#and makes them promise to never make him do that again

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine getting married to Caleb ft. non-mc reader.

Imagine you did not even remember when you stopped breathing. One second, you were standing beneath the soft glow of the chapel lights, heart beating inside your chest like something caged but still hopeful and before you even knew it, time simply stopped.

Imagine the string quartet has been playing the same piece over and over again and now it sounds less like music and more like an apology.

Imagine the aisle is long. Beautiful and lined with white flowers and people who love you or at least pretend to and all of them are watching you. Watching as the minutes keep ticking.

Imagine twelve minutes have passes on and then, eighteen. Twenty seven.

Imagine, He's not coming. Thats the thought that slices through you like a blade and you hate it. Hate that your brain dares to whisper it before your heart is ready to accept it. But you’ve already scanned the room three times, and every time your eyes pass over the empty double doors, the weight in your chest grows heavier. Like your ribs are closing in on themselves.

Imagine Leanne's voice, your friend finally cuts through the hush beside you. "Hey." She whispers. "Let's go wait in the back for a minute, okay? Just... Just to breathe. Okay?" You nod or maybe you didn't. Maybe she just leads you and your body follows because it doesn't know what else to do.

Imagine as she takes your arm, you hear the first real whisper that makes your stomach drop. "MC isn't here either." Your legs almost give out. Not from fear. Not from heartbreak. From recognition. MC. Of course.

Imagine she was supposed to be here hours ago. You had texted her when your makeup was done. She did not respond. But that wasn't weird. She had probably been caught up with something. Probably helping Caleb. Helping Caleb. That phrase alone makes your stomach churn now.

Imagine you could feel the crack forming somewhere deep inside. Small. Quiet. But real. More voices follow. "They were at the base together this morning…" "They always had something, didn't they?" "He probably ran to the one person who knows him best." "It's always the best friend."

Imagine the way tbe pain doesn't come in one sudden blow. It comes in pieces. Slow. Deliberate. Like someone's peeling your skin off inch by inch.

Imagine you blink at Leanne as she tries to close the dressing room door behind you, blocking out the whispers. You think she says something, but you're already gone inside your own head.

Imagine as you sat in the middle of the sofa, gown spread out like wasted silk around you. Your hands won't stop shaking. Your bouquet lies forgotten on the floor. Your phone shows one voicemail from this morning.

Apple: No matter what happens, I love you.

5:13 a.m.

Imagine what the fuck does that even mean? Your hands tighten. Your breath comes out in sharp, humiliating gasps. That's not a message from someone running late. That's a goodbye. That's a pre written excuse. That's a coward's escape route.

but Imagine Caleb is not a coward. Is he? God, no. He's not. You love him. You know him. He had never... But she was always there. MC. Always just close enough. Always just understanding enough. Never stepping over the line but never quite behind it either.

and Imagine you trusted her. You liked her. Hell, you thought of her as a friend. She zipped you into this very dress three days ago and told you you looked like a walking promise. And now she's gone. Alongside him.

and Imagine for one gut wrenching second. Just one, you imagine them together. Caleb kissing her temple. MC whispering. "You deserve better than a life that cages you." Caleb agreeing. Caleb choosing freedom. Choosing someone who understands the scars you never earned the right to ask about.

Imagine you hate yourself. You hate yourself for even thinking about it. Because that's not MC. That's not Caleb.

but Imagine the doubt is there now. And doubt, once it takes root, doesn't care how much you believe.

Imagine you slam your phone face-down. You pull at the pins in your hair. You press your hands to your mouth to muffle the sound of your breathing, because if you let yourself speak, it'll turn into a scream.

"Why wasn't I enough?" That's the question that breaks you.

Imagine you hate it. You hate yourself for the shadows in your heart. You hate the silence that Caleb's absence has left behind. And most of all, you hate that you might never get your forever.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: caleb when I catch you-!!!!

[itzpookiepooh]

Take Me Home

You tell them you wanna go home

You guys were in the parking lot when you decided to pull this stunt—and my goodness those big bunny eyes he gave you. You would never miss a chance to mess with Xavier but this joke was too good to pass up. You had to do this or else you’d never know what his reaction would be. Come on, did you really need a reason to prank him?

“I wanna go home.” You say sadly making him look over at you. His face was filled with sorrow. He didn’t want you to go home besides he just got you out of the house.

“Why?” He asks his soft voice with worry. You hold your breath trying not to laugh.

“I just wanna be alone that’s all.” You shrug pretending to be sad. He slides into the car giving you eye contact.

“Is it something I did?” He asks getting closer to you. You stare at him and he looked really good today. His messy hair from the wind really set the tone.

“No, of course not.” You coo holding his face squishing it. “Promise?” He muffles between his squished cheeks.

“I promise baby.” You kiss all over his face, “Can you stay?” He asks you looking into your eyes.

You smile sweetly at him, “Of course.” You couldn’t prank him with him being this cute.

Rafayel had been painting for hours when you decided to pull this on him. You got bored and needed something to do. Your game was less entertaining now than ever. You got up, sighed, and stretched before announcing your departure. He was confused because he drove you here. It’s nearly midnight.

“I think I’m going to go home.” You tell him as you crack your back. He freezes before his eyes shift to yours.

“Why?” He pouts with furrowed brows. You shrug before grabbing your bag.

“Just feel like being alone.” You tell him making him fully turn towards you. Alone? Not on his watch.

“You sick? I got medicine here.” He tells you before going to get it. “M’not sick.” You answer.

“Oh you’re tired. I have a bed. You know where it is go lie down.” He points towards the hallway.

“M’not tired.” You chuckle shaking your head. He tapped his chin before snapping.

“You’re hungry! Why didn’t you say something cutie?” He rushed to the kitchen making you laugh.

“I’m just joking Raf!” You yell after him as you hear pots, pans, and other utensils clash.

You and Caleb were flying around courtesy of your personal pilot. You decided now was better than never. You set the mood getting quieter and distant as he kept glancing over to you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked before focusing on the sky again. “I wanna go home.” You blurt out making him almost jerk the plane.

He puts it into cruise mode and looks at you with puppy eyes. You knew he was about to start he always does. Those eyes told it all.

“Is it me? Something I did?” He questioned making you shake your head. “I just wanna go home.” You shrug as he continues to stare at you.

“Something’s wrong though. I can see it.” He touches your cheek making you look back at him. You involuntarily choke a laugh.

“You think you’re so funny.” He shakes his head before going back to the controls.

“Love youuuu.” You sing as you laugh.

Sylus came and got you after telling you in the most intricate way that he wants to spend time with you. You were with him for only 2 hours before you decided to prank him.

“Sylus, I want to go home.” You huff as you hang off of his couch. His eyes shift to you.

“Are you bored?” He asked as he puts his reading glasses down and looks at you. You shrug and look to the side.

“I just wanna be alone.” You said softly as you play with the fabric of the couch.

“You sound sad…is everything alright?” He turns to give you his undivided attention. You nearly cracked at those boba eyes.

“You make playing pranks so hard.” You huff and cross your arms. He smirks before chuckling. He knows what he’s doing.

Zayne liked being around you. You promised to spend today with him since you’re both off work. He took you to this restaurant he walked by last week and as you were waiting to get your lunch you decided it was now or never.

“I think I’m ready to go home.” You said as you traced your finger on the table. Zayne looked up with big eyes before looking around.

“Right now? What happened?” He was worried about how fast your mood changed. You were just smiling.

“Yeah…I just want to be alone right now.” You sigh before leaning back in the chair.

“Is it something I did? If it was I deeply apologize.” He spoke softly sending an arrow to your heart. You nearly fell apart.

“I was just joking but now I feel bad.” You mumbled as he looked at you. You ended up buying whatever dessert he wanted because it was only fair for the grief you caused him.

I gotta get through these drafts immediately!

[starrbishops]

⟡Baby, I'm Yours⟡

(Bob Reynolds x f!Reader)

Summary: You have sex with Bob for the first time. (sequel to Risk but can be read standalone)

Word Count: 4K

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, established relationship, SMUT, "what are we gonna do ride Bob" 😏, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, p in v, missionary, cowgirl, multiple rounds (super stamina woohoo!) unproteted sex (wrap it up kids), Bob Reynolds has a big dick fight me on this, references to masturbation and wet dreams, aftercare, Bob's eyes glow when he cums (I warned you all)

a/n: So I finished writing this and then made this silly little textpost and uh. people liked it a lot so i'm proud to present you the basis for it. Just wanna say from the bottom of my heart Bob Reynolds is a little shit from Florida and yes he IS mostly submissive and he DOES whimper during sex but he is NOT an innocent baby boy and he CAN and DOES fuck. Okay rant done enjoy the sex.

You spend the next few minutes wrapped up in each other’s arms in the dim lamplight, kissing and giggling and just being together. It’s intimate, a kind of safety Bob hasn’t felt maybe ever. It's exhilarating, like something out of a dream. You’re really here, kissing him, touching him, wanting him. The thought just plays over and over in his mind. He’s so preoccupied by you, he’s barely aware of the growing hardness in his pants. Which you quickly become aware of.

You pull away mid-kiss, and Bob furrows his brow, worried he did something wrong. Even in the darkness, he can see the confusion on your face. “Um, Bob…” you trail off, not sure how to point it out. Then it hits him.

“Oh!” he scrambles back, grabbing a pillow to cover his lap. “I am so sorry, that, I did not mean to do that, I-”

“Bob.” you chuckle, a reassuring smile on your face. “It’s okay. I was just…surprised.” Bob laughs nervously in response, still clutching the pillow. 

“Do you want to?” Bob tilts his head at your question.

“Want, want to what?”

“Have sex, Bob.” you say, flat out. You’re never one to beat around the bush, you get straight to the point. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

Still, his brain needs a moment to catch up to what’s happening around him. “Oh, um, do you? Want to?”

You nod. “We don’t have to, I mean, I don’t want to pressure you into-”

“I do!” he exclaims. “Want to. Have sex with you. Now. If you want to.”

You just smile, crawling over to his side of the bed. You unclasp his fingers from the pillow, taking its place in his lap. On instinct he wraps his arms around your waist, resting them just barely on the small of your back. He’s still not sure if he’s allowed to touch you, or should be. You kiss his jaw, gentle and soft, testing the waters. Bob’s breath catches as you do so, and you continue, trailing down his jawline to his neck, pausing at the conjunction of his neck and shoulder, where you begin sucking a bruise into the skin.

Bob releases a broken moan, his hands gripping onto your hips. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, and get a sense of just how big he is. The Sentry Project changed a lot about him, you know that. It’d crossed your mind that it might have affected him down there, but it still surprises you just a bit. Or maybe he’d always been like this. He’s just as incredible to you, powers or not.

Satisfied with yourself, you pull away from Bob’s neck, grinning at the darkening bruise forming there. He moves a hand from you to touch it, as if he’s making sure it’s real. You take his hand in yours, placing it on your face. 

He looks up at you with a hungry gaze, before moving in to devour you once again. Robert Reynolds kisses like a man starved, gorging himself on your affection for fear it’ll vanish once more. You hold him tight, kiss him back as hard as you can. A reassurance, a promise that you’re not going anywhere, not now, not ever if you had it your way.

“Take your clothes off,” you pant out between kisses. It’s not meant to be an order, but Bob certainly takes it as one, immediately rushing to pull off his baggy sweatshirt, followed quickly by his t-shirt underneath. Bob is the last guy anyone would expect to be jacked, but here he is.

You run a hand along the line of his abs, Bob shivering under your touch. “You’re beautiful, y’know?” you whisper, kissing his cheek as you squeeze his shoulder. He chuckles, nervously muttering something under his breath. “You are.” you insist, pulling back to face him. “Not because of your body, but because you’re you, okay?”

He nods, gazing up at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars for him. You’re not sure how to respond to his look of absolute adoration except to once again kiss him senseless. 

He starts tugging on the hem of your shirt, a request. You’re still in your tactical gear, crumpled and dirty from your mission. You pull back, getting to work on removing your various holsters and hidden knives, Bob assisting you to the best of his ability.

“You have so many knives.” he points out, adding number five to the pile that’s begun forming next to where the two of you sit.

“You never know.” you quip as you find your last one, moving the pile over to Bob’s nightstand as he starts yanking your shirt up.

“Only fair.” he points out with a smirk. You raise your arms over your head, allowing him to tug off your suit, leaving just your bra covering your top. You reach behind yourself to unclip it, only for Bob to swat your hand away. “I got it.” he insists, taking only a moment as he unfastens it, tossing it somewhere in the room.

He takes a second to take in the view, his mouth hangs open in the shape of a smile, not sure whether to gape or cheer. He quickly puts his mouth to better use, kissing a trail down your collarbone to your breasts, one hand on each pressing them together as he lavishes them.

“Can I eat you out?” Bob’s voice interrupts the silence, peering up at you from between your breasts. “I-I’m not that great, but I want to try. Please.”

You nod, rolling off of him and laying on your back while Bob settles himself between your legs, busying himself with tugging your pants off. “Have you done this before?”

“Hm?” he snaps out of his focus at the sound of your voice. “Oh, yeah, I just, never really got to do it properly, y’know? Take my time.” He tosses your pants away, fingers hooking under your underwear before pausing. “Do you still want to?”

“Bob, I want you between my legs five minutes ago.” he grins and yanks off your underwear, not even tearing his eyes away from your pussy. Even hidden beneath his shaggy brown hair you can see his dark blue eyes are blown out with lust, lingering carnal desire evident on his face.

Bob doesn’t bother with words. He just goes to work, gripping your thighs in his large hands and licking a stripe up your cunt as you moan, your hands tangling in his hair as he begins to lap at you. It’s messy, imprecise, but god it feels so good. He’s learning, noticing what gets the most reaction and keeping it up. He sees how your breath catches when he just barely flicks his tongue against your clit, filing it away for later. 

“Fuck, Bob, baby…” you pant, gripping his hair like a lifeline. “Not great my ass, you liar…”

Bob interrupts your jokes by sucking on your clit, earning another sudden moan from you before he stops suddenly, perking his head up. “Can I use my fingers?”

“Hell yeah.” you manage to breathe out. He nods and lowers his head back down, this time moving his hand from where it digs into your thigh to swipe through the wetness of your folds. He coats his index finger in your arousal, looking straight in your eyes as he licks it off. 

“You taste so good.” you mumbles as he slowly inserts his finger into you, a choked out moan escaping your throat. Bob’s a big guy, and more than once you’ve imagined those massive hands of his fingering you. Reality is ten times better than any fantasy.

He starts slowly, putting what he's learned into practice and continuing to alternate licking and sucking at your clit while he presses his finger in and out of you. You jerk against his grip, back arching as he hits that perfect spot within you. His grip on your thigh just tightens, and he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “I got you.” he mutters, adding another finger and speeding up his pace, making sure to hit the spot that seems to make you go wild. It works, judging from the strings of expletives and moans that continue to escape you.

You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening as you writhe under Bob’s touch, every move sending licks of fire through your body. “Bob, Bob, ‘m so close, baby, please…”

Bob cuts you off with a moan between your legs, the vibrations reverberating through you, pushing you closer to your high. His eyes shut in pleasure as he devours you, the sound of you moaning out his name better than any high he’s ever felt.

“‘So close, Bob, please…” 

He takes it as a sign, sucks on your clit even harder, opening his eyes so he can watch you fall apart under him. And you do, crying out his name, one hand with a death grip on his hair and the other gripping the pillows so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t exploded into feathers. 

He keeps it up through your orgasm, slowing down the pace of his fingers and switching from sucking to gentle licks on your clit as you come down. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bob,” you pant, gazing down at the man between your legs.

“Did I do good?” he asks, his voice earnest and hopeful. It’s quite the contrast, the feeling of ecstasy still buzzing in the bones, the sight of your slick all over his chin, compared to the genuine worried look in his eyes as he asks the question.

“Yes, Bob, that was good.” you half-laugh. “I don’t think I’ve cum that hard in a long time.”

He grins, satisfied with his work. “Nice.” he crawls up your body, gingerly pressing a kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on him, the flavor driving you even crazier, making you more desperate for him. You lightly tug on his lower lip, earning a deep groan from Bob.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” he mumbles, the kiss becoming a collision of lips and teeth, the two of you stick with saliva and arousal. “You’re so perfect, and you want me.”

“Want you so bad, Bob.” you mutter into his mouth between kisses. “Want your cock, please.”

He moans, pulling away to look at your face, eyes dark with lust, lips kiss-swollen and wet, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Say it again.”

“God, need your pretty cock inside of me, Bob, baby, please-” he’s smashing his lips against yours again, one hand working on tugging his sweatpants off. He sits up, you joining in assisting him. He pulls his boxers down with them as he finally rids himself of the wretched garments, his cock laying hard and leaking against his perfect abs. It’s better than you could’ve imagined, long and girthy, veins running along it. A small part of you worries about walking tomorrow, but the part of your brain that is so goddamn horny overrules it.

“I got a condom somewhere, I think.” he’s saying, although you barely register it as you stare at his length.

“You’re good!” you snap out of it, Bob turning back to you. “I’m all clean, IUD, you’re good.” you clear your throat, a bit awkwardly, “I’m not planning on being with anyone else, so…”

“Oh my god,” Bob grins, settling himself back on the bed before pulling you into his lap, “I’m clean too, and I don’t want anyone but you. You’re perfect.” he presses a kiss to your temple.

You chuckle as you recall something. “Remember how John was saying we should ride you into the sky?”

Bob looks confused, but nods. You lean in, whispering in his ear. “This is what I was imagining.”

His hands grip your hips, a stuttered breath escaping against your shoulder. He can barely get the words, “oh yeah?” out.

“Yeah.” you whisper, nipping at his neck, before pressing a kiss to it.

He’s hot against your aching cunt as you raise your hips, aligning yourself with his hardened cock. The pre-cum leaking from his tip mixing with the abundance of arousal dripping between your thighs. “Y-you ready? I know it’s kinda a lot, I mean, it always was, and then Sentry, well-”

“Bob, you’re perfect.” you look him right in the eyes, giving him a kind smile, as if he’s not about to fuck you raw. “I want you. All of you.”

He nods, clearly psyching himself up. He’s had flings before, and he knows he’s a lot to take. The Sentry Project enhanced all of him, and he’s doing his best not to hurt you. “Just tell me if you need to stop, okay?” You nod, and with a sharp inhale you begin to lower yourself, the head of his cock breaching your entrance. You gasp, and he pauses, making sure you’re okay. You just nod fervently, unable to form sentences at the feel of him stretching you out. It’s a little painful, which you expected, but the pleasure far outweighs the fact that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. You continue, brow furrowed in concentration, whimpers escaping Bob beneath you at the feel of your hot cunt squeezing around him.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so good, hooooly shit,” he groans as he shuts his eyes in pleasure, doing his best not to cum when he’s only halfway in you, “you’re so fucking tight, oooh my god, are you okay?” 

You nod, nails digging into his shoulders as you pause, trying to adjust to the feel of him in you. Even only halfway, the stretch is more than you’ve ever had before, and it feels fucking incredible. You start to understand the meaning of being cockdrunk for the first time. 

With a final groan, you settle on Bob’s lap, his cock sheathed in you completely, panting at the feel of you around him. “Holy fuck,” he mutters, head hanging in the crook of your neck. For a few moments, the only sound is your intertwined breaths, your bodies hot and slick with sweat against one another as you sit there.

You roll your hips experimentally, a small moan escaping at the sensation. Bob’s head rolls back against the headboard, his grip on you even tighter than before. You’re gonna have bruises of his handprint for days.

You start slowly, rising and lowering onto his thick length. “Fuck, Bob…” you moan, eyes rolling back as you lose any sense of time and place, the only thing left the feeling of Bob’s body pressed against yours, Bob’s cock splitting you open as you bounce in his lap. 

“You’re gonna kill me, fuck…” he groans into your neck as you quicken your pace, the need for him growing. He bites on your collarbone as another moan escapes his chest, thrusts quickening. He kisses the spot he’s marked, sucking a bruise into it. “You’re so good, so perfect…”

“All yours, Bob.” you pant, one hand turning his face to look at you. “I’m all yours, baby.”

The sound Bob makes borders on animalistic, a whine escaping his lips as he kisses you, sloppy and desperate. “I’m yours,” he murmurs against your lips, “I’m yours forever.”

The lewd sound of wet skin slapping echoes throughout his room interspersed with Bob’s whines and your cries. You look like an angel above him, the golden light illuminating your glassy eyes as you moan with pleasure, your tits bouncing with each movement. You can already feel your second orgasm coming, and from the expletives escaping Bob, he’s fast approaching his as well. And then you notice.

“I-is something wrong? You okay?” Bob murmurs, noticing your confused expression.

“Y-your eyes, Bob, fuck…” 

He doesn’t even realize till now that his eyes are glowing. It’s another thing the Sentry Project changed about him. It happens when he gets too caught up in something, uses his powers, gets frustrated or angry. He’d never realized it happened in situations like this. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he tells you, clenching his jaw as he tries to hold it together, his eyes buzzing with light, the lamps in the room’s brightness going in and out. “Should I-where should I-”

“In me.” you moan you rapidly bounce yourself up and down, “fuck, Bob, fill me up, please!”

“So good to me, so pretty,” he murmurs as he desperately tries to hold out from his high, his grip on you bruising, quickly losing control of himself as he unwinds. “I’m gonna give you everything. It’s all yours, baby, all for you.”

“Fuck, yes, Bob! Please, please please please-” your babbling moans end with a last scream of his name as you cum, cunt clenching around him as you take him as deep as possible, pelvises flush against each other. Something about the golden glow of his irises, the low rasp in his voice, the words themselves, it all sends you crashing over the edge, an incoherent, animalistic noise escaping you as you cling to Bob, pressing your forehead up against his.

 Bob whimpers, the glow from his eyes illuminating your face as you cum, the way your eyes roll back, the debauched expression you wear. It’s enough to send him over the edge, his eyes buzzing with light as he cums. With a cry of your name, Bob tumbles over the edge, arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You feel the warm spurts of his cum within you, painting your insides, claiming you for himself. The two of you sit there, panting and sweating as you come down.

“Oh my, fucking god, that was amazing.” he looks up at you, a tired, fucked out expression on his face. “You’re amazing.”

“So are you.” you smile, removing your nails from where they’ve left red crescents on Bob’s shoulder blades, moving to cup his cheek. “So good to me, baby.”

“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, one hand running down to your waist. 

You shake your head. “Well, I can’t really feel my legs, but I did expect that, so…”

“Sorry.” he says, though that smile on his face says otherwise. He’s proud of himself.

“‘S alright.” you sigh, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. He whines, shifting his head to kiss you properly. He’s still inside of you, and you can feel his cock, still semi-hard within you. Even after two orgasms, you look up at him and want more, wanting to feel him, for the feeling of his skin on yours to never leave. “I could go again, honestly.”

“Really?” he laughs, a little surprised at both your stamina and the fact that you still want him. He sighs, one hand running along your jaw as he feels himself already growing hard once again. “I can’t say no to you.”

“So, yes to round two?”

“If I ever say no to that question, shoot me.” he grins, wrapping his arms around your hips as he rolls you both over, his cock staying in you the whole time. “How’s this?”

You yelp a little from the change in position, landing on your back and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders once again. 

You’re still sensitive from your first two orgasms, and Bob is aware of that.“I got you.” he whispers into your shoulders, rolling his hips gently. “I’ll take care of you. Promise.” He goes slowly, his eyes locked on yours as you pant under him, head falling back against the pillows.He kisses you again, hungry and desperate, as he sets his pace, dragging his cock out before pushing back in once again. Bob is gentle with you, considerate, a man with the power of a thousand suns turned docile above you.

