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brownlyfe · 2 days ago

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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.

#smoke x annie #michael b jordan #wunmi mosaku #mbj x wunmi #sinners fic #michael b jordan x wunmi mosaku #annie sinners #smoke sinners #stack sinners #annie x smoke #Spotify

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the-actual-literal-worst · 6 hours ago

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Actually, the fun thing is that I can choose to never shut up, so here's some fun (read, actually horrible) things that happened in my old dance program (both the private studio, and in high school arts class). - Me and another trans dancer approached our choreographer with some costume issues and she jumped the gate with "they're unisex costumes, what's the problem?" and when we specified that wouldn't be able to bind underneath them (the straps would've shown), she unblinkingly said "Oh, just use ace bandages- they're strapless and nude!" ya know... the thing that literally every intro to binding safety guide tells you not to fucking do because of rib and tissue damage?...(this was also advice she had given to the girls who complained about not being comfortable not being able to wear a bra on stage) - We took a girl (no older than 10) into our studio after she was kicked out of a more classically focused one across town. Apparently, the other studio had refused to let her take their classes because she was "too fat to make a good dancer". That poor girl was CRUSHED and she and her mother were so hesitant reaching out to us because the chance we would be just as cruel (the one thing we really had going as a studio was that we didn't tolerate body shaming). - A friend of mine, who worked part time teaching at our studio, got caught vaping AT SCHOOL (a separate entity entirely), and LOST HIS JOB because "the kids he taught were getting old enough to be in school with him, and he proved he couldn't be a good role model for them." There wasn't a criminal charge, he simply got suspended and couldn't make it to class, so our choreographer found out- and he lost his job over his "delinquent lifestyle". - Another one of the student teachers (who was 13 at the time), was teaching the younger classes (3-7 year olds) UNSUPERVISED when she broke BOTH her feet at the same time in a botched leap during class. She was screaming and crying in pain, the kids were screaming and crying in fear, and the closest teacher was supposed to be half a mile down the road in a DIFFERENT building. They got very lucky that one of the adult teachers was at the main studio in between classes, or else the only option would've been for unaccompanied primary schoolers to run through town and get help from someone who knew what to do. This was a "quirky" story we all told/got told. Something we laughed at, and used to scare kids into learning the proper way to land their leaps. They even kept her recital picture from that year on the wall- of her posing in her wheelchair, smiling like nothing was wrong. And this was just the dance program. We had a joint musical theatre class that features highlights such as: - One of our directors telling me that if I didn't put effort into creating an accent that was less "regional" that I'd never find work (absolutely crazy thing to say to a high schooler taking an elective course.) - That same director, upon seeing one girls self harm scars, simply commenting "you better have that covered before the show". - Sexual harassment that ended in MULTIPLE long term teachers being fired And this is frankly the tip of the iceberg. This is just some of the stuff about TEACHERS, I've got a million more stories about students- and I promise: anyone else in a performing arts program could meet or beat these in a heartbeat. And I cannot stress enough how much you just think it's all normal while it's happening. Now that I'm out the other side I can look at it all and go... hmm... maybe this wasn't the nurturing environment we thought it was...

the ballerina to tradwife pipeline must be studied

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demie90s · 2 days ago

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I Love You.

Nika Muhl x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Nika didn’t know what she was inviting in when she let you close. At first, it was charm, softness, little moments of care. But under the surface? You were studying her.

WORD COUNT: ~ 1.6k

Genre: Toxic Obsession | Psychological Control | Slow Unraveling

Warnings: Stalking, manipulation, emotional abuse, obsession, identity mimicry, gaslighting, toxic family history, disturbing internal monologue

I was so sweet in the beginning.

Like fruit gone soft in the sun—syrupy and easy to bite. That’s how I gave myself to Nika. Smiles tucked behind shy glances. Long silences I let her fill. I let her think she was choosing me.

That’s what made it perfect. Because I’d already chosen her. Long before she noticed me.

I knew her favorite food, the name of her ex, the middle school she transferred out of after that fight.I knew what she posted then deleted two minutes later. I knew she liked her morning coffee iced even in December and had a thing for girls with dark lipstick and colder hearts.

So I became one. Slowly. Meticulously. Like a craft.

You ever fall in love with the idea of someone and decide, “Yeah. That’s mine”? Not hope. Not wish. Decide.

That was me with Nika. From the moment she smiled at me like I wasn’t already watching—game over.

She didn’t know I’d already read the last page of her life and wrote myself in.

Didn’t know I sat in my car for hours outside her apartment complex just to learn the rhythm of her world. What time she left. What time she came back. Who knocked on her door. Who she let in.

Didn’t know I followed her ex on private accounts just to figure out how she spoke, how she dressed, how she fucked up.

Didn’t know I called in fake complaints just to get her kicked out of a party so she’d end up drunk and pissed and alone outside. Where I could “accidentally” bump into her like fate.

That was our first kiss. The kind she’d call serendipitous if she knew nothing about me. She knew nothing.

“You’re so attentive,” she said once, fingers curling in my hair as I rubbed circles into her back while she laid in bed, stomach hurting.

“Mmm,” I hummed, brushing a thumb under her eye. “I just care.”

I don’t. Not in the way she thinks. I care like… a knife in the drawer. Like a secret in a locked phone. Like a sickness. I can’t love halfway. I can’t love without control.

At first, I let her set the pace. She wanted casual? Fine.

She wanted space? I gave her two days, max. She wanted honesty?

That’s when things shifted.

She asked me once why I never got jealous. Why I didn’t flinch when she flirted in front of me.

“You’re a little too calm,” she said, squinting. “It’s weird. You don’t get mad?”

“Oh, baby,” I said with a soft smile, tilting my head. “I just don’t show it.”

Because I don’t need to. Because the last girl who made her laugh like that got fired. Because the number in her phone with the cute emoji next to it hasn’t gotten a text back since I accidentally emailed her nudes to her work address. Because the bartender who kissed her hand that night? Yeah. He won’t be working there again.

I’m calm because I’m efficient.

It started showing, though. The cracks. Nika’s not dumb. She’s just sentimental. That’s what makes her perfect—she wants to believe in people. Thinks love can fix things.

So when I started dressing like her ex, wearing her scent, saying shit I know she heard before, she didn’t say anything right away.

She just started watching me closer. Like I was a screen she forgot to lock. She started catching things. Side comments. A smirk too sharp. A “joke” that didn’t sound like one.

Then came the night she asked, “Do you even like me? Or are you just trying to win?”

We were lying in bed. Her legs draped over mine. My head resting on her chest. Her heartbeat—steady, too steady. I didn’t answer.

Because if I told her the truth. If I said, “No, I don’t like you. I own you.”

She’d leave. I wasn’t ready for that. We can play this game a little longer.

She gets suspicious. Tries to set boundaries. Says she needs time. Says I make her feel off. I nod. I even cry a little.

When she finally falls asleep next to me again—her back to my chest, breathing soft—I slide her phone from under the pillow. She changed her passcode.

Cute. Doesn’t matter. I already know it. She’ll never leave me. She doesn’t understand that yet, but she will. I’ve already planted the seeds.

The friends who ghosted her? Me. The fake DMs from her ex? Me. The anxiety that wraps her chest every time her phone buzzes? Me.

She’s unraveling. When she breaks—I’ll be there. Arms wide. Soft voice. Steady presence. Like a devil who offers you water after lighting the match.

Because she said her ex ruined her. I made it my mission to do it better. I don’t want to love her. I want to make sure no one else can.

She picks up the perfume like it’s something dangerous. Glass between fingers. Pale gold liquid, soft floral label.

“Jasmine,” she says flatly, not even looking at me. “You hate jasmine.”

I smile without showing my teeth. “It grew on me.”

She studies me, eyes narrowed, one corner of her mouth twitching like she wants to say more. Accuse me. Name the thing slithering beneath all my tenderness. But she doesn’t. She puts the bottle down too gently and walks out.

She’s not ready. She still thinks she has time.

You want to know the truth?

I am my father’s daughter. Not the yelling part. Not the fists. The other part. The quieter part. The slow-drip venom. The mindfuck.

See, my father didn’t scream. He sighed. He scoffed. He pointed out your inconsistencies like a goddamn hobby.

He’d watch you cry and ask what the tears were supposed to accomplish. He called it honesty. My mom called it hell.

I called it normal.

You think growing up in chaos turns you into a fighter. Sometimes, yeah. But other times… It just turns you into chaos.

I don’t hurt people with force. I do it with presence. With silences that last just long enough. With tone. With disinterest. With the perfectly timed “okay” instead of an argument. With the kind of calm that makes people question their sanity.

Now I’m doing it to Nika.

Because she said she didn’t like mind games.

Something about that made me need to see if she meant it.

So I shift my tone just a little. I go cold at random. I pull away mid-kiss. I laugh when she’s upset.

