nika324

[nika324]

looking at myself in the mirror after reading smut

[nika324]

Beyoncé's daughters, Blue Ivy and Rumi, joined her onstage as she performed “Protector” at The Cowboy Carter Tour 2025

[nika324]

She's pickin up good vibrations He's lookin for sweet sensations

[nika324]

Daddy Smoke. 😶‍🌫️

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 2

-

Amira had long forgotten of her phone that was currently blowing up and her husband that was blowing it up. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only and that was Smoke.

He gently placed her on the bed as if she was the most delicate thing he’d ever laid his hands on. His mouth moves down from her lips to her neck and to her collarbones. Pulling back, Smoke stands at his full height, eyes locked in on her. “Strip.”

She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t bother to think twice. Amira stands up and slowly removes her dress, leaving her in nothing but a black lace thong.

“Damn, baby.” Smoke admired her for a while. The way her skin glowed with the moonlight, her nipples pebbled and pierced, her legs long and inviting. He almost felt hypnotized.

It wasn’t long until he was in nothing but his boxers. Amira traced his skin, his abs and happy trail. She looked at him like she was starving and Smoke couldn’t help but feel the same. Their lips meet again in a heated kiss as he backs her onto the mattress. His body towered over her as he placed kisses on her skin. Smoke licked and bit anywhere he pleased and she just let him, squirming under his weight.

He was teasing her, making her desperate.

“Please” She whispered as he reached her thighs, continuously leaving marks, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him the most.

“Please what? Talk to me.”

Her face burned with embarrassment, she’s never been one to talk much during sex. Damien and her were pretty vanilla when it came to it. Just one and done, and maybe if he was up to it, round two.

“Smoke pleaseeee” She whimpered as he bit the skin near her pelvis. He used his teeth to latch on to her thong and pull it down her legs before separating them so that he could see everything.

He groaned as he stared at her mound, glistening and wet. Just for him.

“We don’t do that round here baby. You gon learn to speak up and tell me what you want.” He placed a kiss to her clit causing her to flinch slightly.

“Please, eat my pussy.” Her heart raced and her body shook with need. At this point she wanted him so bad, she’d bark if he asked her to.

“There we go. Keep talking to me like that.” Smoke finally attached his lips to her clit, his tongue going in circles as he sucked lightly.

“Oh fuck” Amira moaned loudly, her hands gripping his grey satin sheets as her hips moved frantically. Smoke grabbed her to stop her from moving as he continued to swallow her. His tongue traveled down her pussy, pushing into her aching hole before pulling out and sucking on her lips. He repeated the cycle a few times before attaching his mouth back to her clit.

Smoke groaned at her taste, her arousal covering his beard and dripping down to the floor.

She was so sweet.

“Fuck, you taste good.” His fingers circled her entrance as his tongue slow danced with her pussy. Amira was a moaning and whimpering mess. Her legs shook and her back arched in pleasure. “Talk to me princess. How you feel?”

“F-feels so good. Please don’t stop.” Smoke pushed his index and middle finger into her. “Smokeeeee. Oh my god.” Amira’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her hands flew to grip onto his arms. Her legs shook as he sped up, touching that spot that had her seeing stars.

“What happened? Hm? You gon cum for me?” The sounds of his fingers going in and out of her echoed throughout the room. “Shit baby. I could be here all day.”

“S-Smoke. I’m gonna cum.” Amira was panting, her back bent like a crescent moon and her mouth open wide.

“Ga head. Give it to me.” A sob escaped her lips as her body trembled in pleasure. Her arousal covered his fingers as he helped her ride her orgasm. Smoke was in a trance, moaning as he licked her up, making sure not to leave a single drop. He could already feel himself getting addicted.

Amira had her eyes closed while her body relaxed onto the bed when she felt Smoke on top of her, bringing his lips to hers. The two kissed like long lost lovers, their hands reaching to touch each others damp skin. Smoke pulled back enough to remove his boxers and then lined himself up at her entrance. Her legs were at his waist, still slightly trembling.

He watched her carefully, placing a kiss to her forehead and then one to her lips. “You good?”

She nodded. “Yea. I’m good.” Amira leaned up to kiss him, just to reassure him that she wanted this as bad as he did.

Smoke pushed in, stretching her tight hole slowly until he bottomed out. Amira gripped onto his bicep, her nails digging into his skin. Her mouth was wide open and her breathing was heavy. Tears stung her eyes from the pain that she was trying her hardest to ignore.

“It’s okay baby. I got you. You can take it.” Smoke placed kisses around her face before digging his head into her neck, sucking on her sweet spot to help ease the discomfort. He hadn’t moved, wouldn’t dare to until he was sure Amira could handle it. “Let me know when you need me.”

They stayed like that for a little bit until he heard her whisper. “I need you.” Smoke looked into her eyes as he slowly pulled back, leaving just the tip in, and then sinking back into her abyss. Amira whimpered, loudly, her hands moving to his back where she felt each ripple of his muscles as he gave her long, slow and deep strokes.

She was choking on her own moans, her spine was permanently bent as she scratched his back to try and keep her sanity.

“D-daddyyyyy.” Amira was drunk and dizzy. His dick was hitting places she’d forgotten existed. She looked down to watch her stomach bulge every time he entered her.

He was so deep.

She felt so full.

“Look how good you taking this dick, princess.” Smoke watched as she fell apart under him, another orgasm ripping through her. Amira sobbed and shook but Smoke just kept going on. “You want more?”

She nodded dumbly, too intoxicated to even speak. Smoke raised her legs to his shoulders, his hands intertwined with hers as he slammed into her repeatedly. He was growling in her ear, completely lost in the moment. Amira cried, her moans loud enough to reach the club they’d just left. Smoke grabbed her left foot, bringing it to his mouth and sucking on her toes while his strokes got faster. “Smoke… fuck wait.”

“Daddyyyyy!” She came again, this time drenching him and his expensive sheets. He smirked in satisfaction before pulling out. “Turn around. We ain’t done yet.”

Amira whimpered as she moved, her body was weak but was craving for more. She got on her stomach, ass perched up in the air, hands stretched out in front of her. Smoke groaned, moving his face to lick her cum that was still sliding out of her pussy. This time when he filled her up, he wasn’t as gentle.

Smoke was fucking her senseless and Amira couldn’t stop crying, the pleasure being too much for her that she tried to move away. He gripped her hips to keep her in place as he continued to thrust in and out of her. “Nah. Where the fuck you think you going? Take this dick baby.”

She moaned as the whites of her eyes made an appearance. She reached an arm back to try and push him off but Smoke just grabbed it and locked it onto her back. “Bet ya husband don’t make you feel this good. Right baby?” Amira moaned in response, her mind too foggy to form a proper sentence. Smoke’s hand slammed down on her ass cheek. “Answer me.”

“Noooo daddy. No he doesn’t.” Her orgasm came before she even had time to process it. She squirted with every thrust until her body went limp and she dropped onto his bed. But Smoke didn’t stop, he followed her down, moving her right leg up and bending it so that he’d get the perfect angle to dig deeper into her.

“Pleaseeeee.” She cried but she wasn’t sure if she was begging him to stop or keep going.

“This my fucking pussy now, you hear me Amira?” She nodded her head, speaking incoherently, attempting to say something but failing every time his dick touched her stomach. “Look at me.”

Amira turned her head, teary eyes meeting his lustful ones. “Open ya mouth.” She listened and stuck her tongue out, watching as Smoke spit into her mouth. He moaned as he watched her swallow, she could tell he was holding back but was slowly slipping. His strokes were becoming messy and short. “Cum inside of me, please daddy.” Smoke kissed her, her words being the final straw before he spilled his seed inside of her.

He placed kisses down her back before slowly pulling out then he gently flipped her body over, his mouth immediately attaching to her nipples. Amira let out soft sighs as her hands rubbed his head and face. Smoke pecked her shoulders before moving to lay on the bed. He gave her a look before mumbling a low “Ride me.”

Amira noticed that Smoke never asked, he demanded, and so with shaky legs, she got up and crawled to him. She bent her legs as she slowly sunk into him, his head fell back and a deep groan followed as Amira took him entirely.

“Pussy so good. That’s it baby. Good girl.” Smoke praised as she moved her body up and down his length.

“Daddyyyy, it’s too much.” Amira whined as her head landed softly on his shoulder, her thighs were burning but she kept going. Smoke slapped her ass before gripping it.

“You got it. Make me proud mama.”

Amira scratched Smoke’s shoulders as she felt herself tightening up. He pulled her face to his, sliding his tongue in her mouth as he started thrusting upwards.

“S-Smokeeeee.” Amira lifted herself up slightly as she squirted all over him. Smoke rubbed her clit causing her legs to shake profusely before she dropped down on top of him.

“Turn around.”

“I- I can’t. No more daddy.” Smoke rubbed her sides and back as he gently soothed her.

“Yes you can princess. Come on. Give daddy one more.” Amira looked at him with those big dark brown eyes, her makeup was ruined, streaks of mascara going down her face and her lashes in all different directions but he still found her beautiful. He wiped the tears from under her eyes before placing soft kisses to her cheeks.

“Kiss, please.” Amira had never felt this vulnerable before. All she wanted was him, his presence, his touch. She didn’t know what he was doing to her but she didn’t want it to stop. Smoke leaned in, placing his lips on hers as gently as possible.

Amira turned around, her back to his chest as her legs sat outside of his that were bent at the knee. Her head landed on his shoulder and her face cuddled up to his neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist, slowly filling her already sore pussy that somehow was still wet and needy.

Smoke thrusted into her at a steady pace as her moans became louder and louder. His hands moved to around her neck, slightly choking her as he sped up, chasing his high. “You’re gonna make me cum again. Shiiiiittt!!”

Amira’s body was sensitive from the multiple orgasms he had already given her, her mind completely gone as she practically drooled from pleasure. “Tell me this my pussy.”

“It’s yours. It’s yours. It’s all yours.” Smoke groaned as he slammed into her faster. Amira almost arched herself off of him as her juices went everywhere. He pulled her back, coming into her pussy that now twitched around his dick.

Gently laying Amira down next to him, Smoke placed kisses on her back and neck as he listened for her breathing to even out. “Don’t move.” He got out of bed and walked to his bathroom, cleaning himself off before grabbing a wash cloth for Amira that was half asleep at this point. After cleaning her up, he got her a bottle of water, making sure she drank enough off of it before moving her body to the couch so that he could change the sheets and then slipping into bed next to her and falling asleep.