“So many dirty dreams about you, baby, you’re so much better than any of ‘em.” Bob mutters into your shoulder. He looks up at you, a little unsure, although his pace doesn't change. “Is this a dream? Are you here?”

“I’m here, Bob.” you moan, giving him a small smile as you run a hand through his hair. “I-fuck! I’m here.”

You look like heaven, messy hair framing your face, mouth gaping, eyes shut as you throw your head back. You’re all he wants, everything he needs. He could stay here forever, taking care of you, fucking you, whatever you want. Just as long as you neer stop giving him those sweet smiles, screaming out his name just like that as he fucks you.

“Bob,” you call his name in a breathy whisper, “more, please, baby.”

He nods, speeding up his thrusts, pushing into you with more force. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass as you pull him deeper into you. He breaks eye contact to look down at where your bodies connect, gazing at the sheen of your arousal around his cock, the white ring forming at the base of it. A mixture of both of your cum spurts out around where he’s entering you, and the sight somehow manages to make him even harder.

He’s moaning again, and before you know it his hands are on your face, pulling you up to kiss him as his thrusts grow harder and shallower, barely pulling out before slamming his full length back into you. “Fuck, Bob, yes, just like that, yes!” You scream at the sensation. You couldn’t give a fuck if the others hear when Bob Reynolds is on top of you, pounding his pretty cock into you, whispering dirty nothings in your ear.

One hand leaves your face and returns to the spot between you, rubbing gentle circles on your clit. “Come on, baby, give it to me, please.” he practically begs, dark blue eyes once again shining above you. “Need you to cum for me, come on my cock, please.” You do as he says, the coil in your stomach snapping once more, ecstasy washing over you, your cunt clenching around Bob’s length. Bob curses, pressing his lips against yours as he thrusts as deep as possible, filling you up with his cum once again.

“Fuck.” you groan, barely able to lift your head. “That was cool. The eye thing.” 

“I didn’t know I did that.” he admits, rolling off of you. A small gasp escapes him as he watches his cum spill out of you, sticky and wet between your thighs. “You just look so perfect full of me.”

You smile, taking a deep breath as Bob quickly runs to the bathroom, returning with a warm towel that he uses to wipe you down. “Y’know, I never took you for a talker.”

“What, during sex?” he asks, as if he’s not literally wiping his cum off of you.

“Sex takes some of your brain cells out of you, huh?” you joke, sitting up on your elbows.

Bob chuckles, giving a small shrug. “I think that’s just what you do to me.”

After he’s carried you to the bathroom to pee, gotten you a glass of water, you settle yourself on his bare chest, running your finger along his collarbone as he shuts out the lights.

“You’re amazing.” you tell him between yawns, your eyes closing, exhausted by your activities. “Even if I can’t sit for a week.” you mutter, and then you’re out, breathing slowing as you drift off.

Bob ust smiles at the sight of you, resting against his chest, comfortable and content. Never in a million years did he think he’d have something like this. A home in the tower, a family in the team, and a love in you. “You’re perfect” he says to no one, pressing one last kiss to your hair as he wraps an arm around you, shutting his eyes for the night. “And all mine.”

[edensrose]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 Heart Eaters Event

featuring ᝰ.ᐟ✧ 。。。“ i won't cry for you ”

˚₊‧꒰ა ex husband.ᐟ satoru gojo ﾉ gn reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

he always knew he'd choose the life of a sorcerer over you. but when that life promises him ruin at the centre of shinjuku, he wishes to hold you. just one more time.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ divorced spouses, mentions of death, fear of death, broken marriage 𓂃 wc ⌇ 1.4k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ kicking off this event with a big blow, i wanna die art cred ⌇ tansan__mizu (twt)

Instead of your snuggle sofa paired with your favourite fluffy black blanket, white obscured both. The only black being that damned uniform.

"What the hell are you doing here, Gojo?"

"Please, not that again."

"Don't you know how to knock? I can call the authorities right now."

"Sweetheart—"

"I have a name. First and last. Don't."

The keys drop in a bowl together with your mood. Kicking off your shoes at the door, you jerk your coat tighter. Maybe the wool would keep you together. Keep you safe from the cold and those begging blue eyes.

Tall as ever, Satoru stood in the living room's centre. Instead of hands stuffed in pockets, they dangled aimlessly at his side. Rather than a blindfold, blue greeted you. Pleaded you. He never obscured them when it came to you; he remembered how you loved them. How you drowned in them on your wedding day, wedding night— avoided them after signing icy ink.

Signing away the certificate, the ring on your finger, him— only this house remained. Satoru refused to settle for any less. In exchange for a peaceful divorce, he only had one condition: stay here. Stay safe. You accepted. On the condition of one more stay. Him. Away from you.

"I told you, I can't do this anymore." The threshold to the living room was your boundary. You didn't dare step closer. You wouldn't. Couldn't. "We had an agreement. You stay the hell away from me, I live my life."

"I understand—"

"Then why are you here? You couldn't even knock? How long have you been here?"

"You wouldn't have let me in."

"Then that should've been your first warning."

Warning. Away. Hell. Each of these more rigid than the frost rimming your windows. His heart warned him. Staying away from you would be hell. And hell? It wasn't blistering; but a blizzard. Cold, lonely, a wasteland. Satoru knew hell all too well. Ever since you threw those documents in front of him, hell became his livelihood.

"Please," his voice was soft, uncharacteristically. "I just wanna talk. I need you." The imaginary threshold bound him too. The gaping gorge spread between you both was imminent danger. One step, two step, and he'd fall. You'd evade. Throw a fit.

Had he truly been such a horrible husband? Satoru prided himself on being textbook perfect for marriage. Kind, considerate, compassionate, the type to make sure you never lacked. Materials, affection, emotion, whatever your pretty heart desired. And he was perfect, apart from one thing.

"Need me? Don't you have some mission that's more important?"

That. For all his pros, Satoru came with one boulder of a con. He was never around. Too busy, too dedicated. That kindness and compassion extended way beyond you. Twisted into senseless duty for a hopeless cause. He wasn't just the kindest. No, Gojo Satoru was the Strongest.

But the strongest felt at his Weakest when it came to you. Standing there, stiff, unwilling. Glaring daggers colder than ice and speaking frostier. Winter raged outside, but in this humble home was where the true blizzard brewed.

"I don't." He broke code. Stepped over that threshold. You stepped back. He went forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward— until you stood at the foot of the kitchen and him the same distance as before. Now closer to the door. You hoped he'd change direction and find himself out of it.

"I just— please, listen to me."

He took your silence as a green light. Even with your eyes roaring red.

"I just need to see you. One more time. One more night."

"Then refuse to leave in the morning? Pass."

"I won't exactly have a choice."

You paused. Squinted. "Why's that? Oh! Let me guess." Your laugh was cold, your eyes were colder, your words hissed as your shoulders shook off snow and you leaned into the kitchen doorway. "Mission, right? That's the only thing more important than me anyway."

"Nothing was ever more important than you." Satoru snapped.

"Didn't feel like it when all I woke up to was the same empty bed I cried myself to sleep in."

"I had duties. I have duties. What about that made you think you were less important?"

"Hmm. Dunno. Maybe the fact you risked your life every day?"

"That's my damn job— hell, my life!"

"And what's mine? Grieving over you when you finally kick the bucket for a society that doesn't give two shits about you?"

You needn't raise your voice. Your glare screamed. Frozen daggers, a hateful wasteland. For him? For the people who moulded him? You married Satoru. But Gojo Satoru would be the man in the coffin. Young, like his widowed. Strung over, crying their eyes out over a man who was never truly theirs. Never truly their husband; but a weapon.

Silence formed a rink. Both rooted in this frozen graveyard you once called love. This home you once called ours.

He lifted the first sledgehammer. Not a slam, but shiver. "I need to be with you." Desperate, whispered. "Just one more time. I need to hold you in my arms, feel you, know you're real. Know that we were real. Just. . . once, please."

His heart called to drift closer, but he stood strong. Even in this weakness.

"You're right, there is a mission." Satoru murmured. "One I'm not sure I'll come back from."

You tensed.

He faltered.

"I get it, okay? I couldn't give you what you deserved. I tried. I wanted to— hell, I loved you." Trembled hands tore through his hair and gaped at the ceiling in search of mercy. "I love you. With all my heart. You made me feel like. . . like Satoru. Toru. Even when you refuse to call me either now. And I know I don't deserve this, but I can't go out there knowing there's a high chance I won't see you again."

His gaze lowered. Glossy. Shades hid his eyes when you signed the divorce papers. You imagined they looked like this when you picked up that pen.

"I hated every minute being apart from you. I don't know where I'm going. Don't know if you'll come there. I don't even know if there is a there to go to. All I know is that I missed you. I'll miss you. And that I—"

Gojo Satoru. The Strongest. Stood trembling before you. Crystalline tears slowly dripping from his shattered eyes. The sign of his strength. Now weak. The Weakest.

"I love you."

He faced you. Even when every fibre of his being told him to run. Even when you gaze remained unchanging.

"I love. You." He croaked. "Please. Just let me love you one more time."

Silence drowned him. His lungs burned, eyes stung. Frost clung to his skin. Outside would be kinder. Anything but this cruel house he found himself in. Not a home, but a house.

Still he hoped it could be one. Just for the night. One more time.

You sighed. Shoulders drooped.

"Satoru. . ."

His hope soared—

"I can't."

—shattered.

His heart in your hands. And still you squeezed it. Ripped it to shreds with your pretty palms he'd still get down on his knees and kiss in his dying breaths.

"This is exactly what I was talking about." The chill in your voice became a croak of your own. Instead of leaning, you held onto the doorway for support. One arm hooked around yourself. Grounding. Shaking.

You couldn't look at him. Wouldn't.

"You'll love me and leave me. Go out there and make my every fear a reality."

Your eyes shimmered. He instinctively stepped closer. Violently, you brushed the tears away. Shot him a look that froze him once more. Not sorrow, but a scowl. Not cold. But cruel.

"Leave."

"Sweetheart."

You ducked from the word. Both arms wrapped around your person tight. He didn't deserve your glare anymore, so you stared to the floor.

"I said leave."

"You won't see me again."

"And you know what?"

At last you shouted. Heaved. Your tears fell and you wiped each furiously. Then pointed with an aggressive hand to the door.

"I won't cry for you."

You broke.

Satoru? He shattered.

"Leave. I won't cry for you. Not any more. I won't shed a single tear for a man who was never mine to begin with."

Silence. Not a banter, not a breath. You snapped your head forward with a scream on your tongue.

"Didn't you hear me!? I said l—"

Nothing. No white hair. No blue eyes. Only the wide window.

And the cold, lonely winter. On a fateful day in Shinjuku.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[formulafanfics13]

Hi could u do a poly fic of Oscar and reader with lando. Oscar and reader have been filming sex and being high and in one of the videos lando joins too. It basically gets leaked and twitter and the driver's react to it too.

Sorry if the wording is messy!

camera three, angle four - OP81 & LN4 🔥

masterlist

Summary: What started as private, beautifully shot sex tapes between you and Oscar turns into a threesome with Lando — filmed, passionate, and perfect — until it accidentally leaks. The video goes viral across the F1 world, triggering chaos in the driver groupchat and silence from PR. But in the end, neither regret it. And maybe… it’s time to film a sequel.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome (m/m/f), oral (m→f), vaginal sex, filming, voyeurism, light exhibitionism, sub/dom dynamics, rough sex, use of sex toys implied (tripod/mirror angles), swearing, groupchat reactions, public sex tape leak, praise, light degradation, aftercare, humour woven with smut, emotionally secure poly tension.

You never meant for it to be filmed. Not originally. But then it happened once. Just Oscar and you. A quiet weekend in Monaco. You were straddling him on the kitchen floor, half-drunk on red wine, and he asked if he could set up his phone. Just to watch it later. Just for you two. You said yes. And it became a thing. Tripod in the corner. Diffused lamp behind it. You, sprawled across crisp white sheets, Oscar fucking you slow and deep, camera red light blinking like a heartbeat in the dark.

Eventually, you started editing them. Cutting between angles. Colour grading. Adding tiny captions like "his name sounds different when I'm about to come." Oscar saved them all to a locked folder. You never showed anyone. Not until Lando. It wasn’t planned.

You were all staying in the same hotel for the triple header. Thursday night. Too many drinks. Not enough food. Lando flopped across the bed laughing, said something about Oscar being “too quiet to fuck like that.” 

And you just… looked at Oscar. Then at Lando. Then said, “Wanna find out?”

He blinked. Sat up. “You’re joking.”

Oscar shrugged. “You scared?”

And that’s how you ended up here. Camera three. Angle four. Lando’s hand gripping your thigh while Oscar fucks you from behind, one arm tight around your waist, the other braced on the mattress. Lando’s mouth is wet on your chest. His other hand’s holding your jaw so the camera catches every sound you make.

“Fuck-look at her,” Lando groans, watching the way your mouth drops open as Oscar thrusts in harder. “You take him so well.”

“She was made for me,” Oscar murmurs against your ear, voice low and wrecked.

You moan, real, raw, helpless. Lando leans in, kissing you hard, tongue hot and greedy. Oscar doesn’t stop moving. You’re pinned between them like a fever dream.

Camera three catches it all: the way your fingers tangle in Lando’s curls, the way Oscar’s hand creeps down to rub your clit just right, the moment you come and bite Lando’s shoulder while Oscar fucks you through it, groaning your name like it’s sacred.

You come again. Then again. Lando finishes with a gasp into your neck. Oscar comes last, slower, gritting his teeth, hips grinding deep until he spills inside you.

None of you speak for a while. The room smells like sex and sweat and something too intimate to name. Lando lays back, dazed. “That’s going in the vault, right?”

Oscar hums, rolling onto his side. “Password locked.”

You curl between them. Drunk on touch. Drunk on trust. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Oscar murmurs, brushing your hair back. “No one will ever see it.”

You wake up the next morning to chaos. Oscar’s phone has seventeen missed calls. Lando’s is vibrating off the bedside table. Your name is trending.

#oscarpiastri #landoleak #thatgirl #tripodthreesome

Your stomach drops. There’s a screen recording going viral. Eight minutes. Cropped watermark. Blurry but unmistakable: Oscar’s hand on your throat. Lando’s voice in your ear. You. Coming hard and loud with both of them around you. You don’t speak. Oscar sits up. Staring at the screen like it might vanish.

Lando goes pale. “I didn’t send it. I swear to god I didn’t send it-”

“I didn’t either,” Oscar mutters. “But it’s out.”

The doorbell rings. You freeze. PR.

* 

The grid finds out within the hour.

DRIVER GROUPCHAT: “vroom vroom 🏁” Members: All 20 current drivers (And yes, it’s always this cursed)

George: okay WHO has the link be honest i know you all saw it

Yuki: i have 3 backups one in my notes app one in my camera roll one on my external hard drive

Pierre: i screen recorded it in 4K for educational purposes

Charles: i didn’t watch the whole thing just like the first 2 minutes and then i was busy so like not all of it shut up

Alex: you mean the part where Lando fucking moaned her name into her collarbone?? or the part where Oscar looked dead into the camera and said “she was made for me” because SAME

Liam: wait THAT WAS HER??? i thought she was just a PR girl??

Carlos: bro. that was no PR girl that was a spiritual experience

Oscar: leaving the chat. permanently.

Lando: WHO LEAKED IT YOU ARE NOT SAFE

Logan: what position even was that? is that a yoga thing?

George: “camera three angle four” is burned into my soul you need a fucking LICENSE for that position

Charles: she had her HAND around Lando’s throat and smiled. i paused. i prayed.

Max: 👏 real 👏 submissive 👏 men 👏 win 👏 races 👏

Oscar: max please stop

Max: can’t too inspired gonna qualify P1 just to make her proud

Yuki: it’s the “fuck her through it” for me he growled oscar fucking GROWLED he doesn’t even talk to us in meetings

Pierre: do you think they take bookings like as a team

Lando: what the actual fuck

George: no because honestly i’m genuinely proud like it was cinematic the lighting? the breath control?? the way she arched before the second orgasm???

Alex: wait how many times did she come??? i lost count after two

Liam: three. and then Lando and THEN Oscar. it’s like a fucking crescendo

Charles: i need to lie down

Carlos: they made porn look like art the way oscar held her wrist up for the camera?? fuck off i clapped

Lewis: honestly respect the chemistry the communication the core strength

Oscar: why are you all dissecting it like it’s race footage

Yuki: because i’m trying to LEARN i’ve got notes diagrams vision boards

Pierre: i need her to ruin my life respectfully

Lando: she already ruined mine and i THANK her for it

George: wait who filmed it was it like auto-triggered?? did Oscar press record manually?? how did they frame it so perfectly—

Oscar: it was tripod two angles mirror reflection caught the third next question

Alex: you’re answering now??? oh you’re comfortable

Charles: that means they PLANNED it like scripted

Pierre: i bet she storyboards it i bet she gives them notes i bet she says things like “arch more” and they listen

Max: she’s clearly the team principal in that situation

George: she’s the CEO

Carlos: she’s god and we’re just engineers watching telemetry

Yuki: petition to rename the groupchat “camera three angle four”

Lando: i will leave i will genuinely leave

Oscar: no you won’t she liked the attention

George: SHE WHAT

Pierre: oh she’s into exhibitionism i could TELL

Charles: can i please be removed my mental health is declining

Liam: but like would you do it if she asked??

Charles: leaves chat

Max: i’m just saying if she ever wants to expand the grid i’m free after Spa

Oscar: blocked

George: this is the most united we’ve ever been

Yuki: horny peace treaty

Pierre: 2025 world champions of my heart

Carlos: constructors title goes to THAT FUCKING BEDFRAME

Lando: i’m never showing my face again

Alex: don’t worry babe you already showed us everything else

*

Team principals are worse.

Toto sends a voice note that just says, “I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. But also — what camera setup is that?”

Christian sends Lando a meme of a camera tripod with the Red Bull logo photoshopped on it.

Zak Brown doesn’t say a word, just sends a calendar invite titled ‘Media Training – Urgent.’

You don’t leave the hotel for two days. PR tries to spin it. Consensual. Private. Illegally leaked. The footage gets pulled from most sites, but it doesn’t matter. People saw. People know. But what they don’t know is what happens next. Lando sits between you and Oscar on the couch, still red-faced and quiet, sipping a beer. “I’m sorry,” he says for the third time.

Oscar just shrugs. “I’m only mad about the lighting.”

You snort.

Lando turns to you. “Would it be weird if I said I want a redo?”

You blink. “A redo?”

He shrugs. “This time we make it better. And actually keep it locked.”

Oscar hums. “Camera four?”

You smile. “I’ll get the tripod.”

[brownlyfe]

MY HEART BELONGS TO U

pairing: michael b jordan x wunmi mosaku

cw: sexual content

wc: too damn long

summary: michael has had a crush on her since the moment she did her audition. their chemistry undeniable. the hours they spent talking enhanced their connection between their characters, and it pulled their real selves closer. and now with the movie finally out to the world, maybe it’s time for them to be honest about what they want from each other.

notes: i had to throw my hat in the ring for this. I have a feeling that michael truly had a crush on wunmi so i wanted to capitalize on the ‘what if’ possibility. also i’ve been on a big jodeci kick lately so they inspired this one and the potential next one shot with them. enjoy this long ass one shot that had ZERO reason to be this long and the crazy part is it was wayyyyy longer, but i edited it down to this.

Ojai, California March 7th, 2025

The sun had just started to sink behind the hills, casting everything in Ojai in a soft, pink gold. The air smelled like oranges and dry grass, and the faint hum of summer bugs carried on the breeze.

They’d gotten away for a long weekend, just the two of them. They’d been staying at a private house tucked into a grove of olive trees.

Wunmi was out back, sitting on a woven blanket with a glass of wine in hand. She wore a soft, floaty sundress that was floral, low-cut, and delicate in a way that made Michael lose his damn focus every time he looked at her. Her hair was up, pieces falling loose from the sides, catching the light like honey.

Her bare legs were stretched out across the grass, and her hair was pulled into a loose updo, the kind that made her look both royal and impossibly soft at the same time.

He’d watched her like this all weekend, from across the kitchen while she danced barefoot to 90s R&B, from the tub where she made him promise not to check his phone, from the quiet edge of the hammock they never actually used. Every second, he felt the same thing building in his chest: “I need to do this now”.

Michael stepped out from the kitchen barefoot, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He’d been quiet all day. His quiet was thoughtful, but not heavy. He was just in his head.

Wunmi noticed, of course. She always did. She had busied herself with reading, or pretending to read, so he wouldn’t notice the way she would look at him every once in a while. 

“You alright?” she asked, eyes not leaving the book. Her accent sounded like pure heaven to Michael’s ears.

“Come sit up,” he said gently, settling beside her on the blanket. “I wanna talk to you.”

Her brow lifted slightly, but she marked her page and sat up, tucking one leg beneath her as he poured her more wine. Her dress slipped a little as she shifted. 

He turned to her fully, one leg bent, his knee brushing hers. “I���ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. How to do it and when. I had all these ideas, but none of it felt like us.”

She tilted her head, watching him closely now. “You’re scaring me a little.”

His laugh was soft, nervous. “Don’t be scared. Just don’t say anything yet. Let me talk.”

She nodded slowly, brows drawing together. Her fingers tightened slightly around his.

“I’ve loved you since we sat in that trailer for four hours talking about nothing and everything. Way before I even kissed you,” he said, voice steady now. “You make me feel understood in a way no one else ever has. Like I don’t have to be anything but me.”

Her smile softened, and she took his hand again, grounding him.

“And I know people don’t see us,” he continued. “Not really. Not the way we see each other. But I don’t care. I don’t need anyone else to get it. I just need you. You already know what you are to me. You’ve known. You saw me when I didn’t have to explain myself.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet ring box.

Wunmi blinked. Her breath caught a little, but she didn’t speak.

“I want to be that safe place for you,” he said. “The way you’ve been for me. Will you marry me?”

Wunmi didn’t cry right away. She didn’t gasp or cover her face or any of the things women were supposed to do when the man they loved knelt in front of them. 

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I will.”

He didn’t even realize he’d exhaled until her fingers reached up to cradle the back of his neck and pull him into her. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was full and slow and grounding like they were touching something sacred.

The silence after settled warmly between them. She leaned into him, head against his chest, and they stayed like that until the sun slipped low behind the trees. Then she looked up at him again, the sky casting shadows across her collarbones, her dress falling just right.

“I love you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. When he laid her back against the blanket, she didn’t resist. The air was thick with the kind of stillness that came when the world dropped away, and nothing existed except the two of them and the hush of twilight.

His hand moved down her thigh, parting the fabric of her dress carefully, like every inch of her was something he was discovering for the first time. She reached up, dragging her fingers across his chest, over the gold chain resting against his skin.

She smiled, breath hitching as he kissed her collarbone. “You wore the chain,” she teased softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her skin. “Had to remind myself who I am.”

“And who’s that?”

“The man who belongs to you.”

They made love under the olive tree, slow and unhurried, surrounded by the scent of grass and fading sunlight. Every touch was familiar. Every moan is quiet, private, and intentional.

Afterward, Wunmi laid stretched across his chest, fingertips tracing his skin, the ring still catching bits of moonlight. She didn’t speak, and neither did he.

Mexico City, Mexico March 28th, 2025

The hotel was a sleek, luxury tower tucked into the heart of the city with minimalist decor, floor-to-ceiling windows, and an absurdly polite front desk staff. After the whirlwind of landing, being ushered through press check-ins, and waving off well-meaning handlers, they were finally in the suite. 

