#Hotel Suites in Dubai | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artsninspo · 3 months ago

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007 | Richmond Inc.

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⇚ 006

♠ summary: Lorence navigates the high-stakes world of elite private security under her enigmatic boss, Terry Richmond. But when Terry’s watchful gaze turns unexpectedly intimate, the tension between them ignites—blurring the lines. This ones fluffy 🧸.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~3.2K

⌖ - Monte Carlo, Monaco

I’ve never flown private before, nor have I ever been on such a lively flight. The champagne flows freely, and the chatter is so loud I crank my headphones to maximum volume just to drown it out. The last time I was aboard a plane, I was tossing back flutes of champagne to numb the sting of losing my job. Weeks later, I’m flying private at an elevated position—my new reality. Unlike my more seasoned colleagues, I’m more unnerved than excited.

I check the ETA on one of the screens and go over the expected hotel arrival time, counting down the hours until the big race is over and I can finally relax. I take out my tablet, reviewing my plans for what feels like the hundredth time, searching for any holes in my outline. I replay the live feeds at an accelerated speed, scanning for anything that could derail my emergency plans.

“Lorence.”

Cassandra smiles, placing a flute of champagne in front of me.

“Cassandra.”

She folds her arms, giving me a knowing look.

“Please tell me you're talking to someone handsome and not reviewing your plans again.”

“I’m talking to someone handsome,” I reply, telling her what she wants to hear. She sighs, satisfied.

“Emergencies almost never happen, and you’ve planned for so many types—it’ll be fine.”

“Well, partying isn't going to help my nerves,” I explain.

“You’re almost as bad as Terry.” She powers off my tablet and takes the open seat beside me.

“Now I’m insulted.”

She giggles, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Also, never suggest staggered flights for operatives again. Your extra effort is already making you unpopular with the weaker links.”

“Unpopular? As if I have the boss’s ear or give a flying fuck.”

“That’s the spirit.” She nudges me playfully. “It wasn’t the majority, but Emerson tried to stir up trouble. Richmond shut it down quickly. That weasel is always looking for a win. Must��ve heard there’s no warmth between you and Terry.”

“The blind know that.”

“Good thing my mouth isn't big. Cause that suit try-on definitely was more Dubai heat than Antarctica frigid.”

I give her a warning look, but she only squeaks, enjoying my discomfort.

“I’m glad you're amused.”

“Ladies.”

Emerson approaches with a drink in hand and that cavalier smile. He’s one of the company’s top ten most attractive male directors—probably the best-looking among the single ones.

“Emerson.” Cassandra acknowledges him, but his attention shifts to me.

“Lorence, why don’t you come mingle with the rest of us?”

I blink, caught off guard. The only colleague I’m on a first-name basis with is Cassandra. I’ve known Joel long enough to consider him more of a friend.

“I’m a nervous flyer. I’m fine here with my headphones and Gordon.”

“Cassandra didn’t tell you we use first names?”

“Not everyone. It’s Cole's choice.” Cassandra interjects quickly, sensing my discomfort. “Cole, what would you like to be called?”

“Cole.”

“Cole it is.” Emerson forces a smile. “You make your friends call you Cole?”

“I didn't realize the two of you were friends.” Cassandra leans in with a smirk.

“I’m friends with all of my colleagues.”

“Hmm.” Cassandra’s brow raises with condescension.

“Well, Cole, we’ll chat once we touchdown.” Emerson flashes another smile before returning to the back of the plane.

“What was that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Emerson and I may or may not have had a few rendezvous. It also may have ended badly.” she shrugs.

I’m not surprised.

“How did it end badly - hypothetically?” I ask.

“I felt like he was trying to use me to get on Terry’s good side, and when that didn’t work, suddenly Terry and I were too close. Blah, blah, blah. I know how much he makes, and it is NOT enough to afford me full time. So I went cold. Hypothetically.”

Cassandra shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Don’t hmm me. We’re all gorgeous—you’re the only one who hasn't dipped in the office pot.”

We spend the rest of the flight gossiping about who’s been with who, and I’m astounded by the level of secrecy and professionalism. Five office flings had gone entirely under my radar. When the party dies down I turn back on my music and relax dozing off a little. I’ve memorized my routes down to the detail and the timing windows play in my subconscious in a loop. Twenty minutes until clearance, an hour until our clients are safe. I wake with the sun warming the Mediterranean coastline below.

The weight of my responsibilities dampens any excitement. The drive to our accommodations is short, and I snap photos for my parents. The group dinner is the last thing I want to attend, but the chefs' live show and five-star cuisine prove to be a welcome distraction. Afterward, I slip away to the terrace with a glass of wine in hand.

“Still going over the routes?” Richmond’s voice cuts through the night air. I know it’s him by the shift in energy.

“Yeah” I respond.

“If you don't trust yourself—and you should—you should trust the agents on the ground, the drivers, the armed agents, helicopters, and tech. And if you don't trust all that, there's still the local PD, Fire, EMS... and human nature. After that, it's an act of God, and none of us can contend with that.”

I exhale slowly.

“I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“When something goes wrong tomorrow, it won’t be because of you.”

“When?”

“When. It's inevitable.” His confidence is oddly reassuring, though I know better than to assign sentimentality to Richmond. “One of our clients could get wasted, fall over and break their nose, or have food poisoning, require medical attention or be robbed by hookers they’ve hired or local thieves. Something happens here every single year. Transport’s never been an issue and no one has approached it like you have” he says.

I nod, sighing deeply. “That’s some peace of mind.”

“It’s not flattery, it's the truth,” he responds.

“Has to be, flattery seems highly unlikely” I confess. “Maybe now I understand why you’re always so uptight - this is a lot on someone’s shoulders” I sigh looking back down into the city. I swear he snickers but by the time the lights flicker on above us signaling night is here it's gone from his expression.

“I’m the last person you need to worry about,” he says. Looking him over I concur - he’s probably experienced things my nightmares would have trouble conceiving of.

“So if it isn't stress then what is it? Just your natural disposition?” I ask looking away just in case his face shows disapproval.

“I can never tell if you're joking” he responds unappreciative of my sarcasm. The feeling is mutual, I can never read him either. There are too many things at play, this sizzling tension between us born of disdain, or misunderstanding, or the unbalanced power dynamic. His resistance to letting his guard down. Smiling, small talk, pleasantries or being kind. The silence lingers mostly because none of my responses are safe and could put us back at odds. “I’m not uptight,” he says finally.

“Pigs fly. Now we’re both lying” I remark.

“I’m not uptight, I’m what my position requires of me as the lead, founder and CEO” he explains.

“Look, I'd better get some rest. I'm a mess of nerves and we already don’t get along well” I sigh, not wanting to get into it with him. He smirks this time.

“You’ll toss and turn all night if you head in now. Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and meet me in the lobby in ten?” he says, stopping me in my tracks. He looks harmless when he smiles. It withdraws into his usual disposition and when I turn Emerson is walking up behind me.

“Ok” I agree and he nods giving me a half smile that I know Emerson sees. I wonder if it’s to get my blood out of shark infested waters.

“Emerson” I nod, taking leave. I slip my heels back on once I'm off of the grassy terrace and head in. There’s a sprinkling of people, less than half of those who were at dinner. I head to my room and look myself over. I curse Cassandra when all of the outfits I have packed are transitional, appropriate for the beach, boat, dinner and anything else that may arise in a place like this. Blowing out a deep breath I opt for a black maxi dress. I grab a small purse and fill it with necessities. My reflection is date worthy, not following your boss around appropriate. I tie a scarf around my purse just in case it gets cool. When I arrive in the lobby Richmond is checking his watch and stands up like I've stood him up. He’s changed too into something more relaxed.

“Sorry I’m late” I tell him once I've crossed the room. His eyes scan over me, his tense demeanour has returned. “Am I dressed okay?” I ask.

“Fine” he nods. “I just thought we’d take a walk, go over your routes in person, put your mind at ease, tire the body, help you rest” he explains and it is such a simple approach I wonder why I haven't thought of it.

“I can walk in this” I nod and he leads the way. We walk alongside each other. It takes us about ten minutes to make it to the primary route we decided on. “Cassandra said, always look better than you need to while in Monaco” I tell him when the silence has stretched too long.

“That’s what that bill was about” he mutters to himself shaking his head. “I dont think you and Cassandra have the same objectives”

“I don't follow”

“Cassandra likes causing a stir and hooking big fish” he says without condescension or condemnation in his tone as we walk. “Wherever we go” he adds, making a left. I see he’s memorized the route as well as I have.

“I bet she’s a great decoy” I think out loud.

“She is,” he nods, leading us onto the main road. It’s brighter along this path, I smell food and hear music and chatter which is a good sign. We pass souvenir shops, restaurants, boutiques and tourists. There’s so much to see, it's distracting and I don't remember the last time I was in Europe so carefree. I take pictures of postcards and restaurants and send them to my parents. My mom will tell me what to try and my dad will tell me what cheesy thing they want.

“So, are you and your parents very close?” Richmond asks and I realize he has a birds eye view into my phone and no boundaries.

“Yeah” I nod. “They love to travel and my mom runs a food blog” I explain my actions.

“I’ve seen the food blog - she’s very good,” he remarks. Of course he has.

“She’d be happy to hear that” I say with a smile.

“How’d she get into it?” he asks.

“She had an empty nest, she put everything on hold to be a mom and wife. She retired early and I told her to go. It was like we both went to college together. She’s always been great but since it started she’s really happy.” I reflect feeling calmer at the thought of my folks.

“We have contacts and so many unused vouchers, tickets, everything. You should ask Cassandra and use them up. Go with them too.” he says giving unconventional advice for a boss.

“Are your parents still around?” I ask and he tenses.

“My mom passed. Pops is still around. He’s married to Cassandra’s mom” Richmond says and it's a shock at first then it makes sense. “I was sure she told you.”

“She didn’t and I’m sorry about your mom” I respond he nods.

“It was a long time ago,” he says. We approach a live band and he guides me in front of him. “Hold your purse close, it's a distraction for pickpockets” he explains, keeping me close until we’re out the crowd. We’re lower down now and closer to the water at one of the intersections I thought would have the most trouble. I assess it quickly before relaxing into my decisions.

“So is this what you recommend before a big gig?” I ask.

“No, I don't advise you to walk around at night in a foreign country,” he says.

“Now it's you who needs faith. We go through too much training to not be fine anywhere in the world that isn't war torn.” I remind him crossing the road.

“If the richest men in the world need protection, what makes you think you're above danger?” he asks.

“I don’t think I’m above anything, I just dont think danger is likely.”

“You’re naive,” he comments.

“You're a pessimist” I respond.

“Realist. Men jeopardise their livelihoods and lives all around the world for women and sometimes men. Being alone at night is an unnecessary risk” he says, sounding like my father. When we make it to the beach the sound of the ocean is calming.

“Can we stay awhile?” I ask and he nods. I step onto the sand. My dress is too long so I take down my hair and use my hair tie to hike it up to my knees. There’s a breeze in the air but after all that walking it's not too chilly. My nerves are worlds better. I find a spot and sit down, feeling safe. I close my eyes and block out everything aside from the sound of the waves crashing and crackling sea foam. The air shifts and I catch Richmonds cologne as he sits beside me. I can feel his eyes on me but I keep mine closed. He probably thinks I’m crazy, maybe even too trusting given our history but I don't open my eyes until I'm ready. When I do his eyes are on me.

“Jameson told me you dont value your life” he says and I scoff.

“You can't care too much about yours if you joined the military” I shoot back.

“My father was decorated, he had me in mixed martial arts since I was five. I can take care of myself”

“So we have daddy to thank for this personality” I jest and he shakes his head instead of silencing me with a look.

“You really don't like it” he says, looking up at the sky.

“No I don’t, this is the most normal you’ve ever been with me since we met” I tell him.

“I’ve tried but you’re always running”

“Why were you so mean that first day?” I ask.

“It’s complicated,” he says, hardening.

“More complicated than using my trauma as a test?” I ask and he sighs.

“That wasn't my idea to push you and yes, that complicated” he affirms. “I was in a bad state, looked my worst and I found out my new recruit Lorence Cole is a woman,” he explains.

“That’s a sexist admission”

“No. You’re my type Lorence. Cassandra knew that and didn’t tell me ahead of time. I was upset with her to make a point and short with you” he confesses and the way my cheeks burn im thankful for the nights forgiving lighting. Not was, not one of my preferences, you’re present tense my type.

“The next time your type walks in, try being kind. Most women don't like being barked at, frowned at, scolded. Do I need to continue?” I ask.

“I get the picture” he nods. Then there’s laughter down the beach and I see people laughing around a photograph.

“We should go see” I suggest getting up. I pat the sand off my dress and we make our way over to see caricature artists seated.

“Come on, beautiful couple,” One of the women artists say.

“I don't want to” Richmond says motioning for me to sit alone.

“Not my boyfriend's bodyguard” I tell the woman in french and she smiles. Mischief lights in her eyes and I smile bracing for the worst.

“First time in Monaco?” she asks with a thick accent.

“Yes”

“Welcome! here for the races?” she asks.

“Yeah, a few friends wanted to check it out” I explain using my cover story and she continues drawing.

“Are you famous?” she asks.

“No” I laugh.

“Then why bodyguard?” she asks.

“He’s a friend who didn't want me out walking alone” I explain in french and she nods complimenting my speaking ability. I sit for another ten minutes and she stands finished. They count me down and when I get the photo I have to stop myself from laughing. I fold the photo immediately as the other artists cackle and pray Richmond hasn't seen it. If he didn't speak French too I’m sure he’d think I put her up to it. We leave the beach heading back on the path back to the accommodation when Richmond snatches it from my hand as I let my dress back down. He gets a full look of the photo of me looking like an angel in caricature form while he looks like an angry muscle man with ears so big they span to the margins. I giggle and he gives me a look of warning handing the drawing back. I’m surprised he doesn't rip it into pieces.

“Aside from the ears it's an accurate depiction of how scary your scowl is” I joke.

“Good to know” he mutters, the streets are more lively now and the party crowds are out. Leading the way gets too challenging. Richmond holds his hand back and I take it following him through the crows he can see over. He's a gentle guide parting the crowd for me with his size. My brain starts to run away with the information I’ve learned aided by the hand holding and a replay of the past few weeks. My realization shouldn't be as charming as it is. Richmond the decorated veteran and impeccably polished CEO has a crush … on me? He’s not to be played with, tall, handsome, well off ….. My boss. My thoughts hit a roadblock there. The uphill trek starts to become a battle and he crosses the street finding a cab stand. His French is impeccable as he orders us a cab barely fitting in the small European car with me. I get my hand back and find myself missing the contact. The ride back to the accommodation is short. When RIchmond and I clear the lobby he’s right I’m no longer worried about tomorrow or my work. This elevator ride is far less tense than last trip.

“Thanks for walking me through my route” I tell him as he walks me from the elevator to my door.

