destinio1

[destinio1]

Be back soon to read!

In some alternate timeline, say Annie & Elias were messing around she tells him on night “how does it feel f!cking your brother p*ssy!”

Ya’ll are filthy!

But so am I and here is a filthy ass read 🥵

Don’t say I didn’t warn you…😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

(Annie don’t give a FUCK, Stack don’t give a FUCK)

HIS BROTHER’S PUSSY

Stack had no business walking into that house like that.

But when Smoke asked you to do something, you did it. Blood ran thick like the Delta mud they came from, and this was nothing more than a favor—drop off Annie’s favorite catfish from that place off Riverbend. Tell her Smoke said he’ll be back before dark. Make sure she eats. Make sure she’s calm.

“You know how she get,” Smoke muttered under his breath while wiping his brow, “Burnin’ candles. Runnin’ her mouth to spirits. Talkin’ like she possessed.”

Stack had chuckled, shook his head, “Sound like you just scared of her.”

“I am, nigga.”

That was two hours ago.

So Stack agreed. He pulled up in Smoke’s truck, warm grease soaking through the bottom of the brown paper bag, catfish fresh out the fryer from Annie’s favorite spot.

He stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath his sneakers. It was warmer and his sweater clung to his skin, but Stack looked damn good in it—as usual.

He wore a loud, colorful Coogi-style knit sweater, rich with reds, yellows, deep blues, and vibrant textures that caught the fading porch light like something enchanted. Around his neck swung two thick gold chains, one with a bold Jesus piece, heavy enough to command attention.

His fade was clean, his mustache trimmed just enough to accent the curl of his smirk. A pair of round black shades rested low on his nose, even though the sun was all but gone—because Stack didn’t dress for practicality. He dressed to remind you he was dangerous, cocky, and fine as hell.

Now, Stack was standing on Annie’s porch, the brown paper bag in one hand, still warm with grease, and the other twisting the knob like always.

“Annie?” he called, stepping in, “It’s Stack—I brought the catfish…”

The house was thick with incense and something floral—rosewater, maybe, mixed with a deeper musk that clung to the walls. There was a haze in the air. He could feel it crawling over his skin. Music was playing faintly from the back, echoing through the hall:

I’m an alien…in a skin-tight body suit…

Erykah Badu. Real witchy woman shit.

He paused, listening. No response. He set the bag on the counter and followed the sound, sneakers soft against the worn hardwood.

That’s when he noticed the door.

Cracked open. Light flickering from within.

He stepped closer, knuckles raised to knock—but froze.

Because in the long floor mirror angled just right…

He saw her.

And his dick twitched beneath the denim waistband of his jeans.

Annie was on the bed—naked, spread wide, and soaked in sweat and oil and water from her bath. Her legs were parted, one knee bent, the other heel pressed into the sheets. Her fingers were deep inside her pussy, slow and wet, pink folds glistening under the soft flicker of candlelight. Her other hand rolled slow over her clit, thumb pressing firm in a rhythm she clearly knew well.

She was moaning, soft and breathy.

And looking like nothing holy.

Her skin was rich and dark, catching every flicker of flame like she’d been carved from candle wax and honey. Water clung to her thick thighs, still trickling down the backs of her knees. Her ass was full, soft, jiggling faintly with every rock of her hips. Her breasts—large, heavy, glowing—hung low and proud, and between them, a set of Orisha Elekes rested, glimmering with spiritual weight.

She had on nothing but a deep red tignon, her coiled hair tucked beneath it, waist beads, and a pair of gold anklets that jingled softly when she shifted.

Stack’s throat closed up.

He should’ve walked away. Should’ve turned and left before the image melted into his bones. But he didn’t.

He watched.

He watched her circle her clit harder. Heard her breath catch. Saw her lips fall open.

And then—

“Mmm—shit…Stack…”

His name.

She whispered it.

“Keep pissin’ me off, Smoke,” she moaned, arching, “I’ll fuck your damn twin…”

Her orgasm rolled through her like a storm. Legs shaking. Back arching. Pussy gushing. She kept circling her clit even as she trembled, chasing every drop of pleasure like it was owed to her.

And Stack stood there—speechless, his dick stiff against the inside of his jeans, mouth parted in stunned silence.

Then she stilled.

And looked up.

Met his eyes through the mirror.

Annie blinked. No scream. No panic.

Just a knowing stare.

Slowly, she sat up on the bed, legs still spread, unbothered by her own nakedness. She wiped her fingers on her thigh and tilted her head.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” she asked, voice low and thick with post-orgasm tremble.

Stack cleared his throat and removed his shades. He tried not to look again—but his eyes betrayed him, dragging over her curves, the glint of oil still catching light on her skin.

“Smoke…he, uh…he sent me. Said y’all had words. Asked me to drop off food. Said make sure you was—” He swallowed, “Calm.”

Annie gave a soft, humorless chuckle and stood. Walked naked to the dresser like she wasn’t dripping. Like she wasn’t glowing from the inside out.

She picked up a towel but didn’t wrap it.

Her ass jiggled as she moved—slow, deliberate.

Stack shifted on his feet. The bulge in his pants was impossible to ignore now, throbbing with every heartbeat. Annie glanced into the mirror as she turned her back to him, catching the way his brows were drawn and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“How long you been standin’ there?” she asked, like she already knew.

Stack exhaled hard.

“Long enough…” he said, voice deeper now, “Long enough to hear you say my name.”

Stack didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Annie was still facing the mirror, towel draped over the dresser instead of her body. She was unhurried as she picked up her bottle of body oil and poured a slow stream into her palm—like she’d forgotten he was standing right behind her.

She hadn’t forgotten.

She wanted him to watch.

Her voice came soft, syrupy, without turning around.

“Did you like what you saw?”

Stack shifted again, jaw tightening. He tried to look away.

“Annie—”

“Hmm?” She rubbed the oil into her skin, starting with her collarbones, then her breasts. Her full tits glistened, nipples still puffy and dark from her orgasm. She massaged slow—deliberate.

“I ain’t mean to see all that,” he muttered, “I was just—”

“Just what? Bein’ a good brother?” she said, finally glancing at him in the mirror with a wicked grin, “Doin’ Smoke a favor?”

Stack didn’t answer.

He couldn’t think straight. His dick was so hard it pulsed behind his zipper. He felt like he’d break something if he moved the wrong way. Annie kept rubbing oil over her body—down her belly, across her thighs. Her fingers brushed her wet pussy, still swollen and pink.

She sighed, smirking.

“That what you gon’ tell him?” she asked, “That you dropped off the fish…and dropped your eyes too?”

Stack’s nostrils flared.

“Ain’t nothin’ funny about this.”

Annie chuckled low, voice laced with heat and defiance.

“Then why you bitin’ your damn lip like you scared to speak?” She turned fully now—still naked, still gleaming, “Why you lookin’ like you want a taste?”

“You need to fuckin’ stop,” Stack warned, but it came out shaky.

Annie took a slow step forward, her anklets jingling, breasts bouncing gently with every step.

“You ever fuck somebody you wasn’t supposed to?” she asked, voice soft but dangerous, “Somebody that ain’t belong to you?”

“Annie…” Stack spoke her name with warning.

She stood toe-to-toe with him now. He could feel the heat radiating off her. His breath was shallow.

“You ever wanted what your brother had?” she asked, “Just to see if it was better when you took it?”

Stack’s hand clenched. His other twitched at his side. He was trembling—not in fear, but in restraint.

She smiled at that.

“I seen how you look at me when you think I ain’t watchin’,” she whispered, “I feel you. In the kitchen. On the porch. Every time you close, somethin’ in you go still.”

“You talkin’ crazy,” he said, eyes dark top lip twitching, voice dangerously raspy, “You don’t know what you askin’ for.”

“I know exactly what I’m askin’ for.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“You want me?” she whispered, “Take me.”

“Annie—”

“Come on, Stack. You already fucked me in your mind. Every time I bent over. Every time you saw my titties through that thin little robe. Every time you smelled my skin.”

She reached down, tugged at his belt.

“What’s stoppin’ you now?” she asked.

Stack’s hands shot out—gripping her waist and pushed her back against the wall, breathing ragged.

Their lips inches apart.

He was right there.

One word from her would set him off.

“You scared?” she whispered.

“I ain’t scared.”

“Then what you waitin’ for?”

Stack had Annie pinned to the wall, his hands braced beside her hips, body towering over hers.

His breath was ragged.

He was trying not to smell her.

Trying not to look down at her big tits, still slick with oil. Trying not to notice the way her thick thighs parted just enough to tempt him with the slick heat he’d seen in the mirror.

And Annie?

She wasn’t done playing with him yet.

“You gon’ keep tremblin’, or you gon’ do somethin’?” she asked, her voice dipped in mockery, “Thought you was one of the rough ones. Guess that was all talk.”

Stack grit his teeth, lips still parted, “I swear to God—”

“Don’t bring Him in here,” she interrupted, smiling slow, “Ain’t no God watchin’ what I’ma let you do to me.”

He flinched.

She saw it. Smirked deeper.

Then she leaned up—not to kiss him, not yet—but to brush her mouth against his jaw. Soft. Teasing.

“You smell good,” she whispered seductively, “You always do. Just like him. But sweeter.”

