#annie sinners

[carouselshotgun]

wunmi mosaku behind the scenes as annie in SINNERS

[dustofhistory]

I thought she looked so ethereal in that scene - literally heavenly! And you’ve captured that so so well.

‘you put that cig out, you can hold her’

[kesteral]

something about smoke being rejected since childhood because everyone was certain his father's evil lived on in him. something about annie being the only one to call smoke 'elijah' and how that makes him soften. something about how just before they're truly reunited, annie says 'i dont want any of that smoke on the baby'. something about annie being the one who sets smoke free from his past and his sins and lets him be human instead.

[alchemyfreak123]

Women of Sinners - Sinners (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[drolta]

the women of Sinners

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

crazy mix but i recently have become obsessed w annie from sinners and of course I've been obsessed w santiago so ig i really just need to start drawing my two babygirls

if you want to get better at drawing then you need to get obsessed with a freaky little character and draw them a billion times

[iam-whoyouwantmetobe]

Second Chance

Synopsis - Amira lived the life that most women wanted. She was a successful business owner, married to a successful CEO of a luxury hotel chain. The two lived in a beautiful mansion in Houston with their two dogs, Pickles and Peaches. From the outside they looked like the perfect family but they were far from it. One night, after her husband stands her up, Amira decides to go to a new club that had just opened up. She ends up meeting Smoke who ultimately decides he wants her all to himself, despite the rock on her finger.

Characters - Amira, Elias ‘Stack’, Elijah ‘Smoke’, Damien, Araya

Warnings - SMUT, angst, tension, jealousy, cursing, violence, Dom Smoke, Sub OC, cheating, miscarriage.

MINORS DNI

PART 1

-

The Houston heat wasn’t something Amira was used to just yet, despite the fact that she grew up in Barbados. I mean sure, the island was hot but Houston was on a different level.

Sweat dripped down her eyebrows as she packed her groceries into the trunk of her car. She had just gotten out of work when she realized there was nothing in the fridge to make dinner tonight. Despite the ache in her feet from dealing with different clients, she still knew she had to go home and make food for her and her husband…

Amira owned her own interior design company that kept her pretty busy throughout the week and sometimes bleeding onto the weekends. Due to how demanding her job was at times, it was hard for her to keep up with other things, like for example.

Making dinner for her and her husband.

Getting in the car, Amira drove the 20 minutes home and quickly parked in the garage before starting to unload the groceries. Her lower back was on fire and the balls of her feet felt heavy. Ignoring the pain, she made her way to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. Peaches and Pickles ran up to her the second they heard her. Amira giggled as she petted the two big pitbulls that somehow swore they were still puppies even though they were half her height. “Hi babies.” The dogs whined as they walked to their bowls, gently placing their giant paws on them to signal for food. “You guys haven’t ate yet?” The dogs whined again as if they understood what Amira was saying.

“Damien! Did you feed the dogs?!” Damien yelled back a “no”, before the sound of his office door closing echoed throughout the house. Amira scoffed in disbelief. He’d been home for the past two hours and the dogs were usually fed on a schedule that matched theirs so that when they weren’t home, the dogs wouldn’t be starving.

Despite the irritation crawling up her skin, she quickly prepared their food before getting started on her own. Amira grabbed a claw clip and pinned her hair up, washed her hands and got to work. By the time dinner was done, Damien had finally emerged from his office. “Smells good.” He commented, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“Thanks” Amira mumbled as she plated his food and set it on the counter for him to grab.

“Oh actually. Can you package that up? I’ll take it to work tomorrow.” The silence that followed could be heard throughout the whole of Houston.

“What are you talking about? You told me you were hungry. I made you dinner.” Amira’s accent sounded stronger than it usually did. Her anger bringing out a side of her that Damien rarely sees.

“Yeah. I told you I was hungry like 3 hours ago, Amira. You told me you were still at work so I ordered food.”

Amira scoffed, tightening her fists to calm her down. “You couldn’t have told me that before I spent all this time making dinner!?”

“Yo come on, chill out with all that yelling. I ain’t think you was gonna come home and cook. I thought I was helping you out by getting myself something to eat.”

Her eyes watered from frustration. Damien sighed loudly before walking up to her, he rubbed his hands up and down her arms before leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead and then down to her cheeks before settling on her lips. “Chill mama. It’s my bad. I should’ve told you.”

He pecked her lips again before wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. “At least you won’t have to make anything tomorrow.” Damien tried to lighten the tension but Amira was pissed. She was tired, exhausted and in pain. Her day started at 6am, she had recently gotten 4 new clients who were very demanding. Rich people usually were. She’d been bouncing from house to house, taking pictures of their layout, taking notes of what they’d like, trying her best to remain professional. As much as she loved her job, sometimes it could be too much and all she wanted was a small break.

“Don’t forget we got our session with Dr. Miranda tomorrow. Don’t be late again.” Amira walked off, leaving the kitchen a mess, the food out and her stomach empty.

-

Thirty.

Thirty minutes late.

This wasn’t even the worst of it. Sometimes he just wouldn’t show up.

He would turn his phone off so her calls wouldn’t go through and when she would get home, he would be nowhere to be found. Then he’d show up in the middle of the night when she was dead asleep so that she wouldn’t argue with him

“I’m so sorry Dr. Miranda. We can just cancel and I’ll pay the fe-”

“I’m here. Meeting ran late.” Damien walked in smelling like weed and Henny. He sat down next to Amira with a huff, as if being there was a bother to him. Anger bubbled dangerously in the pits of her stomach, her eye twitched slightly as she took a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Okay. Let’s get started then.” Dr. Miranda took out her notepad and a pen. “Amira, last week you said you felt like Damien resented you and that he’s only staying with you because he feels guilty. For your homework, I told you guys to start appreciating the things you do for each other, whether big or small. Did that help or do you still feel that way?”

Amira sighs deeply. “I’m going to be honest Dr. Miranda, we tried but I still feel the same way.” Damien rolls his eyes and slumps back in his seat.

“Doesn’t matter what I do or say, she’ll always feel that way Doctor.”

“Could you blame me? You told me I was too weak minded which is why we lost our baby!”

“Okay, let’s calm down. No yelling please.” Amira could already feel the tears forming in her eyes and her stomach turn, as it always did during these sessions.

“Damien, I know you apologized for what you said but could you see why she would still feel the way she does?” He nodded slowly, eyes to the floor as if he was actually ashamed of his actions.

“I know but what else can I do? I apologized, showered her with gifts and showed her love, and still, Nothing. I get nothing from her.”

“You get nothing from me? You’re joking right?” Amira laughed maniacally. “I come home and cook for you, I do your laundry AND your dry cleaning, I take care of the dogs, I clean the house, I show up as your fucking trophy wife whenever you have your stupid company parties and you have the NERVE to say that you get nothing??” Tears spill from her eyes and she quickly wipes them, not wanting him to see how broken she truly was. How everyday she felt herself withering away.

“Amira, let me ask you something. Is this marriage something that you still want to be in?”

Her head dropped and her lip quivered. She couldn’t imagine leaving Damien after everything they’ve been through, but the hurt he’d caused her had done damage. Damage that she wasn’t sure was reversible.

They were college sweethearts. Met freshman year and stayed together ever since. He wasn’t just somebody she could give up on but the love she felt for him had died long ago and she was just holding on to bits and pieces. He was her husband after all, they had a kid together, they lost a kid together, they have a house, they have dogs, they have a life together.

Had a life together.

Now it just feels like two bodies living under the safe roof, just tolerating each other’s existence.

“I … I don’t know.” Damiens head shot upwards, looking straight at her with furrowed eyebrows and mouth slightly ajar.

“You don’t know, Amira?”

“Damien, is this marriage something that you still want to be in?” Dr. Miranda shifted her focus to the man who somehow looked confused as to why she would ask him that.

“Of course it is. I love Amira. I want to make this work.”

“Damien, you have to understand that you stepped out of the marriage. It’s going to take some time for Amira to be fully there with you, if she even wants that. You have to give her time. Keep showing up, only if she allows you to. It’s going to take a lot of work to fix what’s been broken. Are you willing to do that?”

Damien nodded slowly. His eyes back on his wife before moving to Dr. Miranda. “Yes. Im willing to do that.”

Amira couldn’t even make out what they were saying, her head pounded loudly in her ears and she just wanted to lay down. Marriage counseling wasn’t even her idea, it was his. After she caught him cheating on her, with multiple women, Amira left. Packed her bags, left one of the managers in charge of her business and disappeared for months. He went after her, tried to follow her everywhere she went but eventually gave up. She returned home when she found out she was pregnant. Amira struggled with the ability to conceive a child and after a lot of IVF treatments, she was finally carrying. The two agreed to stay together and find a way to make it work, but her body struggled with the sudden changes, on top of the stress of finding out her husband was cheating and ultimately she ended up loosing the baby.

The aftermath was horrendous. The two argued everyday, he’d be gone for hours, sometimes days, and would leave her to take care of herself. One day the fighting got so bad that dishes got thrown, bruises were formed and the screaming was so loud that the neighbors called the police. That’s when he snapped. Blamed her entirely for the loss of their baby, told her she was too weak minded.

“I’m sorry, can we end this session? I don’t feel well.” Amira stood up before either of them could say a word and left.

Once she got home, she fed and took the dogs out for a walk. Damien hadn’t returned but she wasn’t surprised. She stripped her clothes off and took a bath long enough for her fingers and toes to prune up.

-

It was around 1 in the morning when Damien showed up, a bouquet of roses in hand. “I knew you’d be up, so I brought you these.”

Amira tried to smile but the muscles in her face refused to produce it. Specially since she wasn’t a big fan of roses, she loved lillys, they were her favorite. She grabbed the flowers and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

“Listen Mira, I fucked up. I know that.” He sits on the couch while she stood in between his legs. His hands rub up and down her thighs as he pressed his face to her stomach. “But I wanna make it right. I need you Mira. I love you.”

The knot in the back of her throat tightened and she tried her best to swallow it. “Okay. I love you too.” Damien nodded, knowing this was the most he was going to get out of her.

“How about we go on a date tomorrow, yeah? I’ll make reservations, all you have to worry about is getting all pretty.” Amira’s face finally cracked, slightly, her hands rubbed his face.

“Okay. What time?”

“Just be ready by 8, baby.” Amira felt her heart skip a beat, an excitement she hadn’t felt in a long time. As Damien goes to shower, she put the flowers in a vase and then crawls into bed. That night, for the first time in what’s felt like years, Damien wrapped his arms around Amira and they fell asleep just like that.

-

Amira woke up early the next morning despite how restless she felt. She walked like a zombie to the bathroom, her body feeling like it weight a ton. A sigh leaves her lips as she stares at her face. She looked like she hadn’t slept in years, there were bags under her eyes and her skin looked dull. She almost looked grey, lifeless.

After a much needed cold shower, that didn’t help at all with how tired she felt, Amira started her skincare routine. Despite the expensive oils and multiple layers of creams, Amira still looked like she’d been through war. She had been relying on makeup a lot lately to help her feel “pretty” since she always looked like her energy had been drained.

It had been like this for a while and no matter what she did, her spark was just gone. Nowhere to be found. Her husband had stolen it and destroyed it along with their marriage. But she was hopeful that they were heading in the right directions and that’s things would change.

But

Unfortunately for Amira, the slither of hope had diminished when 8:30PM hit and Damien wasn’t home.

She had gotten her hair done early, 30 inch bundles with a side part leave out. Her nails were short and French to match with her toes. Her dress was brand new, House of CB, open back, silk and in his favorite color, red. It was short and dangerous, stopping right below her ass but long enough to keep you looking. Her heels, new too, black louboutins. She wore the diamond earrings he’d gotten her with the matching necklace. Her ring was shiny, freshly polished and sitting pretty on her finger.

Amira looked like sin personified. She felt like it too.

After 10PM hit, she had enough. She didn’t bother calling or texting him, there was no point in doing so. Wiping the tears that managed to escape, Amira quickly fixed her makeup, grabbed her purse and headed out.

She didn’t know where she was going but she was going somewhere.

Amira called an uber to a local lounge that she’s visited many times before. As she stepped inside, the smell of alcohol and hookah immediately hit her. She went up to the bar and ordered a drink and a shot of tequila.

“Damn girl, you starting of strong.” The bartender handed Amira her shot first.

“Yeah I need it.”

After a few drinks in her system, Amira felt tipsy. But the lounge was boring her and she needed somewhere else to go, somewhere with more excitement. She overhead some girls talking about going to this new club that had just opened up, ‘Club Juke’ and so she ordered her second uber of the night and headed there.

-

Music played loudly through the speakers as Amira walked in. The club was packed but not overcrowded, just how she liked it. She headed straight to the bar, the liquor was sitting still in her system, not yet making its presence fully known. But it was there.

Amira sat and watched people dance, enjoying the vibrance of the crowd. Drink in her hand and hookah to her lips as her eyes traveled around the club. It was beautiful, two story from what it seems.

As she took another sip from her cup she felt someone sitting next to her, her head immediately turned and her eyes slightly widened at the man who was much bigger than her, even as he sat down. He had smooth brown skin, a crisp white tee, waves on swim, gold chains hanging from his neck, gold grills sitting in his mouth and he smelled good, too fucking good.

His eyes found her and Amira immediately looked away, embarrassed to have been caught practically eye fucking him. “You can keep looking, pretty. I don’t bite.”

God his voice. HIS VOICE

Amira cleared her throat. “I wasn’t looking at you.” She refused to turn her head, taking a pull from her hookah to distract her.

“Oh you wasn’t?”

“Nope. But it seems like you keep looking at me.”

The man chuckled slightly. “I am. Something wrong with that?” Amira could practically feel the butterflies erupting in her stomach.

“I’m married, so yeah there is a problem with that.” She turned to meet his eyes and her breath almost caught in her throat.

He is just so fucking fine.

“I’m supposed to care that you’re married?” Amira scoffed in disbelief.

“Yes. You are.”

He shrugged his shoulders like she had just told him a random fun fact. “Well, I don’t.

Amira knew she was in trouble when something about the way he said that made her thighs clench together. But she had to pretend she wasn’t phased. Choosing to ignore him, she turned her attention back to almost forgotten liquor in her cup.

“What’s your name beautiful.” She glanced back at him again, she swore that every time she looked at him, he somehow got sexier.

“Amira.” She hesitated.

“Amira.” He tested it out, her name falling like velvet from his lips. “Egyptian name, do you know what it means?”

“No. But I’m assuming you do?” Smoke smirked at her little attitude, he loved it when women talked back to him and something about Amira was really getting to him.

“It means princess.” His hand moves carefully, brushing a piece of hair to the back of her ear. “It fits you.”

She almost broke out into a smile, almost. Her lips twitched and she had to bite her cheek to suppress it. “Thank you and what’s yours?” She shouldn’t have been entertaining him. At all.

“Smoke.” He hadn’t stopped looking at her since she walked in, he was drinking her in and taking notes of the way her body moves, her facial expressions and how she spoke to him. He wanted to bathe himself in her. He wanted to ruin her. Have her in anyway possible until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Smoke… Interesting.”

“Yeah? You like it?” Goosebumps raised on her skin as his voice travels through her ears and over her body.

“No. I don’t.”

Smoke smirked, clearly not believing her. “Whatever you say, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m married and you don’t know me.”

“I don’t care and I’d like to get to know you.” Amira glared at him. She watched the way his lip wrapped around the rim of his cup as he took a sip of his drink.

