𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: In late June, your husband told you that he was ready to go on tour for this new album, Bad. You spent the first few years as Michael's wife in secrecy and tranquility, but now you're scared of what the word will think of you. Now, it's September. The whole Jackson family hosts a going away dinner for Michael, and you still haven't told him your answer.
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: +18, mdni, eventual smut, oral sex (f! receiving), p in v, softdom!mike, (lowkey manipulative!mike) , he's a yearner
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September 7, 1987
The walls of the Hayvenhurst estate gave way to the echos of laughing and bickering from the Jackson family. Katherine, your mother-in-law, insisted on inviting the family over to celebrate their last days with Michael before he went on his first solo tour.
"Shut up, Randy!" Janet shouted from across the table.
"What?" Randy responded, holding his hands up in surrender, "I'm just observing the third plate you got. Save some for Michael's scrawny ass."
Katherine shot Randy a cold look, more angry that he dared to curse than poking fun at his sister.
Randy kissed his teeth and resumed his focus to the meal on his plate. "You know I'm right," he murmured. Tito and Jackie snickered, both of them failing miserably to cover their mouths.
Michael lifted his head in confusion at the unwarranted stray. "What are YOU laughing at Tito? You know them collars nearly choked you on stage!"
Hollering, Jackie abandoned Tito, leaving him saying nothing but a dragged out "Woooow!" Janet repeatedly slammed the table, flailing at Michael's unexpected comeback.
"Y'all are childish," said Jermaine, holding his utensils properly and proudly, earning himself some eye rolls and sighs of fatigue.
Marlon looked at you and Michael, making you both chuckle as he pointed at Jermaine with his thumb.
You loved moments like this. Though you never intended on marrying into such a large family, they never made you feel overwhelmed.
Seeing Michael happy made you happy. He appreciated you standing with him through his physical and mental struggles. Your hand always held his, regardless of what the both of you went through.
You found yourself admiring your husband, proud and terrified of the rapid success he was achieving.
Michael sensed you looking at him. "What?" he giggled, chewing his last bit of food. "I'll tell you later." You said, kissing his cheek before taking your plates away.
Latoya and Janet eagerly collected the rest of the plates on the table. Of course Janet had to smack Randy on the back of the head before catching up to the two of you.
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You and the sisters had a system: you wash, Latoya dries, and Janet puts them away. But what the three of you always did was use this time to share gossip about your marriage.
"Girl, what's really going on," Janet sighed, "'I'll tell you later' is never a thing people say before sharing something good."
Latoya nodded her head in agreement. "I didn't want to say anything but yeah, I agree. I mean usually you're all loud with us at the table, but you seemed quiet today."
You exhaled and turned the water off, shaking the remaining moisture off your hands and wiping them on your jeans.
"Well," you began, turning away from the sink and leaning against it, "Michael asked me if I could go on tour with him."
The sisters gasped and clapped their hands in excitement. But upon seeing unsure expression on your face, they immediately knew why you were so quiet.
"You don't want to go, do you?" Latoya observed, and you shook your head in agreement.
You've seen it all and you've heard it all. From the bedazzled outfits to the jealousy oozing out of far less deserving artists—especially after Thriller.
When Michael asked you to be his girl in '79, it was so easy for you to say yes. He was popular, sure—he's a Jackson, but he was nowhere near the success he has today.
You knew what you were getting yourself into. He made sure you understood the pressure of being married to the world's most popular entertainer.
So when he told you that he would be going on tour for his newly released BAD album, you foolishly told him that you'll "think about it," knowing deep in your heart that you were scared to say yes.
"I tried finding the time, y'know...to tell him. But every time I try I'm scared I'm gonna hurt him." Your arms hugged yourself as you found comfort in your family.
"The public doesn't even know that we're married. What will the paparazzi do to me when they see this gigantic rock on my hand?" Your body began to feel the weight of it all. Not just from the beautiful wedding stack on your left finger, but now you're drowning in worry at the thought of never having a private life again.
"Look girl, we understand. Well, I do at least." Janet snickered while raising her chin up at Latoya. Her sister defended herself, "Oh hush, you never toured before."
"I was getting there before you interrupted me!" Janet slowly side eyed Latoya, cocking her head forward for dramatic effect. "But what I was going to say was just tell him how you feel. I was supposed to go on tour for Control, but Joseph said I wasn't ready."
Janet continued, "But sometimes I think about how ready I was. I practiced with my brothers and I saw the impact they left on the world. I let that opportunity pass me because listed to Joe and I don—"
"Basically, what she's saying is," Latoya interrupted, "Don't waste this beautiful moment. Go with him and have a good time!" Latoya said impatiently, only to be rewarded by an annoyed exhale from Janet.
"I guess so..."You were still unsure. But right now, you were exhausted. "You guys go on to bed. I'll wipe the sink down."
They hugged and kissed you goodnight, leaving you behind in your thoughts.
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The sun was setting, sharing the last bits of its golden rays through the large kitchen window. You decided to get a glass of water before you went to bed, but you heard careful footsteps headed towards you.
"Baby?" That oh so familiar voice announced your lover's presence.
"I was waiting for you to come to bed with me" Michael shyly admitted. He walked up to you and hugged you, coaxing you to follow him to your room.
But you couldn't. You had to tell him. You had several weeks to let him know. In fact, you thought it'd be so clear to once you had a chance to sleep on the thought.
But then you needed another night.
And another...and other.
Until you wasted your time, down to your final days. You had to face reality.