It was late, and they were both exhausted from the flight but it didn’t matter. Michael hadn’t been able to stop looking at her since they walked through the door.

She was already curled up under the covers, bonnet on, lights off. Bare legs tangled in sheets, phone abandoned beside her pillow. Her travel outfit was draped over the armchair across the room.

Michael had taken his time in the bathroom, letting the water run cold before finally killing the lights and climbing into bed beside her. Shirtless, chain still around his neck, skin still warm from the steam. Wunmi shifted when he joined her but didn’t open her eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just scooted closer, arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her into him until her back was flush against his chest. She hummed, sleepy.

“Mm. Babe, you’re warm,” she murmured.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he said, voice low, already kissing behind her ear. 

She smiled sleepily, but kept her eyes shut. “Michael…”

“You said yes,” he said again, more like a breath than a sentence. “And now I can’t stop wanting you.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, then lower inch by inch, slowly trying to turn her toward him. His hand moved up her thigh under the sheets, warm and deliberate.

“Come on,” he whispered against her collarbone. “Let me make you feel good.”

She finally opened her eyes, groaning just a little as he kissed across her jaw.

“Michael,” she warned, voice drowsy but firm.

“I’m not trying to bother you.” He kissed her again, and she laughed against his mouth. “Just saying. You look so damn good.”

He was halfway on top of her now, chest heavy against hers, mouth trailing lower, one hand cupping her thigh with intention. She let it go for a second, not because she was changing her mind, but because it was hard not to melt when he was like this, needy and slow and loving.

But eventually she had to put her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m on my period.”

He froze just slightly, face still close to hers, breathing steady. Michael nodded. “I know. I just missed touching you. That’s all.”

“I’m still right here,” she murmured, turning over to face him.

She kissed him once, slow and tender. Let her thumb brush the curve of his jaw.

“You’ve got me,” she added. “You don’t need my body to feel that.”

Michael stared at her, the hunger still in his eyes, but now layered with something deeper.

He pulled her close again, tucked her into his chest, and let out a low sigh against her hair. “I know.”

He nudged her gently until they were both leaning back onto the bed, his body half on top of hers, their legs tangled. One hand slid up her side, under her t-shirt, but stopped before anything more. His mouth met hers, a little desperation behind it. The kind of kiss that said I’d go further if you let me, but this is enough, too.

She moaned softly into his mouth, threading her fingers through his curls, holding him close but steady. When they finally pulled apart, her lips were swollen, her eyes glazed.

Michael rested his forehead against hers. “I wasn’t trying to start something.”

She smirked. “You’re always trying to start something.” 

He grinned. “Only when I’m around you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, eyes warm, voice soft. “Give me a few days.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Take all the time you need.”

-

The hotel suite was already humming with energy by 8:00 a.m. The glam team moved around Wunmi like a dance. Brushes tapped compacts, soft jazz played in the background, and the smell of hairspray mixed with fresh coffee filled the air. 

Wunmi sat in front of the vanity, wrapped in a black silk robe that skimmed her thighs, her legs crossed beneath her, head tilted slightly as her stylist added the final touches to her hair.

Downstairs, in a quiet corner of the hotel café, Michael was sitting across from Ryan Coogler, halfway through an omelet and a casual conversation about life.

“I still can’t believe she said yes,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Like, it all just hit me. Last night I was just watching her sleep, and I kept thinking, damn, this is it. I found her.”

Ryan smirked, sipping his coffee. “You sound soft.”

Michael grinned. “I am soft.”

“Good. Stay that way. The world’ll try to harden you up again, don’t let it.”

By the time Michael returned to their suite, he had two to-go bags in hand. The glam team was still there, Wunmi’s soft laughter spilling from the bedroom.

“Got your favorite,” he said softly, walking up behind her.

Wunmi met his eyes in the mirror and smiled. “Thank you, baby.”

He handed her the bag and leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, then one on her lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said, eyes roaming briefly over her reflection. 

She raised a brow playfully. “Go sit down.”

Michael grinned and backed off, walking toward the oversized chair in the corner of the room. He dropped into it, pulling out his phone while she picked through the bag, sipping her juice and nibbling on a small pastry between final touch-ups.

Ten minutes later, the glam team packed up, offered a round of compliments, and filed out with cheerful goodbyes. The door clicked shut, and silence settled.

Wunmi stood, closing the food bag gently and wiping her fingers with a napkin. Michael was still scrolling, relaxed, legs spread, head tipped back against the chair cushion.

Wunmi walked over, makeup flawless, hair snatched back, lips glossy and full. Her dress wasn’t on yet, just a silk robe cinched tight, her legs bare beneath it. She stopped between his knees, her hands resting gently on his thighs.

Michael blinked. “Everything okay?”

She didn’t answer. Just leaned in and kissed him.

This kiss wasn’t like the earlier one; it was deeper, lips parted, full of pressure. Michael responded instantly, setting his phone down and grabbing her waist. He was about to pull her onto his lap when she broke the kiss and dropped to her knees.

He blinked. “Wunmi?”

She was already tugging at his waistband.

His hands froze on the armrests. “What are you–”

“I’m making your morning better,” she murmured, fingers moving to unbutton his pants and pull them and his briefs down just enough.

He sprang free, half-hard and already thickening quickly under her touch.

“You serious?” he breathed, eyes wide, head tilting back slightly as she wrapped her fingers around him.

Wunmi didn’t answer. She just leaned in and licked a slow stripe up the underside of him, her eyes flicking up to meet his. Then her mouth closed around the head. It was warm, wet, and perfect.

Michael groaned, low and long.

Her pace was slow at first, teasing. Tongue swirling just beneath the ridge, lips soft but tight. She used both hands, one at his base, the other stroking gently in rhythm with her mouth. Every few strokes, she went deeper, easing him further into her throat, her breathing steady and controlled.

Michael's hand slipped into her ponytail to ground himself. His eyes stayed locked to her, mouth parted, chest rising with each ragged breath.

“You tryna ruin me before press?” he managed to say, voice tight.

She hummed around him, the vibration making him shudder.

Wunmi found a rhythm quickly: mouth and hands working together, sucking just right at the tip before sliding down, throat relaxing to take more of him each time. The wet sounds echoed quietly in the room, broken only by the occasional curse slipping from Michael’s mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his head falling back.

She pulled off briefly, lips glossy, breath hot against his skin. “I love how you taste in the morning.”

He was about to respond, but she took him back into her mouth before he could speak, this time deeper, her throat flexing as she swallowed around him. Michael’s thighs tensed, one hand gripping the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles whitened.

It didn’t take much longer after that.

His release came with a strangled groan and a whispered “Shit, I’m gonna–” and then his hips stuttered, dick pulsing against her tongue. She took all of it, slow and controlled, holding him in her mouth until he softened. 

When she pulled back, her lips were flushed, her gloss mostly gone. She stood calmly, walked to the mirror, and reapplied her lipgloss with the same steady grace she’d done everything else that morning.

Michael was still in the chair, shirt rumpled, breathing unevenly.

Wunmi turned to him with a smirk. She stepped into her dress, zipped it halfway, then nodded at him. “Zip me up. We’re gonna be late.”

He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And they walked out of the suite ten minutes later, not a single person the wiser.

-

The rooftop was bright with soft sunlight, the skyline of Mexico City stretching behind them like a painted backdrop. A few high-top tables were scattered with bowls of Mexican candy, sliced grapefruits, bottles of tequila, and tajín, ready for the vampiros drink segment.

The interviewer was all energy and easy charm, bouncing between questions for Hailee and Michael as the crew laughed off-camera.

But Michael? He barely noticed the cameras. His focus kept drifting sideways to Wunmi.

She was standing beside him in a sleeveless multicolored dress that hugged her waist and opened in a plunging neckline that made it harder for him to keep his composure

Her hair was braided back into a ponytail, loose curls falling around her shoulders, and her skin catching the sun in every right place.

Hailee stood on the other side with Ryan, and Miles was standing behind Wunmi. The interviewer immediately started bouncing between them, launching into questions mostly directed at Hailee and Michael.

But Michael barely looked away from Wunmi.

He stood slightly in front of her, always close. When she reached for ingredients, he instinctively helped, opening the bottle for her, holding the grapefruit steady while she squeezed juice in. Their rhythm was natural, practiced even, like two people who cooked together in shared silence and soft music more often than the world knew.

“You wanna put more tajín?” he asked quietly, voice low, just for her.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Yeah, a little.”

He reached past her to sprinkle some on, hand brushing lightly against hers. Not even a flicker of reaction from either of them. It was normal.

The interviewer turned to the table. “Okay! You guys can try the candies while you work on your drinks.”

Wunmi laughed, leaning over the table to inspect the options. “I’ve never had any of this.”

Michael followed her lead, reaching for a brightly colored piece while she popped one into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “That’s good. Spicy, but sweet.”

She reached for another one, a longer piece this time, just as Michael leaned over again for a second helping. Without thinking, Wunmi held one up between her fingers and brought it to his mouth.

“Try this one,” she said, her tone soft, absent-minded, like feeding him candy in front of cameras was second nature.

He looked at her, then at the candy, and parted his lips.

Michael’s mouth opened slightly, eyes flicking up to meet hers as he leaned in and took it from her hand, lips brushing her fingertips. The low and genuine sound he made when he tasted it sent a quiet thrill through her.

“Damn,” he muttered, chewing. “I like that one.”

“Right?” she replied, smiling around her words. They leaned into each other slightly, whispering back and forth about the taste, laughing softly. Her eyes sparkled, and he kept looking at her; first her mouth, then her cleavage, then back up like he was trying to behave and failing miserably.

The camera cut to Ryan and Hailee trying candy on the far end of the table. For a moment, it was like no one was watching.

Then came the two-minute drink challenge. Everyone scattered slightly to make their own concoctions. Wunmi moved to step around Michael to grab something from Hailee’s side of the table, and without even thinking, Michael placed both hands gently on her waist, guiding her past him.

He didn’t even realize he’d done it. It was like breathing. She didn’t pause, and he didn’t let go until she was far enough away. 

While she made her drink, he stayed close, quietly checking on her without words. His glances weren’t possessive, but they were protective. Making sure she had what she needed, that no one was crowding her, that she looked okay.

By the time they wrapped, everyone was laughing and full of sugar, sticky fingers and red lips. The producer called them together for a group photo in front of the Mexico City skyline.

Wunmi’s smile was wide and easy. The kind that lit up every inch of her face. Michael slid beside her like second nature, slipping an arm around her waist. His grip was gentle but grounded. 

And her hand brushed his wrist, just barely, just enough.

-

They were back in their suite after a long night of pictures, interviews, and interacting with fans at the premiere. It was quiet. City lights filtered in through the large windows, streaking the room in gold and blue. The hum of traffic far below barely registered. Their bags were packed, tomorrow’s clothes laid out. But none of that mattered right now.

What mattered was the bed and the space between them that had finally, finally closed.

They hadn’t touched all day. With separate arrivals, separate carpet entrances, separate interviews, smiles, photo ops, and polite laughter. Every moment, Michael had felt that quiet absence in his chest, the ache of not being as close to her as he wanted to be.

Now, Wunmi lay beneath him in a worn tee and cotton underwear, bonnet secure, skin still warm from the shower. Michael hovered above her, shirtless, breath shallow, muscles taut with restraint.

His hands were on either side of her shoulders, braced against the mattress. His hips lowered, not quite pressing into her, but close.

“I missed you today,” he murmured, voice gravel-deep. His eyes were locked on hers, searching. He kissed her shoulder slowly. Then her neck. Then behind her ear.

Wunmi cupped his cheek. “You saw me.”

“Barely. You know what I mean.”

He leaned down and kissed her, soft at first, then hungrier. His mouth moved over hers like he was trying to memorize the shape of it again. Her hands slid up his arms, slow and familiar, fingers tracing the curve of his biceps.

She opened under him for a moment, kissing him back, letting herself get swept for a breath until his hips rocked just slightly forward and she felt him, hard and throbbing, through his boxers.

She broke the kiss gently. “Michael.”

He kissed down her neck, across her collarbone, murmuring into her skin.

“I know. I know, you’re still on. But baby,” He lifted his head, eyes dark. “It’s been days. I just want to feel you again.”

“I know,” she said, turning her face toward him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

She exhaled, her hand resting on his chest now, trying to hold space between them. “I don’t think I'm up for it tonight.”

“I’ve got condoms,” he offered quickly, desperate but soft. “We can be careful.”

She gave a small, tired smile. “It’s not about that. I’m just not in the space for it.”

He stilled, breathing hard. His face dropped to her shoulder, and he kissed her there again, slowly this time. Less convincing, more needing.

Then, he looked back up at her, eyes heavy, lips parted. He grabbed her hand, brought it down between them, and pressed it against the hard length of him through his boxers.

“Just feel it,” he whispered. “Feel what you do to me.”

Wunmi let her palm rest there, the heat of him pulsing into her skin, the weight of his want clear, urgent. Her thumb grazed him once, slowly.

He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

She kissed him once, before pulling her hand away.

“Not tonight, baby.”

Michael’s jaw clenched not in anger, but in a mix of frustration and longing. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely audible. “I just…I needed you so bad, and I got caught up.”

She brushed her fingers through his hair, grounding him. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love that you want me and can’t keep your hands off me. But you need to be patient right now, okay?”

His face softened, and he nodded his head. Slowly, he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling her into his chest. His cock was still hard, trapped between their bodies. She could feel it throbbing faintly against her hip.

“I’m gonna have the worst case of blue balls,” he muttered against her hair, and she laughed, full and quiet.

“You’ll survive,” she said, kissing his chest.

“Barely,” he whispered.

But he didn’t try again. He just held her tightly. Pressed his face into her neck and let her warmth settle everything aching inside him.

Want still lingered, but love was louder.

Los Angeles, CA April 1st 

The flight from Mexico had just landed early that morning. L.A. felt like a ghost town, a cool breeze whispering across empty streets.

Neither of them said much when they hugged goodbye at the curb. Just a quiet, tired kiss and a squeeze. 

“You get some sleep,” she murmured.

“You too. Call me when you wake up.”

-

Wunmi’s bedroom was filled with soft, filtered light when she finally stirred. Her suitcase still sat half-unpacked at the foot of the bed. The purple premiere gown hung alone on the back of the door like a memory. She stretched beneath the covers, sore in that good, worn-out way. The kind that said you’d been working, smiling too much, and hugging too many strangers. But underneath the fatigue was a buzz she couldn’t shake.

She could still feel the heat of his body from when he’d curled around her last night. His lips on her shoulder. The weight of his need. The way he’d tried to be patient.

She smiled to herself and rolled out of bed, stretching fully before reaching for her phone. There was a lot to do.

She had check-ins with her team, fittings for the U.S. premiere, voiceover pickups for an animated project, and a lunch meeting with her stylist about upcoming looks. The day filled quickly, with outfit changes, traffic, messages from her manager, and emails from the press team. Somewhere in the middle of it, she paused in her car between meetings, hand resting against the curve of her abdomen, remembering how his breath had hitched when she said “not tonight, baby.”

-

Michael’s day wasn’t much lighter. He had a few solo press calls to knock out, notes to approve for the rollout, and a production meeting for a project he was attached to but couldn’t yet talk about publicly. Most of the day, he spent in motion, on calls, reading scripts, doing voice memos into his phone from the back seat of an SUV.

But his mind drifted to the way Wunmi looked standing in that plum gown in Mexico, her laugh over breakfast, and to the soft “no” she gave him in bed, even as he was trembling with want.

He wanted to be near her again. Not even to touch her, just to feel her hand on the back of his neck, her knee against his under a table, the grounding, lived-in warmth she always gave without trying.

He pulled up her name in his phone at least four times. Started a message and erased it.

By late evening, he settled for sending her a random photo of himself in a hoodie, pillow behind his head. With a message following about how much he messed her.

She didn’t reply right away. But when she did, hours later, it was a voice note. With her voice sounding tired and amused. 

“You’re so dramatic. Go to sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just hearing her say it was enough to finally let his body rest.

-

April 2nd

The lights were hot. The chairs were close. The backdrop, a glowing, sunlit gradient, gave everything a kind of faux warmth that didn’t match how long the day had already been.

Wunmi sat effortlessly composed, her crisp white button-down dress with its dramatic sleeves neatly pressed, cinched at the waist, catching just enough of the light to make her look like she belonged to something bigger. Her braided bun was neat, her earrings bold, and she laughed like she meant it, even when the jokes weren’t that funny.

Michael, seated right next to her, was all calm and quiet in a black checked zip-up, silver chain peeking out at his collar. He looked composed, but tired. Yet, he looked hungry.

Not in a way the cameras would catch, but anyone who really knew him could see it. The way he’d lean in a little too far when she spoke. How his eyes drifted just long enough to her mouth, her hands, her collar. How he sometimes forgot the camera was even there. And then there were the under the table moments.

During one virtual interview, the camera only caught them from the waist up. Wunmi was mid-answer when Michael subtly hooked his ankle behind her foot beneath the table. A soft, instinctive tether.

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t have to. She nudged her foot right back, just enough to hold him there.

But now they were on camera again. This time for an interview with Hailee. And the interviewer was a little too enthusiastic and a little too fixated on Wunmi. At least that’s what it seemed like in Michael’s eyes.

“Wunmi, I have to say,” the man grinned, “you absolutely crushed it. Like, next-level. There’s this elegance you bring to your character that just lives in the silence.”

Wunmi smiled graciously. “Thank you. That’s really generous.”

“No, honestly. It’s rare to see someone who can hold that kind of power.”

Michael’s jaw flexed slightly. He kept his hands clasped together between his knees.

“She’s magnetic, right?” Hailee added with a playful grin.

The interviewer nodded, eyes still locked on Wunmi. “Beyond. You were layered. Dangerous and vulnerable. How do you even prepare for something like that? Or is it just natural?”

Wunmi gave a measured answer, something about backstory work and finding softness in strength, but Michael barely heard it. His eyes were on the guy, reading every glance, every grin. He couldn’t call it. It wasn’t unprofessional, but it felt close.

He shifted slightly, legs spreading a little wider, gaze fixed just past the camera. And when the interviewer laughed a little too loud at something Wunmi said, a comment that wasn’t even a joke, Michael blinked slowly, then licked his bottom lip, jaw clenched.

He wasn’t going to say anything. He really couldn’t. This was part of their job: smile and entertain, but he didn’t have to like it.

After the segment, while the crew reset, Wunmi turned toward him, voice low. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, eyes still forward.

She nudged his arm. “You sure?”

Michael finally looked at her. “He likes you.”

Wunmi blinked, then tilted her head. “You jealous?”

He shrugged, lips twitching at the corners. “Just observant.”

She smiled, then leaned in. “You act like you don’t know who I go home with.”

He did. God, he did.

“That’s not the issue,” he said. “The issue is I can’t pull you into my lap mid-interview to make that clear.”

Wunmi bit her lip to hide her laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Michael leaned back just slightly, enough to look relaxed again for the next camera cue.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

She sat up straighter, laughing now, and nonchalantly brushed her sleeve off. “Damn right you are.”

-

Wunmi’s face glowed on the screen, soft and warm under the low lights of her bedroom. Her makeup was still mostly intact, earrings off, braid loosened down her back. She was curled up in bed with one arm tucked behind her pillow and the other propping her phone against her shoulder.

Michael’s screen was dimmer, his room darker, his face half-lit from the bedside lamp. He was shirtless, his head resting back against the wall. They’d been talking for a while, small stuff, the kind of catch-up that came after a long day apart.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Some guy paid for our dinner tonight.”

Michael blinked. “What?”

Wunmi laughed, shrugging casually. “Yeah, random. I went out with Sam and Lydia. We were at this place in Silver Lake, and he overheard us talking about the premiere stuff. He asked the waiter to cover the bill.”

Michael’s brows furrowed. “He heard you talking and paid?”

“Yeah. We were chatting about fittings and stuff. He complimented us, but we just said thank you and kept it moving.”

He nodded slowly. “Did you talk to him?”

“A little. Just to say thank you. He was nice, that’s all.”

Michael’s jaw flexed subtly, but he didn’t say anything. His silence stretched a little too long.

Wunmi’s eyes narrowed on the screen. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, low.

“Michael.”

“I mean–” he paused, exhaled sharply. “I just don’t get it. Some guy hears you talking about a movie and decides to pay for your whole table?”

“It was one dinner,” she said. “And I told you about it.”

“I know,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “I just…I don’t like that.”

Wunmi sat up straighter. “You don’t like it? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, suddenly restless, shifting on the bed. “It’s weird.”

She blinked. “It’s weird that I had dinner with my friends and a stranger did something kind?”

“It’s weird that he inserted himself.”

“He paid for a meal.”

Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not hearing me.”

“No, you’re not hearing me,” she said, quieter now, but firmer. “I told you. I didn’t hide it. I was open with you because I thought we had that.”

“We do–”

“Then why are you acting like I messed up?”

“I’m not saying you messed up,” he snapped, then stopped himself, jaw tightening again. “I’m saying I don’t like how it made me feel.”

Her voice was soft now. “Then say that, Michael. Say that you felt uncomfortable, or jealous, or whatever the hell you’re feeling. But don’t twist it into me doing something wrong.”

Michael looked down. Ran a hand over his face.

“I don’t usually feel like this,” he muttered. “I don’t get like this.”

Wunmi sighed. “That’s not an excuse to project it on me.”

“I know.”

There was another pause.

She shook her head slowly, exhaustion overtaking her voice. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Wunmi–”

“Goodnight, Michael.”

The screen went dark as the call ended.

Michael stared at the empty FaceTime interface for a while, then lay back on his bed, hands over his face.

He wasn’t mad at her. He was mad at the feeling. The way it crept up in his throat and made him short when he should’ve just been honest.

He closed his eyes, her last words echoing in the quiet.

That’s not an excuse to project it on me.

And she was right. Now he just had to figure out how to fix it.

LA Premiere April 4th

Michael had been trying all day. Sending texts, trying to call, and sending a voice note he re-recorded three times before sending. Another one, shorter, just saying “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please talk to me.”

Wunmi hadn’t responded. She said not a word. Not even her usual emoji reaction.

By 4 p.m., he was pacing in his hotel room with his phone in one hand and a suit steamer in the other, wishing he could rewind the last 24 hours.

By 6, they were all headed to the premiere venue.

The carpet was massive. Music pulsed behind velvet ropes, fans screamed, and the press clicked their cameras. Flash after flash, the energy was flowing everywhere.

And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, Wunmi stepped out of her car looking like vengeance in blue, and a slick, braided updo that framed her face like art. Her expression was perfectly composed, radiant, yet unreadable.

Michael’s heart squeezed at the sight of her. Not just because she looked stunning, but because she still wasn’t looking at him.

She greeted the rest of the cast. Took photos with fans. Laughed with Miles, grinned at Hailee, hugged Ryan. But when it came to Michael, she kept it business; a nod, a practiced smile, with no real warmth.

To the outside world, they looked fine, like any other polished cast doing their job. But the people who knew them saw it.

During one round of photos, Hailee leaned in and muttered, “Did you piss her off or something?”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “Something like that.”

Miles raised an eyebrow behind him. “Man, what’d you do?”

Michael didn’t answer. Because if he said it out loud, it would sound petty. Or worse, it would sound like he was insecure. And it wasn’t about the dinner or the guy. It was about how he handled it, or how he didn’t know how to handle it.

Now he was here, suited up and sharp under the lights, standing next to the woman he loved while pretending everything was fine. But it wasn’t. She hadn’t even made eye contact with him yet.