“You can’t”

“I can’t?” He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head. “You sure about that?” He leaned in a little bit, not too much to scare her off but close enough where she could smell his cologne. She wanted nothing more than to burry her head in his neck. The liquor in her system was working overtime, her body felt like she was overheating. She had never bothered to look at another man that wasn’t Damien, but Smoke. Smoke was doing something to her. The way he watched her and spoke to her was dangerous, but she liked it.

Amira stared at Smoke with her eyes low and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“Mm, don’t look at me like that baby.” Smoke almost lost the little bit on control he had. She looked at him just like how he looked at her. Hungry.

Amira let’s out a small giggle as her attentions shifts to the dance floor the second one of her favorite songs come on. Smoke notices the shift, the way her body slightly loosened like she wanted to move but was stuck to her seat.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Smoke stood up and held out his hand. Amira is quiet for a moment as she contemplates her next move, it’s just a dance right?

Right

Placing her much smaller hand in his, she stands up and let’s him lead her to an empty spot on the floor.

The lights were dim, changing between red and blue. The air was thick with weed smoke and heat while the atmosphere was charged with need. At this point in the night everyone was drunk of liquor, lust and love. The crowd danced in every corner of the club, sweat dripping down their bodies as they moved in sync to the music. No one judged, no one was on their phone, no one truly cared. Everyone was living in the moment.

Smoke turned Amira around so that her back met his chest, his hands traveled from her arms down to her waist where they settled there. “Don’t be scared princess. Show me what you got.” His mouth was close to her ear and she briefly closed her eyes in hopes to keep the desire buried deep in her body but when she felt his hands run down the smooth of her back and stopping right above her ass, she couldn’t hold it anymore.

Amira started wining her waist to the beat of the song. “There you go baby. Nice and slow.”

God

GOD

Amira felt like she was loosing the internal battle she had going on with herself but that didn’t stop her from bending low, grinding her ass on his very hard bulge.

“Mhm. Just like that.” His voice somehow got lower, and Amira cursed at the gods for somehow being able to hear him over the music.

He matched her pace, letting her lead as he followed. His hands hadn’t stopped touching her. He was everywhere.

Smoke grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her up to his body. She brung her arm around to the back of his head as he lowered it to her neck, placing kisses all the way down to her shoulder.

They kept dancing, never missing a beat, even as Amira’s pulse quickened and the pool forming between her legs became an ocean. Smoke placed his hands on her waist, feeling how she moved on him.

“You coming home with me.”

He wasn’t asking, wasn’t even a suggestion. No. He was telling her. And Amira was too dizzy with need to argue or to even think about her husband.

-

She didn’t know how and when it happened but the two ended up at Smoke’s house. “I just moved in a couple weeks ago so don’t mind me barely having any furniture.” Amira looked around, eyes wide and attentive.

“It’s nice. You can definitely do a lot with all this space.” She followed him into the kitchen were he pulled out a bottle of Don Julio and two cups.

“Yeah? What you thinking?” Amira watched him pour the drinks before realizing what he asked.

“I’m clocked out right now, you’re gonna have to catch me when I’m working for me to answer that question.” She responded with a giggle as she takes the liquor from his hands.

“You’re an interior designer ?”

“Yeah.” Smoke displayed that little smirk that always pulled her focus down to his lips.

“You gon help me decorate my house?” He walked up to her, standing between her legs as she sat on his stool. His hands landed on her thighs, slowly moving up and down.

Amira smiled. “Boy, no. You’ll have to go to somebody else.” Smoke slightly shook his head.

“Nah. I want you.” The smile on her lips dropped, her eyes glance at his lips momentarily before looking back at him.

“Yeah?” She sounded breathless, almost shy. Smoke leaned in, close enough so that she’d still have a chance to back away if she wanted to. But she didn’t move.

“Yeah.” Their lips meet and Amira immediately wraps her arms around his neck. The kiss wasn’t fast, no, it was slow but deep like if they’ve kissed before. She couldn’t help but moan softly into his mouth, causing him to groan as he grabbed her waist and picked her up with no effort.

-

[robsdiary]

STILL not over this. [tt post by cawlmepretty]

[trailerparkvampire]

the jack girlies were butthurt but i stand by it 🤣

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

her big eyes 🥹 but she literally about to woop his ass. uggh i love her

She look so cute being fussed at by Smoke

[oneiric-wanderlust]

Seeing this serious, battle-hardened gangster smile while holding his baby girl, being with Annie for all eternity, and finally finding peace makes my heart melt.

[myheartsaysyes]

The Remedy: Part 2

Chapter 1

Warning: ‼️ SMUT/EXPLICIT ‼️ Language, use of N-word.

Note: Soooo……there wasn’t supposed to be a part 2, but per the request of @margepimpson I wrote a part 2 from Smoke’s POV (partially). I hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 3.7+

The room smelled like gun oil, stale cigars, and quiet money.

Smoke sat near the back of the warehouse office, a lit Newport hanging from the corner of his mouth, slow curls of smoke drifting toward the flickering light overhead. One leg bounced lazily beneath the table. His twin brother Stack stood next to him near the window with his arms crossed, fitted hat turned backwards, chewing a toothpick like he was bored but watching everything.

At the head of the table sat Brewster Gaines aka Old Man Brew, silver-bearded and sharp-eyed in his linen shirt and creased slacks. He spoke low and smooth. Flanked by two walking brick walls—Demetrius and Malik—stone-faced and silent. He spoke low and smooth.

“This job clean if it’s done right,” Brew said, tapping the ash off his cigar. “First Federal bank in Meridian. Full-on vault hit. One inside man stalls the alarm, two on perimeter, two goin’ in. We hit it fifteen minutes after close, back door through the alley. In and out before they know what’s missin’.”

Smoke half-listened, dragging on his cigarette, exhaling slow. His eyes traced the blueprints and marked-up map on the table, but his mind was slipping—sliding back into soft sheets, her legs trembling, his name gasped against her pillows.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He didn’t hesitate. Slid it out, thumbed the screen with one hand while the cigarette smoldered between two fingers.

Annie: What you doin’ tonight?

The corner of his mouth curved. He typed back.

Smoke: You, if you let me.

A low chuckle came from Stack. “Damn nigga, you hittin’ her with the one-liners now?”

Smoke didn’t look up. Just puffed again and tapped ash on the dusty floor.

“She must got you twisted,” Stack went on, pushing off the wall. “Nigga actin’ real pussy whipped. Textin’ in meetings and shit.”

Smoke blew out a slow breath and said nothing.

Stack grinned. “Yo’ lil nurse got you out here smellin’ like lotion and sleepovers.”

Still no response.

Old Man Brew raised an eyebrow. “Y’all done with the comedy hour?”

Stack shrugged. “Just sayin’. Lotta weight on this job. Be real inconvenient if somebody’s attention was split.”

Smoke finally glanced up slow.

Eyes sharp. Expression blank. But the look he gave Stack?

Cold. Unblinking. The kind of stare that said keep runnin’ your mouth and see what happens.

Stack caught it. He didn’t backpedal or apologize, just waved Smoke off with a flick of his hand like whatever, and leaned back against the wall, chewing that toothpick a little harder.

But he didn’t say another word.

Smoke went right back to his phone, locked it, and tucked it into his pocket like the conversation never happened.

“Back door’s the entry, right?” Smoke said, calm. “What time the inside man cuts the alarm?”

The conversation picked back up, but Smoke’s body wasn’t in it. 

Not really.

He was back in her bed.

He didn’t even have to think about it. Since last night, she’d been all over his thoughts. Every time he blinked, it was her face again, head turned to the side, mouth open, saying his name like it was the only one that ever mattered.

Elijah.

She ain’t never said it like that before. Not in passing, not even soft and sweet. But last night? Last night she screamed it. Gave it back to him like she was blessing it. And he’d felt it everywhere; in his chest, in his bones, deep down in the parts of himself he didn’t show nobody.

He closed his eyes, let the memory roll through him.

She was so fuckin’ pretty under him. Face in the pillow, hands clawin’ at the sheets, body open and shaking, and wet as hell for him. The sound she made when he told her not to run, that soft gasp, that helpless moan, it had burned into him like a brand. And the way she said “please” right before he came inside her? Yeah. He’d never forget that.

He could still smell her on his skin.

Could still feel the way her hips pushed back into him, greedy and giving all at once. That body was made for him. Soft and strong in all the right ways. And she let him in, like really let him in. Not just her pussy, but her self. No walls. No hesitation.

And he felt that shit.

Felt it deep.

That’s what had him pacing this morning, head gone, half-hard in the damn shower thinking about her little sounds. That shy little “Oh my God” when he first slid in. The way she shook after, curled up with him like she didn’t wanna be anywhere else.

Hell, he didn’t either.

She was changing him. Little by little. And he felt it happening.

Used to be, he’d smash and leave. Simple. No sleepovers. No sweet talk. Just a nut and a back turned. But Annie? She had him laying there, tracing circles on her back with his thumb, breathing in her hair as if it was the only air that worked.

His phone buzzed again.

Annie: You still there?  

He texted back instantly.

Smoke: My mind ain’t left yo’ place since last night. Just been replayin’ that shit like a movie.

Pause. Three dots. Then—

Smoke: You sore?

Her response took a little longer this time. Then:

Annie: Boy, shut up! 😳

He laughed low, but not low enough for the room not to notice. Especially not Old Man Brew.

“Get your fuckin’ head back, boy.” Brew didn’t raise his voice, but the steel in it could’ve cracked concrete. “I don’t care what bitch in yo’ bed. You lock the fuck in, or you get the hell outta my sight ‘til you can. I don’t do distractions. Not on my time. And if I gotta remind you again, it won’t be with words. You hear me?”

The room froze.

Stack stopped chewing his toothpick. Even Demetrius and Malik stiffened.

Because this wasn’t normal.

Brew had never reprimanded Smoke before, not like this. Not ever.

Not the boy he took under his wing at fifteen. Not his sharpest shooter. His quietest shadow. His most dependable blade.

Smoke was like a son to him.

Which made the words cut deeper.

And when Brew said, “If I gotta remind you again, it won’t be with words.” Smoke knew that wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise. And a warning. One meant to snap him back in line.

But Smoke didn’t get defensive. Didn’t puff up or push back.

He met Brew’s gaze, jaw tight, pulse steady, and nodded once.

“Yes sir,” he said, voice low. “That’s on me. Won’t happen again.”

Not a hint of attitude. Just respect.

Brew stared at him another beat—long, then gave a small nod.

“See that it don’t.”

He sat up straighter, the phone tucked away like it never existed, eyes now on the map in front of them.

And just like that, they were back on track.

He flicked the cigarette stub into a nearby tray and leaned back.

Let ‘em talk.

He knew what he was doing tonight.

Tonight, he’d take it slower with Annie. Kiss every inch. Put her on top and watch her fall apart.

But not before he fed her first. Girl was on her feet all day, tending to everybody else. And he’d be damned if she was gonna do that with an empty stomach.

Smoke already had in his mind, after leaving this meeting, he’d grab takeout from the Jamaican spot down the block from her place that she liked. She always smiled when she got curry on her fingers, and he loved watchin’ her lick it off, eyes lazy with content.

The meeting dragged on another twenty minutes. Stack cracked jokes under his breath, Brew handed out assignments, and Smoke played it cool, but his pulse was already moving in a different rhythm.

Annie’s rhythm.

He stepped out of the warehouse as the sun dipped low, the air thick and humid, sky smeared pink and gold. Smoke slid into his 1970 blacked out Coupe DeVille, the leather hot under his thighs, turned the key, and let the low hum of the engine settle him. He cracked the window, lit another Newport, and took a long pull before pulling off.

He didn’t drive fast.

Didn’t need to.

The day had been all business. But the night? The night belonged to her. To the softness of her voice. To the look in her eyes when he kissed her slow. To the memory of her body wrapped tight around his.

He turned down the block to the Jamaican spot she loved, double-parked like he always did, and grabbed two orders—curried chicken for her, brown stew for him. A Snapple, a soda and two bags of her favorite chips from the corner store.

Didn’t matter how hard he moved in the streets, he’d still remember the snacks she liked.

He had just turned onto her street when the playlist hit that song. The one she moaned through last night. Jagged Edge. “Remedy.”

Yeah. Tonight was about to be a repeat.

Only slower.

Only sweeter.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Smoke: Come open the door, baby. I brought dinner… and dessert.

He grabbed the bags and crossed the street, pausing at the curb just long enough to snuff out the cigarette beneath his boot. His boots hit the steps slow. Steady. His heart, though?

It had already beat its way to her.

The door creaked open before he even knocked. And there she was.

Hair down this time, skin still warm from the shower, wearing a pair of soft shorts and a tank top that did nothing to hide the glow she was still carrying from the night before.

That glow he put there.

Smoke stared for half a second, then stepped inside.

He was gonna kiss that glow right back onto her skin.

_______________________________________

Annie heard the low rumble of his car before she saw the headlights flash across her window. Her heart skipped.

She was already at the door, hands fumbling the lock faster than usual, because she didn’t want him to ring the doorbell or knock. Didn’t want to wait. She cracked it open just as he stepped up to her door.

Smoke looked up.

No smile, no greeting, just that heat in his eyes, slow and steady as he took her in. But this time, Annie noticed the brown paper takeout bag in one hand and the crinkled corner of a gas station snack bag peeking from the other.

“You come bearing gifts?” she asked, stepping aside.

“You like curry and red bag Doritos, don’t you?” he said, brushing past her with a low chuckle.

Annie shut the door behind him, heartbeat quickening.

He set everything on the counter without fanfare, then pulled two Styrofoam containers from the bag, the scent of curry and browned stew meat filling the kitchen like incense. She saw it then, her favorite chips, tucked behind a Snapple and a Sprite.

Her lips twitched. “You remembered.”

Smoke glanced at her sideways. “Course I did.”

They ate standing up at the counter, bent over mismatched plates like it was something they always did. Between bites, they passed small talk back and forth.

She asked about his day. He said, “Same shit.”

He asked how many patients she’d seen. She rolled her eyes and said, “Too many.”

He teased her about the way she devoured her plantains.

She teased him about still drinking Snapple in 2025.

But under the laughter, under the casual bites and half-finished stories, something else was simmering.

It was in the way her eyes kept flicking up to his mouth between spoonfuls.

In the way he leaned just a little too close when he reached for a napkin.

In the quiet moments when neither of them said anything, just sat with the low hum of the fridge and the sound of lips parting for breath.

Halfway through her meal, Annie set her fork down. She hadn’t even finished the curried chicken. Didn’t care.

Because he was looking at her now with that same look from the night before; the one that peeled her open without a word. The one that said he was already tasting her in his mind.

“You not hungry no more?” Smoke asked, voice low.

Annie shook her head slowly. “Not for food.”

He didn’t answer. Just wiped his hands on a paper towel and stepped closer.

And when he kissed her—slow, deliberate, hand cradling the back of her head, she tasted the brown stew meat, the heat, and something sweeter.

Desire.

She pressed into him before she could think better of it, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, needing skin.

He groaned against her mouth. “Damn, baby.”

That was it.

Dinner was over.

Now it was just them.

And the hunger they couldn’t pretend not to feel anymore.

“You still sore?”

Annie swallowed. “A little.”

His hands gripped her hips. “Good. Let’s make it worth it then.”

He lifted her, smooth and strong, carrying her into the bedroom without another word. He set her down soft on the bed and peeled her shirt off slow, his eyes dragging over every inch of newly revealed skin.

And then he paused—mouth going still, breath catching in his throat.

Damn.

Her breasts were full, heavy, beautiful. He watched the way they moved as she breathed, nipples already tightening in the cool air. They sat high, framed by the curve of her arms as she lay back, dark and plush and real in a way that made his pulse stutter.