“No problem” he nods. “Last call is at noon if you want to see the parade and the royals otherwise you can leave at two” he reminds me of the schedule. I check my watch and see I have a lot of beauty rest to catch up on.

“Sounds good.” I nod heading in my room. I stop turning to face him. “Why don’t we start fresh tomorrow? My type is nice” I tell him and he gives me his first genuine smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Cole”

“Good night Richmond.” I smile, shutting the door. I call Sin thankful for time differences and we talk for an hour about what it all means before I fall asleep.

Authors note: thanks for reading loves. things are heading up and these interactions are getting more and more fun to write. Are we here for the new developments?

008 ⇛

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szariahwroteit · 5 months ago

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Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Original Character Erotic Series

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 5

Tori allowed a day to slip by following the night of the party. Although her mind was tethered to Jude, the reason for her journey to Dubai, she needed a moment to gather her thoughts and find some clarity amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The vibrant city stretched out around her, but she felt the need to pause, breathe, and reflect.

However, the next morning, Jude woke up with a newfound determination. There was only one day left of the year, and while he didn’t care for resolutions or using the start of the calendar year to try and implement change, he refused to go into the new year existing in such an awkward space with Tori. They were so new that Jude wouldn’t call what they were amid growing pains, but he knew it was a hurdle they had to get over together if they wanted to be in each other’s lives.

He understood how daunting his life may have seemed and how sought after he was by women, but he also needed Tori to understand that it was her he wanted.

As one of the most heavily documented footballers of the current generation with a star power that only seemed to be going from strength

to strength, women came in droves, but having options didn't mean much when there was already someone in his line of sight.

Slipping on his sneakers, Jude stood from his seat on the edge of his plush hotel bed, grabbing his phone and wallet before stepping out of his suite.

Letting out a breath he'd been holding, Jude made his way towards Tori’s room, his palms clammy despite the coolness of the hotel corridor.

She'd texted him around an hour prior letting Jude know she was awake, but that had been their first interaction since the night of the party in his teammate's hotel suite.

She’d spent the day before ignoring every call and message he sent her, only reading them before closing out of the chat.

Although it wasn't in Jude’s intentions to hurt her, he was man enough to acknowledge how careless he'd been and as possessive and ego-driven as it may have sounded, it wasn't until he saw Tpri with Alex that he fully realized the error of his actions.

To even see her standing beside another man made Jude’s skin crawl and adding insult to injury Alex had an arrogance about him that Jude didn't care for at all.

With each step towards Tori's room, Jude's heart raced. The sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridor, mirroring the internal chaos brewing within him. He thought back to the moment he recognized his feelings for her—how genuine her laughter was, how her eyes sparkled with excitement, and how she brought a sense of warmth into his otherwise chaotic life.

Reaching her door, he paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to be honest, to lay everything out on the table, but he also didn't want to come off as desperate or overbearing. He had to strike a balance between vulnerability and strength.

Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked gently. A few moments passed, and just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open, revealing Tori. She looked beautiful, her hair tousled messy bun and her eyes slightly puffy from sleep. There was a hint of surprise etched on her face, but it quickly faded into an unreadable expression.

“Hey,” Jude said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we talk?”

Tori hesitated but then stepped aside to let him in. The air was thick with unspoken words as he entered the room. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed defensively over her chest as if shielding herself from whatever was about to transpire.

“I should have been more considerate of your feelings, I should have been more attentive and the last thing I want is for you to feel as if I’m just dragging you along for the ride.” Jude took a deep breath, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his emotions.

“I know I messed up. But I also can't ignore the fact that I feel like you're holding back or anticipating me fucking up,” he continued.

“I’m not waiting for you to fuck up, Jude I have no idea what I’m doing,” Tori attempted to explain.

Jude took a step closer, his desire to bridge the gap between them almost palpable. “Then help me understand,” he urged, his voice softer now. “Because I want to be around you.”

Tori looked into Jude’s eyes, searching for answers, for reassurance, for something to break the tension that clung to the room like a thick fog. His sincerity was evident, yet doubt still clouded her thoughts. “The world is yours to do as you please with, the other night made me realize that and it's unfair of me to expect you to change anything about your world because I'm uncomfortable.”

They’d only known each other a few short weeks, but those weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions and unpredictability. Everything that had happened between them thus far has stemmed from impulse and raw attraction to one another, but eventually, they had to be real with themselves and for Tori; this was that.

“I get that, Tori,” Jude replied, his voice steady despite internally trying to keep his frustration at bay. “But just because I can do something doesn't mean I will, I have self-control.”

“I never said you didn't,” Tori shot back, a flicker of defiance in her eyes.

“That’s what it feels like you're getting at.” Jude leaned in slightly, trying to gauge her reaction. “You’re implying that my lifestyle somehow dictates what I should want, or who I should be. But that's not the case, not with you. I need you to see that.”

The charged atmosphere hung between them, heavy with expectation. Tori took a deep breath, the fight in her eyes softening momentarily as she considered his words. “I just don’t want to end up being another woman in your life, Jude. I want to matter to you—not just because I’m a different kind of distraction.”

Jude shook his head firmly, his expression earnest. “You already do matter to me. You’re not a distraction. Being with you feels real, and that’s what terrifies me and excites me all at once. I want to make this work, but I need you to meet me halfway.”

Tori dropped her arms, the defensiveness slowly peeling away. The vulnerability in Jude's eyes tugged at her heart. She could feel the sincerity of his desire, how he was trying to carve out a space for both of them amidst a storm of external pressures.

“Halfway…” she murmured, the thought lingering in the air.

“Yes,” he urged. “Let’s be honest with each other. I won’t pretend that it’s easy for either of us, especially with my world. But if you’re willing to try then I'm here.”

Tori felt a knot in her stomach loosen just a bit with Jude's words. They felt genuine, the kind of honesty that could either lead to something beautiful—or something painful. But she wanted to lay down her fears, to strip away the layers of uncertainty that had built up between them. “I want to try too,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “But I need you to understand where I’m coming from. I can’t just dive in without knowing if we’re on the same page.”

Jude nodded, his expression softening. “Tell me what you need to know.”

Taking a deep breath, Tori plunged into vulnerability, the words tumbling out. “I just need you to see with me. I'm not asking for constant reassurance, I just want to know that we’re exploring this together, to understand what we both want.”

Jude took a moment to process her words, his heart swelling with the weight of her honesty. “Tori, I want you,” he said firmly.

“If by chance that changes, please just—” Before Tori could complete her thought, Jude swiftly moved forward, enveloping her in his embrace. His arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her close as his lips crashed against hers, the intensity of the kiss catching her off guard. It was a fierce, passionate connection, igniting a spark that surged between them.

Tori felt herself melt into Jude, losing track of the worries that had weighed so heavily on her mind just moments before. The kiss was all-consuming, filling the room with a warmth that pushed away all thoughts of uncertainty. She could taste the determination in his kiss, the promise of sincerity that lingered in the air around them.

As they pulled apart slightly, she could feel Jude's heart beating against her chest, a rhythm that matched the unrest of emotions swirling within her. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and intense, searching her expression for any sign of hesitation.

“I won't change my world, Tori,” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, “but I want to invite you into it. I need you to trust me.”

Tori nodded slowly, grappling with the flood of emotions rushing through her. Fear, exhilaration, longing—it was all entangled within her, but she found solace in Jude's presence. “I want to trust you, Jude,” she admitted, looking up at him, “I just need to know that you see me.”

He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her arms, grounding her. “I see you,” he insisted, his voice sincere.

“Then can you kiss me again?” Jude's lips curled into a smirk, a playful glint sparking in his eyes at her request. He took a step closer again, his grip on her arms tightening just a fraction before he gently tilted her chin up. The air between them felt electric, charged with an undeniable chemistry that had been simmering since they first met.

“Are you sure?” he teased, though the sincerity in his tone was evident. He wanted to ensure that she was ready for whatever this connection could bring—because he certainly was.

With a soft breath, Tori nodded, her heart racing in anticipation. The nervousness in her stomach began to dissipate, replaced with an exhilarating rush that accompanied Jude’s every movement. He leaned closer, his breath warming her skin, and then his lips met hers once more in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It started gentle, a tentative exploration, a soft brush of lips that spoke of longing. But as the kiss deepened, it morphed into something more urgent and impassioned. Jude’s hands found their way to her waist, lifting her so he could carry her over to the bed.

Tori couldn't help but giggle as Jude positioned himself above her, his strong hands framing her face. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, and gently captured the delicate curve of her neck between his teeth, sending a shiver down her spine. The playful intimacy of the moment filled the air with a charged tension that made her heart race.

“All I want is to make you smile,” Jude murmured against her skin, his right hand moving from beside her head to grip her hip holding her in place.

“I think you do a good job most of the time,” Tori smirked, reaching up to run her fingers through Jude’s coils as she looked into his eyes.

“Most of the time?” he repeated in mock offence.

“Most of the time,” Tori confirmed. “For example when you're at parties receiving lap dances, I'm not too hot on you,” she said, making Jude frown playfully before pushing his face back into the crease of her neck.

“Okay, I deserve that one,” Jude admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. “But, can I make you moan?” he asked, a playful challenge dancing in his eyes.

Tori's breath hitched, her heart racing at the sudden turn of the conversation. The boldness in his question sent heat pooling in her stomach, igniting an undeniable desire within her. She met his gaze, searching for sincerity among the playful banter, and found it. Jude wasn’t just teasing; he genuinely wanted to know.

“Depends on how you plan to do it,” she shot back, teasingly raising an eyebrow, her confidence blossoming in the aftermath of their heightened emotions.

“I want to taste you,” Jude whispered hotly into her ear.

“Is that so?” she replied, her voice sultry, laced with intrigue as she arched an eyebrow, daring him to make his move.

“Absolutely,” Jude affirmed, his confidence unwavering. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, his body pressing closer to hers. “Let me show you how I plan to make you moan.”

With that, he trailed his lips down the side of her neck, savouring the taste of her skin as his hand reached between them to pull apart her robe, cupping her breast. Tori gasped, every nerve in her body igniting under his caress. The sensation was rousing, the promise of what was to come sending spirals of desire coursing through her.

“Jude,” she breathed the warmth of his mouth on her skin, sending a tingle down her spine.

“Relax,” he breathed out, his lips and tongue continuing their exploration, trailing lower, sending waves of pleasure shooting through her. His fingers danced over her soft skin, igniting a fire that made her pulse quicken.

“Just let me enjoy you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her as he settled between her legs, raising her left leg to come and rest over her shoulder so she lay completely exposed to him, the space around them fading into a blur of colour and sound, leaving only the two of them.

Tori let out a breathless moan as Jude pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her pussy, groaning as he got his first taste of her on his tongue.

The sensation rocked through Tori like a bolt of lightning, her body instinctively responding to the warmth and pressure of his mouth. She gasped as he explored her with slow, deliberate movements, his tongue dancing over her sensitive folds, teasing her in a way that made her forget everything else around them.

Jude’s eyes flicked up to meet with hers as she felt his lips spread into a smile against her before he went to work on her.

Tori’s hand reached up to cover her mouth as a means of silencing her moans as Jude feasted on her pussy, his skin slippery against hers from a combination of his saliva and her arousal.

The sounds that came from his ministrations were lewd, he sucked and slurped on Tori as her back arched from the bed completely intoxicated by her.

Her senses were overwhelmed, the way Jude's mouth moved with expert preciseness sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. The air was electric with tension, the intensity of their connection radiating like a wildfire, each gasp she stifled only fueling the fire within. As her breath hitched, her fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him closer, craving more of the intoxicating sensations he created. Every flick of his tongue sent her spiralling deeper into ecstasy, and at that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection they shared, lost in a world of indulgent pleasure.

“You have such a pretty pussy,” Jude groaned, leaning back a little to make room so he could use his thumbs to spread her open, gathering saliva on the end of his tongue before allowing it to drip from his mouth onto her.

Tori gasped softly at the improper compliment, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks and spreading lower, intensifying the throbbing ache between her thighs.

"Take it," she managed to murmur, her voice breathy and laced with desire.

As if to emphasize her point, Tori's hips tilted upward, offering herself to him more fully. The cool air kissed her damp folds, a stark contrast to the burning heat of Jude's gaze as he took in the sight of her splayed out before him.

"Please," she whimpered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened in his hair, not quite demanding, but urging him to continue.

At that moment, Tori felt wild, uninhibited, and completely surrendered to the sensations coursing through her body as she watched Jude stand from the bed to remove his clothes before grabbing his wallet and retrieving a condom from it.

“I want you inside of me,” Tori's eyes fluttered open, meeting Jude's gaze with an intensity that stole his breath away. "Please Jude," she whispered, her voice rough with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

She reached for him, her fingers trailing down his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You’re so beautiful," she murmured, her voice slightly deepening with desire.

Tori's hips lifted off the bed, a silent invitation, an offering of her body and soul. Her legs spread wider, a clear display of her readiness, her need for him.

"Take me," she breathed, the words both a plea and a command. "Make me yours."

In that moment, Tori was lost to everything except the fire burning within her, the aching void that only Jude could fill. She needed him with an intensity that consumed her, obliterating any remnants of doubt or hesitation.

Crawling on top of her petite and slender, yet dangerously curvaceous body Jude led with his tongue as parted her lips so she could taste herself.

As Jude's tongue parted Tori's lips, she moaned softly, the taste of her own arousal mingling with the unique flavour of Jude. It was a heady combination, one that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through her body.

Tori's arms wrapped around Jude's neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. Her tongue danced with his, exploring every inch of his mouth with a fervour that matched the intensity of their earlier passion.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Tori arched her back, pressing her body flush against Jude's. She could feel every contour of his muscular frame, the hard planes of his chest rubbing against the soft swells of her breasts.

The friction of their bodies moving together stoked the fire within Tori, her skin tingling with anticipation. She needed more, craved the feel of Jude's hands on her body, his touch igniting a trail of sparks wherever he caressed her.

Their bodies undulated together, a sensual dance fueled by primal need. Tori's hands explored Jude's back, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, marvelling at the strength that lay beneath his skin.

Jude groaned against her lips, the sound muffled by their kiss. His hands roamed her body, skimming over the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips, before coming to rest on the soft curves of her ass.

With a firm squeeze, Jude lifted Tori's hips, angling them so that he could slide into her with one smooth thrust. The sensation was indescribable, a perfect reunion of flesh on flesh that left them both gasping for breath.

“Tori, you feel fucking perfect,” Jude groaned into the crease of her neck, his hand slipping from her to wrap around her thighs and pin her to the bed beneath him.

Jude had never considered himself a man with sadistic tendencies, but where sex with Tori was concerned; she possessed an innocence he wanted to ruin and protect all at once.

She was so submissive to pleasure, both giving and receiving and all he wanted to do was explore that—explore her.

Tori's body arched into Jude's touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on painful in its intensity, yet Tori welcomed it, craving more.

