#luxury reception desk

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[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you were accommodated in such a shabby hotel, the last thing you needed was a power outage. and upon learning about one of your colleagues' fear of the dark, you can't bring yourself to not help him

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, spencer is afraid of the dark and the reader comforts him, they comfort each other tbh, elle&morgan my fav duo, glasses reid obvi.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.7k

𝐚/𝐧: these are my official apologies for all the recent stories 🫶🏼 i wanted it to be so much shorter but i just love writing conversations between characters so that's how it turned out. @mggslover i'm so sorry for not adding spencer falling off the bed but i didn't want to ruin that subtle ending :(( maybe next time

"Please, I’m begging you, I’m really begging you—begging in the name of a god I don’t even believe in. Tell me we’ve got the wrong address," Morgan said, squeezing his eyes shut the moment you all crossed the threshold of the motel where you'd been assigned to stay while working on the case in another state.

You noticed Elle’s expression falter as well. From the outside, the place hadn’t looked that bad. Well, perhaps it only seemed that way because the street it was on was so dark you couldn’t make out much of anything. Midnight must have been approaching; the first day of the investigation was officially over.

“We didn’t get it wrong,” Reid declared, stepping inside as the last of you, quickly scanning the interior. “I memorized it perfectly. Besides, there aren’t any other accommodations in the area, so this has to be it.”

“Do you remember that one case,” Elle started, “where the unsub killed women in hotel rooms and decorated the interiors with their intestines?”

You glanced at her, curious—or as curious as you could be under the circumstances. You’d only joined the team fairly recently; this was your third or fourth case at most, and none of them had been quite that… gruesome. Of course, you were well aware cases like that happened. It was only a matter of time before one came your way. Unfortunately.

“This motel totally looks like the kind of place where something like that happens on a daily basis,” Elle continued. “My advice? Don’t look under the beds tonight. Or in the closets, if there even are any.”

“I just hope there’s hot water,” Derek sighed, his voice carrying a tone of resignation. “We once ended up in a place that didn’t have any. I almost handed in my resignation.”

“You deal with gruesome murders every day, but no hot water is too much for you, Princess?” you raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as you made your way toward the reception desk to pick up your room keys. The motel’s walls were yellow—not the cheerful sunflower or sunny kind of yellow, but more like dried-up cat pee yellow.

“He’s got a point, though,” Elle chimed in, taking the key from an elderly woman at the reception desk. “Think about it. You come back after a long, grueling day, from dawn to midnight, just like today. You’re exhausted, barely standing, and you can’t even take a hot shower.”

Morgan pointed at her and nodded in agreement. You shrugged.

“Cold isn’t that bad,” you muttered. Honestly, you hadn’t expected anything luxurious from the place you’d been sent to. It was just a few days, after all.

“Oh, are you one of those people practicing that millionaire morning routine?” Derek teased. “You know—waking up at three, cold shower, steak for breakfast, daily planning, self-help book…”

I just grew up poor, you thought to yourself, but aloud you only let out a short laugh.

“I’d kill to have time to read a book before work. Any book. Not to be yanked out of bed by Hotch at five, like today, and scrambling to get out the door.”

Elle and Morgan exchanged a very brief look, almost secretive. You narrowed your eyes, suspicion suddenly welling up inside you. Before you could ask about it, someone else spoke up.

“He called me at half past six,” Reid said, tilting his head in mild confusion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the others silencing him with a look.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you stopped in your tracks, demanding an explanation. “He called me half an hour earlier than the rest of you?”

“You live farther away.”

“We’re practically neighbors, Elle Greenaway.”

“I’m about to drop,” Derek suddenly interjected with theatrical exhaustion. A change of subject. A not-so-subtle change of subject. “If I don’t lie down soon, I’ll fall asleep standing up. See you all tomorrow, folks.”

“You’re absolutely right—sleep well.”

With that, he and Elle headed up the stairs to the third floor, where they’d been assigned rooms. You and, as it turned out, Reid were staying on the second floor.

You turned to him slowly, arms crossed over your chest.

You didn’t even need to say anything—your stern gaze alone made it clear you were waiting for an explanation. Reid looked like he was about to throw his hands up in a defensive gesture, clearly regretting that he’d brought up the topic at all.

“Okay,” he sighed nervously. “What I’m about to say is not meant to offend you in any way, not even the slightest…”

“Offend?” you repeated, furrowing your brow. “Jesus Christ, Reid, don’t look at me like that—I’m not about to punch you in the face…”

“It’s just…” he began, a little calmer now. “All of us, including Hotch, I assume, are aware of the fact that, occasionally—just sometimes—you have a slight tendency to…run a bit late to work.”

He looked at you, and a telling silence fell between you.

"Yesterday, you were fourteen and a half minutes late."

"Fifteen minutes doesn't count as being late. And have you heard of a grace period? It's allowed to arrive within that time frame, without any consequences."

"Fine. What about two days ago, twenty-one minutes and seventeen..."

"Metro malfunction. I had no control over that."

"And six days ago, on Tuesday? Twenty-four minutes and..."

"I don’t remember such a situation, because, Mr. Big Brain, not all of us have such a memory. But I assume there was a reason..."

"Alright, fine," Reid interrupted you calmly. "I’m not saying there wasn’t a reason. But still... it happens quite often, and that's a fact. So it’s no surprise that Hotch, when the situation especially calls for it, prefers to call you a little earlier than the rest. Just out of caution."

You sighed, no longer able to argue about it. Maybe he was right; you did sometimes lose track of time in the mornings or fail to wake up to the sound of your alarm, closing your eyes for an extra five minutes... which resulted in small delays. You had never been directly reprimanded for it, so you were unaware that it had become such a big issue. Slightly embarrassed, you pressed your lips together.

"As usual, I guess you're right. And by the way, I’m heading to my room. I had thirty minutes less sleep than all of you, I’m exhausted," you said in a lighter, joking tone. A brief smile crossed Reid’s face. "Good night, wise guy.”

"Good night. And don’t look under the bed."

"Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it!"

With those words, you both disappeared into rooms directly opposite each other. The sounds of doors closing synchronized. You started your usual evening routine, placing your suitcase in the corner of the room. It was really small, narrow, and rectangular. The walls had that same awful color, the light was too bright, causing a headache. So you decided to just turn on the night lamp on the shabby nightstand next to the single bed.

It turned out that the only bathroom was in the hallway. You almost cried; you didn't want to take all your things with you and then come back with them. You remembered that you'd taken a proper shower that morning, so maybe a repeat wasn’t absolutely necessary. You were too sleepy for it, so you just set the alarm for fifteen minutes earlier to do it in the morning. After changing into comfortable clothes, you immediately lay down on the bed. Following Elle’s advice, and then Reid’s too, you didn’t check what might be hiding under it.

You weren’t hiding it, you were a terrible sleeper. Falling asleep in new places usually wasn’t a problem for you, even if it was a place that looked like a dive where someone could stab you in your sleep. But that night, something was bothering you. After giving it some thought, you realized it was Reid’s words.

Of course, it wasn’t that you held it against him. He was just stating facts; he had no intention of offending you, as he assured. And you didn’t even feel offended. More like unpleasantly confronted with a certain fact. You had only been part of the BAU for a short time. Well, just a week ago Derek stopped calling you the new girl. Although on the outside, you came across as very confident, on the inside, you were preoccupied with the team’s opinion of you and what they might think about you. Mainly because they were all older and more experienced.

You were especially worried about the fact that your tardiness and chaos had drawn the boss’s attention. Being on good terms with your superior was incredibly important, in case something ever happened, in case you made a more serious mistake…those small things could influence how the rest of your career would unfold, and the decisions made about you.

But above all, you wanted everyone to like you. Simply like you. So you wouldn’t walk around every day with your heart in your throat, praying for the day to end, constantly overwhelmed by a sense of misfit and loneliness.

You turned to your side, not sure how long you had been lying there, thinking. Suddenly, you realized you had to pee.

With great reluctance and sleepiness, you reached for the bedside lamp to turn it on and go to the bathroom. However, when you tugged at the cord, it... didn’t turn on. The room remained shrouded in darkness. You tried once more, then blindly made your way to the light switch in the room. You pressed it, and nothing.

What was going on, a power outage?

You shook your head in confusion. Whatever was going on, it didn’t change the fact that you had to go to the bathroom. You remembered the flashlight in your jacket pocket, and in the darkness, it took you a while to find it. When you finally had it in your hand, you felt ready to complete the mission. To pee, that is.

The moment you stepped out into the hallway, a light source flared up right before your eyes. You let out a muffled exclamation, partly from surprise, partly from being almost blinded.

“Damn, sorry…” Reid hissed, equally confused, turning his flashlight downward, away from your face.

You rubbed your eyelids, turning off your flashlight. Two light sources were unnecessary.

“Is there no power for you too?” you asked.

Reid nodded. It was only then that you really looked at him—he was wearing very loose pajama pants and...

“Cute,” you clicked your tongue, pointing at his white sweater with a bear wearing glasses. He had them too, worn very low on his nose. He must have put them on absentmindedly, in the dark, right after getting out of bed.

“I got it from Penelope for my birthday,” he said in a tone as if he were giving a statement. His hand briefly touched the fabric, right at the center of the brown bear’s face. “It’s really comfortable and soft. Perfect for sleeping...Anyway, I was heading to the reception to find out what the issue is and whether anything can be done about it. You too?”

"No, I just really need to pee. Do you really want to go there at this hour?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I mean, outages happen, and they'll have to fix it, but it's the middle of the night. We don't really need the lights right now, and if you want to go to the bathroom, you have a flashlight, as I can see."

You kept your gaze on him, realizing that since he noticed the lack of light, he must have been either heading somewhere himself or keeping the light on. Or maybe he had been sleeping with the light on. He did seem a bit tense. One of his hands was still resting on the half-open door, nervously gripping it. The other was pressed tightly to his body, his chest rising in an odd rhythm. Not a quickened pace, like with a panic attack, but more unnatural, like he was trying to control it.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" the question slipped out of you directly. After a moment, you realized it might have been a little too blunt. You had asked it carelessly, suspecting there might be another reason behind his behavior. For some reason, fear of the dark didn’t seem to fit his rational character.

Reid quickly shook his head, firmly denying it.

"No. No, of course not. I was just... reading when the light went out."

Oh, you didn’t even need to be a profiler to see right away that he was lying. You crossed your arms, a little amused by how stubbornly he was denying it.

"You were reading? At this hour? When we’re back to the investigation first thing tomorrow morning?"

He shrugged, shaking his head again.

"I couldn’t sleep."

You sighed. In the end, neither his fear nor his shame were your concern, so you didn’t see the point in interrogating him any further. You signaled that you were dropping the subject, and some expression passed across his face. Gratitude. Gratitude for not pushing the issue or mocking him. You felt a bit offended that he had even thought you might do that.

“If you still plan on going to the reception, wait for me, I’ll go with you. I just need to quickly stop by the bathroom.”

Reid opened his mouth, clearly surprised by your suggestion.

“Well, what?” you replied with a shrug. “I can’t let something eat you on the way. A demonic hand emerging from the darkness…”

“Very funny,” he commented, rolling his eyes. However, the corner of his mouth twitched, and his breathing seemed calmer.

“…The ghost of Richard Ramirez haunting the walls of this hotel. Or some other bloodthirsty maniac.“

"Didn't you really have to pee badly?"

"The team wouldn’t recover from losing you, Reid!" You threw that line over your shoulder as you walked toward the bathroom.

Of course, there was no light there either, so you had to use your flashlight. He was waiting for you, and together, in silence, you headed down the stairs toward the reception. Given how small the motel was, it wasn’t open 24/7. You had to wait a while before someone came to assist you.

“That happens sometimes,” the employee shrugged. “We’re not sure where the problem is exactly, but someone’s supposed to come check it out tomorrow…”

“Can’t anything be done about it now?” Reid asked, a trace of frustration in his voice that he was trying to mask—especially when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Maybe it’s just a simple overload? Where are the fuse boxes…?”

“Reid,” you said gently, placing a hand on his elbow to draw his full attention. He turned his head toward you, surprised by the tone of your voice. You gave the employee a discreet signal that you didn’t have any further questions and he could leave.

“You’re not fixing the electricity in some rundown motel. That would just be… ridiculous.”

“I’m not talking about fixing it,” he clarified quickly, though it was clear he hadn’t let go of the idea. “But in most cases, it’s just a simple short circuit. I could just take a look—”

“—Or you could just sleep in my room.”

The words left your mouth, surprising not only him but also yourself. Yet, it wasn’t as though you regretted them or wanted to take back the offer. On the contrary, the moment you said it out loud, it felt even more fitting. When you were a little kid—like most children, probably—you’d also been afraid of the dark, and running to someone else’s room always helped. Curling up beside someone, just knowing someone was there, made all the difference.

You watched his reaction, the way he shook his head slightly from side to side, a small frown creasing his forehead.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. Come on.” You grabbed him by the wrist—the hand not holding the flashlight—and pulled him along. He moved hesitantly, but he seemed too caught off guard to plant his feet and stay put.

He stopped only when you reached the door to your room, pulling his hand free from your grasp.

"How do you even imagine this working? There's... there's only one bed in there."

"If that bothers you, grab the mattress and some bedding from your room. You’ll hardly notice the difference—those beds are unbearably uncomfortable anyway."

He lowered the flashlight slightly, letting the surrounding darkness of the hallway creep over his face. It was barely visible now, but the hesitation etched on it was unmistakable. Standing across from him, you held his gaze without saying a word, silently reinforcing the fact that you weren’t joking.

The thought of him struggling to fall asleep for the rest of the night and then suffering through another day made you feel genuinely sorry for him. Besides, even though you hadn’t known each other long, you already considered him a sort of friend. If there was anything you could do to help, you wanted to do it.

"It's no big deal, Spencer," you reassured him one last time, hoping the words would finally sink in. "Really. And if you want... we don't ever have to talk about this again. Tomorrow, or ever."

His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath.

"Th-thank you," he said at last, cautiously, as though he'd packed so many thoughts into the single word that saying it out loud was an effort.

You smiled gently and understandingly. Before stepping into the room, you briefly placed a hand on his arm.

"Oh God, that sweater really is soft..."

He let out a short laugh, perhaps releasing a bit of the embarrassment he’d been holding back. You both disappeared into your respective rooms, and you lay down in bed, waiting for him to show up. Well, the moment dragged on a little too long.

You were almost certain he’d only agreed to your suggestion to get you off his back and had no intention of actually following through. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you debated whether to go to his room and drag him over or just let it go. They say you shouldn’t force help on others. Maybe there was some truth to that.

Shortly after that thought, your door creaked open slowly. You heard it but couldn’t see much—the room was too dark, and he wasn’t using his flashlight. Perhaps he assumed you were already asleep and didn’t want to risk waking you.

Either way, he moved around your bed to lay down a pillow and blanket on the floor, skipping the effort of hauling over an entire mattress. 

"Your back is going to hurt," you remarked softly, your voice adjusting to the rhythm of the night, blending with the surrounding darkness.

You lay on your side, facing the spot where he had set up his makeshift bed. All you could see was the outline of his figure, his hands clasped loosely over his stomach, head resting on the pillow. You even caught the slight shrug of his shoulders in response to your comment.

"Actually, sleeping on the floor can have health benefits. It helps maintain a neutral spine position," he replied.

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “Do you really have to come up with a counterargument for everything I say?”

“Such a curse of mine. If you don’t like it, well, you invited me here.”

“Annoying bastard. I guess it’s too late to kick you out?” you wondered aloud, of course, rhetorically. But you quickly added, worried that he might take it seriously, “Sleep well. You and your spine.”

An amused sigh escaped him.

 “You… and your spine too.”

Well, you guessed that's enough of the chit-chat. You felt a bit disappointed, but you had brought him here for a reason. To let him sleep, not to entertain you with conversation. To your surprise, you didn’t feel sleepy, even though you had struggled with it earlier. You had been thinking about... hard to even pinpoint what, there were a few things. The little worries typical of the night, suddenly growing to some huge proportions.

You were still lying in the same position, some time had passed. Your cheek was almost touching the edge of the bed, on the same side where Reid slept. Well, actually, he wasn’t sleeping. You could see a faint, barely noticeable gleam of his open eyes. They were cast downward, trying not to stare into the empty blackness above his head.

“Have you always been afraid of the dark?” you decided to ask, with no sarcasm.

“I’m not afraid,” he replied, though he could always pretend to be asleep. But the answer came out automatically.

“Alright, brave guy.” You didn’t even scoff, you just said it calmly and accepting. Maybe later he’ll tell you, when he stops being so embarrassed about it. “So, I guess you came here to get to know me better. And you know, I think you’ve got the chance. Could you... could you tell me something? Just honestly?”

"Me?" he asked, surprised, even sitting up slightly. "I mean... sure. But what?"

You suddenly sighed, regretting even bringing up the topic. God, that was so stupid...

"Just remember, honestly. Do you think the rest of the team likes me?"

Reid was silent, a strange feeling gathered in your stomach. Instead of answering negatively, he propped himself up on both elbows, and you saw a slight movement of his head. A nod.

"Are you asking this completely seriously?"

You shrugged, not sure if he noticed, so you confirmed out loud in a slightly hoarse voice. And then, to your absolute surprise, he just laughed.

"I don’t get it," he confessed after a short moment during which you stared in silence at his silhouette. "How... how could you think it could be any different? You’re always joking with Derek and Elle, and... we get along well too, I hope..."

"You’re right. But... but that’s not what I meant, I just... ugh, seriously, I can’t explain it. Fine, you know what, never mind."

You turned onto your back, as if that would completely sever the conversation. The one you’d stupidly started. You hoped he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Another stupid thought, after all, he wasn’t like that.

Silence again, broken only by breaths. A new sound joined them, a slight rustle of the sheets. When Reid spoke again, his voice sounded somehow higher, and you were sure he was sitting on the floor as he said it.

"It might be a little surprising, but when I was a kid, I wasn't afraid of the dark," he began, completely changing the tone of his voice. He wasn't surprised like before; it was lower, gentler, despite the topic he was addressing. "I mean, I wasn't afraid of it more than any other kid my age. That... that serious fear, the real fear, started later. I don't want to say it was when I started working for the BAU because that wouldn't be entirely true. But it was around the time I started taking everything seriously. Seeing it with my own eyes, every day."

You didn't even realize when you had turned back onto your side, just to look at him, listening to his words.

"Do you have nightmares?" you asked.

"Sometimes. Actually..." he sighed, swallowing. "All of it, the fear and the nightmares, it's like they don't exist when I'm in a place I know. A place I trust. I can sleep just fine with the lights off in my apartment, the same in a jet. Everything starts in places like this. “

There was silence from your side, and you felt a bit… touched that he decided to tell you this. No beating around the bush, no lying, and, most importantly, no overwhelming embarrassment. It was a normal topic after all; everyone has their fears.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you have nightmares?"

In the first few days after starting the job, you did. Then they stopped. That’s just how things go, you suppose.

"Not anymore," you admitted, letting out a small laugh. "But that doesn’t mean I sleep well. Now I just worry at night."

"About whether the team likes you?"

"Okay, I know it sounds childish, but it’s really been bothering me lately. They might… they might seem to like me, but deep down, they might not think that highly of me. I… I'm new, not that experienced, I’m always late, and I don’t think I’m bringing anything new to the table..."

"Of course, you’re bringing something," he interrupted you. You hadn’t noticed when, but you were both sitting up now. Your voices weren’t sleepy whispers anymore, you were having a real conversation. "Each of us brings something different, something characteristic of ourselves. That's how it works in a team. That’s why you’re here. Without you… okay, you might not know this, but since you’ve been here, these last four cases have gone much more smoothly."

"Do you really think so?" 

"Well, you asked me to be honest. Completely honest."

You've always had a bit of imposter syndrome, doubting your abilities, and approaching others' positive comments about you or your achievements with skepticism. 

Something in the way he spoke, his quick words, his engagement in them... made you believe him, somehow.

"Reid," you began, surprised to find that there was less weight in your chest, in your body. "I know, I just know, that you'll refuse, but still, I'll ask. Do you want to lie down with me?"

You didn't even know what exactly prompted the question. Caring about your back, you could answer. But was that really all it was?

For a moment, he was silent, thinking you were joking, but when it dawned on him that you weren't, he scoffed.

"Well, you were right, I'll refuse..."

"Sorry, but I doubt you'll fall asleep any other way. I was watching you, as creepy as that sounds. You were lying there with your eyes open, you were scared."

"I'm an adult man who's afraid of the dark. That's pathetic on its own, without being tucked to sleep by a coworker."

"I never mentioned anything about tucking you in."

He hesitated, embarrassed. 

"You took the least important part of my statement..."

"I took what I wanted. The rest is nonsense. Your age doesn't determine what you can or can't be afraid of. I'm a grown woman, and I'm afraid my colleagues don't like me. Which sounds more pathetic, huh? Fear of the dark or that?"

“I think it’s a point we could argue about for hours.”

“Which we don’t have. It’s late, we should go to sleep. Quick question, are you lying down with me, or are you fooling yourself into thinking you’ll fall asleep without it?”

A heavy, resigned sigh escaped him. Without adding anything else to his words, you turned onto your side, your back to him. You heard the rustling of the sheets, and for a moment, you froze, surprised. But no, he hadn’t joined you. 