He reached out, slow, slid his palm up her side and over one, fingers spreading like he couldn’t help himself. He squeezed gently, then he dipped down and kissed the top of one, dragging his lips across soft skin, letting his tongue trace the edge before slowly taking her nipple in his mouth.

She gasped, body arching toward him.

“You been in my head all day,” he murmured, voice gone husky after dragging his mouth from her breast. “At work. In the car. Couldn’t think straight.”

Annie reached for the hem of his shirt. “Then stop thinking.”

That flipped a switch.

Smoke kissed her hard then—hands rough in her hair, mouth firm on hers, tongue dipping past her lips with hungry intention. He pulled back only to tug her shorts down, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. When she was bare, he stood and stripped out of his clothes, eyes never leaving hers.

He didn’t tell her to turn around.

This time, he wanted to see her.

He dropped to his knees without a word, lifting one leg onto his shoulder and pressing a kiss just above her knee. Then another, higher. His mouth moved slow and deliberate, traveling up the inside of her thigh.

He took his time there. 

Because she made this soft little sound—half breath, half moan and he liked it. Liked it so much he kissed her again, right at the curve where thigh met hip.

Annie trembled, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and Smoke grinned against her skin.

He slid her up the bed, pressed her knees apart, and dipped between them. His mouth moved slow, tongue circling her clit with practiced patience, lips soft, hums deep in his throat that made her toes curl. She arched, whimpered, tried to close her thighs, but he pushed them wider.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “I wanna see you.”

His fingers joined his tongue, stroking slow and deep while he licked her through a building quake. That was her undoing. She came with a soft cry, chest rising, head thrown back. But he didn’t stop. He kept going, licking her until her thighs shook again and her hand found his head, fingers trembling.

“Smoke—”

“Elijah,” he corrected, voice thick. “Say my name while I’m eatin’ you.”

“Elijah…”

He moved up her body, kissed her mouth, her collarbone, the swell of each breast. She felt him hard and hot against her thigh, leaking already.

“I want you on top,” he murmured, voice rough against her skin, eyes locked on hers. “Wanna feel you take this shit.”

Annie’s eyes went wide. She blinked up at him, face flushing hot. “What?”

Smoke brushed his knuckles along her cheek, slow. “You ever—”

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “But…”

He tilted his head, brows raised. “But what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again.

She looked down—anywhere but at him because the heat creeping into her cheeks wasn’t from desire this time. It was nerves. A knot of embarrassment twisting low in her belly. Her heart thudded loud.

“I just…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if I’ll be good. Like that.”

Smoke didn’t move. Just watched her.

Annie swallowed hard. Her mind raced.

She wasn’t small. She’d never been. Thick thighs. Full hips. Breasts that drew attention whether she wanted them to or not. There’d always been a quiet voice in her head reminding her to cover up, to shrink herself, to not take up too much space. Especially when it came to sex.

Especially when she was the one expected to lead.

“What if I look stupid?” she added softly. “What if I mess it up or… I don’t know. You not exactly……small.”

That last part came out quicker than she meant it to, and her hand flew up to her face in embarrassment.

But Smoke just chuckled. Low. Deep. 

He leaned in until his forehead touched hers.

“Baby,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Ain’t nothin’ you could do that’d look stupid to me. You know how bad I want you right now?”

Her breath caught.

“You are perfect to me,” he said. “I want you. All of you. That body, them thighs, the way you look at me when you nervous like this… I want it all. Let me see it.”

Annie blinked up at him, lips parted, heart rattling in her chest.

“You sure?”

“I’m damn sure,” he said, reaching for her hand and guiding it to rest over his heart. “And you gon’ feel how much I mean it when you’ ridin’ me.”

Her pulse skipped.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel self-conscious.

She felt wanted.

Her thighs were trembling—not from fear or shame, but from the weight of everything he made her feel.

Smoke laid back against the pillows, hands behind his head like he was relaxing. But his eyes? His eyes were locked on her like she was the only thing worth looking at. And he didn’t rush her. Didn’t tell her to hurry up. Just watched. Patient. Hungry.

Annie straddled his hips slowly, skin burning, breath shaky. She could feel the heat of him against her thigh—thick and hard and already leaking for her.

She reached down to guide him, fingers curling around his dick, and his jaw flexed.

“Damn,” he hissed. “That’s it, baby. Take your time.”

She hovered over him, the tip just pressing against her slick entrance, heart racing so loud she thought he might hear it. Slowly, she sank down—inch by inch—stretching around him, her thighs tightening as her walls gripped him deep.

Smoke groaned. “Fuuuuck… you feel good.”

Annie gasped as her hips met his. He filled her completely. Thick and deep, the stretch both overwhelming and perfect.

He didn’t move.

Just let her settle.

Her palms braced against his chest, nails curling slightly as she adjusted to the fullness. His skin was hot under her fingers, the steady thump of his heart matching hers.

“You good?” he asked, voice thick.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… hmmm.”

Smoke chuckled low. “Told you. Ain’t no rush. Ride me how you want. I’m yours.”

She started slow. Rocking her hips forward, then back. Finding her rhythm.

At first, it felt uncertain—clumsy even, but then something shifted. The look on his face changed. His mouth dropped open, eyes half-lidded, hands gripping her hips now, anchoring her.

“Shit, Annie. Just like that.”

Her confidence built with every roll of her hips. Her body bounced softly over him, thighs spread wide, her breasts swaying with every movement. His eyes never left her chest—fixated, hungry.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed, one hand sliding up to cup one breast, thumb flicking over her nipple. “These titties…” He sat up a little, catching one in his mouth, sucking slow while his other hand gripped her ass. “I could live here.”

She moaned, grinding deeper, pleasure building sharp and fast now.

“Elijah,” she whimpered.

That name always did something to him.

He growled, pulled back just enough to look up at her. “Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she gasped, looking down at him, riding him faster now. Her hands found his shoulders for balance, hips slapping against his lap.

He grabbed her ass with both hands, helping her move, meeting every bounce with an upward thrust that hit deep, right where she needed it.

“You feel how you squeezin’ me?” he gritted, sweat beading at his temple. “This pussy was made for me.”

She nodded, couldn’t form words anymore. Just moans. Breathless and needy. Her body took over, rolling and grinding against him, chasing that edge.

“I’m close,” she gasped. “Oh my God—I’m—”

“Come on, baby. Let it go,” he urged. “I got you.”

And she did.

Her climax hit in waves crashing over her—sharp, wet, loud. Her whole body shook, legs trembling, voice breaking into soft cries as she pulsed around him. He held her steady, growling through clenched teeth as her pussy milked him tight.

“Annie—fuck—” He bucked once, twice, and then spilled into her, hips jerking, dick twitching deep as he came hard.

She felt all of it.

The heat. The weight. The way he collapsed back against the pillows, dragging her down with him, still buried inside her, his arms locking around her waist.

They were sticky. Breathless. Tangled.

And perfect.

_______________________________________

Smoke kissed her shoulder, lips brushing her damp skin.

“You did better than good,” he whispered. “You ruined me.”

Annie laughed into his neck, still catching her breath, still blushing, but she felt it now.

That glow?

It was back.

And this time, she knew she earned every bit of it.

Soooo….l what did you think? 🫣🫣 Also, would yall like to see this story be a full fic? I’m liking writing grown and sexy Annie/Smoke. 🥰

@brownskincheyenne @lizbehave @partylikemajima @anniensmoke3 @pennopencil @brownsugarcoffy @lb-xci @wakandamama @thebumblebeesworld @theegyal @nicanotnika @numb1smokeanniestan @aellesa @lilblckraincloud @hdfen2474 @milkywayzard @sunshinerepublic @shereeluvssinners @chknnwffls

[hoodoomamaofficial]

(😭)

[sammick]

pookies covered in blood 🤤

[brownlyfe]

FOREVER MY LADY

masterlist

pairing: michael b jordan x wunmi mosaku

cw: lazy sexual content

wc: even longer than too damn long

summary: after months of growing their relationship in the public eye, they decide to take things to the next level. now they’re trying to navigate life with the prospect of a new member to add to their family.

notes: this one is so 🥹 I was cheesing so bad writing this like woah. needed something to feed into my own delusion because of all the negative comments being made about them recently so enjoy. and I tagged y'all even though it's not necessarily sinners.

Three Months Later - Early July

The TV was playing some show they’d said they were finally going to catch up on. But the remote had long since hit the floor. Pillows were barely on the couch. A blanket bunched under Michael’s thigh. The room was a mess of heat, sweat, and motion.

Wunmi was facing away from him, spine arched, hands braced on his knees. Her hips working in a rhythm that was anything but sweet. Michael was leaned back on the arm of the couch, broad chest heaving, eyes fixed entirely on her.

His hands gripped her ass, fingers digging in just to ground himself. “That’s it,” he rasped. “Just like that.”

There was nothing slow or soft about this it had just happened. One kiss during a commercial break turned into her straddling him, turned into heat, friction, and both of them chasing something they hadn’t been able to make time for.

“Damn,” Michael groaned, his head tilting back for a second, one hand sliding up her spine and then back down. “You know what that does to me.”

Wunmi didn’t answer, just moved faster.

They’d been like this for months, fitting moments like this in whenever they could. Early mornings, late nights, fifteen-minute breaks between her meetings or his rehearsals. Baby-making mode had taken over, but it never felt like a chore to them. 

Michael was in the middle of a demanding shoot schedule, juggling long days, strict training, and early call times. But no matter how wiped out he was or how early he had to be up the next day, if she wanted him, he was there.

More than that he always wanted her.

And right now, he was completely gone for her.

“Look at you,” he growled, watching her move. “Swear, you were made for me.”

Wunmi pressed harder into her rhythm, gasping when his grip tightened.

His voice dropped lower. “You want it that bad, huh? Want me to put a baby in you right here on this damn couch?”

She gasped, not just from his words, but the way he pulled her down harder the next second.

He grinned, eyes dark, breath wrecked. “Thought so.”

Nothing else existed outside of this couch except this moment, this promise they kept chasing. Michael was talking low, pushing her, whispering things against her back that made her shiver.

The moment teetered on something primal, not just about sex, not even just about making a baby. It was about them. The pull they had toward each other. The way their bodies knew what their mouths didn’t always say.

Michael leaned forward just enough to press his chest to her back, his lips brushing her shoulder.

“I got you,” he murmured, “however you want it. However long it takes.”

And she believed him.

-

The bathroom light hummed softly above her as Wunmi sat on the edge of the tub, two white plastic sticks laid out on the counter in front of her. She didn’t look at them right away. She’d already started to recognize the subtle weight in her chest when the second line didn’t show.

This wasn’t new. It was just another maybe that could turn into a no, again.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor instead.

Michael had gone out for a morning run. He didn’t know she was taking another test. She hadn’t told him about the last few times. Not because she was hiding anything, but because she hated the hope in his eyes. She hated the look that followed when she’d shake her head and say, “Not this time.”

The clock on her phone ticked past the three-minute mark.

Finally, she stood and leaned over the counter. Two tests, side by side. Both negative.

She didn’t cry like last time. Instead she just exhaled hard, her hand gripping the edge of the sink. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even heartbreak. It was an invisible ache that creeps in when something you want feels like it’s always just a little bit out of reach.

She heard the front door open and close a minute later. Michael was back from his run earlier than usual. She quickly swept the tests into the drawer, shut it, and reached for the hand towel to wipe her face.

“Wunmi?” His voice came through the hall.

“In the guest bathroom,” she called, trying to sound casual.

He stepped into the doorway, shirt off, headphones around his neck, breath a little heavy but eyes soft the moment he saw her.

“You okay?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

He came forward quietly, slid his arms around her from behind, and let his chin rest on her shoulder.

Wunmi closed her eyes, leaning back into his warmth.

“I think I’m done testing,” she said softly.

He nodded, not pushing.

“I’m gonna make an appointment with my doctor and get back on the pill. At least for now,” she continued.

Michael just held her tighter.

“You sure?” he asked, not because he doubted her, but because he needed her to know she had space to change her mind.

“Yeah,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just…I don’t know.”

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing her cheek. “We’ve got time. All the time in the world.”

Wunmi nodded, resting her forehead against his chest. “I want a baby with you so bad.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Me too. Maybe we stop trying so hard. Just until after the wedding. We’ve both been stretched thin.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“It’s not that I don’t want it, Wunmi,” he added, brushing a curl behind her ear. “I want you to be okay, more than anything.”

Michael kissed her forehead, arms still wrapped around her like a promise.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “We’ll get there. When it’s time.”

-

The kitchen set was prepped for them with everything set up. A few cameras were placed around.The crew was silently observing Michael and Wunmi. Both had their aprons tied ready to go. Everything was intimate by design.

Michael was at his cutting board, chopping green onions, completely focused, but not too focused to talk.

“Remember that time we were supposed to be preparing for a scene, but we ended up talking for three hours instead? I was trying so hard not to ask to ask you out.”

“I know,” she said, eyes twinkling.

He smiled. “I didn’t know if you’d say yes.”

“You didn’t know I’d been waiting for you to ask.”

There was a pause as they both kept working, hands moving with quiet rhythm. Garlic hit the pan. A splash of broth. 

“Wedding planning’s going okay for you?” he asked, returning to the rhythm.

Wunmi gave a dry laugh. “You mean the emails I send at 2 a.m. and the ten-minute phone calls between your training sessions?”

“I mean all the decisions I pretend to help with.”

“Exactly.”

He snuck a glance at her dish. “That smells insane, by the way.”

“Michael–”

“I didn’t touch it!”

“Yet.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he said, lifting a spoon like he might test his own broth but watching her instead, “this all feels kinda crazy.”

Wunmi looked up. “What does?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“This,” he said finally. “Standing here with you, cooking and talking about our future to the whole world.”

Her lips curled into a slow smile. “That’s because we do this all the time. This one just happens to be on camera.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“No,” she said. “Not with you.”

They were both in the zone now, flirting, talking, and teasing without even thinking about the cameras.

Michael reached toward the spice rack mid-sentence, grabbed a familiar little jar, and held it out toward Wunmi without missing a beat.

“Here–” he started, casually, offering it with the same ease you’d offer someone their favorite drink.

But Wunmi didn’t take it.

She looked at it for just a second longer than she should have, then shook her head almost imperceptibly and shifted her attention back to her pan. The motion was smooth and quick but Michael noticed.

Michael stirred his sauce, keeping his face neutral. Wunmi adjusted the heat on her burner, acting like nothing had happened. And from the outside, nothing really had. But something was there, just under the surface. Something only they noticed.

The moment passed, and the energy slipped right back into place.

They plated their dishes with flair just in time for the judge to step in. The tasting was short because everyone already knew what the outcome would be.

“Wunmi wins,” the judge said with a satisfied smile, setting down the fork.

Michael exhaled, threw his head back, and groaned. “I was robbed.”

Wunmi, glowing and grinning, bounced in place before stepping over to him.

“It’s okay, love,” she said sweetly, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Michael tugged her closer, arm draped over her shoulder like it was second nature. “I want a rematch”

She laughed, turned his face toward hers with two fingers under his chin, and looked him in the eye.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” she murmured, then kissed him. 

And he kissed her back, without missing a beat.

-

The sun was bright overhead, casting long shadows across the set’s gravel lot. Michael sat on a folding chair just off-camera, a towel around his neck and a half-empty water bottle in one hand. His stunt coordinator was talking through a reset, but Michael had tuned out halfway through.