"Ah!" Tori let out a throaty cry as Jude slammed deep into her, the sudden fullness stealing her breath. "God, yes! Fuck me harder, Jude!"

Tori's nails raked down Jude's back, her fingers digging into his skin as she urged him on. Her hips bucked against his, meeting each of his thrusts with equal fervour, driving them both closer to the brink of ecstasy.

"You're so fucking tight," Jude grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So good, baby." Tori's head fell back against the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her like a halo.

“Get on top, I want to watch your beautiful little body while you ride me,” Jude continued, raising his head so he could look into her eyes.

Tori hesitated, her eyes widening slightly at his request for a change in position. She wasn't used to taking the lead in the bedroom, preferring to let him guide her.

But there was something about Jude's command, the way he looked at her with such raw desire, that made her want to please him, to give him exactly what he wanted.

Slowly, carefully, Tori manoeuvred herself into a straddling position, her knees on either side of Jude's hips. She could feel the heat of his body, the hard length of him pressing against her core, and it sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

As Tori lowered herself onto Jude's cock, she couldn't help but moan softly at the sensation of being filled, stretched, and consumed by him. Her walls clenched around him as if trying to keep him inside her, never to let him go.

Tori’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, her eyes locking with Jude’s as he raised his hips beneath her, the head of his cock kissing firmly against her cervix.

A rush of sensations flooded Tori’s body, the fullness igniting every nerve ending as she gasped at the invasive, yet welcomed pressure. Jude’s intense gaze held hers captive, the heat of his desire reflecting back at her like flames in a hearth.

“Fuck, you feel unbelievable,” he rasped, thrusting gently as he pushed deeper, each subtle movement sending electric jolts of pleasure cascading through her. Tori arched her back, her hard nipples brushing against his chest, intuitively wanting more of him, more of this exquisite connection.

“More,” she urged, her voice barely a whisper, heavy with longing. “Please, Jude... I need it.”

A predacious grin spread across his face, and without a moment’s hesitation, he complied. Placing a hand on the back of her neck and the other on the small of her back, pulling her body flush against his.

With a powerful roll of his hips, Jude drove deeper, claiming her in a way that turned her breath into a string of frantic gasps. The rhythmic motion filled the space between them with an intoxicating harmony that made her pulse race. Tori’s body melted against his, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that rippled through her, echoing with each thrust.

“Jude, you're so deep,” she moaned, her voice weak with desire as the sensation overwhelmed her. It felt as if he were reaching into her very soul, each movement igniting a fire that blazed hotter with every stroke.

“Look at me,” he growled his words lacking in diction as his hand on the back of her neck came to wrap around her throat, easing her body to sit up some so he could look into her eyes as he rounded his hips into Tori, fucking her incredibly deep.

Tori’s heart raced, the combination of his grip and his commanding gaze sending shivers of exhilaration down her spine. She loved this side of him, the way he took charge, the way his need matched her own. The space around them faded, leaving only the two of them tangled in a whirlwind of heat and desire.

“Jude…” she breathed, her voice trembling as she leaned into his touch, craving both his possession and his passion. The intensity of his stare felt almost tangible, wrapping around her and binding them in this moment of unadulterated pleasure.

“Tell me how it feels,” he urged, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins.

It took Tori a moment to gather her thoughts, to articulate the overwhelming sensations crashing through her. “It’s... so much,” she managed, her breath hitching as he ground deeper inside her, every thrust perfectly timed to lift her closer to the edge. “It’s everything, Jude. Just—just don’t stop.”

His eyes burned with a mix of ownership and satisfaction, and he revelled in her response as if her words were his own personal high. He adjusted his angle, hitting a spot that sent a wave of pleasure washing over her, causing her to arch into him.

“Don’t ever second guess how fucking perfect you are,” Jude growled, his voice deep and resonant, filled with raw need. He intensified his pace, each thrust resonating through her as he delved deeper, pushing her closer to the brink. The heat between them crackled, an electric current that sparked at every point of contact, igniting every sense.

Tori’s breath quickened, each inhaling a desperate gasp for air as if the sheer force of their connection threatened to overwhelm her lungs.

“Oh god, Jude… yes,” she cried, her back arching further, urging him on. It was as if his every touch had created a symphony within her—a melody of pleasure that coursed through her veins, building to a crescendo that she could almost taste.

“Feel how much I want you,” Jude painted, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice as he quickened the rhythm. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every contour, as though he wanted to memorize her completely.

Finally settling his hands on her hips as he bit down on his bottom lip, Jude’s brow furrowed as his gaze fixed on Tori's glossy brown eyes as she gave herself to him.

The connection between them deepened with every thrust, a magnetic pull that transcended the physical realm. Tori felt exhilarated and vulnerable all at once, ensnared in a dance of ecstasy that made her skin tingle and her heart race. Jude’s gaze burned into her, the depth of his desire setting her aflame from within.

“You’re everything I want,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as he quickened his rhythm, driving them both higher.

As Tori’s eyelids heavy with lust slid shut, she felt a singular tear of unadulterated pleasure roll down her cheek, a physical testament to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. Every thrust from Jude felt like a promise, each powerful movement igniting more than just her body; it deepened their bond, drawing them closer together as though they were the only two souls in existence.

“Jude,” she gasped, opening her eyes to meet him once more, searching for some kind of guidance. Her body was his, even if only for the moment.

“Let go,” he urged, his voice a heated whisper as he captured her gaze, anchoring her in the depth of their connection. Tori felt as if he was unravelling her from the inside out, his words wrapping around her heart like a warm embrace. The trust between them intensified the experience, elevating every sensation beyond the physical.

“Just you and me,” he said, his breath heavy with need. “Nothing else matters right now.” With those words, he thrust deeper, asserting that claim within her, pushing her to places she had never dreamed of reaching.

Tori managed a nod, her voice lost in the tumult of pleasure. She surrendered completely to the moment, allowing the waves of ecstasy to wash over her. The rhythm between them grew urgent, a fierce manifestation of their shared longing, building in intensity with every tide.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Jude groaned, his hands tightening possessively around her hips as he lost himself in her. The pressure building within her was electric, every pulse of pleasure drawing her closer to that swirling vortex of release.

“Jude, I—I can’t hold on much longer,” she warned, her words whisper-soft amidst the gasps and moans echoing through the room.

“Good,” he encouraged with a primal growl, his eyes darkened with lust. “Let it go, Tori. I want to feel you cum on me.”

With each powerful thrust, he pushed her closer to that edge, his rhythm relentless, a beautiful pinnacle that made everything else fade into oblivion. Tori’s body responded instinctively, tightening around him as if seeking to pull him even deeper.

“Jude!” she cried out, feeling the pleasure tighten into a coil, ready to unravel. He pressed on, relentless in his pursuit, his voice a seductive growl that wrapped around her heart.

“Just let it happen, Tori. Feel all of me,” he coached his hands firmly gripping her hips as he tilted his hips into her, making sure she felt every last pulsing inch.

The intensity of their connection reached a fever pitch, each thrust adding fuel to the fires that roared within her. Tori could feel the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over her, a tsunami she couldn’t hope to hold back any longer. Every nerve in her body tingled with need, each pulse syncopated with Jude’s movement, forging a bond between them.

“Just like that!” she gasped, her words melting into moans, expressing the bliss that swelled within her. Every inch of her became attuned to his rhythm, and she relished the dance of their bodies—the slick sliding sensation that came with each thrust, their shared breaths mingling in the charged air.

Tori’s fingers tangled in his hair as she leaned forward, wanting to feel every part of him pressing against her. “I’m so close,” she confessed, her voice breathless and laced with desperation. The heat radiating from his body set her ablaze, igniting a fire that refused to be quenched.

“Cum for me,” he commanded, his voice raw with desire, pushing her to the brink. His hands gripped her tighter, anchoring her as he thrust deep, each movement driving her closer to the edge she was so desperately in pursuit of.

Tori's body quaked above him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She could barely string words together, lost in the depths of her pleasure. “Jude, I can’t… I—”

“Give it to me,” he urged, his strained as he felt his end nearing. “Please, Tori.” The desperation in his voice pushed her over the edge, that insistent tone igniting the last spark of her restraint.

With one final thrust, Jude buried himself deep inside her, and Tori felt the world swirl around her. The coil of pleasure snapped, sending shockwaves coursing through her body as her orgasm shattered every thought, every worry, leaving only raw ecstasy in its wake. Waves of pleasure rippled through her, overwhelming her senses, and she forgot everything except the intoxicating rhythm of their bodies entwined.

“Jude!” She cried out, her voice hoarse as she let herself fall into that abyss of pleasure, riding the crest of the wave as it crashed over her. Every muscle in her body tightened, and she felt herself pulsing around him, tightening and pulsing in the throes of her release.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunted, his own body responding instinctively to the feel of her climax. With each tightening clench of her walls around him, Jude lost himself completely, the warmth of her body drawing him into a well of bliss.

He felt his release building, the intensity of her orgasm pushing him over the edge. “I’m right there with you,” he groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Tori locked her gaze on his, their breaths mingling as they rode the waves together. The connection between them deepened with each pulse, each beat of their hearts echoing in time.

“Jude!” she gasped, as another wave washed over her, pulling him along in its wake, and then, as if their bodies were synchronized, he delved deep into her, stilling as he poured himself into the condom he wore.

“Fuck, Tori!” he cried out, the sensation of her wrapping around him perfectly driving him over the edge as his cock filled her completely.

As the remains of their orgasms gradually faded, Tori collapsed against Jude, panting against his chest, both of them lost in a cocoon of warmth and satisfaction. Her heart raced, still thumping with remnants of pleasure as she felt Jude’s arms wrap around her, holding her close.

After a few moments of blissful silence, Tori began to regain consciousness of her surroundings, the warm afterglow of their passion enveloping her like a cozy blanket. The city outside was bustling with life, but inside the room, time felt suspended, a private moment shared between just the two of them. Tori would have been content to lie there forever, nestled against him, but a sudden wave of apprehension washed over her.

Jude, sensing her shift in mood, tightened his grip around her. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly, his voice low as he stroked her hair, pulling her even closer.

“Not much,” she mumbled, nestling deeper against the warmth of his chest. The contentment surrounding them was intoxicating, even as a flicker of reality started to seep back in.

“I was thinking about taking you shopping today,” Jude suggested, a teasing lilt in his voice, his fingers gently grazing back and forth over the small of her back. “I want to spoil you a little.”

“Spoil me?” she asked teasingly, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Yes,” he replied, a charming grin spreading across his face. “So you can get dressed up for me tonight while we bring in the New Year.”

Not only was it a chance to spoil her and in turn feed his ego, but there was also something about the act, the quality time spent that seemed rather intimate to him.

“What would you like to see me in?” Tori asked with a smirk as she sat up, her breast round and perky as she straddled Jude’s lap.

Jude's gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her sitting on him, her body radiating confidence and allure. “Honestly? I like you in absolutely nothing, but a dress would be more fitting considering our plans for tonight,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly.

Tori felt her cheeks flush at his words, the compliment igniting a warmth within her. “What are our plans for tonight?” she asked, her breath deepening as Jude’s hands came to rest on her hips.

“Dinner and then a New Year's Eve party at the marina,” he explained, his dark eyes locking onto hers, filled with anticipation. “And you have my word no lap dances will be taking place,” he smirked, earning a laugh and playful punch to the bicep from Tori.

When they finally pulled themselves from the bed, Tori made her way into the bathroom to get ready as Jude went to leave her hotel room and head back to his own.

As he pulled open the door of Tori’s room, he noticed Alex walking towards him, dressed in a suit similar to the one he wore the night of the party when he comforted Tori.

Instead of saying anything, Jude offered Alex a knowing smirk, his body still humming for the passionate encounter he just had with Victoria.

Making his way back to his room, Jude changed clothes and alerted his security guard of his plans to leave the hotel with Tori.

As he dressed, Jude felt a sense of anticipation bubbling within him. The thought of taking Tori shopping, of sharing the day with her, filled him with excitement. He couldn't wait to see her in something stunning for the New Year’s Eve party, something that would make her stand out and remind everyone—especially Alex—who she belonged to.

Once he was ready, Jude stepped out of his suite and made his way down the corridor to Tori's room. He knocked, his heart racing again at the thought of seeing her. The door swung open, and Tori stood there, looking radiant despite the casual outfit she wore. A fitted black top hugged her frame, paired with high-waisted jeans that accentuated her curves perfectly.

“Tori,” Jude spoke up, his voice laced with genuine admiration. “You look incredible.”

Tori smiled shyly, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Thanks. I figured I’d keep it simple for shopping,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Simple? You look anything but,” Jude replied, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Come here,” he instructed.

Tori’s heart fluttered at the command in his voice, and she took a small step toward him, curiosity lighting up her eyes. Jude reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

Tori’s breath hitched in her throat as Jude pressed a kiss against her plump lips, his hands slipping down to caress her backside as he walked her backwards into the nearest wall.

His mouth moved against hers with a hot intensity, igniting a fire within Tori that she couldn’t ignore. She thawed into him, her body responding instinctively as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the warmth of her mouth.

“We need to leave or I'm going to end up fucking the shit out of you in this entryway,” Jude groaned against her lips, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Tori couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension of the previous days melting away in this moment of intimacy.

“Then we should hurry,” she replied, her voice playful, yet filled with a thrill of excitement. She stepped back, breaking the embrace just enough to catch her breath and regain her composure. Looking into Jude's eyes, she felt an undeniable connection, one that made her heart race and her stomach flutter.

Jude gave her a lopsided grin, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Shopping first, party later.”

Tori grinned, her excitement bubbling to the surface as she took Jude's hand, guiding him toward the door. “Lead the way then,” she said, her voice playful.

#jude bellingham smut #fanfic #jude bellingham #chick lit #jude bellingham imagine #real madrid #jude bellingham fanfic #jude victor willliam bellingham #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham one shot #jobe bellingham

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shiyorin · 3 months ago

Text

#This was a request on Marshmallow, but I accidentally deleted it, so well… here you go.

#Modern AU. Roboute Guilliman x F!Reader

#These follow my Modern AU setting

#Romcom in 40K, I mean, in a modern AU

#Summary: Roboute is on a long business trip, and you (totally not) miss him. And yeah, so does he.

You stare at the empty penthouse, your bare toes curling into the plush carpet as you grip your coffee mug like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. No clack of polished dress shoes on marble floors. No rustle of expensive suits being shrugged off broad shoulders. No deep voice murmuring about spreadsheets in the next room. Just... silence.

"Good." you announce to the empty air, your voice bouncing off the stupidly high ceilings. "Finally some peace and quiet."

You stomp to Roboute’s walk-in closet, your walk-in closet now, really, since you’d commandeered 60% of the rack space, and yank open the doors. The scent of his cologne wafts out, that stupid expensive sandalwood-and-something-else smell that makes you think of boardrooms and bad decisions.