Her hand dragged down his chest, slow as honey.

Stack tensed. Every nerve on fire.

Annie whispered, “Tell me—was your dick already hard when you walked in? Or did you get like this watchin’ me cum?”

“Annie…” His voice broke.

“You ain’t answered me,” she said, pressing closer. Her full breasts smashed against his chest, and he nearly groaned at the feel of it, “You hard for me, Stack?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Her hand slid between them—palm brushing his dick through his pants—and her breath hitched.

“Damn,” she whispered, “You throbbin’.”

Stack growled, grabbing her wrist—not to stop her, but because if she touched him again, he was going to lose it.

Annie tilted her head, eyes full of mischief.

“Ain’t nothin’ right about this, baby. So stop pretendin’.” She leaned in again, brushing her lips against his—not kissing, just tasting the tension, “You ever feel pussy through your teeth? Huh?”

He bucked forward.

She backed away—just a step—and turned around.

Faced the mirror.

Let him look at all of her again.

“You think Smoke ever fucked me in front of a mirror?” she asked, arching her back so her ass poked out just enough, “Think he ever watched me play with myself and just stood there? Quiet and guilty and red in the face? Just like you?”

Stack’s hand twitched at his side.

“How long you gon’ pretend you don’t want it?” she taunted, meeting his eyes through the glass, “You wanna bend me over like this? Huh? Slide in from the back? Watch my face while you stroke me deep?”

Annie bent over, poking her ass out like the slut she is.

“Stop,” he growled.

“Why? Your dick already told on you.”

She slid a hand between her legs again—two fingers gliding through her own mess—and brought them up to her lips.

Sucked them slow.

“Sweet,” she said, “You wanna taste it?”

“Annie, fuck—”

She turned around to face him again, smiling like she won.

And that was it.

Stack snapped.

His hands snatched her face, pulling her mouth to his. Their lips crashed together in a messy, devouring kiss—all tongue, no patience. The kind of kiss that felt like punishment. Like confession. Like they’d been holding it in for years. Loud smacks filled the air. Tongues collided and slid. Teeth grazed. She sucked on his bottom lip, wet and filthy, then bit it. He moaned, deep in his chest, and shoved his tongue right back in her mouth.

She kissed like she wanted to steal his soul.

He kissed like he wanted to fuck her with his mouth.

Heads swiveled. Breathing shattered.

Stack pressed her against the wall, grinding hard against her, her wet pussy leaving slick heat on his jeans. She hooked one leg up on his hip, and he grabbed it, pulling her even closer.

“Say you want it,” he panted against her lips.

“You already know I do.”

He looked down.

At her lips. At her breasts. At the sweat between them. At the glow she wore like armor.

“Say it anyway,” he demanded.

She stared him down, chest heaving.

Then whispered, “I want you to fuck me like you hate me for makin’ you want me this bad.”

Their mouths crashed again, tongues battling like sin was something they could taste. Annie grabbed the hem of Stack’s sweater and pulled it up, dragging it over his chest, baring a torso carved by hard work, and wickedness. His skin glistened from the heat in the house, and he watched her while she stared—like he liked being looked at.

Then came the belt buckle.

The pop of denim buttons.

The slow tug of his jeans down his hips.

“Bout time,” Annie muttered, eyes dragging down.

His dick sprang free, thick and dark, heavy enough to slap against his thigh on release. A thick vein curved along the shaft, pulsing like it had a mouth of its own. The head was flushed and slick, already leaking.

Annie blinked. Then she chuckled slow and wicked.

“So this the dick you claim to fuck bitches good with?” she said, reaching out to stroke that fat vein, fingers curling around him, “Shit’s heavy. Guess you ain’t all talk then.”

Stack’s chest rose and fell hard.

He stepped in, crowding her space again, dick throbbing against her palm.

“Never been all talk, girl,” he muttered, voice thick as smoke, “I can back my shit up. You ready to find out?”

“I been ready.”

“That right?”

“Only reason I ain’t touched it sooner is ’cause I thought you’d fold.”

He smirked.

“Ain’t a thing on this earth that could make me fold. But you?” He leaned in close, “You already shook.”

Before she could clap back, he bent down, gripped her thick thighs, and lifted her with ease—all that soft, full-bodied weight held tight in his arms like she was nothing.

“Oh—shit,” Annie gasped, startled at his strength.

“Told you,” Stack said, carrying her like a prize, “I can back my shit up.”

He took her to the bed, tossed her down with a bounce, and stood at the edge, staring.

“Spread it.”

Annie didn’t hesitate.

She leaned back on her elbows, pulled her knees apart, and opened up for him—glossy, swollen, pink and wet, dripping with want.

“Damn…” Stack’s voice cracked. His fingers twitched at his sides, “I knew it was gon’ be pretty, but this?”

He stepped closer, hypnotized.

“This pussy look like heaven sis-in-law…even though I know it’s ’bout to send me straight to hell.”

Annie laughed, a sultry purr that rolled through her throat.

“Then come eat it,” she teased, biting her lip, “You got all that mouth…put it to use.”

That was all he needed.

Stack dropped to his knees like a man starved for salvation. He grabbed the back of her thighs and yanked her to the edge of the bed, burying his face between her legs without ceremony.

And then?

He devoured her.

Tongue circling, lips sucking, slurping shamelessly with loud, obscene sounds—like he wanted the whole damn Delta to know. He licked up and down her slit, slow at first, just tasting. Then he flicked her clit, left to right, fast and light until her hips jerked. He moaned against her, letting the sound vibrate through her pussy.

“Shit, Stack—fuck—”

Annie’s voice cracked, breathless, her legs falling wider. She held them open with both hands, watching his head move between her thighs, the wet sounds filling the room. He tongued her entrance, fucking her with it, slurping her cream and mess like it was his last meal.

“You hear that?” he mumbled between licks, “That sloppy sound? That’s you, girl. Drippin’ on my damn face.”

Annie whined, her clit twitching against his tongue.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” she moaned in a soft, faux guilty voice, her face twisted in pleasure.

Stack pulled back just enough to speak, lips and beard glistening.

“Nah,” he grinned, “But the way this pussy jumpin’ on my tongue? You clearly want it.”

Then he dove back in.

Annie cried out, her thighs shaking. He held her firm, tongue-fucking her like he wanted to drown. He lapped up everything—her slick, her cum, the salt and sweetness of her. His nose brushed her clit every time he circled his tongue deep, making her moan louder. She clawed at the sheets, then reached down and grabbed his hair, grinding her hips into his face.

“Fuck, Stack—don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t.

He slurped and sucked, moaning into her mess, chasing her climax like a man gone mad.

And when it hit her, she came with a sharp cry, legs trembling, pussy creaming against his mouth, making it wetter, messier, damn near sinful.

Stack drank it down, licking every drop.

Then he looked up, licking his lips slow.

“Mmm,” he said, voice gravel, “Sweet like I knew it’d be.”

Annie was still trembling from the orgasm he’d just pulled out of her with his mouth. Her thighs glistened, her pussy still leaking cream down the curve of her ass.

Now she wanted a taste. She sat up slow, licking her lips, eyes locked on Stack’s dick—still thick, still dripping, bobbing heavy in front of her.

“Lay back,” Stack started to say, voice low, rough.

But Annie just smirked.

“Nah,” she said, “I ain’t done worshippin’ yet.”

She bent over the mattress—arched, deliberate, ass high, breasts hanging full and soft beneath her. Her mouth hovered just inches from his big dick.

She looked up at him from under her lashes, then opened wide and took him deep.

“Shiiit—” Stack hissed, his head tipping back immediately. “Oh fuuuuck, Annie…”

There were no hands. Just wet heat and tight suction, the kind that made his knees go weak. She worked her throat like a woman possessed—tight sucks, lips hugging him from tip to base, tongue swirling at the head when she pulled back just to taste his salt.

Then she went back down—deeper this time.

“Goddamn, girl,” Stack groaned, looking down at her. “You…fuck…”

He gripped the back of her tignon, fingers sinking into the fabric like reins. Held her steady.

She let him.

And sank down again, inch by inch, until his head hit the back of her throat.

“Oooohh shit—fuck yes…” he moaned, voice cracking.

She started fucking him with her mouth, head bobbing in slow, powerful strokes. Her lips made loud, wet sucking sounds that echoed in the room. Every time she pulled back, saliva connected her mouth to his dick in long strings. Every time she went down, her throat tightened, pulling a fresh curse out of him.

“You a damn witch,” Stack growled, looking down at her, “Mouth feel too good. Ain’t no way this real.”

Annie moaned around him, letting the vibration hit his shaft.

Stack shuddered.

“You tryna make me nut like a boy?” he grit out, but his hips betrayed him, rolling forward into her mouth, feeding her more.

Her eyes never left his.

She gagged once—just to be nasty—then opened even wider, relaxed her throat, and took every inch.

“Oh my fucking God…” Stack groaned, voice shot, stomach flexing, his hand gripping the back of her head tighter.

She held him there, nose brushing his pelvis, lips sealed tight, tongue swirling at the base, and just stayed like that until he was twitching in her mouth.

“You gon’ make me lose it,” he warned.

