attention elsewhere. She nodded when it seemed appropriate, responded when she could, her voice quieter now, threaded with something she couldn’t fully suppress. Her fingers tightened, then loosened, then tightened again.
Gio shifted in his seat once more, discomfort building in ways he couldn’t articulate. His gaze moved between them more frequently now, searching for something he couldn’t quite identify, trying to locate the source of the pressure closing in on him.
Erik leaned back slightly, his hand still where it was, still deliberate, still patient, still in control of the pace he had set. He didn’t need to rush the outcome. He was building it, layer by layer.
And across from them, Gio felt it. The shift. The imbalance. The quiet realization settling in his chest, slow and undeniable, that whatever space he thought he had at this table, whatever moment he believed belonged to him, had never really been his to begin with.
By the time the next round of conversation settled into place, the shift was no longer subtle. It had moved past implication, past suggestion, and rooted itself somewhere deeper, somewhere Syn couldn’t ignore even if she tried.
It lived in her body now.
Erik’s hand had settled with intention, no longer exploratory. It rested high on her thigh, the heat of his palm searing through the thin fabric of her dress. With a slowness that was pure torture, his fingers began to trace patterns, inching higher until his thumb was brushing against the damp lace of her panties. A shudder wracked her frame, so slight she hoped Gio wouldn't notice, but Erik felt it. He felt everything.
Above the table, everything still held.
Gio spoke, his voice a drone in the background, moving through talk of the restaurant, expansion, long-term plans that stretched beyond the space around them. His tone tried to remain confident and structured, but something underneath it had begun to thin, a subtle instability creeping in where certainty used to sit.
Kept her eyes where they were expected to be.
But her breath didn’t move the same anymore.
It came in uneven pulls now, controlled only by effort. Erik’s thumb pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit through the soaked material. A fresh wave of wetness flooded her pussy, coating her inner thighs. She was dripping, a slick, undeniable proof of her arousal that she knew Erik could feel. Each inhale felt measured. Each exhale slightly delayed, a soft hiss of air she couldn't quite suppress.
She shifted in her seat, a small adjustment meant to pass as comfort, but it only pushed Erik’s hand more firmly against her core. Her body was reacting faster than she could manage it.
Her fingers found the edge of the table.
Gripped it.
Loosened.
Then tightened again as Erik deftly hooked the fabric of her panties aside. His bare fingers met her slick, swollen folds for the first time, and Syn had to bite down on her lip to stop the gasp that threatened to escape. The sensation was electric. He wasn’t testing anymore; he was claiming.
Erik didn’t look at her.
Didn’t need to.
His focus remained outward, posture relaxed, one hand steady around his glass as he lifted it for another slow sip. From the outside, he appeared composed. Detached. Almost uninterested in anything beyond the conversation.
Underneath it, he was precise.
Deliberate.
Fully aware.
He slid one long finger through her wetness, coating it before slowly sinking it deep inside her tight, clenching heat. Syn’s back went rigid. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the table. He began to move it, a slow, maddening rhythm of in and out, curling slightly to brush that sensitive spot inside her that made her vision swim.
Syn’s breath stuttered again, a soft, broken sound.
“Everything good?” Gio asked again, watching her more closely now, something in his tone beginning to change.
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “I’m good.”
Her voice betrayed her.
Softer.
Thicker with a pleasure she was fighting to contain.
Erik added a second finger, stretching her, filling her. The stretch was exquisite, a delicious pressure that built in her stomach. He pumped them in and out, his pace never faltering, a steady, confident rhythm that was utterly at odds with the chaos he was creating inside her.
She reached for her glass again, lifting it to her lips, not because she needed it, but because it gave her something to do. Something to hold. Her fingers weren’t as steady as before. The ice clinked against the side, a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the haze of her senses.
Erik leaned in then, just slightly, just enough to close the distance without making it visible to anyone else. His lips brushed near her ear, voice low and cocky, meant only for her. “Look at you… can’t even sit still and he still don’t know why.”
And it made everything worse. His thumb found her clit again, bare now, and began to rub in tight, relentless circles in time with the thrust of his fingers.
Syn’s lips parted, a quiet breath slipping out before she could stop it. It was almost a moan. She set her glass down with careful precision, like control could be rebuilt through small actions. Her hips tilted instinctively, a silent, desperate plea for more.
Across from them, Gio shifted again.
Now he knew something had changed.
Not what.
But enough to feel it.
Enough to recognize that the space wasn’t sitting the way it had before.
Syn crossed her legs, then uncrossed them again, her body searching for a position that felt neutral and finding none. She lifted a hand briefly, fanning herself as if the air had grown warmer, though the heat was all internal, a fire stoked by Erik’s skilled touch. A sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. A low, quiet laugh slipped from Erik under his breath, the sound meant only for her, edged with cocky amusement.
“You sure you good?” Gio pressed, his tone now threaded with uncertainty.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, offering a smile that didn’t quite settle into place.
She bit her lip briefly, catching a whimper before it could slip further, but the gesture only made the shift more visible. Her eyes were glazed, her pupils blown wide with lust.
Erik watched him now.
Directly.
Calm.
Unmoved.
A slow, evil smirk played on his lips as he watched Gio’s confusion. His other hand rested easily on the table, fingers tapping once before going still again, like nothing about this moment required urgency, like everything was unfolding exactly as intended. He curled his fingers inside Syn again, stroking that spot with expert precision, and her whole body trembled.
Syn tried to follow the conversation as it moved forward, but it slipped in and out of reach, words losing clarity as her focus fractured. The only thing she could truly focus on was the wet, obscene sound of Erik’s fingers plunging into her dripping cunt, a sound she prayed was too quiet for anyone but her to hear. She answered when she could, her voice softer now, threaded with a distraction she couldn’t fully hide.
“It’s… it’s nice,” she said, her words spacing out slightly as Erik’s thumb pressed harder, pushing her closer to the edge.
Her grip tightened again at the edge of the table.
Then loosened.
Then tightened again as her orgasm crashed through her. It was all she could do not to cry out. Her thighs clamped around Erik’s hand, trapping him there as her pussy pulsed and clenched, milking his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. A soft, strangled moan escaped her lips, disguised as a cough.
Erik didn’t rush.
Didn’t stop.
He worked her through it, his fingers and thumb never ceasing until she was a boneless, quivering mess beside him. He withdrew slowly, letting the absence register, then brought his hand to his mouth and, without breaking eye contact with her, licked his fingers clean.
That was the confirmation.
Gio leaned back, the movement slow and almost automatic, like his body needed distance before his mind could process what it was seeing. His eyes dropped to Erik’s hand, tracked the deliberate motion, then lifted back to Syn.
Her cheeks were flushed.
Her lips parted.
Her breathing heavy, uneven, and impossible to hide now.
It all aligned at once.
The way she’d been shifting.
The breaks in her voice.
The distracted answers.
He’d started to piece it together a minute ago.
Now there was no doubt.