"Ewww." you mutter, pressing your face into one of his cashmere sweaters anyway.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks since Roboute left for his "critical business negotiations" in Geneva or Dubai or whatever tax haven rich assholes frequent these days. Three weeks of rattling around this stupidly large apartment like the last pea in a tin can.

You grab the softest sweater you can find, charcoal gray, probably costing more than your entire shoe collection, and pull it over your head. The hem hangs past your thighs, sleeves swallowing your hands whole.

"It is…" you tell the mirror, ignoring how the collar keeps slipping to reveal one shoulder. "Efficient. Not... whatever this is." You gesture vaguely at your reflection’s flushed cheeks.

The bed is next. Roboute’s stupid California king bed with its Egyptian cotton sheets and memory foam mattress that probably cost more than your old apartment. You haven’t slept in your own room since... well, since the first night he’d been gone, when the silence pressed too close and your bed suddenly felt like a child’s crib.

"Better airflow in here." you inform the tasteful abstract painting above the headboard as you flop onto the mattress. You’ve arranged your books in a precise semicircle around Roboute’s pillow, your laptop balanced on his nightstand next to three empty coffee mugs. "And the lighting’s better for reading."

Your phone buzzes on the sheets. Roboute’s name flashes on screen alongside a photo you’d secretly taken of him looking particularly constipated while reading a contract.

Roboute: How’s the apartment?

You scowl at the message. Your thumbs fly over the screen.

You: Great! So peaceful without your snoring

Roboute: I don’t snore

You: Then what’s that sound I hear every night? Oh wait, that’s the sweet song of freedom

You hit send before adding:

You: PS tell Dubai I said hi

Roboute: It’s Singapore this week

You: Whatever rich people Disneyland you’re in

A pause. Then:

Roboute: Are you wearing my clothes again?

You nearly drop your phone. You glance at the security camera in the upper corner, the little red light isn’t on, but that doesn’t mean anything with his paranoid ass.

You: No

Roboute: The Armani sweater’s missing from my tracker app

You: YOUR SWEATERS HAVE TRACKERS?!

Roboute: Only the ones you keep stealing

You: I’M NOT STEALING I’M BORROWING

Roboute: The dry cleaning bill suggests otherwise

You flip off the camera for good measure. The bastard probably has some secret feed going straight to his hotel room. Serves him right for leaving you alone with his stupidly soft sweaters and even stupider bed.

You stomp to the kitchen, the sweater slipping down one shoulder as you yank open the fridge. Roboute’s personal chef left enough meal-prepped containers to feed a small army, each labeled with dates in meticulous handwriting.

"Chicken piccata my ass." you mutter, grabbing a pint of ice cream instead. You hop onto the kitchen island, bare legs swinging as you dig into the mint chocolate chip.

The ice cream tastes like loneliness.

"Fuck that." you say aloud, scraping the carton harder. "This tastes like... victory. Single lady victory."

Your reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator nods sagely, a streak of green on your chin undermining the effect.

When the doorbell rings at 9 PM, you answer it wearing Roboute’s sweatshirt. Fulgrim stands in the hallway holding two bottles of wine, his perfect eyebrows climbing toward his hairline as he takes in your ensemble.

"Darling." he purrs, "if you wanted to model lingerie, you only had to ask."

You slam the door in his face.

"It’s not lingerie!" you shout through the wood. "It’s practical sleepwear!"

"Practical sleepwear that happens to be my brother’s clothes?"

"Go away!"

"I brought Pinot Noir!"

You yank the door back open. "Is it the expensive kind?"

Fulgrim holds up a bottle with a label that looks like it belongs in a museum. "The 1982 Château Margaux wants to be your friend."

"...Fine. But no funny business."

Two hours later find you sprawled on the living room floor, empty wine bottles rolling across the marble as you gesture wildly with a cheese knife.

"-and then he had the audacity to say my study habits were 'concerning'!" You kick Fulgrim’s loafers. "Says the man who once worked 72 hours straight on a merger!"

Fulgrim leans back against the couch, his silk shirt unbuttoned to there. "Roboute’s always been a hypocrite. Remember when he lectured me about work-life balance while hooked up to an IV drip of espresso?"

You snort, nearly inhaling your brie. "That tracks." You flop onto your back, staring up at the ceiling that suddenly seems to be spinning. "Why’s he even gone so long anyway? What’s in Singapore that’s so damn important?"

"Jealous of a city-state, darling?"

"Piss off." You throw a grape at him. "Just saying, normal business trips don’t take three weeks."

Fulgrim’s smile turns sharp. "Oh sweet summer child. You really don’t know what our family-"

The sound of shattering glass cuts him off. You both freeze as a dark figure climbs through the broken door, black ski mask glinting in the moonlight.

You blink. "Is this... are we being robbed?"

The masked man points a gun at Fulgrim. "Hand over the watches. And the girl."

Fulgrim sighs like someone brought the wrong appetizers to a dinner party. "Darling, would you mind...?"

You don’t let him finish. College years taught you two things: 1. Adrenaline beats alcohol every time, and 2. Never bring a gun to a knife fight.

You launch yourself at the intruder, wine-fueled rage propelling you forward. The man barely has time to widen his eyes before you’re on him, knee to the groin, elbow to the throat, stolen cheese knife pressed to his carotid.

Fulgrim watches in bemused admiration as you zip-tie the would-be thief using the cords from Roboute’s stupidly expensive surround sound system. When you finish, he claps slowly.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side."

You sway slightly, the wine and adrenaline making your head swim. "Just... just don’t touch the sweaters."

You wake up the next morning in Roboute’s bed, still wearing the sweatshirt now stained with red wine. The events of last night come back in pieces, the fight, the cops, Fulgrim’s increasingly hysterical laughter as you’d ranted about proper home invasion etiquette.

Your phone shows fourteen missed calls from Roboute.

Roboute: WHAT HAPPENED

Roboute: FULGRIM SENT ME A VIDEO

Roboute: WHY WAS THERE A MAN IN OUR APARTMENT

Roboute: ANSWER ME

You type back with one eye closed, your head pounding:

You: ur sweaters safe don’t worry

Roboute: I’M NOT WORRIED ABOUT THE SWEATERS

You: then y u texting

Roboute: Come to Singapore

You stare at the message, your traitorous heart leaping. Then you snort.

You: Pass

Roboute: I’ll send the jet

You: Still pass

Roboute: There’s a Michelin-starred ramen place

You hesitate.

Roboute: And a Jellycat flagship store

"Cheap shot." you mutter, even as you google flight times.

By days of Roboute’s absence, you’ve developed what you refuse to call a routine:

- Wake up in Roboute’s bed (for the superior lumbar support)

- Shower using Roboute’s fancy French soap (leaves your skin softer, purely practical)

- Dress in Roboute’s clothes (warmer than your own threadbare scrubs)

- Study surrounded by Roboute’s things (better feng shui for working)

The apartment feels different without him – quieter, yes, but also... hollow. Like a museum after hours, all the expensive art and furniture waiting for their proper owner to bring them to life.

You find yourself talking to his things like some deranged Disney princess:

"Of course he bought a Ming vase," you inform the Ming vase. "Probably uses it to contain his massive ego."

The vase doesn’t respond.

At night, you curl up in his bed surrounded by books, the sheets still faintly smelling of his cologne. Sometimes you catch yourself reaching for the other pillow, only to scowl and yank your hand back like it’s betrayed you.

"Pathetic." you tell your stuffed dragon perched on Roboute’s nightstand. "You’re pathetic."

The dragon’s beady eyes judge you silently.

When Roboute’s sixth late-night video call comes through, you answer without thinking. The screen shows him in what looks like a presidential suite, tie loosened and stubble shadowing his jaw.

"You look terrible." you say by way of greeting.

"You’re wearing my Yale hoodie."

"Fuck Yale."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "How’s the apartment?"

"Still standing. No thanks to your brother."

Roboute’s smile vanishes. "Fulgrim told me what happened. I’m arranging for–"

"Already handled," you interrupt. "Installed new locks. And a taser. And a police officer who checks in daily."

"You shouldn’t have to–"

"I’m fine." The words come out sharper than intended. "Stop worrying."

Silence stretches between you, the kind that usually gets filled with snarky comments or work talk. Instead, Roboute says quietly, "I miss your..."

Your heart stutters.

"...your organizational system for the fridge."

You deflate. "Right. The fridge."

"It’s chaos without you."

"The labels were in Greek alphabetical order, Roboute. That’s not a system, that’s a mental illness."

His chuckle warms something in your chest. "Perhaps. Still... it’s quieter here."

"Good."

"Not really."

The raw honesty in his voice startles you. You study the screen, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his collar hangs loose like he’s lost weight.

"You eating okay?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

Roboute makes a noncommittal noise. "Room service."

"Let me guess, grilled chicken breast, steamed vegetables, no sauce?"

"...Perhaps."

"Damn, you’re so bad." You grab your laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I’m emailing you a list of actual edible foods. And for God’s sake, get some sleep."

"You’re one to talk." His eyes narrow. "When did you last leave the apartment?"

"None of your business."

"The security logs say–"

"Creep!"

You glare at each other through the screen, years of unresolved tension crackling across continents. Roboute breaks first.

"Come to Singapore."

"Why?"

"Because I..." He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically nervous. "...need someone to explain these charts."

You bark a laugh. "Nice try, CEO. Hire a translator."

"You–"

You hang up.

The next morning brings a package, thick cream stationery with your name scrawled in Roboute’s precise handwriting. Inside are two things: a first-class ticket to Singapore, and a photo of the Jellycat storefront with a handwritten note: They have an exclusive corgi.

"Bastard." you whisper, already reaching for your passport.

When Roboute returns unexpectedly three days early, he finds you asleep in his bed wearing his shirt, surrounded by empty coffee cups and books. The Singapore ticket lies crumpled on the nightstand next to your stuffed dragon.

He doesn’t smile. Not exactly. But the way he carefully removes his shoes before sliding into bed beside you, the gentle tug as he pulls the textbook from your limp fingers, the soft sigh as he breathes in the mingled scents of your shampoo and his cologne, that’s its own kind of confession.

You stir, mumbling into his pillow. "M’not lonely..."

"I know." Roboute murmurs, tucking the blanket around you both. "The bed’s just cooler."

"Damn right," you sigh, already drifting back to sleep.

******

Roboute stared at the Singapore skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection in the glass showing a man who absolutely wasn't checking his phone every thirty seconds. The boardroom table behind him lay buried under merger contracts and acquisition reports, all ignored in favor of the blinking security app notification:

[Sweater Activity Alert: Armani Cashmere Blend #4 Moving Through Bedroom]

He swore under his breath. Three weeks away and you'd somehow commandeered his entire wardrobe. The app showed a little sweater icon meandering through the penthouse, kitchen to living room to his bedroom, the same path you'd traced every night since he left.

"Problem, Roboute?" Lorgar asked from the doorway, holding two tumblers of whiskey that would undoubtedly go untouched.

"Nothing." Roboute snapped, flipping his phone facedown. The damned tracker kept updating:

[10:15 PM: Sweater #4 Stationary in Master Bedroom]

He imagined you curled up in his bed wearing that particular sweater, the charcoal one you'd stretched out by using it as a study blanket. The thought made his collar feel too tight.

Lorgar smirked. "Still pretending you're not obsessed with the stray?"

"You're not a stray. She is a tenant."

"A tenant who answers your security questionnaires with 'Fuck off' in Latin?"

Roboute's eye twitched. Your response to his daily safety checks had been... creative. Yesterday's email chain played in his mind:

Roboute: Have you tested the new deadbolts? You: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Roboute: This is serious. There have been break-ins in the neighborhood. You: Send nukes. Will defend sweaters with life. Roboute: That's not funny. You: Who's joking?

He'd ordered an extra security detail that night. Not that he'd ever tell you.

The Singapore deal dragged on through midnight negotiations, Roboute's focus split between hostile takeovers and the tracker app's relentless updates:

[1:47 AM: Sweater #4 Offline]

[2:13 AM: Sweater #4 Detected in Laundry Room]

[3:02 AM: Sweater #4 Returning to Master Bedroom]

His CFO shot him increasingly concerned looks as he checked his phone during a billion-dollar valuation discussion. Let them think he was monitoring stocks. Better than the truth, that he'd developed an unhealthy fixation on a sweater's GPS coordinates.

When Fulgrim's encrypted video popped up at 3:17 AM Singapore time, Roboute answered in the bathroom.

"Brother!" Fulgrim's drunk grin filled the screen. "You'll never guess what your little cat did tonight!"

The camera panned to show you straddling a zip-tied intruder, Roboute's sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder as you waved a cheese knife like Excalibur.

Roboute's coffee cup almost shattered on the marble floor.

"-dislocated his shoulder with a spoon, Roboute! A fucking soup spoon!"

"Put her on" Roboute growled, blood roaring in his ears.

Fulgrim's laugh grated like broken glass. "Oh she’s passed out in your bed now. Such a shame you’re not here to tuck her in-"

The call ended with Roboute's fist in the wall.

Six days later, he stood in the airport lounge watching security footage on loop, your precision as you disabled the intruder, the way you'd positioned yourself between danger and Fulgrim despite being half the assailant's weight. Pride warred with panic in his chest.

His phone buzzed with your latest message:

You: your sweaters still safe don't worry

The cavalier tone made him want to scream. Or book a flight home. Or both.

"Mr. Guilliman?" His assistant hovered by the private jet stairs. "The pilot's ready when you are."

He stared at the Singapore skyline one last time, the deal he'd spent months orchestrating suddenly feeling as substantial as smoke. At least it worked and annoyed Lorgar, he'll tell you about it later. There were more important things at stake now.

Like the fact you'd somehow synced your Spotify to his Bang & Olufsen system and were currently blasting pop music through the penthouse at deafening volumes.

The flight tracker didn't lie:

[2:15 PM: Sweater #4 Airborne Over Pacific Ocean]

Roboute stared at the notification, then at the empty seat beside him. He'd specifically told the chef to pack extra tiramisu.

"Sir?" The flight attendant eyed his death grip on the armrests. "Can I get you anything?"

"A time machine." he muttered. "And a taser."

By hour nine of the flight, he'd compiled a mental list of all the ways this was a terrible idea: Abandoning critical negotiations, Letting personal feelings interfere with business. And potentially walking in on you wearing nothing but his Yale hoodie.

The last point concerned him most.

When the private elevator opened to his penthouse, the scene hit him like a tactical strike, you sprawled across his bed wearing his Sweater, books fanned around you like a halo. The security system chirped a welcome he'd never heard before.

You stirred, squinting at him through sleep-mussed hair. "M'not lonely..."

The lie hung between them, fragrant as your stolen shampoo in his ensuite. Roboute's carefully prepared speech about responsibility and safety dissolved as he took in the coffee rings on his nightstand, the Jellycat dragon judging him from your pillow fort, the Singapore ticket he'd sent now crumpled.