He glanced down at his phone, looking at the time being displayed on his screen. It was 1:42 pm. His thumb hovered for a second, then tapped Wunmi ❤️.

The phone rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, baby,” her voice came out low, scratchy, and groggy in a way that immediately made him frown.

“Were you sleeping?”

There was a pause on the other end, like she wasn’t sure herself. “Yeah…I guess so. What time is it?”

Michael blinked. “It’s almost two.”

“Shit,” she murmured, her voice muffled like she was rolling over. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just lying down for a second.”

He smiled, but it was laced with quiet confusion. “Didn’t you say you were going out today? You had a brunch thing.”

“I know. I was supposed to. I don’t know. I just got back from the shower, sat on the bed and I must’ve knocked out.”

Michael shifted in the chair, squinting toward set, but his focus stayed on her voice. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” she said, not very convincingly. “Just tired, I guess.”

Michael’s brows pulled together. Wunmi wasn’t a midday napper. Not unless something was really draining her.

“You’ve been tired a lot lately.”

“I mean,” she exhaled, slow. “Not a lot. Just today.”

Michael let the silence sit for a beat. He wasn’t pressing, but not dismissing either.

“I miss you,” he said finally, voice lower. “Breaks don’t hit the same without you talking my ear off.”

That made her chuckle, sleep still thick in her voice. “You’re rude.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I like hearing about your day. I don’t like having to call you.”

She yawned softly on the other end. “I’ll be up in a minute. I just need to wake up properly.”

“You want me to order something for you?”

“I’ll find something here,” she mumbled. “Don’t worry, baby.”

He didn’t like that answer. Not from her. Wunmi was usually on top of her meals, her errands, her day. She didn’t just forget to eat or sleep half the afternoon away.

Michael glanced toward the crew again, then leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his jaw.

“Alright. Try not to pass out again before I’m off.”

She laughed again, softer this time. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m checking in later,” he said, firm but sweet. “So be ready.”

“Okay.”

Michael hung up, eyes still on the screen for a few seconds after the call ended. His jaw flexed slightly, concern sitting just under the surface. Something was off. He could feel it. And he knew her well enough to trust that feeling.

-

The exam room was quiet, the overhead light too bright, and the AC vent too cold. Wunmi sat on the edge of the paper-covered table in a tank top and leggings, her hands folded loosely in her lap. She didn’t feel nervous, only tired. Still not fully rested from the strange nap that overtook her yesterday. Her body felt like it had been whispering things she couldn’t hear.

The doctor, a warm, straightforward woman Wunmi had been seeing for the last few years, sat on a stool with a tablet in hand.

“So,” she said gently, “you mentioned wanting to go back on birth control?”

Wunmi nodded. “Yeah. I think it’s time. We’d been trying for a while, but we decided to wait. At least until after the wedding. I want to get my body back to feeling normal again.”

The doctor gave her a kind smile. “Totally understandable. Any preference? Pill, patch, IUD?”

“I was on the pill before. I’d probably stick with that unless there’s something easier.”

“Okay,” the doctor nodded, tapping a few things on her screen. “We’ll talk through our options, but first I want to run a few basic panels. Just to check hormone levels and make sure everything’s functioning how it should. It’s always a good practice before restarting anything hormonal.”

Wunmi nodded again. “Sounds good.”

The blood draw had been quick. She had even texted Michael while waiting, letting him know she’d get food after and probably take it easy the rest of the day.

Now, back in the same room thirty minutes later, the doctor walked in with a different energy. Still calm, but something more focused. Her tablet was in hand, but she didn’t look at it right away.

“Wunmi,” she said, “we got your tests back, and I’m glad we ran them.”

Wunmi sat up straighter, brows knitting slightly.

“You’re not sick,” the doctor said quickly, reading the concern on her face. “But I won’t be able to prescribe you birth control today.”

“Why not?” Wunmi asked slowly.

The doctor turned the tablet toward her not that she needed to see numbers to understand what came next.

“Because you’re pregnant.”

Wunmi stared at her, silent for a full beat.

“I’m what?”

“Pregnant,” the doctor repeated gently. “It’s very early. But the hCG levels are clear.”

Wunmi blinked. Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach. “I wasn’t even late yet.”

“Some people don’t notice right away. Especially if your cycles have been shifting. And based on the symptoms you mentioned, the fatigue, food aversions, the sleep changes, it tracks.”

She didn’t speak again. Her mind was already jumping to the missed signs, the tests she took just weeks ago, how she’d told Michael they were stepping back. How she’d started letting go of the hope that had been hurting her. And now, here it was.

“You okay?” the doctor asked softly.

Wunmi nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just I wasn’t expecting this. At all.”

The doctor stood and placed the tablet aside. “We’ll schedule a follow-up for next week. But in the meantime give yourself time to sit with it. You’re fine.”

Wunmi exhaled, her hand still resting lightly against her belly.

And the first thing that filled her chest even through the shock was Michael.

-

The house was dim, lit mostly by the golden glow of one lamp in the living room. Wunmi had canceled her plans hours ago. Her dinner with friends and a quick fitting were all wiped off the calendar. She’d spent most of the day being still, drifting from room to room. She wasn’t panicked or overthinking. She was sitting with the shift inside her, as if her body already knew and was waiting for her mind to catch up.

When she heard the front door open, she didn’t move right away. She was folding a blanket in the bedroom, hands smoothing it out a little too precisely.

“Babe?” Michael’s voice called through the hallway, followed by the familiar thud of keys hitting the entryway bowl.

“In here,” she said.

He walked in a moment later, hoodie still on, tired from the day but lit up the second he saw her.

“Hey,” he smiled, stepping up to kiss her cheek. “How was your day?”

She kept folding. “It was fine. I didn’t do much.”

He paused long enough to catch that her tone didn’t quite match her words. “You stayed in all day?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I canceled everything so I could rest.”

Michael dropped onto the edge of the bed, tugging off his shoes. “That’s fair. You needed a quiet day.”

She gave him a soft smile, then turned to put the blanket on the chair, her back still to him.

“You had your appointment today, right?” he asked, tossing his hoodie aside.

Wunmi’s hands froze briefly on the blanket. She nodded, still facing away. “Yeah.”

Michael looked up at her. “How’d it go?”

She exhaled, then finally turned back to him. “You know, I went to talk about getting back on birth control, right?”

“Right,” he said, relaxing into the bed a little. “Which one did she end up putting you on?”

“She didn’t,” Wunmi said slowly, moving to sit beside him but not looking at him yet. “There were options, but she wanted to run a few hormone tests first just to be sure everything was where it should be before prescribing anything.”

Michael nodded. “That makes sense. It’s been a weird couple of months for both of us.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I thought too.”

He glanced at her, more focused now. “So? What happened?”

She paused.

“She couldn’t put me on anything.”

Michael’s whole posture shifted completely alert now. “Why?”

Wunmi looked at him with her eyes steady and voice even.

“Because you can’t be on birth control when you’re pregnant.”

The room went completely still. Michael blinked once.

“What?”

She nodded, lips pressed together.

“You’re–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Michael stared at her for another second like the words were still sinking in, like his brain had heard them but his heart hadn’t caught up yet. And then it did.

His lips parted, eyes wide with something warmer. Something that cracked open and poured right through his chest.

“Wait…wait, for real?”

Wunmi nodded again, this time with the faintest shimmer in her eyes. “For real.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for months. “Oh my God.”

He leaned forward, hands slipping onto her knees, forehead pressed briefly against hers. She laughed softly, and it cracked something in both of them. He pulled back just enough to see her face.

“You’re really having our baby?”

“I am.”

Michael’s smile was growing.

“You sure it’s real?” he asked, like he just needed to hear it again.

“I saw it on the test, Michael.”

He let out a quiet laugh, eyes glossy now too. “Damn. So that’s why you were napping in the middle of the day, forgetting lunch, turning your nose up at garlic–”

“I knew you noticed,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“I notice everything about you,” he said, voice thick.

-

Wunmi sat at the edge of the bed in one of Michael’s tees, her legs folded beneath her, fingers playing absently with the hem. Her mind was still racing not with fear, but with the weight of knowing. The sudden clarity that the dream they had been chasing for months was already growing inside her.

Michael stepped in from the bathroom, shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder. His eyes found hers instantly.

She looked up at him, her lips parted like there was something else she still needed to say, even after all the words they’d shared earlier. But he didn’t ask.

He crossed to her and knelt in front of her instead, his hands finding her knees gently, thumbs brushing over them like he needed to be touching her to ground himself.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said softly, his voice laced with wonder.

Wunmi blinked down at him, her eyes warm and glassy. “Me neither.”

Michael leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her thigh then looked up at her again.

“You wanna lay down?”

She nodded, and he helped her ease back onto the bed, climbing in beside her. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t move with hunger or heat. He just touched her like she was new again. Like everything between them had shifted into something he wanted to memorize.

He kissed her neck first, then her shoulder, then down the inside of her arm, like he was tracing the line of where love lived in her body.

Wunmi’s breath caught as his hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt, slowly exploring the soft curve of her waist, then her stomach. He paused there, fingers spreading over her skin with a reverence she felt all the way through her bones.

“I don’t even have the words for what this feels like,” he murmured.

“You don’t need to,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in.

He kissed her fully, deep and slow. A kiss that was more than just want. It was one of promise, gratitude, and worship.

When he moved over her, there was no hesitation. Just the smooth, steady rhythm of two people who had nothing left to prove only everything left to feel.

Michael’s hands were everywhere, stroking her thigh, brushing hair from her face, holding her hips as if to remind her that she was safe.

She gasped his name as he moved deeper, and he kissed her jaw, then her lips, murmuring quiet things against her mouth.

“I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.”

Wunmi closed her eyes, overwhelmed by how present he was. How connected they felt. Like their bodies were speaking what their mouths didn’t know how to hold yet.

They stayed close as he rocked into her with slow, deep intention. Like he was anchoring the news into her skin, her breath, her body.

When she came, it wasn’t loud. It was full, a trembling exhale, a tightening around him, and a whispered “Michael” said like prayer.

He came soon after, his body shaking against hers, one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other still resting protectively on her stomach.

And when it was over, they didn’t separate. He stayed pressed to her, forehead to hers, their breaths syncing like they always did after.

“I love you,” he said, still inside her. “So much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her palm resting on his chest. “More than I knew I could.”

They stayed like that long into the night, skin to skin, hearts steady. Not just lovers anymore. Not just partners. But something even deeper.

A Week Later

The morning sun spilled across the hardwood floors slipping through the curtains just enough to make the quiet house feel alive. The air carried the soft scent of eucalyptus from one of the candles Michael had lit before making breakfast, hoping the calm energy might stick.

Today was Wunmi’s first official prenatal appointment. And luckily, it had landed on Michael’s one day off that week. 

He was in the kitchen finishing up dishes when he heard the click of heels behind him. He turned around, dish towel in hand, and just stopped.

Wunmi stepped into the light wearing the deep yellow backless sundress he’d bought her a while ago. The kind of dress he’d imagined on her when he first saw it hanging in the store, but until now, she’d never worn it. She’d always said she was saving it for something special. Apparently, today counted.

Michael’s lips parted slightly, the towel forgotten in his hand.

Wunmi noticed and arched a brow. “Too much?”

He shook his head slowly, walking toward her. “Not at all.”

She glanced down, smoothing the fabric against her hips, a little self-conscious now. “It’s a little tight up top.”

Michael stepped in front of her, lifting a hand to brush her curls from her shoulder so he could see the delicate curve of her back. Then he rested a reassuring palm there.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and full. “Like damn girl.”

She smiled softly, still not used to how he could say something so genuine it made her forget what she’d been feeling before.

He kissed her cheek, then down to her neck. “You ready for today?”

“I think so,” she said, exhaling. “I’m a little nervous.”

He nodded, threading their fingers together. “Me too. But we’re in this together.”

They headed out shortly after, Michael carrying her water bottle, snacks, and a mental checklist of things he wanted to ask the doctor on her behalf, even if she rolled her eyes every time he mentioned it.

Wunmi didn’t say it, but she noticed the effort. Especially lately, with the mood swings starting to creep in. One minute she was content, the next overwhelmed for no clear reason. But Michael never made her feel like she had to explain it. He just stayed close.

And today, he had the entire afternoon planned; brunch after the appointment and a walk down her favorite strip. Because more than anything, he wanted her to feel steady and secure.

-

The waiting room smelled faintly like hand sanitizer and lemon-scented air freshener. Wunmi sat quietly beside Michael, filling out a form on a clipboard while he scrolled through his phone, occasionally glancing over at her responses like he could double-check them with love alone.

“Date of last cycle?” he murmured, eyes squinting at her handwriting.

“Stop it,” she said softly, but her smile gave her away.

A nurse called her name a few minutes later, and they both stood. Michael tucking his phone into his back pocket, his hand naturally finding the small of her back as they followed the nurse down the hall.

Wunmi stepped on the scale. Michael pretended not to look, though he did, obviously not judging, just filing it away, like everything about her mattered. He did the same for her blood pressure and heart rate.

“All good,” the nurse smiled. “Go ahead and leave us a sample in the bathroom there. The doc’ll be with you soon.”

Wunmi gave Michael a half-amused look as she disappeared with the cup.

He sat on the little chair beside the exam table, flipping through a parenting pamphlet until she returned, tugging her sundress back into place.

Dr. Franklin entered with a warm smile and a tablet in hand. She greeted Wunmi with ease and offered Michael a knowing nod, as if she already understood the kind of partner he was from the way he stood when she entered.

“So,” the doctor began, reviewing the file, “looks like you’re somewhere around 7 to 8 weeks based on your hormone levels and the dates you provided. We’ll get more specific with the ultrasound today.”

Michael straightened in his seat. “So, not just a little pregnant.”

Wunmi gave him a look.

Dr. Franklin laughed. “No, not little at all. A heartbeat should be visible by now, and you’re right in the range where most early symptoms start to intensify. How have you been feeling?”

“Tired,” Wunmi admitted. “And my mood's been all over the place.”

“Well,” Dr. Franklin smiled, “let’s take a look and get you both a visual.”

The lights dimmed slightly as the technician prepped the gel. Wunmi lay back on the table, nerves flickering through her body. Michael moved closer, standing beside her, holding her hand.

“There it is,” the tech said quietly. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

Wunmi’s breath caught. Michael stared at the screen like it was something sacred.

He leaned in close, whispering, “That’s our baby?”

“That’s your baby,” the doctor echoed with a kind smile. “Measuring just shy of eight weeks. Which puts your due date somewhere mid-to-late January.”

Michael was still holding Wunmi’s hand. His thumb brushed her knuckles, eyes never leaving the screen.

“The heartbeat seems strong. We’ll get a printed image for you two to take home.”

The lights came back on, and while Wunmi cleaned up, Michael sat back down, clearly trying not to hover too much.

Dr. Franklin walked them through early dietary guidelines; no sushi, no soft cheeses, caution with caffeine and deli meats.

Michael cleared his throat. “Okay, so what about ginger? She’s been living off ginger everything.”

“Ginger’s great in moderation,” the doctor said. “If it helps the nausea, let her have it.”

“What about her sleep? She’s been waking up at weird hours.”

“Totally normal. Hormones can disrupt sleep, digestion, even body temperature.”

Wunmi returned to her seat with a small sigh, grateful and overwhelmed in equal parts.

“We’ll schedule your next appointment in four weeks,” the doctor said, standing. “We’ll do another check-in, and talk more about genetic screening, if that’s something you’re open to.”