I say, “Oh, that again?” when she brings up anything that hurt her. I shrug in the middle of her softness and change the subject to something stupid. Something cruel.

She’s starting to notice. I don’t stop.

Some nights, she stares at me like I’m a stranger wearing her girlfriend’s skin. Like she’s wondering how I got in. When the switch flipped.

I used to kiss her like she was delicate. Now I do it with my eyes open.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” she said once.

We were in bed. My back to the headboard. She curled in a ball beside me, face turned toward the wall. Her voice was small. Hesitant. Hopeful.

I ran a hand down her arm and said nothing. Because I don’t argue with ghosts. And that girl she’s remembering?

That girl never existed.

It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t care right. Like when she cries now, I don’t wipe her tears. I don’t ask what’s wrong. I just sit beside her, breathing slow. Sometimes I hand her water. Sometimes I don’t.

That’s how my father did it. He used to let the silence ring until you apologized for bothering him. Now I do the same.

To the woman I said I loved. I lied.

Nika tries to make sense of it. That’s the part that breaks me open laughing. She really thinks there’s a version of me that’s still reachable. Still soft. Still fixable.

She doesn’t understand that I’m not “acting out.”

This is me. My family made sure of that.

I watched my mother beg for kindness and get logic.

I watched her break things just to feel something back.

I watched her kiss him like she still had a chance to change the outcome.

I told myself I’d never be like them. But now I hold Nika the way my father held grudges.

I tell her, “I’m fine,” the way he did before disappearing for three days. I love her like I’m daring her to leave.

One night, she grabs my wrist and asks, “Do you want to be with me or not?”

I look her dead in the eyes and say, “What kind of question is that?”

She lets go. I watch her walk into the bathroom, shoulders shaking.

I follow a minute later. Find her sitting on the edge of the tub, breathing hard, looking at her hands.

I sit on the sink and tilt my head. “You good?”

Her head snaps up. “No. I’m not good. I feel like I’m losing you.”

I chuckle. “I’m right here, Nika.”

“No, you’re not.”

She’s crying now. Angry. Wounded. I hop off the sink, walk over, and kneel in front of her. Cup her face like I used to. She leans into it.

I say, soft as anything, “You’re being dramatic.” She flinches. And I kiss her. She lets me.

This is how you break someone without ever raising your voice.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai @mrsarnold @prettyyyinblack

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minhoetaur · 2 days ago

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nsfw/dark. knight!gargoyle x fem!queen!reader – monster fucking, smut, unhappy marriage, cheating, death, kidnapping, possessiveness, drugging (using his magic), blood (mentioned)

the king you were forced to wed cares nothing for your marriage, so the knight!gargoyle in charge of his royal guard takes care of you instead.

some nights, he squats on the roof of the castle over the window of your private chambers. eyes sharp as to not miss any danger that could be a threat to you.

other nights, he rails you silly in the quarters of your private room. he holds you close while fucking you raw. drowning in the feeling of your skin smushed sweet against the wings he's wrapped around you.

the words that leave him would be enough to convince the ruler to sack him. he curses your spouse, degrading the man who is too foolish to recognize the belle before him. too stupid to take you the way you deserve.

the gargoyle fucks you deep, so you'll feel it the next day. so that when you look and give a faux smile to your husband, you'll feel the phantom of the knight's cock stretched all the way to your stomach, just as he is now.

"i'd die for you, do you know that? no matter what he thinks, i answer to you. not that fool with the crown. you."

he chants the words with a tone as low as the stone castle is tall. claws digging into your sides as he pounds you faster. his cock warm and spearing into you as hard as rock, his tip touching places your husband hasn't even thought about.

the next morning, you wake in the sky. wind blowing against your face, you inhale a startled breath upon seeing how far you are from the ground. a familiar voice hushes you and you finally hear it... distant but there.

bells of your home clanging at a panicking speed. the tones unique and only used for the worst of events.

fires. invasions. assassinations.

when you speak the title, your voice is slurred like something's keeping you from returning to full consciousness. it takes all your strength to peel open your eyes, and you do so with a struggling groan. through the blurred vision, you see him.

"m'lord?"

the gargoyle peeks down at you, clutching you closer. swearing to himself for the thousandth time that he will not drop you. he waits for you to say more but you don't. back asleep, limp and peaceful.

good. the remaining journey will be a long one, and he needs you still so he can focus on getting you to the caves.

flapping his wings, the two of you soar. there's drying blood on his claws but he knows you'll understand. he did it for you, after all.

#monsterfucker #monster fucker #monster smut #gargoyle smut #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle x human #monster fuqqer #monster lover #monster imagine #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x human #monster oc #teratophillia #terat0philliac #exophelia #knight!gargoyle

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depressedtifosa · 1 day ago

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summary: What you think is just a business meeting turns into something more. pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

It’s an open secret in the paddock that Toto has been trying to coax Max to join Mercedes for years now, but recently there was another target of his at Red Bull—you.

Ever since Adrian left to work with Aston Martin, people have been trying to figure out your next move. The team assumed that you, being his protégé, would eventually go after him, but it wasn’t an option.

You wanted to make a name for yourself in F1 without your mentor, but at your current team, there was no way you could do it. Yet, Christian was hell-bent on keeping you around, because after the past few years, you and Max became sort of a package deal.

If you left, he would follow you for sure.

Tonight you’re meeting Toto in some fancy restaurant’s private room, where he’ll probably try to convince you to join them next year. As you’re being led there, your heart beat skyrockets from the anxiety that’s taking over your mind.

He’s intimidating, sure, but what bothers you more is the idea of you being nothing more but a chess piece that will lure the Dutch driver to Mercedes. Maybe you would be sidelined right away, forced to stay behind and miss all the races.

“You’re my good luck charm, there’s no way I’m gonna let Christian or Helmut leave you behind,” said Max after Adrian broke the news that he’s leaving the team, and you began to worry how they would treat you in the future.

So, even if you both switched teams, you were sure Max would never let them treat you badly. You wouldn’t suddenly become Harry Potter and be locked away into a tiny storage room under the stairs at the Mercedes HQ.

Inside the private room, you can see the team principal sitting by the table, his long fingers wrapped around the glass in front of him. He only notices you arrived when he hears the clicks of your shoes echo loudly in the quiet room.

“You came,” he says with a polite smile on his face. “I was worried you only agreed to join me out of courtesy, then wouldn’t show up in the end.”

Before you could answer, he signals the staff to leave you alone for now. There’s a bottle of wine on the table, accompanied by two glasses, and he doesn’t hesitate to offer to pour some for you.

As you sit down across from him, your brain is kicking into overdrive to think of something witty to say, but nothing comes to mind. “Didn’t feel like passing on a free dinner,” you respond eventually.

Toto lets out a short laugh at this. “Understandable.”

You pick up the glass of wine, then raise it a little before taking a cautious sip of it. Whatever it is exactly, it’s certainly delicious, but you didn’t come here to get drunk. It was only your curiosity that brought you here, and deep down you have a feeling it wasn’t your wisest decision.

“Why don’t we talk about why I’m here?” you ask as you swirl the wind in your glass.

“Can’t I simply ask you to join me for dinner?”

If you didn’t know him better, you would assume this is a personal, and not a business meeting. “Not without an ulterior motive, no.”

He looks almost hurt by your accusation, that you assume the worst of him, but it’s quickly replaced by his well-known poker face. Maybe you should’ve kept your opinion to yourself, but years on Max’s side taught you that being brutally honest might be the best approach in life.

A waiter comes in after a quick, soft knock on the door, only to hand over the menu and tell you the chef’s recommendation for tonight. While you pay attention to every word, you can see out of the corner of your eye that the man across from you is watching you instead.

Yet, when the waiter asks if you need some time to choose, he speaks up, telling him the chef’s recommendation is perfect without asking you. Yes, it sounds really good, but why did he have to choose for you too?

After the waiter nods and leaves, he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine. “You know,” he begins as he once again watches you, “I’ve been thinking about your situation for a while now.”

Oh, here it comes.

“Really?” you ask, trying to sound casual despite feeling nervous all of a sudden.

He nods. “Really. Adrian left the team, and I heard everyone’s expecting great things from you, to one day take his place and become the next Adrian at Red Bull.”

He heard that? You can’t help but wonder from who, because you haven’t heard this before.

As if he could read your thoughts, Toto flashes a small smile at you. “Team principals talk to each other, you know,” he clarifies.

Okay, that makes sense. But why didn’t they tell you about this? Why did they have to make you feel like they were uncertain about your future with the team? Gulping, you reach for your glass to avoid having to respond to his statement, hoping he would finally get to the point.

“Alright, enough about work, let’s discuss something else.”

Toto says these words so casually that they leave you temporarily speechless. Ever since he asked you to meet him here, you’ve been playing scenarios in your mind, trying to figure out what kind of offer he might make, but now here he is, hanging the topic before you could even talk about work properly.