She pulled off with a wet pop, licking her lips slow, letting spit and precum drip from her chin.

“Good,” she whispered, “Lose it.”

Then she sucked him back down—faster this time. Harder.

Her cheeks hollowed. Her throat worked like velvet. She twisted her head just enough to create friction without using her hands.

Stack damn near whimpered.

“Aight,” he grit out, voice hoarse, eyes black with lust, “Aight, Annie. That’s enough. You keep suckin’ me like that, I’ma bust before I even get in that pussy.”

She popped off again and smiled—slick, cocky, glistening with spit.

“So what you gon’ do then, Stack?”

“I’m gon’ fuck the hell outta you,” he growled, “That’s what.”

Stack withdrew his hips and when his tip slipped from between her tight lips he bit back a whimper.

“Face down, ass up.”

Stack’s voice was hoarse, breath still unsteady from the head game that damn near took his soul. He wiped his mouth, stood tall behind her, stroking his thick dick, and nodded to the bed.

“Arch that back deep. I wanna see it.”

Annie didn’t hesitate.

She climbed back onto the mattress, planted her knees, and sank her chest low, letting her titties drag against the sheets. Her back dipped in a deep arch, that fat ass high and round, soft as temptation and glistening with sweat and bath oil. She reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks wide, her pussy glistening, pink, soaked, twitching.

“This what you wanted?” she purred over her shoulder, “All that watchin’. All that starin’?”

Stack’s jaw clenched.

He stepped in close, one hand gripping the base of his dick, the other braced on her lower back. He lined himself up and started tapping her clit with the tip—soft at first, then heavier.

“You really a nasty bitch,” he muttered, “Holdin’ your pussy open like that for me. My brother’s girl…just nasty”

“I ain’t his girl tonight.”

“You ain’t gon’ be nobody’s after this.”

And with that—

He sank in.

One.

Long.

Stroke.

“Ohhh fuck,” they both gasped in unison.

Annie’s pussy pulled him in so tight, so warm, wet and swallowing, the kind of grip that made a man’s eyes roll back. Stack buried himself to the hilt, then pulled out slow—

Pop…ssshlick

The sound was filthy.

“You feel that?” he growled, dragging the tip against her inner walls before driving back in, “So. Fuckin’. Wet.”

Annie let out a cry, her hands grabbing fistfuls of sheets now, her arms trembling.

She hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

His thrusts picked up, long and thick, hips snapping forward as he fucked her with purpose.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

His balls smacked her clit with every stroke, wet sounds echoing in the room like a goddamn sin song.

“Shit, Stack—goddamn—”

He grabbed her hips tighter, digging into her flesh, pounding her, hips rolling in that deep grind at the end of each thrust like he wanted to carve his name in her pussy.

“You lettin’ me fuck this sweet little pussy,” he panted, “You nasty for that.”

“Mmm…” Annie gasped, throwing it back on him. “Then fuck me like I’m nasty.”

“Oh I am.”

He slammed into her again—hard, dragging a scream from her throat.

And then she said it—

“How’s it feel…fucking your brother’s pussy?”

Stack froze for half a second—just half.

Then drove in harder.

“Feels like it’s mine now,” he hissed, “The way you moanin’? The way you squirtin’ on my dick? That nigga should be ashamed he ever let me close enough to take it.”

Annie looked back at him, mouth open, eyes hazy.

“Take it then.”

“Say it again.”

“You fucking your brother’s pussy.”

Stack groaned and snapped his hips, fast and thick.

“Shit—this pussy filthy,” he grunted, “Talkin’ back. Creamin’ all over me. Fuck—Annie.”

“You love it.”

“I need it.”

Stack’s hips slammed into her, long and ruthless, each thrust smacking her ass with a loud, wet CLAP that echoed through the room like a thunderclap from God Himself.

“That’s right,” he panted, voice wrecked and low, “Keep that back arched. Just like that. Fuckin’ this pussy wide open…”

Annie was gone.

Mouth open, moans spilling out nonstop—breath hitching with every stroke. She was trying to say something, trying to speak, but all she could do was gasp and whimper while Stack tore her up from behind. He clapped her cheeks again with a rough thrust, then reached around, bringing one big hand along the side of her neck, not choking, just holding—controlling.

“There she go,” he grinned, watching her head fall back, “Now you know you ain’t never gon’ forget this dick.”

“S-Stack…Stack—” she stuttered, barely able to hold herself up. “You…fuck—”

“What? Can’t speak now? Pussy too full?”

“I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—Stack—I’m about to—I’m gonna squirt—”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

“Then do it,” he growled, tightening his grip on her neck, grinding deep into that spot that made her whole body tremble, “I fuckin’ dare you.”

Slap—slap—slap—

His balls slapped her clit, her cheeks jiggling from the impact, the wetness between them turning into a full-on splash zone. Stack popped her wobbly cheeks with a wide open palm.

“Go ‘head,” he whispered in her ear now, his chest pressing against her back, “Make a mess. Ruin me. Ruin these sheets. That’s what you want, huh?”

Annie let out a scream.

Her back arched like a bow, thighs shaking, nails tearing into the sheets.

“Oh—oh my GOD, Stack—!”

And then it hit her.

A full squirt, gushing out around his dick, drenching his lower stomach, his thighs, the sheets—everything.

Pssshh—splack—slrrp—

The sound was obscene.

Stack shuddered, biting his lip, grinding through it, still fucking her like nothing had changed. His strokes slowed just slightly—but they stayed deep, deliberate, riding every pulse of her orgasm.

“Goddamn, girl,” he muttered, looking down at the wet mess coating him, “You really squirtin’ all over me like that?”

“C-Can’t help it—fuck—” she whined, body twitching beneath him.

“Nah, you could help it,” he said, pounding her again, “But you wanted to. You wanted to spray this sweet ass pussy all over my dick, huh?”

She nodded, face pressed into the sheets.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I…I wanted to…”

“Say what you did.”

“…I squirted on you.”

“Louder.”

“I squirted on you, Stack—fuck, I couldn’t hold it…”

“That’s right,” he growled, pulling out slow just to watch her pussy twitch and leak, “You ain’t never gon’ forget me, girl. Never.”

Stack flopped back onto the mattress, his dick slick and glistening from her squirt, his chest heaving, skin sticky with sweat and sin. He watched as Annie climbed over him, thighs trembling, tits swinging, her skin glowing from heat, oil, and the aftermath of being torn the fuck up. She grabbed his shaft, lined him up, and sank down slow.

“Mmmmmm,” she moaned, head falling back, “Shit…”

“Yeah,” Stack hissed, hands sliding to her hips, “Go on. Ride this dick like you mean it.”

Annie started to roll her hips in a slow, deep grind, her wet, creamy pussy swallowing him inch by inch. Her titties bounced with every motion, heavy and full, brushing his face every time she leaned forward.

“Fuck, girl…” Stack groaned, eyes rolling back as she tightened around him, “This pussy dangerous. No wonder Smoke put up wit’ ya crazy ass.”

“You love it,” she whispered, breath hot against his cheek, “Say you love it.”

“I love this nasty-ass pussy,” he moaned, grabbing her ass to spread her wider, “Can’t believe I waited this long to get in it.”

Annie started bouncing harder, the wet clap-clap-clap of her body hitting his echoing off the walls. Her hands braced against his chest, her face scrunched up from how deep he hit every time she dropped her hips.

“You feel that?” she panted, “Feel how I keep suckin’ you back in?”

“I feel all that shit,” Stack growled, “You ridin’ this dick like you want me to marry you.”

She laughed breathlessly, throwing it back even rougher.

“You wish.”

“Shit—I might, if you keep fuckin’ me like this.”

Then—Stack shifted. He sat up with her still on top, wrapped both arms under hers, hooked around her back, and started pounding up into her from underneath.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

“A-Ahhh—fuck!” Annie cried out, her head falling back.

Stack grunted, driving into her with deep, powerful strokes, lifting her slightly with every thrust. He had her locked, nowhere to run, her titties bouncing in his face, her moans turning into broken, high-pitched gasps.

“That’s it,” he growled in her ear, “Take it. Take this dick. Let me fuck this pussy till you cry.”

“S-Stack—baby—shit!”

“Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” she whimpered.

“Say it louder.”

“It’s your pussy, Stack! I swear—fuck—it’s yours!”

“Damn right,” he grunted, slamming up into her even harder,“You ridin’ my dick in your man’s bed. Sittin’ on your knees and lettin’ me stretch you out. You a nasty bitch and I love it.”

“Mmmph—fuck—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He kept pounding, deep and relentless, her body bouncing against his, her nails digging into his shoulders as her second climax built.

“You gon’ cum again?” he panted, lips brushing hers.

“Y-Yes—shit—yes, yes, yes—right there—”

“Let me feel it,” he whispered, “Let me feel you break on this dick.”

And she did.

Annie was still shaking in his lap when Stack grabbed her thick thighs, flipped her over, and laid her flat against the mattress.

“I ain’t done with you,” he muttered, chest heaving, slick with sweat, muscles flexing. She barely had time to breathe before he was on top, sliding between her legs, and pushing back inside that wet, messy, already-fucked pussy—deep.

“Mmmm—fuck, Stack!”