His mouth fell open slightly, words catching somewhere behind his teeth and refusing to come out. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. All he could do was sit there, eyes moving between them, watching the moment unfold with a stunned, helpless clarity.
Syn looked flustered. Unsteady.
Erik looked calm. Untouched.
That contrast locked Gio in place.
He sank further into the booth, shoulders pressing back, one hand lifting like he might say something, interrupt, do anything at all, but it stalled halfway and dropped. He had nothing.
Nothing to say.
Nothing to do.
The realization settled heavy in his chest as he stared, silent and fixed, at something he couldn’t unsee.
And Erik knew it. He sat there, composed, steady, sipping his drink like nothing had changed.
While everything had.
The moment stretched longer than it should have. Not just a second, but several, long enough for the silence to settle into something tangible, something that pressed in on all three of them in different ways.
Gio was still staring, still trying to reconcile what he had just seen with what he thought this night was supposed to be. His mind worked to catch up, to reframe, to deny it if possible, but the evidence had already settled too deeply.
Erik didn’t rush it. He didn’t look away. If anything, he settled further into the moment, like he owned it, like he had created it and was now letting it breathe.
Then, almost casually, he leaned in. Close enough for it to read as natural. Close enough for it to mean something else entirely.
His lips brushed against Syn’s temple, soft and slow, possessive in a way that didn’t need to be announced to be understood. The touch lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. Just enough.
Syn let out a small sound before she could stop it. It slipped out of her, quiet and shaky, the kind of sound that carried more than it should have. She swallowed it immediately, pressing her lips together, trying to regain control, trying to gather herself back into something presentable.
But it was too late.
Gio froze completely.
His body locked in place, his eyes fixed on them like the movement had sealed everything he had been trying not to understand. That small gesture, that sound, it connected everything all at once.
His expression didn’t break dramatically. It thinned. Something behind it gave way, like whatever confidence he had walked in with had nowhere left to stand.
“Yeah, I—” he started, but the words didn’t land. They fell apart before they could form.
He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter like posture alone could fix it, then immediately pushed back from the table like staying seated wasn’t an option anymore.
“I gotta… check on something,” he muttered.
The excuse came late. Unsteady. Already collapsing as he stood.
It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t controlled. It was fast. Too fast.
His knee knocked lightly against the table as he stepped away, the movement clumsy in a way that didn’t match the version of himself he had been presenting all night. He caught himself, straightened, then turned toward the back without giving either of them time to respond.
Syn watched him go, her body still catching up with itself, her breathing uneven, her composure piecing itself back together in fragments.
Erik didn’t. He didn’t need to watch. He already knew how this ended.
Gio moved quickly, one hand brushing down the front of his pants in a gesture that was supposed to be subtle but wasn’t. The movement lingered a second too long, his palm pressing over the obvious outline straining against the fabric, trying and failing to conceal it. The tension showed in the stiffness of his posture, in the way he angled himself as he walked. It wasn’t something he could hide, not really.
And Erik was paying attention.
Gio didn’t look back. He didn’t say anything else. He just disappeared toward the kitchen, like distance might restore something that had already been taken from him.
The table fell quiet after that. Not empty, just reset into something new.
Erik leaned back in his seat like nothing had changed at all, like the night had gone exactly how he expected it to. His fingers tapped once against the table, slow and controlled, the rhythm steady.
Then he glanced at Syn.
Finally.
A small look passed between them. Knowing. Certain. Unspoken, but understood.
“Finish your food,” he said calmly.
Like that was the only thing left to do.
Like, Gio had never been part of the night to begin with.
Like this had always been just the two of them.
The door slammed shut, the sound echoing the finality of the night. The second they were inside the apartment, Syn's careful composure shattered. Erik was on her before she could take a breath, his hands rough and demanding as he spun her around. His mouth crashed onto hers, a punishing, possessive kiss that tasted of victory and the wine he’d been sipping. He backed her up until her legs hit the plush arm of the couch, and with a firm push, he had her falling back onto the cushions.
“Thought you was slick, huh?” he growled, his voice a low rumble against her lips as he followed her down, his body covering hers. “Thought you could sit there and let that nigga flirt with you right in front of me?”
Before she could answer, he was moving, his hands hooking behind her knees. In one fluid, powerful motion, he folded her body in half, pressing her thighs flush against her stomach and pushing her knees toward her shoulders. The position was vulnerable, exposing, and it sent a jolt of pure anticipation straight to her core. Her dress was bunched around her waist, and he made quick work of her panties, ripping the flimsy lace with a sound that was more tear than fabric.
“Erik—” she started, but the word was stolen from her throat as he lowered his head.
He didn’t start slow. There was no teasing, no gentle build-up. He flattened his tongue and licked a broad, wet stripe from her puckered asshole all the way up to her throbbing clit. The sensation was so intense, so overwhelming, that her entire body bowed off the couch. A sharp cry tore from her lips.
“Nah, you don’t get to make noise yet,” he commanded, his voice muffled against her soaked flesh. He looked up at her, his dark eyes glinting with a dangerous light from between her legs. “You wanted to play games? Now we play mine. Hold your legs. Don’t you fuckin’ move.”
His command was absolute. Trembling, Syn reached down and hooked her arms behind her knees, pulling them tight against her chest. The position opened her completely, leaving every part of her slick, sensitive pussy at his mercy.
“Good girl,” he praised, and then he dove back in.
This time, his attack was focused. He wrapped his full lips around her clit and sucked, hard. At the same time, he slid two fingers into her dripping entrance, curling them instantly to find that spongy, sensitive spot deep inside. Syn’s world dissolved into a blinding haze of pleasure. Her mind went blank, her thoughts scattering like dust in the wind. All that existed was the relentless suction of his mouth, the expert curl of his fingers, and the filthy words he was mumbling against her.
“This what you wanted? For him to see you like this?” he taunted, his tongue flicking rapidly over her swollen bundle of nerves. “He couldn’t handle this pussy. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. Soakin’ my fuckin’ face.”
Her hips bucked, chasing the pleasure, but his free hand came down flat on her lower stomach, pinning her in place. The added pressure made everything more intense. She was a mess of whimpers and broken moans, her knuckles white where she gripped her own legs, fighting the overwhelming urge to let go and thrash.
“Stay still,” he warned again, his voice a dark promise. He increased the speed of his fingers, pumping them in and out with a wet, obscene rhythm that filled the room. The sound was debauched, beautiful, and it only made her wetter. She could feel her arousal dripping down the crack of her ass, pooling on the leather couch beneath her.
He was a man possessed, his movements precise and devastating. He knew her body better than she did, knew how to make her fall apart. He alternated between sucking her clit and fucking her with his tongue, lapping at her entrance like a man starving.
“Look at you,” he growled, pulling back for just a second to admire his handiwork. Her pussy was glistening, puffy and red from his attention. He spat on it, a dirty, possessive gesture, before diving back in. “This is my pussy. You hear me? Mine.”