"Michael, I don't think I can go." you blurted out. You put glass you mouth and drank the remaining liquid.
Michael let out a playful sigh. He took the glass from your hand and placed on the counter behind you.
"Aw but It'll be fun, girl!" He beamed with joy as he began to recall fond memories of his past tours. His large hand held your waist, encouraging you to slow dance with him.
"You'll get to see so many people and learn their cultures. There's so many different things outside of L.A. Aw, please, girl? You gotta come with me." The childlike sparkle shone brightly in his eye as he rested your head on his chest.
But despite the comforting hugs and the kisses he planted on your cheeks, "I can't Michael," you denied, gently caressing the side of his cheek."What about the paparazzi? They're cra—"
Michael cut you off by taking your hand from his face and kissing the sides. "Baby forget about the paparazzi," he lulled, "We have Bill and several other security guards who know to keep you safe."
He continued up your wrist, eventually placing your arms around his shoulders, and moving his down your lower back.
Your husband looked at you with his large eyes, the very same eyes you said "I do" to and the very same eyes you saw dim, as you rejected his almost convincing plea.
Michael sighed in disappointment. He nodded, showing his defeat while slowly pulling away from you.
What you didn't know, that he knew that your "no" would be temporary. Your devout lover was very clever, so he smiled and said:
"It's ok, ma. I understand."
He knew how to get to you. That name was reserved for one thing and one thing only. You hated how well he knew you, but your stubbornness refused to let him win.
You scoffed at his audacity and brought your empty class over to the sink to be washed. "I mean it Michael," you said while scrubbing the cup clean, "I'm not going..."
Michael pressed up behind you—reaching his arms around your torso and allowing them to explore the front of your body.
"But baby," he whispered into your ear, "I'll be all alone. We won't be with each other for months. How can I continue the tour while I'm aching for you, girl?"
With each sentence he spoke, he licked and kissed the sides of your neck. You let out soft whimpers as you clenched the edge of the sink for support.
You felt his palms travel down your stomach and raising them under your shirt, slowly revealing your deep brown stomach.
Michael's neck kisses began to feel more hungry. His bulge responded your whimpers and moans—becoming increasingly obvious against your backside.
"M-Michael!" You yelped. Quickly, your husband flipped you over to face him.
He grabbed your cheek and brought you lips to his, silencing you before moving down to your jaw, collarbone, breasts and stomach, until finally, just above the buttons on your jeans.
He was on his knees by now, his eye contact was strong—looking up at your warm and flustered face.
He knew what he was about to do—kissing the denim-covered area only he had access to. His fingers crept along the opening of your jeans.
"Please, baby. Please come on tour with me. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise!" You saw the last of the sunlight hit his eyes as he pleaded for his bride's company.
To him, you were a goddess. The sun perfectly shone through your curled blowout, outlining your head in a glowing halo.
Michael begged you as if you were the answer to his prayers. It was you who made him feel seen. It was you who loved him as a person, not an idol. And it was you whom he enthusiastically made love to every chance he could.
"Please?" He asked, full of breath and desire.
Eventually you gave in, vigorously nodding your head in approval. "Ok, Mikey," you said, suppressing the urge to ride his pathetic face.
Immediately, Michael laughed victoriously—wasting no time in freeing your from your cage. He kissed your front and swiftly picked you up, moving you to the counter next to the sink.
He knelt back down in between your legs, practically salivating at the thought of mouth bringing pleasure to his wife. You answered his prayers and now, he'll thank you for it.
Michael moved you forward before firmly swirling his tongue on your clit. Your heavy and toned legs served as his necklace while he focused on your pearl.
The pleasure instantly hit you. Your lower half melted in his grip. The sounds of Michael ravishing your pussy echoed throughout the kitchen.
"A-Ah, Mikey! You're doing s-so good!"
Regardless of being flooded with his tongue, you move the sweaty curls from his forehead. Michael, who didn't give a damn about his hair, chucked at you still thinking of him.
"Thank you baby," he said talking with his mouth full of your arousal. To repay you, the rubbed his middle finger over your entrance and slowly inserted it into your depths.
Your left hand flew to your mouth at the sudden introduction, hurriedly rejecting the sound of your pleasure.
His fingers proceeded to curl deep inside of you while his tongue mercilessly circled your clit. Soon, your walls began to tighten you felt the stimulation of your sloppy cunt overtake you.
You let out a shaky moan, giving Michael a warning of your release. But before you reached your high, he pulled off of you. Your groaned in frustration.
"Shh, girl. They're sleeping."
You hadn't realized how dark it's gotten, the house was a sleep except your and your husband.
"You have to be quiet. Okay?" Michael said while in buttoning his pants—finally setting his captive free.
You ogled it as it bounced off his stomach and found balance at your opening.
He never gets tired of seeing your reaction to him—eyes heavy and laden, staring into his soul with anticipation. You've had sex multiple times yet you never remember how big he was.
"Remember, we have to be quiet" Michael teased. He kissed you deeply, reintroducing his tongue to yours—your taste present between the two of you.
His right hand pulled you onto him as his left lifted his leg. You felt his hot tip kiss your entrance, making its way deeper and deeper until you felt completely full.
The stuttered moans that left your lips satisfied your lover. "I know, baby. I know," Michael comforted you by kissing your jaw and your neck. You shudder in euphoria.
Michael carefully thrusted into you. Each hip movement was purposefully aimed to make his wife feel good. He never took his eyes off of you—it stroked his ego seeing you throw your head back as you surrendered your body to him.