Still, he stayed close. He didn’t push. He didn’t corner her. But when it was time for their joint interviews, he was there, ready.

For one of them, a long-form on-camera segment, the interviewer smiled as she handed Michael the mic. He took it then turned to Wunmi, offering the mic gently so she could answer the first question. His hand rested low at her back, a light, guiding touch at her waist.

She answered calmly, eloquently, and as charming as ever. Michael nodded beside her, keeping the mic steady, eyes flicking toward her every now and then like he needed her to feel that he was listening, even if she wouldn’t look at him.

And she never once glanced at him. But when she passed the mic back for his turn, their fingers brushed, and she didn’t pull away.

After the last round of photos, Michael released a breath, then stepped out just in time to see Wunmi getting ushered toward the theater entrance.

She looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like she was trying to hold it all together.

He wanted to run to her. Apologize again, but say it better this time. 

But he couldn’t. So he just trailed behind, watching her back, heart thudding with everything he still hadn’t said. Even in silence, even with her mad at him, he was still watching her. Still making sure she was good. Because that’s what love looked like, even when it was hurting. 

-

The theater was dark, except for the flicker of the screen and the occasional flash of phones before security reminded people to put them away. The cast had filed into their reserved row near the center.

Michael scanned the seats and cursed under his breath. Jayme was sitting between them. Of course, she was.

He hesitated for a second before leaning over, voice low. “Jayme. Please. I need a favor.”

She blinked at him, amused. “What?”

“Can I switch with you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Please. I need to sit next to her.”

Jayme glanced at Wunmi, who sat primly with her legs crossed and arms folded, eyes focused ahead.

“Y’all good?” Jayme asked.

“Not yet,” Michael muttered. “That’s why I need the seat.”

Jayme studied him for a second longer, then sighed and stood. “You better fix it.”

Michael mouthed, thank you, and slid into the seat beside Wunmi just as the movie started. Her body stiffened slightly when she realized he was there.

“Don’t,” she whispered, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to.”

“Bakari.”

“I know, okay? I know I messed up. I know I made something small feel like something bigger.”

She didn’t respond. He kept going anyway.

“You were being real with me  and I acted like you owed me something more.”

Wunmi shifted slightly, not looking at him.

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he whispered. “I was mad at how it made me feel. And I didn’t know how to sit with that.”

Still nothing.

He tried again, this time quieter. “I was scared.”

Her head turned slightly now. Just a little.

“Not of losing you,” he added. “Of messing up something that’s too good. Of you realizing you could have any man who’d pay for dinner and not fumble the after.”

That finally cracked something.

She huffed softly, barely a laugh, and shook her head.

“I told you the truth,” she whispered, eyes still on the screen.

“I know,” he said.

They sat in silence again. The movie played on, but Michael didn’t hear any of it. His fingers inched across the armrest, stopping just before they touched hers. Then, slowly, she slid her pinky against his.

He held his breath, let it settle, and didn't push.

Another ten minutes passed before she finally leaned in, voice so quiet only he could hear.

“Don’t do that again.”

Michael turned to her, eyes soft. “I won’t.”

She nodded once. “And don’t assume just because I’m smiling for cameras that I’m smiling for you.”

“I’m learning.”

Her hand finally curled into his.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because next time, I’ll make Hailee sit between us.”

He chuckled too loudly. She elbowed him.

“Shhh,” someone whispered from behind them.

But he didn’t care. 

-

The second the front door closed behind them, the air shifted.

Neither of them spoke. There was no small talk, no recap of the premiere, no light teasing to smooth the night’s sharp edges. Michael watched her slip out of her heels and cross the room in silence. She had switched her dress after the premiere on the way to the after-party. Now she was in a silver dress that was riding up the further she walked into the room.

He could still feel the phantom of her hand in his from the theater, but he hadn’t touched her since. Not really.

“Wunmi,” he said, his voice low but sure.

She turned to look at him.

“I’m not spending another day like that. Ever.”

She didn’t answer, but her expression softened.

Michael walked toward her slowly, closing the distance. When he got close, he reached for her hand, brought it to his chest, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

“You’re about to be my wife,” he said, voice rough with held-in emotion. “You get mad at me, you tell me. You shut down, I’ll wait. But don’t you ever do what you did today again. You hear me?”

Wunmi nodded, eyes on his. “I hear you.”

He kissed her, softly at first. Then again, deeper, hungrier. All the ache from the last twenty-four hours poured into it. His hands were already roaming, gripping her waist, dragging the thin straps of her dress down in one slow pull until it slipped to the floor like silk.

“No more silence,” he murmured against her skin, dropping to his knees before her.

Wunmi’s breath hitched as he kissed the inside of her thigh, his hands smoothing up her legs and dragging her panties down slowly. He looked up at her, steady.

“I can live without a lot of things,” he said. “But I can’t live without you.” Then he buried his face between her legs.

Her head fell back immediately, mouth parting in a gasp. Michael worked like a man possessed; slow at first, savoring her, tongue moving in long, wet strokes, hands gripping her hips to keep her right where he wanted her. He groaned into her, the sound low, guttural, like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When her legs trembled, he doubled down, lips wrapping around her clit, sucking gently, then harder, until her hands found his curls and she whispered his name in a voice that cracked.

“Michael– fuck, baby–”

He didn’t stop. Not until she was shaking, moaning, melting into him. Not until her hips rolled against his mouth and she came, high and broken, calling out his name like a promise.

Then he stood. Her eyes were glassy, dazed, full of everything she hadn’t said before now.

He didn’t ask. He just turned her around, bent her over the couch with a firm hand between her shoulder blades, and pulled his pants low.

“This mine,” he muttered, rubbing the head of his dick against her soaked entrance.

“All yours,” she breathed.

He slid into her in one stroke. One hand gripped her waist, and the other slid over her shoulders and landed on her throat, keeping her steady as he drove into her again and again.

“You don’t ignore me,” he growled into her ear. “Not when I’m trying.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so– fuck– I’m sorry.”

Her words broke apart with every thrust, her legs nearly giving out. Michael pulled her upright, one hand gripping her jaw, the other pressed to her chest where her heart beat wildly.

“I love you so much it makes me stupid,” he whispered against her neck. “Don’t ever shut me out like that again.”

“I won’t,” she said, tears at the edges of her voice.

And with that, he wrapped his arms around her body and fucked her deeper, not just to claim her, but to anchor himself to her all over again.

-

April 9th

Their bags were packed, passports double-checked, with their flight to London set for early morning. The past week had been nonstop; press junkets, late nights, quick changes, and even quicker moments snatched in between. They’d barely had time to breathe, let alone slow down. But tonight, the stillness settled around them like something sacred.

Wunmi was in Michael’s bed, curled under a throw blanket in one of his old T-shirts, scrolling through her iPad as the soft hum of the soundbar played an old jazz record. Her hair was down, her body relaxed. That kind of quiet that only came from being completely safe.

Michael came out of the bathroom in a tank top and sweats, towel in hand, drying his face as he walked in. He paused when he saw her, letting his eyes just rest on her face.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

She looked up, then nodded. “Just thinking about home.”

He walked over and sat at the edge of the bed. “You nervous?”

“No,” she said, placing the iPad down. “I’m just…it’s been a while. And it’s not just home anymore, you know? It’s the place I grew up, but now it’s also the place I’m bringing you.”

Michael smiled, reaching down to take her foot in his hands, rubbing slow circles into her ankle. “You act like your family doesn’t already know me.”

“They haven’t seen us together, though. Not like this.”

He nodded, quiet for a moment, before looking up at her. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice lowered, a little rough now. “I think it’s been so much lately, but now that we’re going to your place, I just wanna slow down.”

She slid closer to him, shifting so her legs draped across his lap. “You feeling soft on me?”

He laughed. “I always feel soft about you. Just haven’t had the time to show you.”

Her fingers found his. “We’ve been moving fast.”

“Too fast.” He looked at her now, really looked. “I don’t want the next time I hold you to feel rushed. I want it to feel like it means something.”

She searched his face, her smile quiet, steady. He leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him back, slow and patient, the kind of kiss that made you feel like time had folded in on itself, like the only thing that mattered was the present moment.

When they pulled back, she rested her forehead against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For choosing peace and stillness, finally.”

Michael kissed her once more, then wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down with him. They lay together, limbs tangled, heartbeat to heartbeat, no rush.

And in the quiet that followed, somewhere between their slowed breathing and the soft music drifting in from the next room, Michael whispered, “You’re about to take me home. I want to be the version of myself that deserves that.”

Wunmi didn’t say anything. She just kissed his hand, laced their fingers together, and held on until they both fell asleep.

London, UK April 10th

The city unfolded below them in scattered lights, wet pavement, narrow streets, and the cool hush of a London night.

It was just after 10 p.m. when the car pulled up to the hotel. It was tucked away in the quieter part of town where the lobby smelled like cedar and lemon, and the check-in process was handled in a whisper.

Wunmi was practically buzzing. She hadn’t said much during the ride from Heathrow, just stared out the window like she was trying to memorize every corner, every curve of the streets she knew by heart. Now, standing in the elevator beside Michael, her hand found his automatically.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, warm.

“Mmhm,” she nodded, eyes flicking up at him. “It’s just that I haven’t brought anyone home in a long time.”

Michael smiled, pulling her hand to his lips. “Feels special.”

She bumped his hip gently. “It is special.”

Their rooms were next to each other, connected by a private door, separated for appearance purposes. PR still wanted things to look clean. But by the time they’d dropped their bags, showered, and ordered tea from room service, they were curled up together on her bed, soft music playing from her phone.

Wunmi wore a robe and fresh twists tucked under her scarf. Michael was in sweatpants and socks, his arm draped around her like he’d been there for years.

“This city moves slower,” he murmured.

“A little bit.”

“I like it.”

She leaned into him, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“We’ve got press starting at 9,” she said. “But we have time for you to meet the family this week.”

Michael’s smile shifted still soft, but steadier. “You sure they’re ready for me?”

“They’ve been ready,” she said, sitting up just enough to look at him.

He studied her face for a long second, then nodded once. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You know they’re going to be all over you. But they’ll like you because you show up the way you do when you think no one’s watching. That’s the man I’m bringing home.” She smirked.

He pulled her back into his chest. She melted into him, fingers grazing his wrist, and they lay like that, jetlagged but content, the hum of London outside the window like a heartbeat.

-

The London sky was still gray when Wunmi sat in the makeup chair, robe loose at the neck, shoulders relaxed, but her eyes heavy with sleep. She’d been up since before dawn. Her hair was already halfway done, and the makeup artist moved quietly around her. Her curls had been parted into thick, clean sections, and her stylist was just starting to shape them into smooth, thick braids.

She sat quietly, sipping tea she couldn’t remember asking for, blinking slowly as they worked around her.

They had a full day of press ahead. Radio, online junkets, interviews. And she was tired. The kind of tired that pressed into her bones. She was trying her hardest, but her body was still somewhere between London and L.A.

A knock at the door managed to pull her attention.

“Delivery for Miss Mosaku.”

Everyone in the room turned, except Wunmi, who was too tired to react fast enough. But when the stylist opened the door, there he was.

Michael, fully dressed in a white tee and fitted jeans, stepped inside with two takeaway cups in one hand and a small bouquet of fresh flowers in the other, soft lavender, white ranunculus, and pale pink roses, wrapped in crisp paper.

He walked straight over to her.

“Morning, superstar,” he said, grinning.

Wunmi blinked up at him and smiled before she could stop herself. “You’re already dressed?”

“Yeah, you know it doesn’t take me long,” he teased. He held out the coffee. “I got your order right this time.”

She took it, still smiling, fingers brushing his. “You got me flowers?”

He shrugged, setting them gently on the makeup table beside her. “You’ve been up for hours. Thought you needed a good wake-up call.”

One of the stylists behind her muttered, “Okay, gentleman,” and the room chuckled.

Wunmi exhaled, leaning back just slightly in the chair as she took a slow sip. The caffeine was helping, but his presence helped far more.

He stood near the mirror, arms crossed, watching as they finished her hair. His eyes scanned her through the mirror.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “You look unreal.”

Wunmi gave him a sleepy smirk. “Stop it. I’m fighting for my life right now.”

He laughed, stepped closer, and crouched down beside her.

“Good thing I’m stuck with you all day,” he said. “I’ll keep you awake.”

“By being annoying?”

He leaned in just slightly, voice low, for her ears only. “By keeping you smiling and happy.”

Later that morning, they sat side by side in the Heart Radio press room, red mics in hand, bright lights on them, their backdrop a glowing sun, and the word Sinners behind them in bold yellow text.

Michael was relaxed, leaning back slightly, letting Wunmi take the lead as she spoke, dressed in a dramatic all-black one-shoulder dress. He kept sneaking glances at her, grinning whenever she made a joke, throwing in ad-libs just to make her laugh.

She caught him once, mid-smirk, and mouthed stop without missing a beat. But of course, he didn’t stop. 

She was tired, still. The fatigue hadn’t lifted. But with him beside her, elbow brushing hers now and then, mic in hand, doing a little too much just to make her laugh? She didn’t feel it as much.

And somehow, the cameras never caught the way he was always looking at her first before answering a question, just to make sure she was okay.

-

The last interview wrapped just after sunset. Everyone was buzzing with adrenaline from being "on" all day, the shared momentum of a successful press run, and the fact that they were in one of the best cities in the world with a night off ahead of them.

Ryan and Jack were already talking about a pub in Shoreditch. Hailee was excited about finding this underground jazz club she’d bookmarked. Miles was hungry and trying to convince everyone to start with food first.

“Wunmi,” Hailee said, nudging her, “you’re the local. Where should we go?”

“Yeah,” Jack chimed in, eyes wide with curiosity. “Best food, best vibes, let’s hear it.”

Wunmi smiled, polite and easy. “There’s a really good spot in Soho I used to love, nothing too fancy.”

“Say less,” Ryan said. “That’s where we’re headed.”

They all started filing out toward the waiting vans, still laughing, tossing ideas and playlists back and forth. Michael stayed near the back of the group, just watching. He saw how Wunmi smiled and nodded, how she kept her arms folded tightly across her chest, not because she was cold, but because she was tired.

She wasn’t going to say no. That wasn’t who she was. But she needed rest. He knew it before she did.

So while the others were ordering at the restaurant, Michael slipped away to the bar. He spoke low and politely, handed over his card, and ordered two meals to go. Her favorite, just how she liked it when her head was starting to fog from the day.

While he waited for the bag, something caught his eye; a young couple at a corner table, clearly tourists. They had a toddler in a high chair throwing little bits of bread everywhere, and a baby strapped to the mom’s chest, fast asleep.

Michael stared for a moment longer than he meant to. The look wasn’t sad or wanting, it was more like wondering.

The way the mom leaned her head on the dad’s shoulder. The way he kissed her temple and reached over to wipe the toddler’s hands. The way they moved around each other like they were a team.

By the time the food was ready, he came back to find the group still laughing, still deciding what bar was next. Wunmi was at the center, smiling faintly but not speaking much, her hand bracing against the table like she needed something to lean on.

Michael slid the takeout bag into her hand before she could say a word.

She looked up at him, confused. “What’s this?”

“Dinner,” he said. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

“Michael, I’m–”

“You’re tired,” he said gently, without teasing. “I know you’re trying to hang, but I got you.”

She stared at him for a second, like she might argue. But instead, she exhaled and nodded.

“Thank you.”

Back in the hotel suite, he helped her out of her coat and into the robe they had hanging on the back of the bathroom door. They sat on the bed, lights dim, legs touching as he opened the food and handed her a fork.

“Eat first,” he said. “Then sleep.”

And she did. It was slow, but she made it through.

He watched her, legs stretched out, head starting to tilt onto his shoulder.

“You’re taking care of me too much,” she murmured.

Michael looked down at her, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “Could never be too much of that.”

She didn’t argue. She just leaned into him, her food forgotten, and her lids heavy.

When she finally fell asleep in his arms, he didn’t move. Somewhere deep in his chest, the thought returned that he could build a life like this. With her and maybe a family.

-

April 12th

The sun had dipped just below the rooftops by the time the car pulled up outside the semi-detached house in South Manchester. The kind of neighborhood that held memories in every crack of the sidewalk, every porch with a potted plant or plastic chair that hadn’t moved in a decade. The air smelled like freshly watered concrete and something simmering with garlic and onions.

Wunmi took a deep breath as they stepped out of the car, wrapping her coat a little tighter. She looked up at the house for a beat before turning to Michael.

“You ready, babe?”

Michael smirked, adjusting the sleeve of his sweater. “Always.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “Just don’t embarrass me.”

“Never.” He took her hand, laced their fingers together, and followed her up the short walkway.

The moment the door opened, they were hit with warmth. Her mother was the first to appear, dressed in a vibrant patterned wrap, arms wide open.

“Wunmi, come here!”

They hugged tightly, laughter bubbling between them. Then her mom turned to Michael.

“Michael,” she said, eyeing him playfully.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, offering both a smile and a hand.

She didn’t take the hand. She pulled him into a hug.

“You know I like my hugs, yes?”

Michael chuckled. “Me too.”

They were ushered in quickly, shoes by the door without question. The smell of spiced stew and rice floated from the kitchen, and voices echoed from the living room where her siblings, cousins, and a few family friends were already gathered. It didn’t take long for the ring to become the center of attention.

Her aunt gasped when she saw it. “Eh-eh! You didn’t tell us it was this big!”

“Let me see!” another cousin shouted. “Wunmi, you’ve been hiding this hand!”

Michael stood off to the side for a moment, watching the way her family surrounded her, touching her hand and hugging her. Her smile was effortless here, her laugh louder, her energy lighter. It made him fall in love with her all over again.

“Michael!” her uncle boomed. “Come! We’ve got questions.”

He grinned. “I figured.”

They grilled him gently. Asked where he was from, when he started acting, what his parents were like, and if he could handle real pepper. Someone even made a crack about his People’s Sexiest Man Alive title. But it was never hostile. They were inviting and teasing.

And Michael handled it perfectly. Joked when needed, answered thoughtfully, and kept glancing at Wunmi like she was still the only thing in the room.

At one point, her mother pulled Wunmi aside and said, quietly but firmly, “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.”

Wunmi smiled. “That’s how he makes me feel.”

Later, while dinner was being set, Michael helped bring plates into the dining room, taking instructions from her aunties without complaint. 

When they sat to eat, Michael took the seat beside Wunmi, knee against hers, hand brushing hers under the table. She squeezed his hand gently.

“You’re doing good,” she whispered.

He smiled, low and private. “I just like seeing you home.”

The house had thinned out a little after dinner. A few older aunties were sipping tea and gossiping in Yoruba. Music hummed low from someone’s phone speaker. The air smelled like stew and family.

Michael sat on the floor of the living room, surrounded by a small chaos of children. One kid had decided he was a jungle gym. Another kept asking about his watch. Two were trying to pull him into a clumsy hand-clapping game he didn’t understand but kept trying anyway. He was laughing, genuinely.

Across the room, Wunmi was sitting on the couch, gently rocking her cousin’s baby, a chubby-cheeked girl no older than ten months, who’d fallen asleep on her chest. One hand stroked the baby’s back while the other kept the tiny blanket in place. She looked peaceful. Fully in her element.

Michael looked up and caught her like that, and the whole room just quieted in his head. Something inside him stilled. The laughter around him dulled. The kids were still tugging at his hands, but all he could focus on was her; her face, her arms, the way her body shifted gently to keep the baby from stirring.

And just like that, the thought came back. The thought that this life could be theirs. Not just the baby, but the whole moment. The easy way she fit into that kind of quiet. His woman. His family. His home.

It wasn't the first time the thought had surfaced. But this time it hit different. He was sitting in her family’s home, eating her mom’s cooking, and laughing with her cousins’ kids. And damn if he didn’t feel something pull tight in his chest.

She looked up then, catching his gaze. He softly smiled back at her. She tilted her head, brows raised like, ‘What?’ He just shook his head, still smiling, heart heavy with something he wasn’t ready to say out loud yet. The thought stayed tucked behind his ribs like a slow, certain truth.

-

The ride back to the hotel had been quiet, not from tension, but from a soft tiredness that comes after too much food, too much laughter, and too many voices calling your name across a warm room. Wunmi had kicked her shoes off in the elevator. Michael had carried them the whole way up.

Now they were curled up in her bed, lights off, just the faintest street glow filtering through the sheer curtains. The room was cool, but under the duvet, it was warm, soft, and still.

Michael was spooning her from behind, his arm draped fully across her waist, his nose pressed to the crook of her neck. He hadn't let go since they got in bed. Every few minutes, his fingers would trace along her ribs, or press a kiss to her shoulder, or run lightly down the curve of her arm just to feel her there.

Wunmi smiled into the pillow.

“You’re extra cuddly tonight,” she murmured.

Michael hummed sleepily. “Mmm. So?”

She chuckled, turning just enough to glance back at him. “I like it. But you’re not slick.”

He didn’t respond. Just kissed the back of her neck again.

“Be honest,” she said softly. “How was it?”

Michael let out a long breath, voice muffled against her skin. “It was really beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your little cousins already asked if I could come back.”

She smiled wider, squeezing his arm. “They like you.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I like them too.”

They lay like that for a moment with just the soft sound of their breathing in sync.

“You were good,” she whispered. “Like, really good. You made them feel like you wanted to be there.”

“I did want to be there,” he said, pulling her closer. “I loved seeing you like that.”

Her chest tightened in the best way. She turned slightly and reached for his face, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “You’re being sweet.”

“I’m always sweet.”

“You’re being extra sweet.”

He smiled, eyes barely open. “Let me.”

She leaned in and kissed him. It was a soft thank you, more than anything else. He kissed her back with the same energy, hand cupping her jaw, thumb grazing her bottom lip before they broke apart.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

Wunmi nodded and settled back into his chest, her hand resting over his on her waist.

-

UK Premiere April 14th

The red carpet shimmered under stage lights and camera flashes, the “Sinners” backdrop flickering behind the cast like smoldering fire. Reporters shouted names, publicists hovered, and the velvet ropes barely held back the waves of fans calling out with phones raised high. But Michael only saw her.

Wunmi was radiant, draped in a red gown that clung and flowed in all the right ways, slit high up her leg, her skin glowing against the boldness of the color. Her hair was sculpted into a sleek, braided updo, elegant and dramatic, the kind of styling that made people pause just to admire.

And Michael had been fighting the heat in his chest since they left the hotel.

It wasn’t just attraction. It was need. That ache of wanting to be around her, near her, just in her space. It pulled at him all night like gravity. Even when they weren’t standing together, his eyes found her. His body tilted unconsciously toward wherever she moved. He couldn’t help himself.

He was supposed to move with the group, hit his mark, pose, pivot, and smile, but he kept drifting back to her like his body forgot what professionalism looked like. She wasn’t exactly encouraging it, but she wasn’t stopping it either. Not when he leaned in a little too close for a photo. Not when his fingers brushed the small of her back between interviews. Not when she turned her head slightly toward him during a photo, and he had to look away just to breathe.

They took a dozen photos, video clips, and press snippets together. But the cameras didn’t catch the way his hand stayed just behind her hip, steady. Or how he watched her mouth more than her eyes when she answered questions.

Wunmi noticed, of course. She gave him a small “What’s going on with you?” glance.

He didn’t answer, just smiled. But inside, his chest was humming.

It wasn’t just that she looked good. It wasn’t even just that she knew exactly how good she looked. It was the way being next to her tonight made something click in him. He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to be near her. Touch her. Keep her close. Breathe with her.