That was it. That word. Mine. It was the trigger.
Her orgasm flowed through her with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shattering thing that stole her breath and her sight. Her entire body seized, a silent scream on her lips as her pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers. Wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her, leaving her a quivering, boneless mess in his hands.
Through the haze, she felt him shift. She was still floating, lost in the aftershocks, when she heard the faint click of her phone camera. She was too weak to process it, too blissed out to care. He kept his mouth on her, lapping gently at her over-sensitive clit, drawing out her pleasure until she was whimpering from the overstimulation.
Only then did he pull away, rising over her. He looked like a god, his face slick with her cum, his chest heaving with exertion and triumph. He brought his fingers, coated in her essence, to her lips.
“Taste that,” he ordered. “That’s what you taste like when you’re mine.”
She obeyed, her tongue darting out to taste herself on his skin. It was musky, sweet, and utterly intoxicating. He watched her, his gaze predatory and satisfied.
Then he picked up her phone.
Syn’s foggy brain tried to catch up. “Erik, what are you—”
He just smirked, that same evil smirk he’d given Gio at the restaurant. His thumb moved with practiced ease across the screen. She watched, horrified and electrified, as he pulled up Gio’s contact and hit send. The video, a short, explicit clip of her folded in half, legs spread, while Erik’s head was buried between her thighs, was gone.
He tossed the phone onto the cushion beside her head. It landed with a soft thud.
“Now he knows,” Erik said, his voice low and final. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “He knows who this pussy belongs to.”
The golden gleam of the Oscar statuette pulsed even brighter under the streetlights as the car glided down the road.
Inside the vehicle, the silence was filled only by the sound of kisses, Michael’s heavy breathing, and the rustle of his expensive tuxedo fabric against your silk dress. Thankfully, the car’s partition made it impossible for the driver to see what you two were doing.
He had won. The whole world had watched Michael B. Jordan walk up that stage, but only you knew how much he had trembled before hearing his own name. You saw how he had braced himself for loss, and how his soul seemed to leave and return to his body in the seconds after he was announced the winner.
It had been incredible to witness the process how Michael had dedicated himself to interpreting Smoke and Stack, the sleepless nights spent studying, and the long, deep conversations with Ryan.
That victory was more than deserved.
You were both drunk, not just from the expensive whiskeys at the after party, but from sheer adrenaline and happiness. When the car pulled up in front of your house, Michael could barely coordinate his feet. He held the statuette in one hand as if it were a newborn, while the other was wrapped firmly around your waist.
"I won... I can't believe it," he whispered against your neck as you walked through the yard toward the front door. "I really won this shit!" he suddenly shouted, starting to jump for joy, pulling you with him.
"You won, Mike. And you’re almost dropping it on the floor!," you laughed, trying to keep your balance and grabbing his wrist while he planted messy, damp kisses on your shoulder.
The moment the door opened, chaos ensued. Michael kicked it shut with his foot but accidentally hit the doorframe, making you both laugh even harder. With all the care in the world, he placed the statuette on a shelf in the living room and lunged toward you. His hands, large and warm, cupped your face with urgency.
"The way this dress makes you look even more beautiful is so unfair," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I’ve been struggling all day thinking about how much I wanted to fuck you."
"We have the whole night for that, don't we?" Your hands were already pulling at his tie, undoing the knot in a hurry.
"The whole night."
He kissed you with a hunger that left you breathless, a tangle of teeth, tongues, and the lingering taste of alcohol. His hands moved down to the zipper of your dress, struggling against the fine fabric with impaired motor skills but pure determination.
"Mike, wait, we’re going to fall," you managed between a moan and a laugh as he tripped over his own feet while trying to lead you toward the bedroom.
He managed to shed his jacket, tossing it somewhere in the hallway, while you tugged at his white shirt, popping buttons as you pulled it open. His skin was hot, his chest muscles defined and inviting. When you finally reached the bedroom, moonlight flooded the space, illuminating everything from floor to ceiling.
Michael laid you onto the sheets with a tenderness that was surprising for someone who could barely walk straight minutes before. He knelt between your legs, still in his trousers, watching you with an adoration that went far beyond physical desire.
"Thank you for being with me. Thank you for supporting me when I was being an idiot and doubting myself. Thank you for letting me be part of your life." he murmured, his kisses alternating between your neck and your bare breasts. "God, I’m the luckiest man in the world."
You pushed him back, making him lie on his back, and straddled him, grinding slowly.
"I love you so much."
You left a trail of kisses down his cheeks, his neck, and his chest where you gave him a light, playful bite, down to his waist. You unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers and underwear down while keeping eye contact.
He sprang free, hard and aching for you.
"I’ll always be here to remind you of the incredible man you are, even when you forget it."
You coated your hand and began to stroke him, moving from tip to base without any rush.
"Now, let me thank you my way..." As you leaned down to take him into your mouth, his hands tangled in your hair, gently pulling your head up to look at him.
"Babe, I love when you do that, but I need you now. I feel like I'm going to explode."
He looked at you with those needy, longing eyes and didn't even wait for an answer. He pulled you up to sit on him again. Michael was so desperate he didn't even take off your white lace panties; he simply pushed them to the side and, without ceremony, drove deep inside you.
He didn't need it; you were already completely wet for him.
Both of you groaned loudly at the same time, feeling the heat of the friction. His hands went straight to your hips, guiding your movements.
"Just like that... fuuuck!" he growled.
"I love seeing you like this," you whispered, your left hand wrapping around his neck, applying slight pressure.
Your rhythm quickened, the sound of skin hitting skin growing louder. You purposely squeezed around him, knowing exactly how much he loved the sensation.
"You're trouble " he said, smirking through the pleasure.
Suddenly, he stood up with you still clinging to him. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. He pushed open the bathroom door and walked inside, stopping in front of the vanity mirror. He set you down and turned you around.
Your hair was a complete mess, your lip liner was smudged, and your skin glistened with sweat.
"You're all mine," he rasped, massaging your breasts.
Michael leaned down to bite your ass, and as if it were nothing, he ripped you panties.
When he finally entered you again from behind, your eyes rolled back and you arched your spine, leaning against the counter for support. Michael moved with a raw intensity, his eyes fixed on yours in the reflection, chasing every reaction. The pace was frantic, matching the euphoria of the night. He whispered your name like a prayer, interspersed with dirty words that made your face flush and your body spark with pleasure.
Through the mirror, you watched him biting his lips, lost in the moment.
The climax hit you both like an overwhelming wave, leaving you trembling and breathless. Michael leaned his forehead against your back, both of you gasping for air.
When he finally pulled out, he lingered for a moment, admiring the cum drip.
"Look at what we did," he said, giving your ass a firm, playful swat before turning you around to face him.
"We are going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow." you murmured, closing your eyes as he lazily ran his hand through your hair.
"We definitely are, but it was worth it." he said, kissing the top of your head. "Everything was worth it today."