You weren’t sure how you felt. Disappointed seemed like too strong a word. It wasn’t as though he had refused some incredibly important request of yours. It was just… perhaps the best explanation would be that, once you had convinced him to sleep in the same room for the sake of helping him, you wanted him to take something comforting from that night. You wanted it to be one of those good nights, like the ones he had in his apartment or in the jet, the ones he had mentioned. Not one of the others, filled with fear.

But then, the mattress beside you dipped, as someone else settled onto it.

You turned to the other side, and suddenly your faces were right across from each other. Reid swallowed, almost nervously. He seemed to be adjusting to the situation, to the sudden closeness, the small space you shared. You propped your hand under your head, observing him discreetly. It hit you that he always had a bit of an issue with contact with others. A doubt crossed your mind: had you made him uncomfortable?

Minutes passed, though, and his body seemed to sink more comfortably into the bed. His arms were no longer stiff, his hands resting freely, no longer clasped tightly across his chest. You could also hear his breath, and the more peaceful it became, the calmer you felt too.

And even though no words seemed necessary anymore, he decided to speak once again.

"Thank you."

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[fukcnoplease]

Danny is done. He is tired. He is dead. He deserves a sweet treat and to hibernate under fifteen weighted blankets for nine years.

Instead he is standing in the Gotham City cross country bus station with a dead phone and no sweet treats. He had had the misfortune of having avid ghost hunters as parents, who had demanded he help them with their latest invention instead of joining his friends on a fancy bus hired by Casper High to take them on a multiday, multicollege trip. Apparently they had made an agreement with the school that as long as he met the school trip in one of the cities and still paid for the whole trip, he could still take part and at least catch the school bus home.

Of course, exhausted after helping his parents, catching up on homework, and taking out some ghosts Danny ended up falling asleep on his bus. Now he was standing alone, cold, half-dead, in Gotham City’s main bus center with a dufflebag of clothes and backpack of ghost supplies his parents forced on him.

The school trip was, thankfully, passing through Gotham as one of the universities but they had multiple cities to hit before they got to Gotham. According to the itinerary it would take at least five days for them to hit Gotham and even then theyd be arriving late in the evening.

Danny had to find a place to stay for five nights and something to do for five days. Thankfully, Gotham city is seeped in ectoplasm which means its full of ghosts. Ghost who are more than happy to help a lost boy find a place to stay.

Danny chats with some ghosts, being pointed this way and that before he finds a nice old man dress in a fine suit with an unfortunate gunshot wound to his chest. The man offers to lead Danny to an excellent and cheap place to stay and Danny… is too tired to care honestly. He follows the ghost across the city, hails a taxi, repeats the address the ghost gives him, missing the taxi drivers shocked stare, and falls asleep in the taxi.

He is woken up by gentle taps on the glass by an older looking man and gives a half asleep mumbled thanks to the taxi driver as the old man takes his bags inside. Even in his tired state Danny has the sense to offer to carry his own bags but is politely and sternly refused by a british accent which is enough to wake him up.

Standing in the entrance way of a luxury… hotel? It doesnt seem to have a reception, though, and the decorations feel far to personalized. He glances around to find the helpful ghost staring wistfully at one of the larger portraits. A family of three, a beautiful woman with shoulder length dark curls, a young boy with dark hair and a bright smile, and the face of the kindly ghost.

The butler(?!) calls for Danny to keep up and he rushes to catch up, more out of instinct than sense. The ghost wanders casually after them, pausing to admire artwork every now and again.

The butler drops Danny’s bags in what seems to be a guest room, or maybe this really was just an incredibly fancy hotel, the room had its own ensuite, desk, and empty closet and chest of drawers. Honestly Danny couldnt even hazard a guess anymore.

The butler(manager?) informed him that breakfast was at 8 am sharp every morning and dinner was 6 pm sharp every evening. Danny gave a dazed nod which was apparently all the older man needed before he vanished back into the hallway. Almost as quickly as the ghost did after giving Danny one last cheeky grin.

Queue Danny being weirdly introduced to the Batfam and doing his best to avoid the adoption papers at all costs while also trying NOT to be eldritch and strange around this also eldritch and strange family.

[artsninspo]

❄️ SNOWED IN SEDUCTION - RIO X READER

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: ̗̀➛ rio's library - good girl nbc

𐙚 based on this prompt

summary: a whirlwind fic about two strangers stuck on a resort because of a snow storm on christmas eve. starring rio, an enigmatic and mysterious investor.

warnings: this one's messy, with language and its spicy. 🌶️ 🌪️

pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

word-count: 2.1K

You let out a frustrated groan, putting your head in your hands as you tried to figure out how this had come to pass.

It had started with the snowstorm. The announcement over the hotel’s PA system had grounded you, along with dozens of other travelers, in the luxurious mountain resort. A work trip gone rogue, the only reason you were in attendance was that you had volunteered to ensure one of your colleagues didn't miss the lead-up to Christmas with their young children. But the snow had blown in, ruining your plans for Christmas Day. The frustration of missing Christmas with your family was palpable, but you’d resigned yourself to making the best of it.

Then there was Rio.

The man had appeared at the reception desk, his presence commanding and effortlessly magnetic. You noticed him immediately—the neck tattoo, the scruffy facial hair, the way his black cashmere sweater and dark jeans fit him as though they were made custom. He was a contradiction: rugged and refined, approachable yet untouchable. And when he’d turned his attention to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that made your pulse quicken, it was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

It was one of those magnetic moments people reference in songs and the rising action of movie plots. When two people look at each other and just know. That’s what it was like—exactly like that. One look communicated mutual attraction in an instant.

Instead of moving hastily or getting bent out of shape, Rio maintained his resolve, moving slowly, commanding time, and insisting the receptionists see to your needs first. It seemed like an innuendo and acted as an aphrodisiac to what would follow. In an attempt to make lemonade out of lemons, the hotel threw a party for its guests. You were in bed on the phone with your sisters when your invitation and a clothing rack of dresses arrived. It was your first note from him.

Hope to see you there. Champagne is on me.- Rio

A quick internet search made it clear the man had money. The bottle alone was worth between thirty to fifty grand. The dresses were all five figures too. How he’d managed to find something to fit your frame so perfectly was beyond your comprehension. Feeling sexy, sultry, and encouraged by the expensive gifts and your sisters' prodding, you were excited to see him again, going against your sensible side. The allure of Rio’s charm proved too strong to resist.

The party had been a haze of champagne and laughter, the two of you moving seamlessly between conversations, dances, and stolen moments that left your skin tingling. Rio had been attentive, his hand at the small of your back, his deep voice whispering in your ear. There was a chemistry between you that felt almost dangerous or maybe it was simply something about him that signaled danger.

When the party ended, he’d walked you back to the Skyloft suite. His kiss had been the beginning of the unraveling—a heady mix of dominance and desire that left you breathless. What followed was a night unlike any you’d ever experienced. Rio was commanding yet patient, his every touch deliberate, his every whispered word a promise of pleasure. He took control, unraveling you piece by piece until there was nothing left but raw vulnerability and euphoria.

He slipped inside, filling you slowly until he fit like a glove. Leaving your breath bated as your body gets used to the stimulation. Dark eyes look down at you under thick lashes. His thumb pressed firmly against your spot forcing your eyes close in a satisfied moan. His lips part yours not allowing for any reprieve and his hips find a rhythm that drives you wild. Tears bead in the corners of your eyes as he goes harder, his hips go faster and his kiss is more feverish. His thrusts are punishing, but his dominance and size makes you crazy for him. Your mouth opens, breaking the kiss in a bid to get air. You’re overstimulated and delirious. It feels so good there’s no room for anything else. Rio looks down at you enjoying the effect and impact of his physicality. The slapping of skin, the heat from your body, the slickness of your pleasure mixed in with his. The chemistry between the two of you is so raw it’s stripped both of you bare, leaving nothing there but an instinctive need for pleasure. He’d seen the doubt in your expression. Men with his bank account often slacked in bed, not him, not with pussy this good. The image of you writhing in pleasure under him keeps him creative in his approach to the fucking and hard as a rock. Wanting to see your pretty eyes again he roots himself deep inside of you. The groan you let out is coupled with a climax and your eyes go to him again. It’s number two in what seems like no time at all.

“If you want me to keep fucking you like a whore act like one and look at me. Watch me while I’m fucking you. Take this dick like a good girl” his words added to the sensation, it feels so good you need a moment and you pull him into another kiss. He kissed you soft and seductive, slowly drawing the freak out of you as replaces his manhood with his fingers, a cheap imitation of what he’s capable of.

“I know your game” he whispered against your lips but you’ve never been fucked like this - ever. Looking up at him he seems like the perfect pleasure dealer. Looking between his legs you find reassurance at how his impressive size stands at attention

.

“You’re defying gravity for me” you commented with eyes that waited to be granted permission to touch him.

“Nah” Rio smiled, his ego too strong to let you be his undoing. He watched your eyes sparkle at the realization of his  objection and smiles when instead of challenging him you find yourself on all fours grabbing him full control. He admires your arch.

“Pick the hole” he said, making your body ache for him. Who even says shit like that?! Reaching back you slide him into your center. Rio hums at the contact enjoying being inside you as much as you enjoy him nestled there too. The angle was everything, giving you the privacy to close your eyes while taking him in peace as he finds your depths testing your limits. The chorus of moans make Rio feel like the old him before the money. It was clear now how much other women put on a facade. The lazy fucking he gave them had them carrying on in ways that didn’t make sense now that he could feel a real unbridled reaction from you. The way your core clenches his manhood before you moan, how your hands go to massage areas being overstimulated, how every time he went to grab your breasts your nipples were pebbled for him. That kind of reaction was all instinct, something that couldn't be faked and it filled Rio with pride. The way you felt to him and how he was making you feel had to be some kind of christmas magic.

He could get lost in you easily, losing his focus on his work and dropping the ball. Your shit was good enough to turn him into a trick or a fiend. The onset of his orgasm is violent and unfamiliar. Warm thick streams float into you for the first time and the sensation drives you wild. Your breaths are rugged as he stays rooted in you. The moment is intimate and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced with anyone else, ever. You couldn't have dreamed up a better session, as exhaustion flows in so does a well earned afterglow. Rio stays hard even after he’s caught his breath. Sliding out he rests against the pillows. Your cheeks burn as he looks over at you unable to fathom that this is real as he watches his seed leak out of you. Your brain doesn’t even click into survival mode from the post coital bliss.

“Tell me what I taste like” he says clearly with some power to override your common sense. Slight bitterness and exhaustion stopped you from complying.

“I’d know if you let me suck it” you respond instead of tasting him from your own body and he smiles. Looking between your legs and getting up. Rio returns with a warm rag wiping you clean. The aftercare surprises you. He slipps on a pair of pants and you feel your heart fall, but he takes the robe hanging in the bathroom and places it over your body.

You can still feel the heat of his touch as if it were imprinted on your skin. The way his lips had moved against yours, his hands firm yet gentle, made you shiver even now. He had been attentive in a way you hadn’t expected, making you feel seen, desired, and utterly consumed. You had lost track of time entirely, the hours blending into one long, intoxicating blur of intimacy and passion.

Now, in the bright light of Christmas morning, the reality of it all hit you like a gust of icy wind. Rio was gone, his presence lingering only in the faint scent of his cologne and the ghost of his touch. The knock on the door earlier had shattered your reverie—two men in dark suits presenting an NDA with clinical efficiency. You’d signed it without hesitation, using the alias you always employed for work. Only then had they confirmed his full name: Rio Montana.

Investor. Enigma. And now, a ghost in your memory.

The exchange had been cold, transactional. One of the men had placed a card and a banking printout on the table alongside the money. The other had stood silently, his expression unreadable. "The additional fifty thousand can be accessed following the instructions on this card," the man had said, his voice devoid of warmth. The automation of it all had made you feel small, like an afterthought in a world of power and wealth.

You glanced at the money again, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. What did it mean? Compensation? A parting gift? A bribe to ensure your silence? The thought made your stomach churn, but another part of you, the pragmatic side, couldn’t deny the practical appeal. A hundred thousand dollars could change your life. It could pay off debts, fund dreams, or simply buy you freedom from the grind you’d been stuck in.

But at what cost?

The drive to the airport was quiet, the snowstorm having finally relented. The resort staff had arranged a fleet of SUVs to transport stranded guests, and you found yourself staring out the window, watching the pristine white landscape blur past. The excitement of Christmas felt distant, replaced by a strange cocktail of emotions: shame, exhilaration, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

The roads were lined with snow-covered evergreens, their branches heavy with the weight of winter. Christmas decorations adorned the small towns you passed, twinkling lights and festive wreaths offering a stark contrast to the turmoil in your heart. You’d always loved the holiday season, but this year it felt hollow, as though the magic had been replaced with a cold, hard reality.

At the terminal, you moved through security and boarded your flight, your carry-on heavier than it had been when you arrived. Settling into your seat, you looked out at the snow-covered tarmac, the events of the past day replaying in your mind. The encounter with Rio had been a whirlwind, a departure from your otherwise measured and predictable life. It had awakened something in you, something you weren’t sure you could name yet.

The plane taxied down the runway. You stared out the window, watching the clouds drift by in a blanket of white, and placed a hand absently on your stomach. A faint flutter of nausea lingered, stressed and mixed emotions threatening to come up with the morning's breakfast.

The other passengers around you chatted quietly, their voices a low hum against the backdrop of the engine’s steady roar. A child a few rows ahead giggled as they played with a small, plush reindeer toy, the sound tugging at something deep within you. You found yourself watching them, a strange mix of emotions bubbling to the surface—longing, curiosity, and something you couldn’t quite put into words.

Dazed, shocked, and conflicted, you couldn’t deny the thrill of the experience. But it was bittersweet, a morally gray chapter in your life that you’d carry with you. The money was a blessing, the memory of Rio a curse and a gift all at once.

authour's note: thanks for reading ❤️ I played around with the formatting of this last minute, hopefully it wasn't too hard to follow. I wanted to try something new before the year ended.

there are more holiday fics in the rio archive linked above.

tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal

if you made it all the way here, this is an prologue concept I have been working on for a secret baby story with OC's.

[szariahwroteit]

FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic Series.

Chapter 2

18+ Minors DNI

In the week that saw Trent photographed by paparazzi on a rather intimate date with an emerging model, Amber had gone radio silent. Completely ignoring him was as mature as she was willing to be.

Every message and FaceTime went unanswered; he followed her on Instagram before she promptly blocked him, confident that this time would be the last.

Although Amber understood that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, the fact that he’d stepped out so publicly with a woman felt as though he was claiming her, and in a way, shitting on her.

“Are you going to walk around looking like a sad puppy?” her older sister Natalia smirked empathetically.

Unlike her younger sister, who had left their hometown in Los Angeles to study law in Harvard before moving to London when she was offered a job within one of the most reputable firms in the city, Natalia stayed home in Los Angeles with their parents and younger brother.

By no means was it her proudest moment, but one night Amber officially reached her breaking point. She needed to get the hurt she felt off her chest, and her older sister offered an ear without any judgment.

“Maybe,” Amber pouted as she made her way back into the office, smiling politely at the familiar faces she passed as she returned from her lunch break. 

“You're way too cute to have any man making you feel this way,” Natalia smiled empathetically. 

As Amber made her way back towards her desk, the floor’s receptionist called her name and waved her over. “Amber! You have a delivery,” she said, holding up a medium-sized cardboard box and a small bouquet of pink roses.

Amber’s heart skipped a beat as she approached the reception desk, her mind racing. Could it be from Trent? She quickly squashed that thought, reminding herself of the last week’s events. Still, a flicker of hope ignited within her as she took the flowers and box from the receptionist.

“Who are they from?” Natalia asked curiously, her face contorting into a curious frown on her sister’s phone screen as Amber turned away from the receptionist to make her way over to her desk. 

“I don’t know yet,” Amber replied, carefully removing a small white envelope from the flowers. Inside, she found a white piece of card with something scribbled on the back of it. Turning it over, her heart skipped a beat.

“Call me when you get these. - Trent,” she read aloud, her voice tinged with surprise and a hint of disbelief. The words echoed in her mind, stirring a mix of emotions that she had been trying to suppress. 

“What’s in the box?” Natalia asked, leaning in closer, her curiosity piqued.

Amber carefully set the flowers down on her desk, propped up her phone and opened the box, her heart racing with anticipation. Inside, she found an unmistakable ox-blood box and instantly froze.

“No fucking way!” Natalia gasped into her sister’s ear-pod, her voice barely above a whisper. “He brought you Cartier?”

Amber’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted the lid of the jewellery box, revealing a set of beautiful diamond earrings. 

The earrings were absolutely beautiful, dancing against the low lighting of the office floor. As the daughter of a high-powered lawyer and a former beauty queen turned relationship guru and therapist, she knew luxury. Her childhood was one filled with debutante balls and societal engagements. 

But this was different. The diamonds she held in her hand symbolized so much more than beautiful jewellery. 

“Diamond earrings!” Natalia exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and caution as she watched Amber’s face drop.

“I…I don’t want them,” Amber stammered, her heart racing for a different reason now. “This is too much. It feels wrong, I have to send them back.”

“What do you mean?” Natalia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“We’re not together, I’ve been avoiding him since the pictures of him came out on the internet. If this is an olive branch it feels wrong.” The idea that Trent thought she could be brought made her skin crawl, that her pride and self respect came at a price no matter how beautiful the jewellery was. 

The gift, or olive branch, or whatever he thought this was, felt as though it had been given as a means of balm for the hurt she felt and keep her in a place of wading. A means of keeping her around and, most importantly, as if that was what he thought she wanted from him.

Amber’s vision blurred slightly as she fought back tears. “I don’t want to be someone’s consolation prize,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to feel like I’m being bought or have a price, this doesn't make up for my feelings.”

Natalia sighed, her expression softening. “I get it, Amber. But maybe he’s trying to show you he’s serious about wanting to make things right. This isn’t just a random gift; it’s a statement.”

“Or it’s a way to keep me there without actually keeping me,” Amber countered, shaking her head. “I don’t want to fall for it. I need to stand my ground.”

“Then do that,” Natalia encouraged, placing a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “But you should at least talk to him. You owe it to yourself to hear him out instead of beating yourself up about it. You can’t just ignore everything and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Amber took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I know you’re right. I just… I don’t want to keep hurting myself. I don’t want to be vulnerable with him.”

“Then set your boundaries,” Natalia suggested. “You can tell him how you feel without giving in. You’re stronger than you think.”

Amber nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “Okay, I’ll call him. But I’m not keeping the bag. I’ll return it, and I’ll make it clear that I don't see him as a meal ticket.”

“Good plan,” Natalia said, her voice filled with support. “You deserve to be treated with respect, not as a prize to be won back. Stay strong and call me later, I love you.” She continued before ending the Facetime call. 

Placing the lid back on the orange box, Amber packed it back into the bigger cardboard box it was delivered in and placed it safely beneath her desk. 

With a newfound determination, Amber picked up her phone and dialled Trent’s number. As it rang, she felt a mix of anxiety and empowerment. She was ready to confront him, to voice her feelings, and to reclaim her power in this situation.

“It’s me,” she said when he finally picked up, her heart pounding. “Trent, I don't want it.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Amber could almost hear Trent processing her words. “What do you mean?” he finally asked, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.

“I mean the bag,” Amber clarified, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. “I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this. It feels wrong, and it feels like you’re trying to buy my forgiveness.”

“Amber, I—” he started, but she cut him off.

“No, let me finish,” she insisted, her heart racing. “I’ve been avoiding you because I needed time to think. I saw those pictures, and it hurt. I know you said you didn’t want anything serious from anyone, but those pictures suggested otherwise. So I’d rather quit while I’m ahead.”

“Amber, please,” Trent interjected, his voice rising slightly in urgency. “I never meant to hurt you. Those pictures… they were a mistake. I was trying to figure things out, and I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

“Exactly,” Amber replied, her voice firm. “You didn’t think about me and I wish you did,” she sighed sadly. 

“I know,” he said, his tone softening. “And I’m sorry. I should have communicated better. I should have been more considerate of your feelings. I just… I got caught up in everything, and I didn’t handle it well.”

Amber felt a pang of sympathy for him, but she quickly reminded herself of the hurt she had felt over the past days. “Please just give me an address I can send the purse and flowers and I’ll be out of your hair, Trent.”

Thankful for the current scarcity of staff on the office floor, Amber squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled the phone away from her ear before hanging up abruptly. 

She knew if she stayed on the phone to Trent any longer her true feelings were liable to slip and she refused to take any more blows to her pride where he was concerned. 

Hours away from the capital in Liverpool Trent sat completely stunned. He gathered Amber wasn’t impressed with his recent antics, based on her silence over the last week or so, but the hurt in her voice had caught him off guard. He had expected anger, maybe even some tears, but the way she had calmly stated her boundaries made him realize just how serious this was. 

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had thought the bag would be a way to bridge the gap, a gesture to show her he cared. But now, it felt like he had only made things worse. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered to himself, sinking into the edge of his bed as he took a seat. 

Trent stared at his phone for a long moment after Amber ended the call. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, her words echoing in his mind.

"Please just give me an address I can send the purse and flowers and I'll be out of your hair, Trent."