They doctor left, leaving the two of them to process what happened

-

The sun hit just right as they walked down the street, the kind of summer heat that pressed against skin and made every step feel like a little effort. Wunmi walked a few paces ahead of Michael, sunglasses shielding her eyes, the hem of her yellow dress swaying gently with each step.

Michael watched her like she was the only person on the block.

The sundress hugged her like it’d been waiting for this exact day. And she wore it like she didn’t know what she was doing to him.

He slowed for a second, pulled out his phone, and hit record.

Wunmi kept walking ahead, unaware, the sun catching the golden glow of her skin, her curls bouncing softly with her stride. She looked peaceful, or at least focused. Sunglasses on, lips set, not in the mood for small talk.

Michael’s camera flipped back around to his face. He mouthed the word “Damn”. He posted the video to his Instagram story with the words: “Buy her that dress she want.”

By the time they got to the restaurant Wunmi’s patience had started to fray. And the heat wasn’t helping.

She shifted her bag on her shoulder, looking around with narrowed eyes. “It’s too damn hot to be standing,” she muttered under her breath.

Michael kept his mouth closed, but the corner of his lips twitched. He reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Almost inside.”

Wunmi exhaled through her nose. “I’m starving.”

The hostess looked up, and immediately did a double take. Then a triple take. One of those soft gasps followed by the “oh my God” flicker she couldn’t quite hide.

“Hi– uh, welcome,” she said, blinking fast. “Do you– do you have a reservation?”

Michael shook his head. “Nah. Do you have room for two?”

The hostess nodded so fast it looked like her head might fall off. “Of course. We, uh… we’re on a brief wait. But–” She glanced behind her. “Let me check something real quick.”

She scurried off toward the back, likely whispering something to whoever was in charge.

Wunmi sighed, leaning into Michael’s side. “It’s too hot to wait.”

Michael kissed the top of her head. “I know. Let’s just see what she says if we have to wait too long, we’ll go further down.”

Her face softened, but only slightly. “I’m sorry. I just get mad and then I’m hot and then I’m hungry and now I’m mad again.”

Michael chuckled, pulling her closer. “Baby, you’re literally growing a human. You can be mad as much as you want.”

Just then, another person, possibly the manager, came hurrying up, smiling too wide. “Mr. Jordan, Ms. Mosaku, we’re getting a table ready for you now. It won’t be too long.”

Michael nodded politely. “Appreciate you.”

Wunmi gave a polite smile, but Michael could feel the barely restrained sigh under it.

The hostess continued, “Would you like to wait in the lounge inside? It’s cooler.”

“Yes,” Wunmi said immediately, before Michael could speak.

He laughed softly. “Lead the way.”

As they followed the hostess inside, Michael leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“Don’t get slapped,” Wunmi muttered, but her fingers tightened affectionately around his hand.

The restaurant’s patio was shaded, fans overhead pushing just enough air to keep it tolerable. Wunmi sat across from Michael, sunglasses on, one hand propped under her chin as she sipped lemonade. The tension in her body had eased slightly now that she had water, shade, and a menu in front of her.

Michael, on the other hand, couldn’t stop watching her. He was done for. His hand rested on her thigh under the table, his thumb rubbing slow, absent-minded circles against her skin.

“You staring again?” she asked without looking up from the menu.

Michael grinned. “Not at all.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am,” he said easily, eyes still on her. “But you look good in that dress.”

She shook her head at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched. He knew she was still riding the edges Michael leaned forward again, sliding his hand into hers. “You feel okay now?”

“Better,” she said. 

He kissed the back of her hand gently. “Tell me about the show.”

Wunmi sighed, sitting back. “It’s manageable because it’s a supporting role with minimal press. We’re filming in town, so I won’t be flying out. If it was anything more, I’d turn it down.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll talk to production about anything else once I’m a little further along. I think they’ll be cool about it.”

Michael rubbed her knuckles. “That’s good. Just don’t push yourself.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Promise.”

He gave her a look. “You sure?”

Wunmi exhaled. “Yes, baby. You weren’t like this before.”

Michael smiled, leaning in again. “Because you weren’t carrying my baby before.”

She blinked at him, caught off-guard by the way he said it. 

And in that second, she wanted to kiss him right across the table.

-

The call sheet said lunch was at 12:30. Michael was already waiting by 12:10.

He leaned against the shaded side of her trailer, sunglasses pulled down low. In one hand, he held a small container of cut fruit, and in the other, his phone that he barely glanced at.

The second the trailer door opened, his posture straightened.

Wunmi stepped out, her shoulders slightly hunched like she’d been holding tension since her morning scenes. Her eyes scanned the lot automatically, softening the moment she saw him.

“Hey, baby,” he said, walking toward her with quiet purpose.

She exhaled and let him take the tote bag off her shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she murmured, reaching for the fruit without asking.

Michael kissed the side of her head and guided her toward a small quiet bench tucked behind the trailers. He already knew what to avoid, no grilled onions, no garlic, and absolutely no mint. She’d warned him more than once that her stomach was unpredictable these days.

“You good?” he asked as they sat.

“Getting there,” she said, chewing slowly. “They were using some kind of cologne in wardrobe earlier. Almost had me out.”

She rested her hand on her belly. The bump wasn’t huge, but it was real now. Real enough for her to wear maternity leggings under costume. Enough for her to notice the shift in how she walked, how she sat, how she breathed.

Michael’s hand slid to her thigh, warm and steady.

“You told the AD if you needed longer between setups, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “And I’m not pushing myself like I promised.”

He looked at her for a moment, not saying anything, just searching her face. Then he nodded and leaned back a little.

“Doctor’s appointment Friday,” he said, smiling now. “We’re almost out of the first trimester.”

“I know,” Wunmi said, more quietly. “It feels like it snuck up.”

Michael chuckled. “I’ve been counting down.”

“For the milestone?”

“For the gender reveal,” he said, already grinning.

Wunmi gave him a look. “You really think you know?”

“I do know.”

“You’ve been saying girl since day one.”

“Because I’m right,” he said confidently. “I feel it.”

Wunmi raised her brows, unimpressed. “You also said that lemon tart from the bakery wouldn’t make me sick and guess who lost her whole evening?”

Michael winced. “Okay, yes. But this is different.”

“Sure.”

He just smiled and reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips.

“You good to go back in a bit?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ll rest for a few more minutes, then head back.”

Michael looked down at her stomach, his palm gently resting over her hand.

“She’s the boss,” he murmured.

“They,” Wunmi corrected.

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Four Months - August

The soft click of the car doors closing sealed them in a quiet bubble, just the two of them. Wunmi leaned back in her seat, hand resting lightly on her stomach, her body exhaling in a way it hadn’t been able to inside the sterile calm of the exam room.

Michael slid into the driver’s seat and just sat for a second, looking over at her.

“You good?”

Wunmi turned her head, nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think it’s just hitting me that we’re already here.”

Michael smiled, reaching over to take her hand. “Second trimester, baby. We made it.”

He kissed her knuckles, holding onto her a second longer than usual before starting the engine.

The drive was short, but quiet. The kind of peaceful silence that comes with a shared sense of calm.

“She said we get to know the gender in a few weeks,” Michael said, glancing over at her again. “You still wanna know?”

“I definitely want to know,” Wunmi said, eyes on the road ahead. “You’re dying to be proven right.”

“Because I will be,” he grinned. “That little girl energy’s too strong.”

Wunmi gave him a side-eye. “If it’s a boy, are you gonna sulk?”

“I’ll sulk while holding my son proudly,” he said, laughing.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and Michael glanced over again, his tone shifting.

“So are you ready to tell the family?”

Wunmi nodded. “It feels like time.”

Michael’s smile widened. “We can do it Sunday. Everybody’s already coming over for dinner anyway. We can just slide it in.”

“Slide it in?” she repeated with a soft laugh. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls, and you know it.”

“I’ve been sitting on this news for months,” he said, practically vibrating now. “I’ve been around my mom every other day trying not to say anything. I need this.”

Wunmi shook her head, amused. “She’s gonna scream.”

“She’s gonna cry,” Michael corrected. “Then scream. Then probably try to move in.”

“I’m bracing myself.”

He reached over and rested his hand gently over hers, their fingers intertwined over the soft curve of her bump.

-

Inside, the house was alive. Laughter drifting from the kitchen, the sound of silverware being set on the dining table, and the high-pitched voices of children echoing down the hallway.

Michael lit up immediately, already reaching for the bags of wine and dessert they brought.

Wunmi walked in behind him, smiling, but softer. Her body was already reminding her of the sleep she didn’t get last night. Because of the stretch in her back she hadn’t been able to get comfortable with in bed. Her smile was there, but it took effort to hold.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Michael’s mom said, moving in for a hug. “You look beautiful.”

“Hi, Ms. Donna,” Wunmi replied, voice soft, arms wrapping around her gently. “You too.”

Michael was already halfway to the kitchen, greeting his siblings. His niece and nephew ran up to him like they hadn’t seen him in years, even though it had only been a couple weeks.

Donna held onto Wunmi for a second longer than necessary.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, her voice low enough that the noise from the kitchen didn’t drown it out. “You look tired, baby.”

Wunmi offered a small smile, pressing her hand lightly to her temple. “I’m alright. It’s been a busy couple of weeks. I think my body’s trying to catch up.”

Donna studied her for a beat, but didn’t push. Just gave her hand a quick squeeze and led her inside.

By the time they made it to the dining room, Michael was already settling in. Wunmi eased into the chair beside him, trying not to let how tired she felt show in her posture. He glanced at her once they were seated, hand finding her knee beneath the table.

“You sure you’re good?” he whispered.

She gave him a soft nod. “I’m good. Just ready for after we tell them.”

Michael’s smile was boyish, giddy. “We’re almost there.”

Dinner began with the usual family energy, clinking silverware, loud conversation overlapping, the kids asking for more mac and cheese.

Donna sat at the head of the table, watching everything, always one eye on Wunmi. Wunmi picked at her food, still eating, but slower than usual.

Michael noticed. His fingers tapped a small rhythm on her knee again, something between encouragement and distraction.

As the plates began to empty and the noise settled slightly, Michael sat up straighter, catching his sister’s eye across the table.

“Alright,” he said, raising his voice just enough, “before dessert, Wunmi and I got something we wanna share.”

The table quieted gradually. Donna was already squinting at him.

“Oh, Lord,” his sister muttered. “You’re not eloping, are you?”

Michael grinned. “Nope. We’re still planning the wedding.”

He looked down at Wunmi, who gave him the tiniest nod.

He turned back to the family, chest full.

“But before the wedding we’re having a baby.”

The room stilled for half a second, and then it erupted.

Michael’s sister, Jamila, was the first to launch out of her chair.

“Oh my God!” she squealed, half running around the table to wrap her arms around Wunmi from the side. “You’re serious? You’re really pregnant?!”

Wunmi laughed, a little caught off guard but let herself be wrapped up.

“Just past three months,” she said. “We wanted to wait before saying anything.”

Meanwhile, on the other end of the table, Michael’s father had leaned back in his chair, hands resting over his stomach, a quiet smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. His gaze landed on his son, then drifted to Wunmi.

“Well,” he said after a moment, voice low but proud. “I was wondering when you’d step into this part of manhood.”

Michael straightened a bit, the compliment settling deep in his chest.

“Thank you, Pops,” he said, voice quiet.

His father nodded once, approving.

Michael’s brother, Khalid, stayed seated, a slow nod on his face. He wasn’t unkind, just a little more reserved, not as quick to show big emotion.

“Congrats, man,” he said, lifting his glass a bit. “That’s huge.”

Wunmi gave him a warm smile. “Thank you.”

But it was Donna, who had remained quiet the longest, that drew the room’s attention again. She was still seated, one hand pressed against her mouth, the other reaching slowly across the table for Wunmi’s free hand.

“You’re really having a baby,” she said, tears now slipping freely.

Wunmi blinked fast, her own emotions rising. “Yeah…yeah, we are.”

Donna squeezed her hand, then turned her eyes to Michael, wide, proud, soft. “You’re going to be a father. My baby is going to be a father.”

Michael’s throat tightened, and he nodded, trying to keep his own emotions tucked in. “I know, Ma.”

Donna stood finally and pulled Wunmi into a hug. “Thank you for taking care of him,” she whispered. “And for letting me love this baby already.”

Wunmi held her close, eyes closing. “You’re family. Of course.”

Michael watched from a step away, his hand still curled at the back of his neck like he couldn’t quite believe what was unfolding.

The room began to buzz again with more questions, more laughter, the kids trying to figure out what it meant to “have a cousin on the way.”

-

The call had barely connected before Wunmi’s full name rang out across the screen in her mother’s voice.

“Oluwunmi! You’re late. We’ve been waiting for you!”

Her mother’s image popped up first, seated in her favorite spot by the living room window, framed by warm light and familiar curtains. One of her sisters was leaning against the back of the couch, and the other was already peering into the camera.

Her father’s voice came from off-screen. “Is it working?”

Wunmi smiled through the screen, nestled beside Michael on their couch. “It’s working, Daddy. You’re sideways, though.”

There was more fumbling then he appeared properly, glasses low on his nose, already squinting with suspicion. “Why are you two calling together like this? You’ve been calling alone lately.”

Michael chuckled. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Michael,” he replied. “But I know something’s up.”

“Something is definitely up,” Wunmi’s older sister added. “Look at the glow on her.”

“Everyone, wait,” her mother said, already narrowing her eyes. “What is it, Wunmi? What have you come to say?”

Wunmi took a breath and looked at Michael, who gave her a nod and squeezed her hand.

She turned back to the screen. “I wanted to wait until I was sure. We both did. But…I’m pregnant.”

The silence lasted less than two seconds.

Then:

“Oluwunmi!” “Ah! Jesu!”  “Oh my God!”  “Wunmi! Are you serious?!”

Her mother covered her mouth with both hands, eyes instantly filling. Her father blinked, still absorbing, then stood up like he needed to physically process it. One of her sisters clapped her hands, while the other wiped tears that had already started falling.

Wunmi laughed, her own eyes burning now. “I’m twelve weeks. We just had a check-up. Everything looks good.”

“You didn’t tell us sooner!” her mother cried, half-laughing now. “You kept this to yourself?”

“I wanted to wait,” Wunmi said gently. “You know I didn’t want to rush news like this.”

“You are carrying my grandchild,” her father said, voice low but full. “You’ve made us so proud. So proud.”

“I’m still shaking,” one of her sisters said, wiping her face. “You’re going to be a mummy!”

“Your bump is coming soon!” another added. “I’m planning baby clothes already.”

Michael leaned in, smiling, his hand resting gently on Wunmi’s knee.

“And what of you, Michael?” her father asked, eyes suddenly sharper. “Are you looking after her?”

Michael nodded seriously. “Every day, sir. I don’t let her lift a finger if I can help it.”

That seemed to satisfy him, a bit.

“Good. You’ll need to do even more soon.”

“Wunmi,” her mother said again, voice softer now, eyes glassy, “you’re going to come home, yes? To rest before the baby comes?”

“We’re planning it,” Wunmi said. “We’re thinking around November. But I want to come home for a bit, yes.”

“You must. We’ll get the room ready,” her mum said, wiping her cheeks. “And start stocking up. The aunties will want to see you.”

Wunmi smiled, overwhelmed but glowing. “I know.”

Her full name came again, softer this time. “Oluwunmi, I’m so proud of you, my daughter.”

Michael kissed her temple as her eyes filled again.

And across the sea, their family, loud, tearful, and full of love, carried them into this new chapter like only family could.

-

The sound of the bathroom fan buzzed softly, mixed with the harsh retch of Wunmi’s body pushing back against her. She knelt over the toilet, one hand braced on the floor, the other weakly pushing her curls away from her face.