Lucky for you, he notices your confusion, and leans forward a little as if he was about to tell you a secret only you can hear, even though it’s just the two of you in the room. “Do you know what rumor circulates in the paddock? That you and Max make a wonderful couple,” he says, his voice dead serious, but then he suddenly lets out a hearty laugh. “The two of you are like brother and sister, I wonder how others can’t see it. Or,” he begins slowly, “is there something no one knows?”

This utterly confuses you, so you decide to take the lead for now and start an interrogation. “Toto, it’s nice that you invited me for dinner, but I thought we would talk about work. Yet, you’re asking me if I’m in some secret relationship with Max–which I’m not, by the way–so I’m a little confused about what exactly do you want from me,” you say, unable to hide the desperation in your voice.

“You already told me what I wanted to know,” he says calmly, then takes a sip of his wine while his eyes are closely watching you. You raise a brow in question, which puts a smile on his face. “You’re not dating Max,” he clarifies.

“What does it have to do with any of this?”

“Everything.”

“You really enjoy being cryptic, don’t you?”

Toto lets out a short, amused laugh at this, but he only begins to circle around the edge of the glass with his finger. His silence soon starts to get on your nerves, because there’s something he’s not telling you, or maybe rather something he has already said, but you somehow managed to miss.

And then, out of nowhere, it hits you. This isn’t about work, this isn’t about his plan to convince Max to join Mercedes. No, what he wants is personal, because this time it seems like he wants you. But he needs you as what? A one-night stand? A side piece? Or a proper partner?

With a sigh, you stand up and walk to the other side of the room, building some distance to clear your head.

No.

You’re just making things up now, there’s nothing pointing in this direction aside from a fleeting comment. A comment that could just as well be a joke, and nothing more. After all, he seems genuinely amused by your little nervous breakdown as he just keeps sitting there, eyes following your every move.

Flee.

You have to leave, and you have to leave right now, just before things could get any weirder. The silence that fills the room is heavy with unspoken words, and his eyes are telling a story you can’t quite decipher. Not yet, that is.

“Dinner can be served any second,” he suddenly speaks up, snapping you out of your flurry of frantic thoughts. You look over at him once again, trying hard to figure out why he said that. “Sit and stay. Please.”

Just as he predicted, a waiter soon steps in, placing the plates in front of you. Strangely, the conversation quickly switches to the current season, specifically McLaren’s performance and Max’s mentorship when it comes to young drivers like Kimi.

Neither of you mention the cars or the strategy if it’s not another team’s, and this gives a certain rhythm to the conversation. You feed off of each other’s comments, even joking occasionally about recent events.

By the end of the evening, you’re a lot more relaxed, seeing the Mercedes team principal in a different light. It’s nice to know he’s more than just his usual poker face or occasional meltdowns.

He’s someone whose company you could get used to.

When it’s time to say goodbye, neither of you is in a rush to say the word. You’re just standing there in the room, looking at each other in silence, unbothered by the world outside, as if time has been suspended temporarily.

Just another minute before leaving. Just sixty seconds. Is it too much to ask for?

//////

Two days later you receive a message from him. It’s short and to the point.

Let’s meet halfway tomorrow. I’ll arrange a few things, then send you the address.

You’re quite sure he means somewhere halfway between Milton Keynes and Brackley. As the next race is three weeks away, most teams returned to their respective HQs to do some actual work behind the scenes, and you spend most of your time behind a computer screen—well, three of them, actually—to run some simulations.

But the idea of meeting Toto again keeps averting your thoughts, and eventually, you find yourself typing a quick message to him. And then he responds, and you put together another one, then another, and another. The conversation keeps flowing as naturally as water does.

And then, you type something you shouldn’t have. Something that’s—considering the two of you have met just a few days ago—quite ridiculous.

I kinda miss you.

It was a mistake. A stupid, idiotic mistake that you’re quickly trying to fix by deleting the message from the chat. But, as it turns out, it’s too late, because your phone notifies you of a new message.

I saw that. I miss you too.

//////

“Have you just lured me into your house?” you joke as you step inside the cozy, two-story house that’s nothing like one you would imagine he would ever own.

You always imagined him in those modern, full glass buildings, a place where everything is as organized as he is, where everything has a function, and there are only some photos to make it truly his. Yet this house is a charming little thing, something that radiates warmth and comfort.

Toto looks back at you, and takes him a second or two to realize what kind of evil masterplan you were referring to. “Funny, but no,” he says, although there’s something he’s not telling you. “I rented it for two weeks, though, just in case.”

“In case of what?” you wonder as you put your bag on the couch and turn around to face him again. Even though you asked the question, you already have a good guess deep down, which tightens your chest and dries your mouth right away.

He shrugs. “In case we want to meet again. It’s the summer break, I’m sure you took a few days off at least,” he points out.

Practical. Logical. Crystal clear without smoke and mirrors.

Typical Toto, for which you’re honestly grateful.

But this still makes you wary of the idea of the two of you going on this small vacation together, spending time alone, away from everyone, without anyone knowing. Like a little secret, just for you two.

“Can I ask you something?” you speak up when he takes a seat next to you.

As he rests his arm on the back of the couch, being so close to your shoulders that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, your brain short circuits. This results in a temporary blackout when he tells you to go ahead, you have suddenly no idea what you wanted to ask him in the first place.

Slowly, though, those thoughts begin to return to you, so you take a deep breath and start talking. “This whole secret meeting, the messages… What do they mean? I just… I don’t know, I can’t seem to understand what’s this about exactly, what’s happening between you and me. If there’s anything happening, that is,” you’re quick to add.

His head tilts to the side a little, but there’s that amused smile you saw back in the restaurant too, like he’s entertained by the idea of you being confused. Is he playing some stupid cat and mouse game with you now, one that you aren’t even aware of playing?

But then he lets out a sigh and leans a little closer. Not much, just enough to make you freeze and raise your pulse. “Do you want something to happen?”

You gulp, but no word leaves your lips. It’s not that you’re too young, or too naive, or you’re simply intimidated by a man of power to speak up, it’s just pure confusion, a thick fog covering your brain that stops you from thinking straight when it comes to him. Every single little detail about him suddenly becomes significant, important, attracting your attention in a way it has never happened.

Every wrinkle, every imperfection, the depths of his eyes, the way his breathing stops for a moment when the smell of your perfume hits his nose once he leaned closer–they all get your attention, all at once. Your brain is hyper focused on him, the fact it can’t even properly process any other information making it hard to think straight.

With a thoughtful hum, he takes a better look at you, examining you as if you were some rare piece he wants to get his hands on. There’s no hunger in his eyes, no sign of some evil plan, it’s just him, being curious to hear what you think about the situation.

But you can offer absolutely nothing.

“You sent a message that you missed me. Why did you miss me? You can be honest, it’s just the two of us here,” he points out with a reassuring smile.

For the first time in minutes, you stop to think. “It came kinda naturally,” you admit quietly, carefully tasting your own words as you say them.

Toto nods, but remains silent. It’s easy to tell that he uses this heavy silence to coax a proper confession out of you, to make you realize what your brain subconsciously already knows, but how could you admit something if you don’t even know what it is?

You jump a little when you suddenly feel his hand bump into your shoulder. Not in an intrusive way, just poking you playfully to snap you out of whatever thought captivated you.

“Stay here. Just for a few days at first, let’s see what this is,” he suggests.

“And why did you write that you missed me? It’s only fair if you tell me too,” you point out with a small smile.

The way he laughs at this surprises you, because you simply can’t tell just what triggered it. Did you say something stupid? Did you do something that he found funny? But, luckily, you don’t have to think too much about it, because he suddenly closes the gap to place a quick, tentative kiss on your chin.

“Maybe because I actually missed you? Really badly missed you,” he begins as runs his lips down your neck. “You know, I wanted to meet you in that restaurant to talk about work. I’m negotiating a contract with Max, who told me he’s only coming to us if you’re tagging along,” he explains, although the sentence comes out in short segments as he’s too busy tasting your skin.

You want to say something, anything, but a quiet moan is all you can manage at this point.

“That night we talked so much, and I didn’t want to say goodbye,” he goes on as he places a hand on the side of your neck, his thumb putting just enough pressure on the front of it to make it feel good. “But you’re here now, and this is all that matters.”

Without thinking about it, you gently grab his chin and force him to look at you, and his eyes are instantly focused on your face, this time giving away just how much he wants you. But this is too much, too soon, you don’t want to give everything to him right away. You need to see if this could really work, if he means when he says his intentions have absolutely nothing to do with your best friend.

//////

A few days before the team heads out to Belgium, Max unexpectedly decides to visit Milton Keynes, and the only reason why you don’t get a heart attack when you find him sitting on the desk in your office is the warning you received from a colleague on the way inside. He flashes a stupid grin at you when you close the door, then waits for you to put down your bag and coffee.

It’s never a good sign when he does that.