You smiled, leaning into his embrace, savoring the quiet for a few more moments before heading into the shower together.
Warnings - barely any plot, mainly SMUT, squirting, overstimulation, voyeurism(sort of), brat, Dom Smoke, toxic (kind of?), poly (if you squint), daddy kink (sorry),
Characters - Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore, Luna Moore, Elias ‘Stack’ Moore
MINORS DNI
Part 2
-
You were very, very annoyed. And rightfully so.
Smoke had completely forgotten to mention to you the dinner party that he had planned for his co workers.
So when you woke up to the sound of chefs, decorators and cleaners inside of the house, you were extremely confused.
“Oh shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry baby. I thought I told you. It must’ve slipped my mind.” He said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you all over your face.
You were still frustrated and weren’t in the mood to host. At all.
“I’ll make it up to you mama. What you want? That new Chanel bag?” He buried his face in your neck, sucking and kissing on your skin. “A new car? Vacation? A new wig? Some dick? Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Here’s the thing. Smoke, to you, was the perfect husband.
He’s attentive, he listens, he’s rough when he needs to be and sweet almost all the time. He retired you because he hates to see you working, gives you money without asking and loves you properly like how you’ve always dreamed of. He’s a man in all the ways a man should be. Drives you everywhere despite the fact that you have your own vehicles. He makes sure your cars are charged or full with gas and that they’re fully paid off and the insurance is on auto pay from his bank account. A year into dating, he paid your nail and lash tech a year in advance worth of work. As well as your esthetician and hair stylist. Once that money ran out, he just gave them his card info to have on file.
You paid for nothing. You barely even had to lift a finger. Smoke gave you all the attention and love you wanted. The two of you rarely argued and he almost never does anything to upset you.
But.
You’re a brat and he knows it. As much as it gets on his nerves, he also loves it because that means he gets to put you in your place. Often times you’d be a brat for no reason. If he didn’t give you enough kisses, if he didn’t call you on his lunch break or even if he was just 30 minutes late to come home.
But today. Today you had a reason to be a brat. You had every right to be annoyed with him and he knew that.
-
Your attitude continued throughout the day as you did your hair, beat your face and picked out a dark navy blue dress that hugged your curves just right. For some reason you were still angry. Or irritated. You didn’t know.
Smoke had already apologized a million times. Kissed you more time than you could count and even got on his knees and kissed your feet that were freshly done in a pink French pedicure. But your mood was still shitty. Your attitude still very loud and present. You couldn’t shake the feeling and though it started from Smoke not telling you about this dinner party, it stemmed from something way deeper.
The two of you hadn’t spoken about what’s been going on. The fact that Elias watched you get fucked, commanded you to cum and then … AND THEN fucked you in Smokes office while you were handcuffed to his desk.
Even thinking of it made a shiver crawl down your spine. And you knew that Smoke knew. But you were still confused and too scared to ask, afraid that they’d stop because in reality, you loved it.
You loved being used by the both of them and unfortunately for you, you craved it… bad.
It had been about two weeks since either of them touched you. Stack came around you more often but it wasn’t unusual. You were used to him bringing you food during your nail appointments when Smoke got stuck at work and couldn’t stop by.
You were used to him buying you little things here and there. A bracelet, a stuffed animal, shoes. You were used to his compliments. Him calling you beautiful, pretty, adorable. Telling you how good you look in the color red.
You were used to his presence in the house when he would come over to talk to Smoke. But now. Now things were different. There was a tension there that hadn’t been there before.
Now he kisses your cheek or forehead before saying bye to you. Now he forces you to share your location with him at all times. Now his hands linger on your skin when he hugs you.
And you didn’t know what to do.
Your thoughts get interrupted when Smoke walks into your shared bedroom as you’re applying perfume to your ankles. The sound of people arriving and making themselves comfortable just irritated you even more.
“You still got an attitude?”
Smoke grabbed you by your chin, lifting your face so that he could really look at you. You rolled your eyes at him and moved your head away from his grip.
He scoffed, his jaw tightening slightly. A sign that you were getting under his skin.
“Fix that shit before I fix it for you.”
You actually had the nerve to suck your teeth. “Elijah, please.”
His eyebrows shot up before furrowing. You turned your back to him, ready to step out the room when his hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you close to his chest. “I let you have your little attitude but now you pushing it.” His grip tightened slightly in a way that had you clenching your legs. “Stop playing with me.”
You ignore the now obvious throbbing in between your legs, trying your hardest to stand 10 toes behind your sour mood. “Okay Elijah. Can we go downstairs now or do you have more to say?”
A deep, dark chuckle escapes his lips as he lets you go. “Aight Luna.” Smoke grabs your hand in his and practically drags you down the stairs.
-
You couldn’t focus on anything that was going on, being forced to sit in a room full of lawyers as they talk about absolutely nothing interesting was an actual nightmare. Smoke’s jaw tightens for the 100th time that night as you let out another deep sigh. Before he could even get the chance to say something to you, Stack walks in the room. He takes his time greeting everyone, before sitting right next to you.
Now you were in between both men.
You distracted yourself from the overwhelming presence of having them both so close to you by reading the labels on the very expensive wine bottle Stack had brought. You were halfway into learning how the company started when you felt Smoke’s hand on your thigh. Your body reacted almost instantly, already getting hot from just one touch. But you forced yourself to calm down.
That was until you felt his hand go higher and higher until they were under your dress and close to the fabric that separated him from your very wet center.
Your eyes turn to him in panic but he was too busy talking to his co workers to notice you. You thought maybe he was just teasing, trying to make you even more upset by toying with you. But then you felt him move his finger up and down your clothed slit. Your legs try to shut close but before you could make any sudden movements, Stack clamps his hand down onto your left thigh. Holding you open while Smoke slowly stroked you.
You look between the both of them who do nothing but ignore you. Smoke continues his torture while you try your best not to make any noises. Your heart was beating loud in your chest and your breathing deepened slightly.
Stack moves his hand, sliding it past the waistband of your panties, reaching your clit that throbbed painfully. A small gasp escapes your lips as his fingers rub it in circles.
Your eyes were wide and your hands clenched around both of their wrists but they didn’t bother to stop. Smoke followed right behind Stack, slipping two thick and long fingers right inside of you.
Your legs attempted to close, again, but were unsuccessful as they were both stronger than you. Smoke turns his head to you, watching your eyes turn glassy and your jaw drop. He leans down to your ear. “Don’t you dare close your legs or I’ll embarrass you in front of all these people. Okay, baby?”
You slowly nod and he smirks at your struggle to keep your composure. His fingers were still digging inside of you while Stack rubbed your nub.
Your teeth bite your bottom lip while you tried your best not to moan. The men around you were loud, loud enough to disguise the sounds of your wet pussy that was currently dripping onto the floor.
“You always this messy, Luna? Hm?” Stack whispers low enough for you to hear.