You tried to keep quiet, honest to God. But the way Michael felt inside of you was so unbearably good. Your hand made its way to the back of his head. Your fingers got tangled in his sweaty, black curls.
"M-Michael...Fuck, I'm close..."
The orgasm you were previously denied quickly made its way forward. He hissed as you clenched around his length—urging him to cum with you.
Michael's brows furrowed at the suddenly tightness. His hips moved from structured to animalistic while the feeling of his own completion crept with in him.
"You're coming for me, huh?" Michael whimpered. "Let me have it. L-Let me have you, girl,"
You finally let go, holding his head to your neck and singing an eloquent moan in his ear.
"Give it to me, love," He continued to lure out your release, eventually painting your insides with his.
Several seconds later, you both came from your high. Your breaths were synchronized, chest heaving and repairing themselves.
Michael kissed you all over, leaving behind a string of "thank you's" and "I love you's" as he pulled out of you.
You winced at the remnants of your orgasm and laughed at the state of your hair, now frizzy and natural.
He loved seeing you like this. He helped you gather your composure before shyly clothing you.
"Baby, we'll have fun together. I'll make sure of it." Michael assured you. You questioned why you ever denied his ability to do so. The fear of the outside world soon became an afterthought.
The atmosphere was warm and comforting. Michael smiled at you, "Go on upstairs."
"But what about the kitchen?" You questioned, flustered at the sight you left it in.
"Don't worry about it," he replied, "I'll clean up here."
"Do you think they heard us?" You asked, knowing that you might've been a little too loud
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow." He chuckled, bringing you in for one last kiss.
After saying your goodnights, you made your way upstairs—slightly sore but completely relaxed, thinking of your future journey on tour.
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𝙰/𝙽: I can never figure out how to end a smut omg. Please lmk if you have any requests! Tysm for reading ~🤎
summary: michael’s insecure about his vitiligo, but the reader thinks it’s beautiful. that’s it. that’s the plot.
word count: 1121
author’s note: this was meant to be a silly little oneshot, but @vigilantlysassypact wanted a part two, and your wish is my command ♡
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“Night swimmin’, huh?” Michael quirks an eyebrow.
“Sure. Why not?” You shrug, fiddling with his fingers. “That way you won’t have to be in the sun.”
It’s such a small thing—the bare minimum of consideration—but Michael’s face softens into a look so full of adoration that it hurts.
“That would be fun, yeah.” He nods, smiling like you’ve just offered him a million dollars.
“Then it’s a date.” You kiss the back of his hand again, swiping his sunglasses and putting them on.
Michael lets out a low whistle. “You look good in those. Wear ‘em better than me.”
He’s talking about the sunglasses, but his eyes are elsewhere, like he’s really able to get a good look at you now that the shades are no longer in the way.
From the pool, Marlon splashes water in your direction. “Get a room, you two!” He calls, and Jackie puts a hand on his head, dunking him underwater.
Jermaine whistles too, loud and obnoxious. “Leave Mike alone. I’d be lookin’ at her like that too, if that was my girl.”
That earns him a dunk from Tito, and you laugh. You don’t need to look at Michael to know he’s blushing furiously.
“Shut up, Jermaine.” He grumbles, putting a hand on your thigh. It feels less possessive and more like he’s afraid that you’ll get up and throw yourself at one of his brothers if he lets you go. As if you had eyes for anyone but him.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Later, after everyone else has gone home or to bed, you and Michael sneak back down to the pool. He’s changed into swim trunks instead of jeans, but he’s left his shirt on. You never took your swimsuit off, but you’d put on shorts and a big shirt that you stole from him.
The two of you creep barefoot down the stairs, giggling like two kids sneaking out of the house for a wild party instead of two grown adults going just a few feet from the back door.
It’s a beautiful night outside. The stars are twinkling overhead, and the lights around the pool cast just enough of a glow for you to see what you’re doing. You slip out of your shorts and Michael’s shirt, tossing them over the chair you’d been sitting in before.
He watches you and hesitates for a second, like he’s trying to psych himself up to do the same. You notice immediately and close the space between you, standing on your tiptoes to give him a quick, sweet kiss. “You want me to help you?” You ask softly, your fingertips finding the hem of his shirt.
Michael nods, and you pull his shirt over his head. It’s too dark to get a really good look at him, but you don’t give him a chance to get self-conscious before taking his hand and dragging him towards the pool.
Any trace of nerves disappears as he jumps in with you, coming up from the water laughing and pushing his hair back off his forehead. “It’s cold.” He gasps, but he looks as delighted as a kid on Christmas morning. Even in the dim light, his smile practically lights up the whole backyard.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
You swim for hours, sometimes laughing and splashing, sometimes treading water while you talk, and sometimes floating lazily on your back.
You’ve been floating in silence for a while when Michael speaks up. “It’s gettin’ awful late.” He’s giving you an opportunity to go inside, but you know he doesn’t really want to. He seems perfectly content to stay out here all night.
“It is. But I’m not tired yet.” You respond. It’s a sweet relief to see him this happy, doing something he loves to do that doesn’t involve working. There’s no way you’re ending it until he decides he’s done. “You’re not tired, are you?” You flip over, swimming to him, and he turns himself upright.
“Nope.” He grins at you, so precious that you can’t help but kiss him. It’s soft at first, almost chaste, but then his arms wrap around your waist and pull you close, and suddenly you’re really kissing him.
“I love you.” He whispers. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.” You laugh, but if that’s how he wants to show his thanks, far be it from you to stop him.