“Is it too early to sing the song about you and Toto sitting on the tree–”

With a groan, you put up your hand to stop him from going on. “Shut up,” you warn, but then it hits you like a bus that you haven’t said a single word about seeing someone. “How do you even know?”

Max starts to laugh like some stupid little gremlin as he jumps off the desk. “Well, you know that we’ve been negotiating about a contract for a few weeks now,” he begins as he moves aside to let you take your seat. “You called him during one of our meetings, and he greeted you by saying your name.”

Shaking your head, you lean back and look at the ceiling. “He could have been talking to someone with the same name,” you point out, glancing back at him, but he just rolls his eyes at you, mouthing bullshit. “Are you seriously considering moving to Mercedes?” you wonder quietly.

He lets out a sigh as he sits in the chair across from you. “I said I’m not moving without you, but he said that’s a complicated issue. See? He pretty much told me you were dating.”

That’s true, it’s complicated. You barely talk about Max’s contract, but when it comes up, he only mentions that your friend wouldn’t come without you, but if you joined the team, the compliance department would tear him apart for dating a coworker, which means it’s a sticky situation he needs to solve somehow.

“I won’t leave you behind,” the Dutchman states seriously as he picks up a pen and starts to drum on his knee with it. “But Toto promised to find a solution, in fact, he said he’s already working on it.”

You don’t even know why you let out a sigh of relief upon hearing that.

//////

As it turns out in a few days, Toto’s great idea is going public with your relationship. While you suggest a post on social media, he says it would be better if you arrived at the track together on Thursday, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Are you still sure it’s a good idea?” you wonder when he parks the car in the parking lot.

He looks over at you, his face completely neutral, but there’s that warmth in his eyes that’s all too familiar by now. Instead of responding, he reaches out to take your hand and squeeze it lightly, silently telling you that everything will be okay.

You believe him.

You always do.

Once you’re both past the gate, he reaches out to take your hand as you walk deeper into the paddock, and you don’t miss the dozens of cameras that are now focused on the two of you, along with even more pairs of eyes that follow your every step. Normally, you would be nervous, but having him on your side, feeling the way he’s holding onto you, makes it impossible to feel that way.

“Are you okay?” he asks you as he looks down for a moment.

You nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Hello, you two. Can I sing now?” you hear Max’s cheerful voice from the side. “Toto and Y/N are sitting on a–” You give him a warning look to shut him up, Toto gives you a confused look, and Max looks utterly happy with his little performance.

But maybe it’s okay, maybe this is the best that could happen. Max brought this to everyone’s attention, and the fact a member of the PR team is following him like a ghost to record a video, now they’ll surely post it on social media too.

The clock is ticking, counting down to the minute when–

He kisses you.

Toto kisses you in front of all these people, marking his territory, and making it clear that you belong to him now. Despite every single brain cell of yours focusing on him, you can still hear the loud whistle and then the laugh coming from Max’s direction. Soon it fades away, probably because he was taken away from this part of the paddock.

“I love you.”

You flash a small smile at him. “I love you too.”

And then, the moment he steps back and your little bubble is broken, every single journalist in the area runs over to the two of you, firing questions without a break. They want to know when this began, if it’s related to the deal between Max and Mercedes people have been murmuring about, if this is just a trick to convince Max to join, and so on and on.

It doesn’t even occur to them that maybe this is real, but you don’t mind. Not as long as people leave you alone.

Well. Sort of alone.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #max verstappen #rpf

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ghasel · 2 days ago

Text

pick a pile: how did they see you when they met you (+ how do they see you know on my patreon!)

[image description: the photos of three crystals in squared frames on a orange chechered background]

crystals:

pile 1: red jasper

pile 2: amazzonite

pile 3: black tourmaline

Hello!

This is my weekly 50-50 reading, which means that half of it is here in this post and the other half is on my patreon! If you wish to get the membership you will have one extended reading per week (and i don't know how much i can post on here but i'll make sure to be constant on patreon!)

the 2 parts of this readings are:

how did your person see you when they met you (in this post)

how they see you now (on patreon)

who is your person? the one you think about! while picking your pile think of the person you want to know about and pick the pile that attracts you!

p.s. you can also try with different people and see if you they bring you to different piles!

and now the readings!!!

pile 1

[image description: pile 1 partial spread]

king of wands in reverse → this card gives the idea of being retired, of having mastered alreadty whart youy had/wanted tio master and now deciding to retire to private life; they saw you as someone with a lot of experience and potentially with a "dark past" (ex. a rebel youth, an history of mental illness, a difficult time growing up or later) that you had successfully overcome and now you were on the other side - more calm, more serene and with probably more experience and knowledge than your persson

elephant → community, perseverance → they saw you as an example, someone to look up to in regards to a specific thing that you two may share (ex. struggling with the same thing, same identity, same upbringing; they saw you as someone who could guide them but not just telling them what to do, but supporting them and teaching them how to get where you had gotten already

capricorn (10) → you were seen as stubborn, but i think in a good way, as someone capable of holdig your ground and not let anyone make you swerve; it almost feels like you had "enemies" in common and you were alerady capable of standing your ground and not letting these enemies bother you; this card gives the feeling of someone who's not afraid to say nho AND whose no is actually respected

click here for pt.2!

pile 2

[image description: pile 2 partial spread]

high priestess in reverse → you were seen as somneone with a lot of knowledge in a field, i think either about yourself and introspection or about a psychic or magic topic, but you wanted to learn and did learn them for yourself, not necessarily for a practical reason; for example, someone who is a witch or spiritual in another way and it's something very private for them, it's not to show off, it's not to reach a goal, it's not even to connect with people; it's simply because of a persobnal interest, but you were seen as someone who refused any role of authority, even if you could have everything you needed for it

swan → self love, purity → you were seen as someone very organized and metodic; someone who left nothing to the chance, but who had built their life in a way that reflects themselves and their personality in every little detal; i see this purity in a "being themselves inh a state of purity," aka without any external influences; i9t could be that you were seen as someone with a lot of self love because of your committmenht to build your life to makle yourself happy

earth (26) + water (24) → these two cards put together tell us that they saw you as someone who waws at the same time both grounded in your earth life and in your concrete, every-day life (and for some of you you may have also be seen as someone with a special interest or a specuial bond with nature)n and also deeply introspective, someone who gave attention also to their emotions and that perhaps has a little bit of a beef with their emotions because they thretened to "ruin" the perfect balance that you had created in youir life; regardless, you were seen as someone with deep emotions;

click here for pt.2!

pile 3

[image description: pile 3 partial spread]

pile 3 let me tell you first, wghatver the bond you had/have with your operason is, they're lucky to have and have had you in their life now you'll see why

the tower in reverse → the energy that comes from this card screams safe space; the tower is the card of destrcution and in this spread,m being in reverse, it feels like they saw you as a safe space where destruction couldn'0t reach them; for some of you it can be that this person lost (as in they distanced themselves from your person) a lot of people, but they knew that you were by their side; they probably saw you as someone they could take a breath of fresh air with, they didn't need to pretend, nor to justify or defend tjhemselves; they felt comfortable with yop

dog -> friendship, loyalty → they saw you as someone very loyal, i'd say not only to them but also to your own values and in general; it feels like they were sure you weren't going to randomly drop them becaus ethey saw you as a loyal peson and knew that you wouldn't have switched side for convenience; i thinik they also saw a stoing emotional support in you, maybe even too much, but not necesasrily, and you were someone who helped them with their support

leo (5) → you were seen aslo as a fience and fiery and protective person; this leo card always gives off an energy of "you shall not pass," of someone who's guarding a place or a group of people, you were seen as someon protective of your loved ones, but also of your values and your life and i think that it's not (or at least not only) related to the personal experience this person had with you, but that they perceived you with this vibe in general

click here for pt.2!