“N-n-no.” You whisper as your nails dig into their suit jackets, your legs trembling and your back slightly arching.
Smoke adjusted his hand, somehow finding a way to dig deeper inside of you while Stack sped up his pace. “P-please. I’m gonna cum.” You whisper loud enough for the both of them to hear you, your head drops onto Smoke’s shoulder as your body trembles.
Smoke turns the music up louder with his free hand and Stack grabs your arm to straighten you up. “You tryna make a show for everyone to see?”
You choke on a gasp as your orgasm rips through you without so much as a warning. Stack taps your thigh to keep your eyes from rolling back and Smoke smirks while he watches your juices stream out of you and onto the floor.
His co workers were drunk, watching some guy who was stood up, going on and on about one of his cases. No one was paying attention to you falling apart.
“You drenched the seat, baby.” Smoke pulls his finger out, placing them in his mouth as he held your stare. You felt Stack move his hand and you turned to look at him, watching as he also placed his fingers in his mouth and suck on them.
You slumped back on the chair, trying to catch your breath for just a second. “Go upstairs.”
You didn’t argue, didn’t bother to say a word as you got up carefully, making sure no one saw the wet spot on your dress and headed up the stairs to the bedroom.
You removed your soaked panties and dress, leaving you completely bare. Just as you were about to lay down, Stack walks in the room. Your eyes widened, trailing him as he sat down on the couch. “Come here.”
“B-But what-”
“I said come here.”
Your legs trembled slightly as you walked over to Stack, his hand reached out to pull you and plant you right on his lap. You felt his bulge hitting your wet core and a shiver runs down your spine.
He grips your jaw, bringing your face dangerously close to his, your lips almost touching but not yet.
“You being mean to my brother ?”
Your breath hitched. “No”
He grinds his hips, the texture of his slacks rubbing against your clit. You let out a breathless moan, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.
“No? Cause that’s not what he told me. Said you been having an attitude all day with him.”
“He forgot to tell me about the dinner party.” You pouted as the lower half of your body forms a mind of its own, grinding against his shaft that sat hard in his pants.
“Yeah but he apologized, didn’t he, baby?” Stack moves his hands down to your neck, slightly squeezing. Your pussy throbbed with need and a whimper leaves your pouty lips.
“Y-Yeah but-”
“But nothing.” Stack smacks your ass causing you to yelp. “You know better.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” You whimper but Stack wasn’t listening to you.
“Turn around.” He unbuckles his belt and lowers his pants enough to pull himself out as you turn around on his lap. “Finna do sum bout that attitude.” He mumbled. Your back meets his chest and he grips your hip to sink you down onto his fully erect dick.
“Oh my god.” You moan loudly as you feel him stretch your tight hole. Eyes immediately rolling to the back of your head. His hands grabbed you, helping you move up and down.
“Show me how sorry you are.” You start riding him slowly, the tip of his head hitting your g spot with every thrust. Your legs were already shaking, stomach in knots and back arching.
“You gon cum already, mama? We just getting started.” He teased you, slightly chucking as you whimper and moan uncontrollably.
“Elias pleaseeeeeeee.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, all you knew was that you felt so good, too good to form coherent thoughts and sentences.
“Mm this pussy so wet. You fucking up my pants, baby. These shits expensive.”
“M’sorry, M’sorry.” Stack smirked as he watched you go dumb for him. He reached his hand towards your neck, tightening around your throat as he thrust his hips upwards.
“Fuck!” You yell as your pussy leaks all over him and the couch. “So good. So-so fucking good.”
Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm rips through you. Your squirt drenching the both of you as well as leaving a puddle on the floor.
The sound of the bedroom door opening causes you to snap your eyes open. Smoke walks in the room and heads to sit at the edge of the bed. Blunt in one hand and drink in the other as he watched Stack fuck you towards another orgasm.
You whimper as you feel Smokes eyes trail down your body, watching the way you leaked cum everywhere.
“Daddyyyyy.” You moan as your hands reach up to play with your nipples. Stack groaned as your pussy clenched around him.
“Yeah, baby? What you want?” Smoke licked his lips, watching you fall apart.
“You like watching me, daddy?” Stack smirked, his thrust fastening causing you to cry out and grip his arms for support.
“Mhm, I do. You being a good girl for Stack, mama?”
“Yes, Yes I am, daddy. Are you proud of me?” Your voice was so whiney and shaky, both men groaning at the sound of it.
“I am. You gon cum again?”
“Yes yes yes! Please Elias don’t stop.” You were practically drooling, your body breaking out in goosebumps as Stack shifted his hips to dig far deeper inside of you. He kissed your cervix and that was all you needed for you to completely shatter.
Clear and creamy liquid spilled out of your swollen and sensitive cunt. You cried out in pleasure, barely hearing Stacks moans as he helped you ride it out.
He pulled out of you, coming on all over your folds. Your eyes held Smokes the whole time, breathing heavily as you tried to calm down from your high. You looked down to see your pretty pussy covered in Stacks seed.
With a bite of your lip, you slumped back against him, your hands trailed down, spreading his juices over your pussy.
Smoke tilted his head, his eyes narrow but dark with lust. “You showing out?”
You giggle, gently lifting yourself off of Stack. They both watch you as you get in your knees and crawl to your husband.
Smoke puts the blunt out on the ashtray on top of the nightstand, before setting his drink down. His eyes never leaving yours. You looked good enough to eat. Skin glistening with sweat, pupils dilated, face flushed and lips raw.
Smoke grabs your jaw as you sit between his legs, your head landing on his thigh. He looked hungry and you were practically served on a silver platter for him.
“What you want?” Smoke rubbed his thumb up and down your jaw, slowly moving it to your lips.
“I want you. Please.”
A grin spreads across his face, before he leans down to pick you up and throw you on the bed. “You lucky I been wanting to fuck the shit out of you all day. Or else I would’ve had you begging for weeks.”
You whimper, your legs spreading wide as you watch him remove his clothes. Your eyes shift to Stack who sat back watching everything, his dick hard again and a smirk sitting pretty on his lips.
Smoke grips your legs, forcing them over his shoulder before he caught you looking at his brother. “You like when he watch you, baby?”
You nod your head, biting your lip as you look between the two. Without warning Smoke sinks himself inside of you, a silent cry leaving your lips as your back bends backwards.
“Just so fucking perfect.” Smoke moans as he thrusts into you without giving you a second to adjust.
“E-Elijah— Oh my god.” Your hand reaches his stomach, trying to push you off of. “You’re too deep, baby pleaseeeeee!”
“Take it. Take this dick, mama. This your dick. This all you.” He groans as his hips move fast. Pelvis kissing the back of your thighs.
“Fuck!— I c-I cant!” Smoke grabs your hands. Pinning them to the side of you as speeds up. Your pussy was slick, cream covering his shaft with every thrust.
“Yeah you can. Take this shit.” Your legs shook as you started squirting with every move of his hips. Clear liquid showering the both of you as he continued to fuck you like you owed him this.