Her hands flew up to his back. He pinned her wrists over her head with one hand, the other hooked under her knee to spread her wider. Then he started stroking.

Slow. Deep. Vicious.

Her titties bounced, swaying, every thrust making her mouth fall open in pure disbelief.

Stack leaned down—foreheads nearly touching, his dark eyes burning into hers.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

Annie bit her lip, trying to look away—too vulnerable, too exposed. He dipped his hips harder, making her gasp.

“Look at me,” he growled again, golds flashing, “Watch what I’m doin’ to you.”

She did.

Eyes wide, lips parted.

She watched his body grind into hers, watched the way her pussy pulled at him, the way his thick dick disappeared and reappeared, soaked, slippery, stretching her out like she wasn’t already ruined.

“Every time you see me now,” he said, breath fanning her cheek, “you gon’ remember what it felt like. How your man’s twin had you open and moanin’ like this.”

Thrust.

“You gon’ remember how I had your legs shakin’—”

Thrust.

“—how this dick made you squirt—”

Thrust.

“—how you begged for more with my nut still drippin’ outta you.”

Annie moaned loud, throwing her head back.

“Fuck, Stack—stop talkin’—”

“Why? Truth too nasty for you?”

He released her wrists and reached down, grabbing her titty, sucking it into his mouth while his hips still pumped. She arched beneath him, overwhelmed, every nerve lit.

“I feel every twitch,” he whispered against her skin, “Pussy keep grippin’ like she don’t want me to pull out. Like it want a nigga to live in it.”

“Don’t stop…just like that,” she whimpered.

He pulled back up to stare her down again.

Then he chuckled—low, dirty.

“You think I should cum in you?” he asked, tone pure filth, “Make you question who the daddy is?”

Annie’s eyes widened—wet, wild, full of heat and horror.

“Stack—don’t you fuckin’—”

“Why not?” he taunted, grinding deeper, “I’m already balls deep in my brother’s pussy. Might as well nut in it too.”

“You…b-b-bastard—” she gasped, nails clawing at his back, thighs wrapping around his waist.

“You gon’ let me?”

“…Yes.”

That broke him.

With a ragged growl, Stack slammed into her one last time, cock jerking, hips grinding in tight circles as he spilled inside her, thick and hot, his moan dragging out long and low.

“Ohhh fuck, Annie…goddamn…”

She felt it fill her—deep, warm, and wrong.

He collapsed against her, both of them drenched in sweat, bodies trembling from the high.

They lay there a long moment.

Quiet.

Only their breath between them.

Then Stack smirked, voice still dark.

“Next time Smoke kiss you…wonder if he’ll taste me.”

[destinio1]

SMOKE AND ANNIE

[destinio1]

Beautiful artwork of Annie & Smoke by @dana_art26🔥🔥🔥 https://www.instagram.com/p/DJXc8J3SbW6/?igsh=MW5rZTE1Ymoxajlxbg==

[destinio1]

Anarcha Westcott was a young Black girl enslaved in Alabama. After a traumatic childbirth, she developed vaginal and rectal fistulas, a condition that left her in constant pain and shame.

Instead of receiving care, she was experimented on over 30 times by Dr. J. Marion Sims, who operated on her without anesthesia. He used her body to develop a surgery that would later be used to treat white women, with pain relief, dignity, and consent.

Anarcha didn’t agree to any of it. She wasn’t a patient. She was a victim of medical violence.

Today, she is finally being remembered, not as a statistic, but as one of the true Mothers of Modern Gynecology, alongside Lucy and Betsey.

[destinio1]

Nobody is doing it like pirates of the caribbean was doing it. The first movie spends 20 minutes introducing us to every main character, their thoughts on piracy, and how nuanced and fraught the subject is in port royal, and then proceeds to introduce the most pirate pirate to ever pirate

[destinio1]

I recently rewatched black panther and wakanda forever, I have them rattling around my head almost 24/7 taking turns with my OCs. At this point I should just write a fic I've already planned it out I want T'challa, Shuri and N'jadaka to have the cousin relationship they deserve I'm crying man

[destinio1]

annie i get it girl, i really do. big papa smoke😫🫦

[destinio1]

Phone sex with Smoke and Stack? 👀

[destinio1]

Wunmi

[destinio1]

WHILE • AWAY

part fourteen • finale • modern!au annie x smoke

summary: smoke, still shook from annie's denial the night before, attempts to reconcile his guilt and her hurt heart. for the first time, he truly lets himself crumble under her dominance.

cw: smut!, submissive!smoke, domme!annie, sweet smoke tears, face!sitting~~

a/n: we've reached the end of a wonderful journeyyyy. i've enjoyed all of your wonderful replies and reblogs, especially because i started this to get out of my writer's block, so thank y'all for being amazinggg. this is just my second real smut fic with a man so yea enjoyyy

this directly pairs with part ten!

(i was listening to megan thee stallion before writing most of this—- #inspired)

part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen.

masterlist

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When Smoke walked through the front door, their daughter in his arms knocked asleep, he instantly breathed in the warmth of Annie’s cooking. It was like he could smell each component of the meal. A clear picture formed in his mind as he imagined how she had battered the catfish he smelled, double frying it to get that perfect crisp he liked; how she threw together a pot of spaghetti, cheese melted on top; how she made a fresh pitcher of sweet tea and had a glass chilling on ice just for him.

He always loved coming home to her cooking. It revitalized his soul, offering him a safe place amidst all the bullshit he got up to in the outside world.

He cradled their daughter in his left arm, several high-end shopping bags dangling from his right.

“Well, hello, my loves,” Annie greeted. She walked into the living room, eyes on tunnel vision as she sought out her two favorite people. “Oh, my baby girl had a busy morning I see,” she smiled down at the girl, rubbing the back of her head as she snuggled into her papa.

“She did,” Smoke grumbled in a low voice, admiring the thin house dress his wife wore. It hugged her in all the right places, gripping onto her titties and smoothing over her ass. He moved his face toward hers in hopes for a kiss, and she quickly granted his request. He reveled at the taste of sweet tea and tomato sauce on her lips, leaning forward as much as she’d let him, but before it could progress too far, she placed a hand on his chest and pulled away.

“She got tuckered out from all the shoppin’ we was doin’,” he informed, lifting his right hand to show off the bags. Annie’s eyes widened as she hadn’t even noticed them before then. Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and some of her favorite boutiques. There were even several bags from children’s clothing stores for their baby girl. “Had to buy you a few things to show how sorry I am.”

Her eyes followed his movements as Smoke sat the bags at her feet and moved toward the hallway. He was fluttering from the inside out, and distancing himself from Annie was the only thing that could quell his growing arousal for just a moment.

He laid their daughter in her crib, patting her on the back to make sure she stayed deeply settled into her afternoon nap.

“You hungry,” Annie asked as Smoke timidly made his way back to the living room. The bags were now moved closer to the couch with evidence that she had riffled through them. The tissue paper was askew, and the bags were crinkled slightly. “I cooked your favorite.”

“I can smell it,” he grinned, following behind her lead to the dining room where a plate was waiting. Of course she knew he’d be ready to eat. She always knew him best. “Ain’t ate since breakfast. My stomach damn near touchin’ my back,” he laughed, shoveling the food into his mouth.

The corner of his wife’s mouth ticked up as she reveled in the delicious moans spilling from his lips. Smoke never got enough of her cooking, and Annie never got enough of his enjoyment.

“I’m glad I cooked you somethin’ nice then,” she nodded, watching as he dug into his plate.

The minutes spilled between them with the sound of Elijah’s fork scraping ceramic filling the silence. A knowing energy was storming between them. Both members of the couple couldn’t help but to slip back to the night before. How Smoke thought he had such easy control of Annie. How he confused her momentary submission for him having complete control. How she had him moaning and squirming under her before leaving him to sit with his crippling need alone.

Smoke cleared his throat, speaking up for the first time since sitting down.

“You like the things I bought you,” he wondered aloud, eyes passing between his plate of catfish and Annie’s warm eyes. The entire morning and early afternoon was spent out with his daughter, Stack, and Sammie. He had successfully convinced the two men to come along with him as he ran up his credit card, trying to get back in Annie’s good graces.

He was simply gobsmacked with how things had been with his wife lately. Annie was always a woman to fight back with him. If he pissed her off, she would let it be known, but she had never done him the way she did last night.

But something about it intrigued Smoke.

It was no secret that he’d do whatever Annie wanted of him, but to be at her complete mercy during sex—and enjoying it—was a new revelation that peaked his interest.

Annie shrugged with an unamused raise of her eyebrow. She swung her near-empty glass of tea loosely in the air as she pretended to be indifferent to his tokens of regret.

“It’s the bare minimum for how you been actin’.” She recalled how he’d talked to her just days ago. Smoke had always been a protective and possessive man, but to think that she couldn’t go out with her girls while he was in Chicago for who knew how long was insanity. She had needs just like him, and she planned to satisfy all of them.

“What more can I do for you?” The question made her scoff as she judged the desperation clouding behind his eyes. It was truly delicious to see how he was slipping for her, trying to accommodate for her bruised heart by doing whatever she desired. Annie rolled her eyes, taking a smooth swallow of her chilled sweet tea.