-

“Fuck” Amira whispered as she slowly walked up to her house. She had woken up wrapped around Smoke and almost, almost, went back to sleep before she realized that she wasn’t home and Smoke wasn’t her husband and her actual husband was probably worried sick.

Smoke hadn’t even gotten the chance to make her breakfast, let alone offer to drive her home before she had gotten dressed, called an uber, gave him a goodbye kiss and left. Amira scrolled through the hundreds of notifications from Damien and her best friend, Araya.

“Your location been off all night. You better be alive, Amira or I’m gonna resurrect you and kill you my damn self.”

Amira giggled at Araya’s message, sending a quick “I’m alive” text to which she responded that Amira had some explaining to do and that she’ll be waiting.

Peaches and Pickles ran up to her as soon as she walked in the house. After some much needed love to the both of them, she slowly walked to the living room and then up the stairs. The master bedroom lights were on which meant Damien was home, she could hear the shower running and so she quickly made her way to the guest room.

After her shower, she put on the hoodie she stole burrowed from Smoke and draped it over her body. She grabbed what little makeup she had in her purse to cover the bruises on her neck and wrapped her sweated out hair into a bun.

Walking into their room, a gasp escaped her lips as her eyes land on the multiple bouquets of roses, gift bags and jewelers boxes spread out on their bed.

“Had fun?” Amira jumps at the sound of Damien’s voice.

“What are you talking about?” She rolls her eyes as she goes to gather the gifts she assumed he got her for missing their date.

“I come home to find that you wasn’t here and then you don’t answer me all fucking night.”

“Oh, just like how you do to me?” Damien snatches the Cartier bracelet out her hands. His face got close to hers before his eyes trailed down her body.

“Who’s fucking sweater is that? That shit smells like cologne.” Amira kept a poker face though her heart beat loudly in her chest.

“It’s Araya’s. I stayed with her last night, she gave me this from Joshua’s side of the closet.” Damien furrowed his eyebrows.

“You lying to me Amira?”He got closer to her, chest puffed out like he was gonna do something.

“No Damien, get out of my face .” He backed up, eyes narrowed and face stoic.

“Let me find out.”

“Find out what? You sound guilty ya damn self.” She scoffed, the tension rising in the room.

“Aight Mira. I’m going out before we both end up saying shit we don’t mean.”

“Ok.” Amira laid in bed pretending to be busy on her phone as Damien got dressed and left the house without another word.

-

Amira had just gotten back to her office after being with a client since the early hours of the morning, it was now 2PM and well past her lunch break. She was starving and tired but knew she had much more work to push through.

“Damn girl, you look like you’re glowing.” Monica eyed her boss, raising an eyebrow as she took in the visible light in her face compared to how drained she looked before.

Amira giggled. “Really? I haven’t even done anything different.” She stood in front of the mirror that sat by the reception desk, looking at her face that someone did look noticeably brighter. Her body and demeanor just looked more relaxed in general.

“Yessss girl. Damien must be keeping you happy, huh?” Amira almost flinched at the sound of her husband’s name. She gave Monica a fake smile and nodded.

“Yup.” She walked into her office, her mind immediately shifting towards Smoke. He had texted her to ask if she was okay but hadn’t heard from him since. Amira sighed loudly, unlocking her phone and scrolling through DoorDash to see if she could find something to eat.

The sound of her office phone ringing broke her out of the trance she had put herself in. “Yes Monica?”

“There’s a gentlemen out here, says he has an appointment with you but I don’t see it on your calendar.”

Amira looked through her notes to see if she had scheduled any meetings with anyone. “Um, I don’t think so. What’s his name?”

“Smoke.”

-

Amira shook her leg as she waiting for him to walk into her office and when he did her breath got caught in her throat. He had a huge bouquet of lilies and a smile covered in gold. “Hey princess.”

“Hi, oh my god.” She got up to grab the flowers from him, he wrapped his free hand around her waist, pulling her in for a hug. She tried her best to keep her composure as his scent invaded her nose. “How did you know I like lilies?” His thumb slowly moved up and down the small sliver of skin that peeked out from her blouse.

“You have a bunch of them tattooed on your back, figured that meant something.” She smiled up at him before slowly removing herself from his body.

“Do I even wanna know how you figured out where I work?” Amira sat behind her desk and watched as he looked around her baby blue office that was covered in plants, magazines, books and paintings.

“You told me your name, told me what you do for work. It wasn’t hard to find you after that, specially since you’re pretty famous.”

“I am not famous.” She rolled her eyes playfully. Smoke sat at the chair across from her. His eyes took her in.

“You’re on multiple magazine covers and got featured on Forbes 30 under 30. That’s pretty famous to me.” Amira bit her cheek, trying not to smile.

“What are you doing here?” She took the time to admire his outfit, he wore a black t-shirt, hugging his biceps just right. Baggy, denim jeans, some 1s and his gold chains. On his wrist sat a watch Amira knew all too well, audemar piquet, royal oak.

“I want you to decorate my house.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. “Wait, what?”

“I want you to come do what you do best, at my house.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Smoke watched her fidget with the papers on her desk, a smirk displayed on his plump lips.

“And why not?”

“Because… I’m married and we- you know. We shouldn’t.” Amira bit her lip as she avoided his eyes that wouldn’t dare move away from her.

“I told you. I couldn’t care less that you’re married. Ya husband got a problem, tell him to come see me bout it.”

She ignored the way her thighs clenched and her hands shook, trying her hardest to remain professional. “He doesn’t- Okay. Listen I can’t help you. You’d have to go to somebody else or I can assign one of the other ladies to help you.”

“Nah. I told you I want you and I meant that shit.”

“Smoke-”

“Whatever you charge, I’ll triple it.”

Amira’s eyes nearly popped out her eye sockets. “Triple? You bullshitting.”

“Do I look like the type of man to bullshit, baby?”

No.

He definitely does not.

“Smoke I-I can’t. Damien is already suspecting..” Smoke stands up and slowly comes around the desk. “A-and if he finds out…”

He stands in front of her, reaching down to grab her hand. “Let him.” Amira’s chest rose and fell rapidly as Smoke leaned down, lips barely touching hers. “You telling me no, princess?”

“Smoke…” She whispers, though it sounded more like a moan. Though she barely knows this man, something about him was just so enticing.

Amira pressed their lips together as Smoke lightly chuckled. They kissed like they were bound to fall in love, tongues wrapped around each other, moving in perfect sync.

“Maybe I need to convince you a little more, hm?” He gets down on his knees in between Amira’s legs.

“Smoke, no. What are you doing? What if someone walks in, are you crazy?”

“Doors locked.” He mumbled as he pressed kisses on her bare thighs that were slightly covered by the dress she wore. “You can be quiet for me, right baby?”

Amira nodded, too weak to fight him.

Smoke pulled her dress up to her waist and pulled down the pink lace thong she wore, placing it in his pocket.

“Am I getting those back?” Smoke laughed against the flesh of her thigh before separating her legs.

“Fuck” Amari moaned as his tongue dug into her already soaked pussy. She covered her mouth with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as Smoke devoured her. He made sure to take his time tasting everything she had to offer. He kissed, suck and bit anywhere he could and all Amira could do was take it, with teary eyes and shaky legs.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her eyes roll to the back of her head as a burst of pleasure fills her body.

“Mhm” Smoke moaned as he drank her arousal like he had a thirst he needed to quench and when Amira finally came down from her high, he made sure she got a taste of her own juices.

-

Amira was panicking but trying not to. It had been a few days since Smoke ate her out in her office and she was already craving him. His voice, his touch, his scent. She felt like she was going crazy.

Damien couldn’t understand why Amira was all of sudden so irritable around him, if he even breathed too loudly she was getting annoyed. The two had been arguing more than usual, it reached a point where he went ahead and scheduled another session with Dr. Miranda. As much as Amira pissed him off, he didn’t want to loose his wife and so he was determined to do anything to fix their issues. He could tell she was pulling away from him, her attention was on anything else but their relationship and he didn’t like that. He felt like he was loosing control of the situation and wanted to find a way to set them back on track.

Amira on the other hand, didn’t seem to care how Damien felt. She barely spoke during their session and barely even looked at him when they had gotten home.

Straightening the last strand of her hair, Amira quickly ran her fingers through it before tucking one side behind her ear. She exited the bathroom and headed straight to her walk in closer, ignoring Damien who shot daggers at the back of her head. They were supposed to be staying in that night and watch movies but Amira decided last minute she wanted to go out.

She grabbed her black and gold Giuseppe heels to match her mini strapless dress and black monogram LV purse.

“Where you going?” Damien watched her spray perfume on her skin, taking one last look in the full body mirror before walking towards the door.

“Out with Araya. Goodnight.”

-

“Bitch I been waiting to hear this one.” Amira laughs as Araya folds her hands under her chin, giving her undivided attention.

The two were sitting in a booth at a sushi bar that was always open late. They loved going there when they just needed good food, drinks and to gossip.

Araya and Amira had been friends since high school, the two met in the cheerleading team, Amira being captain and Araya co-captain. They had went their separate ways during college. Araya following her high school sweetheart who went on to become an NFL player and Amira following her passions.

“I… I think I fucked up…”

Araya raised an eyebrow. “Did you kill Damien?”

“What? Bitch no.”

“Did you stab him? Cut his dick off? Better yet, divorce him?” Amira rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

“No.”

“Shit, then what the did you do?”

“I… Had sex with another man…”

Araya stayed quiet, staring at Amira.

“And then he came to my office and ate me out…”

Araya blinked and then smile. “HALLELUJAH!” Customers in the restaurant turned their heads towards the two women.

“Oh my fucking God, Araya stop. Shut up please.”

“AY, AY WAITRESS! BRING ME A BOTTE OF YA BEST LIQUOR ,WE CELEBRATING TONIGHT!”

Amira covered her face in embarrassment as the waitress brought out a bottle with a sparkler.

“What are we celebrating ladies?” She opened a bottle Amira had never seen before, pouring some into two cups.

Araya smiled with all 32 as she raised her glass in the air. “Infidelity.”

-

[nika324]

[nika324]

Lupita Nyong'o, Leticia Wright, and Danai Gurira for Elle Magazine, Nov 2022

[nika324]

Smakksksksksmsmsmskskskaksskksksskkssn

GAGGED.

Saurrrr beautiful.

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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[nika324]

Hmmm.

Very good question. I’d like to know as well.