Inside the theater, the lights dimmed and the audience settled, but Michael didn’t. He sat beside her, thigh to thigh, trying not to do too much. But even in the dark, his body betrayed him. His fingers brushed her leg, just above the slit in her dress. She shifted slightly, but didn’t pull away.

They watched the film, but he wasn’t really watching. Not with her hand resting on her lap, not with the rise and fall of her breathing beside him, not when every now and then she’d laugh softly at a line she’d heard a hundred times, and he’d look at her instead of the screen.

She let him hold her hand halfway through and he kissed her knuckles.

She looked over once during a quiet moment in the film and found him already watching her. He didn’t look away.

And for all the heat rolling off him, all the things he hadn’t said yet, she could feel that whatever this was building into and it wasn’t just desire. 

-

The tension followed them from the car to the suite. Michael had barely spoken the whole ride back from the premiere. He only nodded at the driver, staying close behind Wunmi as they walked through the hotel lobby, his hand brushing the small of her back, just enough contact to keep him grounded.

Wunmi didn’t say much either. But she felt it.

She felt it in the way he looked at her in the elevator like he was fighting to keep his thoughts to himself. She felt it when she stepped into the suite and his eyes never left her back. She was still glowing from the carpet. When she was wearing that custom red dress, slit high, sculpted bodice, heels that made her taller than him in brief moments. And she knew she looked good.

“I’m gonna shower,” she said softly, already unzipping the dress.

He nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. Okay.”

By the time the bathroom door clicked shut, Michael was pacing. Shirt half off, chain resting on his chest, hands running over his face like he could shake something loose. What he was feeling wasn’t just sexual frustration. It weighed heavier and ran deeper.

Wunmi in that dress. Her laughing with their castmates. Her holding the baby the night before. Her curled up in his bed last night. He couldn’t stop seeing it. The version of her that wasn’t just his now, but his forever. His woman. His family. The one his heart belonged to.

And now, as he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm his body down while she stood in the next room rinsing the day off her skin, his mind looped one question over and over:

What are we waiting for?

The bathroom door opened with a cloud of steam. She stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her shoulders still dewy from the heat. Her hair was loose now, and her skin practically glowed in the dim light.

He stood slowly, grabbing the lotion from the vanity. “Sit down. Let me.”

She watched him for a second before nodding and stepping forward, dropping the towel as she eased onto the edge of the bed. He knelt before her and started rubbing the lotion into her skin with slow, intentional hands. Her calves. Her thighs. Her feet. Kissing the spots as he went.

“Michael,” she said gently, noticing the shift in his energy, the quiet focus in his face. “What’s going on with you, baby?”

He looked up at her, eyes darker than she’d ever seen. His voice came low, like it took effort to ask. “Are you still on your birth control?”

She stared at him for a beat, her body still under his hands, skin warm where he’d been kissing. She was surprised. “I-I missed it the last two days. We’ve been so busy, I didn’t even think about it until last night.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just held her gaze like he was searching for something in it. And then he leaned forward, mouth against her inner thigh, and the words were gone. All of them.

He pulled her toward the center of the bed, lips on her thigh, then higher until he reached what he was looking for. No teasing this time, just mouth to skin. He ate like he was chasing something inside her, like every moan she gave fed something wild in him. She came once with a gasp, her hands twisted in the sheets. And still he didn’t stop. Not even when her thighs shook and her body tried to retreat.

“Michael–” she breathed, already breathless.

He kept her held open and coaxed another orgasm from her with just his tongue and his thumb. By the time he finally moved over her, she was panting, chest rising and falling, eyes hazy with pleasure.

Then he slid into her. 

It wasn’t about rhythm. It was about being inside her. His mouth on her collarbone, his hand cupping her breast, one of his favorite places, his forehead pressed to hers.

And she could feel it in the way he was moving. In the way his hips rolled, in how deep he was going, like he wasn’t just chasing his own release. He was chasing something else.

He stared at her as their bodies moved together. Her eyes were holding something warm that made him want to dive deeper, so he did. And he was rewarded with a sharp gasp, and hands flying to grip his swollen arms.

He kissed her neck, his mind swirling on all kinds of thoughts about them and their life, until he settled on one particular thought that wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Have my baby.”

Her breath hitched hard.

“What?”

He slowed, almost stopped. Looked right into her eyes.

“I want you to have my baby,” he said, voice low, trembling with intensity. “I want all of it.”

Her chest clenched. Her heart was racing. And suddenly, the last few days clicked into place, his hands on her stomach, the soft touches, the stares that lingered too long.

And she couldn’t deny that it was something she wanted as well.

“I want to have your baby,” she whispered. 

The moment she said it, something shifted in him. His eyes darkened. His grip changed.

And then he started moving again, faster, deeper, rougher. She gasped, arching under him as he started hitting places she didn’t even know existed.

She tried to shift away when he brushed that one spot that was a little deeper, but his arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her.

“Don’t run,” he growled. “You said yes, so take it.”

“Michael–” she moaned, high and cracking. She could barely speak, barely breathe.

Her nails dug into his back, her legs shaking. He was pressing down on her lower stomach now with one hand, his thrusts getting messier, deeper, more possessive.

Her thoughts scattered like glass. She came again with no sound, mouth open, eyes rolling back. But Michael didn’t let up. Even when her body twitched and begged, he stayed locked in, hands on her thighs, guiding her, keeping her exactly where he needed.

She tried to push against his chest, her hands trembling. He caught them.

“Move your hands, baby,” he said, low and wrecked. “Let me finish, mama.”

By the time he finally came, it was deep inside her, with a groan so raw it made her shake. He held her there, panting, arms wrapped tight around her body like he could fuse them together.

They laid still afterward, limbs tangled, sheets kicked off, silence ringing between them. Michael looked down at her, heart thudding. And for the first time all night, he let himself breathe.

[hedwig221b]

Can we please get some sterek but with “dark” Stiles? Jealous, possessive, obsessive. 🤭🫣 on ur rec list I see Derek ones but not Stiles (sorry if I missed it)

Hmm, check out this fic rec and this AND this

Full and Void

Stiles could be meek, sure. In Derek’s arms, softened under the touch, pinned under his weight. He allowed himself to relax only in Derek’s sole presence. Stiles could also look meek. Small, scared. Let the enemies think he was hiding in his mate’s shadow. After all, no one would stop to think that the shadow could ever be dangerous.

build your bones by pineneedlepants

There’s something acid twisting in Stiles’ scent as he keeps staring at Derek, awkward silence surrounding them. Derek can practically see the gears turning inside Stiles’ head as he comes to his conclusions. ‘’Not a faulty wiring then, huh. Hunters?’’ Derek gives one sharp nod. ‘’The ones after you now?’’ Another sharp nod. ‘’Well, shit,’’ Stiles says, and Derek sees his face widening into a feral grin. ‘’If they ever cross me and mine,’’ he says with dark glee, ‘’they’ll be so fucking sorry for all of their life choices. I can promise you that.’’

the demon slayer by the_problem_with_stardust

Jaz sighs, leaning back against her alpha. “They’re going to tear us apart.” “No they won’t. Alpha Hale is an honorable man.” Maria presses a wry smile into her mate's neck. “It’s literally the only thing every other pack we’ve met with has agreed on.” “But his Emissary…” Jaz swallows hard, trying not to think of the stories they’ve heard. Stories of a man who banished a legion of demons to hell, using only the force of his will.

Surprise Gift by FairyNiamh

Stiles gives Derek a surprise gift. (This is dark and twisted. Read at your own risk.)

Alpha by Nival_Vixen

Stiles has been kidnapped by a serial killer known only as Alpha. Stiles finds himself far too attracted to the man that's probably going to kill him.

The Person You'd Take a Bullet For (is Behind The Trigger) by SadieHerondale

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but until he gets Derek back, Stiles' actions are going to be worse than bad. And he will get Derek back, come hell or high water.

Blodrød by Onlymystory

A demon possessing Alpha werewolves leads a crazed pack to Beacon Hills. He's been stuck inside werewolf minds, when all he wants is a nice human meatsuit. Humans in packs are rare these days and the demon is practically salivating at the thought of possessing Stiles. It's strong, and the pack was taken off guard, unable to protect Stiles before the demon takes control. But like the demon says...humans in packs are rare.

The Pretty Things (are going to hell) by FaeryQueen07

“You have something of mine,” Stiles says, and he reaches for his hood, pushing it back to reveal the rest of his face. Lips curled up in a smile promising pain and eyes like death, he says, “And now I’m going to take it back.”

We Belong To Each Other by eeyore9990

A new pack comes to visit, bringing with it a beautiful young werewolf who seems intent on challenging Stiles’ budding relationship with Derek.

Perception by DiscontentedWinter 

Peter Hale's client is a murderous sociopath. The best thing Peter can do is get him committed to Eichen House, where he'll never see daylight again. He thinks.

all the kissing by wearing_tearing

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stiles, Derek’s husband. Now would you kindly take your hands off of him?”

There’s A Beast In My Heart (He’ll Only Bow To You) by RayShippouUchiha

“Stiles.” Derek fucking whimpers and if Stiles wasn’t already dying he’d kill himself for making Derek sound so hurt. Stiles just wants to protect him so much sometimes because no one else ever seems to realize that Derek is so goddamn fragile and Stiles hates them all a little bit for not being able to see that. Or In an effort to expel the Nogitsune Stiles is given the bite but it all goes horribly wrong.

You Belong to Me by bloodwrites

Stiles is glorious when he's angry. The fierce energy that flows through him is almost palpable, and it excites Derek, makes him feel alive like nothing else.

cover me (i'll bear your marks) 

It had taken a couple of years but when Stiles finally realized that he could do things to Derek that no one else could, he never stopped using that to his advantage. It was little things, at first. He could make the man smile, make him laugh. Stiles liked to see Derek soften around the edges in a way that he wouldn’t if Stiles were anyone else. The first time Stiles had touched him— really touched him, fingers moving up underneath the alpha’s henley, lips trailing down the side of his neck— Derek had shivered and let out a whine. And Stiles had realized then that he was in love with the way he could make Derek Hale melt underneath his fingertips.

[masterlist link]

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Vixen

A/N: I have… nothing to say for myself… except… enjoy???

Also, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 50 FOLLOWERS!!!!!

Love,

Mal 💋

Warnings: 18+ beyond this point!!!! Minors DNI, Mirrors, Thigh Riding, Mild Dirty Talk, Pet Names, exhibtionism??? If you squint???, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Lap Dance, Female Orgasm, Dom/sub if you use a microscope, praise kink, teasing, Mentions Of Trafficking (type unspecified), Canon Typical Case stuff, I think this is the longest my warning section has ever been, if I missed anything please tell me!

Additional information: Hotch likes to watch, the smut is there I promise, so sorry this took me two weeks, my life is nuts

Pairing: Hotch x UndercoverBAU!Reader (NO Y/N)

WC: 8,181

AO3 here

Back to Mal’s Masterlist

Hotch had known he would live to regret approving this undercover operation. He also knew he would never be able to look you in the eyes again, especially after what he was about to do.

As he entered the club, the bouncers stopped him at the door to pat him down. He was unarmed and that made things even more stressful. You were already in there, with no back up and no wire to call for help. The only way they had been able to keep an eye on you was Garcia. They’d gotten a warrant to tap phones and hack security feeds. So Garcia, Reid and JJ were watching from a van a few blocks away. Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi were with swat, as they were every night for the past month, waiting for you to give one of two signals. The first meant that you had all the evidence they needed to bring down the trafficking ring they’d been after for months.

The second meant your cover was blown and you needed help or you were going to die.

Thankfully, the second hadn’t happened and he had no reason to suspect they’d made you or were suspicious. Unfortunately, the first hadn’t happened yet either. No, the reason Hotch was coming to meet you, was because there’d been a major development on the outside. One that you really needed to know about.

He knew he didn’t really fit the role he was coming here to play, but he already had one agent in this hell hole with no weapons or back up. There was no way he was going to send in another, not when there was such a high risk of getting caught.

Not when the consequence might’ve been death.

So here he was, sitting front row, center stage, as you walked out into the spotlight and wrapped your dainty little hand around the gleaming stainless steel of a stripper pole. It felt wrong.

Watching you like this…

In person.

Not from behind the screen of a CCTV, where watching you was simply part of the job he had to do to make sure you were still safe. Here though, here he could see everything. In a way he was incredibly uncomfortable with, because he could no longer keep his eyes from wandering. He couldn’t help the thoughts that forced their way into the forefront of his mind. He could not deny the way you made him feel.

Not when he was close enough to see the detail of the red lace that barely covered anything. Close enough to see the matching red polish on your fingers and toes. The way your hair was glinting in the red stage light.

Red.

Everything was red; your lips, your lingerie, your fingers, toes and even your heels. That drove him insane. Red was a weakness of his, especially on you and you wore it every night. It was part of your stage presence, your character. Red like a fox, after the moniker you had chosen; Vixen. He couldn’t help but think it fitting.

As the music began to play, he sent up a prayer to whomever was listening.

The club had been lenient with you so far, allowing you to keep your lingerie on as you danced. Letting you get a little more comfortable on stage before expecting you to bare yourself to the crowd.

They had… until a few nights ago anyway. When in the middle of your routine with a group of other girls, one of them had unclipped your bra for you.

You had simply let it fall to the floor.

Hotch and Spencer had both been watching from the van that night, and had immediately exited the vehicle. Leaving Garcia and JJ to keep watch over you until your limited clothing was securely back on your person.

He hoped beyond all reason that you wouldn’t be exposed like that with him sitting this close. Because if he looked away, it would call the attention of the bouncers. The men who frequented this establishment did not shy away from nudity, they reveled in it, leaned in to get a better look. Which had him regretting every life decision that had brought him to this moment, because if he didn’t look away, he would never be able to erase the sight of you from his mind.

He knew what he had to do. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty about it. No. The shame had already risen in his belly and was slowly clawing its way up his throat. It only got worse when he thought about what he’d have to do next.

He’d seen countless other men do it over the last few weeks. So he knew that when your dance was over, he had to flag down a bouncer, and request a private dance from you. That was the only way to get you alone, so he could give you the information you needed. The only way to speak to you unseen and unheard. They didn’t record the private rooms, they didn’t even have audio in there, so you wouldn’t actually have to dance for him.

Still, he was nervous about it. About all of it.

Try as he might to convince himself that the anxiety—clutching his heart with a grip made of titanium—was because he knew you could both die if your cover was blown. The lie just didn’t ring true.

Not as your perfect leg bent at the knee and gripped the spinning expanse of metal. Not as your back arched and your head tipped back, so slowly it was agonizing. Your hair, just barely grazing the floor in all its glory, was a bit too tempting for his sanity.

He was anxious—more like petrified—because he knew that as soon as you walked into that room in a few minutes you would be able to read him like a book. Then you would know.

So he watched, with bated breath, as you danced. Looking as though you’d been born to it. You were a natural.

He knew, of course, that when they’d started planning this undercover op you had enrolled in an exotic dancing class that also offered pole dancing. But you’d only been in classes for a month.

Which meant calling you a natural wasn’t a stretch.

He didn’t know how he was going to remember what he was supposed to tell you. Everytime he looked at you a little too long, his mind went blank and his mouth stopped working.

He was so absorbed in watching you, he didn’t even notice that you’d seen him. You were on the floor of the stage, thrusting your hips up into the air and rolling them, then all the sudden, you were making very intense eye contact. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t look away. Your eyes burned into his like lasers, but there was no disgust, no accusation, no confusion.

Then the song was over and you started to gather the money that had been thrown at you and landed on the stage.

A wave of shame crashed over him and Hotch looked away.

You’d clocked Hotch’s tall broad frame the moment he’d entered the club. His gait as recogniseable to you as your own face in the mirror.

You had him memorized. Every single mannerism was familiar to you, every word predictable.

You had kept an eye on him as you’d danced, worried about him fitting in, but his acting was impeccable. The way he had watched you when you were doing your floor work had been… heated. You almost would have thought it was real… if you didn’t know better, of course.

It’d been a month since you last saw him, or any member of your team, in person. Communicating only through weekly calls on a burner that you had hidden in your UC nest apartment.

Your last check in had been the night before. So you had turned the phone off. If Hotch was here–inside the club, you knew he was always watching from outside–that meant he had something very important to tell you. He would never risk your cover otherwise. So as soon as your dance had been over and you’d gathered all your hard earned cash and gone to the locker room to put on some lingerie that was a little less–revealing.

Sure enough, less than five minutes later a bouncer caught you on your way out of the locker room.

“Hey Vixen!” He’d called out. “You got a guy in room one, he bought an hour. Nice work!”

An hour!? Holy shit, this was either really bad… or they were about to raid the club and sent Hotch in first to get you out of harm's way. You had assumed he would just ask you to sit at the table with him otherwise.

“Alright, I’m on my way.” You assured him.

Your stripper name had been a joke that Derek and Spencer had come up with while you’d been preparing for this operation. Derek had made the comment that you were a fox in the henhouse so you should go by Foxy as a joke. You and the other three women on the team had groaned, complaining that Foxy was the least sexy stripper name you could think of. Specifically because it reminded you of the bully from the Chicken Little movie. Then Spencer, of all people, had suggested Vixen, because that was the term for female foxes. You had all agreed that it was much sexier and still just as funny. You still smiled to yourself every time you thought about the look on Hotch’s and Rossi’s faces when you’d told them.

You didn’t knock before you entered the room, you simply slipped inside quietly, closing the door silently behind you.

Though dimly lit, you had no trouble observing the concerning body language that was reflected at you in the mirror lined room.

He was pacing, staring at the floor in front of him, his thumb rubbing the side of his forefinger anxiously.

Great. So it was bad news then.

He turned to trod back toward you on the path he was wearing into the floor, but stopped on a dime when he saw you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. Remembering the camera in the corner that he didn’t know about.

“Hi, I’m Vixen.” You said, using the sensual tone you’d perfected over the last month. One of the other, more veteran, dancers had told you that the syrupy sweet customer service tone you came in with might have worked as a waitress, but wouldn’t cut it as a stripper. So you’d practiced. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Hotch blinked at you a few times, confusion evident in his expression. You slowly, but purposefully, turned your body toward the wall to your right, tipping your head forward so that your hair fell in front of your face. Obscuring your mouth from the camera in the left corner. Opposite the door you’d just walked through.

“Camera.” You mouthed in his direction, flicking your eyes toward it.

You saw the panic that took over his face for a split second. Then he went stone faced just as quickly.

“Aaron.” He murmured softly.

“Aaron.” You repeated, as though testing the way the word tasted on your tongue. You were, in truth, you’d never said his first name before. Not aloud… not to him… but at night, in your bed, when you were all alone…

No, stop. You can’t think about that right now. Not with what you had to do next.

He nodded, as though confirming that, yes, that was his name. You smiled salaciously at him for the camera’s benefit and he froze. You took a few steps closer, keeping the camera behind you so that you could give him an apologetic look.

“I like it.” You said keeping your tone the same as it had been. “It’s strong… like you I’m sure.”

He cleared his throat, shifting his feet. Where was this awkwardness coming from? You had never seen Hotch act like this before. He was always confident. Sometimes anxious, if he was worried for someone’s safety, but he never acted like he did not know what to do or say next.

“Have a seat.” You gestured to the long couch against the wall. Slinking over to it yourself and lounging lazily against the backrest.

He hesitated. Frowning-no, glaring at the couch as though it was a danger to his health.

“Aaron, sweetheart. Relax.” You soothed, pulling him out of his stupor. “We’re just getting comfortable.”

He came over and sat—several feet away from you—on the edge of the couch. Your back was to the camera so you rolled your eyes at him playfully. Then you scooted closer.

“I don’t bite.” You teased, he looked back at you, his eyes clearly stating that he was skeptical of that claim.

“Sorry.” He croaked and then cleared his throat, flattening his hands against his slacks and rubbing his thighs forcefully. As if his palms were sweaty. “I’ve never—ummm. I haven’t ever…”

You nodded your understanding.

“You’ve never had a lap dance before?” You asked. Not judgmentally—of course, this only bolstered your preconceived notions about him, he was a gentleman—just softly, soothingly. Hoping to calm him because you knew that if you didn’t the bouncers would know something was strange.

He cleared his throat again and shook his head.

“I’ve never even been to a… club… before. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He murmured quietly.

Translation: this is completely uncharted territory and there are no policies about this particular situation to guide me. You’re my subordinate and this is fucking weird. I don’t know what to do.

Got it. You nodded slowly.

“That’s okay, this is a pretty normal reaction. I can walk you through it.” You replied, but what you meant was: I’ve got this, follow my lead. “Why don’t we go over the rules, do’s and don’ts, and that’ll tell you what to expect and then if you’re still uncomfortable then we can just sit here and talk, okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and he still looked so nervous you felt the need to poke the bear a little. To break the ice.

“I’m honored by the way.” You said, letting your tone convey the mischief coming his way.

“Honored?” He asked, his back straightening a bit, and there was that look you adored. The one that practically screamed ‘what the actual fuck’ even though you knew he’d never say those words outloud. He was a gentleman.

“Mm hmm.” You hummed, giving him a mischievous grin. “I consider it an honor that you chose me to pop your metaphorical cherry.”

He choked on air, coughing and spluttering. You chuckled softly, amazed at how flustered he was getting. The Hotch you knew was stoic, confident and poised.

The man before you now was a wreck.

Hotch had not been prepared for this.

The lingerie, the sensual tone, the way you seemed so at ease—like you’d been doing this for years, not just one month—the way you were looking at him, the dirty jokes, it was all just too much.

He hadn’t expected there to be a camera in the corner of the mirror lined room. Garcia hadn’t found this one’s frequency or whatever it was called. He’d have to tell her about it later to see if she could find it. For now though, he was going to have to get creative with his words to tell you what you needed to know, without raising suspicion.

“So,” He breathed, clearing his throat for what felt like the thousandth time since you entered the room. (It was embarrassing, honestly.) “how does this work?”

What he was trying to ask was: how am I supposed to tell you sensitive information without blowing your cover? He could tell that you understood by the look in your eyes.

“Well, you paid for sixty minutes and it’s been about three. So, we can spend that time however you want to spend it, as long as you follow the rules.” You explained to him, then started listing said rules. “First, I have to tell you that we’re being recorded. It’s for my safety and yours. That way, no one tries to take more than they paid for, and none of the dancers can claim sexual assault if it didn’t really happen.”

He noted the way you phrased that, and fully understood the meaning behind it. The camera was to cover the ass of the establishment, not to protect the girls or the patrons. Classy.

He nodded that he understood.

“Now don’t let the camera scare you, these tapes are erased and recorded over every night unless something happens that the club needs a record of.” You explained. “So the tape won’t get out unless you… do something ungentlemanly.”

He nodded again, no one would be analyzing this recording after the fact. Got it. That also explained why Penelope couldn’t hack into this feed. It’s old school tech. No internet required.

“The bouncers are watching us, but don’t be embarrassed, when I turn on the music to dance it will drown us out and they won’t be able to hear anything. They also can’t see your face from this angle, so we still have some privacy.” Your expression gave that phrase its true meaning.

I have to dance if the music is on, or they’ll be suspicious. If I don’t turn on the music you can’t tell me what you came here to say without being overheard.

He felt his heart trying to beat its way up into his esophagus. Choking him as it pounded.

“Now, nothing happens without my say so, got it?” You said sternly, for the camera’s benefit, as if he really was a stranger. A patron. It made him feel a little sick to his stomach. This felt as though he were demeaning you, debasing you. He didn’t like that, not at all. “You don’t touch me unless I say so, and only where I allow it.”