“Look at you. Making a fucking mess. Keep going. Cum on your dick.”
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you cried. Hands free and scratching his back. Your moans were loud, whimpers high pitched and your tears flowing down your pretty face.
You couldn’t stop squirting. Your stomach, legs and ass were completely wet. Screams after screams left your lips and Smoke just watched in enjoyment.
Well—they both did.
Stack sat there, dick heavy in hand as he stroked himself. He loved hearing you break and fold.
Smoke’s thrust stuttered and you felt him swelling up inside of you. He pressed his forehead to yours, sinking himself deeper inside of your, already, sore pussy. “You love me? Tell me you love me.”
“F—Fuck. I love you. I love you so much!”
“Yeah? Want me to nut in you? Hm?”
“Yes— Please. Please nut in me. Pleaseee.”
Smoke moans, stilling himself inside of you. You moan as you feel him fill you up.
You whimper as he pulls out, watching how his cum spills out of you. Your body slumps in exhaustion. Still trembling but barely working.
“You done?” Smoke leans over you, placing kisses on your lips, forehead, cheeks and neck.
“Yes. I need a second.” Your eyes drift close as you hear him chuckle.
A few minutes pass and you stir to the feel of a rag in between your legs. You use the last bit of energy you have to pry your eyes open.
Stack was cleaning you up, while Smoke walked back into the room, water bottle in hand.
He pressed the bottle to your lips, making you drink at least half of it. “Get some sleep.” He kissed your forehead before adjusted you to the dry side of the bed.
“Just know … we ain’t done with you yet..” He whispered in your ear before your body shut down.
A/N: So, I just don't think my girl J knows what she wants. So, I don't know, just tell me: should we keep Michael surprised OR should we tap out? Also, the second half of this chapter is just not it, but If didn't pulled it out now, I wouldn’t. So, I’m sorry for that, the next would definitely take longer, but let's just hope it’s better.
Not edited. There will be most definitely mistakes and rhythms changes, but that is an issue for tomorrow.
10 years ago
Julie used to write like she was trying to stitch herself back together.
It started in a dorm room that smelled like incense and instant noodles, where the radiator hissed like a gossip and her neighbor’s techno thumped through the wall. Nights stretched long, humming with loneliness and caffeine. Her desk was a cluttered altar: a chipped mug of pens, a stack of books -Sister Outsider, The Wretched of the Earth, The Color Purple- tilted like bricks in a barricade. The old laptop wheezed like it might catch fire, but it was the one thing that kept her company.
She hadn’t meant to fall for Killmonger. But when she saw Black Panther, something cracked open. It wasn’t just the politics, it was the rage of exile, the wound of abandonment. It was the curve of his mouth when he smirked. The hunger in his eyes when he said he wanted it all.
Julie felt that hunger in her bones. And in other places, too.
Killmonger wasn’t just a villain. He was possibility. He was grief and desire, fury and sex. Writing him meant writing her own ache, political, yes, but also carnal. She gave him kitchens and altars, but also bedrooms with low light and the slow slip of sheets. She let him be touched. She let him touch her through her characters, through the words she poured out at 3 a.m. with her headphones in and her face burning. Because the truth was, she wasn’t just writing him. She was writing her own wanting. Testing how far it could stretch. Where it would break. She was learning what turned her on, what scared her, what she craved but never dared say out loud.
It was funny, too, how she’d be in the library surrounded by undergrads highlighting Judith Butler, while she was secretly typing a scene about Killmonger kissing a woman’s thighs like scripture. How she’d close her laptop fast whenever her roommate walked in, heart racing like she’d been caught watching porn, when really it was just her own words.
But it mattered. The words gave her permission. They made her brave.
She wrote him soft because she wanted softness. She wrote him dangerous because she wanted to test danger. She wrote him whole because she wanted to believe she could be whole too. And he was beautiful. God, he was beautiful.
She wrote him like she was writing herself out of silence. Fanfiction became her sanctuary: grief braided with lust; theory tangled with tenderness. And in that sanctuary, she found herself, messy, laughing at her own shameless metaphors, blushing at her own audacity, but herself.
Now, years later, Julie’s room in Venice Beach was its own body, warm, breathing, alive with her fingerprints. The walls carried a soft umber, sun-faded in places where the light poured in too hard. Stacks of books leaned against each other like old friends, some spines cracked, others pristine, all of them marked with underlines and notes in the margins like veins of thought running through them.
On the windowsill, glass jars caught the last spill of daylight, colored glass turning the air amber, green, rose. Her altar glowed at the center of it all: candles burned low, wax spilling like honey, a bowl of oranges left for Oshun, flowers browning but still fragrant. The whole room smelled faintly of jasmine, salt from the ocean, and the iron tang of smoke from the wick she had just lit.
She melted into every detail. This was her shelter, her witness.
On the desk sat her book: Shadows and Flame. The title pressed in gold against the black cover, glowing like an ember in the dark. Inside lived Shadow, an amalgam of Octavia Butler’s wild futures, Glory Glow’s cat like sensuality, and Julie’s own pulse. Shadow was hunger, memory, desire. A chorus of voices braided into one body, one flame.
Killmonger had been the beginning. The fracture, the mirror, the ache that cracked her open. He had given her a way to name loss, to imagine softness in rage, to experiment with power and tenderness side by side. But Shadow was different. Shadow wasn’t borrowed. Shadow wasn’t stitched from someone else’s story. Shadow was hers. Entirely.
And writing her had done something even Killmonger never could. It made her name her wanting. Not just rage and grief, but the pulse under her skin, the heat between her thighs, the possibility of being both wild and soft at once. She wrote scenes that startled her, women who claimed pleasure like protest, men who bent under the weight of tenderness, bodies that knew no shame. Shadow wasn’t just a character. She was an altar to Julie’s own desire, a place where she could taste every limit, then push past it.
Julie touched the cover lightly, as if it might burn her. This was the work that had cost her sleepless nights and oceans of courage. Her survival, bound in paper. Her ache, her joy, her audacity.
And yet the tremor in her chest wasn’t just about the book. It was about him. About the man whose face carried the ghost of her first muse, whose smile could undo her with the same force as Killmonger’s death line once had. Michael wasn’t a character, and that was the danger. He was real. And real meant risk.
Every time her phone lit up with his name, she felt both pulled and unmoored, like she could lose the pages she’d built, or worse, lose herself in the gravity of him. It wasn’t just attraction; it was recognition. The same ache that had driven her to write in a dorm room, years ago now pressed against her ribs, flesh and blood and terrifyingly alive.
What if the world collapsed the distance between Shadow, Killmonger, and Michael, until she was no longer seen as the author but only as the woman in orbit of a man? What if she vanished into him, swallowed whole by a story she hadn’t agreed to write?
The room, once her sanctuary, suddenly felt charged, fragile. The candles flickered as if caught in a draft. Her breath slowed, deliberate, as though she could will the air to hold her steady.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. And she already knew who it was.