Out of his hair? Those were fighting words if he ever heard them. He wanted to argue back, to tell her she was being ridiculous and that he cared about her more than any bag or public appearance could prove. But something in her voice stopped him cold.

She wasn't asking for apologies or promises, or even his attention. She was setting boundaries, making it clear what she would and wouldn't accept from him moving forward.

Trent sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything that had happened. What made matters worse was that he liked Amber, she was a beautiful woman and a pleasure to be around in more ways than one. 

Each of their encounters had been intense passionate, exhilarating...and sometimes messy. But he loved his life as is, he loved the freedom to do as he pleased without consequence or explanation. 

To Trent, going to dinner with a girl he’d been introduced to by a friend was him exercising his freedom as a single man, a man without consequence or explanation.

As one of the brightest stars in football, he had always been in the spotlight, and he had revelled in it. But now, he was faced with the reality that his actions had consequences, and those consequences were hurting someone he genuinely cared about.

He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling as he replayed the conversation in his mind. Amber’s voice had been steady, but the hurt was palpable. He had never intended to hurt her; he had just been trying to navigate his chaotic life, and in doing so, he had.

Trent picked up his phone again, scrolling through his contacts until he found Amber’s name. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. What could he say that would make any difference? He had already hurt whether or not it was in his intention to, and now he was left with the aftermath of his choices.

He thought back to their time together—the laughter, the late-night conversations, the way she lit up when she talked about her dreams. She was more than just a pretty face; she was ambitious, driven, and had a fire in her that he admired. But his admiration didn’t outweigh his desire to do as he pleased.

His desire to look for those same qualities in other women. 

Trent felt a pang of guilt wash over him as he acknowledged the truth of his actions. He had taken Amber for granted, assuming she would always be there, waiting for him to figure things out. But now, he was faced with the reality that he might lose her for good if he didn’t change his approach.

He set his phone down and stood up, pacing the room as he tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to do something meaningful, something that would show Amber he was serious about wanting to make things right. The bag and flowers had been a misguided attempt to bridge the gap, but now he realized that they were just superficial gestures. What he needed was to confront his own feelings and be honest with her.

After a long fortnight of football matches and travelling, he had plans of spending his hard-earned weekend relaxing, but instead, he now stood trying to map out the quickest route to drive from Liverpool to London. 

His decision was impulsive, but he couldn’t shake the hurt in Amber’s voice from his mind no matter how hard he tried. The way her Southern Californian accent lacked its usual charm. 

Letting out a sigh, Trent stood from his bed and made his way into his closet to find something appropriate to wear. He rifled through his clothes, pulling out a crisp white shirt and a black sweatsuit. 

As he dressed, he mentally prepared himself for the conversation he hoped to have with Amber. He needed to be honest about his feelings, to show her that regardless of whether or not wanted to do as he pleased, he understood the gravity of his lack of consideration. He wanted her to know that he cared about her.

Once he was dressed, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. The drive from Liverpool to London was about two and a half hours, but he was determined to make it in less time. He needed to see her, to talk to her face-to-face. 

As he drove, he replayed their last conversation in his mind, trying to anticipate her reactions. Would she be open to seeing him? Would she even want to talk? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the road ahead.

When he finally arrived in London, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the frost-bitten city. 

As he drove towards the city centre he came to a humbling realization, he’d sent the gifts to her office building not because he knew that’s where she’d be, but because he didn’t know where she lived and he was able to obtain the office’s addresses with a google search. 

Every time they’d been intimate it had been in the confines of a hotel room, a fleeting moment of passion and desire before he went on his way again, before he went on to the next. 

Pulling onto the side of a street, Trent pulled out his phone sifting through it until he found Amber’s contact again. 

Part of him knew she didn’t owe him her time or attention, but he still felt compelled to reach out. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button once more. What could he say that would make any difference? He had already hurt her, and now he was left with the aftermath of his choices.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to send a text instead. 

Trent: Amber, I’m in London. Can we meet?

He hit send and waited, his heart racing as he stared at the screen. The minutes felt like hours as he watched the three dots appear and disappear, a constant reminder of his anxiety. Finally, his phone buzzed.

Amber: I’m busy, Trent.

The response stung, but he refused to let it deter him. He quickly typed back. 

Trent: I understand, but I really need to see you. Please, just a few minutes.

He waited, his palms sweaty on the steering wheel. After what felt like an eternity, she replied. 

Amber: fine. 

Trent let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as her previous message was followed up by an address to her apartment building. 

Amber: Meet me at my place in 20 minutes.

Trent's heart raced as he typed a quick acknowledgement. He quickly entered the address into his GPS, feeling a mix of excitement and dread. This was it—his chance to make things right, to show Amber that he genuinely cared about her feelings.

As he drove through the bustling streets of London, he couldn’t help but think about how selfish he’d been, not only to Amber but the others. The laughter they shared, the way she challenged him, and the warmth of her presence. He had been so caught up in his world that he hadn’t considered how his actions would affect her. 

Arriving at her apartment building, he parked and took a moment to collect himself. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This wasn’t just about the bag or the flowers; it was about their connection and the trust that had been shaken.

He walked up to the entrance and buzzed her apartment. After a moment, he heard her voice through the intercom. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

There was a pause, and he could almost hear her weighing her options. Finally, the door clicked open. He stepped inside, his heart pounding as he made his way to her floor.

When he reached her door, he took a deep breath and knocked. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and he felt a rush of nerves. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if she slammed the door in his face?

But the door opened, and there she stood, looking both beautiful and guarded. Amber’s expression was a mix of surprise and wariness, her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself from whatever he might say.

“Trent,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he replied, his heart racing. “Can we talk?”

Amber hesitated, her eyes searching his face for something—an apology, a reason, a sign that he understood. Finally, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter. 

The apartment was cozy, filled with soft lighting and the faint scent of vanilla. It felt like a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the chaos of their recent interactions. 

“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the stylish small white couch. He took a seat, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. 

“I’m sorry for everything,” he began, his voice earnest. “I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you. I was caught up in my own world, and I didn’t consider your feelings at all.”

Amber remained silent, her expression unreadable. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and it made his chest tighten.

“I thought sending the bag and flowers would help,” he continued, frustration creeping into his voice. “But I realize now that it was a stupid move. I was trying to fix things without really understanding what I needed to fix.”

“Trent,” she finally spoke, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “You can’t just throw gifts at someone and expect everything to be okay. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was an idiot. I thought maybe if I showed you I cared tangibly, it would make up for everything.”

Amber’s expression softened slightly, but she still looked guarded. “You hurt me, Trent. Seeing those pictures… it felt like a slap in the face to have you tell me you don’t want anything serious with anybody and then be out so publicly with someone. I feel worthless.”

“You’re not,” he insisted, leaning forward. “You’re not worthless, Amber. You’re an incredible woman.”

“Just not one you care to take seriously,” Amber said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I’m just sex to you Trent.”

Trent felt a sharp pang in his chest at her words. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re so much more than that to me. I’ve never seen you as just a fling. I care about you, Amber. I really do.”

“Then why did you let the world see you with her?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “As a man who’s adamant he wants to be single, why claim her like that? Because I’m just pussy to you, worthless, replaceable pussy.”

Amber couldn’t even articulate the idea of her not being enough for him, it hurt entirely too much. But deep down that is exactly how she felt. 

Trent's heart ached at her words, the raw pain in her voice cutting deeper than he had anticipated. “Amber, please don’t say that,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “You’re not just sex to me. I’ve never treated you like that. I was trying to figure out my life, and I messed up. I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“Maybe this should be it, Trent.” Amber interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion. “Maybe this is where we draw the line. I can’t keep putting myself in a position where I feel like I’m not enough for you. I deserve better than that.”

Trent felt a wave of desperation wash over him. “No, please don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you. I know I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right. I want to show you that I can be better.”

“Better?” she echoed, her eyes narrowing. “What does that even mean? Do you think a few nice words and a bag can fix this? You think I’m just going to forget how you made me feel? How I've made myself feel?”

“No, I don’t think that,” he said, his voice earnest. “But I want to try.”

Amber shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please don't say things we both know you don't mean.” 

“Amber, I mean it,” Trent said, his voice filled with urgency. “I know I’ve hurt you, but that wasn't my intention.”

“The thing is Trent you did and it's both our fault, when you told me you had no interest in anything serious I should have listened.” Amber pointed out painfully, her voice soft. “But I let myself hope for something more. I thought maybe you’d change your mind, that we could be something real. And then I saw those pictures, and it shattered everything.”

Trent couldn't bear the look on Amber’s face, standing from his seat he strode over to wear she stood clutching her body for some form of comfort in such an uncomfortable situation. 

Amber’s breath caught in her throat as Trent pulled her body into his arms, allowing her to cry into his chest as he held her. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured again, feeling the warmth of her body against his and the weight of her tears soaking into his shirt. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was foolish and thoughtless, and I can’t express how much I regret it.”

Amber’s sobs began to quiet as she leaned into him, her body trembling with the release of pent-up emotions. “This isn't right, this isn't what you wanted,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “You shouldn’t have to feel obligated to comfort me.”

Trent tightened his grip around her, unwilling to let go. “Stop,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be.”

Amber searched his gaze, looking for any hint of insincerity, but all she found was a deep-seated regret and a flicker of hope.

Laying her head against Trent’s chest, she allowed herself to be fully vulnerable for the first time since the fallout. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a sense of comfort she hadn’t realized she craved. 

“Come back to Liverpool with me tonight, spend the weekend with me,” he murmured into her hair, his voice low and earnest. “Let’s talk this through, away from all the noise and distractions. I want to show you that I’m serious about making things right.”

Amber pulled back slightly, searching his eyes for any sign of insincerity. “You really think that’s a good idea? After everything that’s happened?”

“I do,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to prove to you that I can be better. I want to show you that I care about you, not just with words, but with actions.”

She hesitated, her heart torn between the desire to believe him and the fear of getting hurt again. “What if it doesn’t change anything? What if we just end up in the same place?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, his voice steady. “But I need you to give me a chance. I can’t fix this without you.”

Amber took a deep breath, weighing her options. The thought of spending the weekend with him was both thrilling and terrifying. She wanted to believe that the dynamic could change, that he could be the man she wanted him to be. But the fear of being hurt again loomed large in her mind.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come with you. But I need you to be straight up with me, if this isn't what you want I’d rather you let me down easy.”

Trent nodded, his expression earnest. “I promise, Amber. I’ll be completely honest with you. I don’t want to play games anymore. I want to be real with you.”

Amber felt a flicker of hope at his words, but she still held onto her reservations. “If there are going to be other women I’d rather not know,” she said in complete disbelief of her own words as they left her lips.

Trent made her feel pathetic, but still she couldn’t bring herself to fully cut ties. 

“I understand,” he replied, his voice steady. “I won’t put you in that position. I want to focus on us, on what we have. I know I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right.”

Amber nodded slowly, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension. She was stepping into uncharted territory, and while a part of her was excited, another part was terrified of the potential heartbreak that could follow. “Okay,” she said, her voice firmer now. “Let’s see where this weekend goes.”

“Let’s,” Trent smiled softly as their eyes met, the tension between them easing just a bit. He could see the flicker of hope in Amber’s eyes, and it filled him with determination. This was his chance to prove himself, to show her that he wasn’t the man his actions suggested.

As Amber gathered her things in preparation of an impromptu weekend in Liverpool with Trent, her heart fluttering in her chest as he sat comfortably on her bed watching her. 

“Come here,” he said softly, gesturing for her to join him. Amber hesitated for a moment, her heart racing as she considered the implications of moving closer to him. But the warmth in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes drew her in.

She walked over and sat beside him, feeling the familiar spark of connection that had always been there between them. Taking her hand into his, he guided her on top of him so she straddled his lap, her cheeks flushed as he gazed up at her. 

“Where are the earrings and flowers I sent?” Trent asked, a hint of a smirk present in his voice. 

“I threw the flowers in the trash and the earrings are in my closet,” Amber replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. She felt a mix of defiance and vulnerability as she looked down at him, their positions shifting the dynamic between them. 

Trent raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “You really didn’t like the earrings?”

“It’s not that I didn’t like them,” she said, her tone serious. “It’s just… it felt wrong. Like you were trying to buy my forgiveness or something.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I get that. I thought it would help bridge the gap, but I see it fell flat. I want you to keep it, though.”

Amber's heart raced at his insistence. “Trent, I can’t.”

Trent’s gaze was unwavering, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and sincere. “You can and you will, it’s yours.

Instead of continuing their back and forth, Amber climbed off of Trent’s lap to continue packing for the weekend. 

As she moved around the room, gathering her essentials, she felt Trent's eyes on her, a mix of admiration and concern etched on his face. The tension in the air was palpable, and Amber couldn't shake the feeling that they were at a crossroads.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Trent asked, breaking the silence as she folded a few clothes into her overnight bag. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

Amber paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m not doing this because I feel pressured. I’m doing this because I want to,”

As present and in the moment as Trent was, he allowed his eyes to slip and study her figure as she stood in an oversized tank that showed off the swell of the sides of her breasts and a pair bicycle shorts that looked as though they’d been painted on. 

The idea that he’d made such a beautiful girl question her worth didn’t sit right with him, regardless of whether or not he was looking for anything serious with anyone. 

By the time Amber had finished packing a small Louis Vuitton duffle bag, outside was completely dark. Making sure all of the lights in her apartment were off, she followed Trent out into the evening. 

The drive from just west of central London to Liverpool took about two and a half hours, but the time seemed to fly by as they talked and laughed, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Amber found herself relaxing in Trent’s presence, the warmth of his smile and the sincerity in his voice easing her worries, if only a little.

As they drove, they discussed everything from their favorite movies to their childhood memories, and Amber felt a sense of normalcy returning. It was as if the weight of the past week was lifting, and she could almost forget the hurt that had lingered between them.

By the time they got to Trent’s neighborhood the nighttime had completely taken over, Amber sat in quiet awe as she took in each large, beautiful house they passed. 

This would mark the first time she’d ever been in Trent’s space and she couldn’t help but wonder what the premier league star’s house would look like. 

Trent parked in the driveway of a sleek, modern house that stood out among the others on his street, its clean lines and expansive windows inviting curiosity. Amber felt a flutter of apprehension and excitement as he turned off the engine and opened the door for her. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a faint smile, leading her up the stone walkway. The house was impressive, a testament to his success, but it felt oddly warm and inviting. 

As they stepped inside, Amber was immediately struck by the spaciousness of the living room. High ceilings, contemporary art pieces adorning the walls, and minimalistic furniture created an airy atmosphere. Cozy textures were layered throughout, and soft lighting cast a gentle glow, making it feel almost intimate. 

“Make yourself at home,” Trent said, casually tossing his keys onto a nearby counter. Amber wandered further into the space, taking in the details—the bookshelf filled with an eclectic mix of novels, the framed photos capturing candid moments from Trent's life with his family.

“Wow, this is really nice,” she remarked, turning to face him with a genuine smile, feeling a little more at ease. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

He chuckled softly, leaning against the kitchen island. “Thanks. It’s taken some time to make it feel like home. I travel a lot, so I wanted somewhere to come back to that felt… personal.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Amber replied, her gaze drifting over the sleek appliances and the small touches that hinted at his personality. “It feels lived in.”

“Exactly,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Want something to drink? I think I have a decent bottle of wine stashed away somewhere.”

Amber bit her lip, considering. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

As Trent disappeared into the kitchen, Amber took a moment to absorb the environment fully. The artworks scattered throughout the space hinted at a sensitive side she hadn’t quite seen before, the mix of personal and professional resonating with her more than she'd expected.

“Here we go,” he returned a moment later, a bottle of red wine in hand and two glasses dangling from his fingers. “I hope you’re a fan of Merlot.”

“Always.” Amber smiled as he poured the rich, deep liquid, the aroma filling the air.

They settled on the couch, their knees almost touching but with enough space to allow for the tension that still lingered in the air. As they shared the wine, they spoke lightheartedly at first, their laughter echoing through the living room.

But as the evening wore on and the bottles dwindled, the atmosphere shifted subtly. Amber felt the weight of their earlier conversation press upon them, and she realized that they would have to address the elephant in the room sooner or later.

“Trent,” she began, twirling her glass nervously. “I appreciate you bringing me here and wanting to make things right, but I need to know what you really want from this.”

Trent set his glass down, his expression growing serious. “I want to be honest with you, Amber. I like you and I want to continue seeing you, but I also need time to figure things out.”

Amber felt her heart race as his words hung in the air, the weight of his admissions settling over them. “You like me?” she repeated, searching his eyes for any trace of insincerity, but all she saw was earnestness.

“I do,” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice low. “But I also know I’ve messed things up. I want to be real with you moving forward, but I can’t promise some fairytale outcome overnight.”

Her pulse quickened at his honesty, the mixture of hope and uncertainty swirling inside her. “So, you’re saying you want to see where this goes?” 

“Exactly,” he replied, his gaze steady. “But I need to do it right this time. I don’t want you to feel like you have to earn my attention or that I’m keeping you at arm’s length. You deserve better.”

Amber couldn’t help but smile slightly at his words. The vulnerability he was showing was so different from what she’d experienced before with him. “I just don’t want to go back to feeling like I’m not enough or like I’m something to do when there’s nothing to do.”

Trent reached out, taking her hand in his and squeezing gently. “You are more than that. You have to believe me.” 

His touch sent a shiver up her spine, igniting a chemistry that had been brewing between them all along. Still, the remnants of her heartache loomed heavy. 

Pushing all rational thought to the back of her mind, Amber leaned into Trent pressing his lips against hers as he melted into his seat, swiftly pulling her body on top of his. 

Lost in the moment, Amber felt the warmth of his body envelop her. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve ending as she responded instinctively to the heat radiating between them. It was unlike any kiss they had shared before—fueled by the pent-up emotions from their tumultuous journey, each brush of his lips against hers whispered promises of something more.

Trent’s hands found their way to her waist, holding her firmly yet tenderly as though she might slip away if he didn’t. She reveled in the feeling of being wanted, the way he kissed her with a desperation that mirrored her own longing. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them tangled in each other and the weight of their unspoken feelings.

As they pulled apart, breathless and wide-eyed, Amber searched Trent’s face for a hint of what he was thinking. “I—”

“What is it?” he cut her off softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I want you to fuck me,” Amber murmured, her heart racing at the audacity of her words. It felt both liberating and terrifying to voice what she desperately craved. 

Trent's eyes darkened with intensity, a mix of surprise and undeniable hunger flickering across his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. 

Amber nodded, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. “I need to feel something real right now, something that reminds me of the connection we have. It’s been too much chaos lately, I just want to feel you.”

And feel him she did. 

Amber lay back on the plush sofa, her legs spread wide as Trent knelt between them. His hands gripped her inner thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin as he gazed up at her with hungry eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, his breath hot against her dampening pussy lips. "I could eat this sweet little pussy all day."

Trent dove in without hesitation, his tongue delving deep to taste Amber's arousal. She let out a sharp gasp, hips bucking slightly at the sudden sensation.

"Oh god... Trent..." Her voice trailed off into a moan as he worked his magic, lapping and sucking with increasing fervour.

He alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick flicks against her sensitive clit. Amber's head thrashed from side to side, her shiny black hair splayed across the cushions as she struggled to maintain coherence.

"That's it, baby... just like that," she panted. 

Trent's hands slid up Amber's body to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the hardening nipples. He suckled harder on her pussy, determined to make her come undone.

“Like this?” Trent asked raising his head, his chin and lips glistening with her arousal as he puckered them and allowed a bead of his spit to fall into her clit, before sucking it back into his mouth, his eye’s never leaving hers. 

Amber's eyes widened as Trent's saliva hit her sensitive clit, the added moisture sending shockwaves through her body. "Yes, god yes..." she whimpered, arching into his touch.

Trent continued to lavish attention on her sex, alternating between sucking and licking in a relentless rhythm that had Amber teetering on the edge of climax. She could feel the pressure building inside her, coiling tighter with each pass of his tongue.

"I'm so close... don't stop," she begged breathlessly, fingers tangling in Trent's tapered curls.

He obliged, as he devoured her pussy like a man starved. The room filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and wet slapping noises as he ate out Amber with wild abandon.

Just when it seemed he might push her over the precipice at any moment, Trent pulled back slightly. “Reach down and spread pussy open for me,” he instructed. 

Amber's heart raced as Trent commanded her to spread her pussy open for him. She instinctively tried to close her thighs, but he held them apart with a firm grip.

"Please... I'm so sensitive," she whimpered, feeling exposed and vulnerable in that moment.

Trent didn't relent, his intense gaze never leaving her face. "That's the point, beautiful. You're mine to play with right now."

With shaking hands, Amber reached down and grasped the swollen lips of her sex. She parted them slowly, revealing the glistening pink flesh within. A trickle of arousal escaped, dripping down onto the sofa cushion below.

"There you go," Trent purred approvingly, leaning forward once more to lap at her juices greedily. His tongue delved deep into her folds again, swirling around her clit before tracing up and down each side of her slit.

The added stimulation from spreading herself wide made everything feel even more intense for Amber.

Amber's head thrashed back and forth as Trent worked her over, the combination of his skilled tongue and her shameless display pushing her to the brink. "Oh fuck, oh my god... I'm gonna cum baby!" she wailed.