#witch #witchblr #witch community #witchcraft #tarot #tarotblr #tarot reader #tarot reading #tarot pick a pile #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card #pac #pac reading #pick a pile reading #pick a card reading #your person #your person reading

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nakylvr · 3 days ago

Note

streamer megan hcs for my beautiful friend jay

streamer megs is fucking insufferable… day and night it’s non stop brainrot, screaming, and that stupid super chat donation ( bc i know she uses youtube and tiktok to stream ) that’s literally just an audio clip of her saying she’s dyslexic 😭 it’s honestly too loud… you’re not sure how her viewers can stand it

streamer megs who always has malfunctions during stream🙂‍↕️ 30 minutes of complete silence or nothing being shown on screen because she gets absorbed by what she’s doing and doesn’t listen to chat

streamer megs who blows up after getting a tiktok edit so she purposefully clip farms near the end of every stream…

streamer megs’s views sky rocket when you come on screen bringing her snacks and water… you end up in her lap for the rest of the stream, bullying her for playing horribly, only to do much worse

streamer megs is quite open with her fanbase about her boundaries/surface life!! in the chance you’re made uncomfortable by something, trust she’s addressing it immediately

streamer megs who watches clip compilations of you two being cute when she misses you 😞

streamer megs who makes sims of you and her all the time, and they always end up together

streamer megs who yells at chat ( playfully ) when she does her late night horror streams and they start threatening to clip shit ( the last time this happened you walked in very angry, so she tries not to be so loud anymore )

streamer megs who begs her audience not to tell you that she thinks resident evil women are hot for fear she’ll get in trouble ( you watch all her content anyway. she doesn’t get in trouble because you full heartedly agree )

streamer megs who films tiktok videos with you all the time, making you try really odd things or go along with her really odd antics…

streamer megs who gets noticeably jealous when you interact with chat more than her ( which they will tease her about ). she gets quiet and pouty, arms wrapped around your midsection, face buried into your shoulder, all the while you’re clueless, focused on playing for her😭

streamer megs who will ramble about you for longer than she’s actually been doing shit when you’re mentioned, telling your funny stories, yapping about how you guys met and everything she loves about you…

streamer megs who’ll make THOSE kind of jokes about y’all... ( think of that cory clip… restarting the generator )

streamer megs who reposts every ship edit of y’all’s. will beg for more.

streamer megs who proposes off stream, and posts it on her private side account.. she thought it’d be a cute little surprise for her fans, seeing as they love you guys so much, but it literally only took ten minutes for somebody to point out the obvious ass ring on her finger

streamer megs who calls her fanbase “cherries”

streamer megs who i love and cherish…

your friend, 🐠

streamer!megan my love 💔💔💔

the chat donation literally has you going insane when you just start dating her and are in the room while she's streaming, because it's going off every other minute and its so fucking loud you wish she could turn it down 😭

if you're good (or even decent) with technology and computers she will be asking you to help out with getting her streams started cause she is always fucking something up when starting them. no audio, the wifi is fucking up, just something.

she 100% yells when she does horror live streams at night, at the chat or at the game. she does terrible with scary games btw. she can tolerate resident evil because she thinks the characters are hot but she still screams running everywhere with no ammo, no supplies, and artifacts or puzzle pieces in her inbox. thankfully her gaming room is across from her bedroom, but she still yells loud enough to keep you up, making you walk in angrily and she apologizes over and over again for waking you up. all on stream still btw. everyone sees how down bad she is for you.

she encourages edits of her or the two of you, and is usually reposting them on tiktok whenever one comes across her feed. she will definitely say terrible pickup lines or random affectionate comments solely for edits, which you caught onto after you saw three in a row on your feed, but don't say anything.

she talks about you 24/7 even when you're not brought up or in the room, she will find a way to talk about you in some sort of way. she will always make it about you somehow, it's adorable. and when she thinks of a story relating to whatever she's playing, she will not shut the fuck up for about twenty minutes, still playing the game.

the proposal 💔 its the one thing she actually wants to keep private and off stream cause it's really special to her and a very important moment in both of your lives. she probably does it at the most random time, not super planned but just when she thinks the moment is right, which happens to be in the middle of the night when you're making her food after one of her late-night streams. she doesn't even say anything when she next goes live, but it's obvious with the ring on her finger.

#katseye thoughts 💭#megan skiendiel thoughts 💭#🐠 anon

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sapphicswph · 2 days ago

Note

would you write abt shauna who’s only soft for readerrrr pleaseeee i know you might have a couple other requests so take your time as always! love u so bad babygirl -🎀

yes!!! ty for this because i’ve been meaning to write something similar and i’ve just been putting it off so now i have to because you requested… ^_^ loveyou mwah

also noo i don’t have any requests rn tbh.. 😭 so pls send guys :33 (yeah i’m begging it atp)

pairing: shauna x reader

warnings: mostly just fluff, one small mention of intimacy, jealous shauna, mention of wounds but nothing graphic

─ .✦ shauna is incredibly jealous when it comes to you. she hates seeing the other girls even talk to you, let alone what she took as flirting with you. if she catches anyone even looking at you for too long, she'll give them a dirty look. not that you weren’t allowed to talk to them, she just didn’t trust them all.

─ .✦ shauna is very dominant in the bedroom. she loves being in control and taking charge during intimate moments with you. but she's also incredibly gentle and caring, making sure you're always comfortable and satisfied.

─ .✦ despite her aggressive exterior, shauna is surprisingly insecure when it comes to relationships. she constantly seeks reassurance from you that you love her and only her. she fears losing you to someone else or being replaced.

─ .✦ shauna has a secret collection of your things - a hair tie, a lipstick, a t-shirt. she keeps them in her bedside drawer and sleeps in your t-shirt sometimes when she misses you.

─ .✦ in the woods, shauna becomes even more protective of you. she's always on high alert, making sure you're safe and warm. at night, she holds you close, using her body heat to keep you warm.

─ .✦ if you’re gone for too long or separated in the wilderness, shauna will freak out, blame everyone and search for you non-stop until she finds you. she has nightmares about losing you out there alone and cold. (cough cough)

─ .✦ shauna loves teaching you survival skills - starting fires, trying to teach you how to chop up meat, she’ll just smile when you say how disgusting it is. if it was anyone else complaining, she would be annoyed.

─ .✦ shauna is surprisingly gentle when cleaning your wounds or taking care of insect bites on your skin. she'll kiss them better and look at you with the softest eyes.

─ .✦ shauna who gives you more meat than the others, she keeps piling extra pieces of meat onto your plate, ignoring the jealous glares from the others. you blush and try to offer them some of your excess, but shauna quickly snatches your plate away with a growl. “no, she deserves it," she snaps at them before turning back to you with a softer tone, "eat up, baby." the others exchange dirty looks while you nervously try to eat faster to avoid their stares.

─ .✦ shauna calls you "baby" or "pretty girl" all the time in private. but around others, she calls you by your full name. she’s head over heels but wouldn’t show that around the others, she’s too proud for that.

─ .✦ whenever one of the other girls pisses her off, upsets her, or just plain annoys her, shauna has a unique way of dealing with it. instead of lashing out at them directly (which she could easily do), she comes crawling to you with those big puppy dog eyes that melt your heart. she'll nudge against you gently, tug at your sleeves, seeking comfort and reassurance from you alone. sometimes she'll pout or give a soft whine under her breath just to make sure you notice how bothered she is.

─ .✦ she loves it when you pet her hair or scratch her scalp gently. it calms her down immediately and makes her feel safe and loved. she’ll lean into your touch, close her eyes, and let out a soft sigh. she’ll nuzzle against your hand, seeking more of your gentle touch. she’ll sometimes pull your hand to her hair and guide your fingers to scratch her scalp.

hope this is what you had in mind <3

so sorry it’s short, i want to make a pt 2 or even a one shot !!

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merrybloomwrites · 2 days ago

Text

You Can Start a Family (Extra: unplanned Pregnancy)

Summary: An unplanned pregnancy causes tension between Y/N and the others.

Word Count: 2.8K

CW/Tags: unplanned pregnancy, angst, just/comfort, miscarriage, blood, morning sickness

AN: there was an anon request for a pregnancy scare or unplanned pregnancy extra for you can start a family. I’m not exactly sure yet if I’ll be including kids in the series so this is how I kind of worked around that. It’s a heavy one so please read the tags before reading the story

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You flip through the instructions, desperately trying to find some direction in English. Sure, you’re in Japan, but don’t they translate everything? Everywhere you go, things are written in English.

But for some reason this paper has literally nothing you can understand. Does two lines mean pregnant? Not pregnant?

Why couldn’t you get a test that clearly says the answer?

Because here you are, alone in a hotel room in a foreign country, your boyfriends and girlfriend soundchecking for yet another night of tour. A two year tour that they’re only three months into. Now would be a terrible time to have a baby.

But your period is late. And you’ve been nauseous, and moody, and so damn tired. Yes, all of this can be attributed to the constant travel. All of it except the missing period. You’re pretty sure frequent flying doesn't affect your menstrual cycle.

With the instructions being no help you turn to google. Finally, you find what you’re looking for. And your heart falls into your ass.

This was not the plan. Not even remotely close to the plan. Your mind spins with what this means, the choices you’ll have to make and the conversations you’ll need to have.

Still, your hand moves to tentatively rest on your belly. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing? After all, you know that Harry’s always wanted a baby, and now-

Fuck. This might not be Harry’s baby. It could just as easily be Mitch’s.

It was always clear that Harry could not get Sarah pregnant and Mitch couldn’t get you pregnant. That was like, one of the top rules. Because that would cause so much drama for the four of you, but especially for the child. You’d never let a baby get trapped in celebrity gossip.

And yet, that might now be happening on accident.

Oh god, what are you going to tell the others? How are you going to tell them? When? It doesn’t have to be right now, does it?