Michael’s POV
The video ended. He let it loop once, then again, before finally tossing the phone on the mattress. He stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, chest heavier than he wanted to admit.
A beat. He grabbed the phone back. Typed:
Michael: Let me see you.
He hit send before he could second-guess it.
The screen stayed still. No reply. No dots. Just silence.
He exhaled through his nose, short, impatient. His thumb moved again.
Michael: Doesn’t have to be complicated. Just a door. Just you.
Still nothing.
A low laugh escaped him, half frustration, half disbelief. “Damn, Julie,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his beard. “You drop that on me and go to bed?”
The room felt too big all of a sudden. He stood, paced a few steps, then sat back down. Restless. Every part of him alive and annoyed at the same time.
He thought about sending one more, something reckless. Showing up. Making it her choice to open the door or not. But he stopped himself. She was quiet for a reason.
He leaned back against the headboard, phone heavy in his palm. The silence pressed in, sweet and sharp. He wanted to laugh at himself, at how this woman had him, Michael B. Jordan, whole grown man, checking a screen like a teenager.
Still, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. Want and worry tangled, a knot sitting low in his chest.
____
Michael had never been good at waiting. The whole day had stretched like an elastic band, threatening to snap. He told himself not to check his phone, then checked it anyway. He worked out, cooked, tried to read, even paced the length of his living room until the floorboards creaked with complaint. Midnight came and went, and still nothing.
By the time the sky began to bruise toward dawn, his nerves had gone from sharp to dull. He sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling absently, when her name lit the screen.
Julie: Make me come out.
No punctuation. No preamble. Just the command.
Michael grinned, tired, disbelieving, wired all at once. It was exactly her. Not an invitation, not a plea. A dare.
He thought fast. He couldn’t just pick a loud restaurant or some generic bar. He wanted her undivided attention, away from flashing cameras or whispers. That’s how he landed on Lino’s, an old bistro in Echo Park run by a friend who’d known him since long before red carpets. Brick walls, low light, no press, no phones shoved in his face. Just dark wine, good food, and quiet corners.
By the time she walked in that night, Michael was already leaning back in the booth, pretending not to have been counting the seconds.
Julie was all pink, soft, bright, confident. Her curls gathered into a high ponytail with pieces loose around her face, sneakers on her feet, a big tote hanging from her arm. Effortless, unbothered, yet magnetic. The room seemed to bend toward her.
Michael rose slightly as she slid in across from him, his black T-shirt stretched across his arms, a baseball jacket hanging open, denim easy, sneakers to match hers.
“Look at you,” he said, the grin tugging at his mouth before he could stop it. “Whole twenty-four hours just to text me. That’s brutal.”
Julie smirked, dropping her tote beside her. “And yet, you survived...”
“You assume I didn’t spend the day rehearsing.”
“Oh, I assume you absolutely did.” Her eyes flicked over him, sharp and amused. “You’ve got that I lost an argument with myself look.”
Michael laughed, leaning back. “You’re not wrong. I promised myself I wouldn’t say anything dumb in the first five minutes. Already failing.”
“Lower the bar,” she said, tugging at her ponytail with a small grin. “Trust me, you’ll thank yourself.”
He tilted his head, studying her like he’d been waiting to memorize this exact version of her. “So… pink. You wore it to destroy me?”
Julie lifted her brows. “Destroy you?”
“Yeah. You walk in like this, sneakers and all, and you expect me to form coherent thoughts? You’re cruel.”
She tilted her head, lips curving. “Cruel? That’s the first honest thing you’ve said.”
“I’ve said four things.”
“Exactly.”
The waiter hovered, and they ordered, wine, pasta, something green so it didn’t look reckless. When the server left, the silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was loaded, humming.
Michael leaned in slightly, his forearms on the table. “You know what’s crazy? I thought I’d be annoyed. Defensive. But I’m just… glad you texted.”
Julie didn’t answer right away. She traced the rim of her glass, watching him. Finally: “Glad isn’t what I expected you to say.”
“What did you expect?”
“That you’d want an explanation. Or an apology.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you apologizing for being interesting.”
Her smile was slow, careful. “Careful. That almost sounded like flattery.”
“Not flattery,” he said. “Fact.”
Their food arrived, steam curling between them, breaking the tension for a moment. Forks clinked, wine glasses tilted. For a few beats, it felt absurdly domestic.
Halfway through her pasta, Julie set her fork down and leaned forward, eyes bright, almost daring.
“Okay. Enough circling. Let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”
Michael tilted his head, squinting in mock confusion. “What?”
She reached into her tote, dragging out three paperbacks, their spines cracked and covers smudged from too many hands. One by one, she laid them on the table like playing cards.
The one on top caught his eyes first: Mercy Is for Kings. A glossy but worn cover: a sharp-eyed Black man, all muscle and menace, a woman knelt at his feet, the tension between them humming off the page. It wasn’t exactly him, but it wasn’t not him either, somewhere between Erik Stevens, Erik Killmonger and Michael, painted larger, darker, mythic.
Michael froze. His jaw actually dropped. “Did you...? You really...?”
“Yep.” Julie leaned back in her chair like she’d just set off fireworks and was waiting for the smoke. “I let it all out.”
He picked up the book gingerly, like it might leave soot on his hands. “You sold this?”
“Indie press did maybe two-fifty copies. The e-book was more successful.” She laughed, nervous but proud, tucking a curl behind her ear.
Michael blinked at her, then down at the book, then back up again—half shocked, half impressed. “Jules, I already seen this. You know I read them.”
Her grin widened. “Skimmed them.”
“Studied them” he shot back. His voice was low, playful, but his eyes were searching. “I just didn’t think you’d bring them here, tonight.”
“Say it. You didn’t think I’d have the guts.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “I thought we’d… ease into this, gently...”
Julie tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into olive oil. Casual, like she hadn’t just cracked the air open. “Nope. Full transparency. I wrote three books with Erik Killmonger as my muse. Thousands and thousands of words all under a poster of your face over my desk. You’ve seen the memes, the TikToks, the think-pieces.”
Michael leaned back, tried to relax into the booth, but she could see his chest rising faster.
“I thought it would die down when I archived my fics and started to pursue the publishing of my novel. But these books are still out there. The character is not named Erik, but they’re clearly about him. About Wakanda. And I’m not ashamed. I won’t hide it. I need you to know it and know me. All of me.”
Michael’s mouth opened, then closed. For once, words failed him. “I… didn’t expect this, Julie. I don’t even know what to say.”
So she continued, her voice steady but softer now:
“You know what people don’t get? Fanfiction isn’t just… horny girls writing about superheroes. It’s a community. It was the only place I felt like I could test myself without begging for permission. No grades. No gatekeepers. Just a bunch of us… writing, commenting, staying up all night because a stranger in Brazil was waiting for the next chapter.”
Something flickered in his eyes... curiosity, but also respect. He didn’t interrupt. He let her go deeper.