I have some thoughts that I can’t put into words yet at the moment.

*SPOILERS FOR SINNERS*

*

*

Something that stood out to me about Sinners after thinking about it more is that we never see any direct violence against the white women in the story in the way we do the women of color.

We know violence is inflicted on all of them, but we don’t actually SEE the racist lady and Mary get turned—but we do see both Pearline and Annie get killed pretty brutally, and Grace’s death is possibly the most horrific. We see them all die in very graphic ways, something the white women in the movie are spared from.

Ryan Coogler is a very deliberate director, and I really don’t think he would have written the story/directed the scenes that way without forethought about it.

I’ve wondered if this decision could be commentary on the ways people (especially other white people) hold white women on this pedestal where they need to be protected, but are largely indifferent to the suffering of black women and women of color? I could definitely be reading too much into it (I am very prone to doing so lol) but I just don’t think it wasn’t an intentional decision.

Would like to hear other people’s opinions on this.

[nika324]

Woke up thinking about these two….

I know what I’ll be doing tonight. ☝🏽

Just stopping by to say that I still can’t believe we got ✨that✨ scene in 05x09. ddkkkdkmdndnndjdjd. I just rewatched for the first time in months and… skskskskkskskskskskskskdkdndndndn. “I aint never had that ever happen to me.” 😂

I wanna be like them when I grow up. The intimacy??? The smiles? When he pushed her hair back????? WE- that moment is literally my brand. Then we finally get a proper wake up scene and Tere is just so soft and just skksksnsnznsnsbdbdbd dbdjdjnd. When I hack USA for those deleted scenes. 🥲

It’s the fact that I went to bed at like 6am after 05x09 aired as if I was the one having relations and whatnot. Woke up at 2pm the next day like…

Everyone in the group chat was still practically unalive. 😂

No words, just vibes and keyboard smashes but somehow we all knew what the person was saying. 😂

🤍🖤 (Honorable mention. another fave shot.)

[nika324]

🔥

I need a pt. 2 follow up on this on my desk in 48 hours, OP.

Strike a Pose, Royal Blue

A/N: FREAKS 🫵🏽🫵🏽🫵🏽. Here is the winner of the Post WTS poll, the freak nasty Smut sequel to Stay Awake, Strike a Pose. I had to take out the songs I linked at first lol. Just look em up y'all..

Smut warnings: Semi-public, fingering, stripping, rough sex, hair pulling, Sugar Daddy Smoke! Sugar Baby Annie! Breeding kink

---

Since Smoke's been so tired out from work at home, Annie decides to bring her fashion show to him.

The 369 is Smoke’s newest endeavor, a bar and cigar rooftop lounge on top of the new event/venue building the twins and Bo had put in together. Aimed at those who want a slower paced kind of party, only slow jams and live instruments were allowed to play. Smoke insisted on it when they bought the building, he loved his brother’s energy and appreciated the release of a proper party scene but truly he wanted to offer something more laid back. Something that was easier for him to stay in when his nerves would fray and didn’t get blood boiling. 

Annie likes it. Now when Smoke comes home from managing at 369 he is less stung than when he was called into the Juke Joints. He also smoked less at home now. Annie likes the slower pace of the lounge, it means less issues arose. It means that even with him on the clock Smoke had more time on his hands. It means that when Annie walks in his establishment, she is promptly addressed by him.

Like tonight, a warm but breezy evening, the moon is high in midnight and a soul singer with a sultry cover band is playing live. Annie opens the door and sways into the lounge as the singer’s velvet alto pours out the devilish lyrics to Satisfaction by SiR from her wine colored lips.

Annie’s hair is in french curl braids that frame her face in playful layers as it cascades down to her waist. Her make up is light, dewy skin with big lashes and eyeliner, a glossy chocolate lip to tie it together.  Annie smells just as delicious, Shea butter vanilla tuberose with a hint of musk that always sends Smoke into a tizzy. The only jewelry she wears is Smoke’s gold chain, diamond studs, and her wedding ring. 

What was most important, Annie currently wore nothing but a Knee-length trench coat dress and navy leather, red bottom heels.  

The full-figured woman takes the long way around the venue towards the bar. Pausing to greet the hostess and regulars, swaying and switching her hips enough to draw curiosity as to just why she was concealing those sinful curves of hers. She gives an innocent look towards the one-way glass wall that walled the part of the venue where Smoke’s office and watch point laid. 

Annie makes sure to blow a kiss towards there before finishing her round and ending up at the bar. 

“Hey Toni, let me get that bottle of Ceretto off you.” Annie says, the curly headed bartenders raises both her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Do you mean a glass Mrs. Moore?” Toni squeaks but gasp when Annie sends her a cheeky grin and pulls a roll of 100 dollar bills from her pocket. 

“No baby, I mean the whole bottle. A fresh one.”

“Mrs. Moore, that’s a 300 dollar bottle.”

“And here’s 400. Keep the change.” Annie offers, leaning in over the bar top to place the money in Toni’s apron pocket and accepting the elegant black bottle from her. 

“Quiet night?” Annie asks once she sits back on her stool, opening the bottle and taking a deep drink.

“Uhh, yes. Everyone's behaved.” Before Toni can say anything more, Annie’s phone goes off with a soft bell sound. 

Smoke’s text notification, she’s been spotted. 

Good.

“Have a fantastic night!” Annie says before getting off her stool and sauntering towards Smoke’s office. Her heels tapping steady and dangerously as she climbs the short stairway, turns the corner and finds herself in the open doorway. Annie leans on the frame, crossing her legs, she takes in the sight of herself in the mirrored wall first, before dragging her eyes over to her man. 

Smoke is temptingly handsome as usual. In a nice-fitting gray dress shirt, a blue with a tasteful pinstripe tie and black slacks. Smoke sits in the leather lounge chair that usually faces the window wall that stares down at the lounge below. Instead it was turned to watch the doorway. 

Turned so that Smoke sees just Annie through the haze of his cigar smoke. Annie smiles at him, then tilts her head back as she takes another deep drink off the expensive bottle. Smoke can’t help but drag on the cigar as he watches Annie’s throat bob and neck stretch, ever her tiddies tease with a slight bounce that is half-hidden by her dress.

“Mrs. Moore.”

“Mr. Moore.” Annie purrs as she finally struts in, hand brushing behind her to close the door. Annie locks Smoke in a stare akin to that of a pantheress spotting prey, that smoke matches with a gaze that promises to devour. Annie’s free hand loosens the knot at front of her dress, enough slack so she now gives her man a peek-a-boo of cleavage. The only thing that allows the fabric to cling to her body is a dangerously loose tie and two buttons.

“What's the meaning of this visit tonight?” Smoke asks as he settles back, legs spread wide and his free hand tapping his knee. Annie stands between his legs, she eyes his cigar and Smoke smoothly gives it up to her soft hand. He licks his lips to see her wrap those luscious lips around the thick end, cheeks hollowing to pull a drag on it that roasts the lit end. Annie moans a little in her chest at the hint of black coffee off the wrap of tobacco before pulling the cigar back and slowly blowing the smoke out her mouth and over him. 

“Just a woman who wants some Smoke.” Annie says and Smoke lets out a deep sound that half chuckle half growl, all full of amused arousal. 

“I can offer that.” He tells her. Annie smiles before snuffing the cigar in the ashtray next to them. Her blue french-tipped fingers tip Smoke’s chin up then rubs his bottom lip, “I think you needa drink,” she whispers. Smoke obeys, opening his mouth and letting her pour a hefty swallow in his mouth. He gulps when she pulls back, his tongue pokes out to taste the smear of Annie’s lipgloss that transferred from the bottle to his lips. 

“You know ‘Lijah. I think I’m a little jealous.” Annie tells him . Instantly Smoke’s hands land on her wide hips and pull her impossibly closer before giving the top of her left breast a kiss. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Annie says, poking her lip out with a pout.

‘Imma fix that. Whatcha want, it’s already got.” He promises before start to suck a hickey on top her right breast. Annie gives a breathy moan at the action. Her head leans down and she licks the side of his ear then whispers into it.

“I bought such a pretty outfit the other day, but Poppa fell asleep before he could see my fashion show.” She whispers huskily. Smoke hums in intrigue.

“That’s a damn shame. C’mon then, show poppa what you spent his money on momma. Let me see that pretty.” Smoke asks of her, smacking her ass in encouragement and slyly taking her bottle of wine. The smack makes Annie groan. She takes a few strides back from the man, then gasps to find that Smoke has fully loosened the belt from around her as it drops to the floor. The only thing giving her decency were two buttons. 

“Play my music, Dj?” Annie asks. Smoke does as such, grabbing the remote to the office's entertainment system and pressing play on the last song Annie had queued on her phone earlier that afternoon behind his back. Leak It by Ari Lennox and Chloe starts to play, Smoke takes his own deep drink off the bottle as his eyes lock in on his woman. 

As the music comes alive, Annie sways her body to the bump of the guitar beats. Her rolling curves and swinging ass are akin to an anaconda descending down a tree to prey. Annie plays her hands into her hair, stretching her body so Smoke can witness every stretch mark and swell of thickness move for him as she tightly wraps her braids around until they're in a high ponytail with curls dripping around her face. 

Annie’s hands fall back to her waist, over those pesky buttons as her legs spread. She pops the top button open first and Smoke grunts as her tiddies spill free from behind the dark fabric. 

With another roll of her body to a pitchy note in the song, she pops the last button and tosses all the fabric to the floor. 

Just like that, Annie is displayed. 

Up top Annie wears a royal blue corset that’s all dainty lace between sheer boning on dark skin. The pull of the corset has her curves taunt in presentation. Her heavy breasts and plump cleavage enhanced by a deep v cut down the front of the corset, rose shaped applique barely concealing her dark nipples. The garter straps dive down her front, framing her lap then end mid-thigh, little gold and crystals on the end twinkle in the low light of Smoke’s office.

What excites Smoke the most is the thin royal blue stingy straps the bite into her plush sides, all leading down to a lacy rose over top of her fat pussy in the sheer panties. Annie slowly turns around, her flirty eyes still peering at Smoke over her shoulder.

“Oh, my coat.” she purrs.

Smoke groans, as all he sees is wispy blue bows down her back and Annie’s juicy, round ass. The g string a bold stripe between her cheeks when she slowly bends down to pick up that damn coat. Smoke even sees a peek of that pussy from the back already wet and teary.