“You did, though.” He insists, one hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Nobody’s ever done somethin’ so thoughtful for me before.”
“Then you need to get some better friends.” You tease, nudging him with your knee underneath the water.
He smiles again, but not a face-splitting smile like before. This one is soft, a little shy, and so full of love that it makes your chest well up with emotion.
“I do like having you all to myself, though.” You admit, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers curling in the hair at his nape. “No brothers around to bother us…”
He takes the hint and slides his hands down your lower back and the curve of your ass, holding you up as you wrap your legs around his waist.
“You look so pretty like this.” He murmurs reverently, like you’re something truly holy. “Moonlight suits you.”
“I think you’re pretty. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.” You kiss him again, your lips lingering on his for a few seconds before they travel lower, kissing his jaw, then his neck, then his collarbone.
He sighs contentedly, pulling you impossibly closer. He doesn’t seem in any big hurry to go further, happy to let you press languid kisses wherever you want.
“You wanna know my favorite part of you?” You whisper into his skin, the taste of chlorine on your tongue.
He nods, letting out a noise that sounds something like “mhm.”
“I like right here.” Your breath is warm against him as you move one hand to the side of his neck, fingers delicately tracing the outline of a spot where the pigment has faded. “And right here.” You trail one finger down to a similar spot on his shoulder.
For the first time in a long time, Michael doesn’t look ashamed. He tilts his head back and lets you touch and kiss all the places you can reach that you know he’s insecure about.
You don’t pull away until the pool water and the position you’re in make it impossible to keep going. Then you rest your forehead against his, your nose and lips brushing each other’s.
“I’ll show you the rest when we get out.”
“Then I think I’m ready to go inside.”
You laugh and wriggle out of his grasp, offering your hand instead. “C’mon. There’s a lot more where that came from.”
So I deleted my old taglist because I want a fresh start since it’s a new year. This taglist is for those who want to be tagged in all my sinners work, whether that be Smoke x Annie, Smoke x OC, Smoke x Reader, Stack x OC, Stack x Reader, Smoke/Stack x OC/Reader. Doesn’t matter! Please comment below so that I can save everyone’s blogs to tag you in future updates and new works!
All of you will most definitely be tagged. I am only tagging people who comment to let me know. If your tags do not work I will bold them so you know that’s the reason why you aren’t being notified.
Summary: Smoke goes for a late night drive to ease his mind. The radio plays a record that has Smoke in his feels.
Warnings: Fluff. Angst if you squint. 1970s AU Smoke x Annie
The Chevy C/K sat beneath a leaning pecan tree at the edge of the road, engine off, windows rolled halfway down. Mississippi night pressed close from every side. Thick. Damp. Full of insects crying out in the dark fields beyond the ditch line. Smoke had one arm hanging outside the driver’s window, his cigarette burning between his fingers while the radio glowed green across the dashboard.
Marvin Gaye’s voice filled the cab like the smoke from his cigarette. Smooth. Hurting. Reaching.
When you left, you took all of me with you…
Smoke shut his eyes.
The song had been playing for damn near seven minutes already, but he couldn’t make himself turn the dial. Couldn’t move. Every word felt aimed straight at his chest like Marvin was somewhere in the dark talking only to him.
Smoke leaned his head back against the seat and exhaled through his nose. Annie’s face kept rising up behind his eyelids anyway. The look she had given him before he walked outta that house. She didn’t get loud or scream. That would’ve been easier to take.
Nah.
It was the disappointed quiet that stayed on a man longer than a shout ever could. His thumb rubbed against the steering wheel while the strings climbed higher in the song. The ache in Marvin’s voice made the inside of the truck feel too small all of a sudden.
Smoke thought about Annie standing in that kitchen earlier, yellow dress tied around her waist while grease popped in the skillet. Earth, Wind, & Fire had been playing from the radio on the counter. She’d asked him something simple. Asked if he was gonna be home tomorrow evening or running around with Stack again.
Should’ve been an easy answer.
Instead, he got sharp with her. Started talking like she was tryna control him when really all she wanted was time with her husband.
Now here he sat in the dark like a fool while Marvin Gaye sang every feeling he’d been too hardheaded to say out loud. Smoke dragged the cigarette deep, then flicked it out of the open window into the treeline. His jaw tightened.
The radio crackled faintly.
Baby…baby, please…
“Damn,” Smoke whispered to himself.
His throat burned suddenly, and it wasn’t from the cigarette. It was from truth.
Because the song wasn’t just about missing somebody. It was about realizing too late that your pride done carries you someplace empty. And the longer he sat there, the more he could picture Annie alone in that house. Probably curled on that sofa with her arms folded under herself. Probably pretending she wasn’t waiting for headlights to pull back into the front yard.
That woman loved him down to the marrow.
Stayed with him through nightmares, bad moods, long silences, and hands that shook some nights when sleep wouldn’t come right. Annie knew parts of him nobody else got close enough to touch, and somehow she still looked at him with those beautiful pools of brown like he was the best thing to ever enter her life. Especially when she ain’t need him. She chose him.
Smoke swallowed hard and looked down at the keys hanging from the ignition. Marvin’s voice climbed again, ragged and pleading, stretching across the night air like somebody refusing to let go.
A slow exhale left Smoke’s chest. Then, he nodded to himself.
“Aight,” he spoke quietly. “Aight.”
He reached forward and turned the key. The truck rumbled alive beneath him while the song played low through the speakers. Gravel cracked under the tires as he pulled back onto the road, headlights cutting through the dark Mississippi trees.
Back toward home.
Back toward Annie.