He would never, and he knew you knew that—he hoped you did anyway—but he still hated hearing you say it.

This was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever experienced on the job. You were his subordinate and he was your boss. There was already a clear power imbalance between you. That was the only reason he hadn’t already made any advances with you. Now, you were standing before him, nearly naked, and he was fully clothed. He didn’t know how you were so calm, how this didn’t make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

To make matters worse, his body and his morals were at odds with each other. In his head he knew how messed up this was, but his libido did not care. You were simply stunning and every fiber of him was hyper aware of it.

“Of course.” He replied, giving you an apologetic look in response. Hoping that you hadn’t had any trouble of that sort from other men in the last month.

“Your clothes stay on, even if mine don’t. If the bouncers see a dick, they will barge in here and ask you to leave. They will not be nice about it.” You continued the rules for the benefit of the camera. Then you hesitated and he knew that whatever you said next was for his benefit only. “As long as you’re comfortable, I’ll keep going. If you don’t want me to do something, just say so and I’ll stop. Are you ready?”

No, he was not, and would never be. This was going to completely ruin his professional relationship with you. He was sure of it.

He nodded anyway, knowing he had no other choice.

“It’s gonna be okay, Aaron.” You whispered, so quietly he barely heard it. Then you got up, walked over to a sound system in the far corner, selected a song and set a timer. The timer seemed to be protocol but he knew you also didn’t want the bouncers to interrupt and hear anything they shouldn’t.

The music was loud, the bass made the whole room vibrate, it was sensual and the lyrics were beyond suggestive, bordering on raunchy.

When you started to dance, running your hands over your body, he did his best to keep eye contact. So you would know he was being respectful, professional. It didn’t help to look away, the mirrors reflected you from every angle. You’d said the camera couldn’t see his face, so that was the least he could do. He hated putting you in this situation, but there was nothing he could do now except make you as comfortable as possible.

You held eye contact with him, even as you dropped to the floor, crawling to him on your hands and knees, then sat on your knees between his feet. You leaned back, dragging your hands up your thighs, stomach, and breasts, then above your head as you completely laid down on your back in front of him.

This, Hotch thought, was his own personal hell. Being forced to sit here and watch you move like that, knowing it was only because you had to to maintain your cover.

Your legs were in the air now, kicking sensually, then spreading wide. The red of your panties—because of course you’d chosen red for the second time tonight—caught his attention briefly and he cursed himself for looking. He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw and thought about literally anything else. Praying he wouldn’t get an erection.

Then you climbed up into his lap, and began to ride his thigh.

Hotch bit his own tongue, doing whatever he could to stop the inevitable. Even if it meant causing himself a little pain.

“I’m so sorry.” You murmured in his ear, your hands on his chest. “It's part of the routine they taught me.”

“It’s fine.” He gritted out.

“Why are you here? Has something happened?” You asked him, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember.

Not with you rolling your hips like that. Not when he could feel the heat of your core through the fabric of his slacks.

Luckily you continued without giving him a chance to respond.

“Has there been a leak? Do they suspect me?” You asked and the tinge of fear in your voice had him opening his eyes.

“No! Nothing like that, you’ve done an excellent job. They don’t suspect a thing, as far as we can tell.” He assured you softly, looking into your eyes to make sure the fear left them. “You’re still safe, I promise.”

And since he was studying your face, he saw.

He saw the way the fear melted away as you flushed at the praise, and he felt the way your thighs clenched around his. He was intrigued, unsure of what he knew he’d seen and felt, so he started to pay attention.

You noticed his attention, the change in his expression from soothing reassurance to curiosity. Your brow furrowed and you gave him a questioning look, then you stood. Your dance moves had become increasingly filthy and when you turned around and bent over, putting your ass almost directly in his face, with your legs spread open, he noticed something that hadn’t been there before.

A patch of darker fabric had appeared on your panties. Right over your pussy.

He glanced down at his lap, finding another dark patch on his leg, he touched it and his fingers came away damp.

You were wet, soaked.

Because of him?

Well… he didn’t see any other men in the room that you could’ve had that reaction for.

The way he was looking at you had changed. It wasn’t… uncomfortable? Not anymore. It was searching. Scathing? Questioning? Scrutinizing.

It felt like his eyes were filleting you. Deconstructing and analyzing your every move. You didn’t know what had caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, but you were worried that it’d been something you’d done.

You sank down to your knees again, facing away from him, as you leaned forward onto your elbows and arched your back so that your ass was high in the air. Legs still spread wide, a gust of cool air hit you and suddenly you weren’t sure that your ass was the only thing on display.

You sat up, leaning back so that your head fell into his lap. Touching your body in ways that felt so much more intimate now than they had when you’d practiced, you looked up at him.

Then you met his gaze again, and his eyes seemed to devour you. He wasn’t just keeping them respectfully trained on your face anymore. He was drinking you in and it intoxicated you. Even though part of you knew you had to be imagining it.

“I need you to do something for me.” He murmured, and you could swear he was looking straight into your soul.

Your breath turned to lava in your lungs. That tone of voice was much different as well… and you didn’t know how to react to it.

“Sir?” You asked, barely breathing at all now.

“We received intel that the ring is smuggling in a shipment tomorrow night, I need you to confirm that it’s happening. Can you do that?” He responded, his voice barely a rumble in his chest.

Oh, it was only about the case. You relaxed a bit.

“Of course. I’ll do my best.” You assured him.

“Good girl.” He purred, so nonchalantly you thought you’d misheard it. You blinked up at him, stunned, even as your body reacted. You felt your nipples harden, poking at the rough lace of your teddy. You’d chosen this one because it covered more of you than what you’d previously had on, but you hadn’t considered how flimsy it was. So when his eyes flicked up to your chest, you knew he could see them, and he looked… pleased?

The choreo you had memorized put you in his lap again, rolling your hips and grinding your ass against him. You felt the need to apologize again.

“I’m so sorry…” You winced, knowing that you’d never be able to look him in the eyes again, not when you felt so guilty for being turned on by this.

And you were.

You had held it together so well until he had praised you and prioritized your comfort in the same breath. The way he had looked at you when he said it… like nothing mattered more to him in that moment than making sure you were okay. It had drawn you in, and the proximity to his body had done the rest. Until he’d called you a good girl with the confidence of someone who knew you’d like it. You felt like there was a fire in your belly and a river between your thighs.

All because of his words.

“Don’t be sorry, you’re doing great sweetheart.” He rasped in your ear.

You froze, was he…? No.

“Don’t stop, they’ll think something is wrong and come in. We don’t want that, do we?” His voice, low and rough, flowed over you pushing your heart into overdrive.

What the fuck?

“Hotch?” Your voice came out in a strangled gasp, completely unsure of the situation, and desperately hoping you weren’t misreading him.

He shifted his weight, making you settle more firmly into his lap.

And then you felt it, solid and warm against your ass as you continued to roll your hips against him.

He was hard.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you looked over your shoulder at him.

“You– you’re– Are you?” You stuttered, then closed your mouth so hard that your teeth clicked.

He smirked at you, and your breath hitched.

“I am, it’s a little hard not to be when you’ve left a mess on my thigh.” He murmured.

You threw a panicked glance down at his leg, the one you had straddled before, and found a spot that was darker than the rest. Gasping in horror, you tried to stand, to separate yourself from him.

“Stop.” His voice was commanding and strong, any hint of nervousness that may have been there previously was now long gone. You obeyed, but you didn’t sit back in his lap, instead choosing to sit between his feet on the floor. As though that was what you had intended to do all along if anyone was watching. “There’s no need to panic, but I need you to tell me the truth. Is it the atmosphere? The music, the physical contact, the clothes? All of those things can trick your psyche into thinking you feel things that aren’t real, that aren’t true. And that’s perfectly normal and not at all anything to be ashamed of. So, is it that? Or–”

He paused, swallowing hard and then taking a deep breath. His eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this…” He mumbled under his breath, then looked down at you with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before. “Is it me you’re reacting to? Am I making you feel this way?”

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t know what to say, how to act! You couldn’t read him, pick up on his nonverbal cues, or his verbal ones! Your brain had left the building, fuck, it had fled the country and was on a beach in Tahiti for all the good it was doing you!

On one hand, you were mortified. You had just left a wet spot on your boss’s thigh, and that was bureaucratic suicide, you’d have to quit your job, request a transfer to the Alaskan field office, or the Hawaian one. No, you didn’t deserve Hawaii. Alaska. You’d go to Alaska. As far away from him as possible so you’d probably never see him again. That sounded great!

But…

On the other hand…

He was hard. Which meant he was also at least a little bit into this.

Into you.

There was nothing you wanted more than him, in this moment especially.

So you let your brain take that Tahitian vacation, and your raging hormones take the reins. Which is why you let down every wall, knocking down every carefully placed brick, and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes.” You whispered, unable to think of a single other thing to say.

“Yes?” He asked for clarification, needing to be sure that you meant what he thought you meant.

“Yes, it's you.” You breathed.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, but his eyes were showing him the exact same evidence and he couldn’t deny what he was seeing.

You were a mess. Your chest was heaving with labored breaths, your pupils dilated till they nearly over took your irises, you were quivering under his gaze and biting your lip so hard hewas afraid you’d break the skin.

You wanted him.

He didn’t have time to process the thrill of elation that shivered up his spine. He only had about fifty minutes left with you, and he still had to tell you everything he could to keep you safe while you went snooping in places you probably shouldn’t.

But first…

He was going to make you ride his thigh until you saw stars, and enjoy watching you for every second as he talked you through it.

“Then climb back up here and straddle my thigh, sweetheart, just like you were earlier.” He instructed you, his voice sounded a little strained even to his own ears.

“We’ll get caught…” You whimpered, clearly torn between what your body wanted and what your instincts told you was safe.

He shook his head.

“We’re not gonna break any rules.” He assured you, then clarified. “We’re not gonna break any club rules.”

Bureau rules on the other hand… He’d worry about that later.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, and he bit back a smirk, because you were already moving to get back in his lap.

That lack of restraint exhilarated him, and he itched to touch you, but knew he couldn’t if he wanted to make this work. So he balled his hands into fists and forced them to stay at his sides.

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Yes.” You responded without hesitation.

“Do you want me?” He challenged, as you settled yourself with one knee between his legs and the other on the couch next to him, hovering just above him without putting any weight on him yet.

“Yes.” You breathed, and even though he barely heard it over the music, you sounded sure.

“Then I’m sure.” He grinned up at you, and you seemed to relax, finally resting a bit of your weight on his leg.

He laid his arms along the back of the couch, just to keep his hands off of you. You, of course, caught the movement immediately.

“Aaron you can touch me, I only said that because it's what I’m supposed to tell patrons.” Your voice had just a touch of a pleading tone.

“I know Sweetheart, but I’ve come to realize that I love to watch you. So what I want you to do right now is ride my thigh and make yourself fall apart on it.” He coaxed, and bit back a smile as, once again, your thighs tightened around his. “Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

The little whimper you let out as you nodded your head almost changed his mind about not touching you. You liked it when he talked to you like that, he was certain now.

“That’s a good girl…” He praised, as you started to rock against him slowly. “Just like that. Use me baby.”

You moaned, so softly he almost missed it and he couldn’t allow that. He wanted to hear every single sound you made, no he needed it, like he needed oxygen.

“No one can hear you but me, sweet girl, so let me hear you.” He encouraged you as you started to work yourself a little harder against his leg.

You tipped your head back and moaned louder this time. Fuck, you looked so alluring like this, he thought, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back from this. He was positive that if he didn’t get to see you like this every single day for the rest of his life, that he would simply lose the will to live.

“So fucking pretty…” He murmured, taking you in, every perfect inch of you.

In that red set that was so stunning on you, you looked like a goddess. He wanted to thread his hands into your hair, to run them over your skin. He was certain that you would be the softest thing he would ever touch in his life and he couldn’t wait to test that theory. For now though, for now, he just wanted to bask in the moment. One that he had imagined so many times… a little differently than this… but it was perfect all the same, simply because it was you.

He knew that if he let himself touch you now, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, and judging by the way you were rocking frantically against him, you wouldn’t want him to either. But he didn’t want the first time with you to be in a strip club. That just wouldn’t do, not for you.

So he wouldn’t touch you, but he wouldn’t deny you this either.

“Look at you, looking so beautiful like this. I can’t wait to take you home and let you ride me, pretty girl.” He traced his eyes over your form and then hummed softly. “Take your top off for me sweetheart, I wanna see you bare.”

You shifted your weight a little to keep your balance—as if he would ever let you fall—then unhooked the clasp that lay between your breasts. You hesitated then, just for a moment, as though you were nervous.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous. It's nothing you—and the rest of the team—haven’t seen before.” You chuckled, but it was self deprecating and anxious.

He shook his head at you.

“The only ones who watched your performances were JJ and Garcia after that first night. Even then, Spencer and I left as soon as we realized what was happening. Morgan and Rossi have been waiting with SWAT the whole time, so they haven’t even seen you in lingerie. Prentiss has but only because she had to grab something out of the van, and the entire time all she could say was that you were incredible for someone who had only been doing pole work for two months.” He assured you. “So no Sweetheart, the whole team has not seen you like that, especially not me.”

That seemed to calm you a bit, and then without any further hesitation, you dropped the teddy to the floor.

Hotch lost all semblance of coherent thought.

The air in the room had been cold at first, but now it was soothing to your overheated skin. You felt like you were simmering. The music was still thumping through the room and the beat was making everything feel so… erotic.

To be fair it was.

The way Hotch was talking to you…

No one had spoken to you like this before, and you loved it.

And when he had told you to take your top off, Christ, you’d nearly passed out.

But now, as you let it fall to the floor, and you saw the effect it was having on him. You smiled.

He was drinking you in, his eyes dilated till they were nearly completely onyx, instead of the warm hazel you adored so much. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as though he were imagining the taste of you there.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He whispered under his breath. Then looked back up into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful. Touch yourself for me, pretty girl. Let me watch you come undone.”

Fuck indeed.

His voice was like a goddamn aphrodisiac, pushing you to let go of every single reservation and do exactly as he said.

So you did.

Dragging your hands up your thighs, to your stomach and then your breasts. Caressing and squeezing, your eyes on his face the entire time. All the while you continued to roll your hips against his thigh, the pressure building in your lower stomach was growing rapidly.

Hotch groaned, his hands gripping the back of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white and you wanted to feel his hands on you so badly you couldn’t focus on anything but that.

“Aaron.” You whimpered. “Please, touch me. I want your hands on me so bad.”

“I know you do, pretty girl.” His voice rumbled through you, and a shiver went up your spine. “But you know I can’t do that, so if you wanna come then you’re gonna have to do it all by yourself.”

You whined, writhing against him, trying to create enough friction to finish the job. But there was just something missing.

“What if I can’t?” You keened, clutching his lapels and grinding faster.

“You can do it baby, I know you can.” He murmured.

“How do you know? You’ve never seen me like this before.” You pointed out, a little sassier than was probably necessary.

“No I haven’t.” He admitted. “But in the short time we’ve been here, I’ve noticed that you like the way I talk to you, you like being praised, and you like to please me. Don’t you?”

Your eyes shot wide and your mouth fell open.

“I- I uh-“ You stammered, at a loss for words.

He smirked at you. Not teasingly, not really, but it was very smug. “It was a simple yes or no question, sweetheart. Do you like those things?”

You nodded your head, because how else were you supposed to answer that? He had you in a vise with those gorgeous hazel eyes, so your verbal skills were sorely lacking at the moment.

“Then listen and do what I say, pretty girl.” He murmured, those eyes locked on yours with an intensity that burned through you like a hot knife through butter. “Slow down baby, find your rhythm for me.”

You stilled against his leg, then slowly started over again, rolling your hips in time with the music that was still pounding through the room like a heartbeat. A slow steady pulse.

“That’s my good girl, you look so beautiful like this, sweetheart.” He purred. “Look at yourself baby, look in the mirrors and see how striking you are right now.”

You felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, the way he was talking to you…. It made everything feel heightened somehow, you weren’t even sure if it was the words he was speaking, or his voice alone.

All you knew was that you didn’t want him to stop.

So you did what he asked, and looked at yourself.

He was right, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You looked so powerful. Sitting astride him like that with your chest bared to him. It didn’t look demeaning or subservient. You looked ethereal.

But what really stole your breath away, was the way he was looking at you, while you weren’t looking directly at him. It made your core tighten and your skin heat even further, until you felt like you might literally explode.

“There it is baby, I can see it written all over you.” He murmured.

“I feel like I’m gonna explode.” You whined, your legs tensing and your grip on his jacket nearly ironclad.

“I know, Sweetheart. You’ve gotta relax, just breathe through it and follow that feeling until you fall over the edge.” You coached gently. “You can do it, pretty girl. You’re almost there.”

You forced your muscles to release, your whole body melting into him as you rolled your hips against him steadily. You took deeper breaths, in your nose and out your mouth.

“Good job, baby. Just like that.” He cooed, his voice sounding more and more strangled every time he spoke.

You felt it building, could practically see the cliff coming, and you were so close to falling over it, you just needed… Something.

Your eyes started to flutter closed and your head tipped back.

“Don’t close your eyes, pretty girl. I want you looking right at me. Look at my eyes.” He instructed firmly, and your eyes snapped back to his. They were burning, the heat in them was palpable and you felt like you could read every single thought running through his head. “I wanna see it on your face when you come.”

That’s what finally did it. The unbearable tightness in your core exploded and spasmed violently.

“Aaron!” You moaned as your vision filled with colorful little spots.

“Good girl.” He hummed, the praise only spurring you on. “That’s it, come for me baby. Ride it out.”

You felt euphoric and then numbness settled in your limbs, making supporting your own weight feel impossible.

You collapsed against Hotch’s chest, your breath ragged and shallow. Your heart racing. Body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Are you alright?” He murmured in your ear after giving you a minute to bask in the moment.

“So much better than alright…” You sighed contentedly.

He chuckled softly and finally touched you, just to stroke your hair affectionately.

You hummed pleasantly and nestled in a little closer.

He tilted your chin up a bit so he could look at you, and he smiled.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You felt your cheeks heat all over again, suddenly feeling bashful, even though you’d just ridden his thigh to completion.

“Thanks…” You mumbled, and you didn’t know what had gotten into you. Shyness wasn’t your style, you owned your choices and actions. Something about the way he was looking at you, though, it had the blood rushing to your face in force. “Should we uh… Should we maybe talk about why you’re here? Other than… that.”

“That?” He asked, his tone teasing enough that you knew he understood exactly what you meant. “Is ‘that’ what we’re calling it?”

You wouldn’t have thought your face could turn any redder, but apparently it could!

“I don’t know what we’re calling this,” You gestured between the two of you, “we can figure that out when the case is over. Right now I need to know what you came here to tell me.”

He chuckled softly, and brushed your hair back from your face. Then, checking to be sure you were shielded from the camera, he dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“I told you part of it already…” His smirk was going to stop your fucking heart, you were sure of it.

“Let’s just pretend you didn’t?” You suggested. Not wanting to admit that you’d forgotten because—well the why was pretty obvious.

He laughed again.

“That’s alright sweetheart. I’d probably forget too if I just came as hard as you did.” He murmured, his eyes were twinkling brighter than the goddamn stars you were sure.

You didn’t respond, instead you buried your face in his chest, hiding your embarrassment.

“Hey,” He murmured, tilting your face back up to his with his knuckle. “I was just teasing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know.” You whispered, and to be honest you had completely zoned out again because somehow… somehow, he was even prettier from this angle.

“How much time do we have left?” He asked.

You glanced at the timer you’d set on the sound system.

“About thirty minutes so we better get on it.” You said and started to lift yourself off his lap, to be at least a little less distracted.

“You’re fine where you are.” He said, freezing you in your tracks.

“Okay.” You breathed, barely.

So you sat on his lap and let him hold you as he told you every little detail of the intel they had gotten since your last call.

Then he went over it with you again, and then quizzed you on it. Until he was absolutely certain that you knew it by heart.

And then the timer went off, stopping the music.

It startled you both and you sighed reluctantly as you peeled yourself off his lap.

He stood and followed you to the door, but before you opened it he caught your hand.

”Aaron?” You questioned, glancing at the camera that could now see and hear everything.

“Sorry, I thought you stumbled.” He said smoothly. “Are you going to be alright? If you’re dizzy, maybe you should take the rest of the night off?”

Translation: Are you gonna be alright if I leave? Cause I’m not sure I will. I will pull you out the second you give me the signal that you need help.

You smiled at him sweetly.

“No sugar, I’m fine. Just caught my heel on the floor.” You assured him. “Thanks for catching me.”

In non cryptic terms: I’ll be okay, I know you have my back and you won’t let me get hurt. I’m not scared.

He searched your eyes for a second and then nodded, approving of whatever he found in them. So you opened the door.

The sounds of the busy club rushed back in as he followed you out into the chaos.

“Hey Vixen!” A male voice called out.

You froze, fear running down your spine. Surely they hadn’t read into that, or saw what was happening. All the girls rode men’s laps like that, granted they didn’t finish, but the bouncers wouldn’t have known that because you literally get paid to act like you’re getting off on it too.

Hotch nudged you gently, effectively sending you back into motion.

“Yeah?” You called looking in the direction of the voice.

It was the same bouncer as before, heading your direction.

“Hey I forgot to tell you that the camera in room one is down tonight, got a short in a wire or something. I don’t know. But if you go back in there tonight, scream or something if you need help.” He said nonchalantly as if that was the most inconsequential thing he would ever say in his life.

To him it probably was

You, however, were pissed. You could’ve ridden a whole lot more than just Aaron’s thigh.

“Thanks.” You muttered, he nodded and walked away.

“Try not to look so upset, Sweetheart.” Hotch murmured in your ear, sending the warmth of his breath straight to your clit—which was suddenly throbbing again. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities for everything you’re thinking about as soon as we wrap this case. I’ll make sure of it.”

Then he was gone, before you even managed to turn around, lost in the crowd. You only saw the back of his head as he exited the club.

[motzglorp]

You think Soap has ADHD energy? Meet the missus!

Everyone knows that Soap gets distracted easily when he doesn't have anything to focus. Outside of missions he gets restless and if he is bored he shouldn't be left without supervision.

They made it to the safehouse, got a good night's sleep and had another day to spend until transport was ready and would be on mandatory leave for the next two weeks. So of course they were talking about their plans.

Price had promised Kyle to show him his cabin by the lake and nobody commented on the faint blush under his beard or how Kyle's touch lingered a bit longer than usual. To be honest Soap and Ghost were betting on who would catch the kissing first.

Ghost didn't have plans so he was actually contemplating taking Soaps offer to stay at his house for a while.

"Honestly, ye should see what ma bonnie made of that place. Real cozy now." Soap was talking away, not noticing the other three staring at him.

"Come again? Your whatnow?" Asked Kyle.

"My Bonnie? The missus? Ma wife? You forgot about my wife?" Johnny seemed to be undecided whether to be angry or confused.

"Soap... You never told any of us. You mentioned a bird now and then. You mean to tell us it was the same one the whole time? You been stable? Since when?"

Now that made Soap think. "Ah mean.. known her forever. Stable for some years now, as stable as we can be. Proposed last summer we just didn't get around actually speaking the vows." He looked a bit sheepish. "Ah never told you? Sure 'bout that?"

Price didn't know how to react, other than: "You better marry her as soon as you are in the same country. If she hasn't left you by now she will never and you need to make sure the paperwork is all set up, just in case."

"And you should probably introduce us, so she won't be scared if one of us appeared on your doorstep." Kyle added.