Trent responded by redoubling his efforts, sucking harder on her clit while thrusting two fingers deep into Amber's twitching channel. He curled them just right, rubbing that sweet spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

With a keening cry, Amber shattered once more beneath him. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his invading digits as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. This time, Trent didn't pull away – he kept eating at her sex until she'd ridden out every last tremor.

Only then did he withdraw his fingers and sit back on his heels to admire his handiwork: Amber lying spent and sated on the sofa, thighs still parted in invitation.

“More,” she breathed, her fingers gently tracing over her sensitive pussy as their eyes met. 

“More?” Trent repeated. 

Instead of offering him a verbal response, Amber sat up and moved over onto her hands and knees, a deep arch in her spine. She wanted him to fuck her until the hurt and embarrassment she’d felt over the last week were wiped clean from her mind. 

Trent's eyes widened at the sight of Amber presenting herself so wantonly. He swallowed hard, his cock throbbing in response to her display. 

"Fuck, baby... you're incredible," he murmured, a low growl building in his chest as he pulled off his pants and boxers. His rigid erection sprang free, thick and pulsing with need.

Trent positioned himself behind Amber, running the head of his dick along her soaked folds teasingly before pushing inside. She was still sensitive from her previous orgasms but welcomed the stretch as he filled her gradually.

"Ohhhh shit..." she moaned, arching back into him before he abruptly pulled himself from her. 

“I need you in my bed,” Trent growled, his voice thick with desire, as he quickly grabbed Amber's waist and spun her around to face him. He claimed her lips with a fierce kiss, tongues dancing as they both breathed heavily through their noses, the tension crackling between them.

“Let’s go,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek, as he scooped her up effortlessly, causing her to gasp in surprise. His hands gripped her thigh while she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the unmistakable heat of his body against hers.

With a powerful stride, Trent carried her upstairs to his bedroom, their breaths mingling with the urgency of their need. He kicked open the door, quickly stepping inside before gently setting her on the bed. 

Amber's heart raced as he stepped back to admire her; the flush of passion coloured her cheeks, and her body gleamed with a sheen of perspiration, the sight of her drove him wild. 

“Can I return the favour?” she asked, eyeing his long, thick cock that hung heavily beneath them. 

“You want to?” Trent asked taking hold of his length, slowly stroking from tip to base and back again as Amber crawled to the edge of the bed. 

Amber's eyes widened at the sight of Trent's impressive erection, her gaze locked onto it hungrily. "Yes," she breathed, reaching out to wrap a hand around his shaft. "I want to taste you."

Without waiting for an invitation, Amber leaned forward and took him into her mouth, moaning softly as he filled her oral cavity. She began to bob her head slowly, savoring the saltysweet flavor of his precum on her tongue.

Trent let out a low groan as Amber worked him over with skillful lips and tongue. Her free hand fondled his balls while she sucked gently on the tip of his cockhead.

"Fuck... just like that," he encouraged through gritted teeth, fingers tangling in Amber's hair. "You're amazing."

Emboldened by his praise, Amber increased the pace of her ministration.

Trent watched in awe as Amber made a mess on him, saliva and pre-cum coating his cock as she took him deeper, the warmth of her mouth and her eyes never breaking contact with his driving him wild with lust. He could feel the heat pooling in his belly, every flick of her tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.

“God, Amber,” he gasped, tilting his hips forward to meet her mouth as she sucked harder, pulling him in deeper until her throat constricted around his length. 

In response, she moaned, sending vibrations through his shaft that had him groaning louder. The sight of her on her knees, completely absorbed in pleasuring him, was more arousing than he could have imagined. 

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to let her catch her breath. “You’re doing so good, so messy for me.”

Spit dripped from Amber’s chin gathering on her chest and flat stomach as she allowed Trent to have his way with her mouth and throat. 

Reaching between her own legs, Amber gagged as her fingers came into contact with her clit, instantly sending a chill down her spine as she refused to break eye contact with the man before her. 

As Trent's cock slid deeper into her mouth, Amber felt a surge of pride and desire. She loved the power she wielded with her lips and tongue, the ability to make him groan and tremble beneath her touch. Her own arousal grew with each thrust, juices dripping down her thighs as she sucked him harder.

Trent tangled his fingers in Amber's hair, guiding her pace as he rolled his hips against her face. "Just like that... fuck yes," he panted, eyes locked on hers as she worked him over.

Amber moaned around his length, sending vibrations through his shaft that had him gasping for breath. She could taste the salty tang of his precum mingling with the musky scent of their combined arousal filling the air.

Lost in the moment, Amber forgot about everything else  Trent's fame, their complicated relationship status, even her dreams for a more meaningful connection. All that mattered was pleasing this man who stirred such intense passion within her.

Amber’s mind turned to mush as Trent fucked her throat, his hand gripping her hair into a messy ponytail as she took him. 

Trent hated how selfish his thoughts may have sounded, but there was no way he was actually going to allow Amber to walk away. His interest in other women didn’t take away from what he felt towards her. 

Pulling her mouth off of him Trent watched in awe as a string of her saliva ran from her lips to his hard dick. 

As Trent pulled out of Amber's mouth, she gasped for air, eyes glazed with lust. He was so hard and thick in her hand, the head glistening with saliva. 

"Hmm... you taste amazing," she purred, stroking him slowly as she looked up at him through heavy eyelashes.

Trent shuddered at her touch, his breath hitching in his chest. "You're fucking incredible," he rasped, reaching down to help her off the bed. 

Amber let him pull her to her feet and then turned around to present herself once more. She spread her legs wider, giving Trent an unobstructed view of her dripping pussy.

Trent stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Amber's glistening sex. With a reverent hand, he cupped her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her back against him.

"You're so ready for me," he growled approvingly, rubbing the head of his cock along her slick folds. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name."

Amber shivered at his words, a thrill running through her at the promise of rough passion. She reached back to guide him inside, but Trent wasn't having it. Instead, he gripped both of her hips and slammed into her with one powerful thrust.

A sharp cry escaped Amber's lips as she was filled to the brim by Trent's thick length. He didn't give her time to adjust before pulling out and driving in again, setting a relentless pace that had them both panting within moments.

"Yes... just like that!"

Trent grunted with each powerful stroke, his hips snapping forward to bury himself in Amber's heat again and again. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her inner walls rippling along his length as he claimed her thoroughly.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, sweat beading on his brow from exertion. "Take it all, baby."

Amber moaned wantonly, pushing back to meet every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room as Trent thrusted into her with abandon, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

He reached around to thumb at her clit roughly while continuing to piston into her slick channel. The added stimulation had Amber seeing stars within moments.

"Oh god... I'm going to cum!" she keened loudly.

Within an instant Amber was beneath Trent, their foreheads pressed against the other and her legs over his shoulders as he buried himself inside of her, making her take every last inch of him as he bottomed out. 

“Trent, you’re so big!” Amber squealed, the indescribable pleasure she felt accompanied by a dull ache. 

"Shhh, take it," Trent whispered against Amber's ear, his hips never ceasing their relentless rhythm as he pistoned in and out of her clenching heat. "Your little pussy was made for my cock."

Amber whimpered, trying to catch her breath between cries of pleasure as Trent's thumb rubbed merciless circles over her hypersensitive clit. "Don't stop..."

With a guttural growl, Trent slammed into her one final time, holding still as his release hit. Amber felt each hot spurt of his cum filling her to the brim, marking her insides with his claiming essence. "Fuck yes... give it to me," he panted, grinding against her to prolong the sensation.

As Trent slowly withdrew, his softening member slipped free with a wet sound, followed by a trickle of their combined fluids onto the bed sheets below.

As caught up in pleasure as he was, Trent noticed Amber had rolled away from him, putting some distance between them in his spacious bed, an action he didn’t approve of. 

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Trent pulled her body against his, turning her so she faced him as they both lay catching their breath. 

As their eyes met, a moment of vulnerability passed between them. The haze of passion began to lift, revealing the reality of their situation. Amber's heart raced, not just from the physical exertion but from the emotional weight of what had just transpired.

"That was... intense," she breathed, her cheeks flushed as Trent tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Trent smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek.

“Yes.”

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 7

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more

“Well, if he can afford it,” you said, knowing your dad probably didn't realize how much you charged per hour for consulting.

Bucky felt challenged. “I think I can afford it.”

You raised an eyebrow, silently asking, ‘Are you sure?’ Then, you grabbed a pen and started writing numbers on paper.

When you showed it to Bucky and Tom, both of their eyes widened. Tom exclaimed, “That's per hour?”

You nodded, folding your arms.

Bucky glanced at the paper, then back at you. “If it's in New York, this price is understandable. But here… with this price, I could afford two brand-new cars.”

“Take it or leave it,” you said, your expression unyielding. If Bucky truly needed an auditor, he would accept your terms.

“I didn’t say no,” Bucky replied. “Alright. I hope you can start tomorrow. I'm looking forward to working with you, partner.” He extended his hand for a handshake.

You simply said, “Hmm,” and walked past him, leaving his hand hanging in the air.

Bucky maintained his calm demeanor and smiled, that smug smile you always wanted to slap off his face.

It's risky to work with your former tormentor, but after thinking it through, you realize you had just left your previous job and decided to stay with your dad.

But you don’t want your skills to get rusty. Bronze Lodge Hotel seems reasonable enough as a place to work in this small town.

Back then, he drained your mental strength; now you will drain his money.

Bucky tidied up the documents, placing them back into his bag. “I’m so glad I came here. Thank you for your help, Tom,” he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Tom slowly nodded his head, though he wasn't entirely sure about it. You had offered to help, but at such a high price. He had never seen that many zeros in his life. He felt a bit sorry for Bucky, but also proud of you. It was amazing to him that you had the skills and experience to command such fees and be hired by people in the big city.

Bucky slung his bag over his shoulder and headed toward the door. Before leaving, he looked at you and said, “See you tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

You stood there, arms crossed, watching him leave. “I won’t be,” you replied, a determined look in your eyes.

Bucky gave a small nod, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he exited. Tom watched him go, then turned back to you with a mixture of pride and concern.

“You’ve come a long way,” he said softly, touching your shoulder.

🧮🧮🧮🧮🧮

The next morning, you arrived at the resort in your sports car. All eyes were on you from the moment you left home until you pulled up at the hotel.

You found it amusing. Back then, nobody even bothered to notice you. But now, thanks to this car, you were suddenly worth looking at. It saddened you that money, expensive stuff, and status seemed necessary for respect.

As you walked into the hotel, Natasha was shocked to see you. She left her reception desk and rushed toward you.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, looking you up and down. Natasha followed fashion trends closely and recognized the luxury of your outfit, even though it didn’t flaunt brand logos. The cost of what you were wearing was more than her salary. She clenched her fists in frustration.

With your high heels, you towered over her. Even before, you were taller than her, but she always had a superior attitude and was surrounded by her group, while you were always alone.

Now, even though you were still alone, you no longer felt small in her presence. You put on a confident smile. This feeling of superiority, of having a life so much better than hers, was intoxicating.

You scratched the saddened part about living in this world. Money, expensive stuff, status—if these three things were enough to make a person like Natasha jealous of you, you would do anything to obtain them.

“Whoops… I could see the tension from far away,” Bucky suddenly appeared and stood between you and Natasha.

“She’s…” Natasha began, but Bucky cut her off.

“Na-ah. Here at the Bronze Lodge, we always give a warm welcome to new employees. Well, she’s temporary, actually. We have a new auditor,” Bucky announced.

Natasha flinched at his words. She grabbed Bucky’s hand and whispered, “Does your mother know?”

Bucky gently pried her hand away. “I’ve texted her. She hasn’t replied yet.” His mother was traveling with her friends, probably with her new boyfriend.

It was his mother’s mistake to hire a lousy accountant, forcing him to manage things himself. His skills in accounting were pretty limited. With your help, he hoped to uncover the true condition of the resort’s finances, even though paying you would cost him an arm and a leg.

“Let’s get ready. We have 20 minutes left before this place opens,” Bucky clapped his hands and then looked at you, tilting his head. “Follow me.”

You followed him, leaving Natasha glaring daggers at your back. Bucky led you to an empty office room filled with disorganized papers and documents. You cringed at the mess.

Rolling up your sleeves, you prepared to start cleaning and organizing. “Leave,” you commanded Bucky, your expression turning serious.

Bucky looked at you, surprised by your sudden change in demeanor. “Alright. I’ll check in on you later,” he said, leaving the room.

You start working, your eyes scanning over rows of numbers, your mind quickly calculating and cross-referencing data from various documents. The first step is organizing the mess left by the previous auditor. You methodically sort through the stacks of papers, categorizing them by month, type, and relevance. Your fingers fly over the keyboard as you input data into a detailed spreadsheet, ensuring every transaction is accounted for.

As the hours pass, you become more absorbed in the patterns emerging from the chaos. You notice repeated anomalies in the records—suspicious transfers, inflated expenses, and missing receipts. You pause occasionally to make notes, your handwriting precise and clear. The further you dig, the more discrepancies you uncover.

You compare the financial statements to bank records, invoices, and internal reports. It's clear that large sums of money are unaccounted for, and there's a distinct pattern of funds being siphoned off over time. Your brow furrows as you pinpoint the telltale signs of money being funneled into untraceable accounts.

Your focus is unbroken, and you don’t realize you’ve been working for nearly 12 hours straight. Your hand doesn’t stop writing, just like at your previous job. You were used to long hours at the company, and so was Ransom. But here, it’s different, especially for Bucky. He’s worried about you.

Just as you finish drafting a report of your findings, you hear a knock on the door. You don’t notice it initially, but Bucky’s voice breaks your concentration. “It’s time to go home.”

Your pen stops moving. Slowly, you lift your head and fix your gaze on him with a cold stare that cuts through the air.

Bucky, sensing something amiss, asks tentatively, "Bad numbers?"

"Worse. Someone's been stealing from you," you reply sharply.

Meanwhile, Natasha glances around nervously on the emergency stairs to ensure no one is watching. She pulls out her phone and makes a call, her voice low and urgent. “We have an uninvited guest,” she whispers, her tone laced with fear and frustration.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[viranellee]

i know our mornings (were as good as it ever could be)

synopsis: eddie thinks he's doing a pretty good job at hiding his relationship with the youngest dunne sister. until he isn't.

warnings: smut, dirty talk, usage of alcohol & drugs, billy dunne

a/n: thank you so much for the love on the previous eddie post! this is shit but it's eddie smut and that's all that matters

⁠♡

It all happens so fast you think you’ve imagined it - one minute you’re snorting your (fourth, maybe fifth) line of coke and reaching for another glass of beer, and the next you’re being pulled by your hand until you can breathe in the fresh evening air through your slightly powdery nostrils. You’re still looking down at your feet, hands outstretched and trying to regain your balance, which is a surprisingly hard thing to do using a coked-up brain, when the mystery assailant, probably Billy, starts speaking. You sigh and brace yourself for yet another lecture.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Welp, that’s definitely not Billy. You don’t know if you should be happy about it or not.

You look up and meet Eddie’s eyes, his eyebrows so furrowed that the annoyed wrinkle between them is especially pronounced - you want to reach out and smooth it out with your fingers, you want to tell him that as hot as he looks when he’s pissed off, he shouldn’t be getting wrinkles this early on. You don’t do any of that.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You respond instead, putting a hand on your hip with such force that you make yourself stumble a little bit. In the blink of an eye, Eddie is holding you by the waist, concerned, and you pray to every single entity out there to just make the goddamn sequin dress separating your bodies disappear into thin air, simply to feel his large hands against your skin. “I’m having fun.”

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh and tilts your head upward, cleaning up the cocaine residue around your nose. A part of you finds it weirdly cute.

“Too much fun.” He tells you and you shake your head.

“I’ve seen you do, like, six lines one after another. You can’t just lecture me when you do the exact same thi-”

“That’s because I’m used to it, I can handle it.” Eddie interrupts, grabbing you by the chin gently. He’s looking at you right in the eyes, wanting to drive his point home, but all you can focus on is his lips. “You could barely handle a shot of whiskey before and now you’re drinking and doing lines like you’ve done it all your life.”

You roll your eyes, although you understand what he’s trying to say.

“Eds, just leave me alone. I’m not going to die or somethin’. I’m just having fun.” You defend yourself, but the hiccups in-between your words do absolutely nothing to convince the man in front of you.

In fact, something flashes in his eyes. It’s a look you see rarely, but one you recognize as the look he gets when he sets his mind to something. You don’t get to dwell too much on it, because he’s crouching and picking you up, and before you know it, you’re thrown over his shoulder with such ease it makes something at the bottom of your stomach flutter.

“Eddie, put me down, now! What are you doing!?” You protest and hit his back with your fists as hard as you can, waving your legs in the air. He doesn’t even flinch and instead places a hand on your calf and squeezes, a gesture you can only interpret as “calm the fuck down” - and something in you listens, despite the drugs and liquors in your system screaming at you to keep acting bratty.

You vaguely recognize Warren’s wolf-whistling at the pair of you, but you don’t pay him any attention - by the time he’s asked for your room key at the reception desk in that deep voice that drives you crazy and you’re in the luxurious elevator, you’re already half-asleep but still have enough leftover energy to complain.

"Can you put me down now? You’ve proved your point.”

In response, Eddie’s hand moves higher up your leg, slipping underneath your dress. You can feel yourself blushing as he starts drawing circles on your inner thigh.

“Hm, I really don’t think I have, sweetheart.” He tells you and you want to strangle him for knowing exactly what buttons to push to make you speechless.

The rest of the elevator ride is spent in torturous silence, as he absentmindedly drags his fingers across your skin and you stubbornly hold in your whimpers and gasps, because you’d rather die on the spot than have him know how sensitive his touch makes you.

Only he can make me feel like this, you think to yourself in a striking moment of clarity.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally arrive at your floor. Eddie confidently walks towards your room and opens it - as soon as the door closes, he strides over to the bed and gently drops you onto it. You’re looking at the ceiling, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time, as he removes your heels. When he stands up and kisses your forehead, ready to leave so you could get some sleep, you grab him by the collar.

Sleep is the last thing on your mind right now.

You kiss him hard, and he responds immediately - you feel his heart thumping when your chests press against each other, and you’re pretty sure he can feel yours too. He moans into your mouth when you tug on his hair and you feel like you’re on the brink of getting what you want - except, he pulls away from you. You look at him, confused, and when you reach out to try and bring his face towards you, he grabs your wrists in one hand.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart. We can’t.” He explains and you want to cry. Why did he have to be so thoughtful?

“But I want you.” You try and he just smiles at you, wide and toothy, as he stands up. You catch his hand. “Can you…can you at least sleep next to me? We don’t have to do anything, I just..."

He turns to look at you and you see surprise painted across his features. You open your mouth to take it back, tell him you don’t know what you’re talking about, play it off as the drugs talking, but he’s already dropping his jacket on the ground and getting into bed with you before you get the chance to say anything.

He opens his arms, inviting you to come closer and you gladly take the invitation.

"You're cold." You tell him when you lay your head on his chest and feel him wrapping his arms around you. He smells like cigarettes and citrus. It’s your favorite smell in the world.

“You’re hot.” He responds, grinning as he kisses the top of your head, and you giggle.

It’s the last thing you remember before you fall asleep.

—

You wake up horny. Not unusual by any means, considering you fell asleep horny and next to Eddie. Still, you know you can't ignore it for long.

As your eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring in through the windows, you feel Eddie, still asleep, wrapping a long arm around your waist and pulling you towards his chest. His gentle hums do nothing except fuel the growing need in you to have him. You decide to do just that.

Careful not to wake him, you slowly move down his body and when you reach the part you're craving the most, you greedily undo his belt like you're opening a Christmas present. You pull his jeans and boxers down at the same time, impatient, and immediately get to work.

You run your tongue from the tip to the base, savoring the shiver you receive in response. You do that a couple of times but as soon as you take him in your mouth, Eddie gasps and you know you've woken him up, because you feel a hand in your hair.

"Shit, baby, good mornin' to you too." He laughs and the rasp in his voice makes you throb.

You take him in deeper, tracing the vein in his shaft with your tongue and Eddie practically howls. Biting his lip, he buries his other hand in your hair too as the sounds of your gagging and his moaning overlap.

"I love this fucking mouth on my cock." He breathes out. "God, I can't get enough of you. Come 'ere."

You shake your head as you press open-mouthed kisses down the shaft.

"No, I want you to cum in my mouth." You declare stubbornly and he swears out loud at your words.

"I'll cum in that pretty little mouth as much as you want me to, but I need to be inside of you right now, baby, please." He almost begs and you look at him beneath your eyelashes.

He's panting heavily, his bottom lip slightly bloody because he bit it too hard, brown eyes glazed over and hair splayed out on the pillow beneath his head like a halo. He looks like a mess and it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen.

Well, how can you say no to that?

You crawl towards him and he grabs the dress you've slept in from yesterday and pushes it up your body, hastily trying to remove it. You help him and soon, the dress is a mere clothing item on the floor. Left in only your underwear, he licks his lips as his eyes look you over. If it was anyone else, you would have felt like a piece of meat being ogled at, but his look only turns you on even more.

You tug on his shirt, wanting it off, and he complies immediately.

As you climb into his lap and undo your bra, Eddie watches, mesmerized, when you start grinding on his cock like a woman starved, your tits bouncing along with every movement. In an attempt to tease him, you reach out to play with your nipples, but he smacks your hands away, shoves his face in your chest and starts worshiping your tits with such vigor you think you can cum from this alone.