No, definitely not. Not while you’re still spiraling about the news. You need to sit with it for a minute. You need to be calm and steady, able to tell them in an unemotional, informative way.

So you keep the secret for a day. And then a week. And then two weeks.

The symptoms don’t go away. The others are worried, but you wave them off, telling them your body just isn’t used to traveling like this.

But then one day Sarah notices something. Your hand absentmindedly caressing your stomach. It’s a habit you started doing when in private, a way to keep yourself level when you start to spiral about the baby.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously, but she’s quickly pulled away, one of the techs asking her about her drum kit.

You go backstage to Harry’s dressing room and plop down on the couch, closing your eyes.

“Baby, everything alright?” He asks when he walks in and sees you.

“Just resting my eyes” you reply, smiling and forcing your eyes open so you don’t look as exhausted as you feel.

“Want some sushi?” He asks.

And you do. Really, you want some of the delicious, fresh sushi. But you know you’re not supposed to so you have to reply, “No thanks, I just ate a little while ago.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything,” he says, and you lean in for a kiss,wanting to be close to him. He goes happily, and the two of you sit there for a few minutes before he needs to finish getting ready for the show.

The concert goes great, as always, and you’re all hanging out afterwards. Mitch asks if you want a drink but you decline. While you’re not one to drink all the time, he’s realizing that it’s been weeks since you’ve accepted an alcoholic beverage.

The next morning it’s just you and Sarah in the hotel room. You wake up late, immediately feeling nauseous. She follows you into the bathroom and holds your hair while you deal with the stomach problems.

“This isn’t from travel,” she states once you’re feeling better. You meet her eyes and realize that she without a doubt knows the truth. “How long have you known?” She asks.

“Two weeks,” you reply quietly. For a moment the two of you just stand there looking at each other. Until she opens her arms and gestures for you to come closer. You practically go limp, falling into her arms and letting her hold you as you finally let the tears fall.

“Are you mad?” You choke out between sobs.

“No, love. I don’t love that you’ve kept it a secret, but no, I’m not mad.”

This comes as such a relief to you, and causes another wave of tears to fall. Sarah gently leads you back to bed, and the two of you lay there, Sarah holding you as you feel all the emotions you’ve been bottling up.

Once you’ve finally gotten it all out there’s a moment of tense silence.

“You can ask,” you say, knowing what’s weighing her mind.

“Do you know whose it is?” She asks.

“No.”

“Okay. Okay. We can still handle this. But you have to tell the boys.”

“I will, I promise.”

“When?”

“In a couple of days. We’ll be home and have a couple of weeks off to figure things out. I have an appointment next week.”

“Alright. It will be okay.”

You’re not sure if she's reassuring you or herself, but her words and gentle arms around you have you feeling ten times better than you’ve felt ever since you saw those two little lines.

She hovers closer to you for the next couple of days, and after a final show and many hours of travel, you’re all together in your London home. You get in late and all immediately crash in bed, sleeping soundly until the next morning.

When you wake up the nausea is worse than ever, but you’re fairly certain it has more to do with the conversation you need to have rather than the morning sickness.

You fight through and make everyone breakfast, needing to be the one setting the scene. It helps you feel a bit more in control of the situation. Once the pancakes, fruit, and bacon are on the table, you feel slightly better.

Sarah joins you first. “It will be okay,” she says, pulling you in for a hug. You hold onto her for a moment, her comforting embrace calming you enough that you think you can actually do this.

You step away and a moment later the boys join, big smiles on their faces, unaware of the bomb you’re about to drop on them.

“This looks delicious,” Mitch compliments.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Harry adds.

“You’re welcome. Sit, eat,” you say, trying to act normal but not quite achieving that.

You pick at your food while the others happily eat. Once you think they’ve all finished you start by saying, "There's something I need to tell you.”

“What is it, baby?” Harry asks, his hand moving to rest on yours.

You laugh sardonically at his choice of pet name. But you finally manage to blurt out, “I’m pregnant.”

Harry’s hand twitches on yours, as though he’s fighting not to pull away.

“Is it mine?” He asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How far along?” Is his next question.

“Maybe eight weeks. I have an appointment in a couple of days.”

Mitch sits silently, and you know his mind is swirling with thoughts. But he won’t say them. He’s completely shut down, maybe just processing, maybe completely angry. It’s impossible to tell with him.

Harry speaks up again and says, “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

“Well I didn’t realize what was happening at first. And then I guess I didn’t want to distract you all when you had shows to do.”

“You think because I’m touring you keep things from me? That I can’t handle it? Y/N, I’m a professional, I know how to do my job and still be there for my family. We don’t keep secrets, open communication has been top priority since day one! We handle things together. This affects all of us! You should have told us.”

As his emotions rise, so does Harry. He stands and walks out of the room. The spot where his hand had been practically burns with the sudden abandonment.

One glance at Mitch shows he’s not going to break any time soon. So you stand and begin collecting plates. Sarah comes to help but you decline, wanting to clean everything, if just to distract you from what just happened. What’s still happening.

“I’ll talk to Mitch,” she says softly. “See if I can get anything out of him.”

You send her a grateful smile and then the two of them leave as well. Taking some deep breaths you choke back your tears. It’s like all those years after your family’s passing that you had to stay strong. You couldn’t break, couldn’t cry.

And then you met Sarah and Mitch and Harry. Not only could you show your emotions, they encouraged you to do so. They held you. They comforted you. But now when you need them most, the boys can barely stand to look at you.

Days pass in awkward silence. You fight internally about what you should do. Your appointment today will hopefully give you some answers and information, but you know another hard conversation with the other three will need to happen.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks as you grab your keys.

“Doctor. I have my appointment today,” you answer.

“Can I come?” You’re a bit surprised at this. He’s avoided you for days and now wants to join you?

But then he adds, “You’re my girlfriend. It probably wouldn’t be a good look if people spot you and I’m not there to support you.”

Any hope you felt disappears. He’s coming just to keep up appearances to the public. It hurts, but you still allow him to come with you.

He puts on the happy supportive boyfriend act, and sits by your side as you get checked and get bloodwork done. They do an ultrasound, warning that it might be too early to see anything or even hear a heartbeat, but they’ll still try.

And then comes the sound of a rapid heartbeat. Your baby’s heartbeat. Suddenly, Harry’s hand finds yours. When you turn to him you see he’s no longer acting. Tears swim in his eyes as he smiles, a real smile filled with awe.

The doctor prints some scans even though there isn’t much to see. You leave the office with a clean bill of health, the ultrasound photos, and a renewed sense of hope that everything will be alright. Harry is clearly warming up to everything.

But Mitch is still hesitant. He continues to sulk when you get home, but then Harry shows him the scans. Tells him about the baby’s heartbeat. How you’re growing a little human that will yes, complicate things, but will most certainly add more joy and love to their lives.

Mitch listens, and while he still doesn’t say anything at the moment, he finds you later in the evening.

“You think we can figure this out?” He asks.

“I do. If we’re all a team.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He sighs and says, “I just want you safe. And happy. And I’m scared of what this will mean. Harry’s fans can be brutal. If this baby is mine, and people pay enough attention to realize that, then all of our reputations are at stake. But….that's not really what matters, is it? What matters is that we’re together. Even if we lose everything else, we’ll have each other.”

“We will?”

“We will. I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long.” With that he opens his arms, reaching out to hold you for the first time in days, and it feels like coming home.

The next few days are absolute heaven. Your symptoms seem to ease up a bit, and the other three absolutely dote on you. But then things take a turn. You start to feel some cramping and back pain.

You take a warm bath and that helps the aches go away, so you join the others in bed. The four of you stay up way too late, talking about the baby, pitching baby names and planning nursery decorations.

You’re the first to fall asleep, and they stay up a bit longer to watch you rest, so relaxed and happy. They can’t believe that you’re growing a tiny human that they’ll all love and cherish. Finally they all drift off to sleep as well.

But soon they’re woken up, confused by what’s going on, until they notice you’re sitting up, your face completely drained of color.

“What’s wrong?” Mitch asks.

“I’m bleeding,” you reply.

Immediately everyone feels wide awake, knowing what this could mean. But Sarah calmly replies, “Y/N, some spotting can be nothing. It happens a lot in pregnancies.”

“It’s not light, Sarah. It’s a lot.” You move the blanket and they see what you mean. They know this isn’t good, but they remain calm.

“Let’s not think the worst, okay?” Harry says. “We'll go to the hospital and see what’s happening.”

“I’ll drive,” Mitch says, and everyone hops into action, getting dressed and helping you out of bed and into clothes as well. The cramping from earlier is back, worse even. You know what’s happening. Without a doubt. The others might still have hope, but you can feel it.

Still, that doesn’t make hearing it from the doctor any easier. It’s an hour later and you’re sitting in a stark exam room, Harry by your side and Mitch and Sarah waiting out in the car. The doctor confirms your worst fear, that there is no heartbeat. She tells you what to expect for the next couple of days, and what to look out for that would indicate a complication.