Annie trails her hand down the smooth skin of her thick leg until she grabs it and playfully presses it to her front and stands back up straight. Annie teases Smoke by hooking a finger under the first string of her panties and starts to pull it down to expose herself.

She stops with a wink, “Imma let you do that.” Annie tells him as she slowly turns back around to face him. Annie struts up to Smoke and places the coat over his knee before sitting down sideways on his strong leg.

Smoke hums his approval at her choice of clothing while his hand runs down her back. Thick and hard-worked fingers brushing through the silky and tight-tied ribbons of the corset then resting on her lower back. Annie arches it, crossing her legs as she does so, the back meat of her thigh brushing over Smoke’s crotch. Annie nods down at the half drained bottle of wine and Smoke brings it to her lips this time. Smoke watches closely as the pink tip of Annie’s tongue follows around the glass rim before taking a noisy gulp of wine akin to how she chokes on his shaft. 

Smoke jerks the bottle away, jealous that it now knows how heavenly Annie’s lips are and carelessly Smoke lets it clatter then tip over upon his desk. Wine dribbles down Annie’s chest as she gasps at his sudden action. 

Annie giggles and Smoke grunts when the man swiftly adjusts them both Annie rests fully in his lap now, straddling his hips. All the while Smoke takes in a deep pull of her sexy scent. 

“How much it cost, momma?” He practically growls in her ear before kissing into her neck. Annie hums out a moan at the pressure of his eager lips and wet tongue on suck on the soft column on her throat.

“Six Hundred on the Louboutin's. Eight hundred on the coat, it’s Santinni.” Annie purrs as she wraps her arms around Smoke’s neck, pressing his head down from her throat to her chest. Smoke starts licking clean her cleavage of the careless spills of wine down her skin before it can stain the fabric of her lingerie. 

“Uhmm.” Smoke rumbles. 

“Three seventy on the corset, custom.”

“Yeah? I can feel it.” Smoke compliments into her skin as he starts to pull at the ties, one at a time the ribbons unloop and fall to the floor. Annie shivers at the release of tension mixes with her bassy voice echoing over her sternum. 

“Yeah, saved ya money on the panties.” Annie pants once the corset was fully untied she yanks it out the way. Tiddies spilling forward and pressing into the front of Smoke’s chest. “One ninety, Kiki de Montparnasse. Caughta sale.”

“You shoulda bought two pairs.” Smoke reprimands, giving her a few gentle slaps that send waves across the thickness of her ass. Annie’s breath hitches as Smoke grips the left side of the G string af with one strong yank that her rips clean through the lace. Cool air hits the back of her sensitive pussy. 

Smoke brings his hand down between them and Annie gasps as he yanks the rest of the sheer fabric out of his way so he can curl two fingers through her wetness there.  Once-twice-thrice until his whole hand is made slick before his thumb circles her clit. 

“You know I did poppa. I’m good like that.” Annie moans. Smoke nods the affirmative before Annie latches their lips together, pouring her moans of pleasure down his throat as Smoke fingers her properly. Annie grinds on his fingers, the pressure of her movements making his dick harden in his pants. 

“Ya fuckin’ floodin me, Ann! Dammit!” Smoke grunts out as the squeeze of her thick thighs and the barrier of wetting fabric strain against his dick. 

“You made me.” Annie pants.

“So damn pretty.” Smoke swears as he coaxes more and more of Annie’s taste upon his hand, grunting when Annie’s shivering thighs press together and lock his digits in her pussy. Annie powers through to keep grinding down on her lap through the press of her legs, Smoke groans at the pressure building on his shaft from her actions. The need to get in her aching him into madness.

“No getting shy now Pretty Woman. You betta show ‘er to me.” Smoke commands through gritted teeth.

“Make me.” Annie hiss back as she fights to hold herself out just a moment longer, aching for the edge. 

Smoke reaches back with his free hand and sweeps everything off it; papers, a cigar box, a full ashtray, and the empty bottle of wine. Annie chuckles at the clatter of things and it pitches to excited giggles as Smoke swiftly picks her up with in stand then plops her face down on the desk, her face landing in the puddle of wine. The chair is kicked over next to give Smoke plenty of  room work. 

Annie lets out a long moaning whine as Smoke’s fingers curl into a new place inside her while his palm slaps down on her puffy pussy, finally Annie’s legs unclench and spread for him.. 

“Fuckin’ freak.” Smoke groans when Annie looks back up at him with lusty eyes and licks her pink tongue through the peachy puddle of wine on the desk.

“Do something about it.” Annie taunts.  

And that Smoke does.

 Annie grips the chain around her neck as the jingle of Smoke belt unbuckling echoes in the space, she giggles again when Smoke hand grabs the end of her ponytail and slowly wraps her bundle of braids around his wide hand.

“How much this cost me?” Smoke asks as he starts with a gentle tug on that ponytail that starts to tilt Annie's head back.

“Four hundred dollars, gotta full service.”

“It’s good work,” Smoke says as he wraps another twist, and Annie’s head is completely cocked back. “What you tip her?”

“Two hundred.”

“Hummm… let me test this shit.”

“Elijah” Annie yells as Smoke yanks her up, back up and arched, her head on his shoulders. Smoke lets go of the braids in favor of snaking his hand around the front of her throat just as he thrusts into her leaking pussy from behind. Annie’s velvet walls tighten around his hard dick instinctively to the cold metal of Smoke’s chain now pressed to her bobbing throat. 

Skin slaps, the desk creaks, the music turns up in pitch as Anointed By Miguel starts to play.

Both of them grunting and panting in unison when a moan puffs off Annie’s lips, "Wreck my shit baby.”

One of Annie’s hands wraps around his wrist to move Smoke’s hand down to her sternum. The other hand slaps down harshly on Smoke’s outer thigh. Smoke’s dick jumps inside her making both groans before it finds the bottom of his shirt by his hip and tugs him in deeper. Smoke’s hands grips into the meat of Annie’s hip so hard it promises to bruise as he drills deeper in passion. 

“Feel that dick in ya belly Pretty Woman? It’s gotta put another baby in ya,” Smoke growls out as he bucks in and Annie whines out.

Smoke can’t help but suck, then bite into the shea butter soft flesh of her shoulder. Annie cries out then bites into him as well when Smoke tries to silence her pleasure with a hand over her pretty mouth.

 Smoke thrusts in quicker, Annie’s grinds back match perfectly. Thrust for Thrust. Milking one another in chasing sexual highs.

“ ‘Lijah!” Annie cries out as Smoke thrust becomes wild forcing her ass to clap back on him. Both of Annie’s arms go slack and force Smoke to hold her down onto his dick as she cums. Hard. Fucking boneless and tight on his pulsing shaft.

“Ann, shit!” Smoke hisses out before grunting and they both go slack against the desk and into one another.

Smoke cums into Annie, that pretty flutter of her pussy making him lose himself as well. Heavy rope after heavy rope of cum loading Annie’s creaming pussy.

He shot the fucking club up. 

Annie’s pants as she shakes. Smoke takes a deep breath, kissing the bite mark he lefts on her skin before sitting up and pulling out. Annie moans and nearly cums again at the loss of contact, she claws up the desk until she’s on it enough to properly turn and sit on it. 

Annie takes in the sights of her man, pants and drawls around his ankles and wet with the mix of both of their fluids, his shirt rumpled and damp with sweat and his eyes blow out in lust. Annie places a hand on his chest, right on the button line.

“This the Thom Browne?” Annie whispers hoarsely. Smoke swallows but wordless nods, Annie smirks as she grabs into the seam and rips his shirt open, two buttons popping off at her pressure. Annie runs a hand down his front, feeling every ridge of his torso and licking her lips. 

“Annie, please.” Smoke pleads, “I gotta get you home before this club closes.” the man asks for, but his feet obey as Annie drags him back between her legs with a pull on the shirt. 

“So, you the only one allowed to, rip off clothes, and toss three hundred dollar wine bottles on the ground, huh? There’s over sixteen hundred on the floor Elijiah. Wasteful” Annie rasps while she licks up his collar bone, then sucks on his neck. Smoke hums low in his throat at that, he goes to hold her but Annie forces his hands to her thighs.

“You gonna have to pay up.” Annie commands, Smoke nods. Her hand wrap around his hardening dick, thumb circling the wet head of it and her pinky taps on the side vein. 

“You know where my wallet is.” Smoke grunts. Annie smirks devilishly and pumps on his shaft..

“I don’t want yo money today. You gonna put another baby in me Poppa. ” Annie tells him. 

Smoke matches Annie’s smirk, watching as she lines his dick back up with her pussy slit. Both man and woman gasp as Smoke slips in, Annie moans as he gets back to work. 

---

It’s two am. Both the concert in the venue and the cigar lounge have cleared out of patrons and most of the workers. The only one left is Toni cashing out her register. She perks up as suddenly the door to Smoke office slams open, then heavy steps down the stairwell and finally the people exit. 

Toni shakes her head as Smoke saunters by with Annie perched on his back and hugging around her husband’s shoulders. Annie’s edges and curls fucked out, make up half smudged off, skin stanking of sex and cigars, her eyes dumb and insdead of Annie’s sexy but prim trench dress she wears a wrinkled black maxi dress and Smoke’s blazer. 

“Have a good night Mr. and Mrs. Moore.” Toni says politely. Smoke grins so hard his gold tooth gleams, he slips another one hundred dollar bill.

“Night Toni. When you see Stack tomorrow, tell ‘em the lounge closes for the rest of the weekend.”

-- -- -- --

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[nika324]

Exactly, exactly. ☝🏽

But I knooow he was so tired once he got to the other side though. 😞

shout out to smoke who just in ONE night had to: survive a vampire attack that consisted of people he grew up with and JUST met again after YEARS, see them all get BURN to death, witness his BROTHER get KILLED by a woman they grew up with, almost KILL that brother bc he became a vampire, being forced to KILL his wife HIMSELF because he PROMISED HER after his vampire brother BIT her, save his cousin by KILLING the vampire who STARTED this whole mess in the first place and YET. after that whole night. STILL have enough strenght to go on a 1v10 gun fight with racists in the early morning. and win. wow.

[nika324]

I can’t tell you how satisfying it is, at the end when Smoke kills the last kkk guy, there not being any “nnnooooo 🥺 you can’t kill him!!! 🥺 else you’ll be just as bad as he is!!! 🥺”

Smoke pumped that motherfucker full of lead and got a first class ticket to enjoy heaven with his hot witch wife and his infant daughter. If that pisses you off then go watch the MCU.