"Eddie! Oh!" You mewl and he groans in response, tugging your underwear down your thighs. He rubs a finger against your folds and your head gently knocks against his when his finger glides right inside of you.

"So fuckin' warm and tight and all for me. Only for me." Eddie whispers, kissing your neck. You nod, burying your fingers in his tangled hair.

"Only for you. Always for you." You whisper in his ear and he exhales sharply, relieved, like he's being told something he never once thought would be true.

You don't even notice when one finger has become two, and two has become three in your haze of pleasure until Eddie pushes you down onto the bed, looking at you like you've hung the moon and stars. You smile at him and pull his face down to kiss him, and you can feel him chuckling against your lips. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you melt in his embrace. In response, Eddie grabs your hips, something you've noticed he really likes doing, and carefully enters you. You open your mouth in a silent scream, and he groans loudly, squeezing you so hard you're sure he'll give you yet another pair of bruises. You don't mind though, not at all.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Very much am, Roundtree."

---

"What did you just say?"

Warren laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

"Look man, I don't fuckin' know, all I'm saying is that I saw them leaving together."

It's quiet in the breakfast hall as Billy ponders on what to do.

"I get that she's our little sister, but she's grown up now. Even if she is, y'know, sleeping with him, why should that matter? I mean, it's Eddie, do you really think he'd do anything to hurt her?" Graham argues, gesturing with the utensils in his hands as he speaks.

Daisy and Karen nod in agreement.

"He's got a point, you know. I really don't think it's that big of a deal. They've had the hots for each other for a while now, too, it's only natural." Karen adds and Billy's mouth turns into a tight line as he death glares the uneaten toast on his plate.

"Good morning everyone!" Eddie greets his band members when you and him enter, suspiciously cheerful. Billy's glare only becomes more hateful.

"Morning." He greets with gritted teeth, carefully observing the way Eddie gallantly pulls out your chair first, before sitting on his own. Everyone else around him also seems to notice, if Daisy and Karen's quiet giggles and Warren and Graham clearing their throats were any indication.

"Aren't you going to get breakfast?" Graham questions and you smile innocently back at him.

"Nope, I've already eaten." You respond and Eddie adds a "I'm very full, actually."

Awkward silence descends on the table for a moment before Roy arrives as well.

"Hey, Roundtree." He starts, an accusatory finger pointed at the bassist's neck. "What kind of vampire were you fooling around with? Jesus Christ, son, look at the size of that thing."

A beat passes as Graham chokes on his water.

"Roundtree, you fucking son of a bitch, I'll kill you."

---

BILLY DUNNE: The prick was fucking my sister behind my back. Of course I decked him.

KAREN SIRKO: And people call women the emotional ones.

WARREN ROJAS: Dude, I thought I was hallucinating, for real.

DAISY JONES: So overdramatic.

GRAHAM DUNNE: [sighs]

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Worth it. [smiles]

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part 13)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Please comment and engage!

“Well, we already did it and it's already complicated," you said, clutching the fabric of your jacket as if it could ground you.

Cillian ran a hand through his hair, a friction of tension spreading across his features as he weighed your words, indecision etched in the lines of his brow.

“Y/N, we just can’t let it happen again.” He took a half step back, body rigid like he was fighting against an invisible tide.

“But what if I want it? What if you want it too?” you asked, your heart racing at the direct challenge. "Do you want me?" you challanged and Cillian’s breath hitched, the question hanging between you like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.

“What do you think?” His voice was low, almost a growl as he stepped closer, a primal energy crackling around you as the distance between you narrowed.

You took a breath, feeling a mix of bravado and vulnerability swirling in your chest. “I think you want me as much as I want you,” you admitted, locking your gaze onto his, a daring resolve hardening in your chest.

A flicker of something wild ignited in Cillian’s eyes as he stared at you, the tension crackling like static electricity in the air before he looked around, spotting the Hilton a few hundred metres down the street, a façade of safety and anonymity.

Cillian’s gaze darted to towards the luxurious hotel, barely illuminated by the street lamps as the distant hum of city life swirled around you.

You noticed him looking into that direction and felt your heart skip a beat. He turned his gaze back to you, a heated spark igniting in those depths you had come to admire.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, causing your heart racing at the intensity in his voice. The question hung in the air, charged with unspoken desires and the weight of potential consequences.

“More than I’ve ever been,” you replied a steady conviction filling your voice as the anticipation crackled like lightning between you both.

Cillian’s gaze held yours for a lingering moment, absorbing your words as if measuring the weight of your resolve against the depths of his own yearning.

With a deep breath, he nodded, a silent agreement passing between you, and together you turned toward the hotel, the evening air thick with anticipation.

The walk down the street felt surreal, palpable energy coursing between you as you approached the hotel’s entrance. The world around you blurred, the sound of bustling city life fading into the background, leaving just the two of you and that electric tension coursing through the air.

As you stepped into the warm, cozy lobby of the hotel, the soft glow of ambient lighting enveloped you both.

"I will check us in," Cillian said, pulling his wallet from his pocket as he approached the front desk, indicating for you to keep your distance. You knew that, for his career's sake, he couldn't be seen like this and you decided to seek out the lavatory while he handled the check-in process.

The tension in the air hung heavy around you as you walked away, your heart thrumming with both anticipation and a hint of nerves.

When you came back to the lobby, you saw Cillian waiting by the elevators, nervously fidgeting with the edges of a small piece of paper he had taken from the reception desk. His fingers toyed with the keycard as he caught your gaze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

“Everything okay?” you asked, his voice steady but edged with tension.

“Yes ,” he replied, drawing in a steadying breath as the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.

You stepped inside, the small space suddenly feeling very intimate, cocooning you both with a weight that pressed against your chests, causing your hearts to thrum in sync as the doors slid shut behind you.

Cillian pressed the button for the eleventh floor, his body angled slightly to you and the air between you thickened with unspoken anticipation.

“You sure about this?” he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting to the glowing panel as the elevator asc ended with a soft hum. The seconds stretched taut between you, the familiar rhythm of your heart echoing like a drum in your chest.

“Yes," you reiterated, your voice steady, a resonant echo of the certainty that surged within you. His eyes flickered to yours, searching for any hint of hesitation as, finally, you arrived.

The elevator shuddered to a stop with a soft ding, the doors gliding open to reveal a dimly lit hallway lined with plush carpeting and muted artwork. You stepped out first, the anticipation coiling tighter in your chest as you felt Cillian's presence right behind you, his steady breaths a comforting reminder of what lay ahead. The hallway stretched out before you, each step feeling weighty with anticipation. Cillian walked beside you, the silence between you both vibrating with energy, each shared breath interwoven with unspoken thoughts.

He paused at the door to room 1112, digging into his pocket for the keycard, the faint click of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. He turned to you, a momentary flicker of uncertainty painting his expression as the door swung open. The room was quiet, bathed in soft, warm hues, the muted lighting inviting yet charged with the electric tension that hummed between you both.

Cillian hesitated on the threshold , his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced over at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

The moment stretched out, thick with tension as Cillian seemed to measure the gravity of the space before you. You took a step forward, past him, and into the room, letting the warmth envelop you like a soft blanket, pushing through the initial hesitation. The room felt surreal, the air thick with anticipation.

Cillian entered behind you, closing the door softly, cutting off the outside world. The soft click of the door latch echoed in the hushed space, leaving an almost palpable silence hanging in the room.

You turned to face him and, as his gaze met yours, the tension ratcheted up, electric impulses flickering like firecrackers in the charged atmosphere around you.

"God, I want you so fucking badly," he muttered, his voice husky, greedy with desire.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt a shiver zigzag down your spine, heat pooling low in your core. The admission gave you a vulnerability that ignited a fire within you, a fierceness born of passion and forbidden desire.

"Then have me," you whispered, a challenge hanging in the air and, by that point, Cillian did not have to be told twice.

 Reaching for your face, his thumb traced the outline of your lips, temptation igniting a hunger blazing in the depths of his eyes as there was no turning back now.

With a growl that resonated deep in your chest, Cillian closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a searing blaze that set every nerve on fire. The kiss there deepened instantly, hands roaming freely, trailing over the curves of your body, lips parting in invitation as the fire spread through you both.

He was such a good kisser , but, this time, the fact didn’t surprise you.

His fingertips wandered up your body, gently cupping your neck, a silken ache trailing throughout your veins like wildfire.

The hunger was almost carnal – it seemed like he wanted you as if there was no tomorrow. As if he had been starving, and you were the first drop of water he had seen in days.

Cillian's touch grew insistent, trailing down your arms until he found the bottom of your shirt, slipping underneath the fabric and skating over your skin.

His fingertips brushed against the bare expanse of your stomach, sending ripples of heat storming through you, igniting a passion only fueled further by the illicit nature of the encounter.

Your t-shirt came off next, followed immediately by your bra, both discarded on the floor in a crumpled heap, as Cillian pushed you back against the wall, savoring the sight of you.

" You are so fucking beautiful, do you know that?"he murmured with lust deep in his voice, eyes alight with hunger as he trailed hot, wet kisses down your neck and shoulders.

"You did tell me before," you giggled as his fingers moved to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them and sinking to the floor as you quickly stepped out of them.

He was moving fast and your breath hitched as he hooked his thumbs into your panties and pulled them down, helping you in stepping out of them.

You stood naked before him, your chest rising and falling in time with Cillian's deep, measured breaths.

His gaze dropped to your bare skin, taking in every curve, every angle - and admiration flashed in his eyes as he dropped to his knees before you.

He took one of your thighs with his hand, guiding you as he adjusted your body to his mouth as you leaned back against the wall. One hand trailed up the inside of your thigh, your body trembling with every touch, while your other rested on his shoulder. 

Then, his tongue came into contact with you - and you let out a gasp. 

"Oh my god ," you breathed, your hands knotting themselves in Cillian's hair as you pushed yourself closer to him as his tongue ran through your slit. 

"Cillian, fuck, yes...right there,"  you moaned, savoring every second of the sensation as Cillian's tongue continued to swirl around your clit, his grip on your thigh tightening at your reaction.

The sound of his name, whispered through gritted teeth, seemed to spur him on, and the deliberate strokes of his tongue became more intense.

He slid a finger inside of you - a feeling so deliciously wicked that you couldn't believe you were allowing this to happen, right here in a hotel room with your stepfather, yet it was exactly what made this whole encounter feel even filthier.

"You taste so fucking perfect ," Cillian moaned, nuzzling his nose into your pelvis, causing you to submit to his decadent actions.

He buried his face in you, his tongue tracing every inch of your most sensitive places, bringing your body to a swift climax. Your thighs started to tremble, your respirations becoming shallow, and you couldn't help but let out a guttural moan.

"Oh fuck," your voice broke, becoming incoherent as he kept on working his tongue, sending waves of pleasure rocketing through every inch of your body.

Your instinctive response was to try and pull him closer against you, your hands clenching and unclenching as uncontrollable, involuntary muscle spasms rippled through your body.

"Cillian!" you cried out, your voice hollow despite your best efforts to smother it. "I-I'm going to -" You broke off, unable to form the words as Cillian worked his magic between your legs.

"Cum for me," he growled, pressing his tongue harder and faster on your clit as he thrust the finger deeper inside you.

The sensation was so intense that you couldn’t help but obey him. With a sharp cry, the climax ripped through your body—waves of pure pleasure that drowned out reality as you arched your back, each muscle taut as you held on to him.

Cillian didn’t falter in the slightest, giving you his full attention as you rode the pleasure, his hands solid against your trembling thighs. When you finally came down from the high, your legs gave out and you slid down along the wall to land in a sated heap on the plush carpet.

Cillian stayed where he was, continuing to exaggerate his responses for your benefit. One of his hands trailed possessively up your inner thigh, his fingers grazing the moisture that was still seeping from your pussy.

"That was quick," he chuckled as he swiftly pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside to join the rest of your clothes on the floor.

You were momentarily distracted by the gorgeous sight of him - his pale freckled skin and slender body. But it was the look in his eyes that drew you back, the sheer hunger and lust that was making your stomach flutter.

"It was quick, but this is because you are so good at that," you gasped as he unbuckled his belt, unhooked his jeans and shoved them down, removing them completely in just one smooth motion.

"I clearly am," he smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement, looking down on the very wet patch you left on the floor, which was something that caused you to blush. "I mean, you positively drenched the floor," he said proudly, and you felt embarrassed, but there was also another emotion brewing inside of you—adrenaline, fueled by the scandalous nature of this rendezvous. It licked at the edges of desire, pushing the embarrassment aside, freeing you from the constraints of propriety.

"Sorry," you  stammered, and just as the words left your lips, Cillian's mouth found yours once more, forcing you to close your eyes and surrender to the temptation. His hands roamed over your skin again, strong fingers trailing over your breasts, the familiar tactile memory of him provoking a response as powerful now as it had the night before in your stepfather's house.

"Don't apologise," he growled, nipping at your lower lip, the tender gesture sending shockwaves down your sensitive nerves. "I fucking love knowing that I can make you lose control."

"I need you to fuck me, Cillian," you whispered against his lips, urgency driving your words, hips rising off the carpet in silent invitation. "Please!" 

A shudder went through Cillian at the sound of those bold words. For a moment, his eyes met yours, hooded with desire, and he nodded.

"Let's take this to the bed then. I am too old to do it on the floor," he mused as he pulled away, offering you his hand to pull you back to your feet.

You didn't need to be asked twice. Wrapping your fingers around his, you allowed him to help you up. Immediately, you tangled your hand with his, leading him towards the now inviting bed across the room. The anticipation was heavy in the air, and it was only growing thicker with each step you took towards the bed.

By this point, Cillian was only wearing his CK briefs, his hardness straining against the material, drawing your gaze immediately.

When you reached the bed, you reached for his boxer briefs, and Cillian didn't resist as you slipped them down over his slim hips.

The sight of him was breathtaking, his cock hard and ready, dripping with precum, and without much thought behind your actions, you got on your knees between his legs.

Cillian's eyes started to glaze over just by watching you inspect him – but it was when you wrapped your lips around his tip that he truly started losing control.

A strangled moan left his lips as you swirled your tongue around its head, teasing him with the lightest of touches before sliding his entire cock deep into your mouth.

You set the pace, teasing Cillian with your lips, watching with satisfaction as he threw his head back with a guttural sound, hips thrusting slightly to meet each of your downward glides. He swore under his breath as your hands started circling his balls, firm enough so that he would feel the sensation but not enough to bring him pain.

With every stroke, you felt him swell more and taste him more fully against your tongue as precum trickled out. You were still in charge, and it was intoxicating.

Your hands reached around to hold onto his firm, muscular ass, pulling him further into your mouth, making him moan loudly above you.

He tried to remain silent as not to arouse suspicion, but your ministrations made him increasingly unable to stop himself from moaning obscenities and whispering filthy words into the room.

You continued to swallow him down, half of him disappearing between your lips as you latched onto the base with a suction that kept him rooted until he begged for you to stop.

"I need to be inside you before I lose my fucking mind," Cillian grit, pulling away slowly, while his eyes remained fixed on your lips wrapped tightly around his shaft.

You pulled back slightly, releasing him with a slick, wet sound and stared up at him through your eyelashes, savoring the lingering taste of him on your tongue, feeling empowered by the sight he presented.

"Then make love to me," you purred without hesitation and Cillian didn't need to be told twice.

Wrapping his arm around you, he gently pulled you back onto the bed and followed you there, pressing the whole length of his body against yours. With a low growl, he captured your lips once more, his kiss fierce and dominant as he pinned you to the bed with his weight.

You parted your lips eagerly, inviting him deeper as your tongues danced together, each stroke sending shivers of anticipation coursing through your veins.

The taste of him was intoxicating, making you drunk with lust and longing, a primal need rising up inside you like a tidal wave.

Cillian shuddered against you, his hands roamed across your sensitive skin, leaving hot trails of desire in their wake. His fingers skimmed your breasts, teasing your nipples in the barest touch before sliding lower, tracing the curve of your hips before slipping between your legs.

Your breath caught as his fingers found your opening, slick and ready for him.

He slowly circled your clit with his thumb while slowly pushing a finger inside of you before pulling it again and aligning  his cock's head with your entrance.

He rubbed himself against you, his gaze locked on yours, and you bit your lip in anticipation.

A sudden, sharp stab of guilt jabbed at you for betraying your family in such a way, but that brief flicker was quickly snuffed out by the all-consuming passion that radiated between you both.

He thrust inside you, filling you up to the hilt, both of you moaning in euphoria at the sensation.

Your body stretched around him, welcoming the intrusion, and as you wrapped your legs around his waist and arched your back, inviting him in deeper, you could see him lose all control.

Every thrust was deliberate, measured, each stroke like his masterpiece; he took his time, hitting every spot that made you moan louder. The headboard slammed against the wall with every powerful thrust, the sound echoing in your ears like the sweetest symphony.

Cillian reached down between you two, finding your clit, rubbing small circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

The dual sensation sent your body into overdrive, your back arched off the bed as your fingers clawed at his back.

"Ah, fuck, Y/N," he moaned, desperation thick in his voice. "You feel so fucking good." His voice dripped with lust, sending another wave of shameless shivers down your body.

The filthier he talked, the more you could feel your orgasm building—slowly at first, a rolling wave barely discernible beneath the surface, then quickly cresting into a tsunami that threatened to drown you both.

"Cillian!" You screamed his name, the sound bouncing off the walls as his name became a litany, your voice weaving together with your gasps and moans as the pressure built inside. Your voice grew increasingly hoarse, cracking under the strain of your rapidly growing pleasure but as much as you wanted to be quiet, to not draw any undue attention to the room that held your secret, you couldn't help but give yourself over to the sounds of pure rapture that bubbled out of you of their own accord.

He plunged deeper inside of you, bottoming out with each powerful thrust.

Neither of you could believe how incredible it felt to be so connected.

“Oh my god, Cillian. Right there, don’t stop!” You screamed, your words punctuated by sharp intakes of breath.

You raked your nails down his back and he hissed in pleasure, the sensation of your touch only adding to the unbearably intense experience. The slick sound of skin against skin accompanied each thrust as you both 

lost yourself completely, a shared knowing shimmering between you both. Your breaths were ragged, escaping in short pants as you sat up to meet each thrust..

“Harder,” you gasped, in a voice that barely recognized itself, demanding more from the man whose body now claimed all of your wants.

"Okay, then turn around," he  panted, tearing his lips away from your skin from one too many kisses, craving to conquer another side of you.

You complied easily, gracefully flipping yourself over in one swift move, knees sinking into the soft mattress, butt raised in the perfect angle for him to claim you again. Your hands wrapped around the headboard, preparing yourself for what was about to ensue.

A low growl escaped Cillian’s throat as he took in the new view of you, naked and vulnerable, on all fours  .

His fingers gripped onto your hips, tugging you closer, and your breath hitched as you felt his hot, hard length brush against your eager opening.

"Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking wet," he grit out, driving his hips forward and burying himself deep inside your warm, welcoming depths.

You gasped, eyes screwing shut at the surge of pleasure as his cock filled you up in delicious ways. He started off thrusting slowly, every motion deliberate and measured.

You could feel him touching every inch of your insides, and the sensation was so fucking perfect that it almost hurt.

"Holy sh-shit!" You cried out, head spinning as your thoughts dissipated, obliterated by a newfound focus on his body's perfect rhythm.

Each slow thrust brought a fresh wave of pleasure vibrating through your every nerve. It was an intoxicating sensation, and one that you wanted more of - wanted to push yourself to chase that moment, wanted Cillian to do it too.

"Please," you whispered, the word cracking as you begged, your lips trembling. "Please, Cillian. Don't stop."

And he took your plea to heart, increasing his pace - the slow, steady rhythm now replaced with hard, quick thrusts that left you dizzy. Each forceful entry hit exactly where it should, sending blissful shockwaves rippling in their wake. You could feel him everywhere - inside you, around you, until you couldn't take it anymore.

You climaxed first, screaming his name as you contracted around him, pouring yourself over his hand, his fingers massaging your clit. 

The roll of his hips showed you he was close behind, and with one final, violent push, he let loose, his hot seed filling you to the brim.

As he collapsed onto you, panting and spent, your bodies melded together in an increasingly frantic dance, a desperate attempt to keep the world from falling apart.

But eventually there was only silence, and the dim light streaming in from the window casting long shadows on the walls.

Cillian pulled out gently, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

"Damn Y/N, that felt amazing," Cillian murmured as he wrapped you in his arms from behind as you leaned back against him, leaving sticky trails of sweat and semen blending between your skin.

Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of your actions.

"God, I needed this," you  breathed, voice thick with emotion and satisfaction, as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer.

Cillian's fingers snuck under your arms, cupping your breasts gently, and he pressed a kiss to your neck, the heat of it almost stinging your feverish skin.

"So did I," he confessed, his voice wavering with unspoken emotions that echoed your own. His lips found the sensitive area of your shoulder and he peppered soft, lingering kisses. "But we really can't stay here tonight," he went on , breaking the spell. 

You didn't respond, keeping your eyes fixed on the window across the room, watching the hazy silhouette of the city sprawled out in front of you.

"I know," you whispered, still staring outside, your thoughts churning.