You head back to the car and everyone is silent on the way home. It’s early morning when you get back, but you all still go back to bed to get some more rest.

The next few days suck. The pain and bleeding gets worse until it culminates into the worst cramping of your life. While everyone is supportive, you’re grateful to have Sarah there since she can understand what you’re going through better than the boys can.

Finally, the pain fades. All that’s left is the emotional fallout. After experiencing so much loss in your life, you didn’t think this would hit you so hard.

“With my family, there was nothing I could do,” you explain to the rest while the four of you are sitting on the couch. “But I always thought I could at least keep my baby safe inside of me.”

“There’s nothing you could do here either honey,” Mitch says. “You didn’t do anything wrong or cause this to happen.”

“What if there’s something wrong with me? Like an incompetent cervix or hormone problems?”

Harry answers this time, “Then we’ll figure that out with your doctor and know how to prevent this from maybe happening in the future.”

You have one more question, one you’re most scared to voice. But you manage to ask, “Do you all want kids? In the future? Because I know you were all on board this time but you didn’t really have a choice.”

“I think, when the time is right, I will be overjoyed to add some little ones to our family,” Harry says. You turn to Mitch and Sarah who both happily agree.

This has been one of the more stressful ordeals of your life, and one of the only times you’ve ever felt so distant, like you were living an entirely different reality from the others.

But one thing is for sure. When the time is right, and you’re ready to grow your family, Harry, Mitch, and Sarah will be by your side for the journey.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: I actually don’t think I have any more extras planned or requested for this at the moment so please let me know if there’s anything you want to see!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305

#harry styles x reader #one direction fanfiction #one direction x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones x harry styles x reader #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x reader #sarah jones x reader

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camficdiner · 2 days ago

Note

i would like to request (1.1)(2.5 + “they pretend to hate each other” bonus trope)(3.5)(4.3) please and thank you!

☕️ cams fic diner — order 080

🍒 thank you: to the girl who asked for pretend to hate each other — I know this isn’t exactly that. but something in this story refused to play nice. it wanted rage. pain. legacy it wanted her back glowing, inked, and golden — and him wrecked by it. she’s not the Ice Angel anymore. and he never stopped burning for her.

Enjoy your meal love, i hope you like it

💬 “The Ice Never Forgot.”

✨ description & prompts:

character: jack hughes

prompt: you were once figure skating’s untouched golden girl — until you fell for jack hughes. when he cheated, you disappeared. now you’re back, and nothing is soft anymore.

type: exes • heartbreak • jealousy • rough hallway smut

wc: ~1.7k

✨🧁🍒🛼

You shouldn’t have come.

You told yourself this five times in the car — gripping your dress like it was armor, pressing your palms flat against the seat to stop the shaking. But when your friend passed you that last look — soft, excited, slightly drunk off the summer heat — you didn’t say no.

“It’s a party, babe. You need this. No press. No cameras. Just drinks, friends, music, maybe a cute guy to flirt with.”

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know he’ll be there.

She knows who you were — who you still are, technically. She knows about Jack. Knows that it ended badly. She’s seen the headlines. She held your hand while you cried into hotel pillows you didn’t remember booking. But she doesn’t know that the house you’re pulling up to now — soft lights, music spilling out, bodies lounging barefoot in white cotton and sweatshirts — is filled with the people who once felt like your family.

She doesn’t know that Jack Hughes is somewhere inside.

And you?

You don’t tell her.

You just say, “One drink,” as the car door opens.

And then you walk into the party.

You used to be called the Ice Angel.

Or sometimes, the Ice Doll — depending on which broadcast team wanted to sound more reverent, more romantic, more harmless.

Long hair, soft features, glide like silk, never touched, never tainted. You moved like you didn’t belong to gravity. You’d never shown a single crack on camera. Not until him.

Not until Jack Hughes.

You fell for him stupidly. Loudly. And when it ended, it ended with a silence that nearly destroyed you.

You disappeared.

Left the competitions. Stepped away from the season. Let the dress with the open back hang untouched. Took the skates off, put the medals in storage. Everyone thought you were training in private. No one knew you couldn’t even look at the rink.

And now?

Now you’re back. Not in the arena. Not yet.

But here.

At a party.

You walk into the party, and the music swells like it knows how much this moment costs you. Your friend squeezes your hand once and disappears toward the back patio, but you stay near the door for a beat too long. You don’t need to look around. You can already feel it — the scent of lakewater, the low hum of half-drunk conversation, the sweatshirts draped over tanned shoulders and the same boys you once considered family laughing somewhere in the back.

You used to move through rooms like you didn’t belong to them. That was the whole myth: the Ice Angel. The girl who glided, never walked. Skin like porcelain, long hair that caught the rink lights, a voice like silk and a spine of steel. You were everything they said you were — until you weren’t.

Until Jack.

Until you believed that a boy like him could hold you without melting you.

And now?

Now you’re no angel at all.

Your dress is fitted — not tight, but deliberate. It clings where it’s meant to, skims where it should, catching the golden hue of your skin in a way you would’ve once considered too soft, too human, too real. But you let the sun touch you now. You let yourself be seen. You’ve got tan lines peeking from under the straps of your dress, and a pair of fine black tattoos curling at the slope of your back — delicate at first glance, but sharp in their lines, permanent in a way few things in your life have ever been.

Your hair is shorter, darker now. Not so much platinum as it is summer-wheat, tousled and swept low into a knot at the nape of your neck, strands falling loose in a way that would have driven your old choreographer insane.

You don’t look like the girl Jack Hughes once loved.

You don’t look like someone who’d ever let him touch you again.

⸻

He sees you before you see him.

He’s leaning against the edge of the outdoor bar, bottle in hand, laughing easily with Cole and Quinn. He’s tanned too, in that careless, sunkissed kind of way that only boys who never had to fight for beauty can wear. There’s music playing, lazy and bass-heavy, the last slide of a perfect July. He’s half-listening to whatever Quinn’s saying, half-watching the back door, the horizon, the slow tilt of someone’s shoulders — and then he sees you.

And Jack Hughes forgets how to stand.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t blink. Just goes still, like something inside him has buckled under the weight of your name.

He sees the dress first. The way it hugs the shape of your waist, the exposed skin at your back, the ink where there used to be none. He sees your legs, bare and golden. He sees the edge of a smile when you catch your friend’s joke. And then he sees your face — the shape of your mouth, your chin tilted up, the lashes darker than he remembers, the new curve of your jaw — and something in his chest shatters.

Jack has imagined this moment more times than he’ll admit. He’s thought about what he’d say, how he’d act if you ever walked back into the same room as him. Sometimes he sees you crying. Sometimes screaming. Sometimes pulling him into a kiss that doesn’t forgive but forgets, just for a second. But he never imagined this.

He never imagined you’d walk in like this: glowing. Quiet. Dressed like a secret. Tanned like you’d been letting the world touch you. Tattooed like you’d chosen permanence without him.

You don’t look broken.

You look like you made peace with the burn.

And that’s what undoes him.

That’s what turns his grin slack and makes Quinn glance at him twice before asking, quietly, “Is that…?”

Jack doesn’t answer.

Cole leans in, follows his gaze. “Holy shit. Is that her?”

Jack swallows.

Hard.

And you?

You finally turn.

Not toward the bar. Not toward him.

You’re just scanning the house, glass of wine now in hand, expression as unreadable as it used to be between the six-minute warmup and the Olympic short program. You’re barely even trying to see him — and somehow that makes it worse.

But when your eyes do land on him?

There’s no flinch. No shock. No smile.

You just look.

One long, flat glance across the space that once knew both your bodies — and you nod. Barely.

Not an acknowledgment.

A boundary.

Then you turn away.

And Jack?

Jack grips the edge of the bar like he needs something to stop him from going after you.

⸻

The windows are open. The lake is quiet now, soft wind slipping in with the scent of wildflowers and pine. The music is lower — someone switched from party beats to a curated indie playlist, all subtle basslines and melancholy vocals. People are slouched into couches, sitting on the floor, curled into corners with half-drunk beers. It’s the tail end of a perfect party.

Which is exactly when Trevor claps his hands together and grins like a devil.

“Truth or Dare.”

It’s not even a suggestion. It’s a declaration.

You glance up from the corner armchair where you’ve been quietly watching. You’re tucked into the deep cushions, legs crossed at the knee, one heel swinging idly in the air. You look comfortable. Composed. Almost too elegant for the room you’re in.

You haven’t spoken to Jack since that first glance.

You haven’t needed to.

Trevor’s voice cuts back in, light and obnoxious:

“C’mon, this group’s too repressed for its own good. Let’s air it out a little.”

Cole immediately groans. “You’re drunk.”

Trevor shrugs. “And I’m right.”

He starts calling people out. The game begins.