[nika324]

I LOVE SMOKE DOWN 😭😍

[nika324]

Smoke is just-

That’s my type through and through, especially as a ⚜️ girly pop.

Provider, protector, solution based, few words but still keeping his word (like k!lling the kl@n), no bullshit, and strict.

I want ALL the smoke… literally. 💨🚬💙 Only me & Annie can handle dat.

Ya’ll can have Stack, no shade. ♥️🙂‍↔️

⬆️ Me anytime Smoke was onscreen. (Also me reading some of yall Smoke smut fics.)

I already spoke about this on my Twitter so ima just post it here too lol.

I gotta give MBJ his 10s bc I’m not a hater… well at least not a full time hater only part time lol.

Prior to SINNERS, *my* opinion on MBJ was that he was a decent looking man and decent actor. He just wasn’t a favorite of mine & that is okayyyy.

But the way he pulled this shit off? I happily ate my words lol. Hopefully, some awards come his way this season. 🫶🏽

[nika324]

not falling for “stack hated annie” propaganda. we saw the scene of smoke chastising them. they woulda been scamming white women on etsy together

[nika324]

Bruh…. This shit was so good. Me next wtffffff.

You chewed, OP.

Don’t Talk To Me 😤

Warnings: 18+ | You are a brat | Smoke is a Dom | Smoke is kind of toxic | Modern AU | Overstimulation | Masterbation |Coochie drilled into oblivion | Creampie | Possession | Jealousy | Ownership | He’s horny | You are horny | 98% smut 2% plot | Let me enjoy my kink for mean men… I’ll go to therapy for it later.

“And when we get back to this house,” he shouted, voice sharp enough to cut through bone, “don’t ask me to do a damn thing.”

Your hand flew up in a sharp dismissive wave as you twisted away from him in the passenger seat, the car jerking slightly as Smoke’s grip tightened around the wheel. “That’s fine! I don’t need you for a fucking thing ANYWAYS!”

The words sliced through the thick tension that had been hanging over the two of you like a thundercloud for the past two damn days. A silent war with no winners and a whole lot of heat. It all started because the barista down at Morning Bloom Coffee smiled a little too long when handing you your oat milk vanilla latte. The barista gave you a simple smile trying to be polite. Maybe he did it a second too long. Maybe not. But either way, Smoke saw red like he always did when it came to you and anyone who wasn’t him.

Without hesitation, he’d socked the man in the mouth so damn fast your drink hit the floor before you could blink. And now two full days later you both were still in a petty, fiery, jealous bender.

Day one of your argument you stayed strong and moved through the house like a queen in a castle that had been overrun by a jealous beast.

Your skincare routine? Luxurious.

Your work calls? On point.

Your outfit? A soft two-piece lounge set that hugged every curve like it missed you.

When dinner came, you threw yourself into it like you were being judged on Top Chef. You marinated lamb chops for hours. Cooked up homemade honey butter biscuits with a dash of cayenne in the butter… just the way… he… liked it. But you made it very clear: that plate was yours and yours alone.

As you cooked, Smoke lingered around the kitchen and his massive frame leaned against the fridge while watching you plate your meal like a hawk. His nostrils flared as his eyes burned holes into your skin. He couldn’t believe his woman wasn’t offering him a plate of food, but he also wasn’t a man who would beg.

While completely ignoring his existence, you sat at the dining table with your legs crossed, lips glistening with lamb jus and smirking between each bite like you were daring him to say something. He didn’t. But oh, the look he gave you… Girl run

When Saturday rolled in the silence started to feel dangerous. This was the one day out of the week when Smoke would usually hit the gym with Stack, run errands he couldn’t get to during the week and any other ‘man shit’ that you didn’t care to know about. But not today. Today, that man made it a point to stay his ass at home. All. Damn. Day. And worse? He did it wearing only grey sweatpants and no shirt.

Every inch of Smoke was carved out of marble by God. Smooth brown skin stretched over thick muscle and broad shoulders. His gold chains swung low, catching the light every time he reached for something. And those damn sweatpants? They hung low. Way too damn low while leaving nothing to the imagination.

You were sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but your eyes kept sliding up catching every stretch, every shift, and every flex Smoke would make.

When he purposefully reached his arm up to stretch, that’s when he caught you. “Fuck you staring at?” His voice was deep and sharp. His lips curled into a smirk even as his eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what you were doing.

Your mouth went dry but you sucked your teeth and rolled your eyes before firing back just as sharp. “Ain’t nobody looking at you, nigga.” You turned your head fast, placed a nearby throw blanket onto your lap, and squeezed your thighs shut like you weren’t damn near vibrating with need.

Smoke let out a scoff and dropped onto the armchair across from you, legs spread wide, one hand rubbing the scruff along his jaw, the other dragging down his thigh like he didn’t know what that did to you. But he knew. Of course he knew. Because he’s a SLUT. Smoke was a man born with sin in his bloodstream and you were his favorite outlet.

“You real bold when your pussy hungry,” he goaded without looking at you, just low enough to make your stomach flip. “Real fuckin’ bold.”

You didn’t respond. Your throat tightened and your fingers curled into the blanket as heat spread between your thighs like wildfire. You hated how your body betrayed you. How your nipples perked beneath your tank top just from hearing his voice like that. How your lower belly tightened at the memory of his mouth, his hands, his— Stop. You weren’t going to fold. Not this time. No. This time you had a point to prove… So you stayed quiet.

Smoke leaned forward then, his forearms braced on his knees, honey brown eyes finally locking with yours. He was so beautiful it made your chest hurt. That hard jaw. That slow burn in his stare. The way his gold tooth caught the light when he smirked.

“You gon’ act like you don’t hear me? I said…” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher, “… you real bold when your pussy hungry.”

You tossed the blanket off your lap like a challenge and stood up, storming past him toward the kitchen. But before you could make it, his hand snatched your wrist. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped.

“I ain’t touchin’ you,” he said coolly, pulling you gently, slow and patient, until you were standing right between his legs. “I’m remindin’ you. That mouth? That attitude? That little fake-ass silent treatment you think you givin’? That shit don’t work on me, pretty girl.”

He looked up at you like you were the last good thing in a ruined world. And then his eyes dropped trailing slowly down your body, soaking in every soft curve, every part of you he knew like scripture. “Go on. Keep walkin’ away,” he muttered, voice like hardened steel. “But I know damn well you miss how it feel when I grab the back of that neck and tell you to hush while I—”

“Don’t.” You said it too fast. Too breathless.

He grinned. That arrogant grin that made your knees weak and your pride falter. “You really mad?” he asked quietly, now wrapping a hand around your thigh and easing you a fraction closer. “Or you just don’t wanna admit that I had a reason to knock that pretty boy barista out his damn shoes?”

You sarcastically laughed at Smoke’s audacity. “That man smiled. That’s it. You almost went to jail over a smile.”

“Don’t care.” He leaned forward, nose brushing against your lower belly, breath warm through the cotton of your tank. “Anyone smile at you like that again, I’ll put him in the dirt.”

You stared down at him, your fingers twitching by your sides. “You’re a damn lunatic.”

“Yup.” His eyes lifted, black and unrepentant. “Your lunatic.”

You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream and bite and ride and cry and maybe all at once. But instead, you turned your head, stared at the wall, and whispered, “Don’t talk to me.”

Smoke scoffed and his grip tightened before he kissed the inside of your thigh, right on that special spot that always makes you forget how to think straight. The kiss was gentle… dangerous… knowing “Aight, baby,” his voice muffled against your skin. “I won’t say a word.” But the fire in those orbs told a different story.

When you finally pulled away, storming back into the kitchen to cool down, you could feel his stare trailing behind you like a shadow with claws. You stood next to the kitchen island hoping for a moment of peace but instead your heart rattled like a stray bullet in your chest. The room felt too hot, too still… way too still, like the moment right before a thunderstorm when all the air gets sucked out of the sky and the ground doesn’t know whether to shake or stay still.

You ran your hands through your hair and let out a frustrated sigh. After 24 hours of being strong, you couldn’t let yourself fold from a little thigh kiss. You weren’t even hungry, but your hands moved on autopilot, opening the fridge, grabbing things, pretending like your body wasn’t still humming from the feel of his mouth on your thigh.

Smoke wasn’t slick and you weren’t safe. Not from him and not from the heat building up under your skin like it was trying to boil you alive. Behind you, the sound of the armchair creaking and his footsteps thumping across the hardwood made you hold your breath. You didn’t bother turning, you already knew the look on his face was smug and cocky like he was just biding time until your pride finally tapped out.

“You heavy-footed on purpose?” you muttered without looking at him. “Or you tryna make sure I know you comin’ so I don’t swing a skillet at your head?”

Smoke didn’t say a word but you heard the slow grind of his teeth and a slight click when his tongue hit the back of them. Then, the fridge door beside you opened. His arm brushed yours with intent and his skin was as hot as a stovetop. He reached in and grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a long, long drink like he had been parched since war-time.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Instead you stopped fiddling with the random assortment of ingredients and crossed your arms under your chest so tightly your hands started going numb. But none of that mattered. Smoke was standing so close now with his presence wrapping around you like a weighted blanket made of lustful desire, silently daring you to keep dismissing him.

“You really don’t want me talkin’ to you?” he asked finally with his tone full of challenge. “Even though your thighs damn near gave up and invited me in just now?”

You turned your head and squinted your eyes at him. “You punched an innocent man for smiling at me!”

“And I said a barista don’t need to be starin’ at what’s mine like he got a fuckin’ chance!”

“You don’t own me, Elijah,” you mumbled.

That was the first time you’d said his real name in days. And you had the nerve to use it while telling him that he doesn’t own you.

Smoke’s jaw ticked. His nostrils flared. And then he laughed like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with you right now. “I don’t own you?” he repeated, stepping in now, cornering you against the counter. “You right… You right, you grown, huh? Real grown. Is that why you been sittin’ in this house clenching your lil thighs every time I so much as stretch?”

“Back up,” you whispered. It didn’t sound as strong as you wanted it to. Not when your back hit the cold of the cabinet and your front was all warm-blooded temptation and hard muscle.

Smoke leaned in like a snake slithering across grass before striking its prey. His lips brushed your ear, and his voice dropped to a place that made your belly twist. “Tell me to back up one more time, baby,” he taunted, “and mean it.”

You swallowed thickly, chest rising fast beneath your thin top.