"Y/N," he began again, hesitantly.

With a sigh, you eventually pulled away from him and got out of bed, feeling exposed and vulnerable after being so intimate with this man, your very own stepfather.

"I know, I know," you repeated, wrapping one of the hotel's plush bathrobes around yourself and tying it tightly around your waist.

Cillian followed suit and grabbed his own robe, watching you silently.

"Look, I-" he started, but you cut him off.

"No, you look," you said firmly, turning to face him. "I am moving to New York in six weeks and that will be it, so let's just enjoy  every moment together."

Your participation in this horizontal tango, this act of adult carnal passion, had been building for months now -- ever since you had first crossed paths with your stepfather again, Cillian, on that fateful night. The chemistry between the two of you was undeniable; you couldn't ignore it any longer and instead found yourself helplessly caught up in the allure of his seductive smile and piercing blue eyes.

"You seriously want to keep this up for six weeks?"  Cillian asked, eyes narrowing with a mixture of skepticism laced with a hint of hope.

"Yes," you affirmed emphatically, trying to maintain a sense of resolve as you stepped towards him, closing the distance between them. "I don't think I'll be able to keep my hands off you while I am there, seeing you almost every day, but once there is some distance between us, maybe it  will be easier to let this go."

Cillian stared at you for a second, conflict dancing in his eyes as he took in your words. "It seems sensible, considering the circumstances," he finally agreed. "But six weeks is a long time, Y/N and I," he began before running over his thoughts. "It's just," he stammered. "It's so fucking wrong, Y/N. I mean, you're my stepdaughter for fuck's sake. I-I don't think I can handle the guilt."

You didn't respond, his words striking a chord deep within you. You knew what he was saying was true, yet you couldn't help but desire him in all the ways you never thought possible.

"Then say no and stay away from me," you challenged, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside of you. 

Cillian stepped forward, eyes darting from your face to your lips, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. 

"You know I can't," he whispered hoarsely, his hand sliding up your arm to brush your cheek with his calloused fingertips.  "Fuck, you have no idea what  you do to me."

His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat, and you couldn't help but lean into him, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. 

"I think I have some idea ," you replied, your words barely above a whisper, laced with a husky purr.

Cillian groaned at your words, his arms tightening around your waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you violently. The passion between you was all-consuming, a tempest of fire and desire that threatened to consume you both.

You felt his cock growing hard again against your stomach, pressing against you as he ground his hips into yours, and you whimpered, a low, needy sound that echoed between you.

"One more time before you go, after which I will be making full use of the room, even on my own," you chuckled  with a sly grin, reaching down to grab his growing length.

Cillian let out a choked gasp when you took him in your hand, fingers stroking up and down his shaft with a sensual slowness that left him squirming for more. God, you were going to drive him mad with lust before the night was through.

"Alright, but not before I get another taste of that sweet little pussy of yours," he groaned, gripping your hips and making you drop back on to the bed.

"But you just came inside me ," you protested, cheeks flushed.

"And your point is?" he  answered, moving inbetween your legs, spreading them wider, as he bent down, and pressed an open mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh...

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[interiorergonomics]

Benefits of Using the Same Office Furniture Series

Using the same office furniture series across a workspace offers several benefits. Among these include a cohesive and professional aesthetic which enhance the overall ambiance of any office. First of all, It ensures uniformity in design. This contributes to a more organized and visually appealing environment.

Additionally, consistent furniture series like the Diamond series , Bella Series and Elegante Series withstand heavy duty tasks. These are particularly crafted with standard dimensions of durable steel frames and legs. They feature ergonomic designs which greatly improve functionality since they perfectly match human body ratio specifications.

When it comes to workplace aesthetics, each pieces is designed to work together seamlessly, making it easier to create a well-organized and efficient layout. This uniformity also simplifies future additions or replacements, as matching pieces are more readily available, thus reducing the hassle of finding complementary items.

[mrsparrasblog]

SAUNA SOAP🌞

You hated your job. Working in the SPA of a 5-star hotel was not as luxurious as people made it out to be. The therapist got tipped while you needed to do the infusions, clean around the mess the guests left, deal with touchy customers, and worst of all, tell guests all over again that they can't fuck in the sauna, pool, or whatever. Well, at least you got paid 1pound above the minimum wage.

So you spent another day standing at the front desk of the SPA and trying to look useful. Nothing ordinary happened until a handsome Adonis walked into the spa. Fuck, he came up the elevator wearing only a towel around his hips, not hiding his perfect sculpted abs; he looked like an Adonis; his biceps was probably bigger than your head; and you looked up to see his beautiful face. His face had some badass scars, wrinkles, and the most gorgeous set of eyes you ever saw in your life.

"Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?" you said, trying to hide your enormous blush from him. You were used to naked people in front of you, but this man was different; he made your legs press together behind the corner, like a horney slut.

"Awright bonny, a'm 'ere fur th' sauna cuid ye shaw me th' wey" You hated yourself for not understanding him, but his voice was already the cause of your wet dreams for the next few months.

"I'm not called Bonny" was the only response you could gather to say and point to your nametag.

He chuckled, "Sorry, lass, I'm used to people understanding my accent. Could you show me the way to the sauna, please?"

"Of course, sir, please follow me." You walked out behind your reception, guiding him the way through the almost empty SPA.

"No need to call me, sir; I'm not much older than you," he said, throwing you a cheeky smile.

"We're here" He went into the sauna and thanked you. And you hated yourself for not being able to flirt with this man. This was a one-time chance to meet a man who was able to be on the new season of the bachelor of your county, and you failed.

After a few hours, you prepared an infusion smelling like amber and peppermint, so you went to the sauna. To your disappointment, your new customer crush wasn't there. You started with your usual show, throwing towels around and then leaving the sauna. Leaning against a wall, panting after being in the 90-degree sauna.

And there it was again, a man approaching you without a towel wrapped around his hips as if it weren't common courtesy to hide your own, oh god, erect cock. You tried your hardest to look into his eyes, but that ugly dick of his was like a car accident earthquake and a fire at the same time.

"If it's too hot for you, I wouldn't mind seeing you less clothed; you must be sweating in this tight and long uniform," he said, tucking your hair behind your ears.

You were more than disgusted by this behavior, but it was nothing new for you. "Sir, I feel uncomfortable with this situation."

"Come on, little bird, you girls take these things so seriously. I was just flirting a bit."

"And I want you to stop flirting," you said, sounding confident and not showing an ounce of your fear. You knew there wasn't much staff around anymore.

"Come on, Birdy, I paid so much for my stay; there should be something in it for me." He started to put his hand on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You were so ready to fight him off, but before your knee could make contact with his crotch, the Adonis men was behind you, towering over you.

"She said no, you better leave now or I'll help you leave bastard." You fell behind in his massive frame after the man pulled away from your hip.

"Sorry, mate," he said, walking out of the spa to his hotel room with a hint of embarrassment. Asshole was afraid of Adonis.

You turned around to face him, blushing at how close you were. "Thank you, sir."

"No problem, lass, call me Johnny, not this Sir nonsense," he smirked at you, and you felt like you melted on the ground immediately.

"Okay, thank you, Johnny. You can have a drink on the house; just grab something from the bar." This would be the least you could do.

"When urr ye off, a'm waantin' tae keep edgy fur ye nae that that bastard comes back." You felt the butterflies in your stomach when he said he wanted to protect you.

"Johnny I'm a big girl; you don't need to ruin your vacation by looking out for a stranger."

"Beautiful stranger." You blushed at his compliment and thanked him. You worked for the next three hours and then started to clean everything so you could close. When you locked the door, only you and Johnny were there. You approached him, but he still sat in the sauna. His marvelous body was glistering with sweat, just like his weird but funny hair. You noticed how he sat there with his legs wide open without a towel, so you had a perfect view of his manhood.

"Aye, sorry, I didn't notice ye" he said, hiding his manhood from you.

"Don't worry, I see them every day."

"Och, ye dinnae ken how tae flatter a lad," he said, acting fake hurt, which gifted him a slight chuckle from you. "Ye kin at least admit a'm a het lad."

"You're a hot lad, Johnny. Happy?" Your eyes wandered down his abs.

"Take a picture; it lasts longer."

"Uhm, sorry, I just think you're very handsome. I like your biceps."

"Do you want to touch it, hen?"

You nodded, slightly embarrassed; this is still your workplace after all.

Johnny's breath hitched slightly as you touched him, his muscles tensing. "Feel that, sweetheart? That's pure Scottish strength. It's also quite sensitive... If you know how to handle it properly."

"You work out a lot?" You asked already knowing the answer.

Smirking, Johnny leaned in close, whispering in your ear. His stubbles touched your neck as he did this.

"Aye, lassie. I work out every chance I get. And believe me, it's more than just to maintain my looks." Soap grinned, flexing his bicep slightly for you. "Feel that again, lass. You can't deny the pure muscle you're touching. And don't even get me started on these abs. I've been told they're quite impressive." He was pretty arrogant, but you couldn't deny that he was allowed to be arrogant after looking like this.

"They are. I'm sorry I'm acting unprofessional." You remembered your minimum wage job.

Johnny chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Oh, don't apologize, hen. Unprofessional behavior can be quite endearing. Besides, I'm not one to judge." He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

As your gaze dropped lower to his prominent V line and his thick happy trail, Soap caught the subtle hint of curiosity in your eyes. Leaning back slightly, he ran his free hand teasingly over his toned abs before continuing. "You seem quite interested in this area, don't ya?"

You blushed immediately. "I'm so sorry."

Johnny chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Sorry for what? For being a horny wee lassie? There's nothing wrong with that." He reached down, his fingers tracing the outline of his hardened member through his towel. "See this?"

"Oh, Johnny," it was thicker than anything you had in your life and will have.

With a devilish grin, Soap pressed his thick shaft against your stomach, causing you to gasp. "Want a taste?" he asked softly.

"I work in this Spa and you are a customer Johnny I can't just blow you in the Sauna"

Johnny chuckled again, pulling his cock back from you. "Didn't say you had to blow me?" he replied with a wink. "Though I wouldn't mind that." You couldn't stop laughing at his comment.

Soap smirked at your laughter, taking it as a good sign. "Listen, hen," he started, his voice now low and rough with desire. "I've had my fair share of women throwing themselves at me, but you're not throwing yourself at me. You subtle, I like that, and I never had sex in a sauna, and you're one hell of a looker, the most beautiful girl I've seen in ages."

"I never had sex in a sauna too."

"So" He unwrapped the towel around his waist, making sure you got a good look at his hard cock pointing at you. "How about we fuck in the sauna?"

"That's pretty forward, Johnny."

He chuckled warmly at your comment. "Aye, lass, I'm forward when I want something," he replied confidently, taking a step closer to you. "And I really want this."

As you watched in anticipation, Soap slowly unbuttoned your uniform, revealing more of your delectable body with each button that flew open. His eyes roamed hungrily over your curves, taking in every detail. "Yer sae bonny"

Once your pants were off, Soap gently pushed you onto the bench in the sauna, his eyes locked onto your clothed sex. He took one of his thick fingers and started to circle your clit with it. You couldn't help but moan; he was doing it better than any man before. He didn't treat you like a scratcher; he knew what he did, which made you feel insecure. Of course, men like him would have more experience than you do.

"You look and sound like an angel; can I—my little man can't wait any longer?" You laughed at his words and just nodded.

He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance before slowly pushing inside.

"God, that's fast." You whined as he split you in half with his thick cock.

Johnny grunted in pleasure as he felt you tighten around him. "Fuck, lass," he groaned, starting to thrust slowly inside of you. His hands found their way to your tits, squeezing them roughly as he took his time fucking you.

Johnny picked up the pace, slamming his hips against yours as he fucked you hard in the sauna. The sound of your flesh slapping together filled the small room, echoing off the walls.

His cock throbbed inside of you, reaching deeper with each thrust. Your body glistened with sweat in the hot sauna. Johnny growled low in his throat, his face contorting with pleasure as he continued to pound into you. Sweat dripped from his body onto yours.

"Fuck, you're so tight." You scratched his back, gripping hard on his biceps. You needed to hold back and not cum too fast so you couldn't embarrass yourself in front of him.

Johnny hissed in pleasure at the scratches down his back, leaning into the bite and scratch marks on his neck as he felt you grip his biceps. His hips picked up speed, slamming harder into you as he reached around to pinch and twist your nipples.

Feeling you close to orgasm, Johnny moved a hand between your legs, rubbing your clit firmly as he continued to pound into you. His fingers circled your swollen bud, teasing it until you cried out incoherently. "Johnny"

Johnny groaned, feeling himself getting closer as well. He picked up the pace even more, slamming into you harder as he leaned forward to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently.

He growled low in his throat as you wrapped your legs around him, taking him deeper inside of you. He moaned into your skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he nipped at your other nipple. "Fuck," he panted, "I'm going to cum."

"Mhm, you can cum inside; I'm on the pill." It was foolish of you to let a stranger cum inside of you, but you were too fucked out to properly think.

Hearing your enthusiastic agreement, Johnny let out a groan of relief as he felt his climax building. With one last hard thrust, he erupted inside of you, his cock pulsing as he shot his hot cum deep inside your wet cunt.

Johnny panted, his heart racing, as he leaned down to kiss your full lips. "That," he whispered against your lips, "was fucking incredible." He pulled out of you slowly, his still-hard cock slipping out of your pussy with a wet pop.

"I usually don't do things like this with strangers, I swear." This was your first nightstand and even in your workplace. What must he think of you?

"Well, I'm glad you made an exception for me." Johnny grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He reached down to stroke his cock a few times, getting it slick with his own precum before pressing the head against your entrance again. "Ready for round two?" This man must be joking, right?

"Another one?"

"You bet your sweet ass I am," Johnny growled, pushing his thick cock back inside of you in one swift motion. He slid in completely this time, his hips meeting yours as he began to thrust into you again, harder and faster than before.

You needed to regain power so you wouldn't come immediately "Mhm, fuck, let me be on top."

"You got it," Johnny grunted, pulling out of you so that you could mount him. He helped guide your hips as you positioned yourself on top of him, his hands sliding down to grab your ass and pull you closer.

You bounced on his dick with so much passion and enthusiasm as he had never seen in a woman; you were so eager to please him and so eager to sleep with him. You weren't like this usual starfish woman; you were perfect.

Johnny moaned, loving the feeling of your wet pussy slamming against his cock as you rode him with all your might. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as he watched you in awe. "Fuck me, woman. "Yeah, I'm definitely feeling that." Johnny groaned out, his body arching off the ground as you continued to ride him. He reached up to grab one of your tits, squeezing it gently before rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"A Boob Guy, huh?"

"Well, I'm a man," Johnny chuckled, running his free hand down your back to your ass before squeezing it. "And I definitely appreciate a nice pair of tits." He nipped at your earlobe before biting gently, making you moan loudly. With every movement of your hips, his veiny cock hit your Gspot perfectly, making you whine and moan in pleasure.

"Johnny, I'm close."

He growled, "Come for me then, lass." He held onto your hips, his cock throbbing inside you as he felt you getting closer. Just as you started to tense up, he thrust up into you hard, feeling your pussy clenching around him, milking him as you came undone.

He continued to thrust into you until he couldn't hold back any longer, his cock erupting inside of you with his hot and sticky cum.

Johnny leaned his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged as he held you close. "One hell of a fuck, wasn't it?" he asked with a smirk.

"Yes," you stated monotonously. You screwed up your chance of dating this guy by simply fucking him the first time you saw him.

Johnny chuckled softly before kissing your neck, nibbling gently. "Now then, what's got you all wound up?" He asked curiously, running his hands down your back and ass.

"Was this a one-night thing, or could I get your number? Oh god, it's embarrassing. I never had sex with a random man, and now I'm asking for your number. I'm stupid." You started to ramble while looking into his beautiful eyes.

Johnny smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A one-night thing? Hardly." He said it teasingly, tracing a finger down your cheek. "I'm not the kind of man who gives up so easily once he has a taste."

"So?"

"So, how about we exchange numbers?" Johnny suggested with a grin. "I mean, unless you're afraid, I might call you at all hours of the night."

"I'll give you my number."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise but quickly took out his phone to enter your number. "Alright then, pretty girl." He said, pressing the buttons on his phone. "You've got mine too. Don't forget it." He gave you some sloppy kisses and helped you put on your clothes again.

Before he left, you screamed to him. "Call me."

"I will," he assured you with a wink, and he left the spa on his way to his hotel room.

A moment later, your phone rang, and you answered. "Hello?"

"I promised to call you, Mo leannan

[archangeldyke-all]

i think i’ll die if we don’t get pt. 2 of sev and her trans identity, it was so good, i let out a breathe of contentment. thank you so much 💗💗💗

omg i'm so glad u liked it! i got another request for more of ceo sev, so i'm gonna combine these two :)

request for ceo Sevika & reader during their first meet/interviewing process pls 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

men and minors dni

sevika's loving being ceo.

nobody dares to give her even an inkling of shit at work anymore, and she thinks it's kinda funny watching people who were once so vile to her cower in fear when they deliver reports to her office.

she's good at her job, if a little scary when pissed. since she's started as ceo, the company's seen better numbers than ever before, all thanks to the changes she implemented the moment she took over.

the pay raise has been great too. with so much more disposable income, sevika's started to treat herself more and more frequently to pretty things and fun experiences.

most of her wardrobe is designer, custom tailored to her measurements. she's got several nice pieces of jewelry, gold chains and watches that all cost more than her yearly paycheck when she was working as a busser as a kid.

she's gotten herself two new cars, and moved herself into a penthouse apartment high above the twinkling lights of the city below.

she's been getting weekly massages and facials, and she's started getting her toes and nails done too-- nothing fancy, just a clear coat on top of perfectly manicured nails.

all in all, sevika's living her best life.

but there's one problem.

(two, if you ask her when she's drunk enough.)

the main problem is that she still can't find a good assistant. it's been a year and a half of her new position, and she's already gone through six assistants.

(the other problem, which she holds much closer to her heart, is that she's got a giant, luxurious bed at home, and nobody to cuddle her in it.)

her first assistant was... fine. he wasn't anything special, but he did his job well enough that sevika was willing to keep him around. he quit after four months, though, apparently 'tired of the office environment.'

the next three assistants all came and went within a week. the first was fired when sevika caught them snorting a line of cocaine off of her desk. the second quit after her she spilled an entire pot of coffee on herself. and the third made a sly remark under her breath that sevika hadn't been meant to hear, but heard anyways.

she found a reliable assistant in an ambitious young man, but he left after six months to return to university to get his graduate degree. he recommended his cousin take over the position, and sevika took him up on it.

his cousin was a nice young woman who held out for a few months with sevika, and made her coffee just like she liked it. but when her boyfriend proposed and asked her to move cross-country with him for his job, she said yes, and left sevika high and dry once again.

so now she's back to interviews. she fucking hates interviews.

she groans as she struts to her office door trying to give herself a pep-talk as she swings her glass door open and looks toward the reception desk for her next interview.

she chokes on her tongue when she sees you sitting in a chair, fiddling with the corner of your resume as you wait.

you're... beautiful. everything about you. sevika takes a moment to gawk at you before you notice her. you're like a walking wet dream just fucking... appeared in her waiting room. sevika's not sure if she's going to be able to get through this interview.

she calls your name off her clipboard, trying to ignore how much she likes the word in her mouth, and she loses her breath completely when your eyes snap up from your resume and you smile at her.

oh fuck. please let her be an asshole. sevika thinks, unwilling to believe someone as seemingly perfect as you could exist.

you're actually the farthest thing from an asshole in the world.

you're charming and giggly and you've got really great questions for sevika, like how she likes her coffee and what time she normally eats lunch.

you're under-qualified for the job, and when sevika points this out you cringe and shrug, scratching the back of your neck endearingly.

"i've never been a personal assistant before-- but i'm an incredibly fast learner, and if i can be honest, for this much money? i'd give a limb to keep you happy." you say, chuckling. sevika gulps, and bites her tongue to keep from saying some of the suggestions swirling in her mind of other ways you could keep her happy.

"well, a limb won't be necessary, but i should warn you. i've been told i can be a bit... cold. i'm no good with words, and i don't talk if i don't need to. it's nothing personal." she says. you smirk and tilt your head at her.

"you?" you ask, your eyes dancing up and down sevika's form in a way that makes her feel... tingly. "yeah, i guess i could see that." you say, giggling. sevika furrows her brow as she studies you.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she asks. something inside of her bubbles up, defensive and ready to kick you out of her office the second you say something wrong. she's been working on her defensive anger with her new therapist, well aware that it's just a way of protecting herself from potential disappointment, but she can't help it right now. because she'd be so fucking disappointed if you-- pretty, charming, slightly ditzy you-- were suddenly an asshole out of nowhere.

you just giggle and shrug. "you're so pretty it's hard to tell at first glance, but now that we're talking i can see that grumpiness creeping through." you say, smiling.

are you... teasing her?

and did you just call her pretty?

sevika blinks at you, the swirl of anger in her stomach fizzling out and leaving her vulnerable. she bites her lip, shakes her head, and reminds herself that this is a job interview. not a first date. she shouldn't be feeling all soft and giddy and excited right now.

she clears her throat and looks through her notes. you've answered all her questions, you've given the right answers for them all too. there's nothing left for her to do but just give in and hire you-- you're clearly perfect for the job.

she needs to find something wrong with you before she fucking... falls in love with you right here and now.

sevika takes a deep breath, then starts her interrogation.