"I know." he said, toeing off his shoes. "The bed's just colder."

You hummed noncommittally as he slid under the covers, the scent of you, citrus and antiseptic and home, obliterating twelve hours of jetlag. When you instinctively curled against his chest, he realized three things in quick succession: You'd replaced his Egyptian cotton sheets with Sanrio flannel. The intruder's bail hearing was tomorrow at 9 AM. And he'd walk through fire before admitting how much he'd missed this.

As your breathing deepened, Roboute allowed himself his lips to your hair. The security app buzzed silently in his pocket:

[Sweater #4: Stationary in Master Bedroom]

Right where it belonged.

#shiyorin's writer #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #wh40crack #romantic stuff in 40k #modern au #lol

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mgu-h · 4 months ago

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What are your top 3 moments of Max and Lando from 2024? A little late, but I’m quite curious lol

Or in general, what are your favorite moments of them of all time?

my chronological study is not yet caught up, so i can't really do 2024 justice, but i've covered a lot of ground from 2013 to early 2023, and there's just so many things that stand out!!! not just moments but like.. idk. whole parts of their lives. i'll check some dates {edit: and add 20 gifs and a video}, but otherwise, off the dome, my favorite moments lmao let's do this:

max's story about seeing lando driving his kart at 9yrs old, the small details about the location and lando's helmet that he remembered, the fondness in his tone of voice as he talked about it, and calling himself a day one fanboy of lando

there's this old old post on max's insta where he's just starting out, with lando commenting on it in a supportive or teasing way... just seeing how long they've been friends, all the footage of them karting, sharing podiums, and goofing off in tiny race suits together, it's not one moment that i love but the pool of shared experiences and competition

jumping forward in time a bit, that time max said that lando had taken care of him after he stopped racing and wasn't sure what to do, it's just important to me that max showed up just playing on lando's twitch first. lando opened up this whole path for him, ultimately hiring him, shaping the trajectory of the rest of his life

there's some deeply notable streaming early on in lando's house, a favorite being the absurd bathrobe tech support, with lando fresh out of the shower and all up in max's personal space. and then idk it's a small detail but there's times where max and lando are wearing the same glasses and i love that

i can't pick a favorite of the quadrant videos filmed in summer and fall 2021, there's so many deeply endearing and iconic moments, like the hot sauce video, the lie detector (big reaction), the pink 'how well do you know' video (max's absurdly fond tone of voice saying "useless" is my first memory of him, from years ago), the outtakes of the part of the elgato video where they kick niran out of their house

there's connor's august twitch stream from holiday with them all tipsy and topless and deeply tanned on a boat. lando hovering around max's back, making max smell his underarm when he complained. it reminds me of pics i saw of lando shirtless in a paddling pool which i assume were taken by max.

the way they were wearing each other's golf shirts on the course in that one fall golf stream, i think it was shortly after sochi. the whole recurring bit with them sharing a wardrobe, the "whose shoes are those?" "whose joggers are those? "whose hoodie is that?" bit, the fact that it kept going even after they moved apart

those key december 2021 streams, the loooong halo stream where chat called max both lando's dog and his wag. just the wild argument they had about max moving to monaco, with max saying lando'd get lonely, offering to be a house husband almost, and 'joking around' like 'he doesn't want me, we're done, etc..

then the sweet sad energy of the last stream in the house, where lando picks a fight about who's better at golf and uses his keyboard clicking to annoy max. for some reason i love this fight the most out of everything, i've listened to it dozens of times probably, i even transcribed it to see what the sentence length looked like before i started writing rpf. it's just like the perfect quintessence of their dynamic.

max showing up on the mclaren tiktok account in lando's hotel room in dubai the next month jan 2022, having gone on the trip with lando and his gf

quadrant leaving a small cardboard cutout of max in lando's office, after lando was a pest while max tried to plan the office remodel surprise for him. then lando using it to tease max, and lying about throwing it out, keeping it around, and still having it in 2025

the infamous and perfect moment in july where max covered up lando's head after the rally car passed by because lando fully didn't do it himself and max either saw that or knew that he wouldn't do it and that he needed to do it for him

lando being a dj on max's twitch, the sleepover vibes, the way they support him in his new hobby and validate him

max's 2022 singapore trip and the incredible tikok where lando answers the hotel door wearing the exact same clothes as max but in inverted colors, where he slaps max very hard on what looked like the inner thigh, where max bites his knuckle with nerves and is proud of lando's p4

[i've got the winter and spring content to go through in detail, i don't really know what happened here]

the march 2023 max twitch stream with lando in the blue hoodie (kitten, max smelling his underarm, lando losing his mind about a memory of max when he was drunk). i'm pretty sure in that stream, max's dad comes in and asks if lando is staying the night, in a way that communicates he's done it a hundred times before and is welcome to do it a hundred more

the april 2023 twitch streams where lando wanders around, laying with bare feet kicked up on the bed, massaging his back (each others' backs, max returns the favor), lint rolling himself. around this time P says on stream that max is lando's boyfriend, she also calls him his slave and labels what they share as an addiction(!!!)

i know they go to motogp together in the summer of this year, i remember the adorable almost kinda matching outfits. there's also that footage of max looking at lando asleep in that egg pod thing from around then too

[i don't really know yet if/what nortrell happened in late 2023]

then like, 2024, i have so much to catch up on, but i was aware of him by the end of the season. obviously the infamous post disaster races had that gentle parenting from max about eating and sleep while playing tarkov, which was lovely, and then the way max defended him at crucial parts of the season and like asked 'where's the backing' and got angry on his behalf was good too.

2025...... so much so far. the "you said my name so I know you're lying." the "stop fucking kissing her max and hurry the fuck up." connor's "his brother and his boyfriend" comment. the fact that i got jumpscared by max streaming from lando's office again. the pushups. watching the super bowl. just so much.

that was more than i expected to remember lmao anyway, nortrell rights

#i love themmm #sources for these are prob all in my nortrell tag #if not please ask and ill try to find it #nortrell #lando norris #max fewtrell

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bangtanhoneys · 1 year ago

Text

BTS WEDDING SERIES: Honeymoon

SEOKJIN - LANDAA GIRAAVARU, MALDIVES

If there had been two things you both had wanted to do, it would have been eating and relaxing with a bit of fishing thrown in for Seokjin and privacy for you. It had been hard enough planning a wedding with a public figure but planning a honeymoon where all eyes would be on you if you even stepped outside your hotel room, it boiled down to the fact that it meant only a private island would do.

Yoongi had stolen the idea from you when it came to his wedding but Seokjin being Seokjin, he had done his research and found an island in the Maldives which was home to the luxury Four Seasons resort where all your needs would be catered for.

It had been an extremely long flight from Seoul and then another long trip from the airport to the actual island itself. By the time you even stepped into your hotel room, all you both wanted to do was sleep.

However, you had two weeks of private beaches, Michelin-starred dining, snorkelling, fishing and enjoying a world-class wellness spa.

“It’s going to be hard to go back to Seoul after this,” Seokjin commented as you both sat outside on the terrace, designed to look like you were in Marrakech rather than the Maldives. There were two more nights before you left the most magical place on earth that would soon disappear due to climate change.

“I know, being wined and dined and looked after for two weeks under the sun with nothing to do other than relax,” you sighed as you dined on traditional Arabic food.

“But back to Seoul as husband and wife though.”

YOONGI - BALI, INDONESIA

When you had sat down with Yoongi, amid all your wedding planning, to discuss the honeymoon there were only a few things he wanted: privacy, a place where the two of you could escape if it all got too much, relaxation and a bit of adventure.

Maldives had been on top of the list but Seokjin had already claimed that (as he helpfully pointed out) but Bali was also another contender. Private villas but still on a resort, waited on hand and foot, but in the traditional setting of Indonesia where you still could go and explore. It would be warm but not too warm.

The presidential villa had been booked within seconds of Yoongi looking at it, with two bedrooms (god knows why but you knew he’d escape into that room if he got too hot), two bathrooms and a huge outdoor lounge with a large heated pool and absolute privacy.

That’s what it had advertised and that’s what you got when you were led to your private village by a member of the resort who unlocked the door for you, handed over the key and left you to it.

“Holy shit,” you whispered as you walked down the steps onto the grass, and admired the pool for a moment but it was the view that took your breath away. Palm trees, jungle, and unbothered trees that swayed in the breeze.

“They even stocked up the mini bar,” Yoongi commented as he joined you on the small lawn, obviously not having seen what had taken your breath away.

“What? What?” he asked, holding up his hands in defence as you excitedly slapped his arm. “Oh.”

The two of you stood there in complete silence, the only sound was the breeze and a bird off in the distance.

“Okay, this was a good choice if I do say so myself.”

HOSEOK - BARCELONA

It had been pretty easy picking a honeymoon destination - you both had wanted a place filled with history, somewhere warm, somewhere you could do a bit of shopping, somewhere that wasn’t Dubai or Hawaii or Paris. Something different.

Which is how you found yourself stepping off the plane to sunny Barcelona, a private car to take you to your fancy hotel in the middle of the city and the keys to your suite in your hand before you could even think that you were actually on your honeymoon.

“Wow, jagiya, come and take a look at this!”

Hobi’s voice distracted you from where you were unpacking your two large suitcases that contained enough clothes for a month (even though you were only here for two weeks). He stood on the balcony and as you joined him, you could see the famous Passeig de Gracia, one of the major avenues in Barcelona and one of the most expensive ones.

“It has everything we wanted to see,” he carried on about the list you two had made before you had left, detailing everything you wanted to see in Barcelona from the art to the history to the architecture to the fashion. It seemed if not all of it, most of it was one this one particular avenue.

“And the beach is a half an hour walk or a 20-minute train ride as well,” you commented after pulling out your phone to check where on the map in Barcelona you actually were.

“Before we do any sightseeing, let’s go and get something to eat. That flight was too long.”

NAMJOON - ROME

Of course, it was easy to plan a honeymoon around Namjoon’s interest. There were so many cities and countries to pick from, whether he had been there or not, and it all came down to one place in the end - Rome. It had the history, the art, the galleries, everything the two of you wanted to see while you were on your two-week honeymoon and if you fancied going to the beach, there was a beach which was an hour away.

He had planned a detailed itinerary for the two weeks and had researched everything from the places you wanted to go, to the hotel, to the food, to even the public transport. If there was one thing he had full control over in any aspect of the wedding planning, the honeymoon had been in his hands.

You just had to look after the passports. You weren’t making that mistake again.

You weren’t sure if it was the time difference, the sound of Rome waking up or the fact that Namjoon had woken you up by walking into the door to the bathroom, but you rolled over in the softest bed you had ever laid in and stretched.

Today would be the first full day in Rome and you had VIP passes for the Vatican, Namjoon pulling his BTS card to make sure you get into all the places that the public could very rarely access. You needed to pack a bag with your ID, wallets, sunglasses, sunscreen, your passes and your phone to take plenty of pictures.

But before all that, you could hear Namjoon’s stomach rumble from the bathroom in time with your own stomach reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since the plane.

“Breakfast?” Namjoon asked, poking his head around the doorway with his toothbrush in his mouth.

“Breakfast,” you sighed as you got out of bed and joined him in the bathroom. “Is it too early to eat gelato?”

JIMIN - CALIFORNIA

How Jimin managed to blag a three-week honeymoon was beyond you. Somehow Jimin managed to pull his charm when he had discussed the details with the rest of the guys as well as the team. But you shouldn’t be surprised when it came to Jimin and his skills, especially when he pulled out the honeymoon of a lifetime out of his bag.

Starting in San Francisco, you’d have three days there to visit the famous sights of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. Driving down the coast would be the Big Sur where you’d spend a day enjoying the beach and the small towns that the coast had to offer before arriving in Los Angeles where Jimin had booked a two-day trip to Disneyland.

After Los Angeles, it would be San Diego and then onto the amazing Joshua Tree National Park and then onto the Sequoia National Park and the Yosemite National Park and finally onto the Napa Valley where Jimin had booked a wine tasting experience for you.

And you’d be back in San Francisco to go back to Seoul and reality.

It sounded amazing as you read through the itinerary again and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment with your husband, who was currently fast asleep in his chair with his legs stretched out. The two of you had a late night of packing, getting the last-minute bits and finalising the trip, it had left with you two with two hours of sleep before your alarm had woken you up to get to the airport.

Tucking the papers away into your bag, you slipped your eye mask over your eyes and made yourself comfortable against Jimin’s chest. You’d have access to Jimin 24/7 as husband and wife, so you’d need all the sleep you could get.

TAEHYUNG - PARIS, FRANCE

The City of Love - glamourised by artists, playwrights, poets and served as the setting for some of the greatest love stories of all time. So it hadn’t come as a surprise when Taehyung had booked a week in Paris for your honeymoon, knowing it had been a city on your bucket list for a long time and Taehyung had never really got to experience it with someone who he loved as much as he did you.

He had planned the week to the detail with visits to Versailles, cocktails at the Hemingway at the Ritz, a private tour of Lourve (because if Beyonce could do it, so you could you) and dinner at some of the most expensive top end restaurants the city had to offer.

There was no need to take any clothes because you’d be spending the first day in Paris buying your wardrobe on his card.

And as you woke up on your second day in Paris, with a wardrobe designed by Celine, and breakfast on the balcony that overlooked the Eiffel Tower and your husband ruffling his fluffy hair as he came out of the bathroom and stumbled through the living area to where you were waiting.

“Happy?” he asked, already pouring the complimentary champagne that came with the breakfast into the crystal glasses.

“We could be in Daegu and I’d still be the happiest person in the world.”

JUNGKOOK - AUSTRALIA

Jungkook wasn’t afraid to admit that he was a bit of a homeboy. While he loved the fact his career allowed him to go to some amazing places such as the United States, United Kingdom, Saudi Arabia, South America and even New Zealand - he loved nothing more than being home in South Korea.

So when it came to figuring out where the two of you wanted to go for your honeymoon, the answer had been in front of you the entire time. Jungkook was known for just going with the flow but needed somewhere with adventure and somewhere where he could flex his photography and videography skills. You, on the other hand, didn’t care where you went or what you did.

A road trip was going to be the answer and after many many many weeks of being indecisive, you finally decided Australia was going to be the place. It took a week of planning the route, booking the campervan and the flights and soon you were flying into Darwin, to start your two-week road trip down the spine of Australia’s outback known as the Explorer’s Way.

“It’s been awhile,” Jungkook commented as he loaded up the campervan with the two suitcases and the bags of food you had bought at the local store near to where you got your campervan.

“At least you only have to share the bed with one person,” You laughed as you closed up the doors and settled into the passenger seat, the rough itinerary the two of you had planned in your lap.

“So where to first? Kakadu National Park wasn’t it?” Jungkook asked, already plugging in the name of the park into the navigation.

“Three hours away,” you said as you got your playlist started.