His hand settled on the counter beside your hip, the other drifting ever so gently down the side of your arm, brushing like a warning. “Say it,” he taunted again. “Or let me remind you why you don’t ever sleep right unless I’m wrapped around you.”

Now it was your turn to clench your jaw but your breath betrayed you. Your thighs pressed together again, heat rushing back like a tidal wave. “Why you always gotta be like this?” you breathed, voice barely holding on.

He chuckled darkly. “Because I know what’s mine.” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing the dip of your waist. “And I know when she lyin’… putting on a front.” He kissed your neck just once to test the waters. It was soft but full of possession.

And when you didn’t stop him, when you didn’t shove him away, he nipped your collarbone and muttered, “You gon’ keep fightin’ me or you gon’ let Daddy fix this?”

“I’m still mad at you,” you said, even as your fingers gripped his sweatpants.

“Stay mad then,” he growled, lifting you up onto the counter like you weighed nothing. “But don’t pretend you don’t need me.”

It took all your might to not whimper when his hand slid between your thighs, the heat of his palm making your eyes roll back. “I told… you not… to talk to me,” you gasped.

Smoke smirked against your throat. “Then put that pretty lil pussy in my face and shut me up.”

Your eyes squinted into a glare and heat rushed up your neck as your lips parted in disbelief. Your body wanted him. Badly. But your mind… that damn stubborn, bratty, prideful-ass mind was not about to let him win this round so easily.

And so… you did what any unhinged woman dating Elijah Moore would do and shoved a hand into his perfect face… and mushed him. What color roses do you want at your funeral? You pushed his cocky expression away like you were slapping a mosquito. The suddenness made him take a step back, just long enough for you to hop down from the counter in one quick motion and scurry away like a rabbit setting itself free from a snare.

“I said don’t talk to me, nigga!” you yelled, snatching your composure back like a silk robe off the floor.

You stormed out the kitchen, and tossed a middle finger over your shoulder. “And put some damn clothes on! Walkin’ ‘round this house like I could buy you for the night with two dollars and a half-stick of gum!”

Smoke stood still like a statue and for a second he didn't know if he was dreaming or if his woman was truly out of her damn mind. Then that low, dangerous laugh rolled from his chest like thunder over wet concrete. It was a sound that did nothing but pour gasoline on the flames already licking between your thighs. He loved when you got like this, wild-eyed, stubborn-lipped, and sass pouring from your throat like it was made of honey and broken glass.

He knew you’d fold. And when you did… he’d be the one to catch you.

The rest of the day you avoided Smoke like the floor was lava and he was the devil waiting at the bottom. You locked yourself in your shared bedroom and buried yourself in the sheets like they could protect you from the walking sin on the other side of the door. You distracted yourself for hours. Scrolled through your phone. Scrolled again. Played lo-fi beats. Switched to gospel. Thought about cooking. Decided not to because that would involve you leaving your sanctuary. Thought about apologizing. Decided not to because it would be a cold day in hell before you apologize to him. Thought about touching yourself… Absolutely did not… yet.

Eventually, your body gave in to exhaustion. The softness of the pillows, the hum of the AC in the background and the scent of Smoke lingering on the sheets rocked you into a tense, twitchy sleep. And then your mind betrayed you.

Of course your unconscious mind decided to betray you as you went off into dreamland. Dream-Smoke had his mouth everywhere on your body. On your neck. Down your chest. Between your thighs. This version of Smoke was utterly ruthless. He said your name like it was a threat and a prayer. His hands gripped your legs like he was holding onto the only thing that made sense in this godforsaken world.

“Open up, baby. Yeah, just like that…”

Your body arched in your sleep, your mouth parted, a soft moan fluttering against the dark. And right when you were about to reach that shimmering edge, Dream-Smoke pulled back and taunted in your ear, “Shouldn’t’ve told me not to talk, huh?”

You gasped yourself awake and the bedroom was cloaked in darkness, only a soft sliver of moonlight slipped between the curtains. Your chest heaved and your pajama shorts were damn near soaked through. The cotton stuck to your core like it had a vendetta. A frown pulled at your lips and a tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it.

You turned your head to look at the blinking alarm clock through wet eyes and frowned again. It was currently 2:03 AM and you couldn’t believe you somehow slept the entire the day away.

Peaking over your shoulder you let out a disgruntled sigh. Smoke was laid out like he didn’t have a care in the world. One arm slung behind his head, chest rising and falling with calm, heavy breaths. That same damn pair of grey sweatpants still clung to his hips. He looked peaceful. Angelic even. You wanted to punch him and make him suffer for what Dream-Smoke started but didn’t finish. But since you already got away with mushing him in the face you didn’t want to test your luck and simply whined.

A shaky, bratty, needy whimper left your throat as you wiped your still falling tears and leaned over, gently nudging Smoke's shoulder. He grunted and cracked one eye open. “What, baby?” His voice was sleep-worn and you tried not to focus on what hearing it was doing to your already wounded up body.

You pouted in the dark, nose wrinkled, lips trembling. “This is ALL your fault.”

Raising your voice early in the morning got Smoke’s full attention and he blinked slowly, as the remnants of sleep cleared from his face like a curtain lifting. His eyes found you in the moonlit darkness. You looked so adorable to him, pouty-lipped, flushed cheeks, and thighs pressed tightly together under the covers.

“The fuck you yellin’ at me for and cryin’ this early in the morning?” he asked, now fully awake, his tone clipped with concern and confusion.

You sniffled. “I… I need… I want… I want… to touch myself,” you admitted, lip quivering dramatically. “And since I’m still mad at you… I need you to leave the bed.”

Smoke blinked once at you and then again into the darkness like he was on an episode of The Office. He didn’t expect to be so entertained by your antics today and he started to chuckle to himself. This wasn’t a typical ‘I love how bratty my girl is acting’ type of laugh. No, this was a dark, ‘this girl done lost her fuckin’ mind’ laugh.

“You woke me up,” he said slowly, to make sure he got all the details correct, “to tell me that you’re horny… and I need to leave our bed… so you can touch what belongs to me?”

Your throat tightened. When Smoke repeated everything out loud it did sound kind of insane but that was besides the point. “You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin and pointing it to the door. “Now go.”

Smoke let out a final chuckle and didn’t move. He leaned back on one elbow, eyes gleaming in the dark like he could see the mess you’d become under those covers. “You really out here throwin’ tantrums at two in the morning ‘cause you can’t handle how badly you want me to fuck that attitude out of you?” he teased.

“I am handling it,” you bit back. “I’m asking you to leave. Like a grown woman.”

His tongue slid along the inside of his cheek. Then he reached down, adjusted himself in those sweats just slightly, and let out a hum that made your thighs twitch. “You sure?” he asked gently, like he was talking to a skittish wild animal about to bolt. “You sure you want me to leave, baby?”

“Yes,” you whispered, even as your legs squirmed beneath the blanket. “I don’t need you. I can do it myself.”

“Mhm… is that right...”

Smoke sat up slowly before swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He stood to his full height and then without saying another word he discarded his sweatpants, letting the moonlight shine on his intimidating half-hard manhood. You sat in complete shock, unsure what to say or what to do. Your mouth stayed agape and you could’ve sworn you didn’t breathe for 2 minutes, Your whole body burned with need and you hated this feeling.

And he spoke again in a cruel velvet-slick tone, “Go on then.” He climbed back in bed and laid on his back with his hands behind his head like he didn’t just take his pants off. “Show me how you don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was so thick it felt like smoke itself. It crackled with the weight of what you wanted to do and what your pride wouldn’t allow. Your fingers trembled under the blanket. You hated him, yet you wanted him. And you hated how badly you wanted him. All of this only made the leaking faucet between your thighs turn into a full blown fire hose.

He bit his bottom lip before antagonizing you. “Might help if you stop cryin’, baby. You can’t see your lil fingers down there with all them tears foggin’ up your eyesight.”

Your fists balled with annoyance but your thighs began to slightly part. Smoke didn’t move or touch you. He didn’t even acknowledge the way he could smell your sweet aroma in the room. He just gave you a look that said, ‘You can play this game all night, pretty girl… I’ll be here when you break.’

And you were so, so close to shattering. You stared at him like he’d summoned a demon into the room and dared you to dance with it.

Smoke stretched his long body across the bed like he was on display. Like he wasn’t a man who just dropped his pants in the middle of a silent standoff and dared you to stay proud. With his arms folded beneath his head, the swell of his chest rose and fell as if he weren’t aware of the war going on inside your body. The tension. The hunger. The absolute need that clawed at your insides like a caged animal. His dick sat heavy between his thighs, thick and idle, like it had time to wait. Like it knew it would be fed eventually.

“You got five seconds before I close my eyes and go back to sleep,” he grumbled without looking at you. “So go ahead. Get to rubbin’. Let me hear how good you make yourself feel without my help.”

Your lip trembled. You weren’t crying anymore, not from frustration anyway. But your thighs were sticky, your panties were soaked through, and every nerve ending in your body was throbbing like you’d been edgewalking through purgatory. Still… you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of begging. So you huffed in a loud and obnoxious manner before wiping your cheeks like a toddler who just got scolded. You then yanked the covers off your body and laid flat on your back beside him, arms stiff at your sides.

Smoke turned his head slightly, one brow arched. “Thought you said you didn’t need me,” he said, tone sharp and mocking.

“I don’t,” you snapped. “I just need space.”

He smirked. “You sound stupid.”

You glared at the ceiling. “You look stupid.”

Another beat of silence. Then your hand slowly dragged beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, and your breath hitched. You weren’t even doing anything yet, and your whole body tensed like you were about to commit a crime.

Smoke didn’t move but he watched from the corner of his eye. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, heavy and loaded. Like if he blinked, he might miss the exact moment you broke. Your fingers brushed against your panties and found them soaked, the cotton clinging to your folds like it was trying to apologize for being in the way. You let out a shaky breath and your fingers twitched as you slid them beneath the fabric and gently grazed your clit.

The behemoth of a man next to you exhaled through his nose but he didn’t say a word as he continued to observe. You rubbed slow circles, small and hesitant, still stubborn as hell and still trying to prove a point you were seconds from losing as a soft and breathy moan slipped out.

Smoke turned his head toward you fully now, his gaze dark and unreadable. “You always make yourself sound so pretty,” he said, voice lower now, rough and molten. “But it don’t hit the same, do it?”