It’s stupid at first — tame, low-stakes nonsense. Quinn gets asked if he’s ever lied to a fan. Luke has to prank text his ex. Jack takes a dare and has to take a shot off Cole’s stomach, which makes the room explode with laughter.

You sip your wine.

You haven’t been called on yet, and you don’t mind. You’re too busy watching from behind your lashes, legs still crossed, another fine little tattoo glinting at the edge of your thigh, just under the hem of your dress — one no one remembers being there before. Sharp lines. Soft curves. A secret.

Then someone says your name.

“Alright, Ice Doll.” A guy from Jack’s circle — you don’t remember his name. “Your turn.”

You blink once.

Tilt your head slightly.

He grins, mock-casual. “Truth: how does it feel to be back?”

A beat of silence falls.

You let your wine swirl in the glass for a moment, eyes flicking across the room, registering the way a few people hold their breath. Even Trevor looks up now, blinking like he didn’t expect it to get that direct this fast.

But you just smile.

“Like returning to a city after the war.”

“Some buildings still stand. Most don’t.”

“But I’ve never liked ruins anyway.”

The room goes very still.

And Jack?

Jack stares at you like you’ve punched the air out of his lungs.

You take another sip.

Someone exhales a low, “Damn.”

The game keeps moving. Barely.

Then it’s Jack’s turn.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t joke.

He turns to you.

“Truth or Dare?”

Your smile stays put.

But your grip on the glass shifts slightly.

“Truth.”

He nods.

Quiet. Calculated.

“That guy,” he says, voice even. “The one from last spring.”

“Did you love him?”

The question cuts like a razor. Not because it’s loud. Not because it’s raw. But because he says it like it still matters. Like he deserves to ask. Like he didn’t give you every reason to run in the first place.

You don’t flinch.

You place your glass down.

Straighten just a little.

“We hooked up,” you say, voice sharp as a skate blade. “It lasted a month. It wasn’t love.”

Jack nods again, but there’s something cracked in the way he looks down at his hands after.

You tilt your head.

“My turn.”

“Truth or Dare?”

He looks up, still calm.

“Truth.”

You hold his gaze for a long, long second. Every muscle in the room tenses. You can feel it — the sudden absence of laughter, the collective breath being held, the way even Trevor shifts uncomfortably beside you.

Then, you speak.

“How does it feel to cheat on?”

Jack doesn’t answer at first.

He doesn’t laugh.

Doesn’t blink.

He just stares at you — not with anger, not even with shame. Just silence. Raw, undressed silence. Like the words took something out of him he didn’t expect to lose in public.

Someone coughs.

Luke mutters something like, “Game over.”

Trevor runs a hand through his hair.

But you?

You don’t move.

You don’t apologize.

You cross your legs the other way.

Pick your wine back up.

And say, “Next.”

⸻

The room thins out fast after your question.

People murmur something about drinks or fresh air or going to check the fire pit. Trevor laughs too loud, too forced. Luke disappears into the kitchen with Quinn, who glances back at Jack once before turning away.

You don’t move.

You sit still, glass empty now, fingers tight around the stem. You keep your eyes on the window like the lake outside has answers you haven’t been able to find in a year.

Jack doesn’t follow the others.

He doesn’t even pretend.

He walks straight to where you sit and stops two feet from the armchair, fists clenched at his sides.

You stand up before he can speak.

And then — finally — you let yourself break.

“You don’t get to ask that,” you hiss. “You don’t get to look at me like I did something wrong by fucking someone after you cheated on me.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not—”

“Don’t. Don’t even try to deny it, Jack.”

He takes a step forward.

You step back.

“You think just because I showed up tonight, you get access to me again?” Your voice is rising, hot and full and real now. “You think I wore this dress for you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you looked at me like you own me.”

Jack’s breathing hard now.

So are you.

“Say it,” you snap. “Say what you’ve been choking on since I walked in.”

He doesn’t.

So you do.

“You couldn’t handle being the hockey player who dated the Ice Angel. You hated how careful I was, how clean, how fucking sacred people thought I was. You wanted something messier. You wanted something easier.”

He flinches.

“So you found it,” you spit. “And I let you go. I disappeared so you wouldn’t have to deal with it. And you didn’t even chase me.”

Jack moves.

Quick.

You barely have time to react before your back hits the wall behind you and his hands are gripping your wrists, not hard, not painful — just enough to make you listen.

“I didn’t chase you,” he growls, “because I thought I didn’t deserve to.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in, furious now, his voice low and broken.

“You think I wanted easy? You think I wanted to be the guy who fucked it all up? I’ve lived in hell since the day you left.”

You try to twist out of his grip, but he presses closer.

“I didn’t look at you like I own you,” he breathes. “I looked at you like I’d never get to touch you again.”

You stop struggling.

“And then you said you fucked someone else, and I lost it.”

Silence.

Just breathing.

His eyes flick over your face.

“Say you don’t want me,” he whispers. “Say it, and I’ll walk away.”

You can’t.

You don’t.

And he snaps.

⸻

He kisses you like he’s starving — like a year without your mouth made him something less than human. His tongue slides against yours, hot and demanding, teeth catching on your bottom lip. His hands drag your dress up in one smooth movement, fingers finding your thighs like a man claiming lost ground.

“Fucking mine,” he growls into your mouth.

You moan — not soft, not sweet, just wrecked.

You barely notice how close the hallway is to the party, how thin the walls are, how close the kitchen is. You only know that Jack is everywhere. Pressed between your legs, shoving his hand under your panties, sinking two fingers into you so fast you cry out against his chest.

“God, you’re soaked,” he snarls. “This for him? That guy from last spring?”

You shake your head, panting.

“Say it.”

You look at him, dazed.

“Say you never came for him the way you did for me.”

Your voice is cracked, low.

“No one ever touched me like you did.”

Jack yanks your panties to the side, unzips with one hand, and thrusts inside in one brutal motion.

You gasp, your head hitting the wall.

“Fucking—Jack—”

He groans into your neck, hips snapping into yours, the hallway too narrow to absorb the sounds — the slap of skin, the stifled cries, the moans that sound too much like begging.

His hand clamps over your mouth.

“Shut up,” he growls. “You want them to hear how much you missed me?”

You don’t care.

You clench around him, and he curses — thrusts harder — loses rhythm.

You’re clawing at his back now, nails dragging, dress hiked up around your waist. Your orgasm crashes fast — hard — body jerking against his, soaking his fingers where they still press against your clit.

“That’s it,” he hisses. “Come for me. Come on my cock.”

You do.

You fall apart, trembling, tears in your eyes.

He follows with a low moan, biting your shoulder to muffle it, hips jerking as he fills you, grinding so deep you swear he’s trying to live there.

When it’s over, he doesn’t let go right away.

He just holds you, breath heavy, his face buried in your neck.

Then, quietly:

“I never stopped wanting you.”

You don’t say anything.

Not yet.

But your fingers curl into his shirt.

You don’t push him away.

It’s not love. Not yet.

But it’s not hate anymore, either.

⸻

You’re lying on your side in one of the guest bedrooms, dress pushed halfway off your legs, your skin still flushed from everything he took from you in the hallway — and everything you gave back. The door is locked now. The house is quiet. Somewhere, someone’s still playing music. But here, in this room, it’s just the slow, steady rhythm of breath and heat cooling from your skin.

Jack sits behind you, one hand tracing over the top of your thigh.

Neither of you has said anything for a while.

His fingers drift higher, brushing over the ink just under your ribcage — delicate, black, sharp-edged. A line of thorns, maybe. Or wings. You don’t tell him. You never told anyone.

“This new?” he asks softly.

You nod, eyes still fixed on the wall.

“You got it after?”

“Yeah.”

Jack’s thumb grazes the edge of it, like he’s trying to memorize it without asking what it means. His voice is quieter now. No bite. Just that low rasp he only used to use when he kissed you goodnight.

“You looked different tonight.”

You glance over your shoulder. “And you looked the same.”

That makes him smile — just for a second.

You sit up, slipping the straps of your dress back over your shoulder. Jack reaches out like he wants to stop you. Not to undress you again. Just to pause you. To keep you here a little longer.

“Why’d you come tonight?” he asks, and it’s not accusing. It’s honest. It’s afraid.

You don’t answer right away.

Then, quietly:

“I wanted to see if you’d changed.”

Jack nods once.

Then, softer:

“Did I?”

You look at him.

His hair is a mess. His mouth is still red. His hands are still resting on your legs like he’s trying not to hold too tight — like he knows he doesn’t get to own this anymore.

“No,” you say.

And then, “But I did.”

Jack leans back against the headboard, eyes closed.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

He doesn’t ask to stay. You don’t ask him to leave.

Eventually, you fall asleep with his arm draped across your waist and his fingers curled in the hem of your dress like a thread he can’t stop pulling.

#camficdiner #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #jh86 #jh86 x reader #jack hughes imagine #jh86 imagine #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic

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