“Let the honeymoon begin!”

#bts fic #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts wedding fic #bts wedding au #bts wedding series #seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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octuscle · 1 year ago

Note

It’s so bitterly cold here in the Midwest USA, I wish I could be hanging with hunky guys in Dubai or something for Christmas. You think you could help me with that man?

You should have landed at Milwaukee Mitchell International Airport by now. But because of a snowstorm, you were diverted to Chicago O'Hare International Airport. This cursed journey to the holidays is getting worse by the minute. And if you drink another beer to drown your frustration, you're going to puke. But right now you need to take a piss. You find it a little difficult to get up. Firstly, because of the alcohol in your blood. On the other hand, because you've become a real heavyweight since last Christmas. A bit more exercise and less eating and drinking would also do you a lot of good…

The toilet is empty. It's amazing that so many people are stranded here so close to the holidays… And there's a sports bag by the washbasin. And it's still there when you come back from the urinals. Not a soul in sight… Could there be a bomb in there? A normal and sober person would now inform the security service. But you are definitely not sober. So you grab the bag. And in a reasonably quiet corner, you check the contents. Jackpot! Not much special. Sportswear, a white nightgown… And a wallet with quite a lot of cash, a passport from the UAE and above all: a flight ticket to SHJ. No idea what and where that is. But you have to change planes at JFK and DOH. That sounds exotic. It certainly sounds better than Kansas. Boarding starts in 20 minutes. As best you can with your beer belly, you walk towards the gate.

When you arrive at the gate, boarding is almost complete. The ground crew member asks you for your boarding pass and passport. Shit, you didn't even think about the fact that you don't look like your passport photo. The guy looks at your passport, looks at you, grins and wishes you a good flight. As you pass him, you hear him say to his colleague that you've really become a fat pig since the photo was taken. Well, that's probably your luck in this case.

You have a layover of over five hours at JFK. You heard in the in-flight program that the TWA Hotel & Fitness Center at JFK is supposed to be the largest hotel gym in the world. You really need a gym. And you have time too. So you set off. Not much sporting activity is to be expected from you. But after an hour of power walking on the treadmill and half an hour on the cross trainer, your new sports clothes from the bag you found are soaked with sweat. But you feel fit. Really fit. As you stand in front of the mirror after your shower, you run your hands over your stomach. Flat and hard. When you tense your muscles. That's how it should be. And you get rid of the rest of the fat too. It sucks with the beard. You shaved your beard for Thanksgiving. Because you were invited to a friend's parents' house. You didn't want to scare them off with your beard. But now the beard hasn't grown back the way you'd hoped. Your mother will scold you terribly.

You grab a salad and a protein shake at the bar in the gym. You want to sleep on the plane. The food on board is delicious and plentiful, but not good for your body. To make sleeping on board quicker, you put on just a tank top and jogging suit for the flight. It takes you a good twelve hours to reach Doha. You want to use this time to arrive home well-rested.

At boarding, the ground staff greet you in Arabic. Of course. As usual. It's nice to study in the USA. But you don't have to stay with the infidels in winter. You're now looking forward to the warm sun in the Gulf. The person sitting next to you is a non-believer. And obviously not familiar with Qatar Airways' in-flight catering. She has brought a large portion of chicken wings with fries from KFC on board. You almost feel sick. She offers you something. You flex your biceps and say in English with a heavy Arabic accent that you can't get these babies at KFC.

The flight was quiet, apart from the brief interruption during which you fucked the infidel chick in the airplane toilet. You'll have to do without a wet pussy for the next few weeks. Hehehe, but your cousins and your bruhs have tight asses. That works at least as well. You only have just under two hours in Doha before the last flight segment. You quickly go to the airport mosque, do your ablutions and sunset prayers, change into your spotless white dishdasha and board the plane to Sharjah. Over the next few weeks, you are the perfect son again. You will enjoy it. And as soon as the crazy holidays of the infidels are over, you'll be looking forward to fucking, drinking and partying again!

I found the last picture of you before you change to immaculate white at @alphaincar

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #race change #xmas tf

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melanieph321 · 1 year ago

Text

Ruben Dias x Reader - Fake Love Part 1/8

I think this is my best work yet. Y'all don't know what you're in for 😝

Reader is a kindergarten teacher. Nothing more nothing less. But following an accident whistle vacationing in Dubai, she somehow makes her boyfriend believe that she does somthing else for a living, something that earns her way more money than she has. Her boyfriend, Ruben, is just happy to have found someone who understands him so well, someone who doesn't want him for his money since money isn't an issue for neither reader or himself. Or so thinks. Would finding out the truth ruin their newfound relationship? Readers thinks so, and does everything to keep up the lie, although it has some bad people from the Middle East looking for her.

Enjoy!

It all began with a tragic accident. If saving a child from a fire counts as something tragic. No. The tragic part is that it happned on your first week of vacation. First week out of six, meaning you'd spend the rest of that time caring for the burn wound on your thigh. The accident happned in Dubai at the resort that you were staying. The hotel had ended a night with a magnificent firework show for all guests to partake in. However, one malfunctioning rocket sparked flames into the crowd capturing one family in their private tent. Everyone managed to escape except for a young boy. Hearing his cry, you did not hesitate to sprint through the flames, no second thought of what might have happened to you. Those worries came later.

"Mashallah. Bless you woman."

It was strange, being embraced and cared for by strangers. Turns out that the boy you saved was the nephew of a very powerful business man in the Middle East. Both the resort and family thanked you by paying for the rest of your stay, as well as all of your medical bills and any other expenses whilst you were a guest in their country. It did not end there, the family insisted on paying for your flight back home to England, business class of course. And they did not mind for you to make a longer connection in another country. They would pay for your stay there too. That's where your story begins, on a connection flight to Portugal, where you met Ruben.

"Champagne?"

You were on the plane, shifting uncomfortable in your seat, when a flight attendant came down the aisle carrying a trey with two flutes of Champagne.

"Um, we didn't order that?" You said turning to your best friend Alicia. She poked her head out from behind her seat that was more of a private booth. She shrugged, looking equally as confused at the two glasses of Champagne.

The flight attendant smiled, handing each of you a glass anyway. "It's complimentary from Mr Muhammed Siddiq." She said and disappeared with the trey down the aisle.

"Fancy." Alicia said, taking a approving sip of her drink. "So whatever you want he pays for?" She asked, talking about the arrangement that had been made by the family which child you had sacrificed your skin to save.

"Seems like it." You said, although you weren't all that comfortable having a stranger pay for your expenses. Your friend however...

"Sweet." Alicia leaned back in her seat. She pressed the button that would alert another member of the cabin crew, a man this time, dressed in a well tucked suit.

"You called Miss?"

"Yes, can we have a bottle of whatever this is?" She said, raising her glass.

"Alicia." You groaned, slightly embarrassed.

"What? You know I get nervous during long flights. Might as well order a whole bottle of alcohol."

"A bottle it is." The flight attendant nodded. He turned to you. "Anything else for you Miss?"

"Um, no. Thanks."

You waited for him to leave so that you could throw a pillow across the aisle, hitting Alicia in the head.

"Ouch. What was that for?"

"Stop ordering things that we can't afford."

"Maybe WE can't afford it, but Muhammed Siddiq certainly can."

You rolled your eyes.

"Wait until we get to Portugal." She giggled. "They said they got you covered there too, no?"

"Yes, but only for two nights. Until our connection flight back to London."

"Great, enough for us to have some fun."

"Alicia."

"What? You deserve it. Six weeks of our vacation has gone down the drain because you wanted to jump into the flames and save that kid. Now look at you, barley able to sit with all that dressing underneath your skirt."

You tugged at the hemn. Even the draft creeping down your leg was painful to your burns. Alicia noticed the discomfort in your face and leaned forward, grabbing your hand. "You are a hero Y/N. So let's make the best of these two days, you deserve it, even our sponsor Mr Siddiq think so."

You huffed a laugh.

"Now, let's google the most expensive hotels in Lisbon." Alicia pulled up her laptop. You sighed, leaning back in your seat.

"What is there to do in Portugal anyway. Isn't it just ocean and sand, along with perverts in speedos?"

"I dunno." Alicia shrugged, typing away on her computer like the Reddit bully that she was. "Maybe we could book a guided tour around the city."

"I can't walk."

"Right. Rent a car it is."

She typed away, her newfound passion amusing to you. At some point your eyes began to flicker, the last couple of days, catching up to you. Suddenly something blew past your head, grasping the top of it.

"Fuck." Alicia gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"What?" You sat up, looking where Alicia was pointing towards. "What did you do?" You hissed, since she had that guilty expression you knew too well.

"Your pillow." She whispered. "It's over there."

Alicia's aim was apparently terrible. Your pillow had eneded up in the booth next to you. Alicia must have seen you falling a sleep, wanting to hand it to you. The words hand it to you, not occurring to her.

"Should I get it?"

"I'll do it." You sighed. You needed to stretch your legs anyway.

It was a big plane, with two floors and three seating aisles. Being a passenger of the business class forced you to circle the whole second floor to get a view of the booth next to you. It was great way to obtain once privacy, but boy was the walk painful for a first time burn victim.

"Um, excuse me?"

You were in excruciating pain arriving at the booth next to yours and it did not help that the man assigned to it was chatting away with two other guys seated across and beside him.

"Um, excuse me?"

They ignored you, however you were pretty sure that they could see you standing in the middle of their aisle.

"Excuse me?" You said, raising your voice.

The man in the booth next to yours turned his head to meet your eye, but quickly diverge his gaze back to his friends.

"Oh for fuck....I'm looking for a pillow that flew this way. Have you seen it?"

"You mean this pillow?" One of the guys said, the dark skinned one. He held up the pillow in front of him, letting you have it.

"Sorry." You muttered, visibly embarrassed. "My friend can't aim."

"You mean she has perfect aim." The guys laughed, however not the guy in the booth next to yours. He looked mad, mad at you.

"Yeah?" You said unsure.

"Yeah." They nodded. "She hit my friend Ruben here with a perfect headshot."

You turned to the guy next to your booth, the one they called Ruben. "I'm so sorry." You said and really meant it. He however, continued to treat you like thin air.

"Oh come on Dias, don't leave the girl hanging now. Show her some of that Portuguese hospitality. We're not all perverts in speedos."

You flushed as the guys erupted in laughter once more. Of course they had overheard your conversation with Alicia. And of course they were portuguese. The plane was heading to Lisbon for god sakes. Who else had found your comment utterly offensive You turned your head, expecting a old man in his fifties to ambush you, throwing his purple speedos in your face.

"Nah, we're only joking. Right Ruben?"

The guys looked to their friend, who was still looking at you, well not at you, but somewhere below you.

"What happened to your leg?" He asked. Very blunt of him, you thought.

"Now Ruben, just because a girl is wearing a short skirt doesn't mean you get to be unpolite about it. Let's not fuel her impression of us portuguese. " His friends laughter drew the attention of other passengers, making you crumble with the embarrassment.

"No, I wasn't." Ruben stuttered, for the first time looking other than sure of himself. "I wasn't I swear." He reassured you.

"I know." You nodded. "I've burned myself. It was an accident. The dressing is supposed to mend the pain." You said, although the way your legs trembled told him otherwise.

"Is everything alright here?"

It was the flight attendant from earlier. The one having served you and Alicia Champagne. She had a serious expression on her face, a professional one, as if she had just received urgent complaints from other passengers about a disturbance in row sixteen.

"Um, yes everything is okay, I was just about to..." You turned around, the pillow pressed to your chest. You took a few steps down the aisle but hesitated as there was low whipsers behind.

"....You gotta do it it. Can't you see the way she's walking, she's clearly in pain."

"Come on Ruben..."

"No buts, you can sit with her friend."

You turned around, a frown on your face. "Are you guys talking about me?"

"Um, yeah." The guy called Ruben stood. You tilted your head not having realized how tall he actually was. Nor how built he was. His frame took up the whole aisle. Even the flight attendant had to tilt to the side to be visible behind him. "We were saying that the two of you should switch seats."

"Who?" You frowned. To which Ruben threw his friend a deadly glare.

"Me." His friend sighed, gathering his things to make his seat vacant for you.

"Um, what is going on?"

"You're hurt." Ruben said, not hiding the fact that he was staring at the dressing up your thigh." Our seats are better than yours. Here you can lay dow."

It was true, they did have the better seats. Although the leg room of a business class seat was not to be ungrateful for, laying down is really what you needed to elevate your leg, easing the pain.

"Please." Ruben said, gesturing towards the booth next to his. "My friend is more than happy to switch seats with you. Right Fabio?"

His friend did his best to fix a smile, showing off his bleach white teeth. "Gladly." He gritted.

"Okay." You said, not completely sure what you were agreeing to. However the flight attendant mumbled somthing about having to inform her colleagues. Nevertheless she disspeared whilst Ruben and his friends made the necessary room for you.

"No, leave the pillow." Ruben said, snapping at his friend who was still in the process of gathering his things.

"But she has a pillow." He groaned.

"Yes, and now she has two."

Ruben's friend left his seat looking displeased with life. Wait until he was introduced to Alicia, who refused to advocate for grumpy men.

"Please, have a seat." Ruben insisted once everything was cleared. The guys even made the effort to pick up after themselves, although thier mess wouldn't really effect you.

"I'm Ruben, this is Theo."

The three of you went about shaking hands as you sat back in your seat.

"Nice to meet you Ruben..." You were terrible with names, you thought he had introduced his full name. He looked at you slightly baffled, perhaps shocked that you had already forgotten what it was."

"It's Dias." He said, not leaving you hanging.

"Dias. Ruben Dias." You nodded. "Nice to meet you my name is Y/N Y/L/N.

He smiled in a slightly amused way. Nevertheless he let you sit back and relax. The conversation having died out. Only then, back pressed to your plane seat, did you realize that you just shook hands with the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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julkerjpeg · 7 months ago

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Just a terribly drawn Volo in your hotel suite in Dubai

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon volo #volo pokemon #pokemon legends #pokemon legends arceus volo

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batmanwify · 1 month ago

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night in dubai | vinicus jr —————-> (one shoot)

vini jr x reader!fling!

Summary: After a wild night out in Dubai, two strangers—one of them unknowingly Vinicius Jr.—end up in a luxury hotel suite where passion overtakes them. Their connection is intense, fast, and unforgettable. But by morning, neither remembers how they got there or even each other’s names—only the feeling that something powerful happened between them.

disclaimer: smut, drink, curse, Contains strong sexual content

🎶 B.E.D. - Jacquees

The music was loud, the lights too bright, and everything was bathed in that honey-gold Dubai glow. You weren’t sure what pulled you into the VIP lounge of WHITE Dubai, but it was probably the champagne—or maybe the boy with the smile that felt like trouble.

You barely caught his name over the noise, something about “Vini,” but you were already dancing, your bodies moving like they’d known each other for years. He was confident, electric. Hands on your waist, breath on your neck. One more drink, another shared glance, and it all started blurring into heat and hunger.