“I was in college, English major, African Studies, all of that... bored out of my mind. Fanfiction gave me freedom. Through Erik I could write about politics, capitalism, resistance. I could be a poet, a revolutionary, a romantic… and yes, a little bit of a sex beast.”
Michael smirked, shaking his head. “So, it wasn’t just about Erik.”
“Exactly. It was about… practicing. Learning to build worlds. To tell a story and keep people hooked. You want to write a novel? You can take ten years drafting the first chapter, sure. Or you can drop a fic online and have ten readers yell at you to update tomorrow. That pressure it's addictive. It makes you better.”
“Still, you could have written about any other superhero, super villain, anything. Why him?”
Julie inhaled, steady but shy, then smiled almost tenderly. “Because he was in pain. And so was I. He longed for something he couldn’t reach, and I knew that feeling too well. And yes, he was beautiful.”
Michael arched a brow, smirking. “You mean I was beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad.” She tilted her head, teasing. “But you’re not him.”
Her voice dropped lower, slower. “It was what Erik represented: rage, beauty, tragedy, power. And yeah, sometimes sex. Sometimes a lot of sex.”
He smirked, raising his brows. “I was gonna ask about that part.”
“Of course you were,” she said, rolling her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. She tore off another piece of bread. “You wanna know why the sex mattered?”
Michael leaned back, grin lazy, waiting.
Julie’s lips parted, but she didn’t flinch. “Through him I explored desire. I researched toys, positions, things I’d never dared. It made the stories layered, fun. It made me...”
Michael leaned in, eyes glinting. “A sex goddess?”
Julie shot him a flirty but shy glance, heat blooming in her cheeks. “That’s not something I tell, Michael. That’s something I show.”
The air between them tightened, pulsing, as if the whole restaurant dimmed around them. Michael sat back slowly, like he’d just been punched in the gut in the best possible way. His laugh came out low, rough-edged. “Shit, Jules. You can’t just drop that in the middle of a restaurant.”
“Why not?” she teased, voice soft but steady. “You wanted to know.”
“I was expecting, like… missionary with a plot twist,” he muttered, shaking his head, though his grin betrayed him. “Not a woman casually announcing she’s the patron saint of sex and revolution.”
Julie’s smile turned sly. She chewed her bread slowly, swallowed, then leaned forward again. “I didn’t say that, Michael. But you can think about it, really, really deeply, in your home, when you’re alone. And once you figure it out…” She licked the last of the oil from her thumb, eyes holding his. “Text me.”
For a beat, silence pressed heavy between them. She felt her own boldness like a live wire, shocking even herself.
He stared at her, stunned, his jaw slack, then finally, finally, his laughter broke out, low and rich, curling around her like smoke.
They laughed together, letting the tension dissolve just enough to finish their dinner. But every glance after that, every brush of her hand against the breadbasket, every shift in his voice carried the new weight of what had been said.
Later, he drove her home.
The hum of the engine filled the silence. Streetlights slid over their faces in flashes, gold, shadow, gold. Neither spoke for a beat too long. Julie’s fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, restless, while Michael’s jaw flexed tight, his hand steady on the wheel but his breath just a little uneven.
Finally, she broke it, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.
“I wrote a lot of crazy scenes…”, she paused, watching his profile, the line of his cheek lit by the city glow. “But my favorite ones were the ones where she begged.”
Michael’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t look at her, not yet, but his body reacted like a string pulled taut, shoulders stiff, chest rising heavier. “Begged,” he repeated, the word rough, tasting dangerous on his tongue.
Julie nodded slowly, eyes flicking to his mouth. “Not out of fear. Not because she was weak. She begged because she wanted it that badly. Because she wanted him that badly. The ache of it, the hunger.” Her breath came quicker now, her voice dropping lower. “She wanted to give herself over. Completely.”
Michael shifted in his seat, thigh tightening, lips pressed into a thin line like he was holding something back. The air in the car thickened, the heat pressing in.
Julie leaned in closer, her knee brushing his leg, casual but not casual at all. “And you know what made it enticing?” she whispered. “It wasn’t the sex, it was the surrender. The way she needed to be undone. And the way he… couldn’t stop himself from taking it.”
That cracked something in him. He exhaled hard through his nose, a sound close to a growl. His grip on the wheel flexed, then released, his other hand twitching like he wanted to reach for her but couldn’t, not yet.
“Julie,” he muttered, voice low, guttural.
She tilted her head, smiling faintly, eyes glinting with heat. “What?”
“Why the hell would you tell me that while I’m driving?”
Her laugh was soft, throaty. She dragged her gaze down his chest, slow and deliberate, then back up to meet his eyes as he risked a glance her way. “Maybe I like the thought of you squirming,” she teased.
He let out a low, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head, but his chest was heaving now. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and his thigh bounced, restless energy coiled tight.
Julie, emboldened, leaned in until her breath ghosted over his ear. “And you know what, Michael?” she murmured.
His hand clenched the wheel again, knuckles pale. “What?”
Her lips curved, voice almost trembling with desire. “It wasn’t even about them. It was about me. About what I wanted.”
The red light ahead painted both their faces in a dark glow. He turned then, eyes molten, unblinking, his body angled toward her like he might burn if he didn’t touch.
The car filled with silence again, but it wasn’t empty it was thick, humming with the electric knowledge of what they weren’t doing. Each breath, each shift in their seats, magnified.
And then they were at her home. He helped her out of the car.
At her door, she turned serious again.
Julie: “Why me? Knowing what I’ve written. Knowing how it looks. You could’ve ignored it. So why me?”
He stopped, looked at her fully. His voice lowered, warm.
Michael: “Because of your book, because of Shadow and Joao. The way she carried magic like a burden and a gift, the way their love burned messy and loyal… I felt that. More than I expected.” "Julie I wanted to meet you back at Jennifer Hudson. Asked for you. They said you’d already run off. Next thing I knew… all this fanfiction.”
He smiled, softer now. Stepped closer. Brushed a thumb against her temple, reverent. “And I thought you’re beautiful. Not the characters. You.”
They said their goodnights. She went inside, leaving him on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, replaying every second like film reels in his head.
Upstairs, she dropped her bag, keys clattering. But she couldn’t shake it. The touch. The words. She went to the window.
There he was. Still there. Waiting under the streetlight like some fool out of a love song. He looked up, caught her eyes, lifted a hand in a wave.
Her chest flipped. She grabbed her phone.
Julie: Wait.
She bolted down the stairs, heart in her throat, breath sharp. The door swung open and she was on him, mouth urgent, kisses hungry, her laugh breaking through the fever of it.
He caught her, stunned, breathless, kissing her back with a groan that felt dragged from his bones.
When she pulled back, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, she smiled wicked and soft all at once.
Julie: “Goodnight, Michael.”
And before he could even answer, she slipped back inside, leaving him dazed, grinning like a man undone on the sidewalk.
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