The backroads home stretched long beneath the Chevy tires. Two narrow ribbons of black cutting through the Delta while Marvin kept singing through the speakers. WDIA must’ve known what he was going through because they played Distant Lover again for those that missed it the first time. Smoke drove with one hand on the wheel and the other rested against his thigh, thumb tapping slow against his Wrangler jeans every now and then to the melody.
The smell of wet red clay dirt drifted through the open windows along with honeysuckle and something green from the fields. Every so often, the headlights caught the silver flash of frogs leaping across the road or the pale glow of rabbit eyes vanishing into the brush.
Smoke barely noticed any of it. His mind stayed on Annie. Stayed on the curve of her hips earlier that evening. The hurt she tried to hide in her voice. The way she had gone silent after he snapped at her.
That had followed him all night.
The truck bounced lightly over uneven pavement while he reached forward and turned the radio up just a little more. Marvin sounded torn clean open now.
But every moment that I spend with you…I treasured it like it was precious jewels, oh, baby…
Smoke let out a dry breath through his nose.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “I hear you.”
His hand tightened around the wheel. Truth was, he’d been carrying too much lately and letting it spill onto the wrong person. Stack had noticed it too. The short fuse. The pacing. The way Smoke has started sleeping less again. Some nights Annie would wake up and find him sitting on the edge of the bed staring into darkness like he forgot where he was.
But, Annie never pushed. Never made him feel weep for it.
She just stayed.
That woman had held him together more times than he can count. And he knew better than to take that kind of love lightly. By the time he turned onto their dirt road, the cigarette smell had faded from his shirt some, replaced by night air pouring through the cab. The house came into view between the trees. Warm yellow light glowed through the front windows.
Smoke’s chest tightened at the sight.
Home.
The truck rolled to a stop beside the porch with a crunch of gravel. Smoke cut the engine, but this time he didn’t sit there thinking. Didn’t stall. Marvin was still singing quietly while Smoke reached over. And shut the radio off altogether.
Something I wanna say—
The porch light buzzed overhead while he climbed out the truck. Crickets screamed loud in the grass. Somewhere deeper in the fields, a blues guitar drifted faint through the dark from somebody’s radio a mile off.
Smoke walked toward the house slowly at first, Red Wing work boots heavy against the dirt path.
Then quicker. Like his body already knew where peace was waiting.
The screen door creaked when he opened it. Inside, the house smelled like grease, cocoa butter, and the tiniest trace of Annie’s perfume still hanging in the air—Avon Occur! A single lamp lit the living room beside the sofa.
And there she was.
Curled beneath one of the afghans in her yellow house dress, asleep on her side with one arm tucked beneath her cheek.
Smoke stopped right there in the doorway.
His entire face softened.
Annie looked like she’d tried to stay awake for him. The television flickered silently across her brown skin while a magazine rested half-open near her hip. Her bare feet peeked out beneath the blanket, toenails painted deep orange-red. A color Annie called grapefruit.
Smoke swallowed hard.
Lord.
He stood there for a long second just looking at her breathing. Then, he crossed the room quietly. The floor creaked beneath his weight, but Annie only stirred a little when he crouched beside the sofa. Her forehead pinched faintly like she could feel him there even in sleep.
Smoke reached out and brushed his knuckles against her ankle beneath the blanket.
“Baby,” he said with a whisper.
Annie blinked away gradual, eyes still cloudy with sleep. For a second, she just stared at him like she wasn’t sure if he was really there.
Then, her expression shifted. She wasn’t angry. No attitude. Just tired hurt. And somehow, that felt worse. Smoke lowered his eyes briefly before looking back at her.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came rough. Real rough. Like they scraped his throat coming out.
Annie remained quiet, watching him carefully from beneath sleepy lashes while the television light danced across both their faces. Smoke rested his forearms against his knees and shook his head once.
“You ain’t deserve how I talked to you earlier.” His voice stayed low and steady. “I was wrong.”
Annie looked at Smoke for a long moment before she pushed herself up against the arm of the sofa. The afghan slipped down into her lap, yellow fabric wrinkled beneath it, and Smoke could see where sleep had pressed lines into her cheek.
Her eyes stayed on him the whole time. Tired eyes. Pretty eyes. Eyes that had watched him leave and still hoped he’d come back through the door anyway.
Cicadas cried outside beyond the screen windows.
Finally, Annie spoke.
“You know what hurt me the most?”
Her voice came quiet from sleep, thick and warm around the edges, but there was ache sitting beneath every word.
“It wasn’t even what you said.”
Smoke’s jaw flexed.
Annie pulled the blanket closer around herself and looked down at her hands for a second before meeting his eyes again.
“It’s how fast you pulled away from me.”
That landed hard. Smoke felt it straight through the center of his chest.
Annie shook her head lightly, swallowing before she continued.
“I asked you one little thing, Elijah.”
The sound of his name in her mouth always did something to him. Especially like this. Hurt. Honest.
“All I wanted to know was if my husband was gon’ be home with me tomorrow.” Her eyes glistened faint under the lamp light. “And you looked at me like I was tryna trap ya’.”
Smoke dropped his gaze to the floor.
Because she was right. Every bit of right.
“I know you been carryin’ things,” Annie continued carefully. “I know some days still get heavy for you. I ain’t blind to that.” She pressed her lips together briefly. “But baby, you shut me out so fast lately.”
The room felt smaller suddenly. Closer. Smoke rubbed a hand slowly over his mouth, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I ain’t mean to.”
Annie gave a tiny sad smile at that.