You didn’t answer him but your hips rolled in response to his question. Your hand moved faster. Your breath stuttered. Your back arched. Still—not a word. You didn’t plead or cry for help. To prove your point you used your own hand and held back the silent scream in your throat. Then you finally felt it… that build. It climbed your spine and tingled through your limbs, coiling low and tight in your belly like lightning trapped behind your navel. But just as your toes curled and your moans grew louder… Smoke’s hand slammed down on your wrist and you yelped.

He was above you now, face inches from yours, his chest heaving, lips parted. “That’s enough,” he growled. “This little show? Over.”

“Wha—? I didn’t even—” you started, but he cut you.

“You really gon’ make yourself cum when I’m layin’ right here?” he snapped, pressing your wrist into the mattress with one hand while the other dragged your shorts down in one brutal yank. “Tryna act like you in control of somethin’ when this pussy don’t even belong to you no more?”

You whimpered as his mouth crashed into yours, all heat and dominance, devouring your lips like he was punishing you for breathing without permission. His tongue pushed into your mouth while his hips settled between your thighs, and you could feel all of him, heavy and hot, grinding against your bare heat.

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured against your mouth, voice trembling with restraint.

You blinked up at him, dazed and breathless. “Asked… what?”

“If I was done bein’ mad,” he answered, dragging his tip along your soaked entrance, teasing but never pushing in. “Cause I wasn’t. Not yet.” And with that he slid in excruciatingly slow. So slow you nearly blacked out.

“Now,” he growled, gripping your throat just enough to make your heart flutter, “you don’t talk to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he filled you inch by inch, until all nine inches of his rock hard flesh stretched you out causing your back arch off the bed. Once he was completely sheathed inside of your warm gummy walls Smoke didn’t move. Not yet. He held himself still with his hand still resting on your throat—not choking, just a firm reminder of who was in control. Of whose name was stitched into the folds of your body like ownership. Like scripture.

Your lashes fluttered as a soft, broken whimper escaped your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed, watching your face intently. “That’s what I thought.”

The weight of him, the heat, the way his body caged yours like a storm rolling over weak land, every bit of it made your spine tremble. He didn’t have to say it, didn’t need to ask… he already knew. This wasn’t about sex anymore. This was about submission. About surrender. About you thinking you could ignore him, silence him, deny him, and still sleep soundly next to him every night.

His hips rolled meticulously and grinded so deep you swore you saw stars behind your eyes. His pace was punishing in its patience. Purposeful and steady. Like he wanted you to feel the agony he felt every second you ignored him. Every breath you wasted pretending you didn’t need him.

“You really thought you was gon’ touch yourself in this bed?” he grunted, lips ghosting over your jaw as he rocked into you again. “While I laid next to you? Like I ain’t the one that got this pussy cryin’ in the first place?”

You couldn’t even respond. Your mouth opened but no sound came out, just a sharp inhale, a choked moan, and the clenching of your legs around his hips.

He groaned low like he felt your apology in the way your walls pulled him in tighter.

“This one… if for every time you rolled your eyes at me,” THRUST.

“This one… is for every time you walked away from me,” THRUST.

“Fuck… and THIS one is for every time you told me not to talk to you,” SLAM.

You whimpered beneath him, nails digging into his arms as your pride cracked wide open and your body begged to be ruined. You couldn’t handle this torturous unhurried fuck session. You needed your walls plowed to smithereens and you needed it to happen right now. “I hate you,” you gasped.

“Shut up. You love me,” he corrected with a smirk, snapping his hips against yours harder now. “You love me when I got you stuffed full and dumb off my name.”

Your moans turned shameless… so soft, high, and desperate. Each slow thrust had you melting further, your bratty resolve unraveling like a ribbon. And Smoke? He watched the transformation like it was art. “There she go…” he whispered. “There’s my girl. Ain’t no talkin’ now, huh? Just that lil mouth open like you got somethin’ to say… but still don’t know how to say sorry.”

You finally met his gaze, eyes wide and glassy with need. “I’m—” you tried.

He pressed his fingers against your lips. “Nope.” Another thrust. Brutal. Deep. You cried out. “Don’t say shit else to me... Just take it.”

He dipped his head, kissed the corner of your mouth with an intimacy that contrasted the way he was owning you from the inside out. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, hips rising to meet him while chasing the edge of pleasure like you’d die if you didn’t reach it soon.

“I got you,” he whispered, his breath warm and ragged against your ear. “Go on, baby. Let go. Let me take it.”

Your orgasm crept up your spine like a threat, your whole body tightening under him. “Smoke—” you breathed, one hand tangling in the bedsheets beneath you, the other clutching his shoulder like a lifeline.

“I know, I know. Shhh, baby,” he cooed. “Come on. I got you.” And when you finally shattered—mouth open, legs shaking, eyes rolling—he never let up. He kept fucking you through it, hips grinding, mouth pressing kisses to your throat and chest, whispering your name like prayer and punishment all at once.

You went limp beneath him and he pulled back just enough to look you in the face, brushing a lone tear from your cheek. “You still mad?”

You blinked up at him, dazed and ruined. He smirked again. That same crooked, devilish thing that started it all. “Yeah… you look like you still got a fuckin’ attitude.”

Your chest rose and fell in shallow waves with your skin covered in sweat as you lay there boneless and ruined beneath him.

Smoke hovered above you like a storm cloud that refused to pass. His body didn’t press down; he just hovered, solid and still, like a hunter watching his prey breathe after the first strike. His arms caged you on either side, head tilted slightly as his gold chain swung gently from his neck and tapped your collarbone. Your legs still trembled from the aftershock and your thighs involuntarily locked around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

But Smoke didn’t move, he was so deep inside of you that you could barely think. And instead of chasing his own pleasure like any other man might, he just stared and studied you like you were the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. You felt the subtle twitch of him inside you, ready, but not rushing. Not desperate. Because Smoke wasn’t a man ruled by impulse. He was ruled by control. And he wielded it like a blade.

“You done squeezing my dick?” he asked quietly, voice low and relaxed, like he had nowhere else to be but right here. “Or you need a minute to remember where you at?”

You blinked slowly, lips still tingling from where he kissed you, still too blissed out to string a proper sentence together. But he waited—patient, immovable—as your brows knit together, that ache you just got rid of was already building again and you finally realized… he wasn’t finished. He still hadn’t moved. And now, you were too aware of it. Too aware of the way he filled you like he’d been carved just for you. Too aware of the steady rise and fall of his chest. Of how warm and thick and ready he still felt inside you.

“Smoke,” you whined, voice hoarse and fragile.

He cocked a brow, his gold tooth glinting in the dark. “Yeah, baby?”

Your thighs flexed around him again, a needy little roll of your hips that made you whimper even as you tried to hold your pride in place. His hand slid slowly up the side of your throat, fingers curling around the hinge of your jaw to tilt your face up toward his.

“You feel that?” he murmured.

You nodded weakly, lips parting.

“I been sittin’ still. Holdin’ back,” he whispered, each word slipping into your mouth like honey and heat. “You been cryin’, whinin’, beggin’ me to leave. But I ain’t goin’ nowhere, baby.”

He leaned down, forehead nearly touching yours. “I stay when you bratty. Stay when you act like you don’t want me. Stay when you try to punish me with silence.”

A soft, broken sound spilled from your lips.

“I stay… ‘cause you mine.” Then finally… he moved again. Just a slow roll of his hips. Barely there. Just enough to make you feel the stretch again. Just enough to remind your body that your first orgasm was nothing but the beginning. Your nails found his back again, dragging lightly over the skin of his shoulders as your breath caught.

“You thought I was gon’ break first,” he said, dragging himself out slowly before sinking back into you. “Didn’t you?”

You moaned, head tipping back, throat arching beneath his palm.

“You thought that lil attitude was enough to make me lose my cool.” Another thrust. Deep and slow. The kind that made your vision blur.

“But you forgot who you dealin’ with,” he grunted as his lips brushed your ear. “I can fuck this perfect pussy slow like this for hours and still not cum.”

You whimpered again, your hips twitching, your body betraying you as your heat reignited. He kissed the curve of your cheek, your jaw, your ear.

“You don’t get quick fucks when you act like you don’t need me.” His hand slid between your bodies, fingers slipping down until they found that tender, swollen bundle of nerves. “You get discipline.”And as his fingers began to move in calculated devastating circles, his hips continued their cruel rhythm and your body began to shake again.

You could barely breathe. Every inch of your body was coated in sweat, your skin fever-hot, while your senses flooded with overstimulation. Smoke hadn’t let up and he hadn’t sped up either. That was the worst part… or maybe the best. He moved with purpose and mastery. Every grind of his hips was deep, as he poured himself into you like he was trying to combine your souls into one. And his fingers… God. The pads of them circled your clit with such devastating precision, you swore you were unraveling on a molecular level. Like you were coming apart from the inside out.

You gripped at his shoulders, his back, his biceps, wherever you could reach… but you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t change the pace. Couldn’t make him move faster no matter how much your legs shook or your voice cracked. “P-please,” you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for. Release? Mercy? More?

Smoke leaned down, brushing his lips against your cheek with a smug grin carved into his face. “Oh… You beggin’ now?” he asked. “Wasn’t too long ago you was flippin’ me off and actin’ like I was walkin’ around here like a cheap thrill.”

His voice vibrated against your neck, dragging goosebumps down your spine. “You wanna cum again, pretty girl?” he murmured, fingers pressing down just slightly harder, swirling against your clit like he was drawing a map to your breakdown. “Is that what all them little tears are for?”

You whined, nodding frantically, your thighs beginning to quake again. Smoke didn’t speed up. He didn’t need to. Your body was desperate for him and would greedily take whatever was given. He knew you so well he could fuck you out of a meltdown without ever changing rhythm.

“You don’t deserve to cum yet,” he said lowly, pulling his mouth back to hover just above yours. “But I’m gon’ let you anyway. Just so you remember who got you moaning so loud our neighbors might file a noise complaint tomorrow.”

He moved in again with one solid and controlled stroke that made your eyes roll and your nails dig so deep into his back you swore you could feel muscle give. Your body started to quiver. “No—no, wait—” you whimpered, because you felt it building too fast, the peak rising like a wave with nowhere to go.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice laced with hunger now, though his pace never changed. “That’s it. Go on. Cum on my dick.”

He kissed you and swallowed your cries as your walls constricted around him and you came again, harder than before. Your body jerked beneath him as your second orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave smashing through a dam. You sobbed into his mouth, a mix of bliss and frustration and pure, helpless surrender. Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your nails dug into his flesh like he was the only thing keeping you from drifting away.