"Actually, we can do that right now, we have a satellite connection."

Johnny was still trying to remember if he really had forgotten to mention the most important person in his life to the other most important people in his life, so he just acted on autopilot when Kyle shoved a tablet in his hands, starting a video call.

They all gathered around the screen, watching as the lights flickered and a disheveled face came into view, round face, sleepy eyes, hair sticking in every direction.

"Tha' you babe? You alive?" Johnny immediately had a smile plastered on his face. "Alive and kicking, didn't even get shot. Listen, sorry I woke you, wasn't my idea. But remember we planned our wedding to be with all friends and family and my captain could stand in for you dad since he is not invited and all and. Maybe I forgot to tell them.. about you.. like.. ya ken?" He sounded not as nervous as someone should sound who forgot his fiancé as soon as he was away.

You just blinked. "Johnny... Are you serious?" It was hard to tell if you were angry or not. "Okay, I just want to know: Did you forget because you already did it in your head or because you forgot to remember?"

"Bit of both? Bit like you forgot to tell your sister." Johnny admitted, grinning.

You giggled "Oh that was fun. Well, when she talked to me again. Oh, I should call her." You got up, apparently already forgetting you were on a call, looking for something. They could see your bedroom, organised chaos, plants, some pictures of Johnny, all in all a cozy home.

"Have you seen my laptop?" You wondered, confused when you heard a snort from Ghost. "What.. ooh... Hi there. You must be Ghost, yeah? Good thing you wear that mask, I am terrible with faces. And you are Gaz, right? You're pretty. Johnny he is so pretty, why am I marrying you again?"

"Because you love me and nobody else can tolerate either of us so we are stuck with each other?" came the answer like a well used banter.

"True. I do love you. But I also haven't slept for two days because I was building something. A surprise. When are you home? Don't tell me, just text. Please. Bring the boys. Oh, Captain Price, could you marry us? Or is that just a Ship Captain thing? Might be, I never cared, but that would be very practical. Give me a week to get everyone together and we could have the ceremony in the backyard, I can wait with the new greenhouse, so we would have the space." You were making notes on something that looked like a pizza box, lost in thoughts already.

You seemed to have forgotten you were still on the call, writing down things. Until you heard Price laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Oh, I drifted. Sorry, didn't take my meds, I promise I'm better at this when I sleep. So.. are you coming to the wedding or not? And bring my future husband with you, in case he forgets again."

You were not angry at all. One of the reasons they worked was that you never got angry with each other about stuff like that. You knew each other for too long to try and change or 'fix' the other. If there was a problem or hurt feelings you would address it and work on a solution.

Ghost just looked at Soap. "You really found that one girl with even less ability to focus, did ya?"

Johnny just nodded happily, "She is absolutely perfect."

[stoop-fairy]

“tough luck” — op81

summary — joe won’t be missed, you’re glad to see him go!

fc & cw — laufey. idk how i feel about the written part.. uhm, no joe shade that man is fiiiine. for the plot, bewitched was release in december 2024 and u met oscar in february! also i got kinda lazy in the end so ignore that.. there’s only so much i can do with a limit of pics 💔 & let’s imagine joe isn’t 28 pls

liked by yoursister, alex_albon, taylorswift and 782,629 others

yourinsta so excited to say that bewitched is now yours!!!! will do a little listen party later tonight, stay tuned 🤍

see comments

yoursister proudest proud of all prouds!!!!

user7 joe hasn’t liked her posts since 3 weeks ago.. fuck that men

user18 im literally crying what did u put in promise????? ugh

yourinsta fairy dust & broken trust 👼

user27 she’s achieving another milestone and joe can’t even congratulate her??? she’s been to most of his games since they started dating and he’s barely there for her shows, talk about a bad boyfriend :/

taylorswift SO proud 🥹 and so good too

user14 this girl is holding onto that men so hard it’s embarrassing LMAOO he doesn’t want you anymore

you stopped asking him to come.

it started with little things, shows he said he’d try to make it to, songs he said he’d heard. he never did. you clapped for him on the sidelines, smiled through press, wore his jersey, posted him on your stories every time even if he lost.

you called again, hoping that for once he’d actually show up, but instead he said, “I’ll try, but you know how it is.”

you did know. and you were done pretending it didn’t hurt.

so you showed up at his place, the same day your album had dropped.

he opened the door and confusion immediately became evident on his face, “hey, babe what are you—” you cut him off immediately, pushing past him to walk to his living room, the one you knew so well.

“let’s break up” as soon as the words left your mouth, joe furrowed his brows as if your words weren’t the consequences of his own decisions. “i think it’s very obvious that this relationship, if we can even call it that, has hit a wall”

he shook his head, kneeling down in front of where you were sitting on his couch. he tried taking your hands on his but you immediately pulled them back “what do you mean? i think we’re okay”

“what?” you asked in pure disbelief. ‘okay’ you were not okay, hell you weren’t even something at this point “joe you barely show up for me, and it’s honestly getting tiring. i’ve been chasing you around like a lost puppy and i’m tired of that! every single one of your fans thinks that, and they make it very clear but you never stand up for me!”

after that, you left his apartment feeling relieved, as if some weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

but still, the silence felt heavier than his words ever did.

no footsteps behind you, no ‘wait’, no ‘don’t go.’

just nothing.

you sat alone in your car for a while, fingers curled tight around the steering wheel, watching the city move like none of it mattered.

your album had dropped that morning.

your name was trending.

your voice was everywhere.

but the one person who should’ve heard it, didn’t even press play.

liked by landonorris, yourinsta and 206,890 others

oscarpiastri today was a good day

see comments

user62 OSCAR IS A YN FAN????

landonorris 👍

mclaren you bewitched us

yourinsta i see you have good taste

oscarpiastri what can i say? i’m a man of culture

user78 didn’t oscar only listen to house music???

user29 he might wanna impress her..

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, alex_albon and 539,620 others

yourinsta it’s been a good good week 🧡

see comments

user18 we need a tour please asap im begging

user14 now that she broke up with joe she’s gonna move to the next man that pays the smallest attention to her lol

oscarpiastri good number

yourinsta what if i liked 4 more?

oscarpiastri absofuckinglutely not

yoursister guess who’s who

user9 sometimes i forget theres two of them..

user75 AHHHH YN + OSCAR

user26 is this soft launching or hard launching..?

user88 the only thing that’ll be launching is your ass if you make them uncomfortable and they stop being friends

user26 girl calm down they’re grown ass people they won’t stop talking just because of a comment lol

lilymhe sweet sweet angel girl 👼

yourinsta baby love 💕

liked by oscarpiastri, yoursister and 762,902 more

yourinsta it is with great pleasure that i let you guys know that the bewitched tour starts in just 1 month, can’t believe it. go to the ticketmaster website for info on your dates and more 🤍

see comments

user90 my wallet will be in fact crying but it’ll be soooo worth it!!!

user20 no argentina dates.. i see how it is 💔

oscarpiastri miss worldwide

yourinsta that’s me! 🌎

user27 i wonder if oscar will be in any of the shows..

user69 probably when she’s in austria, the austrian gp is just some days after!

liked by oscarpiastri and 719,730 others

yourinsta today, for the very first time, i performed my song ‘tough luck’ now out in all streaming services! hope you guys enjoy listening to it as much as i enjoyed writing it

see comments

yoursister the shady shade you just shood

yourinsta whatever the fuck that means 🔥

oscarpiastri just listened to it on all platforms available yup

yourinsta thank you mr pastry i am very hungry and i need the money ☺️

user68 the joe shade.. i love her

user70 oscar and her have to be dating, he’s been on a lot of her shows even if it’s race week .. mans in love fr

user52 unlike.. others

landonorris what do i get for streaming?

yoursister a cookie in the shape of a fish

landonorris stay the fuck away from me.

liked by yourinsta, yoursister and 288,629 others

oscarpiastri yet another good weekend, see you soon silverstone.

see comments

user78 so he’s just not gonna acknowledge the fact that he kissed yn as soon as he saw her???

user70 I KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER.

yourinsta 🧡

landonorris papayita

liked by yourinsta and 720,739 others

oscarpiastri she’s currently selling out venues and somehow still manages to send me good morning texts, voice notes, and bad airport selfies (she looks amazing in all of them)

she deserves everything good this life has to offer, and then some.

if you ever get the chance to see her live, do it.

if you ever get the chance to love her, don’t waste it.

see comments

yourinsta who knew you were soft

landonorris didn’t realize this was a fan account

yoursister proud of you both 🧡

user76 he said “you fumbled, joe” without saying it

user1 so we weren’t delusional

user72 “if you ever get the chance to love her, don’t waste it” JAIL.

user47 sir this is a public platform.

yourinsta don’t know what id do without you, i love you 🧡

oscarpiastri i love you more 🧡

yourinsta i will eat you up mr pastry

[moonyslipstick]

Fire Hazard

The Gryffindor common room is suspiciously quiet.

Too quiet.

Which is why you freeze in the hallway, arms crossed, and squint toward the empty firelit space like it owes you money.

“Potter,” you call, tone flat. “If you’re in there and standing on something you shouldn’t be—”

“I’m not standing,” comes his voice — far too innocent to be true.

You round the corner and stop cold.

James is not just standing.

He’s balancing on the back of the couch — one foot planted precariously, wand in one hand, and an open bottle of butterbeer in the other. A lit candle floats beside him. There’s a string of Christmas tinsel around his neck like a tragic fashion choice. He looks extremely proud.

You blink.

“…What the actual fuck are you doing?”

He perks up. “Hi, baby.”

“Don’t hi-baby me. You’re going to break your face.”

“I’m experimenting,” he says brightly.

You narrow your eyes. “With what? Gravity?”

He grins.

“You looked like you were having a bad day earlier,” he explains, teetering slightly but somehow staying upright. “So I decided to surprise you with a reenactment of Cirque du Soleil. But, you know. Gryffindor edition.”

You stare at him.

Then at the candle.

Then back at him.

“Why is there open flame involved?”

“Atmosphere.”

“I swear to Merlin, James, if you set the dorm on fire—”

“I’d save all your clothes,” he says immediately. “Especially that red jumper I like. The one that looks like sin.”

You raise a hand. “Say one more word and I’m throwing this candle into your hair.”

He throws his head back laughing, almost loses balance, flails dramatically—

“James!” you shriek.

“I’m fine!” he shouts as the butterbeer sloshes over his hand. “All part of the plan.”

You stalk across the common room and yank him off the couch-back by the tinsel scarf.

He lands with a soft oof, bottle still in hand, eyes sparkling. You glare at him as he smirks.

“Hi,” he says again, smug.

You stare. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

There’s a pause.

“You really had a bad day?” he asks then, quietly, more real.

You shrug. “Nothing dire. Just everyone being stupid and loud.”

“You love being scarier than all of them combined.”

You grin. “I do.”

“Still,” he says, reaching for your hand. “Wanted to make you laugh.”

“You wanted to climb something.”

“That too.”

“Be honest.”

He leans in like he’s telling you a secret.

“I also wanted to see if I could balance the candle on my head.”

“James.”

“Kidding,” he says. “Mostly.”

You throw your hands up. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head, smug. “You sure about that?”

And then he raises the butterbeer to his lips, keeping eye contact the entire time.

You grab the bottle, toss it to the side, and kiss him just to shut him up.

He makes a delighted sound against your mouth — smug, cocky, ridiculously pleased with himself — and cups your face with slightly cold hands. The kiss is warm. Familiar. Nothing showy. Just his mouth on yours like a promise he never needs to say out loud.

When you break the kiss, his smile’s so wide it’s offensive.

“I win,” he whispers.

You roll your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me,” he says again.

“God help me, I do.”

And he grins like he just won the bloody Quidditch Cup.

[mortal-ethos]

Polytrix x reader but the reader is actually Derpy the tiger who could transform into a human form the whole time (gn!reader)

Mira and Zoey warm up to you pretty quickly, Zoey much faster than Mira, and you've been cuddling with them on Rumi's bed for quite some time. Rumi comes into the bedroom from taking a shower, silently as per usual, and she scares the crap out of all three of you. The girls shriek as you make a deep cat-like groaning sound and roll off the bed. Rumi immediately runs up to the girls, apologizing profusely as they try to reassure her everything is fine. You slowly lift yourself up from the floor, the knock to the ground having disoriented you, and find your groaning has turned into... Words.

"Ngh, that could've felt better."

The girls voices go silent immediately. And your heart beats in your chest. Uh oh. You turn to look at them slowly, as their jaws nearly reach the floor. You barely see yourself, out of the corner of your eye, in the mirror beside you. Your skin is bluish in tint, with striped dark blue short hair and cat ears. Your sharp fangs peek out slightly from your lips and you sigh.

"I should go." Your bright orange eyes scan over them as Zoey is the first one to speak, taking in a deep and sharp breath.

"You're a person too?!" Her voice is high pitched and your ears twitch. You start shuffling backwards and tip over Rumi's metal waste bin. Your ears perk up as you slowly turn your head towards it. You kneel down quickly and with both hands, carefully place it up right. Or try to, at least, as you drop it from a few inches above the ground and it spins around itself before falling over again. You do this a couple times before Rumi sighs in exasperation and goes over to the bin and places it upright. You slowly look up to her and blink.

"I almost had it."

"I'm sure you did." She says kindly before she crosses her arms in front of you, and you look down in shame. You sit on your knees, your legs pulled in, and lean forward drastically, your forehead flat against the floor.

"I'm very sorry for not telling you earlier. I'm not good at interacting with people when I'm... A person. Everyone likes the tiger more. That is why I stayed as a tiger. I understand I betrayed your trust. I will leave now." You move to sit up straight as a hand softly catches the top of your head. You look up to see that it's Rumi's hand, as she scratches behind your ears like she normally does. Her gaze is inquisitive and you try to restrain yourself but fail. A deep purring reverberates from your chest and fills the room. You stare at her in awe for a few moments before quickly forcing your head back to the ground with a bang, and the girls wince. "It has been a long time since I have not been a tiger. I apologize for my odd tendencies."

"Not like they're any stranger than Rumi's." Mira jokes and Rumi in response gives a short, "hey!"

The pink haired girl laughs. "As if you don't purr when you're scratched behind the ears." This makes Rumi's cheeks flush with red. Zoey is basically vibrating with excitement as she speaks.

"Okay, okay, but I have so many questions. Can the bird shapeshift too?"

"Oh, him? No, he's just like that. He's always been like that."

"How can you transform into a tiger?"

"I don't know. I've been able to for as long as I can remember."

"Is it because you used to be a tiger?"

"I don't know, it's possible."

"What's your opinion of zoo tigers?" The last question makes Mira grab her face to turn to her.

"Zoey, focus." The dark haired girl mumbles a confirmation before they turn back to you.

"Have you ever seen us, uh..." Rumi asks awkwardly, and pauses. You look back up to her and wait patiently as she struggles to finish the sentence but Mira finishes it for her.

"Naked. Doing embarrassing stuff. Any of that?" She says curtly and your eyes go wide.

"I promise, I have never seen any of you in unsightly circumstances. Despite my dishonesty previously, I would never do such a thing." The girls all look between themselves, in relief but still uneasy. Rumi walks forward to the girls as they softly discuss what to do next, as your ear perks up to a sound outside the window. You slowly turn your head towards it, and crawl forward. You sniff the air, an acrid stench filling your nostrils, and a growl bubbles up from deep within your stomach. Your crawl becomes a prowl, as your shoulders tense and bunch, your spine curves and your feet flex. Soon your presence fills up much more space, your skin turning to a cobalt hide, paws padding against the floor, claws digging into carpet. The girls aren't so engrossed in their conversation that they don't notice the giant cat has returned.

"Uh, what're you doing?" Mira asks cautiously, and your big bright eyes stay focused ahead. The window to the balcony is open thankfully, and you walk onto it. The girls get up quickly to follow you, and within an instant you find the stench. Above you, a demon, of average build and strength, perched upon the roof. With a quick lunge and a careful descent, your mouth contains the demon's torso. Your teeth dig in and you hear the demon plead for mercy, confused why you would attack one of your own. Your wide eyes don't change, as you slowly apply more and more pressure. The girls just stare at you, baffled by the sight before them. They slowly pull their weapons from the Honmoon, and you hear its song ringing in your head. Your eyes close peacefully, as you accept a fate you would only expect from having betrayed the demon hunters. And with the sound of a swipe beside your ears, the blade itself singing through the air, the smell of rotten meat and sulphur disappearing, your eyes open again. The demon within your maw is gone. You look up to the girls again, confused, though you know your eyes can't show it. They allow their weapons to return to the Honmoon, and small smiles come to their faces.

"I guess since you're human, too, we can give you actual food now." Mira ponders smugly and Zoey lights up.

"Oh! Oh! I wonder if you like ramyeun! Have you ever had it before?" She asks quickly, and you hope your head tilt conveys your unfamiliarity with the product. She gasps and runs away, yelling, "You're gonna try mine first!"

Mira follows after her, laughing, leaving you and Rumi where you first met. She gives you a soft smile and crouches down. She holds the side of your furry face, and you let your form disintegrate. Dark blue flecks float into the air as your flesh returns, your eyes burn as they search her face. You're not certain exactly for what though, you find her hard to read.

"Let's get you some clothes, huh?" She says, and you realize for the first time that you have been naked... This whole time. Your cheeks darken, as you push your head forward to the ground again, your palms beside it.

"I am so sorry for my indecency! You are too kind!" Your voice booms and she laughs.

"it's not the craziest thing I've seen tonight. It's okay. But maybe you should come inside?" She takes your hands and lifts you up, careful not to stare at you. It's been... You're not sure how long it's been since you've stood on two feet. She helps you walk inside, as you squeeze her offered arm and steady yourself on the railing of the balcony. She gives you some oversized sweatpants and a top, and it's... Warm. Soft. Cozy. Almost like your fur. The girls stuff your belly with human food, and Zoey tries to pry out of you which of the ramyeun was your favorite. Mira asks you questions about yourself as Rumi examines your more demonic features.

"So, we've been calling you Derpy for a while... Sorry about that. What's your actual name?" Mira asks, and your eyes go wide.

"Oh. I don't..." You look down to your hands, the hands you haven't seen in hundreds of years. Your brow furrows, an expression you forgot you could make. "I don't know." The girls sit in a sad silence for a little bit before Rumi speaks up.

"Well, Derpy is kind of... rude. With everything considered. What about...," she thinks for another couple seconds before continuing. "What about Pureun?"

"Pureun? Like, just 'blue'?" Zoey asks, her mouth full of noodles, and Rumi shrugs. You let the word settle on your shoulders, sit in your stomach, and you feel almost a fluttering. A smile reaches your face, a real smile, and you look up to the girls.

"I like that." The girls take a second before softening their gazes and smile back at you.

Pureun. Yeah, that will do.

[strawbairicake]

kisses are the sweetest treat- various hsr characters x reader

synopsis: playing the pocky game with your boyfriend! that’s it, send tweet. part 3! 

warnings: uh, none? other than that, idk if my beginner/novice writing counts as a warning. 

word count: 1511 (it’s longer than part 2… which is longer than part 1… fuck.)

author’s note: no beta, we die like my unfunny jokes. please pardon any mistakes in spelling or grammar! think of this mini-series as being set in a modern au, since even though i play the game, i’m not comfy writing canon-verse! most of my fics/drabble follow this format too! moving on, this is part 3 since previous parts did pretty well! i’ll link part 1 here and part 2 here! disclaimer from both previous parts: i genuinely don’t know how to write kiss scenes at all! other than like a peck on the lips, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right… right? doing my best and learning how to write better, please be nice to me! anyway, hope you enjoy! <3

hsr taglist: @axolotsofluv, @sqgeism, @vyyper, @your-sleeparalysisdem0n, @cmiru, @unriding, @sheyfu, @threnodians. @strwbrydreamz, @chokifandom, @sillyseraphie, @riaruu, + @m1ckeyb3rry! let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 

Caelus:

if you would believe it, the idea of the game was his idea. cheeky bastard (/lovingly). he probably saw a couple in a video do the challenge and wanted you to do it with him. you agreed to do the challenge as long as he didn’t post a video of it. so being the excited raccoon he was, he set out to go to a local store and get a box of pocky. next thing you know, he’s FaceTiming you while he’s in the convenience store.

“yes, Caelus?”

“hiii babe! what flavor of pocky do you want?” 

you blinked, slightly confused, then whispered, “there’s more than just chocolate?” 

Caelus snickered and bought the chocolate kind before returning to your apartment. he lets himself in with the key you gave him and scurries over to you on the couch, where you were reading a book. 

“you ready?” he wiggled his eyebrows obnoxiously, making you roll your eyes.

“yeah, yeah. just… don’t post the video, please.” you replied.

“promise! it’ll be our little secret.” he winked. you fought the urge to roll your eyes again.

he sets his phone up on the coffee table and starts recording. he then opens the box of pocky and fishes a stick of the sweet treat out before sitting next to you on the sofa. you’re both giggling like little school girls, and you’re both a little nervous. excited-nervous, is probably a better way to put it. Caelus is finally able to stop giggling for a few seconds, so he takes the opportunity to put one portion of the stick in his mouth and motions for you to do the same. and he’s so patient. he waits for you to inch forward just a bit before he himself moves closer to you. and as you both reach the middle of the stick, it doesn’t seem like either one of you will break it. the stick breaks even right in the middle but before you can pull your head back, Caelus cups the back of your head gently and kisses you so you can’t escape his grasp (not that you want to anyway. though you’d never admit that.). you tap near his shoulder as a sign to stop and he takes your cue and stops kissing you before peppering kisses all over your face, making you giggle. he then stands up and stops the recording.

“thank you babe!” he makes a kissy face at you.

“of course. that wasn’t so bad… maybe you can post the video.”

of course, that was Caelus’s intent. not like he would have told you, though.

Dan Heng:

March 7th got you a box of pocky for Valentine's Day as a joke, that’s the first instance. it’s a running joke you two have that Dan Heng will never get in on mostly because he doesn’t understand/want to understand. the next instance is just on a random day where March slides a box of pocky over to you like it has drugs inside (it might as well have drugs in them. have you EATEN a whole box of pocky in one sitting? shit’s addictive.). your boyfriend gives you a quizzical look, clearly not amused at you and March’s not going on. but wait, there’s more. there’s a third instance not long after the second that made you think Dan Heng lost brain cells at watching. you, Caelus, and March playing hot potato with a box of pocky. god, he swears his friends are idiots. but you’re his favorite.

so when you return home with Dan Heng after hanging out with said friends, Dan Heng notices the box of pocky in your hands. 

“what did you do?”

“…whoever won hot potato got to keep the box!”

Dan Heng wishes he was not on this earth right now. he sighed and opened your apartment door for you and you both walked straight to the sofa and sat down. you present the box to him to open, and he carefully takes the box with a sigh and opens it and the pack inside the box before getting a stick out. he hands it to you. you look up at him and stare for a moment. and everything is quiet for just a moment. 

“we should play the pocky game!”

Dan Heng felt his eye twitch.

“one game, and then we’re going to bed,” he acquiesced. 

and so the game began. you put a portion of the stick in your mouth, he did the same with the other end of the treat. you inch closer and closer until your lips touch and you can feel one of Dan Heng’s hands reach up and cup your cheek and as you lean into his hand, he breaks off the kiss. you playfully whine at the lack of affection.

“we can play the game more some other time. come on, to bed with you.”

he’s such a party pooper, you swear.