“I know you ain’t mean to.”
And somehow, that made it worse too. Because she understood him so well.
Too well.
Smoke looked up at her finally, eyes dark beneath tired lids.
“I just…” He exhaled hard through his nose. “Feels like every damn thing been pullin’ at me lately. Stack needin’ me for this and that. Folks actin’ crazy at the shop. Money. Bills. Nightmares still crawlin’ up on me outta nowhere.” He shook his head once. “And then you ask me somethin’ simple and my mind hear it wrong.”
Annie listened without interrupting him. Smoke’s voices lowered further.
“Like I’m failing somewhere.”
That made her expression soften immediately.
“Oh, baby.”
She reached for him instinctively. Like she always did. Her fingers slid into his hand, warm and familiar, and Smoke looked down at them joined together like he needed the reminder.
Annie squeezed gently.
“You think wantin’ my husband home means you failin’ me?”
Smoke didn’t answer right away. That silence answered enough. Annie’s face crumpled just a little around the eyes before she shook her head.
“No.” Her thumb stroked slowly across his knuckles. “No, honey. That ain’t what I be sayin’ to you at all.”
Smoke finally looked back at her. Annie’s voice turned softer. A deep southern softness that wrapped around bruises.
“I miss you even when you standin’ right in front of me sometimes.”
That nearly broke him.
“You leave before the sun come up. Come home carryin’ the whole world in your shoulders. Half the time you staring off somewhere else even when I’m talkin’ to you.” Her eyes searched his face carefully. “And I know you tryin’. Lord knows I do. But sometimes I just want my man with me. That’s all.”
Smoke’s throat worked hard. Annie shifted closer on the sofa, blanket falling aside completely now. Her hand slid up his wrist until she could touch the side of his face.
“You ain’t gotta carry everything alone.”
The roughness in Smoke’s face cracked a little then. Just enough for her to see it. He leaned into her palm without thinking twice.
Tired.
So damn tired.
“I don’t know how to stop sometimes,” he admitted.
Annie’s eyes watered immediately at the honesty in that.
“Well…” She gave the smallest trembling smile. “Maybe you start by coming home sooner.”
A short breath escaped Smoke then, relief touching him for the first time all night. He turned his head and pressed his mouth into the center of her palm.
“I can do that.”
Annie’s fingers tugged gently on his kinky hair at the base of his neck, holding him there.
“I don’t need perfect, Eli,” she whispered. “I just need you.”
I just need you.
The words settled over him like Sunday morning light.
Smoke looked at Annie like he was trying to hold onto every piece of her at once. Her hand still rested against his face, thumb brushing lightly near the corner of his beard.
Then, Annie spoke again.
“And the babies need you too.”
Smoke’s eyes lowered immediately.
Annie’s voice remained gentle.
“Aminah been askin’ if you gon’ make it to her school singing next week.” A tiny smile touched her mouth despite everything. “She practiced that whole little song in front the mirror three times today.”
That pulled something deep in Smoke’s chest.
Annie continued softly. “Micah carried your work boots through the house this evening talkin’ ‘bout he wanna be just like his daddy.” She shook her head fairly, amused through the sadness. “Almost busted his little behind over them heavy things.”
Smoke huffed quietly through his nose at that, emotion climbing hard into his throat now.
“And Imani…” Annie’s face softened all over. “That baby hear your truck before anybody else do. Every evening she wobble straight to the window lookin’ for you.”
Lord.
Smoke shut his eyes briefly.
Too much love sittin’ in one house waitin’ on him.
Too much trust.
His calloused hand came up to cover Annie’s where it rested against his cheek, holding it there while he fought to steady himself. When he opened his eyes again, they looked wetter than before.
“Ain’t no good at this talkin’ shit,” he admitted.
Annie almost smiled. “I know.”
Smoke shook his head once, breathing rough through his nose.
“But I am sorry, Annie girl.” His voice dropped deeper. Honest. Stripped clean. “For tonight. For pulling away. For makin’ you feel alone when you ain’t supposed to.” He swallowed hard. “You my wife, Annie.”
The way he said it sounded sacred without trying to.
Final.
“You hear me?”
Annie nodded slowly, eyes shining. Smoke leaned closer, forearms resting against her knees while his thumb stroked the side of her hand.
“I love this house.” His gaze drifted around the room briefly before returning to her. “Love our babies. Love hearing ya’ll runnin’ ‘round here actin’ wild.” A tired smile touched him for half a second. “Love knowin’ you waitin’ on me.” His jaw flexed. “I just…” He searched for the words carefully. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up making sure everybody straight that I forget the whole reason I work so damn hard is already here.”
Annie’s eyes softened so much it almost hurt to look at her. She reached for him again immediately, rubbing her hand across the broad span of his back beneath his shirt. Strong back. Working man’s back. Carrying too much all the time.
“You don’t gotta prove your worth every second of the day, Eli.”
Smoke exhaled shakily.
Her fingers moved steady up and down his spine while his own hand slid across her thigh absentmindedly beneath the blanket. Slow strokes. Familiar strokes. Grounding strokes. Built from years together.
They stayed like that for a while, just looking at each other. Years sitting inside those looks.
War.
Babies.
Hard winters.
Bills folded on kitchen counters.
Slow dancing in socks.
Crying together in the darkness.
Holding each other through every version of life they survived.
Smoke stared at Annie like he still couldn’t believe she chose him. And Annie looked back like she’d choose him every single time again.