Next thing you knew, you were laughing in a blacked-out SUV, his arm lazily thrown over your shoulder as the Atlantis rose like a mirage in the distance. You stumbled into his suite like it belonged to you both, the view of the night-drenched sea forgotten as soon as the door slammed shut.

Clothes hit the floor fast. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was teeth and hands and breathless curses. His grip was rough, mouth possessive, your nails dragging down his back like you needed to mark him as real. Everything felt like fire—urgent, wild, messy. Like you’d been waiting your whole life for that moment.

The room was hot.

Not just from the desert air seeping through the wide windows of the Atlantis suite, but from the tangled mess of limbs on the king-size bed. Skin against skin, breath against breath—moans echoing off the marble walls.

His mouth crashed against yours again, tasting like tequila and sin. His body hovered over you, chest slick with sweat, the scent of expensive cologne still clinging to him despite the heat between you. His lips found your throat, biting softly, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“You don’t even know my name,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He smirked against your skin, low and dark. “Don’t need to. I know this.”

One hard thrust. Your back arched. A strangled cry spilled from your mouth. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, hips grinding into yours with a rhythm that felt punishing and perfect.

You clawed at the sheets, legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each time he moved, it was deliberate—possessive. Like he wanted to claim you, not just for the night, but for something longer. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else ever seeing you like this.

His hand slid down, gripping your ass, fingers digging in before delivering a sharp spank that made your body jolt and your moan break into a breathless whimper.

“Vini—”

He paused, eyes locked with yours.

Your breath caught. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours, voice ragged. “Tonight, it is.”

He flipped you over without warning, dragging you to the edge of the bed. You gasped as your chest hit the sheets, his hand pressing into the small of your back as he slid into you again, harder this time. The rhythm was relentless. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just felt—every thrust, every slap of skin, every deep groan that rumbled from his throat.

You felt your orgasm building, a pressure too intense to hold back. He leaned over, lips brushing your ear.

“Come for me.”

You shattered.

Moaning his name—real or not—you collapsed into the sheets as your body convulsed. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up until his grip tightened on your hips and his own rhythm faltered, broken by a deep, guttural groan.

Then silence.

He collapsed beside you, chest heaving, his body slick against yours. You turned toward him, dazed, your fingers brushing his arm. But his eyes were already closed, his breath evening out.

He was out cold.

You stared at the ceiling, the room spinning gently. A laugh escaped you, breathless and stunned.

And then—black.

⸻

Sunlight was brutal.

He woke first.

The sheets were tangled, his mouth dry, head pounding. He sat up slowly, the unfamiliar ceiling above him and the unfamiliar girl beside him making his stomach drop. His heart knocked hard in his chest.

What the hell happened?

He rubbed his temples. The room was a mess—half a bottle of tequila on the nightstand, a heel hanging off the desk chair, your phone buzzing faintly on the floor.

He looked over at you, hair wild on the pillow, mouth parted in your sleep. Gorgeous. But completely unfamiliar.

He didn’t even know your name.

You stirred slightly, frowning as your eyes fluttered open.

“…Where are we?”

His voice was hoarse. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

You both sat in silence for a beat, staring at each other like strangers. Because that’s exactly what you were. Strangers who shared something feral, intense—and completely untraceable.

He reached for his phone, his lock screen lighting up with messages from teammates. That’s when it hit you.

“You’re… You’re Vinicius Jr.?”

He blinked, realization slowly creeping into his expression. He was still shirtless, your scratches on his skin like evidence.

“You didn’t know?”

You laughed. “No idea. I was drunk, not brain-dead.”

He cracked a grin despite the headache, shaking his head. “Well. This is awkward.”

You rolled over, groaning. “That’s one word for it.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The sunlight kept creeping through the curtains, the silence stretching like a question neither of you wanted to answer.

But under it all, there was a tension still simmering—like your bodies remembered what your minds didn’t.

And that memory… wasn’t done with either of you yet.

Your head throbbed with the kind of ache that screamed too much tequila and too many bad decisions. You clung to the sheets, the cool fabric grounding you as you glanced around the room, your pulse quickening.

Clothes were everywhere. Or… what was left of them.

You spotted your dress—what was left of it—hanging half-off the corner of a chair. Torn at the strap, fabric ripped clean down the side like it had been handled without patience. Heat flooded your cheeks as fragments of last night hit you in flashes: the hallway, the elevator, the way his hands had grabbed at the hem like he couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, tightening the sheet around you.

From across the room, Vinicius sat on the edge of the bed, bare back to you, head in his hands. His phone buzzed again on the nightstand, ignored.

You watched the muscles move across his shoulders as he ran his hands through his curls. The scratch marks you left were still red on his skin.

You swallowed hard.

He turned slightly when he noticed your movement, eyes meeting yours in the heavy silence. You couldn’t read his expression—somewhere between confusion and amusement.

“You okay?” he asked, voice still raspy from sleep… or maybe from the night before.

You tried to laugh, but it came out dry. “Define ‘okay.’ My dress is in pieces, I have no idea how I got here, and I just realized I slept with a footballer whose name I didn’t even catch until thirty seconds ago.”

He winced, then gave you a slow, crooked smile. “Yeah… that sounds about right.”

You sat up straighter, one arm holding the sheet in place as you reached for your phone on the floor. Dead. Of course.

“Do you remember anything?” you asked cautiously.

“Bits,” he admitted. “Mostly heat. And your voice. Saying my name like you hated me and wanted me all at once.”

Your stomach did a slow flip. You wanted to throw a pillow at him—or crawl back under the covers.

“God,” you murmured. “This is a nightmare.”

He leaned back, resting on his elbows, eyes raking over you without shame. “Could’ve fooled me. Last night felt more like a dream.”

Your gaze narrowed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He smirked, then looked down, his voice dipping. “Not gonna lie… waking up next to a stranger isn’t my usual vibe. But…” He glanced at you again, softer this time. “You don’t feel like a mistake.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

The room stayed quiet a moment longer—sunlight creeping across the marble floor, the only sound the faint thrum of music still echoing from the beach club far below.

“Guess we should, um… figure out what happens next?” you offered, still clutching the sheet like a shield.

Vinicius gave you a slow nod. “Yeah. Maybe after breakfast. Or…” He paused. “Or we could pretend the night’s not over yet.”

Your heart pounded.

The question hung in the air.

And you weren’t sure which answer scared you more.

You stood, still wrapped in the sheet like a queen in exile, and strutted toward the chair where your ruined dress hung in surrender. You picked it up by two fingers, scoffing at its condition.

“Smooth,” you said, glancing at him over your shoulder. “But no.”

You turned back around, flashing him a smirk as you headed toward the bathroom.

“Gotta go.”

He let out a short laugh—low, surprised, maybe even impressed. “You always leave this fast after rocking someone’s world?”

You paused in the doorway, turning just enough to shoot him a look that could cut glass. “Only when I forget their name.”

Door shut.

And for a few seconds, all he could do was stare at it… wondering why a complete stranger had just made him want to remember her name more than anything else.

He was still lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows, when your voice called out from the bathroom—sharp, frustrated, and way too tempting.

“I need clothes! This dress is completely ruined!”

Vinicius grinned to himself, dragging a hand through his curls. The sound of your voice, even annoyed, lit a fuse under his skin.

“I told you not to wear something I’d wanna rip off,” he called back, voice dripping with that cocky, morning-after swagger.

You opened the door just enough to peek your head out, wrapped in a towel now—bare shoulders glistening slightly from the steam, lips still flushed, a line of annoyance on your face that somehow made you even hotter.

“And I told you I didn’t even know who you were. You think I dressed for you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That makes it even worse. You didn’t even try, and I still lost control.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat between your thighs betrayed you. You weren’t sure if it was the hangover, the adrenaline, or the way his voice sent tingles down your spine—but you were two seconds away from walking back in there.

“I’m serious,” you said. “I can’t walk through the Atlantis lobby in a towel.”

He got up slowly, stretching, his body all lean muscle and golden skin, still marked by your nails. He walked to the closet, opened a drawer, and tossed a black hoodie toward the door.

“Try that on. No pants, though—I like the look of you half-dressed and pissed off.”

You caught the hoodie with a huff, slamming the door shut again. But a smile tugged at your lips.

You pulled it over your head—soft, oversized, and smelling like him—and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Hair messy. Eyes still smudged with last night’s mascara. Hoodie hanging halfway down your thighs.

You looked like a girl who didn’t just survive a storm… you were the storm.

When you stepped back into the room, Vinicius turned—and his smirk dropped just slightly. You could see it in his eyes: he remembered more than he was letting on.

And you weren’t sure who moved first—but the moment your eyes locked again, the air turned molten.

The night may have ended hours ago.

But round two?

That was just beginning.

You stood in the middle of the suite, barefoot, legs bare, drowning in his hoodie—but nothing about you felt small. If anything, you felt charged. Alive. The tension between you and Vini crackled like a live wire.

His eyes swept over you slowly. No smirk now. Just a hunger that felt older than the night before.

You crossed your arms, playing coy, even though the way he was looking at you made your knees a little weak.

“I thought you didn’t remember anything,” you said, voice low.

He stepped closer. Just a few feet away now. His gaze didn’t waver.

“I didn’t,” he said. “But I’m starting to.”

You swallowed.

“And what exactly are you remembering?”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers dragging against your cheek longer than necessary. His touch burned like memory.

“That sound you made,” he whispered. “When I pushed you up against the window. When your breath fogged the glass, and you said my name like it hurt to say it.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You remembered it now—your palms flat against the glass, the city glittering beneath you while his hands gripped your hips like he was trying to claim the skyline through you.

He leaned in, lips barely grazing your jaw.

“Or the way you pulled my chain with your teeth,” he murmured, mouth trailing down to your neck. “Like you wanted to keep a piece of me.”

You didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t.

Because your hands were already on him—fingertips brushing the waistband of his boxers, skin to skin, your body already betraying every bit of common sense.

He walked you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered.

“Definitely,” he said, lips ghosting yours. “Still gonna stop me?”

You shook your head, breathless. “Not a chance.”

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was dangerous—like setting fire to a place you knew you’d have to escape from later.

But for now?

You let it burn.

#real madrid #soccer #hala madrid #jude bellingham #madrid spain #vinicius jr #footballwags #kylian mbappe #aurelien tchouameni #wags #vini jr #hot vini jr #fanfic

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ladyeckland28 · 1 month ago

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The Atlantis Deep

A Backroom terror story by Lady Eckland

Starring @solesofwonder returning as Tara Newman

The first-class cabin of the Emirates flight felt like a gilded cage, insulating Tara Newman from the thirty-thousand-foot drop but not from the plummeting sensation within her own chest. Dubai. City of superlatives, gleaming ambition thrusting skyward from the desert sands. It was Mark’s idea, booked months ago during a fleeting period of optimism before the final, ugly implosion of their relationship. “A new start, T! Sun, sea, ridiculous luxury… just what we need!” He wasn’t wrong about the luxury part, she thought bitterly, accepting a glass of champagne she didn’t want. But the new start was hers alone now, tainted by the acrid tang of betrayal and the hollow echo of slammed doors.

She needed this escape, not for relaxation, but for oblivion. A place so overwhelming, so demanding of the senses, that it might momentarily drown out the internal replays of arguments, the phantom feel of his hand accidentally brushing hers, the sheer, unexpected void he’d left. And the Atlantis Deep hotel, a subaquatic fantasy burrowed beneath the Persian Gulf, promised overwhelm in spades. More importantly, it promised water. Endless, blue, chlorinated water. The one place she usually felt truly herself, truly in control. Usually.

Before the Labyrinth.

That name, unspoken, unbidden, sent a familiar chill down her spine, tightening its grip around her ribs. The memory was a shadow clinging to the edges of her vision, a persistent tinnitus of clicking sounds and guttural hisses just beneath the threshold of hearing. Even now, surrounded by polished service and hushed cabin air, she could almost feel the cold, fungal touch against her skin, the oppressive weight of water in impossibly dark tunnels. Dr. Allen called it PTSD. Tara called it being haunted.

Dubai International Airport was a blur of polished marble, rushing escalators, and disorienting multilingual announcements. The chauffeured transfer to the hotel complex – a sprawling artificial island crowned by a structure resembling Neptune’s fever dream – felt equally unreal. Everything was too bright, too clean, too designed. It lacked the messy authenticity of places that grew organically; instead, it felt like a meticulously rendered simulation.

The hotel lobby was an exercise in aquatic maximalism. Towering columns resembling coral formations reached towards a ceiling inset with shimmering fibre optics mimicking constellations. Waterfalls cascaded down glass walls into turquoise pools where exotic fish darted. The air hummed, not just with the murmur of wealthy guests and the ubiquitous climate control, but with the low, subliminal thrum of massive pumps, the lifeblood of this underwater kingdom. It was breathtaking. And deeply unsettling. The constant, subtle pressure of the water surrounding them, unseen but implied, felt less like luxury and more like a slow, crushing embrace.

"Welcome to Atlantis Deep, Ms. Newman," the receptionist, a vision in crisp white, recited with practiced warmth. Her smile was geometrically perfect. "Your Ocean Serenity suite is prepared. We trust the subaquatic environment will meet your desires for unparalleled tranquility." Behind her, a floor-to-ceiling acrylic panel revealed the hypnotic ballet of sharks and rays gliding through artificially blue water.

Tranquility wasn't high on Tara’s list, but immersion was. "Thank you. Could you direct me to the AquaSanctum pool complex?"

"Certainly, madam. Level Sub-Zero Three. Accessible via the Pearl Elevators. It is… extensive. We recommend consulting the orientation map available on your suite’s interactive console." The receptionist’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Enjoy the depths."

Her suite was an opulent bubble resisting the crushing pressure of the Gulf. One entire wall was the promised window onto the deep, a mesmerizing panorama of carefully arranged coral, anemones swaying in engineered currents, and schools of fish performing for unseen guests. It was beautiful, undeniably. But Tara felt a prickle of claustrophobia. The thick acrylic, the reinforced seals around the edges, the faint vibration from the water pressure – it wasn’t a window, it was the wall of an aquarium, and she was inside.

That night, sleep was fragmented, punctuated by dreams that started in the luxurious suite but inevitably bled into slime-coated tunnels and echoing clicks. She’d wake with a gasp, heart pounding, the serene blue glow from the ocean window feeling menacing, the shadows in the corners of the room seeming too deep, too still. The gentle filtration noises morphed into the sound of something heavy dragging itself just out of sight. Was this healing? Or was she just swapping one set of haunted corridors for another, far more expensive one?

The next morning, driven by a need to reclaim her element, she descended to Sub-Zero Three. The Pearl Elevators whispered downwards, pressure changes popping in her ears. The doors opened onto the AquaSanctum.