Michael was right behind her. Just like he had been the past few nights and every early morning since this started.

He sat on the cool tile, shirtless, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand gently rubbing her back in slow, wide circles. His other hand held a half-empty water bottle he kept offering between breaths.

“I’m sorry,” Wunmi murmured, voice hoarse, forehead resting briefly on her arm.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, brushing her shoulder with the side of his thumb. “Ain’t nothing to apologize for.”

Her stomach twisted again, and she barely had time to lean forward before another wave hit her. Michael stayed close, breathing slowly beside her, grounding her.

When it passed, she sagged again, wiping her mouth with the tissue he handed her.

“I thought this part was supposed to be over,” she whispered.

“Everybody’s different,” he said gently. 

Wunmi reached for the water, took a slow sip, then closed her eyes. She felt wrung out like all her strength was somewhere at the bottom of the toilet bowl. Her limbs were heavy and her skin felt too tight.

Michael shifted behind her and opened his arms. “Come here.”

She let him pull her into his lap, her back against his chest, her head falling against his collarbone. He wrapped both arms around her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

They sat like that on the floor, bodies warm against the cold tile.

“I don’t like feeling this weak,” she whispered.

“You’re not weak,” he said immediately, firm. “You’re doing something your body’s never done before.”

She closed her eyes, breathing slow.

His hand slid gently over her bump, his palm resting there as if that alone could absorb some of the weight.

They stayed there in silence, letting the morning move slowly around them.

-

The room was cool and softly lit, designed to be calming, but Michael’s knee was still bouncing. He was practically vibrating in the chair beside her.

Wunmi lay back on the exam table, her bump fully visible now beneath the soft curve of her shirt. The ultrasound tech was adjusting the machine with a calm confidence that made Wunmi feel at ease.

Wunmi reached out and caught his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Relax,” she whispered, a small smirk on her face. “You’re shaking the floor.”

“I’m cool,” he said, too quickly. “Super cool.”

She squeezed his hand. “You’re about to be annoying, I can feel it.”

“I’m manifesting,” he whispered dramatically.

Wunmi just rolled her eyes, laughing quietly.

The tech dimmed the lights a bit further and adjusted the gel bottle. “Okay, it’ll be a little cool.”

Wunmi winced slightly as the gel hit her stomach, and Michael instinctively tightened his grip on her hand.

The tech moved the transducer across Wunmi’s belly, her eyes scanning the monitor with practiced ease. The soft sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room.

Michael’s whole body stilled at the sound. He never got used to it.

“There’s your little one,” She said with a soft smile. “Everything’s looking right on track. A strong heartbeat and good growth.”

Wunmi’s eyes stayed on the screen. Michael leaned forward like he could somehow will himself closer to the baby through the monitor.

After a few minutes of scanning and typing, the tech paused.

“Would you like to know the gender?”

Michael answered before Wunmi could even part her lips.

“Yes, please,” he blurted.

Wunmi shot him a look, half-amused, half “really?”

He mouthed, “Sorry,” but his eyes were so hopeful she couldn’t even be mad.

The tech smiled and rotated the transducer slightly. “Alright then. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The room held its breath.

Michael leaned closer. Wunmi’s heart pounded, but she stayed still, her fingers tightening around his.

“Well,” Nadine said, still smiling, “congratulations. You’re having a girl.”

Michael froze for a full second.

“I knew it!” he whispered, grinning so wide it looked like his whole face lit up. “I told you!”

Wunmi blinked, then covered her mouth as a soft, stunned laugh escaped. Her other hand pressed lightly to her belly.

“A girl,” she repeated, almost to herself. “We’re having a girl.”

Michael was already kissing her knuckles, his voice low but fierce. “That’s our daughter. That’s my girl.”

The tech continued scanning for a few more minutes, walking them through anatomy details and giving them a few printed stills.

Michael barely looked away from Wunmi the entire time.

“You alright?” he asked her softly once the room began to brighten again.

She nodded, eyes a little glassy. “Yeah. Hearing it out loud made it real.”

Michael kissed her forehead. “She’s gonna change our whole world.”

October - Six Months

The bathroom light clicked off with a soft hum, and Michael stepped back into the bedroom, towel in hand, hair still damp from the shower. The room was mostly dark, save for the faint glow of the hallway light spilling through the slightly open door.

He expected Wunmi to still be awake. She had said she was going to scroll on her phone for a bit. But when he looked toward the bed, he found her already asleep.

Her hand rested loosely over her bump, lips parted slightly, one leg stretched out long beneath the sheets. And she was on her back.

He knew what the doctor had said. That around this point in the pregnancy, sleeping on your back could restrict blood flow, something about the weight of the uterus pressing on a vein, or something he couldn’t quite pronounce. He remembered the way the nurse had looked at him like he needed to take this seriously.

He dropped the towel at the foot of the bed, walked barefoot over to her side, and crouched down slowly beside her.

“Babe,” he whispered gently, brushing a curl from her cheek.

She stirred, murmured something he couldn’t catch.

Michael leaned in, kissed her temple. “I’m just gonna turn you a little, okay?”

She made a sleepy noise of agreement and let him guide her carefully onto her side, tucking one pillow behind her back and another between her knees. She was still half-asleep, but her body shifted with ease, like it knew it would rest better this way.

Once she was settled, Michael adjusted the blanket around her, then stood back, watching. She looked peaceful again.

He turned off the hallway light and climbed into bed, lying behind her, not too close, just enough to keep a hand on her hip and feel the rise and fall of her breath.

Every hour or so, he’d stir. And every time he did, he’d glance over to make sure she hadn’t shifted back.

By morning, before she even opened her eyes, he was already scrolling on his phone, checking reviews for the best pregnancy pillows.

-

The nursery had started to come alive box by box.

The wall’s paint had dried earlier in the week: soft, dusty pink on the upper walls, cream on the lower half, and a warm, earthy brown accent arch around where the crib would go. It looked exactly like the Pinterest board Wunmi had shown Michael three weeks ago, down to the shade.

Now it was just about pulling it all together.

Michael was crouched in the middle of the floor, screwdriver in one hand, instruction manual in the other. The crib was only halfway built, and the dresser parts weren’t even out of the box yet.

In the corner, Wunmi was curled up on the small couch under a knitted throw, one hand gently resting on her belly, the other slowly reaching into a bowl of spicy cassava chips. A tub of Greek yogurt sat nearby to offset the heartburn that was already threatening.

Her face pinched mid-chew. “I shouldn’t be eating this,” she mumbled to herself.

Michael called out, “Is that the heartburn snack again?”

“Don’t judge me,” she groaned.

“I wasn’t judging. Just confirming.”

Wunmi sighed and set the bowl aside. “You don’t understand. It’s all I want. But every bite feels like my chest is on fire by the end.”

Michael poked his head into the hallway. “Because you’ve had nothing but spicy food and citrus for the last four days.”

She narrowed her eyes  but didn’t argue. “How’s the crib?”

Michael’s expression said everything. “We are not on speaking terms.”

Wunmi laughed softly, but even that took effort. Her energy had been off for days. Her nausea had crept back like an unwanted guest. Her back ached. Her ankles were starting to swell. And all of that on top of the emotional weight of doing everything and nothing at once.

She wanted to be helping, directing, assembling, folding, nesting.

Instead, she was parked on the couch.

“I hate this,” she murmured more to herself than him.

Michael looked up again, this time gentler. “Hate what?”

“Not being able to do more. I feel like I’m just sitting here while you build everything.”

“You are literally building a person inside you right now,” he said, standing fully. “I just opened a crib box. Let’s keep the perspective straight.”

Wunmi blinked back something tight in her chest. “Yeah but it still sucks. I like being hands-on. Right now I just feel…heavy, useless, and hormonal.”

Michael walked over to her slowly, crouched in front of her, and took both her hands in his.

“You’re tired. And sick. And you’ve got fire in your chest every time you eat something that makes you feel okay for five seconds. You’re showing more, which means your whole body is shifting every hour.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “You are not useless. You’re just human. A human doing the most miraculous, exhausting thing in the world.”

She closed her eyes, her chin quivering slightly.

“You still mad about the crib?” he asked, trying to soften the moment.

“A little.”

Michael grinned. “Fair.”

He stood and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Let me finish this room.”

She smiled despite herself and curled deeper into the blanket.

Michael stepped back toward the nursery, cracking his knuckles. “Alright. I’m building this crib before sunset if it kills me.”

November - Seven Months

Michael sat on set, leaning back in the interview chair, hands clasped in his lap, eyes drifting toward the door every few seconds. His publicist had told him it was a interview for a digital feature but he had no clue who was interviewing him, just that it was meant to be “light and fun.”

He was exhausted from press and it’d been over two weeks since he’s been home.

But something about the way they told him to “just be open” made him sit up straighter.

They called out, “We’re rolling!”

Michael adjusted his mic, looked toward the entrance, and then the door opened.

Wunmi walked in with her hair up, skin glowing, off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged her body, and her bump, like it had been poured on. She was radiant and smiling.

Michael’s lips parted. “Oh, wow…”

She walked straight onto the set and offered her hand like they’d never met.

“Hi, I’m Wunmi. Thanks for sitting down with me.”

Michael took her hand slowly, still staring. “Michael. It’s…really good to meet you.”

They both sat, the silence stretching between them charged and knowing.

“Alright,” she said, opening a small notepad like she actually had notes. “You’ve got a new film coming out. It’s a lot more action packed than what you normally do.”

Michael raised a brow, eyes locked on her. “Yeah, there was a lot of different types of training I had to do,” he said slowly. 

Wunmi smiled. “So what drew you to the project?”

“I think I just wanted to prove I could do something different,” he said, his voice dipping low. 

Wunmi crossed her legs slowly. “What was the most challenging part of filming?”

Michael didn’t miss a beat. “Not being distracted by thoughts of someone else.”

Wunmi blinked slowly, holding back a grin. “You should try staying focused.”

“I was focused,” he said, eyes moving over her. “Just not on the right things.”

She cleared her throat, sitting up slightly. “Okay…last question.”

Michael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Go for it.”

“If you weren’t working so much, if you had time,” she said slowly, voice steady, “and you met someone…let’s say, hypothetically, during an interview. Someone who made it a little hard to concentrate. Would you pursue her?”

Michael let a smile stretch across his face. “That depends.”

“On?”

“Well,” he said, “can I get your number?”

Wunmi arched a brow. “I don’t give my number out to strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he said softly. “Not to you.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t know if I have a man.”

Michael looked her dead in the eye, smiling like he already knew the answer. “Do you?”

Wunmi’s smile widened as she stood slowly, slipping the mic off.

Michael watched her walk off, eyes shamelessly following every step.

The second the crew called “cut,” Michael was already on his feet.

He barely remembered to unclip his mic before moving, handing it off blindly, his eyes trained on the direction Wunmi had walked off in. One of the assistants tried to stop him with a clipboard, asking for something. He waved them off gently.

“I’ll circle back,” he muttered. “Give me a second.”

The hallway backstage was quiet and cool, lined with production crates and folding chairs. And there she was, leaning casually against the wall, scrolling through her phone. She looked up the moment he turned the corner. And then she smiled. The one he hadn’t seen in person for two weeks. The one that crinkled her nose and made her whole face glow.

Michael didn’t hesitate. He crossed the space in a few long strides and wrapped his arms around her carefully, but with so much intent. He avoided her bump automatically. One hand braced her back, the other cupped the back of her head as he kissed her temple, then her cheek, then just held her there.

“Hi,” she whispered against him.

Michael exhaled against her hair, eyes shut tight.

“Damn, I missed you.”

She melted into him, her fingers curling gently into the front of his shirt.

“I missed you too,” she said. “And I’m mad at how well you played along in that interview. You didn’t break once.”

“I was dying inside,” he admitted, grinning as he leaned back just enough to see her face. “You came out in that dress and I almost forgot what movie I was there to promote.”

Wunmi laughed softly, brushing a hand down his chest. “You look tired.”

“I am,” he said. “But seeing you really woke me up.”

He kissed her again, slower this time. Then pulled back, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to memorize it again.

“You busy tonight?”

“I have a date,” she teased.

“Oh yeah?” he grinned. “What’s he like?”

“He’s annoying,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “But he loves me really well.”

Michael leaned in, his voice low against her cheek. “Good. ’Cause he’s already making a reservation at that place you’ve been craving. And if you're too tired to go out, he’s got the candles and foot rubs ready at home.”

She looked at him, visibly softening.

“We need that, huh?”

Michael nodded, threading their fingers tighter. “Yeah. Just you and me. And maybe that lemon sorbet you’ve been talking about.”

“You remembered that?”

“Baby, I remember everything. I’ve been counting the minutes.”

Wunmi smiled and tugged gently on his hand. “Let’s go home.”

He didn't even think twice.

-

Wunmi eased herself into the bath the moment they got home. The warm water cradling her back, steam rising gently, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She let her head fall back against the rim of the tub, eyes closed, hands resting over her bump. The ache in her lower back was real and the weight in her belly heavier than usual, but the water helped.

From the other side of the bathroom, she heard the soft sound of the shower turning on. Michael had stripped out of his clothes and moved behind the glass and stepped in with a long, quiet groan of relief.

“I missed this,” he said finally over the spray of the water.

Wunmi hummed. “What, showering next to me?”

“Yes, but more than that. I missed being home with you.”

She smiled softly, eyes still closed. “Me too.”

By the time they dried off and got into bed, everything felt softer. Michael climbed in behind her without a word, still warm and faintly damp from the shower. He settled against her back, one arm slipping around her belly, the other tucked beneath her pillow.

Wunmi curled into him instinctively, one of his legs tangled with hers. The TV played some comfort sitcom they weren’t really watching.

Michael’s hand slid up beneath her sleep shirt because that’s where his hand always went. He stroked slow, lazy lines just under her breasts, thumb brushing over the top curve.

Wunmi let out a breath, her body relaxing further into his. He kissed the back of her shoulder softly. Then again. And her hips shifted, just a little, but not on purpose.

Michael stilled, then adjusted slightly behind her, just enough for her to feel the pressure of him unmistakably aware of her body pressed up against his. Wunmi’s breath caught.

“Sorry,” Michael murmured against her skin, his voice low and heavy. “I wasn’t trying to–”

“I know,” she whispered, not moving. “It’s okay.”

His hand moved lower, resting beneath the swell of her belly now. 

They stayed like that for a few seconds, the air thickening quietly. Her body pulsed as if remembering something it hadn’t had the energy to feel in weeks.

He kissed her shoulder again. Then her neck. His hand slipped along her thigh.

“Michael,” she breathed.

They were still curled against each other, the low murmur of the TV flickering across the dark room, but neither of them were paying attention to it anymore.

Wunmi shifted slightly in Michael’s arms, her hips pressing back into him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. It wasn’t an accident this time.

“Babe?” he murmured, voice gravel-low.

She turned her head toward him, meeting his eyes over her shoulder. “I want you.”

He searched her face, as if waiting to be sure. “You sure you feel up for it?”

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered. “I’m sure, babe.”

Her body hadn’t given her much grace the past two months. Between the heartburn, nausea, and the ever-growing ache in her joints, she hadn’t been in the space to want anything other than comfort. But now, here in the quiet with her body pressed against his, she was craving not just closeness, but him.

She reached for his hand and guided it up, slipping beneath the edge of her shirt to rest over her breast. They were fuller, heavier, and far more sensitive than before. When his palm covered her and squeezed gently, a soft moan slipped from her lips.