"this job... it's not nine to five. that's what everyone else in the office works, but you'll be here when i get in to when i leave. some days, you'll be here before sunrise 'til after sunset." she says. you nod.

"that's fine with me." you say. sevika huffs.

"and you should know... i'm gay." she says, cringing the second the words leave her mouth. she never talks about this in interviews, but she's just hoping that you react poorly so she can write you off. you just blink at her.

"o-okay?" you ask. "are you asking me out or something?" you say, giggling. this catches her off guard, and sevika's jaw drops.

"what?" she asks. you shrug.

"i mean... i'd be into it, but i'd kinda like to know if i got the job before you take me to dinner." you say, laughing. sevika snorts, a smile pulling at her lips, and she pinches herself to keep from leaping across the table and kissing you.

"i'm trans too." she blurts. you blink at her again.

"...okay." you say, a little confused. "if you want... i could put reminders in your daily schedule for your hormones?" you ask, trying to figure out how the revelation ties to the job interview.

sevika just blinks at you, shocked and a little pissed off that the woman of her dreams has appeared in her life, only to become her assistant rather than her girlfriend.

sevika grunts, rubs her face, then sighs as she looks at you. you look concerned.

"did i do something wrong?" you ask, nervous. sevika sighs.

"no. you're perfect. i'm just... where the fuck have you been this whole time?" she asks, a little hysterical. you break out into a bright smile, and sevika's heart does a backflip.

"so...?"

"can you start tomorrow?"

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[weskie]

To Make Your Heart Sing (Albert Wesker x ftm!Reader)

3556 words, fluff, hurt/comfort, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, ftm!reader, top surgery mention, coming out, main character injury, soft wesker, established relationship | Fic Directory

some truths are simply hard to tell. still, they must be told

You tried your best to keep things under wraps.  

RCPD’s human resources department knew of your ‘condition,’ but the file that landed on Captain Wesker’s desk a year and a half ago mentioned nothing of it.  You were just, well, you.  And that’s all you needed to be.  You were hired and the rest was history.

Or it was supposed to be.  Instead, you found yourself getting into the best of trouble.  Make no mistake, Captain Wesker intimidated you to no end.  Suppose that’s why the first time you turned a corner and the both of you knocked into each other left you a stuttering mess while you tried desperately to help him pick up the stack of paper he’d been holding.  The other officers who had been in the adjacent break room had the luxury of watching with bated breath to see him chew you a new one for such a careless mistake.

But he didn’t. 

The next was when you’d overcooked your food in the microwave, leading to a loud, wet pop and spaghetti sauce all over the insides of the machine. To your embarrassment, your captain was beside the coffee pot, brow arched just above the rim of his sunglasses as you sputtered and chuckled your apologies for both the mess and the noise.

You could’ve sworn he smiled.

Then there was that day you’d been running late.  You called the precinct from your clunky Nokia, begging for forgiveness from your captain.  As a peace offering, you offered to bring him coffee from a local shop, stating that it was “so much better than the liquid tar in the break room.”  His silence had scared you half to death, but his acceptance carried the strangest hint of amusement.  Black with two sugars, he’d told you.  When you’d finally arrived and delivered it, he took it directly from you, fingers brushing yours and making your cheeks light up.

That was the first time you’d ever seen more than a miniscule smirk on his face.  

Not to mention that time you’d pulled overtime and, upon entering to deliver yet another report, you’d found Wesker with his head resting atop his folded arms on the desk.  To this very day, you still had no idea what came over you to retrieve your S.T.A.R.S. jacket from your desk and drape it over his back.  You’d returned the next day to find it neatly folded atop your desk with a sticky note that simply said ‘Thank you.’

When the day came that he cornered you in the break room, black coffee with two sugars in hand from another one of your late mornings, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“I want to take you on a date.” 

Your eyes practically fell out of your head and your cheeks went up in flames.  You were stunned.  Captain Wesker was into men?  Not only that, but he was into you? You didn’t know what to say, what to do– anything.  You must have sat there blinking with your mouth agape for minutes before he’d finally just hummed, snagged a napkin and wrote his number down for you.

“If you find it agreeable, call this number later.  We can… work out the details then.”  

Looking back on it, he seemed just as nervous in that moment as you felt.  Not that you could blame him.  You figured he must have observed you for a long time to gauge if you’d be receptive to advances from another man, but the risk was still high– rejection, risk of harassment accusations… all sorts of bad outcomes must have been weighing on his mind.  But, that night, you called him.  Awkward as it had been, you both settled on a restaurant an hour outside of the city to reduce the chances of you two being seen by the others from the station, and the rest?  Well, it had progressed slow and steady, but your secret relationship with Captain Wesker, now simply Albert to you when appropriate, had entered its third month.

Which is why you’d grown nervous.

You didn’t know how to tell him.  At some point, things would progress beyond warm kisses and tender touches.  At some point your… anatomy was going to matter.  You wish you would’ve told him before all of this began and saved yourself the potential heartache of losing what had been the sweetest, gentlest relationship you’d ever had.  You worried yourself sick about it, always careful never to wear tank tops or shirts bright or thin enough that the tone of your chest scars could show through.  Your testosterone shots were easy enough to hide, thankfully.

Albert had been nothing less than a pure gentleman throughout it all, never once pushing your boundaries or showing impatience when you’d shy away from things.  Even the night you’d both fallen asleep on your bed consisted of little more than a hand resting atop the small of your back and your face nuzzled against the comforting rise and fall of his chest.

But, try as you might to hide it, Wesker had picked up on your anxieties.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”  

Your heart fell through the floor the night he’d asked that.  You swore up and down over and over again that it was nothing he’d done and that you were just dealing with something that you didn’t know how to put into words.  He accepted your answer without question, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and continued reading the file he'd brought home from work.

Your mind always turned to thoughts of how you were going to tell him, distracting you at the worst times.  Which, of course, put you in a situation where you had no choice in how the truth would come out.

The bulletproof vest had saved your life– for the most part, that is.  Gunmen in a hostage situation had released a young girl, sending her out to run toward the blockade.  She was to be a message, clearly, because they fired at her as soon as she got close.

You bolted out to cover her, mind devoid of sense the very moment you saw one of the men emerge from the building.

You took two to the chest with the first simply lodging into the center of your vest.  The other managed to pierce, embedding in your right pectoral.  You’d laid between squad cars and the steps to the bank for god knows how long, shaking fingers applying as much pressure to your wound as you could muster while the sun beat down on you without mercy.  The next thing you knew, you were being thrown into an ambulance and given the good stuff, and you woke up after who knows how long in a hospital bed.

Your first visitors were Rebecca and Jill.  You’d grown closer with them than most of the others– save for Wesker, of course.

“How are you feeling?”

You simply answer Jill with a lopsided smile and a hum, tipping your head back against the pillow.  “Mm, yup.”

“I don’t think the pain meds have worn off yet,” Rebecca giggles from across the room where she inspects the whiteboard covered with hastily scribbled patient information.

“Lucky him.  Should let Captain Wesker know he’s at least feeling good when we go back.  He’s…”  Jill turns to you with a sweet smile, clearly pondering her words.  “Distraught is a… is a word for how he is right now..”

That, of course, breaks your heart.  He was there when it happened.  Albert saw you go down.  Silly you, covering the girl they’d released…

Your eyelids grow heavier as time goes by, eventually slipping shut while you bask in their company.  When they open again, you’ve got two nurses at your bedside.  Even in your dazed state, you can put two and two together.  Just a change of bandages…

“Hi, sweetheart!” Chirps the woman closest to you while she peels away tape and gauze.  “You bled through so we’re just cleaning you up, okay?”

You simply nod and stare up at the ceiling.  It doesn’t hurt, thankfully, and the only thing you feel is cold air on your chest.  Part of you shudders.  Medical settings could be… complicated with your unique condition.  But you try not to anticipate the worst.

Oh how wrong you are.

“You can come in,” says the other nurse.  “Just replacing his bandages.  We’ll be out in a few.”

The hum in response yanks you from whatever blissful stupor the pain meds had lulled you into and you shoot up in the bed, shocking the nurse tending your wound.

“Careful, baby! You’ll tear your stitches–”

You barely hear her, nor do you feel her hands attempting to coax you back to the bed.  You go down, but not before locking eyes with your one and only.

Fuck…

They’ve got the top of your gown off and there’s no way–

You swallow thickly as your throat closes with a wave of shame.  You shut your eyes to hide the tears gathering within them, listening intently as Wesker’s nearly silent footsteps come to a halt on the other side of your bed.  He sees you.  There’s no way he doesn’t.  He’ll have questions.  Fuck, maybe he’ll just know outright.  Wesker’s a smart man…

You should’ve told him.

You keep your eyes screwed shut for what feels like eternity, even after the door clicks and the nurses leave you to each other’s company.  Neither of you says a word and it’s nearly pure silence until you hear the drag of a chair.  You just about jump out of your skin when his fingertips graze your knuckles, but they don’t retreat.  Instead, he takes your hand in his, lifts it, and presses kiss after kiss to it.

Your eyes crack open, vision bleary from tears and clearing as they spill.  You find him looking at you with furrowed brows and some painful combination of worry and relief written across his face.  His glasses are hooked on his shirt, showing you icy blues with a touch of red in the surrounding scleras. 

“How do you feel?”  His voice is as calm as ever, but, for once, his expression betrays him.

“Like I got shot,” you rasp.  You crack the tiniest smile despite the swirling dread and anxiety filling you to the brim.  You observe him for a minute, looking for something, anything to confirm your fears.

You find nothing.

“Indeed,” he hums, lips twitching at the corners.  “I’m glad you’re in good spirits despite the tears.”

You give a weepy chuckle that turns to tight sobs.  You feel so helpless and pathetic.  You’d almost died and now your little secret had been put on wide display for him.  Part of you figures this is just the universe’s way of telling you to get on with it.  Just finally rip the bandaid off.

You suddenly start to rise from your flat position.  Wesker watches you for signs of discomfort, taking his finger off the bed controls only once you were upright and–

Oh fuck– no, no, no!

They hadn’t buttoned your gown earlier.  The front section falls forward and you scramble to push it back up, holding it in place as you clench your eyes shut and bite your tongue.  His hand leaves yours and your stomach drops, ice shooting through your veins. For a minute, you think he’s leaving, but then–

Snap.  Snap.  Snap.

Your eyes widen, gaze falling to the hands working to pinch together the little buttons that run along the seam at your shoulder.  Wesker leans across you just slightly to repeat the process on the other side.  His scent fills your lungs and you can’t help but take a deep, greedy breath, chin quivering all the while. 

“Would you like to stay with me while you recover?”  He asks softly, taking his seat once more.  “Or would you prefer if I stayed with you instead?”

It’s so earnest that you could scream.  Part of you wonders if he’s just avoiding the elephant in the room.

“I imagine the comfort of your own home would lend itself better to your recovery,” he continues, taking your hand in his once more. “But I am not averse to either choice.”

“Al, you don’t have to–”

“You’ll need the help.”  He says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.  “I assume you’ve had restrictions like this before.”

That cold feeling runs through your body again. He’s not avoiding it.   

“Yeah…”  

And he’s completely right.  You will need help.  You doubt your restrictions will be as tight as those you had after top surgery, but you did take a bullet to the chest.  Two, technically…

“I want you to think about it.”  Wesker checks his watch as he speaks, rising from his chair with a small huffed breath.  “My break is nearly over, but I’ll try to come by again before visitation hours end.  You should rest some more.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow once again, eyes fixed on him as he pushes the chair back to its original spot.  Wesker approaches your bedside again, hand raising to rest against the side panel controls.

“Up or down?”  He asks, voice soft.

“Mm, somewhere in between please.”  

Your eyes lock with his as you descend.  That same tenderness still dances in his gaze– the kind he saves for you and you alone.  Despite the tendrils of anxiety tugging at your mind, you find such an act soothes you to the core.  Wesker breaks eye contact for a split second to glance behind himself, ever the private man he is, and he leans over you.  His lips press to your forehead first, warm and soft, and his right hand rises to your cheek to thumb at the curve.  He holds that position for a moment, breaking it only to press another to your lips.

“Hm,” he hums, breaking away to glance at the monitor.  He chuckles softly.  “Your heart rate just jumped.”

Oh god, you think it yourself.  You can practically feel your cheeks go up in flames, but you giggle nonetheless at his cheeky little observation.  “Well, you know… handsome blonde guys named Albert do that to me.”

He leaves with a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, much to your satisfaction.

They keep you at the hospital for another full day just to be safe.  Wesker spent his lunch break with you again, during which he reminded you that he would absolutely be aiding you while you’re under physical restrictions– you need only pick the place.  He’d been positive your own home would be better, so that’s what you opted for.  

Much to your joy, you weren’t excessively limited.  No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity– all the usuals.  You were to have two full weeks off before returning to simple desk duty.  Wesker picked you up, duffel bag of his necessities already packed in the back seat of his car, and brought you home.  Things were stellar until you realized he wanted to do just about every little thing for you, convinced you would cause yourself further harm.  Cooking was out of the question, so he made you meals that you could’ve sworn belonged in a gourmet restaurant rather than your little apartment. And laundry?  Forget about it.  You practically had to wrestle a handful of socks and towels from him so that you could feel less like a deadbeat.  Wound care, though… that was where things got tricky.  Wesker insisted that he be the one to change your bandages, and he did so twice a day, which was more often than was even recommended.

“I said I would take care of you.  What kind of partner would I be if I let you walk around in old bandages, hm?” 

It had been hard to let him do it.  Despite knowing full well he had a clear view of your chest in the hospital, you were still apprehensive to let him see it again.  No questions had been raised in regard to the origin of your scars, but that was somehow worse.  For a time, you figured he chalked it up to some sort of wound obtained in the field, but the day came where his hands wandered and a fingertip trailed the line running beneath your left pectoral.

“I…” You try, swallowing thickly to quell your nerves.

“Tell me about them.” Wesker breathes, finger still running along the ridge, pausing over the parts that weren’t quite perfect.

The worst part of everything?  You know full well you could just walk away and he’d leave it.  Al never pries; he always respects your boundaries.  'No' has always been a complete sentence to him, something you’ve appreciated endlessly in your time together with him.  But, all the same, wasn’t it time you gave an inch?  The man so endlessly patient and sweet to you, despite how he presents himself to the rest of the world, deserved the truth.

So you spill.

“I’m transgender…”  You murmur, words tight in your throat as you stare down to your socked feet.  From there, the rest falls free.  Every little detail.  Childhood woes, adulthood struggles– how happy you were the day you got your very first shot of testosterone and how you felt like you had a new lease on life itself when you woke up from your chest surgery all those years ago.  A tear or two escapes you as you tell your tale, but they’re not the bad kind.  No… they come from something else entirely.  A joy you could never put to words, a cresting wave of pride that you’ve come so far and lived so well despite every bump in the road, a sense of self that felt like wings upon your back…  With every story, you find yourself meeting his gaze more often until you’re looking right into those icy blues.

If Albert is dissatisfied with your revelation, he doesn’t show it.  Instead, he stands before you and listens intently to every word.  Without his glasses, you can see his eyes soften at certain parts, but it's the way his hand doesn’t quite leave from where he’d touched your scar before that keeps you hopeful throughout the entire ordeal.

“And I– I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I just…” You exhale hard, eyes dropping with the weaning of that miracle burst of confidence.  “Telling people is… difficult.”

“Did you think I would react badly?”

You didn’t expect such a question, let alone for it to be asked so gently.  “I… yes and no.”  You chew the inside of your cheek as you ponder the way to best explain it to him.  “Not everyone is kind about it.  I didn’t think– it wasn’t that I thought you’d be mean about it, I just… I didn’t want you to feel like I was lying to you…”

Wesker’s eyes flit to the side for a brief second.  “I understand.  Though I fail to see how you would’ve lied.”

At that, you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes closing as you shake your head.  “So you’re okay with it?”  You ask finally, hand rising to rest over his that still lingered at your chest.  The anxiety returns and you worry the side of your lower lip between your canines.

“I am,” Wesker hums, offering you perhaps the softest, sweetest smile you’ve ever seen grace his face.  His free hand reaches for the one that hangs loose by your side, holding it tenderly as he leans forward.  At first you think he’s going for a kiss, which you happily prepare for, but he presses his forehead to yours.  You allow your eyes to flutter shut, same as him.  “I’m afraid you’ve stolen my heart, my dear.” He pauses for a moment, brushing his nose against yours. “You are who you are.  I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

At that, there’s simply no helping the way you throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around him as tight as you can without agitating your wound.  He returns your embrace immediately, palms stroking up and down the length of your back, perfectly warm against your skin.  

There’s one last thing to tell him.  Something that’s been in your heart for a while now.  He deserves every truth from you, and you’re all too happy to give it to the man who assigns you heaps of reports at work and makes your heart sing at home.

“I love you.”  You murmur against his collar, smiling big and wide at how his arms tighten around you.  “I really, really love you.”

“Good,” he hums.  Wesker rests his chin atop your head, swaying slightly as if to music that wasn’t there.  “Because I really, really love you, too.”

You giggle at his mimicry, but, in truth, you’re overflowing with joy.  It’s as if the sun itself has risen in your chest to hear those words, but that is simply the effect Wesker has on you.

What bliss to know you warm his heart the same.

[rubberizer92]

John Doe woke up to the monotonous beep of his alarm clock, the digital display reading 05:00. He groaned and rolled over, his eyes adjusting to the dim light seeping through the blinds. The room was a study in neutral tones, from the beige carpet to the off-white walls, and the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of a clock that had been a gift from his father.

John was an average man in his late twenties, with a body that suggested more time spent in front of a computer than at the gym. His hair was a mess of dark waves, and his eyes were a tired shade of brown. He worked a desk job that paid the bills but didn't excite him, and his social life was as bland as the décor in his apartment. His mornings were a routine of the same old grind.

Today, however, was different. John had received a letter, not the usual email or bill, but an actual letter with a proper stamp and an official-looking envelope. It was from the government, but it wasn't a tax notification or a jury duty summons. It was an invitation to a place called the DRONE Center. He had heard whispers about it, a mysterious facility that promised a life of purpose and fulfillment.

Curiosity piqued, John had signed up for more information, not truly believing he would ever receive a response. Now, as he stared at the envelope, his heart thumped in his chest. The logo on the letter was a sleek black drone, the letters "DRONE" emblazoned in shiny silver beneath it. The Division for the Recalibration of Obedient Neural Enclaves, it read. What could that mean? He had read the brochure countless times, but the reality of it all was starting to sink in.

John showered and dressed in his best suit, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. The center promised to transform him into something greater, to serve a higher purpose. As he stepped out into the crisp morning air, the world around him looked sharper, more vivid than it ever had before. The thought of leaving his mundane life behind for something more was intoxicating.

He arrived at the center, a towering, gleaming building nestled in the heart of the city. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a reception area that was more like a luxury hotel lobby than a government facility. The man at the desk looked up at him, his smile as perfect as the gleaming chrome surfaces around them. "Welcome to DRONE," he said, his voice a soothing purr. "We've been expecting you."

The elevator ride to the top floor was swift and silent, the mirrored walls reflecting his slightly nervous expression. When the doors opened, he was greeted by a room that looked more like a futuristic gym than anything else. Men in tight, rubberized suits moved with mechanical grace, their bodies sculpted to perfection. The air was filled with the faint scent of antiseptic and something else, something that made John's heart race.

The man who had led him there, Dr. Hartwell, explained the process in a cool, detached tone. "You'll undergo a series of treatments and training sessions to become one of our elite drones. It's a three-year commitment, but I assure you, it's an opportunity of a lifetime."

John nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He had made his choice, and there was no turning back now. As he donned the provided uniform, the smooth rubber clinging to his skin, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of life awaited him in the service of the DRONE Center.

[saintmurd0ck]

cherry red

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

summary: you and frank break into a vintage car dealership to scope something out for agent madani, and it turns out that you have a little time to spare before the drop happens

warnings: mentions of cocaine (no drug use), breaking and entering, the FBI lmao, shameless flirting, calling frank big boy, pain kink if you squint, (very little) spit because how else do you up frank's pleasure *gunshot*, unprotected p in v, creampie, goodbye i'm going to bed

a/n: for everyone who agrees that frank should be called 'big boy', this is for you!!! also this is my first full length frank fic lets fucking go

There’s not a sound but the rustle of your clothes as you case the dealership, Frank following closely behind you. He looks over his shoulders—a cautionary measure, despite the fact that the owners are on the other side of the world—before thumbing at the light switch on the wall.

Fluorescent lights flicker on in stages, a steady, low hum of electricity filling the space. Your eyes squint as you adjust to the brightness.

Frank looses a bated breath. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” you affirm, casting your gaze across the almost-cavernous, windowless room. Rows and rows of vintage cars stare back, their timeless, luxurious finishes glinting in the white light.

“That’s gotta be worth more than…” you trail off, looking down at your hands.

“Twenty-two million dollars. This room alone,” Frank finishes.

You swear, stepping forwards to skim your fingers along a chromed side mirror, then bending down to check your reflection. “So what are we looking for again?”