It wasn't just a pool complex; it was a subterranean water world. Vast, echoing caverns tiled in shimmering mosaics stretched in every direction, connected by arched tunnels and bridges over canals of gently flowing water. Steam rose from thermal pools nestled in artificial grottos lit by flickering faux-torchlight. A massive lap pool, easily Olympic size, dominated the central cavern, its surface impossibly clear and blue under banks of simulated daylight. Waterfalls fed smaller lagoons, hydro-therapy jets pulsed in hidden alcoves, and glowing signs pointed towards specialized zones: 'Cryo-Plunge Pools', 'Sonar Sound Bath', 'Mineral Maze'.

It was the Mineral Maze tunnels that immediately set her teeth on edge. Branching pathways, dimly lit by coloured spotlights embedded in the rockwork, water infused with different salts and minerals in each section. They twisted away into the complex, promising relaxation, but all Tara saw were the inescapable, branching choices of the Labyrinth. She could almost smell the decay beneath the expensive mineral additives.

She forced herself towards the main lap pool, needing the familiar burn in her muscles, the rhythm of strokes, the straight black line on the pool floor to focus on. She slipped into the cool water, the shock momentarily silencing the internal noise. She swam, pushing herself hard, finding a temporary solace in the physical exertion. Other guests were scattered around – a couple doing slow backstroke, a man meditating on a submerged bench, children splashing cautiously in a shallower lagoon under the watchful eye of a parent. Lifeguards in crisp white uniforms stood at intervals, their postures relaxed, sunglasses hiding their eyes even in the simulated daylight. It felt… normal. Almost.

She spent hours there, swimming, resting, observing. Trying to dissect the unease. Was it just her trauma painting familiar fears onto a new canvas? Or was there something genuinely off about this place? The perfection felt brittle. The staff seemed almost too serene, their smiles uniform, their movements economical. The ambient soundscape – gentle waves, ethereal music – occasionally seemed to glitch, replaced by a split-second of grating static or a low hum that felt deeper, more industrial, than the advertised tranquility.

Later, needing to prove to herself she wasn’t completely ruled by fear, she ventured into one of the Mineral Maze tunnels, choosing one labelled 'Magnesium Meander'. The water was warmer here, silky against her skin. The tunnel was perhaps eight feet wide, the ceiling arched overhead, the lighting a dim purple. It curved gently, the entrance quickly disappearing behind her. The promised ambient music was a low, pulsing drone that vibrated in her bones. It was meant to soothe, but it felt invasive. She swam slowly, nerves stretched taut. Every gurgle of water, every ripple reflecting the purple light, seemed like a prelude to something emerging from the depths. She lasted less than five minutes before the claustrophobia became unbearable, the similarity to the Labyrinth tunnels too acute. She turned and swam rapidly back towards the main cavern, emerging into the bright light with a gasp, feeling foolish but undeniably relieved.

Over the next two days, the feeling of wrongness intensified, coalescing from vague unease into specific, worrying observations. The AquaSanctum seemed less populated each time she visited. Guests she’d seen previously were absent. Conversations overheard in the locker rooms or near the juice bar were hushed, laced with anxiety.

"...fiancé went for a 'Deep Tissue Hydro-Massage' yesterday afternoon. Hasn't seen him since," a woman confided tearfully into her phone near the towel station. "Hotel says he checked out, paid cash. Ridiculous! He wouldn't leave without a word!"

"...swore I saw something in the filtration intake grate near the Cryo-Plunge," a man muttered to his friend, nervously scanning the water. "Long… pale… like a snake, but massive. Pulled back when I looked closer. Lifeguard just laughed it off."

"...third person this week," another voice whispered. "They're hushing it up. Rich folks don't like bad press."

Disappearances. Hushed up by staff. Sightings of something large and pale in the water. It was the Labyrinth all over again, repackaged with five-star amenities and a higher body count. Nausea roiled in Tara’s stomach. Part of her, the sensible part, screamed to get out, to take the first flight back to London, trauma be damned. But another part, the part forged in the terror of the maze, felt a grim, magnetic pull. She couldn't run again. Running hadn't helped before; the nightmares had followed her across continents. Maybe facing it, even vicariously, was the only way through.

That evening, armed with morbid curiosity and a rising sense of dread, she returned to the AquaSanctum. The place was almost deserted. The simulated daylight had dimmed to a dusky twilight setting. The ambient music played, but it sounded distorted, punctuated by faint static hisses. Only one other guest remained – a man treading water nervously in the centre of the vast lap pool, his eyes darting towards the shadowed tunnel entrances.

Several lifeguards were still present, but they stood like statues, eerily still, their faces blank, staring vacantly at the water. Tara approached the one nearest the main entrance, a young woman whose name badge read 'Anja'.

"Excuse me, Anja?" Tara kept her voice low, calm. "Is everything alright? The place feels… empty tonight. And I’ve heard some unsettling rumours."

Anja turned her head slowly, her movements stiff, unnatural. Her eyes were dilated, unfocused. "The AquaSanctum operates at optimal serenity parameters, madam," she recited, her voice monotone, devoid of inflection. "Guest flow fluctuates naturally. All systems are nominal."

"Nominal?" Tara pressed, glancing at the nervous man in the pool. "People are saying guests have gone missing. Vanished."

Anja’s lips stretched into a horrific approximation of a reassuring smile. "Guest privacy is paramount. Unscheduled departures are processed efficiently. We invite you to embrace the tranquility." She turned rigidly back to her vacant contemplation of the pool.

A cold dread washed over Tara. They weren't just hushing it up; they were compromised. Drugged? Hypnotized? Something worse?

The man in the pool caught her eye again, his face pale with terror. He paddled closer to the edge, keeping his voice low. "Get out of here," he hissed urgently. "I saw it properly this time. In the 'Sedative Soak Zone'. Came right out of a drainage duct. Huge. White." He gestured frantically towards a dimly lit tunnel entrance across the cavern. "It took someone. Just… pulled them under. No sound."

Before Tara could process his warning, a low-frequency tremor vibrated through the water, through the very tiles beneath her feet. It wasn't seismic; it felt localized, powerful, like something immense shifting its weight deep within the complex's plumbing. The twilight simulation lights flickered violently, plunging the cavern into momentary darkness before sputtering back to their dim level. The distorted music cut out abruptly, replaced by a piercing electronic shriek that quickly faded into an echoing, profound silence.

From the shadowed mouth of the Sedative Soak Zone tunnel, a sound emerged – a soft, rhythmic, undulating hiss, like escaping steam mixed with the dry rasp of scales over concrete. It slithered through the silence, growing steadily louder.

The nervous man cried out, a thin shriek of terror, scrambling clumsily out of the pool on the opposite side, slipping on the wet tiles as he bolted towards the elevators.

Anja, the lifeguard beside Tara, remained utterly still, facing the pool, seemingly oblivious.

But Tara saw it. Emerging from the designated tunnel, moving with impossible speed and silence, was a coil. Thick as a tree trunk, pale and glistening like dead flesh, scales catching the dim light with a sickening, greasy sheen. It slid across the wet tiles and wrapped itself around Anja's ankles with terrifying gentleness. Anja didn't flinch. Another coil looped around her waist, then her chest, pinning her arms. Still, she stared blankly ahead, a statue being embraced by a nightmare.

Tara’s breath hitched. Fight or flight. This time, flight wasn't an option. Not really. Running meant leaving this horror to fester, meant letting the trauma win. She scanned the area, her swimmer’s spatial awareness kicking in. Main exit blocked by the emerging creature. Elevators too far, and likely compromised. Service access? She remembered seeing maintenance panels near the large filtration units tucked into an alcove behind a decorative cascade – Lap Pool Beta.

She didn’t hesitate. She ran, not away, but parallel to the pool edge, towards the alcove. Behind her, she heard a soft, wet crunch, followed by the heavy splash of something being dragged into the water. She didn't look back.

She reached the alcove, ducking behind the curtain of falling water. Yes – a heavy steel panel, marked with hazard symbols. She wrenched it open – stiff, but not locked. Beyond lay darkness and the roar of machinery. She scrambled inside, pulling the panel almost shut behind her, peering through the crack.

The creature was fully emerged now, its horrifying scale revealed. It was impossibly long, easily sixty, maybe seventy feet, its serpentine body filling a significant portion of the main cavern as it slid into the central pool with barely a ripple. Its skin was a ghastly, translucent white, revealing darker organs pulsing beneath. Down its spine ran a series of undulating, fleshy membranes, like grotesque fins, that glowed with shifting patterns of soft, bioluminescent light – blues, greens, violets – hypnotic and deeply wrong. Its head was disproportionately small, almost vestigial, eyeless, with a distended jaw that unhinged to reveal concentric rings of needle-sharp teeth. It ignored the floating remnants of Anja and submerged, its light patterns fading into the blue depths, heading towards another part of the complex.

Tara leaned back against the cold metal wall of the maintenance tunnel, heart hammering. This wasn't just a monster; it was an apex predator perfectly adapted to this artificial environment, using the tunnels, the pools, the plumbing itself as its hunting ground. And the staff… were they collaborators, victims, or puppets?

The air in the tunnel was thick with the smell of ozone, chemicals, and damp. The roar of the nearby filtration pumps was deafening. Catwalks led off into the darkness over churning tanks and beside massive pipes. This was the hotel's mechanical underbelly, another kind of labyrinth, but potentially, a way out. Or a place to make a stand.

She couldn’t just hide. The creature knew the complex. It would find other guests. It would likely find her eventually. The memory of her helplessness in the original Labyrinth surged, but this time, it mingled with cold fury. She wasn’t unarmed. She had her wits, her strength, her knowledge of water dynamics. And this place… this place had potential weapons.

She moved cautiously along the catwalk, her eyes adjusting to the dim emergency lighting. She passed huge sand filters, UV sterilization units, chemical dosing pumps feeding chlorine and pH regulators into the system. An idea sparked, cold and dangerous. Chlorine. Highly toxic in concentrated form. Could she weaponize the hotel's own systems?

She followed a series of pipes labelled 'Sodium Hypochlorite - DANGER'. They led to a large holding tank and a complex valve system in a secondary pump room. The area hummed with power. Control panels lined one wall. It was risky. Tampering with the system could flood the area with gas, could trigger alarms – if any security systems were still functional and not compromised like the staff. But what choice did she have?

A low hiss echoed from the main filtration tank access tunnel nearby. It was close. Hunting. The bioluminescent glow pulsed faintly, reflecting off the wet walls.

Tara worked quickly, adrenaline lending unnatural clarity. She found the main valve controlling the chlorine feed to the AquaSanctum pools. And beside it, a manual override pump system, likely for emergencies or shock treatments. If she could isolate one of the smaller pools or tunnels near here, and flood it with concentrated chlorine…

She located a schematic diagram on the control panel, dimly lit. Yes – a parallel hydro-jet circuit tunnel looped close to this pump room, with isolation valves accessible from here. If she could lure the creature into that section…

The hissing was louder now, closer. The pale, hypnotic light spilled into the pump room from the access tunnel. Tara scrambled behind a large pump housing, heart pounding. The creature’s small head emerged first, swaying slightly, sensing the air, tasting the chemical tang. Its massive body began to flow into the room, coils filling the space, the pulsing lights casting eerie shadows.

Tara held her breath. She needed to draw it towards the hydro-jet tunnel entrance, further down the catwalk. She dislodged a loose wrench from the top of the pump housing, sending it clattering across the metal grating in that direction.

The creature’s head snapped towards the sound, its eyeless face conveying a chilling predatory focus. It changed direction, flowing silently, scales rasping faintly on the grating, towards the noise, towards the isolated tunnel entrance.

Now.

Tara darted from her hiding place, sprinting towards the valve controls. She slammed the isolation valves shut, trapping the section of the hydro-jet tunnel. Then, she threw the lever on the manual override pump, diverting the concentrated sodium hypochlorite feed directly, solely into that sealed loop. The pump roared, straining under the pressure. Warning lights flashed amber on the control panel.

The creature, realizing it was being diverted or sensing the change in water chemistry, let out an infuriated, gurgling hiss. It turned, its massive body coiling, striking back towards the control panel, towards Tara.

She scrambled back, dodging the snapping, tooth-filled maw. The small head struck the control panel, showering sparks, cracking the displays. The stench of chlorine gas began to fill the air, burning Tara’s eyes and throat. She needed to get out, needed ventilation.

The creature thrashed, caught between the sealed tunnel entrance and Tara, its body reacting to the caustic flood surging into the isolated loop where its tail end was trapped. Its pale skin began to blister and peel where the concentrated chlorine mix touched it. Its bioluminescent membranes flickered erratically, spasming between colours. It roared, a horrifying, wet, choking sound, agony and fury combined.

It lunged at Tara again, ignoring its own dissolving tail, desperate to eliminate the source of its pain. Tara dodged behind another bank of machinery. She saw a large, red button labelled 'Emergency Ventilation – Purge Cycle'. She slammed her hand onto it.

With a tremendous roar, massive fans kicked in overhead. Hatches opened in the ceiling, drawing the increasingly toxic air upwards. The noise was deafening, but breathable air began to circulate.

The creature was weakening, its movements becoming sluggish, spasming. The beautiful, deadly light patterns on its back faded to a dull, uniform grey. Thick, noxious fumes rose from its blistering skin. It tried one last, desperate lunge, but collapsed halfway, its great body shuddering, coils loosening. A final, gurgling sigh escaped its jaws, and it lay still, pale flesh rapidly degrading in the hyper-chlorinated water flooding from the breached tunnel section.

Tara stared, gasping for breath, eyes streaming, throat raw. The monstrous form dissolving before her. Dead. She had killed it.

Exhaustion hit her like a physical blow. She slumped against the vibrating machinery, shaking uncontrollably. She had faced the monster in the water, the echo of her Labyrinth trauma, and she had won.

It took time, navigating the now-silent, hazardously slick service tunnels, avoiding the areas still thick with chlorine fumes, before she found a ladder leading upwards. It emerged, improbably, behind a linen closet on one of the hotel’s guest floors. The plush carpeting, generic hotel art, and hushed quiet felt utterly alien after the roaring pumps and dying monster below.

She walked numbly towards the elevators, ignoring the startled glance of a room service attendant. She didn't know what she would tell the authorities, what they would believe. Disappearances, compromised staff, a seventy-foot bioluminescent snake monster in the hotel’s plumbing, killed with industrial bleach?

But as the elevator ascended smoothly towards the surface, towards the real world, the desert sun, Tara felt something shift within her. The Labyrinth's shadow hadn't vanished entirely – scars like that didn't just disappear. But it no longer felt like an inescapable prison. She had faced the abyss, stared into the eyeless maw, and fought back. She had survived. And this time, she had left the monster dead in the water behind her. It wasn't serenity, not yet. But it was a start. A real one. Forged in chlorine and terror, claimed by her, alone.

#horror stories #horror #the backrooms #monster #scary horror story #scary stories #isolation #dread

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