“You really wanna know,” she leveled him with her eyes. Her tone rose at the end of her question, just daring him to give in.

Her husband nodded affirmatively, mirroring her movements without realizing it. He pushed his finished plate to the side and clasped his hands atop the table, waiting for her orders.

“I’m gon’ need you to do everything I say,” her voice dripped with a heady emotion, and Smoke clung onto every word like it was gospel.

“You know I will, mama,” he submitted easily. He wanted to assure her that her needs would be met without any back talk or complaints.

“Get up them stairs and wait for me, baby,” she commanded, tossing her head toward the steps. She rose from her seat, taking her sweet time with putting away the rest of the food before following him upstairs. She quickly picked her head into their daughter’s room to make sure the child was still sleeping.

As smooth and calm as ever, Annie moved through the doorway and into their bedroom. Her steps were numbered, calculated as her eyes remained focused on her husband. Smoke sat against the headboard like a soldier—trained on her every move and awaiting order, body clothed in nothing but his navy briefs, dog tag and silver chain, and smooth brown skin.

“I see leavin’ you high and dry got you feelin’ some type of way,” Annie crooned devilishly. A smirk met her lips at the shiver that ran down his spine. His teeth clenched from her dense tone.

“It had the desired effect,” he affirmed, clearing his throat of the cloudiness making home in his body. Remembering the way she had taken over fucking him the night before—seizing before he could even cum—had his body hot with greedy desire. “Made me get myself in line.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m gon’ have my way with you, daddy. And you gon’ sit back and take it.”

Annie climbed on the bed, house dress clinging to her thighs. The way she said his name was not in the faux submission she had yesterday. It was in authority and domination, falling into the space between them and lighting the room on fire.

The woman straddled Smoke's thighs, pressing her chest and pelvis flush against his. She moaned at the feeling of his strong body against hers.

"You like when I take control, 'Lijah," she questioned, taking an experimental roll of her hips. Smoke tensed up at the feeling of her pressed into him, growing uncomfortably in his briefs. When he was in control, he hardly allowed her to use his given name. It always caused him to slip into her dominance too easily. But in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to slip.

"I like when you do anything, mama," he croaked in deep devotion, "but I especially love you on top of me, doing whatever you want."

She chuckled low and filthy, rolling her head back to expose her neck. She hips grinded down into him in a painfully delicious way.

"Can I touch you," Smoke pleaded. His voice was raw. His biceps ached from flexing underneath her, knowing better than to touch without asking permission first.

"No," she groaned. Annie chased her high, getting off at the fact that even with fabric between them, she felt too good—she was making him feel too good. She knew by the way his mouth hung open while staring at her clothed body, wanting to see past the dress but enjoying the way the cotton felt on his hot skin.

Elijah's eyes clouded over, lids hanging low as he devoured the sight of her. Light beads of sweat peppered her hair line. Her collarbone sunk in from the soft moans leaving her lips. Her dress outlined her titties perfectly, bouncing unrestricted with each move of her hips against his.

He felt needy whines falling from his mouth before he could attempt to stop them. His want for her had him acting out in the best way possible. He wanted to be good, to listen to her every request and order, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting to be in her skin.

With shaky hands, Elijah reached out, groping her breasts and landing his face against the soft cotton of her gown. It caught the woman off guard with how hurriedly he'd snatched her up. With how his lips laid submissive kisses to her covered breasts. With how his hands now found home on her ass, not guiding her hips into him but steadying himself underneath her slow torture.

The sound of his cries and moans into her chest made her want to cave and let him have her, but Annie had something to prove: that Elijah Moore was just as much hers as she was his; that she had authority and would wield it as she saw fit.

"I thought you were gon' be good for me, baby," Annie tsked, cadence thick with want. Her thoughts drifted between what he deserved in that moment: sweet release or troubling punishment. The options were endless of how to handle him because she knew that she could do so with ease. But with one glance toward the clock on the bedside table, Annie’s dreams were knocked down for another day. "We ain't got much time for you to be actin' up," she reminded him.

Removing his tight grip on her body with a firm shove, Annie unstraddled him. She pretended to ignore the way needy whimpers filled the air as she walked the edge of the four-poster bed. She was deep in contemplation of what to do next. If Smoke couldn’t keep his hands to himself, couldn’t listen to her, then Annie was just gon’ have to make him act right.

“I thought you were a soldier, daddy,” she reprimanded, instructing him to lay flat on his back. Elijah’s breath stalled sharply as Annie tied his wrists to the bedposts. The silk that rubbed against his skin was meant to be soothing, but she tightened them too forcefully, cutting off his circulation in a way that made him feel addicted.

“How you gon’ be good if you can’t even listen to instructions, Elijah.”

The question was rhetorical—that he could tell—but the silence gripped the air around them. He followed her body, expecting her to climb back up his bound form, but Annie paraded over to the foot of the bed.

A sick grin tugged at her face when she tied a silk scarf around his left foot.

“Co-come on, Annie,” he did everything but cry. He was terrified and turned on all at once—a dangerous combination when at the woman’s mercy. Elijah’s heart hammered against his chest, feeling the way silk bound his other leg apart.

He laid there: back flat against the bed, limbs flung out like an offering to the greedy and otherworldly Annie. He wanted to apologize but he didn’t know a better way than giving in fully. He wanted to stop her but his mind kept playing all the glorious possibilities in his head.

He wanted this. He needed it after missing her from so far away.

For five minutes he laid there without so much as sensing her presence near. He assumed that she’d gone to the bathroom while he was whisked away by his own wandering mind; And when Annie returned, footsteps graceful as ever, her house dress was no where to be seen. She wore nothing but a gold anklet and her wedding ring.

“Your little gifts weren’t enough to satisfy me, Elijah,” she admitted, tone teasing and body beginning to climb up the bed. She didn’t straddled his thighs this time. Instead she moved to the top of the bed. “I’m gon’ need so much more from you, pretty baby,” she cooed. A hand wrapped tautly around his throat, forcing a groan out of him. “Can you do that for me?”

An honest and heady yes just barely escaped his mouth before Annie sat directly on his face. Despite his initial shock, Elijah got straight to work, lapping at her clit like his life depended on it. His wife was positioned with her back to the headboard, able to overlook his body and the rest of the room like the queen she was.

The scent of her invaded his good sense. Her taste flooded his mouth, causing him to send moans straight out and into her.

Annie rode his face often—because it was one of their favorite positions—but it was never like this. Smoke would have her grinding and begging for more on top of him. He would have her hands bound behind her back and her mouth stuffed with her own panties, but he was the one bound now. He was the one begging for more, tears streaming from his eyes in plea without her even looking at him.

But Annie knew. She always knew.

She could feel that shake in his chest as she planted her hands there to keep herself from crumbling too fast. He was eating her pussy so good that she could barely pay attention to anything else until she felt his submissive tears land on her ass.

It was euphoric.

Glorious.

Beautiful in only the way Elijah could be.

Too many emotions were rushing through the both of them. Elijah’s tears were being spurred on by the heavenly feel, taste, and sight of her, but there was also an undercurrent of guilt. Guilt from being away so much. Guilt from being too possessive. Guilt from feeling like he didn’t prioritize her needs enough.

For Annie though, the whole scene proved one thing to be true: if she wanted something, Elijah was gonna let her have it.

She had the Elijah Moore—the man most feared spinelessly—constricted in their bed, not daring to protest against her need as she fucked herself on his face. She had the great Smoke Moore funneling desperate tears from his eyes because he wanted nothing more than to have all of her.

It made her feel powerful. Able to withstand anything.

Elijah was giving it to her so good, enjoying the moment so much that he began bopping his head in it like her moans were the best song he'd ever heard. His enjoyment made her flush with pleasure so much so that she reached behind her.

With a manicured hand planted behind his head, Annie leaned back into his face, riding him like she didn’t plan on stopping.

“Come on, daddy,” she laughed breathlessly, amused by how Elijah strained against the silk. “You say you can handle me. So handle me the way I like.” Her head hung back as she arched into him, the feeling of his plush lips against her clit threatening her to tumble over the edge.

The man wanted to hold onto her so bad. The view of her backside and muscles trying so hard to hang onto her resolve made him work ten times harder. Motivation coursed through him like nothing he’d ever done was more important than the task at hand.

“Oh, yes,” she groaned, voice straining in her throat. Rough moans met Elijah’s needy whines as Annie’s orgasm rang through her lower stomach. This is exactly what she needed. A release at the mouth of her husband that she facilitated from beginning to end.

She rode him through it, bending over to arch into his lower body. With her palms firmly wrapped around his thighs, Annie bounced gently against his tongue. It was all too much for him to handle.

The woman looked down to see his dick straining against the fabric of his briefs, twitching every time her hips moved against his face. Her skin was too smooth. Arousal too delicious. Moans too filthy.

The overwhelming of his senses caused Elijah’s jaw to crank open as a loud moan escaped his flushed, cum-coated lips. It came from the deepest part of his belly where only secret desires resided, but somehow, with Annie’s easy dominance, she’d unleashed a side of him neither of them had seen.

“An-Annie,” he choked out as she rose off of his lips and settled to the side of him. She stroked up and down the length of his thigh, watching with a sly grin as Elijah came in his briefs. The navy color darkened, and his face was stained in a deep red blush. Not from embarrassment—he could never be embarrassed around Annie—but from the built up tension that had finally had a chance to release.