Smoke pulled back just enough to look at your face that was flushed and tear-streaked, while your mouth hung open in silent shock as you rode the aftershocks. “I don’t think that attitude is gone yet” he rasped, still deep inside you, still hard as stone. “You need another reminder. Don’t you, baby?”

You nodded weakly unable to form words.

Smoke slid his hand up your ribcage, slow and reverent, until he cupped the side of your face. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, tugging it gently. “I ain’t even started your real punishment yet.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Two days you gave me attitude,” he murmured, kissing your chin. “Two days you walked around this house actin’ like you forgot what my name felt like between your thighs… I'm nowhere near done with you yet.”

You gasped, your fingers twitched around his arms, already worn down and so full of him. You didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes or lifetimes that passed with him moving inside you like that—slow, deliberate, dominant. Your body felt swollen with sensation, soaked in the aftermath of two back-to-back orgasms that had left your breath scattered like glass shards across the mattress.

Your skin was hot to the touch, your muscles limp, your mind foggy with a heady mix of defiance and surrender. And through it all, Smoke hadn’t broken his rhythm. His stamina was inhuman, like he fed off control, fed off the way your body twitched and sobbed under his. The way you needed more and hated that it had to come from him.

But then… Something shifted. His eyes… those dark, obsidian things dragged across your face. He licked his lips, slow and thoughtful. Then he pulled back again. All the way out. You cried at the loss of fullness and rose your hips involuntarily trying to chase him. Smoke grinned but it wasn’t a playful or kind grin. Without a word, he grabbed your hips, flipped you over onto your stomach, and yanked your ass up until you were on your knees, chest pressed to the mattress. He spread your legs with his own and ran a hand down your back.

“You said I looked like I could be bought for two dollars and some gum,” he growled, dragging himself against your folds, wet and swollen and already twitching from anticipation.

You swallowed, face buried in the sheets. You remembered and silently cursed to yourself.

He leaned down, mouth grazing your ear as he lined himself up behind you. “Good thing for you, I don’t charge. But I do collect.”

And then he slammed into you. No warning. No patience. The thrust knocked the wind out of your lungs. “E-ELIJAHHHH! F-FUCKKK!” you cried, hands gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

Smoke’s pace was nothing like before. All that held-back heat, all that restraint? Gone. His hips snapped against you with vicious precision, his grip digging into your hips as your ass slapped against him, over and over, filling the room with the sound of skin meeting skin and your broken cries.

“This what you wanted?” he grunted, every word punched out between thrusts. “All that mouth, all that attitude… This what you needed to calm down?”

You couldn’t even answer. Couldn’t form a thought. Your voice was raw with whimpers and your tears stained the pillow as you arched back into him on instinct, chasing every brutal, perfect stroke.

He reached around and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough to whisper against your jaw. “You talk big,” he hissed, thrusting deep, “but this pussy always tell the truth.”

You sobbed out a yes. Or maybe his name. Or maybe just a noise—because that’s all you were now. A body molded to his pace. A vessel of heat and ache and want. And then… He slowed again. But this time, his strokes were hard and measured. That had your eyes rolling and your teeth sinking into the pillow to stop yourself from screaming his name like a confession.

“You feel how deep I am?” he groaned, voice thick and low behind you. “You gon’ run your mouth next time a man so much as smiles at you?”

You shook your head quickly, biting down on your bottom lip as you wavered between reality and subspace.

“Use your words,” he demanded before landing hard smacks on your ass that turned your ebony skin bright red.

“No—no, Smo- Daddy! I won’t, I swear—” you gasped, voice choked and high.

“Damn right you won’t.”

He dragged you up by your waist, pulling your back against his chest, one arm wrapping across your ribs, the other snaking down to rub your clit in slow, punishing circles again.

“Let another nigga smile at you again in public and I’ma bend you over right then and there,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “Make sure everybody knows who you belong to.”

You cried out again, the pleasure building faster than your body could handle. It was too much but you loved every second of it. And Smoke? He was relentless. Focused. Determined to etch his name into your skin, your bones, your fucking soul.

“You gon’ cum one more time for me,” he ordered, fingers working faster now. “And then I’ll think about lettin’ myself nut.”

You couldn’t even reply because your body was already shaking. Your walls were already spasming around his brutal rod. You felt your mind spiral into that place that only he could take you. The place where pride didn’t exist and control was something you gave him freely.

“Go on, baby,” he ordered. “Make my dick shiny. Cum for me.”

And you did. Harder than you’ve ever climaxed before. This orgasm felt spiritual like your soul kissed the feet of God before asking for forgiveness and traveling back into your human vessel. You screamed his name into the pillow like a secret finally confessed, your body convulsed, your legs collapsed beneath you as he held you upright, grunting through clenched teeth.

Smoke held you there, both of you trembling in the twinkling moonlight shining through the bedroom. Your back was slick against his chest, your breath short and stuttering. His arm was still banded tight across your stomach, the other gripping your thigh with bruising intensity, like he didn’t trust his body not to break you if he let it go free. You felt every inch of him—still deep, still pulsing, still holding on with that impossible restraint that made you ache in places words couldn’t touch.

“Fuck… Fuck… Don’t move,” he moaned, his voice cracking down the middle—low, rasped, and dangerous. “Don’t.”

You didn’t dare disobey your man. You were already trembling too hard, barely tethered to your body. Your face was damp with tears, your thighs quaking, your walls still fluttering in waves around him.

“Shit, baby…” he growled, his voice buried somewhere between awe and agony. “You tryin’ to milk me dry, huh?”

You whimpered. Not out of pain. But because you felt it—felt that slow-building quake start to rattle through him. The way his grip tightened. The way his hips stilled just for a beat too long. You felt the flex in his abdomen, the tension coiling at the base of his spine like a spring being wound to the brink of snapping.

Your last orgasm clenched down onto his dick perfectly and now he was close trying to fight against it. You turned your face slightly from the pillow, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “Why’re you holdin’ it in?”

Smoke gritted his teeth tightly. “‘Cause once I let go…” he hissed, “you ain’t gon’ be able to walk, let alone keep talkin’ shit like you ain’t mine.”

You shivered under him. “But I am yours,” you whispered, the confession slipping out with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

That broke him. Smoke let out a low, raw groan as his grip shifted. He grabbed your hips with both hands, holding you still as his restraint finally began to splinter.

“Say it again.”

“Smoke—”

“Say. It. Again.”

Your voice caught in your throat, but you gave it to him, every word thick with truth and heat. “I’m yours,” you breathed. “I’ve always been yours.”

He let out something between a moan and a curse as he started to move again. Each thrust was rough with purpose, his rhythm tight and controlled even as his body fought against itself for release. “I should’ve made you say that two days ago,” he murmured into your neck. “Could’ve saved us both a whole lot of trouble.”

You could feel him on edge now. His hands were shaking. His thighs flexed with every grind forward. His jaw locked. “Fuck, baby… you feel too good,” he rasped. “Too fucking good.”

You whimpered, barely holding yourself up as he rutted into you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

“Where you want it?” he choked out, voice frayed and thick with hunger. His hand fisted the meat of your ass, keeping your hips tilted perfectly, helplessly open for him.

“Tell me. Right here?” he ground into you deeper—deeper—and your whole body jolted like he’d struck a nerve that reached your soul.

“Want me to fill this pretty pussy up?” he growled, hips snapping forward again, rough, rhythmic, merciless. “You want me to cum so deep you leak for days, huh? So every time you open your legs, you remember who the fuck owns it?”

You tried to answer, but your voice cracked around the sound of your own moan.

Your body was done. Shaking, oversensitive, strung out from back-to-back orgasms—but still hungry for him. Still desperate to take all of him, to feel the final blow. The one he’d been holding back since the minute he put his hands on you.

Smoke’s thrusts became heavier and it became obvious he was losing the reins. His grip on your hips turned bruising, and a deep, guttural snarl ripped out of him like it came from the base of his spine. “Answer me, baby! Where. You. Want. It?”

“Inside,” you cried, head buried in the sheets, hips bucking against him. “Please, Smoke, fill me up.”

Smoke roared before grabbing you by the back of your neck and forcing your chest flush to the mattress. His other hand yanked your ass back into him, hard enough to make your eyes roll. His body collapsed over yours, hot and massive and trembling as he began to pound into you like a man possessed. No more teasing. No more patience. Just raw, primal need.

“You fuckin’ take it,” he growled in your ear. “You take every drop. That’s mine. You hear me? Mine. This pussy… this whole fuckin’ body… you think I’m lettin’ it walk around untouched, unclaimed? Nah. Nah, baby. I’m leavin’ my fuckin’ mark.”

His thrusts were devastating now. Every stroke came with the full weight of his body. His hips snapped forward like punishment, his chest slick against your back, his voice a broken, dirty prayer in your ear.

“I can’t—” you gasped, sobbing against the sheets.

“Yes, you… can,” he growled, his voice deep and guttural, hips pounding harder now. “You will. You gon’ take every drop I give you… then lay here… and thank me for it like a good girl. Understand?”

You felt the tremor roll through his body as his thighs tensed, his back flexed, and the ragged stutter of his breath grew as he chased his own breaking point. He was close. So close. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice sharp as a razor. “Say you’re mine while I paint these walls. Say it with my dick buried in this pussy.”

You cried out, clawing at the sheets, tears streaking your face. “I’m yours, Smoke! I’m yours, please—cum inside me!”

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself so deep you screamed, and then he moaned your name like it was the last word he’d ever say.

You were on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness when you felt Smoke’s hot and heavy load spilling into you in thick waves as his body seized behind you, every muscle locked in place. His nails dug into your hips as he held you there, stuffed full, claimed and ruined. His head dropped into your neck, his moan drawn-out, ragged, the sound of a man breaking as he finally gave in.

He stayed like that. Still pulsing inside you and panting. His lips grazed your skin, open-mouthed, breath hot. Then, after a long, heavy silence—he exhaled and murmured low, almost reverent: “Mine.”

And this time, you didn’t argue. Because your body? It agreed.

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Authors Note: This was just a one shot to get all the horn horn energy out before I finish my series🥴🙂‍↕️ I understand mean Smoke isn’t for everyone but… HE IS VERY GORGEOUS TO MEEEE!!!

[nika324]

MEGAN THEE STALLION attends the Pete & Thomas Foundation Gala in New York City (July 16, 2025)