Then, Smoke leaned forward. His hand slid from her thigh up to her waist while he pressed his forehead lightly against hers first, eyes closing briefly as if he needed to feel close before anything else.
Then, he kissed her.
Deep. Not rushed. Not heated for the sake of heat.
Needed.
A kiss a man gives when he finally comes home to himself. Annie melted into him immediately with a soft sound against his mouth, her fingers curling tighter at the back of his neck while Smoke held her close enough to feel her heartbeat through the thin yellow fabric. He kissed her like apology. Like relief. Like gratitude. Like a man worn thin by the world finally reaching the only place that ever made him feel whole again.
When the kiss finally broke, Annie rested her forehead against his, noses brushing lightly while both of them breathed the same warm air between them. Smoke’s hands remained at her waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric gathered there like he still needed reassurance she was really in front of him.
Annie smiled first. Small. Sleepy. Full of love.
“Come to bed, baby.”
Smoke looked at her for another second before nodding once.
“Yeah.”
Annie brushed one last kiss against the corner of his mouth before standing from the sofa. The afghan slid down behind her while she stretched lightly, yellow dress pulling across her hips and thighs beneath the dim living room lamp.
Smoke watched her the whole way.
Lord, he loved that woman.
Annie glanced back at him halfway down the hall, catching him staring, that tired little smile returned again.
“Don’t sit out here brooding all night neither.”
A faint grin tugged at Smoke’s mouth then.
“Yes ma’am.”
Annie shook her head softly at him and disappeared into their bedroom, leaving behind the scent of her perfume, cocoa butter, and home.
Smoke stayed on the couch another minute after Annie left.
Just breathing. Settling himself.
He leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees while he rubbed the back of his neck with both hands.
Provider.
Protector.
Husband.
Father.
The weight of those things never left him. But tonight reminded him why he carried it in the first place.
Smoke stood finally and cut the television off. Then, he reached over and cut the lamp light. Darkness settled through the living room except for the kitchen light glowing faint down the hall.
The old wood floors creaked beneath his boots while he moved quietly toward the children’s room.
The door sat cracked open already.
Inside, moonlight spilled pale blue through thin curtains laying across toys scattered near the wall and little shoes kicked carelessly beside the dresser.
Smoke paused in the doorway.
Aminah and Micah were sprawled across the bunk beds without a worry in the world. Micah slept on the bottom bunk flat on his back, one skinny leg hanging halfway over the mattress while one of his comic books rested open on his chest. The Jungle Action Comic Series “Panther’s Rage.” Uncle Stack picked up from some comic shop in Atlanta on one of his business trips. Aminah slept above him curled beneath her blanket with one long braid hanging over the edge of the bed.
Smoke shook his head lightly at the sight. Then, his eyes moved toward the crib in the corner.
Imani. Fast asleep with her tiny fists tucked near her cheeks.
Smoke’s entire expression softened again. He crossed the room carefully, every movement quieter so he wouldn’t wake them. First, he stopped beside Micah, lifting the comic gently from the boy’s chest before laying on it on the floor nearby. Smoke bent and pressed a kiss against Micah’s forehead.
“Love you, boy.” He whispered.
Micah only smacked his lips softly in his sleep.
Smoke moved to the top bunk next. Aminah stirred faintly when he brushed his knuckles against her cheek, but she settled once he kissed her temple.
“That my girl.” He whispered.
Then, he made his way to the crib.
Imani looked so small sleeping there. Her curls spread against the little pillow while the moonlight touched her round cheeks. Smoke rested both hands on the front rail and just looked at her for a second, emotion rising up all over again before he leaned down carefully. He kissed her forehead.
Imani sighed in her sleep.
Smoke closed his eyes at the sound.
Lord, thank you.
When he straightened again, he stood there another moment looking over all three of his babies together.
His family.
His whole damn heart sleeping inside one room.
Then, he pulled the bedroom door nearly shut behind him before heading toward the back room where Annie waited.
And the second Smoke stepped inside and saw his wife sitting there against the headboard with her hair wrapped up and her yellow dress slipping off one shoulder, something inside him settled completely.
Her eyes dropped immediately to his boots. Then to the dirt along the cuffs of his jeans.
One brow lifted.
“No outside clothes in bed. Smoke.”
The firmness in her sleepy voice made him grin before he could help it.
There she go.
Back to herself.
Back to them.
Smoke leaned one shoulder against the doorway and chuckled low in his chest.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Annie pointed lazily toward the hamper near the dresser without another word. Smoke laughed softly through his nose and obeyed.
He unlaced his boots first and set them neatly by the wall before peeling off his socks. Then came the jeans, heavy belt clinking softly in the quiet room, followed by his faded T-shirt. Warm brown skin stretched over muscle, old scars cutting pale against his chest and shoulders from another life Annie never judged him for.
She watched him the entire time. Not even trying to hide it. Smoke caught her staring and smirked.
“You supposed to be sleep.”
Annie settled deeper into the pillows.
“You supposed to be listening.”
That made him laugh again.
Lord.
Smoke tossed his clothes in the hamper and headed into the small bathroom connected to their room. Annie listened to the familiar sounds while fighting sleep. Running water. Cabinet creaking open. Toothbrush bristles against teeth.
Domestic sounds.
Marriage sounds.
Sounds you stop noticing until one night they’re missing.
Smoke washed his face, letting cool water clear the last of the heaviness from his mind. When he looked up afterward, droplets clung to his beard and lashes.
For the first time all day, he looked calm.
By the time he came back into the bedroom, Annie’s eyes were half closed. Still waiting on him anyway.