“You look so good with my pussy and yo’ tears all over your face,” she gawked at the sight of him, fucked out even though she had barely laid a hand on him. His chest heaved as the remnants of his climax lingered in his body. The smooth approval and praise Annie was giving him was enough to make him hard in his ruined briefs again.

She shook her head at seeing how quickly he had recovered, need growing in her body again.

“You think you deserve more of me when you don’ already came without my permission,” Annie asked in a teasing tone, dragging a finger across the front of his briefs. His dick twitched under her, causing the woman to laugh heartily.

The sound of her amusement spurred on a whine from the usually silent-yet-deadly man.

“Please, mama,” Elijah fought against the silk.

“Please what, baby,” Annie quipped, taunting him further was a gentle tug at the waistband of his briefs. She began to shimmy them down and off of his hips. His dick sprang free, landing heavily against his lower stomach. Annie’s mouth watered at the sight, but then she realized that her husband never answered her question. “You either gon’ tell me what you want or I’m gon’ do whatever I feel like,” her sharp voice cut through the silence of the room and Elijah’s soft tears. Her tone turned menacing as she dragged a hand down his leg, pushing his briefs toward his knees and out of the way. “I got half the mind to leave yo’ ass tied up while I go about the rest of my day. How that sound?”

The suggestion caused Elijah to fight hard against himself, trying desperately to get loose from the restraints. But there was no use. A small part of him—that was growing by the minute—wanted to stay binded and under her possession.

“Come on, Elijah,” she coaxed, settling between his spread apart thighs, “tell mama what you want.” She kissed along his abs, tongue brushing his hot skin. She pressed her nails in his thighs, soothing the pain with the pads of her fingers. For Elijah, it felt like the sweetest torture a hardened man like him could receive. It was too good. Too overwhelming. He felt his bottom lip begin to quiver, becoming unable to hold back his need for her.

“Please fuck me,” he cried, pulling on the silk harshly. His tears were back and in full force, running down his face unapologetically—but he kept his eyes screwed shut. “I don’t care how. I just need you.”

The desperation in his voice made the newly found sadistic part of herself peak up, but with one look at his face, it leveled out again. Her Elijah—her sweet Elijah—was begging, crying, to be touched. And she was the only one who could supply that release he desired.

Annie glanced at the clock again. An hour had passed since he’d returned home, so she knew they wouldn’t have time to do all she had hoped. She tsked before continuing her torture.

She leaned forward, hands branched on his thighs, mouth watering at the pulsing of his need.

“Look at me, baby,” she demanded smoothly.

Elijah fought the want to obey, but he ultimately lost as he felt her cool lips wrap around the head of his dick. His eyes opened to a sight that was utterly erotic: Annie kneeled between his legs with her mouth closed around him, cheeks hollowing, eyes rolling back while taking him down to the base.

He had never been so sensitive in his life. No matter how long he spent away from Annie—taking care of his own need while thinking of her—he never returned home to a scene like this. With each curl of her tongue against his length, Elijah felt he was a goner then and there.

Something about her dominance added so much more to the situation. She wasn’t just giving the pleasure to him, she was pulling it out of him, forcing him further and further into the bed.

Further and further into the docility and obedience she enjoyed.

“You look so beautiful under me,” she rose off of him to say, eyes unblinking as she memorized every emotion that passed through his eyes.

He stuttered out a thank you at the praise, reveling in what it felt like to be perfect just the way he was for his Annie. She didn’t judge him for his submission. She didn’t put him down for crying at the feeling of her hands wrapped around him.

The warmth of her throat caused his arousal to peak again. Annie’s gaze refused to leave him. She noted the tightening of his chest. How his stomach clenched when she swallowed with him still in her mouth. How his fists balled up when her hands stabilized his dick so that she could bob her head with ease.

He was close, and they both craved his release.

Annie paused for just a moment to weigh her thoughts against what was best. She was in control, and that was a fact she had to remind herself of. Elijah didn’t utter a sound as he studied her. His eyes were heavy, exhaustion coursing through him.

His wife rose to the head of the bed, leaning over his body as she released his right hand only. Her gaze challenged him to act out, but he wouldn’t do that again. He wasn’t going to do anything unless she ordered him first.

“Go on and touch me, Elijah,” she commanded before taking him back into her mouth. The sounds he let out were raw—purely sinful—but they were no match for the groans humming from Annie’s throat. They vibrated against him, encouraging his right hand to snake through her hair.

He cried out unabashedly, gripping her hair but not commanding, asking her to give him all of it. To let him have whatever she wanted to offer.

He surprised himself with the restraint he exhibited, but it was easy to hold back when the only thing he wanted was to be her perfect Elijah.

As Annie took him down her throat again, bottoming out and resting her face against his lower stomach, Elijah could no longer hold it in.

“Can I cum, mama,” he pleaded, fisting her hair and straining against the rest of the silk that bound him. “Pl-please let me cum for you.”

The tears drenching his face and obedience screaming from his body fed a deep part of her soul. Before she knew it, Annie was nodding against his thick arousal and he was cumming down her throat with a steady ease.

Later that night as they laid curled in bed together, Smoke pressed a kiss to her forehead. The air no longer lingered with sex and soft moans. Light no longer peaked through the sheer curtains before falling across their bodies. He cleared his voice, speaking calmly into the room.

“You somethin’ else, you know that?”

Annie giggled knowingly into his side, arm draped across his stomach confidently, a silk-like possession in the way she held him.

“Oh, I know it, baby,” she affirmed. “I just had to remind you who you fuckin’ with.”

Smoke scoffed out a laugh, blushing in the dark of their bedroom like a secret only meant for the two of them to know. He knew that he would never have to chase a high like that again because she had him. No chase necessary. He recalled how his day began: waking up beside his wife who had denied him so brutally the night before, cooking her breakfast and leaving it on the bedside table, buying out stores ‘cause money wasn’t a thing to him—but she was.

“I got you something else to make up for my foolishness,” he began. “Something besides them li’l gifts and my submission.” He said the word like it was a badge of honor. She wielded her dominance, and he couldn’t do anything but submit.

Annie looked up at him, a teasing question on the tip of her tongue.

“And what is that, my love?”

Elijah moved down her body to rest his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in the smell of soap and shea butter on her skin. The feeling of her—like home—eased his nervous heart. It quietened the trembling part of himself.

“I got you, Pearline, and Mary a trip to New Orleans,” he whispered in hopes that if she didn’t like the surprise, he could play things off. “I got everything paid for. I matched they schedule with yours. Got y’all the best hotel suite. A driver for your time there. I’ll drop y’all at the airport myself. Pick y’all up, too, when y’all get back.”

He waited for her to say something, listening to the steady beating of her heart for any sign of disapproval. But when he picked up on nothing, he rambled on.

“If you want, I can take you shoppin’ for more outfits. And you already know I’m payin’ for yo’ hair and nails. And I’m sendin’ you off wit’ a couple stacks.” She continued to remain quiet, causing him to panic further. “But if you ain’t fuckin’ with that, I can cancel the trip and you can plan something else. O-or we can cancel it all together—”

“Elijah,” she cut him off with a firm hand to the back of his neck. “You be overthinkin’ too much, you know that,” she laughed, gratitude spilling from her lips. She kissed all over his face and neck and chest. This is exactly what she needed: time away with her girls to have some good, not-so-clean, fun. Annie loved being a wife and a mother, but she needed to remember that she was a woman first.

“Only when something means everything to me,” Smoke smiled at her soft giggles. He was happy that she was happy. It was one of the only things he ever truly craved.

And for the rest of his life, as long as he had air in his lungs, he was gon’ make sure Annie was the most content person on the planet.

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a/n: i can never write a cute short fic bro— but i hope y’all enjoyed this seriessss. i’ve had so much fun with yalll. we’ll be picking things up with the girls in new orleans! smoke gon be home watching baby girl everybody gon be getting up to some trouble

taglist cause why not: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @princesstar655 @captaincalypso2 @sleepysquishe @nuttyinternetprincess @lolimblack @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[destinio1]

Y’all look at his hand… He was gripping that stool like his life depended on it during this scene. 😂 I can’t believe that no one asked them about this 😂

[destinio1]

Phone sex with Smoke and Stack? 👀

[destinio1]

⛧ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝕰𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊 +18,

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝟷 : 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔅𝔦𝔱𝔢 ⛧ ⛧

Vampire Lore, Blood Kink, Feeding

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

“𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑗𝑜𝑏 𝑝𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝑅𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝑂𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.”

That’s what her manager said. And Annie, broke and tired of couch-hopping, said yes.

The gas light had been on for the last twenty miles—an angry orange eye mirroring the panic twisting in her gut. This job wasn’t a choice— she never had one to begin with—. It was the final rung on a ladder she was sliding off.

She gripped the worn steering wheel, knuckles pale against her darker complexion, coaxing her sputtering Honda up the last stretch of the winding, private road.

Giant trees, dressed with moss, clawed at the sky. Their branches knotted overhead, forming a suffocating canopy that swallowed what was left of the afternoon light. Mist curled low across the road, swirling like restless spirits around the tires. The address from the agency didn’t feel like a location, more like a warning.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎.