Frank sets his duffel bag down onto the reception desk, careful not to disturb the fanned business cards adorning the surface. “Guns, coke, contraband,” he lists. “Whatever we can find.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” Frank asks, bewildered. His attention snaps to you.

“Is there a car in particular we’re looking for?”

“Honestly sweetheart, I dunno. If we gotta sweep every single one, that’s what we gotta do.”

You push up off your knees, weaving in and out of the cars. “Before the auction, yeah?”

“S’right,” he grunts, pulling out a silver crowbar. “Smart girl.”

Ignoring the heat now searing your face, you focus on trying to name the cars, although you really only recognise a few of them.

Your eyes warily glaze over a black 1962 Chevrolet Corvette, its headlights polished to perfection. Next to it there are a number of vintage Ferraris, one Aston Martin, and a newer model Rolls Royce in the corner.

But one car in particular snags your eye, knocking the breath from you.

Frank whistles. “She’s pretty.”

You shoot him an incredulous glare, slightly offended he’d say that about the car and not you.

He’s not wrong, though.

It’s an old Mercedes. A 1961 Roadster, you think, marvelling at the almost pearlescent ivory paint restoration, the perfectly polished hubcaps, and the smooth leather interior of the deepest cherry red. You’re transfixed as you hear the engine in your mind, the revving beneath your feet, feeling the phantom breeze ruffling your hair as you speed down the highway with no destination in mind.

“You know what I think?” Frank says, clearing his throat, but you’re caught in your fever dream, music blaring from a shut-off radio that’s only active in your head. “I think…” he trails off, voice dropping to a bare whisper.

You whirl around as a loud clang drags you back to the present, one of the gleaming Mercedes-Benz hubcaps laying flat on the ground.

“What the hell, Frank?” you glower, eyes widening.

He responds with a grunt as he moves to the driver’s side, leaning his bodyweight into the crowbar as the next hubcap pops off.

Your hands fly to your face as he continues to move around the car, vandalising it beyond—

Oh.

The corners of Frank’s mouth curl into a wry smirk. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

He motions for you to come over, using his crowbar to pry out several small, duct-tape-wrapped packages from inside the wheel. “Dumbest fuckin’ hiding place I’ve ever seen.”

He pats the passenger door. “Gotta give it to ‘em, though. Moving drugs through cars at an auction? It’s a Ponzi scheme, but a goddamn good one.”

“This what I think it is?” you ask, crouching down next to him, irresolutely turning one of the bricks over.

He nods, pulling a knife tucked into his boot before sticking it into one of the packages. He dips his hand into the opening, rubbing what looks to be a white powder in between his fingers.

“Time to call Madani,” he grits, placing the brick back on the ground. “Could you do that f’me, sweetheart?”

Biting your lip, you pull out your phone to dial Madani’s number, wincing as Frank digs out the rest of the cocaine from your beloved Roadster. In eager anticipation, she picks up after the first ring, and the drop is arranged for 2.30 AM.

That leaves you thirty minutes to spare.

“So, Frank,” you remark, tucking your phone back in your pocket, “do we need to check any of the other cars?”

He sets the crowbar on the ground, getting up to lean against the front passenger side door. “Nah,” he replies, folding his arms across his chest, “FBI’s problem now.”

The growing smile on your face turns suggestive. “Guess we have time to kill before they show up, hm?”

Frank cocks his head. “And what’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”

You stride towards him, reaching out your hands to uncross his arms so they lay straight at his sides. Trailing the tip of your index finger up his chest, you circle the outline of his mouth. It catches on his bottom lip as you drag it back down, and he shudders at the lightness of your touch.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, big boy?” you grin.

He moves off the car, rolling his eyes as you saunter to the driver’s side, brows furrowing as you go to unlatch the door. The red leather is cool beneath you as you slide in, hands instinctively going to grip the wheel. Imagining the engine roaring to life, you press your foot down on the accelerator, as far as it’ll go.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you?” Frank chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“Maybe,” you muse, aware of the mischievous glint in your eyes. “If that’s something you want.”

“You haven’t had any of the white stuff, have ‘ya? ‘Cause you’re sure acting like it.”

“Dick,” you swear. “We’re surrounded by nice cars, Frank. How do you expect me to behave?” Taking your hands off the wheel, you twist in your seat to face him. “Surely they’d have the keys here somewhere, right?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, like they’d keep the keys to a four hundred thousand dollar car here.”

“Awww,” you pout, “but I wanna go for a ride.”

Frank’s ears perk up. “S’that so?”

You lean back against the seat, running your tongue over your lips. “In this car.”

“What, and you think I can help with that?”

You bat your eyes at him. “Don’t get too flattered, but I think you’re the only person in the world who can help with that right now.”

“Right now?” he shoots back. “Just right now, huh?”

“Shut up and get over here before I rescind my request, Castle.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him move that fast, because he climbs into the passenger side, scrambling to get you on his lap.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hands finding your waist, guiding you back and forth over his hardening cock. His breath fans your neck as he nips at your pulse, spreading his legs apart on the seat.

You tip your chin downwards, your lips messily crashing into his, his mouth—his body—warm and supple against yours. He shifts his hips, slotting himself between your thighs and into the one place you need him most. At this rate, the friction of your clothing is almost too much to bear, but you’ve always been one to toe the line between pain and pleasure.

Especially when Frank’s involved.

Your body clenches as he palms your clit, groaning your name into your skin, etching kisses along the curve of your jaw. He skirts the hem of your top, slipping his tongue into your mouth before lifting it over your head, leaving it in a scandalous pile on the driver’s side.

“Naughty girl,” he laughs dryly, adding your bra to the pile along with his own shirt. “Tell me this isn’t what you thought of first when you saw the car.” He stiffens as you catch his bottom lip with your teeth.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying it,” you croon, the jovial note of your amusement diffusing itself into the vast space of the dealership. Your fingers roam along the plane of his stomach, feeling his abs contort underneath your touch. “Pretty boy.”

Resting his hands on either side of your spine, Frank swipes his thumbs over your nipples, intently staring as you throw your head back, rolling your hips into his. You squeeze your thighs into his sides as he seals his mouth over one of your breasts, flicking his tongue over the pebbled flesh.

“Bruise—“ he groans, his voice caught in a hoarse whisper. Oh, right, you remember, looking down at the purple splotch stretching across the ribs on his right side.

But you don’t let up, not when he’s driving you mad and touching you like this. You dig your knee into the bruise lightly, waiting for his body to seize, for his panting to echo before putting it back down on the seat.

“You’re a fuckin’— animal—“

Something compels you to do it again, but he slaps your leg away, retaliating by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You cry out his name, the echo of it thundering in your ears.

“Dick,” you gasp, slamming your palms into his chest. You gripe at the fact that he loses himself in a quiet sort of laughter, and that he’s all chiseled muscle and not putty in your hands.

“You insulting me or s’that what you want?”

The mirthful gleam in his eyes flicker as he looks you up and down, waiting for your next move.

“Fine,” you say, a little too scornful considering the situation you’ve found yourself in, moving to undo his belt. Pausing once to take your own pants off, your fingers move deftly to unbutton his jeans before you tug them down and off his legs. Not taking your gaze off of him, you brace one hand on his shoulder while the other slowly creeps up his thigh.

Frank squirms beneath you, his lips pressing into a thin line as you cup his balls. Your breathing turns shallow as you wrap your hand around his shaft, running your thumb over the precum glistening on the head of his cock.

“Fuckin’— shit—,“ he hisses as you squeeze him. You hinge forward to nip his earlobe, to whisper filthy nothings in his ear, but he bucks his hips upwards, almost reflexively.

And that is something too good to pass up.

“Feel good, Frankie?” you ask, moving to stroke him up and down, ensuring your pace is just shy of what he likes on himself.

“Mm—“

“I think this’ll feel better,” you interject, pausing to spit on his cock.

Frank’s mouth parts in a wide groan at the added lubrication, and the way you’ve so brazenly spat on him, narrowly missing the priceless cherry red leather. Not that having sex in this car isn’t already brazen to begin with.

Clambering back onto his lap, you nudge his cock into your opening, coating him in the slick of your arousal. You press your face against his cheek as he pushes himself inside you, moaning into his mouth at the sensation of his thick head stretching you out. It burns, but it burns so fucking good.

He grits his teeth as he eases you down on him, guiding you inch-by-inch until you're so full you can barely breathe, your core tightening to the point where you wonder if he can feel pleasure at all.

He reminds you that yes, in fact he can, because he's cursing under his breath, gripping the dashboard so goddamn hard you think he might leave half-moon marks in the shape of his nails. He jerks his hips into yours, driving himself so deep you see stars for a second, whispering into the trance of your intimacy that you're his girl and that you feel so fuckin' tight he might burst at any given moment.

Now accommodated to his size, you fling your arms around his neck as you begin to move, resting your forehead against his. You roll your hips in languid, circular motions, fingers curling in the short hair at the nape of his neck.

"God fucking damn, Frank," you whimper, switching to bounce on his lap, holding onto the top of the seat for extra support. He sends you into a catatonic state of delirium as his thick cock hits deeper in this position, and soon you're squeezing around him, crying his name and falling over the edge of satisfaction.

Frank buries his face in your tits as you collapse onto his chest, your body still moving to the rhythm pounding inside your head.

"Hey, hey sweetheart," he says gently, moving to caress your jaw. "You okay?"

You flash him a weak smile, holding out a thumbs-up. "Keep going, Frank. M'not done yet."

"You sure?"

Raising your hips only to slam them back down on his seems to give him the reassurance he's seeking. Thrill shoots up your spine as he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

His tone is nothing short of wicked. "I do as I'm told, yeah?"

He drills himself into you, setting a ruthless pace, mouth roving over every accessible inch of bare skin. You thank every god you can think of for making this place soundproof, because the two of you would be so incredibly dead if anyone could hear the sounds coming from your mouth.

You fall apart on his cock more times than you can count, burying your face in his neck as Frank's thrusts become more erratic and sloppy, his strokes faltering with every passing second.

"M'gonna cum for you," he groans, throwing his head back against the seat and lurching his arm towards the top of the windscreen. He presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone as his hips stutter, spilling every last drop inside you.

"Fuck," he whispers, his cock twitching as you finally muster the energy to get off of him. He looks down at himself, horrified, and you follow his eye line to the mess on the seat between his thighs.

You choke, caught between a laugh and a gasp, equally panicking at how you're going to clean it up and possibly more importantly, how Madani isn't going to figure out what you've just done.

"Guess we can call this hard evidence for the FBI?" you sputter, trying your best to swallow your growing smirk.

Frank's cheeks turn red as he blows out a breath. "S'alright. This belonged to an asshole and it was gonna be bought by an even bigger one." He shrugs. "If I can't put 'em down, this is the least they owe me."

"You know Frankie, sometimes your logic is flawed, but I think you're right on this one."

He goes to smack your ass, but as you pull your panties on, your phone lights up in the footwell of the car, its shrill ringtone deafening to your ears.

MADANI

You glance at Frank, a humorous expression dancing across your face. "Good timing, huh?"

"Ain't that right."

tags {x} for all my frank girlies!!! <3 (I'M SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEONE I'M SO NOT OK RIGHT NOW)

@marvelswh0re @murdock-and-the-sea @itwasthereaminuteago @munsonownsmyass @reborn-rekall @castlesnchurches @chellestrash @darlingshane @chvoswxtch @stress--relief @pedrito-friskito

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Two sides of a Gem (Part 4)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part3

_______________________________________

A.N

So we finally made it to penacony, but I didn't write everything exactly like in the quest i changed some things, and I kept the arrival brief 😅 hope u still enjoy♡

______________________________________

The Astral Express crew stepped into the grand Penacony Dreamscape Terminal, greeted by an overwhelming display of luxury. The golden hues of the marble floors reflected the sparkling light from towering crystal chandeliers. The air carried the faint scent of exotic flowers and fine perfume, mingling with the murmur of countless conversations and distant, melodic music.

At the reception desk, the crew gathered, Himeko, Mr. Yang, March 7th, Trailblazer, and Y/N standing together as a hotel attendant in an immaculate uniform scrolled through a holographic terminal.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said, her polite smile unwavering despite the tension in her voice. “But there’s no record of this ‘Trailblazer’ in our system. The invitations were sent in advance, and it seems this… addition to your party wasn’t accounted for.”

March 7th crossed her arms with a huff. “Seriously? The invitation list was made ages ago. You can’t just add one extra name?”

The Trailblazer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I don’t mind sleeping on a bench if it comes to that…”

Himeko stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Surely there’s a way to resolve this? We came here under invitation, and I’d rather not have to start our visit on this note.”

Before the receptionist could stammer out a response, a smooth, sharp voice sliced through the conversation.

“Well, well… trouble already, Astral Express crew?”

The group turned as Aventurine approached, his sandy-blond hair catching the ambient golden light, his vibrant magenta and cyan eyes sharp with amusement. He wore his usual confident smirk, hands tucked into his pockets as he sauntered over.

“You’ve barely set foot on Penacony, and yet here you are, causing a scene at the front desk.” Aventurine gave a mock sigh, shaking his head dramatically.

Himeko’s smile didn’t waver as she turned to face him. “you must be the IPC’s ambassador. How fortunate that you’re here.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Aventurine replied, flashing a grin before leaning slightly on the counter, his gaze flicking briefly to Y/N before returning to Himeko. “But what seems to be the problem? Did someone forget their golden ticket?”

“The Trailblazer wasn’t on the original invitation list,” Mr. Yang explained calmly.

Aventurine let out a low whistle. “Ah, a clerical error, then. And here I thought the Astral Express was always perfectly prepared. Guess even legends trip up sometimes.”

March 7th bristled, but Himeko cut in smoothly. “Mr.Aventurine, let’s not waste time with banter. You’re someone with influence here. Surely you can help us resolve this little hiccup?”

Aventurine chuckled, running a hand through his sandy hair. “Well, I could… but what’s in it for me?”

Himeko’s smile sharpened slightly. “How about this—we’ll owe you a favor. And if there’s one thing I know about you, Mr.Aventurine, it’s that you love having favors to call in.”

Aventurine paused, his grin widening. “Oh, Miss Himeko, you do know me so well.”

After a brief moment of exaggerated deliberation, Aventurine sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. You’ve twisted my arm. I’ll give up my room for our dear Trailblazer.”

“Wait, your room?” March 7th asked, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked, dear,” Aventurine said with a smirk. “Generosity is one of my many virtues.”

With a flick of his wrist, Aventurine accessed the terminal and made a few quick adjustments, the receptionist nodding politely as the details were updated.

“There,” Aventurine said, stepping back with a flourishing bow. “One luxury room, generously donated. I expect your gratitude to be eternal.”

Himeko offered a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr.Aventurine. You’ve been… most helpful.”

“Always a pleasure,” he replied, his grin lingering as he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving a faint trail of mischief in his wake.

As the crew began moving toward their accommodations, a figure stepped into their path—Sunday, head of the Oak Family, flanked by his darling sister, Robin.

Sunday wore a tailored suit, his silver hair swept back, and his eyes sharp but kind. Beside him, Robin practically glowed in a dress of shimmering blues, her voice carrying softly as she greeted those who passed.

“Ah, guests from the Astral Express!” Sunday said warmly, spreading his arms in greeting. “It’s an honor to meet such esteemed travelers.”

Robin stepped forward slightly, her serene smile lighting up her face. “Welcome to Penacony. I hope our home brings you peace and joy during the festival.”

Himeko stepped forward with a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr. Sunday. And Miss Robin—it’s an honor to meet you both.”

Sunday chuckled lightly. “Please, no formalities. We’re all guests in this dream together, aren’t we?”

Robin’s gaze flickered briefly to Y/N, a curious glint in her eyes, but she said nothing.

Sunday gestured grandly toward the inner halls. “Please, settle in and enjoy yourselves. The festival is about to begin, and the real magic happens when the sun sets.”

With that, the Halovian siblings moved on, leaving behind an air of effortless charm and authority.

As the crew continued onward, Y/N stayed slightly behind, her sharp crimson eyes narrowing as she watched Sunday and Robin disappeared into the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” she murmured to herself.

Himeko, hearing her, glanced back. “Stay sharp, Y/N. This dream might become a nightmare if we aren’t careful.”

Y/N nodded, her expression unreadable as the crew moved further into Penacony’s glittering embrace.

_______

The golden halls of Hotel Reverie stretched endlessly in either direction, their soft lighting casting rippling patterns over the plush velvet carpet. Faint strains of distant piano music drifted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of the dream machinery buried deep within Penacony's gilded skin.

Y/N walked with deliberate steps, her sharp eyes scanning every detail the hum of energy lines pulsing beneath her feet.

It had been a long day, and Penacony's beauty—no matter how pristine—felt hollow. Artificial.

As she rounded a corner, her shoulder collided lightly with another figure stepping out from a room.

"Ah, my apologies, friend.”

The voice was smooth, honeyed with a sharp edge hidden just beneath its surface.

Y/N took a step back, her eyes immediately locking onto Aventurine. He stood with casual elegance, one hand in his pocket, the other raised slightly in mock surrender. His sharp, mismatched eyes—magenta and cyan—gleamed under the corridor lights, and his lips curled into an all-too-familiar smirk.

"Aventurine," Y/N said calmly, her tone sharp but not unkind. "You're far from your room, aren't you?"

Aventurine tilted his head slightly, his grin never faltering. "Sharp eyes, friend. But aren't we all a little far from home here in Penacony?"

Y/N crossed her arms, her gaze drifting briefly to the door he had just stepped out of. The Trailblazer's door.

"And yet, this isn’t your home, either. Care to explain what business you had with them?"

Aventurine let out a soft chuckle, his shoulders rising in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, come now. You make it sound so sinister. I was just paying a visit—welcoming our newest little star player to the big stage. Friendly conversation, nothing more."

Y/N’s brow arched slightly. "Friendly conversation? You mean the kind that leaves shadows on the walls and locked doors behind you?"

For a fleeting moment, something sharp flickered in Aventurine’s eyes before disappearing behind that practiced, playful mask. He pushed off the wall and stepped just close enough for Y/N to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne.

“You’re an observant one, friend. That much is clear.” He grinned wider, showing a flash of sharp teeth. “But let’s not stand here throwing accusations like cards at a table. Why don’t you tell me why you seem so interested in my little meeting, hm?”

Y/N didn’t flinch under his intense gaze. Instead, she stepped slightly to the side, her body language relaxed but her stance firm.

“Because, Aventurine, people like you don’t make casual house calls. You don’t breathe without calculating the odds first.”

Aventurine laughed again, loud enough to echo faintly down the hallway. It was a genuine sound, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, you’re good. I can tell. You’re very good. But why so serious, friend? We’re here at the grandest party in the galaxy, in the most luxurious hotel money can build. Can’t we at least pretend to enjoy ourselves?”

Y/N studied him closely for a moment before exhaling softly and lowering her arms. Her voice lost some of its sharp edge, though her eyes remained watchful.

“Alright, Aventurine. We’ll play your game. But don’t mistake my patience for trust.”

Aventurine’s grin softened slightly, and he gave a theatrical bow, one hand over his chest. “Ah, trust. Such a fragile little thing, isn’t it? But I’m glad to hear you’re willing to play along, friend.”

He straightened up and let his grin shift into something smoother, almost charming in its casualness. “Since we’re being friendly now, what do you say we share a drink? You strike me as someone who appreciates fine company and finer conversation.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “That depends. Are you buying, or am I walking into a carefully laid trap?”

Aventurine placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Me? Set a trap for you? Oh, friend, you wound me!”

Y/N rolled her eyes but turned on her heel, starting down the hallway towards the hotel lounge. Aventurine fell into step beside her, his long coat brushing against his legs as he walked with a smooth, confident stride.

The silence between them was comfortable for a moment, filled only with the faint hum of distant dream machinery and muffled laughter from somewhere deeper in the hotel.

As they walked, Aventurine glanced sideways at her, his voice lower this time, almost thoughtful.

“You know, friend, people here are all wearing masks—metaphorically and sometimes literally. But you… you wear yours very well. I can’t quite see the cracks yet.”

Y/N glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression neutral but her gaze sharp. “And you, Aventurine? How many masks are you wearing right now?”

Aventurine’s grin widened, and he let out a low chuckle. “Oh, friend, let’s not ruin the surprise just yet.”

They arrived at the lounge—a grand, open space filled with faint golden light and the soft sound of piano keys being played in the corner. Crystal glasses clinked, voices murmured, and the faint scent of expensive cigars lingered in the air.

Aventurine gestured toward a quiet corner booth. “Shall we?”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and sliding into the booth. Aventurine followed, smoothly taking the seat opposite her.

As a waiter approached, Aventurine gestured grandly. “A glass of your finest for the lady, and for me… surprise me.”

The waiter gave a short nod before retreating, leaving the two of them alone in the golden glow of the lounge.

For a moment, neither spoke. Aventurine’s grin softened into something more relaxed, but his mismatched eyes remained sharp, ever-calculating. Y/N, in turn, studied him with a quiet intensity, her expression unreadable.

Finally, Aventurine broke the silence, his voice low and smooth.

“So, friend, shall we see where this little gamble takes us?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, her arms crossing lightly over her chest as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Let’s.”

The camera pans out, the golden light glinting off the glassware as their conversation begins—two players at a table, masks on, cards in hand, and the stakes rising with every word exchanged.