Michael’s breath hitched. “Damn, I missed touching you.”

“I missed you touching me. It’s been so long,” she whispered.

He leaned in, kissing along her jaw, letting his hand mold to her breast again, thumb grazing the peak slowly, carefully. Her back arched in response, her hips rolling again, more insistent this time.

She reached behind herself, pulling his other hand down between her thighs, guiding him beneath the band of her panties. He found her already warm and pulsing.

“You’re so ready for me,” he said against her skin, voice barely holding.

“It’s all yours,” she whispered.

He took his time with his fingers stroking gently, and lips on her neck, her shoulder, her spine. Her body trembled with every pass of his hand, every squeeze of his fingers on her breast. He eased inside her from behind and they both gasped like they’d been holding their breath for months.

Michael moved slowly at first, his arm anchored beneath her belly, the other wrapped around her chest. He kissed her neck and her ear, whispering soft nothings while their bodies moved together again. Her breath came in whimpers, quiet but desperate, each thrust bringing her higher.

“I got you,” he kept saying. “I got you.”

When her body tightened and she came, she curled forward, hand fisting the sheets, the tension unraveling in waves. But Michael didn’t stop. He lifted one of her legs, easing it over his forearm, sinking deeper with a low groan.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, her voice cracking.

He kept stroking her breast with his free hand, just enough to keep her spiraling, while he moved inside her. She gasped with every shift of his hips, body oversensitive but clinging to the sensation.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered.

“It’s perfect,” she moaned.

And when he came, he buried his face in her neck and held her like he didn’t want to let go, like all the miles, all the nights apart had finally melted away in the heat of their skin.

Michael hadn’t realy planned on doing more. But her body, the way she trembled against him after that first release, the way she gasped when he stayed inside her, undid him. He was far from done.

Her skin was glowing with heat, chest rising and falling, and he could feel her still pulsing around him. 

“Don’t move,” he whispered into her hair, voice thick with desire.

Wunmi hummed, too breathless to speak. Her body already limp in his arms.

Michael kissed her shoulder, then gently pulled back, guiding her onto her hands and knees. He moved slowly, checking her every reaction as he repositioned her. She followed with lazy obedience, blinking sleepily as he added a stack of pillows beneath her hips, tilting her body just right.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing his knuckles down her spine.

Wunmi nodded once, cheek pressed to the sheets. “Yeah. I just…”

But the words drifted off. Her body was saying yes before her voice could catch up.

Michael pushed her sleep shirt up just enough to expose the curve of her back and the heavy, sensitive fullness of her breasts. He didn't take it off. He liked how she looked in it. His palm smoothed down her back, gripping her hips and spreading her legs just a little wider.

And then he pushed back into her.

She cried out, not from pain, but from the sharp shock of pleasure and pressure. Her arms braced against the mattress, breath catching as he filled her again, deeper now, her hips perfectly angled by the pillows.

Michael groaned, head falling back as he rolled his hips into hers with practiced rhythm. It wasn’t gentle now, not this time. His body was moving on pure instinct, chasing the sounds she made, the tight pulse of her around him, the way her back arched and trembled with every stroke.

Her whines turned into moans, then something more guttural, higher-pitched. The kind of noises he’d only ever heard when she was completely overwhelmed. 

He watched her carefully as she tried to hold on, gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. Her sleep shirt rode up further with every thrust, bunching under her arms, the fabric tugging with the rhythm of his body against hers. Her breasts bounced freely now, and Michael reached forward, cupping one in his hand, thumb grazing over the peak.

She shuddered violently beneath him.

“I got it, baby,” he panted, voice low and urgent in her ear. “Just stay right there and take it.”

She tried to answer but all that came out was a long, helpless moan. Her whole body shaking, her hips trying to push back into him but barely able to match his rhythm.

Michael’s grip on her hips tightened, and he gave her a sharp, controlled smack on her backside just enough to make her jolt and gasp again.

He was obsessed with the way she sounded; those breathless little hiccups, the trembling whimpers, her whispered curses broken up by moans.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, but it was teasing now. He already knew.

She tried to say something–anything–but her voice cracked, and she couldn’t form a single word.

“Feels that good, huh?” he said, barely able to get the words out himself. “Damn.”

He wasn’t rushing. Just giving her deep, powerful strokes, angled to hit every sweet spot. His hand still working her breast gently and his body anchored behind her like he never wanted to leave.

When she came again, it was silent at first. Her mouth open, face buried in the sheets, body spasming so hard she nearly collapsed into the pillows. He held her up through it, whispering encouragement, slowing down just enough to help her ride it out without falling apart completely.

And even after he followed, shuddering, breath caught in his chest, filling her slow and deep, he didn’t pull out. Not right away.

His hands smoothed up her back, slow and soothing now. He kissed the middle of her spine and whispered soft things; “you’re so perfect,” “I missed you,” “I needed that more than I knew.” His hips stilled, but he stayed buried deep, and Wunmi whimpered at the sensitivity, twitching beneath him.

His other hand stroked along her thigh, slow and grounding, while he kissed the back of her shoulder and murmured, “You okay?”

She nodded, face still buried in the pillow, her whole body humming with aftershocks.

“You feel me?” he whispered, massaging small, slow circles into her back.

She let out a shaky breath and nodded.

He chuckled low, half-pride, half-awe.

“Yeah,” he said, brushing her hair from her cheek. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He stayed there, still buried deep inside her, rocking his hips slowly.

-

Michael sat up in bed, propped against a couple of pillows, legs stretched out under the covers. The TV was on low, playing some movie he wasn’t paying attention to. His hand moved absently along Wunmi’s back, just under the fabric of her shirt. She hadn’t budged since they fell asleep.

She was curled on her side, arms tucked beneath the pillow, lips parted just slightly. Her chest rose and fell in deep rhythm, a gentle snore slipping out every few minutes. The same soft rasp that had started a few weeks ago. The one he secretly loved.

She looked peaceful. Heavy with rest. Her skin glowed in the morning light, hair a little wild against the pillowcase, one leg curled up and the bump prominent beneath the sheets.

Michael smiled to himself as he scrolled through the pictures on his phone.

There was one of her from the night before sitting across from him at the diner, laughing mid-bite, hand bracing her stomach like the baby had kicked right in the middle of a joke. Then another of her in the parking lot with her hair up, eyes sleepy but still smiling.

He sat with the photos for a minute. Then he selected them all, typed in a caption, and hit post:

before the storm 🍼

He didn’t think much of it. But within ten minutes, his phone lit up with texts, mentions, and missed calls. 

And then, his family decided to do a group video call. He chuckled and answered with a lazy swipe.

The screen filled instantly with his mom, Donna, on one side with her hair in a wrap and coffee in hand, Jamila half-ready for something, and Khalid calling in from what looked like his office.

Donna leaned in closer. “Where’s Wunmi?”

Michael angled the phone a little, showing Wunmi still asleep next to him, curled in deep with the blankets pushed low over her belly.

“There she go,” Khalid said quietly, watching the screen.

“She okay?” Jamila asked softly.

“She’s good,” Michael said. His hand returned to rubbing her back gently, like his body couldn’t help it. “Doctor said everything’s on track. She was just so exhausted last night. Slept through the whole night.”

Donna’s eyes welled up. “She looks like she needed that sleep so bad.”

“She did,” Michael nodded. “She’s been hurting, nauseous, restless, so she couldn’t get comfortable for weeks.”

“Y’all planning to go to the UK soon?” Jamila asked.

“Yeah. In the next week or so. She wants to go there before she’s too far along to travel comfortably. We’re gonna stay a bit.”

“What about names?” Khalid asked, because of course.

Michael smiled, glancing back at Wunmi. “We got some ideas, but we’re waiting to meet her first. Let her tell us.”

Donna nodded, eyes soft. “That’s the right move.”

They stayed on the call for a little while longer, chatting, catching up, the screen occasionally flashing back to Wunmi asleep, none the wiser to the joy her stillness was bringing them all.

And when the call ended, Michael set his phone down, slipped lower under the covers, and pulled Wunmi gently into him again. Carefully, like if he moved too much, he might wake her from the best sleep she’d had in months.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached their floor, and Michael stepped out first, his hand already on the handle of both of the large suitcases, the carry-on slung over his shoulder. He glanced back to make sure Wunmi was close behind, and she was, but barely.

She looked gorgeous as always, even in a hoodie and travel leggings, even with her curls tied back and her eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. But she moved slow, the ache in her back obvious in the way she kept pressing one hand just under the curve of her belly.

“You good?” he asked, pausing to unlock the hotel door.

“Barely,” she mumbled. 

Michael chuckled softly as the door swung open. The suite was cozy, soft-lit, and quiet. Exactly what she needed.

“You’re not doing anything until you rest,” he said gently.

“I should shower first–”

“You can do that after the nap.”

“I should–”

“Babe,” he said, looking at her with the look he used when he wanted her to listen. “No one’s gonna see you until you’re good and rested. I already told your mom we were landing late. You’ve been uncomfortable since hour three on that plane. Come on.”

Wunmi didn’t fight it. She just kicked off her shoes near the bed and sighed, one hand still bracing her lower back. “Feels like my spine's in a knot.”

Michael was already helping her onto the mattress. “Let me fix it.”

She gave him a tired side-eye. “You’re not a chiropractor.”

“Maybe not,” he said, grabbing a pillow. “But I know your body, and I know what helps.”

He helped her onto her hands and knees slowly, propping a few pillows under her chest for support, letting her drop her weight forward. He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, positioned himself behind her, and placed both hands on the small of her back. And then he got to work.

His thumbs moved in slow, firm circles with just enough pressure to release the tension tucked deep in her muscles. He worked across her lower back, down to the sides of her hips, easing the stiffness out of her.

Wunmi groaned softly, her head dropping onto her crossed arms. “You’re gonna make me fall asleep.”

“That’s the goal.”

Her breathing slowed with every pass of his palms, the tension giving way to comfort, her body sinking lower.

Ten minutes later, she was completely still.

Michael glanced down. Her eyes were shut, face relaxed, and her lips parted just slightly. She was out cold.

Carefully, he helped her shift to her side, adjusted the pillows around her, and pulled the blanket up over her hip. He kissed her temple once before stepping away to grab her charger, quietly setting her phone beside her.

That’s when his phone buzzed.

He smiled and stepped into the sitting area, answering with a gentle swipe. Wunmi’s mother’s face appeared on the screen instantly, glowing with excitement.

“Michael! You made it in one piece!”

“We did,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Just got checked in about twenty minutes ago.”

“Where’s Wunmi? Is she okay?”

Michael flipped the camera gently to show her sound asleep, curled up on the bed, her hand resting gently over her bump.

Her mother smiled, eyes softening. “My baby girl…”

“She didn’t sleep well on the flight,” Michael said, flipping the camera back. “Her back’s been killing her, so I gave her a massage, and she knocked out.”

“Smart man,” her mother chuckled. “She’s lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

They both smiled.

“So what time do you think you’ll head over?” she asked.

Michael checked the clock on the wall. “Give us about two hours? I wanna let her rest. And she’s gonna want to shower and get dressed before seeing everyone.”

“That’s fine! I’ll tell them to hold off. They’ve been excited all morning.”

“Tell ’em we’re on the way soon,” he said with a smile. “And that she’s okay. Just tired.”

“I will,” her mother said warmly. “Thank you, Michael.”

They ended the call, and Michael stepped back into the bedroom, sitting gently at the edge of the bed. He leaned over, brushing a kiss across her shoulder again, whispering into her skin.

“Rest while you can, baby.”

-

The front door had barely opened before it was like the whole house exhaled with joy.

“There they are!” “Look at her belly!” “Uncle Dee, come and see your niece before she disappears into the kitchen!” “Michael! You alright, love? Get in here!”

Michael barely got the door closed before five different people were trying to hug them. Wunmi, already flushed from the warmth and scent of home-cooked food in the air, smiled through it all but tugged gently at her coat, clearly overheating already.

“I got it,” Michael murmured, sliding behind her without missing a beat. His hands carefully worked her out of her coat. “Don’t stretch. I got you.”

She murmured a soft thank you as he folded it in his arm.

But the moment she stepped out, bump fully visible beneath her fitted sweater and pants, the energy shifted.

Michael stood to the side, coat still in his hand, watching as she was enveloped by aunties, cousins, and her siblings, all grinning and cooing, hugging her gently, rubbing her belly with varying levels of permission. Wunmi laughed, overwhelmed in the best way, holding onto her bump like she couldn’t believe how much love it was pulling in.

“I’m not even showing that much,” she mumbled, laughing through her blush.

“Lie again,” one of her cousins teased.

Her mother came around the corner just then, apron on, wiping her hands with a towel, smile wide but calm. She made her way through the crowd and wrapped her arms around Wunmi like she was gathering her whole heart in one embrace.

“My baby,” she whispered.

Wunmi melted into her. “Hi, Mum.”

They pulled apart and her mother’s eyes scanned her daughter’s face, then her belly, then Michael’s face.

“You look well,” she said softly. “Tired. But well.”

She turned to the others. “Alright, everyone out of the kitchen. Let the girl breathe. Food will be ready in a bit.”

Dinner was warm and full. The air thick with laughter, overlapping stories, and the clang of serving spoons against pots. Her mother had made sure everything on the table was safe: no trigger spices, no weird textures that would hit Wunmi’s nausea the wrong way. It was only comfort food, tailored to her daughter’s cravings.

Still, that didn’t stop Wunmi from sneaking off into the kitchen mid-conversation.

Michael noticed, but didn’t follow. He simply smiled when he heard her mother’s voice float out from behind the wall.

“You think I didn’t hear you walking back here?”

Wunmi giggled. “I’m just… checking the stove.”

“Mmhm. Taste this.”

Michael peeked into the kitchen from where he sat and saw Wunmi leaned against the counter, eyes closing with a hum of satisfaction as her mother fed her a small spoonful of something straight from the pot.

“This might actually fix my whole week,” she mumbled.

Her mom grinned. “That’s why I made it. Now go back out there before they think you’ve run off.”

When she returned to the table, Michael took one look at her face and handed her a glass of water like they hadn’t missed a beat. There was a little more color to her cheeks and her eyes were brighter.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning in.

“Yeah,” she said, easing into her chair. “She fed me.”

He grinned. “Of course she did.”

And as dinner continued, the room only got louder. Michael let himself fall into the rhythm of her world. This family that loved her out loud, with laughter, food, and open hands.

-

The car was idling at the curb, trunk packed, soft drizzle misting the windows in true northern England fashion. The air was crisp, thick with quiet goodbyes and that particular ache that only comes when you’re about to leave somewhere that feels like your core.

Wunmi stood wrapped in her mother’s arms, her cheek pressed into the familiar curve of her shoulder. Her sisters hovered close by with their eyes misty but they were holding it together.

“Don’t cry,” her mum murmured softly, rocking her just a little like she had when Wunmi was a child. “You know I’ll be there.”

“I know,” Wunmi whispered. But still, her arms stayed tight around her mother’s back.

Michael stood a few steps back, giving them their space. His hoodie was pulled up, hands in his pockets, but his eyes never left Wunmi. He was watching her with that familiar quiet intensity.

Her younger sister stepped forward next, hugging her with a bright, brave smile. “You better call us every day.”

“I will,” Wunmi promised, wiping under her eyes. “And you lot better be there.”

Her mum stepped in again. “We’ve already booked flights. We’ll be in L.A. right before the due date, sooner if needed. I’m not missing my grandbaby.”

Wunmi laughed through a few tears. “You better not.”