Pray the Lord. Even the name sounded cursed.

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

After a while, she finally found the mansion. It didn’t sit on the land, one could argues that it ruled it. A gothic building of black stone and sharp angles that drank the light from the twilight sky. She thought, this wasn’t a home, it was tombstone. Cold, imposing, and ancient — she only saw these kind of architecture in 1920-1930s documentaries.

Annie parked on the gravel, the engine dying with a grateful shudder. For a long moment, she sat still. The driver’s side door felt like a flimsy barrier against the oppressive silence pressing in from all sides. She took a breath, pushed it open, and stepped into the anxious quiet. Her flat shoes crunched against the ground—loud in the stillness.

She was halfway to the massive doors when one swung open without a sound.

A man stood in the doorway.

He was tall, dressed in a black and deep blue suit, so tailored it looked sculpted. His face was a study in sharp, aristocratic precision, like it had been carved from marble. He had a brown complexion that appeared to have absorbed the dawn lights. Magnificent, yes— The man was handsome, charming with an eerie aura.

He didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

“Annelise Franc,” he asserted.

“Annie is fine,” she replied, her voice icy despite the quickening beat of her heart.

She was used to being looked at—her full frame, her darker complexion often drew unwanted and undesirable attention—but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t curiosity. It was analysis, plain scanning.

“I’m Elijah Smoke Moore,” he sliced before stepping aside. “You are punctual. I expect that to continue.”

She crossed the threshold into cold air that smelled of beeswax, old paper, and something faintly metallic—like cold coin.

The house was cavernous. A grand staircase swept upward into shadow. Every surface gleamed—from the polished marble floors to the gilded frames of portraits —people dancing in a seemingly jukebox joint— that watched her with faded, judgmental eyes.

Elijah’s presence hovered behind her like a specter.

“Your duties are straightforward,” he stated. “Cleaning. Cooking. And you will remain unseen unless summoned. Your quarters are in the east wing. This is a large house. Do not get lost.”

Heat flared low in her belly. Not fear but defiance. She clenched her fists at her sides, a reflex she’d had since childhood.

“I work for you. I understand the terms.”

His lips tilted—something between a smirk and a threatening grin, not quite a smile. In fact, his curling lips lean more close to a baring of teeth.

“Good.”

His deep brown eyes dipped to the pulse in her throat, and his body went rigid in a way that made the hair on her neck rise.

“That won’t be a problem… will it, Annie?”

Before she could answer, another voice drifted into the hall. Smooth and rich.

“Elijah, you’ll frighten her before she's even had a chance to unpack.”

Another man appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning against the balustrade.

The same face. The same aristocratic grandeur. But where Elijah was ice, this one was more melted ?

He wore a red silk robe, open at the chest, and his posture was one of languid, serpentine grace. A predatory smile played on his lips as his eyes drove over Annie’s body with a leisurely, appreciative caress that was far more invasive than his brother’s cold assessment.

"Don't mind my brother," he declared, descending the stairs with an incubus ease. "He lacks… finesse. I am Elias."

He stopped in front of her, just close enough for his body coldness to kiss her skin.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here, Annelise.”

“Annie,” she corrected again, jaw tight. These twins were truly testing her patience.

“Of course. Annie.”Elias repeated, his grin widening.

He saw her clenched fists and his gaze lingered on them. "So tightly wound. We'll have to do something about that."

Elijah's eyes were fixed on his brother. A silent, unreadable warning passing between them.

"Guide the lady to her room."

The command was for Elias, but it felt directed at Annie. A dismissal.

Elias gave a grotesque sigh and gestured for Annie to catch his steps.

As he led her through silent, echoing hallways, she couldn't shake the feeling of being a mouse led into a maze by two very patient, very beautiful yet deadly cats.

Her room was clean, sparse, and gelid — If only she had brought more sweaters.

After Elias left her with a final, lingering stare, she locked the door, the sound of the bolt clicking home doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. She unpacked mechanically, her mind racing. The money was good. Life-changing, even. She just had to survive the employers. She just had to keep her head down and her fists unclenched.

That night, sleeping was impossible. The old house groaned around her, the sighing of the wind becoming its only breath. But then, just as she was drifting off, another noise reached her.

It came from afar, above the ceiling, from what she assumed were located one of the master suites.

The sound was feeble, guttural. A growl, vibrating with a primal rage that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. It was followed by a sharp, tearing sound, and then a long, shuddering moan.

It wasn't lamentation. It was too ragged with terrifying hiccups. Annie sat bolt upright in bed, her body freezing. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden, crushing quietude. Whatever was happening in the room upstair was not human.

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

The morning unfurled with a kind of weary menace, as if dawn itself were reluctant to brush its pallid hand across the windows of the Moore Estate. Outside, the mist still clinging like a creature unwilling to let go, and inside, shadows crept lazily along the edges of the high ceilings, daring and scaring.

Annie rose before the house did. Her sleep had been fractured—haunted by strange dreams that bore teeth, by the muffled echoes of the noises she’d heard. However she planned to not ask questions. Her manager had warned her to avoid curiosity.

She washed her face with cold water in a porcelain basin, her reflection wavy and uncertain in the tarnished mirror above it. Her fingers were shaking as she tied the apron over her maid’s uniform, the fabric snug over her hips and bosom. The cotton hugged too tight. Or perhaps her breath was just too shallow.

In the kitchen, she moved with her muscle memory, chopping, cracking, whisking. The scent of eggs and butter filled the space, rich and earthy, grounding. She placed everything on a silver serving cart—eggs poached in cream, crispy bacon, vegetables, sliced French breads, jar of hot milk—and wheeled it into the dining room, where the windows were tall and uncurtained, and yet no light penetrated.

The twins were already seated.

Elijah dressed in charcoal morning coat, hands folded neatly on the table like a priest preparing to bless the wine. Elias draped across his chair with a languid elegance that bordered on indecency.

Neither of them spoke as she laid the plates before them. Elijah’s eyes followed her movements without blinking, but he didn’t lift a fork.

It was Elias who broke the silence. Without looking up, he lifted a fork and examined the creamy eggs and bacon with a studied sort of disappointment.

“Your hands are skilled,” he murmured. “But your imagination remains… tame.”

Annie gripped on her apron. Not sure how to dissect the twin’s words.

“Make the meal red, next time” Elijah added, stood up and disappeared in the corridors.

“Haha. Don’t mind him. Annelise.”

Elias was provoking her. Her name was not so complicated to say. And it was definitely not Annelise

“You must understand darling” He uttered poking at the foamy egg “red is the color of sincerity. And my brother and I…” He stood up too, following the same path as his twin “…We starving for honesty…since yesterday”

Good. Cryptic messages to uncover now.

Resting his palm on the dinner room’s potent entry, he grazed his eyes on her, following the curve of her hips. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, and his fingers drummed against wooden-hard door.

“Do wear that again,” he praised. “The uniform flatters you. The seams… strain in all the right places.”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

Later that day, she found herself in the west wing’s library—a cathedral of forgotten wisdom. The books that smelled of leather and centuries gave her comfort, a semblance of normality. She had only been her for a single day but the peculiar behavior of the men in this house made her obsidian skin crawl. The library looked at least a bit more like her usual scenery, dust lingered in the corners, and old tapestries hung slack on the walls.

She climbed on a rolling ladder to reach a high shelf. Her thick thighs flexed against the fabric of the uniform. The skirt rode up slightly, dangerously, totally unnoticed by her. She had begun to hum a hymn to herself when a voice split the placidity.

“You have no idea what you do to men like us.”

She turned, startled—and nearly fell from the ladder.

Elias stood below, looking up between her parted thighs, at the sweat drenched blue panties that hide her meaty button and —for now— forbidden flower.

He was wearing a suit this time. Shirt open,exposing a honey pecan chest that looked carved from amber.

The man didn’t offer her an hand neither asking her to come down.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip, dilatory, as if he was tasting the air she’d just sweetened.

“Oh dear, you’re marinating up there, aren’t you?”

The young maid flushed, gripped the sides of the ladder, panic blooming. Black Jesus, she was only sweating ! Why this man up there arguing wrongly?

Annie breath hitched. She tried to descend from her heights and fix her skirt but it only made matters worse. The cotton clung tighter. The fabric whistled against her, bunched along the seam of her swollen lips. She hadn’t realized how damp she’d become until the cold air of the library kissed through it.

Annie managed to hide her embarrassment and crawled back on the dusty library grounds.

“Mr Moore I’m—” she began her explanation.

“What dear Annie ? ” he interrupted, spelling her name right this time with his velvet-wrapped venomous tone. “You’re not tempting the pimp? Not inviting this?”

“I was working, the shelves are dusty…” She aimed to be fierce, but her words came strangled.

“Oh but darling, you’re serving. Just not the way you’d imagine” He answered, undressing her with a primitive glare.

Elias’ eyes fell onto her fat thighs, shining with her feminine sweat, smelling obscenity and wickedness.

He drove up his gaze, glancing quietly at her features, her pouty lips, her clean neck…

From his standpoint he could hear the hard and fast rhythm of her heartbeat, the unnatural way her blood speeding in her veins.