That hit him straight in the chest too.
Smoke crossed the room and reached over to switch the lamp off. Moonlight poured through the curtains in silver strips.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight when he climbed in beside her.
Instantly, Annie moved closer. Like muscle memory. Her head found his chest while one arm draped across his stomach beneath tue blanket. One strong arm pulled her snug against him while the other rested beneath his head. Annie’s fingertips slid slowly down the ridges of his abdomen, absentmindedly and sleepy. Smoke lowered his mouth to the top of her wrapped hair and kissed her there.
Long. Lingering.
“I love you,” he whispered into the darkness.
Annie hummed softly against his chest.
“Love you too, Elijah.”
The fan whirled overhead and the crickets cried outside. Annie’s breathing started slowing little by little against him while Smoke stared up into the dark ceiling, holding his wife close and listening to the peace of his own home around him.
Then came a soft knock.
Both of them blinked.
The bedroom door creaked open before either of them could answer.
Aminah stood there in her nightgown holding sleepy little Imani against her hip the best she could. Micah lingered beside her rubbing one eye with his fist, blanket dragging behind him across the floor.
Smoke lifted his head immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
Aminah looked exhausted.
“Imani woke up crying,” she whispered. “Then Micah got scared ‘cause of the thunder.”
Right on cue, distant thunder rolled across the Mississippi sky.
Annie sighed softly against Smoke’s chest.
Because of course.
Smoke pushed um himself up onto one elbow while Micah shuffled further into the room.
“I-I think there’s a m-monster in the closet.” Micah admitted miserably.
Smoke looked at Annie.
Annie looked at Smoke.
Then both of them smiled at the exact same time.
Family.
“Ain’t no monsters in this house,” Smoke said, voice groggy as he held his arm out towards Micah. “Come on here, man.”
Micah hurried over, climbing onto the bed from Smoke’s side while dragging his blanket behind him. The mattress bounced beneath his little knees before he collapsed dramatically beside his father with a tired sigh.
Annie laughed softly under her breath.
“Aminah, baby, bring your sister here before your little arms fall off.”
Aminah nodded sleepily and crossed the room carefully with Imani tucked against her shoulder. Smoke reached out automatically to steady the baby while Annie pulled the blankets back further.
“Lay her beside me,” Annie whispered.
Imani fussed faintly when Aminah lowered her into the bed, tiny face scrunched up with leftover tears and sleepiness, but the second Annie gathered her close against her chest, the baby settled back down.
Safe.
Imani’s little hand grabbed hold of Annie’s nightdress while Annie kissed her curls gently.
“There we go,” she whispered.
Smoke watched the sight from the other side of the bed.
His whole world right there. Right here.
Aminah crawled in next, slipping beneath the covers beside Annie and Imani while Micah sprawled halfway across Smoke’s side already fighting sleep again.
The bed suddenly became crowded as hell. Legs everywhere. Blankets twisted. One of Micah’s feet shoved directly against Smoke’s thigh.
And still, somehow, it felt perfect.
Annie looked over at Smoke in the darkness, amusement flowing in her tired eyes.
“Well,” she whispered. “So much for us having room tonight.”
Smoke snorted quietly.
“I sleep better with ya’ll in here anyway.”
That made Annie smile.
The storm rolled deeper outside, rain beginning to tap lightly against the windows while the fan turned overhead carrying cool air through the room.
Smoke reached across the bed until his hand found Annie’s beneath the blankets.
Their fingers laced together naturally.
Aminah was already asleep curled against Annie’s shoulder. Micah had one arm flung across Smoke’s stomach, knocked out almost instantly. And little Imani breathed tiny warm breaths against Annie’s chest while thunder rumbled far off across the Delta night.
Smoke stared up at the ceiling for another minute listening to all of it.
Rain.
His children breathing.
His wife beside him.
Home.
Then Annie squeezed his hand once in the darkness.
Smoke is tired of sharing his wife with their kids, especially his greedy ass 9-month old son.
Inspiration: @urbnnoir's post, this TikTok, this request, this one, and this one. Also commentary from @margepimpson, @myheartsaysyes, @brownskincheyenne and @nika324
“Mama got her hair done!” Arianna shot up from her chair and gleefully skipped down the driveway.
Smoke leaned back in his fold-up chair. He was in the open garage of his home–their home–one hand holding a beer, the other on Elijah Jr, his 9-month old son who was bouncing up and down on his lap.
Annie pulled up in her Chrysler 300 with the windows down. He could hear the music all the way down the block, II Hands II Heaven by Beyoncé. She cut the engine and stepped out of the car like he’d been waiting for her his whole life.
It felt like he had.
His son squealed where he sat, already reaching out for his mama. Annie bent down to give Smoke a kiss and Junior latched right onto her hair as she picked him up.
Smoke loved his babies with every bone and breath in his body. He’d die for them. Burn the world down for them. But lately he was feeling…overlooked. Just when they got their five-year old to sleep in her own bedroom, here comes another baby to throw a wrench in their routine.
Junior was a second child to his core. Needy, fussy, and possessive over his mama like Annie wasn’t Smoke’s woman first. Every time he breast fed, he would look at him with droopy lids and a look in his eyes that said “these my titties now, nigga.” Smoke tried not to be jealous, he really did. But every time he found Annie passed out in the bed from tending to his kids, he died a little inside.
But tonight was different.
Annie walked out of her car, hair styled just right, looking at him like she was ready to pounce.
She was sending a message. She wanted him, and he was gonna take what belonged to him, for once and for all.
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