The final round of hugs felt slower like the air itself was trying to stretch time. Michael gently stepped in once the goodbyes began to fade, rubbing his hand down Wunmi’s back, grounding her as she leaned into him, a little fragile now.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

“No,” she mumbled into him.

He kissed her hairline. “We’ll be back. But it’ll be three of us next time.”

Wunmi sniffled, nodding slowly.

Michael turned to her family and offered them that warm, familiar smile. “Thank you.”

“You take care of her,” her mother said.

“Always.”

And he meant it.

He helped Wunmi into the car, held her hand the entire drive to the airport, and stayed quiet while she leaned her head on his shoulder during check-in. Her fingers stayed curled around his even as they went through security, through boarding, through takeoff.

Nine Months - Late January

Wunmi padded softly across the cool kitchen tile, one hand bracing her lower back as she opened the fridge, her other hand cradling her bump. The light spilled over her face as she searched for something simple, something small. Her body felt unsettled. Not in pain, but restless. Her hips ached, her lower belly tugged. The same false starts she’d been having for days now.

She reached for a glass and poured water, just as a low, intense pressure began to climb through her lower back. Then a deep contraction hit, stronger than the others. And it held.

Her hand jerked, and the glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the tile as she doubled over, bracing her palms against the counter, breath catching in her throat.

“Oh–” she whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “Okay. Okay…”

Down the hall, the quiet voices of her and Michael’s mom still up chatting softly in the living room fell silent. They appeared in the kitchen seconds later.

“Wunmi?” her mother called, voice low but sharp.

She didn’t answer right away, focusing instead on deep, steady breaths as she leaned into the counter, her face tight with focus.

Her mother was at her side instantly, one hand sliding to her lower back, rubbing in slow circles.

“Breathe through it, baby. You’ve got it. In through the nose out through the mouth. That’s it.”

Michael’s mom quickly stepped around the glass, eyes scanning her. “That one looked stronger.”

Wunmi nodded, breathless. “Much stronger.”

“You’ve been feeling them all week,” her mom said softly. “But this one’s different, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, still hunched slightly. “It’s not going away like the others.”

Michael’s mom turned toward the stairs. “I’m waking him up.”

By the time Michael came downstairs, shirtless, sweats hanging low on his hips, face tense but calm, Wunmi was upright again, cradling her belly, leaning against the wall with her mother at her side.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low but urgent, walking toward her immediately.

“She had a contraction,” his mom said, hand gently guiding him forward. “And the glass broke. She didn’t fall, she’s okay but it looked like a strong one.”

Michael was already in front of Wunmi, hands on her arms, scanning her face.

“Do you wanna go in?”

Wunmi shook her head slowly. “Not yet. They're still really far apart.”

Michael nodded, cupping the back of her head gently. “Okay. You want to try to sleep?”

She looked at him, eyes tired, voice soft. “Can you lay with me?”

“Of course,” he said, without hesitation.

He helped her out of the kitchen slowly, arm around her waist, avoiding the shards of glass that his mom had already begun sweeping up behind them. Her mother followed close, still watching her closely but not hovering.

Once they got upstairs, Michael settled her into bed first. Then he slid in behind her, wrapping his arm around her front and resting his hand over her bump.

Wunmi let out a shaky breath. “I think this is it.”

“I know,” he whispered into her hair. “But we’ve got time.”

And as the house settled with the heaviness of anticipation. Michael stayed alert, hand never leaving her belly.

-

Wunmi shifted in bed, eyes barely fluttering open as another contraction crept up through her back and wrapped around her front. She exhaled slowly, trying to ride it out without waking Michael, but the sound that slipped from her throat was enough.

His eyes snapped open.

“Wunmi?”

She nodded, hand already gripping the side of the bed.

Michael sat up fast, brushing her curls from her damp forehead. “This one bad?”

“It…yeah.”

As if on cue, she whimpered, her fingers digging into the blanket.

Michael picked up the phone on the nightstand, calling the doctor’s on-call number. Within moments, they were patched through.

“She’s having stronger contractions,” he told the nurse calmly. “Yeah… every ten minutes now. No bleeding, but she’s in pain.”

He listened as the nurse explained some things to him, then he nodded. “Okay. We’ll head in.”

He hung up and stood immediately, already grabbing the hospital bag from the corner, slinging the strap over his shoulder. “Let’s go. They’re ready for us.”

Wunmi sat on the edge of the bed, bracing herself with both hands. Her legs trembled slightly from the pressure.

“You okay to move?” he asked, crouching in front of her.

She gave a shaky nod. “Yeah. Just help me up.”

Both moms followed closely as Michael carefully guided her downstairs, one arm firm around her waist, the other resting over her belly. She leaned into him the whole way to the car, barely speaking, focused on her breathing.

The drive was quiet and tense. Wunmi sat in the backseat with her mother, eyes squeezed shut during every contraction. Michael drove with one hand on the wheel, the other constantly checking the rearview mirror, his jaw tight but steady.

When they pulled up to the hospital’s private maternity entrance, a nurse and an orderly were already waiting outside with a wheelchair.

Michael parked and jumped out first, swinging open the back door.

“Come on, baby,” he said gently, offering his hand.

Wunmi tried to stand, but halfway up, another contraction hit her hard. Her knees buckled and she doubled over with a groan, gripping his arms.

Michael held her firmly, whispering against her ear. “I got you. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

She nodded with her jaw clenched tight, and her mother rubbing her back while the nurses waited patiently.

As soon as she was upright again and taking a shaky step toward the wheelchair, it happened.

A sudden rush of warmth between her legs. She gasped.

“My water…”

The nurse stepped forward. “It’s okay, that’s normal. We’ll get you inside.”

Michael’s hands were steady, but his eyes flicked with concern. He helped lower her into the wheelchair as gently as possible.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Wunmi panted. “It’s a lot. But I’m okay.”

Michael kissed her forehead and jogged ahead to hold the doors open as the nurse wheeled her in. Both mothers followed quickly behind, bags in tow.

The staff moved fast but calm. Ushering them into a private birthing suite, prepping monitors, gently helping Wunmi out of her clothes and into a gown. Michael never left her side.

One nurse checked her vitals. “You’re still quite early. Only a few centimeters dilated. But labor has definitely started.”

Wunmi nodded slowly, eyes locked on Michael’s.

He stayed close as they helped her into the hospital bed, her mother adjusting her pillows, his mother setting the bag down and pulling out lip balm, snacks, and the little comforts they packed just in case.

And within hours the hospital room changed. 

The lights had been dimmed and voices were lowered. Nurses moved in and out with gentle efficiency, adjusting monitors, checking vitals, keeping track of time. But the clock meant nothing to Wunmi. Not now. Not with her body working in waves and pulses, tightening and releasing with maddening rhythm.

By mid-morning, the contractions had picked up.

They weren’t completely unbearable, not yet. But they were steady. Deep. Demanding.

She was leaning forward arms hooked around Michael’s neck, forehead pressed to his chest as another contraction rolled through her. Her whole body tensed.

Michael stood rock solid, his hands circling slow and firm along her lower back, rubbing in counter-pressure strokes just like the nurse showed him.

“Breathe through it,” he murmured, his lips by her temple. “In and out. You’ve got it, baby. You’re doing so good.”

She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, letting out a long moan into his shirt.

As soon as the wave passed, her knees gave slightly. Michael caught her instantly.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, voice softer now. “Let’s try the ball next.”

The nurse brought over the yoga ball, and Wunmi eased down onto it slowly with help from both her mom and Michael. She rocked gently, her hips circling in slow figure eights while she braced her hands on her thighs.

Michael knelt in front of her, eyes steady on hers.

“Still okay?”

She nodded, sweat glistening along her brow. “Yeah, I’m managing.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, reaching for a cool cloth to dab her forehead. “You’re doing everything right.”

Her eyes softened at that, and for a moment the pain fell away.

Time moved in blurry loops after that.

She tried to rest between contractions, curled on her side in bed, her mother stroking her braids and Michael lying behind her, hand draped protectively over her bump.

“Try to sleep,” he whispered when her eyes fluttered. 

She did. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe less. But it was something.

When she woke, another contraction had her out of bed again, this one hitting harder. Michael was right there, helping her up, getting her sips of water, feeding her small bites of fruit and plain crackers.

“You gotta keep your strength up,” he said gently, kneeling by the chair where she sat with her feet up, rocking slightly. “Even if it’s just a little.”

She nodded, taking a few bites. “I don’t want to throw it back up.”

“You might and that’s okay. But it’s worth trying.”

He brushed his hand across her thigh, soothing her, anchoring her. Every so often, he’d press a kiss to her knee, her shoulder, her fingers.

Her mom and his mom both rotated in and out, giving them space, coming back with warm compresses and chapstick, quiet prayers and words of encouragement.

But Michael never left.

Even when she got snippy. Even when she cried out and gripped his shirt too hard. Even when she begged to know how much longer and the nurse only answered, “You’re doing beautifully. Keep going.”

Michael was steady.

“You can cuss me out later,” he teased once, brushing hair from her face.

“Good. I will.”

“I expect it.”

They shared a tired laugh, and then another wave hit, and she fell forward into his chest again.

-

The room was quiet now. Not silent, but still. The kind of still that only comes when everything else falls away and only one thing matters.

Wunmi was on her knees, leaned forward over the soft curve of the turquoise birthing stool. Pillows and blankets were stacked beneath her legs to support her hips and knees. Sweat clung to her skin and her body trembled, stretched to its edge. Her forehead pressed to the top of the CUB between contractions, but when the waves came, she gripped the sides and let out deep, primal moans from somewhere far beneath words.

Michael was in front of her on the floor, his knees tucked under him, body bent forward, both arms wrapped around her middle. One hand cradled her back, the other pressed firm and reassuring against her hip. His lips were at her ear, warm breath brushing her cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby. You’ve got this. I swear to God, you’ve got this.”

She whimpered, whole body curling in as another contraction rolled through her like fire.

The midwife crouched behind her, calm and ready, gloves already on. “Okay, Wunmi,” she said gently, “you’re fully dilated. The baby’s right there. We’re going to breathe through the next one and then start pushing, alright?”

Wunmi nodded once, jaw clenched, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Michael kissed her temple. “You’re safe. Just listen to your body.”

She clutched tighter to the CUB as the next contraction surged forward like a wave breaking open. The midwife’s voice guided her through it, but it was Michael’s hands that held her, grounded her, his voice steady in her ear.

“Push, love. Just like that. Come on. I see you. She’s so close.”

Wunmi groaned through gritted teeth, her entire body bearing down with all its strength. She sobbed once, gasped, and Michael caught her head gently as it dropped forward.

“You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered, forehead to hers. “You’re bringing our girl home.”

Both of their mothers were on the other side of the room monitoring and watching. They couldn’t help but to keep their eyes on their children who were bringing their own child into the world. 

There was another push, another cry, another breath.

Michael peeked down but quickly moved his head away focusing back on his woman. 

The midwife leaned in closer. “Head’s crowning,” she said softly. “She’s got hair.”

He laughed, breathless and overwhelmed, brushing his thumbs across Wunmi’s cheeks. “She’s almost here, baby. You’re so close. I can see her.”

Wunmi let out a sob and pushed again. She was shaking, breath hot and loud in Michael’s ear, and he kissed her jaw as tears gathered in his own eyes.

“I’ve got you. You’re not alone. You’re so close.”

And then as if that last bit of encouragement was the gateway, Wunmi pushed with all of the energy she had left and the room filled with a new sound.

A sharp, wet cry cracked through the silence, full and high and alive.

Michael gasped as he glanced down then immediately back to Wunmi. The midwife was already guiding the baby up, wrapping her gently and helping pass her between Wunmi’s arms.

She was panting, still on her knees, arms shaking as she leaned forward.

Michael supported her back as she lowered herself into a seated position. And there, pressed to her chest, was their baby girl.

“You did it,” Michael whispered, kissing her forehead, both of them crying now. “You did it.”

Wunmi sobbed into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around their daughter, holding her like something sacred.

And Michael kept one hand on her back, the other resting protectively over the small curve of their baby’s head.

They stayed there like that, on the floor, in the middle of the room. Not caring about the mess or the monitors or who was watching.

-

The chaos of delivery, the pacing back and forth, the focused hands and the tension in the air, all of it had dissolved into quiet.

Wunmi was finally resting, eyes heavy and body fully surrendered to the bed. Her head turned slightly toward the warm spot of sunlight casting long shadows across the sheets. Her breathing had slowed. Not sleep, exactly, but that in-between space where the body finally starts to let go.

Across the room, in the reclining chair, Michael sat shirtless, his shirt tossed over the side, holding their daughter against his bare chest.

She was impossibly small.

Her head tucked beneath his chin, soft baby curls damp with birth, her little arms curled in tight as she lay bundled in the crook of his arm. His other hand rested gently across her back, holding her there like she was something too precious to fully comprehend.

And really she was.

Michael couldn’t stop staring. Not at the room, not at the monitors, not even at Wunmi right now–just the tiny, wriggling life pressed to his chest. He could feel her heartbeat fluttering under her skin, the tiniest rise and fall of breath.

“I got you, princess,” he whispered, his voice raw, lips just brushing her temple. “Daddy’s right here.”

She shifted a little, making a soft, airy sound. Michael’s eyes welled, but he blinked fast, brushing a finger across her cheek.

The nurse came in gently after a knock, her steps light, eyes warm. She glanced at the monitors, then over at Michael.

“How’s she doing?”

Michael looked up. “Perfect. She's so calm.”

Wunmi stirred slightly at the sound of their voices, groggy but alert enough to turn her head. “Everything okay?”

Michael turned, still holding the baby. “Yeah. She’s good. Just been hangin’ out with me.”

Wunmi smiled sleepily. “Of course she has.”

“She might be ready to feed soon,” the nurse said kindly, walking toward the bed. “You up for trying to latch?”

Wunmi nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

The nurse helped ease her upright, stacking pillows behind her, and adjusting the bed’s incline. Michael stood and walked over with the baby still pressed against him, his hands steady, his heart somewhere in his throat.

He looked down at Wunmi who was glowing with sweat, exhaustion, and something else entirely. She looked up at him, and for a second, they just stared.

“Ready to see your mama again?” Michael whispered to their daughter as he passed her gently to Wunmi.

The baby whimpered softly in protest at the shift, but the moment she was against Wunmi’s chest, her little head turned instinctively.

With the nurse’s help, the baby found her way, latching with a little struggle, then settling into rhythm. Wunmi winced at the sensation, then relaxed, her arm curling protectively around her daughter.

Michael sat back down at her side, eyes never leaving them. His hand reached over and brushed down Wunmi’s arm.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured.

“You say that like I didn’t almost curse you out six hours ago.”

“You did,” he laughed. 

A ray of golden sunlight broke through the window, like a spotlight from the heavens, and landed gently across the baby’s back. Her tiny lashes fluttered, her mouth relaxed, and she melted deeper into Wunmi’s chest with a long, happy sigh.

Michael noticed it first. “Look.”

Wunmi glanced down, then blinked back the emotion swelling in her chest.

“She’s glowing,” she whispered. “Like she is the light.”

Michael nodded slowly. “Soleil.”

Wunmi turned her head. “The sun.”

He nodded again, hand moving to stroke the soft curve of their daughter’s cheek. “Soleil Amira.”

“Little sun princess,” Wunmi translated under her breath, her voice trembling.

“That’s her,” Michael whispered. “That’s our girl.”

And just like that, her name was spoken into the room like a promise.

Soleil Amira Jordan.

And in that golden hush, with Wunmi holding their daughter and Michael tucked close beside her, everything made sense.

-

-

-

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