He didn’t move. He never needed to. His pupils dilated, swallowing the brown until they were twin pools of black pearls, deep and without reflection.

Annie’s world tilted on its axis. The rows of books bled into one another, the spines melting like wax. Her breath caught in her throat—not from fear, exactly, but something coiling between dark pleasure and dangerousness.

Her defiance evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, echoing compliance.

“That’s it,” Elias whispered, his voice slithering directly into the core of her mind. “Let go for me.”

Her body went limp. The tension in her shoulders vanished instantly. He guided her fall. He was acting as a puppeteer loosening the strings just enough for her to tumble backward onto the heavy oak of the reading table.

When her voluptuous backside hit the frozen platform, her body immediately flushed with conflicting sensations—wrong, unfamiliar, thrilling.

He loomed over her, his silhouette devouring what little light the library still held. The scent of leather and old pages mingled with something coppery and wild that fluctuated off of him in waves.

His mouth slid down but not for her lips. His wet tongue, traced the frantic pulse at her throat. She unconsciously gasped at the contact, while shame burnt her stomach.

His tongue continued its cruel path up the column of her neck, leaving behind a chill that made her nipples ache against the rough fabric of her uniform.

“I did taste a lot of virgins, no single soul thumping like you do, precious lamb”

He ignored her breasts entirely, bypassing them like a chef choosing not to spoil his hunger with appetizers. That, somehow, was worse. Or better. She couldn’t decide. The ache between her thighs throbbed, unwanted and undeniable.

“Lift your skirt”

She obeyed, her own hands betrayed her will, gathering the hem of her skirt. They bunched the heavy cotton at her waist, exposing the roundness of her stomach,her fleshy pussy clothed in a plain blue panties already soaked with her sweat.

“Wider,” he purred, his gaze hungry.

Her thighs spread out with a malice and obedience that was horrifyingly separate from her own willingness. They opened for him, offering her sensitive sanctuary.

Elias knelt between her parted legs, drooling like a priest before a sacred altar. His eyes glittered with a gloomy reverence. He inhaled the smell of her cunt through his nose, slowly and savoring.

“You appear to love this,” he whispered mockingly, saliva seeping from his mouth “A second and I would believe that you broke my control”

He did not rip the fabric. That was not his purpose. Not today.

He puffed his breath against the damp blue cotton cloth,trailed his watery tongue against the sensitive ridge of her clit right through the drawer’s barrier.

Next instant was followed by the barest, sharpest pressure of his fangs scraping over her swollen nub. The sting made her hips buck against the table, her tits milking beneath her uniform, her inner walls fluttering, bottom hole tightening. Heaven forbid, her whole body’s temperature risen.

“Annelise Franc, you’re so thick everywhere.” He groaned, his voice moist and grumpy, close to her button “Unfortunately I got no interest of going there”

He left her clit abruptly —ignoring her faint shudder — and he shifted his attention, nosing along the plump curve of her inner thigh where the flesh was softest.

He inhaled perversely, drinking in the intoxicating heat of her skin and the iron, metallic sweetness of her blood. His fangs sank violently, promising exquisite pleasure and unbearable pain.

The first taste hit him like a drug, her blood was thicken with her arousal.

He drank decadently, the smell of her sweaty intimacy distracting him from his duty.

His tongue slammed against the puncture, lapping at the welling blood with strokes, savoring the way it bloomed anew with every beat of her heart.

“O positive” He stated “I might become addicted, Annie”

The bite ignited her with a white-hot surge that exploded through her nerves and set every inch of her body on fire. Annie was swallowed by a spreading, dizzying pleasure.

A growl announced the time out. Feeding time came to end. The younger Moore straightened up, licking the crimson liquid on his lips then leaned closer to the maid.

“Listen carefully. The room was stuffy. You felt faint and leaned against this table to steady yourself. You have a small, clumsy bruise on your leg. Nothing more.” He brushed her ear with his hot mouth “I won’t prevent you from dreaming about our recreative moment though”

𝓣𝓪𝓰 𝓛𝓲𝓼𝓽 :

@ultralspblr , @brownskincheyenne , @numb1smokeanniestan , @shamansha @tamagotchibra , @girlsneedlovingfanfics , @lizbehave , @underated345-blog @wakandamama @prettypinkprincess29 @katezy2x @biancalhurtt

[destinio1]

I KNOW YOU KNOW WE KNOW THEY KNOW 😏😏😏😏

HE IS A EATER 😏

[destinio1]

BITCH ??? I though 15 inches = 15 centimeters TF ITS 30 centimeters. LORD

I EXAGGERATED 😤 WHAT IN KING NAZIR IS THAT ??? 😭😭😭😭

[destinio1]

She’s such a cutie pie 🥰

Wunmi🤎

[destinio1]

Fallin’ Out [two] [e.k]

I hope this is to your expectations 🥹

——

Erik had been extremely observant about Claire’s whereabouts since last week. He kept an eye on where she went for Pilates, where she used her credit cards, and where she took Erin.

Despite this, Claire seemed unchanged. Yes, he’d heard her crying, but he figured they’d eventually have a conversation. He anticipated it every day, but it never came.

Erin was on a strict routine with Claire, transitioning smoothly into his second year. Other than quiet gestures and polite smiles, the couple hadn’t really spoken. Just “mhmms,” “yeahs,” and “thank yous.”

Was this the daily routine for the slowest divorce ever? When had they last had sex? Their last date? Before Erin, they’d gone out frequently, but as Erik and Sam got busier, Claire was simply left out.

Not on purpose—Erik’s ambitions were clear long before Erin’s arrival—but having a child made him work even harder. His own version of nesting was ensuring that his son would know nothing less than African luxury.

Claire understood, at first. She used to leave lamps on and dinner in the oven, but Erik rarely noticed. He’d grumble that he wasn’t hungry or had already eaten out. So she stopped. She left the house dark after putting the baby to sleep and got used to the cool, empty bed.

Infidelity crossed her mind a few times, but anyone having access to Erik was a liability. She knew he wasn’t cheating—not because he didn’t want to, but because the risk was too great. That pained her even more. She didn’t feel needed. She hadn’t felt loved in a long time.

The tears dropping onto the yoga mat snapped her back to the moment. She hadn’t realized she’d zoned out. She was exhausted—still learning to find confidence in her body after breastfeeding and managing to be both a healthy woman and a devoted mother. Sometimes she could push through, but today it was too much.

After folding her mat and putting it in the trunk, she texted her former assistant-turned-friend to pick up Erin. Erik was never home at this time, and she wanted to take things Erin loved rather than start from scratch somewhere new. She didn’t have a plan, but she needed to get out.

Claire walked up the stairs confidently. Erik wasn’t supposed to be home. She didn’t bother to look around, just walked straight to her closet and began throwing clothes for herself and Erin into a bag. She thought about taking off her wedding ring but couldn’t face that ache yet. She didn’t hate Erik; she just didn’t recognize him anymore. Or herself.

She didn’t notice Erik standing there until she turned to answer her buzzing phone. She froze at the large hand holding the door shut.

“Erik… Wh-what are you doing here?” she stammered. His face was hard to read. Was he angry? Did he know?

“I live here,” Erik said lowly, his eyes searching hers. He gently lifted the duffel bag from her shoulder. “Claire… what are you doing?”

Before she could answer, soft knocks came at the door.

“That’s Erin,” she said quietly. Erik moved his hand away, but his eyes never left hers.

He let out a rough sigh when he saw Jade standing there with Erin.

“I got the other car seat too. It’s better for traveling and tra—” Jade stopped at the sight of Erik.

“H-hey Erik.” She said awkwardly, holding Erin a little closer.

“Jade.” he replied, his tone dismissive. The air was thick, and no one said a word for a long moment.

“You’re leaving me.” Erik said finally.

“Yes.” Claire answered, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.

She reached for her wedding band, but her hands were too clammy to slide it off. Her throat was tight, her eyes burning from blinking back tears. She was on the verge of a panic attack.

Jade quickly stepped back, giving them space. She’s helped Claire with panic attacks before, but no one knew how to soothe Claire like Erik did. She took Erin upstairs and away from the scene of his parents.

Erik helped her many times before they were married but she didn’t have panic attacks as often, or at least not when he was around.

“Claire, breathe,” he urged, taking her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m right here. You’re safe. Please, mama, you have to breathe.” His voice cracked. Tears were welling in his eyes. He guided her shaking body to the ground as she began to cry.

Erik’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Claire, please… you’re scaring me,” he said, his voice softer than she remembered.

She tried to focus on his face. The room felt far away, her vision blurring. But Erik’s voice was an anchor.

“In and out, mama,” he whispered, guiding her through each breath. “That’s it. Just like that.”

The world slowly came back into focus. Her coughs subsided, and she could finally see him clearly—Erik’s face slightly damp with tears he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His face remained unguarded.

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” he choked out. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve been gone when you needed me most. I thought I was doing this for us, but I… I’ve been failing you. I love you more than words, and I can’t lose you.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her closer than he had in a long time.

“Please. Don’t go.”

Claire sat there, tears streaming down her face, too weak to speak. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to go. She just wanted him here. She needed him to be here.

She took a deep breath, her voice small but certain. “I won’t.”

Nothing was fixed. But it was a start.