Sunday: 

god, your friends are so weird. this is the thought Sunday has as he watches you, March 7th, Stelle, and Caelus terrorize some children at the local park. his next thought is we’re gonna get banned from the park. the fucking park of all things. he heard something about a child and pocky and immediately joined Dan Heng on the bench to zone out. tune out when the world becomes too much, is what Dan Heng said. how he keeps his friends in check truly baffles Sunday. 

after about 30 minutes of Sunday watching you and your friends terrorize children (who probably deserved it but shhh), he comes over and holds you by the back of your shirt.

“huh? oh, hi, Sunny!” you say cheerily.

“hello, my love. before we go back home, do you want to stop by the convenience store?”

and the sparkle in your eyes was hilarious and precious to Sunday. his funny and magical words (to you, anyway) made you stop terrorizing the children. you said goodbye to your friends and you happily skipped by Sunday’s side to the convenience store. you picked a box of pocky, Sunday paid for it and you both were back at your shared home soon enough. 

Sunday held the keys to your shared apartment and got you both in. you excitedly sat down on the couch and started fiddling with the box of pocky before successfully opening it and the pack inside. you take a stick out and motion Sunday to come over. 

“come here, i wanna kiss you!” you say excitedly. Sunday’s face flushes a bit but he always indulges you. he sits on the couch next to you and listens as you explain the rules of the game you’re playing. you place one portion of the stick in your mouth, Sunday does the same with the other piece. you notice his wings twitching slightly as you inch close together. and when you reach the middle, you peck his lips and part from him.

“could we do that again?”

and suddenly your lover grew slightly bolder than before. not that you were complaining.

Gepard:

Serval gifted Gepard a box of pocky since she was one of the few people who knew about his “secret” sweet tooth. it’s not a secret, he just never tells people he likes sweets more than anything. so when he comes home to you after a long day and notices a box of pocky on the coffee table, his face lights up just a bit. you notice the look on his face. 

“oh! you like pocky too?” you ask. Gepard hadn’t even noticed you were in the room. what a bad boyfriend he was. he wasn’t actually, he’s just giving himself a hard time. happens to the best of us.

“yeah, i do! i really like sweet treats but pocky is probably my favorite.” he replied.

“oh cool! we should play the pocky game, then! but only if you’re up for it, of course!” you suggested.

so that’s how you ended up on the couch with Geoard eating multiple sticks of pocky before actually playing the game with him. and once you both finally found the confidence to play the game? it was on. 

the first stick you both start to eat breaks almost immediately- you’re both too excited to play. the second stick breaks closer to the middle when Gepard chickens out from kissing you at the last second. the third stick broke off when you heard a noise and moved your head in the direction of the noise.

…fourth time’s the charm, right?

this time, the little game you’re playing started off well. you both carefully inch closer to each other and as you reach for the middle, you cup Gepard’s cheek with a hand and he places a hand over your hand. and then… a quick peck before you break off the kiss somewhat suddenly. you start apologizing, but your boyfriend starts stopping you, gentleman he is.

“that’s alright! we can always do this little game a different time. I enjoy eating it more, anyway.”

you swear your boyfriend is a saint sometimes.

©2025 strawbairicake. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

[kdh-tally]

Hii! May I request for your headcanons on the Huntr/x girls and the Saja Boys when they receive hate and what their partners(Rujinu, Zoestery, Miromabby) would react when their partner receives hate(not criticism)? Sorry if it’s doesn’t make sense, I’m looking for smth similar to the one u did on their reactions when someone flirts w their partner

Saja Boys Coping with the Idol Life

Prompt : Huntr/x helping Saja Boys against the haters

Author's Note : So i already kind of completed the angsty part of the request a while ago but I never wrote how Huntr/x would help so here this is!!!

Can be read as a part 2 to -> Saja Boys Struggling with the Idol Life

Going on hiatus wasn’t easy. They had received back lash, k-netizens accusing them of not being committed to their idol careers. It seemed like everyone was against them. Well, except Huntrix. 

The girls had been their biggest supporters, quietly fighting against all hatred being thrown the boys' way. The girls had urged them to fight back. And it was finally time.

Rumi lay sprawled on Jinu’s bed. The two had returned from their short date, Jinu tense the entire time till they returned to the privacy of their dorms. He smiled softly at her before laying down beside her. She immediately turned to face him, admiring his features as he pulled out his phone. 

Unlocking it, he was instantly met with another post from a hate account. They had clipped the photo, Jinu’s hand hovering just a bit too close to Rumi’s waist. It was innocent, a complete accident. But the headlines didn’t care.

The comments were ugly. Possessive. Fans demanding he apologize for his ‘perverted’ behavior. Others screaming betrayal, claiming he must have been in a relationship with the female idols. However, there was a general consensus that he needed to remain “professional”.

He had immediately turned the device off but Rumi had already taken notice. “You’re still reading those?” she asked gently, not wanting him to close up. 

“I don’t mean too, I just…” his voice trailed off, unable to find the right things to say. Rumi took the phone from him and threw it across the room where it landed on a plush beanbag. 

“I know what you mean,” Rumi hummed as she traced along the patterns on his chest. She’d been in a similar situation. Accused of over acting around male idols for attention. However, she’d learned that most of the voices were just people who had nothing better to do that criticize others out of jealousy.

It took her months to understand this but she didn’t want Jinu to fall into the same headspace. She unlocked her own phone, scrolling through the many selfies they had with each other before stopping on one Mira had taken of both of them. 

It was Jinu peacefully sleeping on her as they rested on the couch, her hands brushing through his hair as though he was a pet cat. Jinu watched as she uploaded the image to her professional instagram story, captioning it my soulmate. 

Once the image was uploaded, she tossed her phone across the room as well. “They’re going to come after you too, Rumi,” he said after a moment of silence. 

“I don’t want to hide us anymore. They made you feel ashamed of loving me and I won't let them do it again.” She responded. 

Later, both Hutr/x and the Saja Boy’s company released an official statement. It was short and concise.

“We confirm that Saja Boys’ Jinu and Huntrix’s Rumi are in a private relationship. They have been close friends and partners long before their respective debuts. Please respect their privacy.”

And to their surprise... many fans did.

Romance had gotten quiet again.

After the dorm conversation, he’d curled back into his shell. Though he promised to take care of himself, and had been during their hiatus, he was still unable to produce any music. He spent hours sitting on the balcony, notebook open but pages blank.

Until Mira found him. She didn’t knock, she never really did. She simply walked up behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the railing. They looked over the city as a silence filled the space between them. It was comfortable.

“You know,” she said eventually, “if people are gonna ship you with anyone, they should at least get it right.”

Romance glanced up. She was half-smirking.

He laughed. It was a real one. The first time he’d done it in months. Mira always seemed to be able to make him do that.

“I used to panic about who they thought I was into. Now I’m just... mad I wasted so much time worrying about it.” 

Mira didn’t say anything, but she stood to move behind him, playing with his long hair and tying it up into a ponytail.

He turned to her after a moment, eyes fully locked on hers. “I love you.”

She blinked in surprise, not expecting the sudden confession but accepting it regardless. She sent him a smile, one of her rarer facial expressions.

“And I think I might love Abby too. Or I did. Or maybe I still do. I’m not sure.” He let out a confused sigh.

She nodded, staring out at the dusk. “Okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not a random fan, Romance. I understand how you feel. You’re allowed to be confused about who you want.”

He reached over, hand brushing hers. He felt at peace for the first time in a while.

Then Abby appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of snacks, a confused frown across his face. “Did I miss something?”

Romance blinked and Mira smirked. The three of them made their way back into Romance and Abby’s joint room, the biggest one in the dorm, and relaxed on Romance’s bed. Abby insisted on feeding both of them as they played some movie.

Later that night, Abby stared at himself in the mirror. His shirt was off, his abs defined but a little less sharp than before. He had crept away from the other two, assuming they had both fallen asleep. He hadn’t eaten much that week. He seemed to have formed a habit of feeding others in order to avoid eating himself.

He still heard their words echoing in his mind. The hashtags. The edits comparing him to old photos. The DMs saying he’d let himself get too comfortable.

He sighed, about to pull his shirt off before screeching as cold hands wrapped around him. “WHO THE FU-” 

“Calm down you big baby,” Romance mumbled, still half asleep, his hair falling against the shorter boy's neck. 

“What is wrong with you,” Abby grumbled, hands unconsciously trying to shield his chest from view. 

“You left the bed,” he murmured. Abby rolled his eyes before attempting to put on the shirt once more. 

“Why are you trying to hide the goods?” Mira spoke from the doorway. She too was half asleep, her hair tussled and frizzy. “I could eat a meal off those,” she yawned, hugging him from the front, leaving him sandwiched between the two. 

He couldn’t even get a word in, the two of them seemed to be double teaming him with affection. “You know they don’t deserve you, right? Your body’s not a product.” Mira reaffirmed, poking into his firm skin.

Romance nodded, breath hot against his neck, “We love you. Not your muscles. You.”

Abby tried not to cry but ultimately failed. Mira laughed, wiping the tears out of his eyes and cupping his face. “Lets go eat some junk food yea?”

Abby nodded. 

Romance trudged along behind them, “I still wanna go to bed you guys :( “

Mystery nearly threw up before his scheduled live stream. What was the live for? It was to clear his name. The groups had seen Rumi’s post of Jinu on her story and it gave many of them the courage to face their fans haters. 

It had taken some time, but the girls finally taught the boys that anyone who tried to dictate their lives or tell them how to live was a hater. Someone who constantly chose to criticize or try to bring them down was an absolute abomination of a human being. 

His palms were sweating. His heartbeat was erratic. Every nerve in his body screamed don’t do it. 

But Zoey was there.

She sat cross-legged on the practice room floor behind the camera, holding her phone and calmly listing reasons why he had every right to speak.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” she said. “Especially not the people who prioritized their own delusions over the truth.”

He nodded. She handed him the phone.

He went live.

When fans had gotten the notification of Mystery going live, they were quick to clock in and watch. The boys were still on hiatus, and this was the first form of social media presence anyone had received since Rumi and Jinu’s confirmed dating rumor.

“Hi everyone,” he said, voice quiet as he pulled on his hoodie sleeve. “This’ll be a short live. I’m only here to clarify a few things.”

He swallowed hard, but one glance at Zoey’s encouraging smile gave him the strength to continue. “I’m not dating anyone. The photos of me at the gym with a worker was just me accidentally bumping into her.” 

His voice grew more confident. “And even if I was dating someone, it's truly none of your business. My love life is exactly that. Mine. I’d still be the same person you liked yesterday. And if that’s not enough for you, you were never really my fan.”

With that, he ended the stream after just six minutes. The silence afterward was deafening. Then Zoey pulled him into a hug so tight, he finally let himself cry.

Baby didn’t come out of his room. He seemed to live there. He had seen his band mates' progression, the way they were slowly regaining their confidence. He was happy for them, they had people to motivate him. He didn't think he had that. He didn’t want to be a burden.

He lay on his bed, half-heartedly scrolling through random apps on his phone. He planned to take another nap and was already falling into that sleepy state when suddenly,  all three girls were knocking on his door, barging in with strawberry milk, a blanket, and spicy chips.

Before he knew it, they were already getting comfortable. Rumi sat on his bed, Zoey pulled him into a side hug and Mira crossed her arms as she sat on the floor.

“This is an intervention. Now talk,” the pink haired girl said bluntly.

“I don’t want to be annoying,” Baby muttered, eyes downcast. The girls swore their heart broke a little. The one Saja Boy that never seemed to let things get into his head sounded so dejected.

“You’re not,” Zoey replied immediately.

“I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“We know.”

He hesitated. Then it all poured out.

The paranoia. The self-consciousness. The way he couldn’t bring himself to do certain things on camera. The guilt of feeling like a burden on his hyungs. The crushing fear that he’d grown out of being the “cute one” and was now just… useless.

Rumi pet his hair. Mira nodded solemnly.

“We’ve all been there,” Zoey said. “Even us.”

“You’re not a doll, Baby,” Mira added. “You have your own personality and can be whoever you want”

“But I liked who I was already,” he frowned. He didn’t admit it but he kinda enjoyed playing into the baby act. Who didn’t enjoy being pampered? “What if they grow tired of me?”

“They’ll like you because you’re you. Or they’ll leave. And we’ll still be here.” Rumi smiled at him.

The hiatus was over. The boys were back with a new album and they felt better than ever. They had regained their confidence and the girls were proud. They were all sleeping over in the girls pent house, rewatching their old music videos and laughing  at the silliness of it all.

“I can’t believe the three of you flew out of a plane and onto stage and no one questioned it,” Baby chuckled as he sat between Rumi and Jinu. Jinu was glaring at him the entire time but he didn’t really care, just sending him a cocky smile.

“Yea well we also killed you all in front of millions of people and no one seems to care,” Mira shrugged. Abby had his hands wrapped around her waist as Romance fed them both. 

They stayed up too late that night, curled into piles of limbs and pillows. Their videos played quietly in the background as they laughed. There was no social media, no reading articles, just the eight of them having fun.

Things weren’t perfect. The boys were still afraid. The industry hadn’t changed. But something in them had.

They weren’t demons trying to be idols anymore. Matter of fact, they weren’t demons at all.

They were humans. They were loud, messy, anxious yet brave, creative humans who just so happened to be idols.

And together, they were ready to try again.

[mattslvrxo]

꣑ৎ{ innocent user x dealer chris sturniolo } ꣑ৎ

deals.

{ ! } contains: obsessive tension, bad reputation x good girl dynamic, messy desperate makeouts, hickeys, hands under clothes, thigh grabbing, rough kisses, soft whimpers, dom teasing, mutual denial, “we shouldn’t be doing this” energy, tangled up in bed, filthy whispers, a little biting, and definitely poor decisions.

chris feels like he’s losing his fucking mind. it’s not fair, honestly. the way you occupy every single one of his thoughts when he knows damn well he shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of you. you’re too sweet, too careful, too fucking innocent for someone like him. you’ve got bright eyes and a shy laugh, that polite smile you toss over your shoulder when you walk away from guys who get too close. you’re the last person who should ever end up tangled up with someone like him. he’s a mess. you know it. he knows it. the entire campus knows it. he’s the guy you see at every frat party — leaning against a wall with a backpack full of shit that isn’t strictly legal, trading low conversations and split cash with kids who look a little too desperate. he’s the guy with rumors swirling around him like cigarette smoke, girls whispering about how he’ll break your heart before you even get the chance to hand it over. and maybe that’s why he promised himself he’d never even try it again. love, relationships, anything close to delicate feelings. he’s not built for it. he ruins it every time.

but fuck, there’s just something about you.

he remembers the first night he really noticed you — not just in passing, not just as another pretty face in a sticky beer-soaked room. you were perched on the edge of a couch that sagged under drunk bodies, clutching a plastic cup like it might save your life. he could tell you didn’t belong there by the way you flinched when someone shouted too close to your ear. by the way your fingers played with the rim of your cup instead of drinking. by the way you smiled, all nervous and polite, when some frat dude tried to chat you up, then practically melted with relief when he finally wandered off. chris spent half the night watching you. couldn’t help it. there was something magnetic about the way you tried so hard to disappear. it made him curious. made him want to get closer, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

and it happened again. and again. every time he was at a party dropping off, you were there — a little island of caution, always hovering just far enough away that he knew you were actively avoiding him. sometimes he tried to make you laugh. sometimes he’d catch your eye and flash that lazy smirk of his just to see you roll your eyes. sometimes you’d humor him with a small grin, but most of the time you’d just look away, pretending he wasn’t interesting. still, you were.

he shouldn’t be outside your dorm building now. it’s nearly two in the morning. his hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie like that’ll stop them from shaking. he knows exactly which window is yours — third floor, the one with the little string of warm fairy lights. he wonders if you’re up, if you’re already asleep, if you’d even open the door if he knocked. turns out you will. when you open it, your hair is a little messy, face flushed from sleep. you’re wearing tiny cotton shorts and a faded university tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the soft skin of your collarbone. the sight hits him like a fucking truck. “chris? what are you doing here?” your voice is hushed, incredulous. like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there. he shrugs, trying to play it cool even though his heart’s hammering. “had a few drop offs near campus. figured i’d see if you were up.”

you raise an eyebrow. “it’s two in the morning.” he leans against your doorframe, flashing that cocky half-smile. “so? you gonna invite me in or make me stand here all night like a creep?” you hesitate. he can practically see the little war going on inside your head — the part of you that knows better, knows he’s trouble, battling with that tiny sliver of curiosity that’s always been there, whether you wanted to admit it or not. finally, you sigh and step aside. your dorm is exactly what he expected. cozy, warm, cluttered with little trinkets that look handmade. there’s a candle burning on your desk, soft music playing low from your laptop. he lets out a low whistle. “cute place. fits you. you cross your arms, hovering by your bed.

“you didn’t answer my question. why are you really here? he looks at you for a long moment. you’re so fucking pretty it makes his chest hurt. finally he mutters, “because i’m an idiot. and because i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how much i tell myself i should.” your breath stutters. he sees it — the way your throat bobs when you swallow, the way your arms tighten around yourself. “you don’t like me,” you whisper. he huffs out a laugh. “yeah. i keep telling myself that. keeps not working.” then he’s crossing the room, standing right in front of you. his hand comes up, brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips ghosting along your jaw. “you’re too good for me. too fucking sweet. you’d hate the inside of my head.”

you sigh softly, “then why are you here?” his thumb drags across your lower lip, eyes dark. “because i’m selfish. because you’re the only thing that makes sense to me right now.” and

then he’s kissing you. it starts careful, almost hesitant. like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away. but when you don’t — when you make a tiny, needy noise and fist your hands in the front of his hoodie — he loses it. the kiss turns hungry, desperate, his teeth catching your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp. his hands slip under your shirt, splay across your warm skin, fingers digging in like he needs to memorize every inch.

“this could ruin my reputation,” you breathe when he finally pulls back for air, lips red and swollen. he lets out a low laugh, presses his forehead to yours. “won’t be a problem for me. mine’s been ruined since sophomore year.”

you open your mouth to retort but he’s already tugging your shirt up over your head. his eyes go wide when he sees your bra — lacy, deep red, hugging your chest perfectly. “shit… didn’t know you were like that.” his voice is rough, teasing but almost awed. you roll your eyes, cheeks burning. “oh shut up, chris.” he smirks, that lazy, dangerous grin that makes your stomach flip, and his hands trail down your sides, slipping under the waistband of your shorts to squeeze your hips. “nah, i like it. all innocent until proven otherwise.” his mouth is back on yours before you can snap back, more demanding now. one of his hands slides up your back, unhooking your bra with infuriating ease, letting it drop to the floor. he palms your bare chest, thumbs brushing your nipples until you’re arching into him with a soft whimper. “we shouldn’t be doing this,” you whisper, even as your hips roll forward against his. “then pretend we’re doing somethin’ else,” he mutters, dragging his lips down your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. his hands grip your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing, dropping you onto your bed. he crawls over you, kisses turning sloppy, messy, tongues tangling, teeth clashing. you’re making the sweetest little sounds, half-buried moans that go straight to his dick. he’s grinding against you through his sweats, the friction sending sparks up your spine. “fuck, you sound so pretty,” he growls against your skin, nipping at your throat. “been thinking about this. about you. about how you’d taste, how you’d sound under me.”

your hands claw at his back, tugging at the hem of his hoodie until he pulls it off, baring all lean muscle and ink. he dips down, mouth hot on your chest, sucking hickeys into your skin like he wants to mark every inch. your hips roll up again, seeking more, and he groans low in his throat. “patience, sweetheart. wanna take my time ruining you.”

and you let him. because even though you know he’s bad news, even though your brain is screaming at you to stop, your body’s already decided. you want him — messy, reckless, complicated. even if it means waking up tomorrow with more regrets than you can count. for now, you just bury your fingers in his hair, tug him closer, and let yourself fall.

a/n - so tumblr dealer chris is totally worth the hype. hes hot, really hot. idk if i should make a part two. someone PLZZZ GIVE ME FIC REQSS

taglist: @birlemsbae @elianamattlvr @sagesturns @dominicfikeenthusiast @fikenight @sturnsrecord @sturnstars5 @sturnsdarling @sturnslutz @adoreyousturniolos @sturnizolo @flowerfike @slvt4chrissturniolo @floweredsturn @sturniolo-szn2 @sturnitup @matts-girlfriend @chrispleasure @sturns-mermaid @loverrgirl3 @chrisspussygang @mattsweethrt @kait123456789876543 @sturnsiolos0 @chrissv4mp @auttysturnz @chrissturnslovergirlx @chrissonnyangel @chriscantwhisper @mattscumdump @chrissleftshoe @sturnswiftie @sturn-baby05 @nickmattchris @nicksprincess

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The Farm Boi Series: Wild Boy - Dennis Whitaker x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: Dennis has a surprising reaction to his mother's protests about your relationship.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There’s a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

Denny’s To Do List - Dennis realises he’s in the midst of a sexual awakening.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn’t like the other man you’ve been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn’t mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny’s - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Gardens of Babylon - Dennis has made his choice, now it's time for you to make yours.

My Future Wife - Dennis makes a promise to you at Jana's celebration of life event.

Despite the rough start to your trip your first night in Nebraska is wonderful. You’ve spent the evening at Nana Whitty’s kitchen table being regaled with stories about Dennis’s childhood. His brothers are a boisterous bunch, who have just as many questions for you as you have for them. They’re fascinated by your job, by the life Dennis leads in the city.

When they leave to return to their parent’s farm just over the fence the two of you retire to the guest bedroom for the night. Calling it a room is an understatement, it’s more like a rustic hotel suite with a huge bed made of cherrywood from the trees that litter the farm. The sheets are white and crisp with a fleece lined comforter folded over the bottom.

Dennis in his native habitat is wild.

You don’t know if it’s the Nebraska air or the fact his mom hates you so much that drives him, you just know your farm boy’s dommy side has come out to play and you are 100% here for it.

He is fierce and relentless in the moment. His hand gripping the headboard, using it for leverage as he drives into you like a force of nature, his cock hitting that sweet spot as his punctured moans carry through the air. Your fingertips dig into his back as that release starts to build for the third time tonight. It makes you loud, crazy loud so Dennis claps his hand over your mouth and that, it heightens everything for you.

“Oh sweetheart, you like that.” He teases, leaning in close, his nose grazing yours. “I think we might have just unlocked something for when we get home. I could see you with one of those naughty toys in your mouth, moaning around it as I fuck you.”

His fingers slide between your lips, pressing down on your tongue and you suck them deeper, your breath coming out in lovely little pants as your skin flushes, your pussy tightening around his dick.

“Oh that’s it baby.” He mumbles, his hips arching, quickening as he chases your release. “Show me how much you love this dick.”

You hit that high with a scream, one that he stifles with his palm again as you grip him so fucking hard that he has no choice but to follow you over the edge. He buries himself inside you, erupting in long hot spurts that have his hips pumping until you’ve milked every single drop of his ecstasy.

“Fuck.” He breathes, collapsing against you, his face coming to rest in the hollow of your throat.

“I think being rebellious gets you off.” You murmur against his temple, your fingers combing lightly through his flaxen hair. “You enjoy claiming me when you’re being told you can’t have me. It plays into some sort of forbidden love kink.”

“I don’t like being told that I shouldn’t be with the woman I love.” He informs you, his mouth ghosting over your collarbone as his thumb seeks out your nipple piercing, toying with it. “Not when she’s so fucking good for me.”

“She’ll come around.” You tell him, your lips capturing his when he tilts his head up to meet your gaze. “She just needs to see what a catch I am.”

“You are a catch.” He mumbles into your mouth. Already he’s hardening again inside you, the tip of his dick kissing that perfect little space. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

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